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mysteria157 · 3 months

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Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x Black Fem Reader

CW: Profanity, Light Angst, Alcohol Consumption, Explicit Sexual Content, Missionary, Cowgirl, Fingering, Fingersucking, Cunnilingus, Slight Dom Reader (not much), Car Sex, Bathroom Sex

WC: ~16k (It's long so get some snacks)

Summary:

Maybe you're single for a reason. You’re too outspoken and mean to men, too demanding with your expectations, and you refuse to settle for less. For the ones who aren't worth the air they breathe, you chew them up and spit them out. You savor the taste so you know what to avoid the next time.

So when he looks down at you with that devilish smirk and calls you 'Princess', you're determined to prove that Toji Fushiguro is no exception.

Notes: Hello! This is my first fic with Toji and I'm nervous to get it out here. The setting of this fic and the elements I incorporated connect a lot with my own childhood and the memories (not the interactions in this fic) that I had at family cookouts and get-togethers. Reblogs, likes, or comments are always appreciated! Happy reading!

Dividers: @royallaesthetics @eloquentmoon Header: myself (stability.ai)

Masterlist | Ao3 | Twitter | **Sequel**

“Can I get you a drink, princess?”

When you meet Toji Fushiguro for the first time, it’s on the fourth of July at your uncle’s house. It’s a big get-together at a two-story house located in the countryside. Every year he opens up his spacious home for a gathering of your extended family to bring excessive amounts of alcohol, play old school rap and R&B too loudly, devour delicious fucking food, and set off fireworks that have been collected since the beginning of the year.

Your uncle has already made a home by the grill and taken control of the speakers after one of your younger cousins attempted to play something ‘a little too racy’ for his tastes. You’re pretty sure it was an Ice Cube song from the 90s that your uncle hates but is too proud to admit, so he lectures your cousin about ‘what young folks should be listening to’ instead.

The smell of hamburgers and ribs has been teasing your nose for the past hour, and your hunger is borderline unbearable with each sniff. You avoid the allure of the long table of food because if you look, you’ll be three plates in before the meat is done. There’s coleslaw, baked beans, greens, and macaroni and cheese. Your favorite aunt also brought her potato salad and you know she’s going to make yellow cake with chocolate frosting fresh before the fireworks. You love it so much and you were deprived of it last year when you were called in to work at the last minute. You will get some today.

The backyard is expansive and well-maintained, and your cousins and aunts have already laid their claim on swanky cushions of the nice patio furniture.

The one cousin you’re closest to in age and personality sits next to you on a large blanket a few yards away from the rising volume of your extended family. You were able to get a good ten minutes of conversation from her before her fiancé showed up and made a home inside of her mouth.

Your family normally has something to say about PDA—a stupid quip about acting ‘too grown’ even though you are both knocking on the door of thirty. But she doesn’t care—just like you, that’s why you like her so much even though her fiancé is sucking on her face like it’s his last day on Earth.

Shiu Kong is nice—gentle in his own way and carries himself with a bored air that seems to pull your cousin in. He’s enamored with her, practically folds in on himself when she’s around, and worships the ground she walks on. They’ve been together for a few years and you’ve never had a problem with him.

But that just might change today because he’s brought along a friend who has already ignited a flame of arousal and annoyance deep within your belly. From the moment Toji Fushiguro stepped into the backyard with Shiu, your family was transfixed. Your aunts can’t stop ogling, and your uncles and male cousins try to jokingly size him up.

“Oh honey why don’t you sit down, don’t be shy. Lemme get you something to drink.”

“That’s not steroids? It’s gotta be. Don’t play.”

“How much you bench?”

It’s annoying. So fucking annoying but you can’t help but agree. He’s a little older—maybe early thirties—but dangerously attractive.

Raven hair that reaches his ears, looks unbelievably soft and falls over emerald green eyes. A grey shirt hugs him too fucking deliciously for your comfort and dark jeans hug an ass that’s too fucking juicy. He’s a big man—a burly man and unfortunately, that’s how you like them.

Big, burly like a bear, respectful, and capable of making you feel small and protected but also valuing and worshipping you as a woman. Unfortunately, such men are hard to come by because you tend to intimidate them. You don’t tolerate disrespect in any form and quickly put men in their place if they try to undermine, belittle, or confuse protection with control. You know what you want, and you refuse to settle for less.

They can’t stand it.

And right now, you can’t stand Toji. As he looks down at you with a well-worn smirk on his face, a smirk that suggests he has plenty of experience in situations like this, your irritation grows. He’s a smooth talker, confident in almost everything he says. His voice is deep, but melodic in a strangely feminine way that makes his words slide like silk down your back, and the minute you heard it, your thighs threatened to rub together.

Definitely a smooth talker. But the nickname you don’t care for.

Princess.

Like you’re a dainty little thing who will bat her eyelashes and call him Daddy. It makes your walls of self-defense rise even higher, and the gentle smile you had given Shiu when he first said hello moments ago transforms into the beginnings of a frown.

Without hesitation, you rise to your feet, plant your wedges firm into the grass, and turn away from them before muttering, “I’m good.”

Toji simply shrugs; a gesture that annoys you even more because he doesn’t offer any other reaction that satisfies you. He settles into your previously vacated spot, leaning back on his hands. The jacket on his shoulders falls open and the sight of his shirt hugging his muscles is too much for you.

You inwardly curse as your eyes wander over his physique. Thick pectorals that you could easily rub your face against and make a pillow for yourself to sleep on stretch the fabric in a way that you’re sure it’ll rip. Abdominals tease just below the surface of his shirt that clings to him like a second skin. You want to lick between each one, press your teeth into the hard skin to make him wince and beg as you count each one.

Four, six, eight?

Fuck.

You don’t show how you want to straighten your spine against the chill of being caught staring. That smirk is on his face again, tugging at the corner of his mouth. There’s a scar on the right side that slashes vertically over his top and bottom lip and you dislike the arousal that begins to boil between your legs from the sight. You wonder how he got it. If it was a fight, did he win? The thought of him wrestling another man to the floor and taking a cut to the face in the process shouldn’t arouse you, but god it does.

His eyes make you think of moss as you watch them slide up your body, and it almost feels like invisible hands caressing you. They’re large and pale, littered with scars along the knuckles as they glide up your exposed chocolate legs, dip between your inner thighs, and caress the curves of your hips.

“See something you like?”

He’s ogling you but has the nerve to try and put you on the spot? You have enough self-control to let logic worm through the rising lust inside of you. You sneer down at him, sharp enough for Shiu to visibly pale and your cousin to giggle at.

“To be honest, I don’t really see much.”

You don’t give him a chance to retort and you pretend not to hear the soft hum of nonchalance he throws back. You walk away from them, turning just in time to shield the way your eyes widen at the feel of your face and neck prickling with heat.

The moment you close the bathroom door inside your uncle’s house, the breath trapped within your lungs escapes in a rush. You press your forehead against the wood and the coolness of it offers only little relief to the burning of your skin.

You turn your head and press your cheek against the wood so the cold surface can slide along your cheek as you open your eyes to take in your reflection.

Of course, Toji would ogle you. You’re confident enough to know your beauty.

A red sundress that hugs your curves, stops at your mid-thighs. Knotless braids with curled ends are piled on top of your head in a loose bun with a few strands that spill along your hairline.

You’re good-looking. But you’ve been out of practice with a man for a long time. Your last relationship ended when you caught him balls-deep in your coworker. You’re too shy to pursue a one-night stand and not detached enough for a situationship.

However, you could risk it all for Toji and you hate that you’re entertaining the thought. You hate that you’re imagining him barging into the bathroom, bending you over the counter, and taking you from behind with his large hand digging into the small of your back and whispering how much of a good girl you are as you beg him to cum.

God, get yourself together.

To calm yourself down, you find solace in your uncle’s quiet kitchen. There’s only one person occupying it, your favorite aunt, who is heavily pregnant and working on the yellow cake that you’ve been thinking about all day. You use the opportunity to distract yourself and take over for her, shooing her away to relax in the backyard.

You crack an egg against the off-white countertop, fractures splitting up the sides before spilling its contents into the silver mixing bowl in front of you. A self-deprecating thought slithers in your ears, and whispers loudly with wicked intention.

Toji wouldn’t want a woman like you.

You’re too outspoken and mean to men, too demanding with your expectations. It pushes them all away, and although you normally take pride in keeping away those who aren’t worth your time, it can get lonely.

To see your ex actively cheating on you was icing on a cake that was slowly cooking in an oven of your own self-doubt. You have standards, and while your friends consider you the voice of reason in their misfortunes with men, most members of your family think you’re too picky. You’re too much work, ‘you think you know everything’.

“Men will always have a wandering eye, it’s up to you to keep them in check, girl.”

“Honey, I love you, but the more you pick apart a man, the less he will want to be around you.”

“They love it when you cook for them, girl. Take care of your man and keep him fed and you’ll keep him forever.”

Bullshit.

It’s bullshit to take care of a man in the same way his own mother does. It’s bullshit to lose all sense of self and independence, to wait on a man when he gives you less than nothing in return—when he can hardly give you the bare minimum. You don’t mind cooking for a man who takes care of you, who loves and values you, who would never hold you back and would encourage you when you can hardly encourage yourself.

But all the good ones are in relationships now, married with a few kids, and in your resolve to stay strong and weed out the bad to find the good, it’s left you a little bitter.

Most black families are old school, and yours is no exception. They hold ‘for better or worse’ a little too close to their heart. They cling to an ideal that a man runs the household down to the basics in a way that makes you uneasy and in your defense, you snap when you’re backed into a corner.

You love them, you truly do, but they probably will never understand just how aware you are of the world and how little you are willing to put up with the problematic things that others consider normal.

Your ex was great at first. But he got comfortable. And when he got comfortable, he got lazy, a little too controlling, and a little too frustrated when you asked for certain things in the bedroom. The only person who knows about your breakup is your mother, who had the gall to be out of the country for work, leaving you to fend for yourself for today.

You watch as the batter spills on each side of your wooden spoon, parting and then falling back together like sand. In your reverie, you don’t notice a few of your relatives who have now entered the kitchen and are roaming through the fridge. You can hear one of your least favorite aunts—the bitchy one—playfully joking with someone, and whatever drivel comes out of her mouth makes that person laugh. It’s deep and suave enough to make a tingle of electricity stutter down your spine because you know it’s him.

Refusing to look in their direction, you continue mixing the batter until the lumps disappear.

“You been hiding in this kitchen for awhile now,” your aunt begins, Atlanta accent the most grating it’s ever been as she turns her gaze toward you. “You’re normally a little more talkative when your man is here. He not coming?”

There is not a trace of genuine concern in her tone. You and her bicker often; she presses your buttons and then gets mad when you press back. Your ex’s infidelity is ammunition you don’t want to give her, but being caught in a lie is something she would only treasure more to use against you later.

You clear your throat and turn the spoon in the batter once, then twice before answering without looking her way.

“No, he actually came inside of my coworker a few weeks ago. So we split up.”

You can feel the noise before you hear it—a characteristic and sharp ‘mmm’ that seems to be ingrained in your family’s DNA. It makes your grip tighten on the wooden spoon, and you scrape along the bottom of the bowl until it screeches on the metal.

“You gotta watch out for this one, Toji. She’s always been an outspoken one. Too good for ‘em all and likes to be a little mean to her men.”

You scrape harder and then turn to her, a sickly sweet smile plastered on your face.

“You’re right. The fact that I won’t settle for someone who will get bored with me after a few years makes me way too good for them. Should have turned the other cheek just like you did with your last husband. Or…was it the one before him?”

You catch the way Toji pulls his lips in to bite down on them, scar twitching as he fights to hold in a snicker.

Your aunt glares at you, purses her lips, and turns them to the side before pulling in a noise that has been passed down for generations. Her mother and her mother’s mother used the very same tactic to strike fear and insignificance in their children when they talked back. It’s a sucking of air between her teeth and the sound makes years of discipline from your own mother flash in your mind like you’re in the trenches of war.

You know she wants to say something, and you can taste the ‘you always got something to say’ in the air before Toji slides from his perch against the counter and places a hand on your aunt’s shoulder.

“Let’s get you a drink, huh? Didn’t you say you wanted me to try the beer you brought in?” She throws you a knowing glare before letting Toji lead her away; because if there is one thing that will distract her from showing out, it’s letting a good-looking man touch her.

The shaking in your hands helps you sift in the dry ingredients—a mix of sugar, flour, and baking soda—into the batter. The breaths through your nostrils are heavy and thick with anger, and the corners of your eyes sting with heat. You whip the batter harder than necessary, your aunt’s words replaying in your mind like a broken record.

Don’t cry. Don’t fucking cry. Don’t—

The sight of a can of hard seltzer pressing onto the counter in front of you makes the ramblings in your mind stop. Familiar long fingers unfurl from the can and slide on the counter, their fingertips touching the edges of your mixing bowl in an effort to get to you.

“I would have given you a bottle of beer. But I had a feeling you might bash it over your aunt’s head.” He’s not wrong, and in your frustrated state, you consider his defense admirable. “I like a fight, but I’m a guest and the food looks good.”

Your grip on the spoon loosens slightly as Toji leans casually against the refrigerator, arms crossed over bulging biceps that stretch the short sleeves of his shirt. His jacket is now gone, and you can’t help but notice the veins in his forearms that protrude, tempting you to lick against them.

It takes the sheer will to tear your eyes away and focus on pouring the batter into the bundt cake mold, observing as it fills the intricate crevices.

“So he cheated? Most men are pigs.”

“But not you, huh?” you can’t help but retort, shaking the mold to disperse the air pockets that bubble on the surface.

In your peripheral, he shrugs. “I know what I like in a woman and once I get what I want, it makes no sense to look somewhere else unless she wants me gone. I’m a man…but I’m a loyal man.”

When you meet his emerald gaze, you can see a hint of pain and vulnerability that unsettles you, tilts you back on your heels from the force of his honesty. You reach for the can of seltzer and take a long swig to give yourself time to get your thoughts in order. The carbonation is sweet and fizzles along the sides of your tongue and down your throat.

“So what is it you like in a woman, Toji?”

It’s a question that probably should have been left untouched, but your curiosity overpowers your restraint. You don’t want to go back outside, because if your aunt is still feeling particularly petty, she will say something that will only make you leave. And you don’t feel like letting your family win today.

Toji’s strong gaze certainly isn’t helping. Those invisible hands slide along the crevices and dips of your body, stroking the small of your back before pressing featherlight against the back of your neck. The hairs rise in response, your skin prickling with gooseflesh.

Unexpectedly, he pushes off the refrigerator and walks closer to you, and you’re too shocked to back away. Despite his imposing stature, you know he won’t harm you. There’s something about him that’s warm and inviting, soft and tender even though his exterior is hard lines and muscle. The two of you are now mere inches apart, and the air feels thin as if you’ve reached the summit of a mountain and struggle to breathe due to the change in altitude.

Jet black locks graze against a rough cheek, the tips kissing the raised scar on the side of his mouth. Up close you can see his features more closely. His eyes are sharp and intense with deep green between his lids as if hiding a pearl in an oyster. Thin eyebrows make him look more serious and cutting and you’re swallowing back drool because your nose picks up a faint whiff of woodsy amber emitting from his body. It smells cheap—he’s put together in the most basic sense—but it still smells…good.

“I like a woman who knows what she’s about. Independent and doesn’t fuck around. Smart and pretty with curves I can grab and squeeze. Someone with some sass and isn’t afraid to put anyone in their place.”

He steps closer and your lungs heave in a desperate attempt to pull in air. The brush of the wall against your back makes you stutter out your exhale and you press your palms flat against the cool surface to keep you grounded.

“I like a woman with nice creamy brown skin that smells a little like the cake she’s baking…” Through the sea of delirium, you distantly realize that he’s describing you. “The red dress definitely is a bonus.”

That familiar smirk pulls against his lips again and your heart is thundering in your chest. You would be surprised if he couldn’t see it thumping erratically beneath the skin between what’s exposed of your cleavage.

But this is just another trick in their book to get you in their bed. Or in the bathroom. Or over the kitchen counter.

And as much as you want to, you can’t give in. Because you’ll hate yourself tomorrow.

So you tilt your chin up at him and narrow your eyes at his amused expression.

“Describing me in place of your ‘ideal woman’? That’s boring. Go use it on my bitchy aunt, she’s got fillers in her ass so that’s more curves for you to ‘grab and squeeze’ when she throws herself on you after the Hennessey kicks in.”

Toji’s eyes widen slightly before a harsh laugh barks from his mouth. It’s surprisingly nice on your ears and rattles the drums inside in a way that you don’t dislike. He pulls away from you, giving you a few more inches of space and the altitude in the air seems to level out enough for you to take an inconspicuous deep breath.

“Nah, nothing against fillers, but I’m more of a natural man myself,” he admits.

“Cellulite and stretch marks?” you ask with a lift of a brow, teasing but…mildly curious.

You watch as that smile slowly slides on his face, teeth glittering and eyebrows raising. He looks like he’s hit the jackpot.

“The whole package, princess.”

Biting the inside of your cheek to suppress a smile, you push down the lingering arousal in your stomach, refusing to let it simmer. He’s funny and you appreciate a man who loves the raw and often overlooked intricacies of a woman.

His response is disorienting, throwing you off balance, and you’re unsure of what to do next. Your usual response is to talk back, to take delight in a man fumbling when his own cards have been turned against him. But you can’t think of anything right now.

You move around him to place the bundt cake mold into the oven, setting a timer with the plastic buttons above the stove. Snatching the seltzer from the counter, you lean back against the oven, putting a considerable distance between the two of you to think.

Toji mimics your movements, retreating to the fridge to relax against it, folding his arms across his chest, and god he still takes up the room. Even though you’re further away, it still seems like you can smell the cologne as if it’s sitting right on the skin below your nose.

“Do your moves always work on women?” you ask before taking a good swig of your seltzer.

He shrugs in response and turns around to dig a beer from the fridge. You don’t bother to hold back the urge to leer at him. You want to grab his ass, listen to him squeal in surprise, and blush in embarrassment when you squeeze. The thought of digging your fingers into the skin of it as he fucks you nice and slow makes your mind short circuit, a computer rebooting and making a loud noise before frying out indefinitely.

“On the rare occasion that I happen to use them, yes they always work. But…obviously not on you.”

“I’m not easy to win over. You need to be worth my time.” Your eyes flicker up to his face before he turns around to face you.

He takes a swig of his beer and you watch the way his Adam’s apple bobs with each swallow. The column of his throat is long and pale and you want to slide your tongue along the side to taste the saltiness of his skin.

“What’s it going to take?”

His interest in you is admirable, and a small part of you is giddy with the attention. But you’re nervous to give him an inch when most are quick to take a mile.

“I have a name so stop calling me princess. I’m not a royal, so unless you’re offering me land, money, or power, I don’t want to hear it.”

He barks out another laugh, his thick chest shaking and eyes closing as he throws his head back. You despise how good it sounds and you’re reminded of these moments when men seem so beautiful and wonderful before the ugliest parts of them are visible.

“What else?” he inquires, still chuckling as he takes another long sip.

“If you’re expecting sex from me, think again. I don’t do one-night stands or friends with benefits. It’s messy and I just don’t have the strength for it.”

He seems to consider your remark as if he has no choice but to weigh your stipulation before signing a contract. Then he smirks that devilish smirk that makes your cunt pulse between your thighs when you know damn well it shouldn’t. You cannot be this turned on by this man.

“Not even if I have a big dick?” he teases.

He’s annoying and you’re mildly disgusted but still willing to banter with him, so you grimace and roll your eyes. “What, you want me to take a look first before I make up my mind?”

He full-on grins, the fucker. “If that’s what it takes.”

But in true fashion, you bounce back with your own quip. “Public indecency is a crime and I also don’t like to look at cock until after I’ve eaten something. It’s nauseating.”

Laughter erupts from him once again, loud and boisterous that it seems to shake the oven against your back. He probably thinks you’re joking. But you’re not. Dick already looks alien. Looking at dick on purpose without any sense of arousal is pathological behavior.

Your heart flips in your chest when he pushes off the refrigerator again, taking a swig of his beer as he saunters to you and the sight is criminal. Your fingers dig just slightly into the metal can in your hands, a faint pop emanating from it.

“What are you bothering me for anyway,” you can’t help but ask, frustration coating your words as you frown more at yourself than at Toji. “I have so many other cousins here who are single and would love to get their hands on you.”

At first, he doesn’t respond, and in the silence, you struggle to take a full breath again. You don’t like that he’s so close to you, but you also love the way he smells and the way he looks at you as if you’re someone and not something to fucking eat. You’re a fucking mess.

His head tilts slightly, and his hair follows the movement, brushing against his cheeks as his eyes take you in instead of scrutinizing you.

The air feels thin again, and you ready yourself to leave when your pregnant aunt suddenly barges back into the kitchen and stops short at the scene. Toji takes a slow step back, not really bothering to fumble at being so close to you. You’re sure he doesn’t really care.

She’s your favorite for a reason because she understands. She’s not dismissive and mean and she simply smiles knowingly at you both before gesturing with her head towards the backdoor.

“Time to eat. Honey, why don’t you show Toji what’s what before your uncles steal everything.”

***

He stays close to you when you both make it outside, and you do your best to ignore your bitchy aunt’s gaze from her perch in one of the patio chairs. The spread of food makes your mouth water and you waste no time grabbing a plate for yourself and absentmindedly handing Toji one as well.

“I’ve never had some of this before,” he admits, and his voice is a little apprehensive from next to you as he takes everything in. It makes sense, this is probably his first cookout…his first black cookout at least. Strangely, you’re proud to be the one to guide him along.

“What is this?” he asks, pointing to the heavy helping of greens and ham hocks on his plate minutes later. You’re both at a small table alone and away from the noise.

“Collard greens…it’s a cabbage that’s cooked in a pot for a few hours with spices and broth. The ham hocks give it flavor, cook it before you add the greens so the meat falls off the bone better.”

You bite your lip to keep from laughing as Toji gives them a wayward glance, an arch of a thin brow that makes his features more handsome than they should be, and then he takes a tentative bite before moaning sinfully in appreciation. The vertebrae of your spine lock in place, stiff with a sudden chill at the noise as you picture it slipping from his lips while you ride him until the hinges fall off.

You take your own bite to stop anything stupid from coming out of your mouth.

You figure he has to eat to accommodate for his size but to see it in action is something else entirely. He finishes two plates in fifteen minutes and as he makes his way to get another serving, your bitch of an aunt speaks up from across the lawn.

“Why don’t you get up and get him another plate?”

Why don’t you shut the fuck up?

You grip the plastic fork in your hand tightly, digging into your diminishing potato salad and swallowing the vile that you want to throw her way.

Make your man a plate before you make yours, get him a drink, get him another helping so he doesn’t have to, keep him fed.

Maybe this is why you’re single. You want to scream. You want—

“Don’t listen to her. You’re still eating, don’t move,” he levels, and you don’t miss the hint of irritation in his own voice as he gets up. “The same seltzer as before?” he asks, pointing to your drink that you didn’t realize was empty.

“I—”, you fumble before clearing your throat. “I like the strawberry one…if there’s any left.”

He shoots a wink your way and your body ignites with heat.

Your cousin worms her way over when Toji disappears, and you try your best to ignore the sly look on her face.

“Defending your honor from our bitchy aunt? My, my, the perfect recipe for your feminist heart.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you growl, shoving the last of the potato salad in your mouth.

“He’s Shiu’s best friend. Moved here from Japan a few months ago and is living in the same city as you. It could be fate? You want his number?”

“Shut the fuck up,” you snap again, feeling exasperated but knowing that unless Shiu is here to stop her, she will talk until she’s tired or you’re swinging at her.

She giggles, undeterred and gearing up for more. “He’s single too. And you’ve got all our other cousins mad as hell because he won’t leave you alone.” You don’t reply, because you’re mildly intrigued and impressed with yourself. It’s nice to have the attention from someone so attractive; it’s just figuring out if he’s genuine that’s the headache. “When the music gets louder tonight…or when the fireworks go off, take him upstairs and fuck him on—”

“Didn’t I say—fuck you.”

She guffaws, loud and unabashed and it pulls a smile from the side of your mouth. You know she doesn’t mean it, you know that at gatherings like these, you’re the black sheep and she just wants you to enjoy yourself.

“Seriously though, cousin. Shiu doesn’t keep many around, but they’ve been friends since they were kids. That’s a good sign right?”

There’s some merit to it, but you still want to be careful.

And Toji Fushiguro makes it hard for you to be careful because he wants you around him all the time and is unashamed to show it.

Later in the night when the music is booming old school hip hop that your uncle won’t shut up about (he’s drunk), your other uncles—and a few cousins they will definitely con—have a table already bustling with spades. At first, you’re unsure how they convinced Toji to join, but he’s partnered with one of your cousins who has no clue about the game, and you realize they just want Toji to lose so they can feel good.

Feeling curious, you pretend to bring Toji a beer. He’s frowning down at the cards, irritated with his lips curled into a small scowl and your cousin is trying to act like he knows what to do, but his stupidity is palpable even from where you stand.

You offer him a beer and ignore the fact that the one on the table is still full. When he looks up at you, his sharp eyes hold you like a vice, frustration evaporating quickly before opportunity takes its place.

“Help me.” He doesn’t bother to hide the confusion in his voice and you can’t help the way your stomach flips.

One of your uncle’s snickers. “She doesn’t know how to play.” You do. “But she can try.”

You’re so annoyed, and you want to snap at him but Toji is pulling you closer to him with a muscular arm before you can. You’re in his lap before you know it, sitting precariously on a thick thigh with your back pressed against a broad chest and you can’t breathe again. The fluctuating altitudes are making you lightheaded.

Any other time and you wouldn’t hesitate to turn around and knock a man’s teeth in for grabbing you. But against your better judgment, you relax into Toji instead. His cheap cologne smells way too fucking good, he’s so big and warm against your body and your throat is drying up like you’ve taken a big breath in the middle of the Sahara.

“Don’t grab me like that,” you can’t help but grumble, only mildly put off.

“I improvised.” It’s a feeble excuse wrapped around a heavenly chuckle in your ear and you pray to whoever is listening, mentally offering up a sacrificial lamb, anything to ensure you don’t drip all over his thigh. “Now help me win.”

You do. Three times. He's adamant about winning and you're sure he has a gambling problem. And if your legs go a little numb from sitting on his thigh or if you lean into the way his outside hand slides to hold the curve of your waist, you don’t complain about it.

***

“You don’t dance?” Toji asks an hour later, joining you on the blanket that you occupied when you first arrived. It’s almost sunset, and the orange of the sky covers half of the backyard as your family revels in their merriment.

You shrug at Toji’s question, gazing at members of your family who are dancing in the yard. One of your loudest uncles is boasting about the music as he teaches one of your cousins dance steps. That used to be you so many years ago, and the moves are like muscle memory as you watch them. One of your aunts takes over the stereo, beginning what will surely be an hour of reminding everyone of the greatest hits.

You suddenly realize that it’s just you and Toji on the blanket. Your cousin and Shiu are off god knows where, and given her penchant for being a rebellious freak, she’s probably riding him on your uncle’s bed. The thought makes you shudder.

“Are you cold?” he probes, pulling you out of your thoughts.

It is cooler now, but that’s not why you were shivering. You’re ready to tell him no, to start shaking your head even as you watch him pull his own jacket off to place it over your shoulders. His hands smooth over your shoulders and down your arms as if securing it closer to your skin and your blood boils beneath your cheeks. Your skin isn’t light enough to show when you’re blushing, but you’re burning with nervousness.

“Stop being so nice to me,” you hiss instinctively, regretting the words as soon as they leave your mouth. The surprise is evident on his face and you immediately feel guilty. “I’m—I’ll only be mean to you in return.”

For the first time of the night, he looks angry. His eyebrows dip, the scar on his cheek twists with the harsh frown on his lips and he gives a severe ‘tch’ that makes you gape at him. “Why because you’re mean to men?” he snaps, impatient and free of any tease.

It raises your hackles instantly, and you’re talking back before you know it. “Exactly. So why don’t you take a hint and stop trying to get into my pants—”

You feel a rough finger on the side of your cheek turn you further towards him, preventing you from looking at anything else.

“You just don’t like bullshit. Stop acting up and let me be nice to you.”

For once, you don’t have anything to say even though your hand is twitching with the urge to slap the words from his mouth. You want to. It’s easy for you to fight back and push them away, you’re good at it. But you can’t fight the way his gaze seems to calm you down against your better judgment.

You pull your face from his hold and roll your shoulders, sliding out of his sharp gaze and turning back to your lively family. One of your cousins is arguing about why the Cowboys didn’t make it into the playoffs, and now everyone has something to say.

You pull in a deep breath, scolding yourself to relax just a little. He hasn’t been so bad, and you’re not one to make things intentionally difficult if a man is honestly trying. You’re still apprehensive about his intentions…but he is trying without being a beast. So you exhale your frustrations into the July air, calm down so your heart can steady its frantic pounding from the lingering scent of his cologne, and dig your fingers into your uncle’s well-kept grass.

“Fine. If I let you be nice to me…what would be the next thing you would say?”

You can’t look at him, but you feel his eyes on your body as you pluck a few blades of grass from the soil. The strands slide against the pads of your fingertips, rough and threatening to cut, before fluttering in the breeze when you release them.

He’s grabbing you again, tenderly but possessively, sliding you into his embrace so your back is to his muscular chest, his chin rests on the side of your temple and his arms wrap around your waist. Your heart is back to leaping in your chest, pumping loud and fast in your ears, drowning out the music and arguing as if you’re underwater.

“How about you tell me about your family?” he suggests, voice unmuffled through the thickness of your hearing.

It’s a random ask, as if he wants to impress them, as if you’ve been dating for a long period of time and he wants to be prepared to meet them for the first time. The thought doesn’t leave a bad taste in your mouth, even though you know it would never be a reality anyway. You don’t know if he’s just joking and frankly, the feel of him against you is warmer than his jacket on your shoulders and you don’t want to leave.

So, if it means he can stay put, you give in. You tell him about your aunts, uncles, and cousins—where they are from and what they do. You share your traditions when you all get together and the small intricacies you all share. It’s incredibly personal…maybe even too intimate. But he listens, and hums to let you know he’s paying attention, and asks you questions as you talk.

Eventually, his cheek rests on the crown of your head against your braids and you surprisingly don’t mind at all. When you notice his arms wrapped around you, you get a better view of the scars on his arms and fingers, and there is a rising urge to ask how he got each one.

“So she’s been married twice?” his voice is low in your ear so you can only hear him in the noisy backyard. His breath smells faintly of the beer he finished an hour ago, and it slides along the skin of your neck hot and thick. You resist the urge to cant your neck to the side to give his breath more room to roam.

You nod. “She got the fillers after the first husband. Those brought in the second husband. Then he left her for some girl in Cali.”

“Cali?’ he questions, confused.

You snort softly. “California.” You elbow him and the bone slides against hard muscle. Dammit. “You don’t know your states?”

“I’m foreign, not stupid.” The laugh that bubbles from your chest is sharp and you can’t help the smile that pulls against your cheeks from it. “I know my states!” He sounds truly annoyed and for some reason that makes you laugh harder. “Florida, Kansas—”

“I’m not asking you to prove yourself!” you sputter around a giggle, shaking in his embrace. But he’s not listening.

“Montana, New York…there’s another one…the big one.”

You gawk, turning just a little to crane your head up at him. He looks down at you with an embarrassed expression, his cheeks a little rosy even though his lips are flickering with the urge to laugh.

“I beg your finest pardon…the big one?”

The side of his face twists in the nastiest way, and he’s angry at being questioned. “Don’t—it’s the one down below!”

“In relation to what?”

His eyes narrow, emerald barely noticeable between thick lashes. You can sense his hold on you tightening slightly, his chest stutters in a huff and you realize with rising glee that he’s pouting. Normally you would revel in this…but—

“Texas,” you find yourself speaking up at him, voice soft and gentle on the edges. “The big one down below is Texas.”

He simply hums, his chest vibrating against your back, but his gaze is smoldering, taking you in and dipping down to your lips before flickering back up your eyes. You’re too hot now, his jacket against your skin too suffocating, your heart beating too fast against your ribcage.

You hate just how rebellious you like to be. “What, you gonna kiss me?”

The challenge is fleeting across his features and he leans down so quickly that you don’t have time to react. Your stomach flips with irritation at the implication that he would take from you without asking, and suddenly, you no longer want him touching you.

“I wouldn’t take it without asking,” he whispers in the small space between you both as if reading your thoughts. The tips of his raven locks brush against your cheek, there’s a slight kink in your neck from how you are looking up at him, but he’s so close that you don’t care. One of his hands skims up from your waist, caressing the curve of your ribs, and his thumb teasingly runs along the underside of your clothed breast. His touch is reactive in you, and you angle your body further into his actions. His gaze remains locked on yours, absorbing your very being without doing a thing and you’re fighting to stay in control.

“So can I?” he asks, voice deep with temptation. “Kiss you?”

You swallow the bucket of drool that has somehow pooled in the back of your throat in seconds. The thumping of your heart no longer fills your ears, replaced now by a deafening ringing, spurred by your growing desire as you open your mouth to respond.

“I…depends…are you any good?”

He nonchalantly shrugs, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes as his scarred lips twist into a smirk. He’s completely calm and you can tell if you told him no, he would leave it alone entirely. But he’s enjoying this, you can see it all over his face.

“Jury’s still out.”

You don’t trust yourself to say ‘yes’. Some part of you feels like if it comes out of your mouth, it will sound too desperate and you want to stay in control as much as you can. But, you could give yourself this. You’ve earned it. Just one kiss and then you could hide away until the fireworks and then use the noise as a cover to leave. After all, he’s hot. He’s been so nice and honest and the warning siren in your mind has long faded.

You deserve a reward.

So you nod, stiffly but enough for him to notice, and the air seems to thin out again when he leans in a little more.

“Toji!” one of your uncles calls out, severing through the heavy cloud of lust between you both like a knife. You recoil from his touch, his touch now only making you itchy, and you pull from his embrace so that his arms unravel and his jacket slides off your shoulders. The cooler air is freezing this time against your skin. “Come help me with the fireworks, would you?”

You don’t pay attention to his response, because you’re already up on your feet and making your way inside the house. Your body floods with the embarrassment and shame of being caught by your family…kissing a man that you’ve just met. You know you shouldn’t care…but it’s so easy for their behavior to rub off on you when you feel vulnerable.

***

Thankfully, no one is in the kitchen when you finally make it inside. The music dulls down when you close the backyard door and the ringing in your ears is now silent.

You resolve to stay inside until the fireworks go off. No one is really paying attention to you anyway—most of them are drunk, others too absorbed in the music and gossip so it’s a perfect chance for you to duck away and show your face again next year.

Should you tell Toji goodbye?

No.

No, you hardly know the man. Just a few hours in good company and a kiss that almost happened that you probably would have let escalate. You probably would have let his tongue slide into your mouth. Probably would have let him pull you into one of the spare rooms, eat you out until you’re seeing stars, and then bend you over the edge of the bed to fuck you until he—

For fuck’s sake.

You yank open one of the kitchen cabinets in search of a glass. You need water because your body is piping hot. There’s a sheen of sweat on your neck beneath the layer of braids that fell when Toji laid his cheek on your head, and your hands are slick as they press into the counter to give you strength to peek into one of the lower shelves. Of course, the only one in the cabinet would be on the highest shelf. Of course, you’re too fucking short.

You climb onto the counter, knees digging into the off-white surface as you lift yourself up and peer into one of the higher shelves. You spot a glass, and you can have a heaping glass to cool yourself off enough to get you home. And then you can just use your vibrator once and go to sleep. Or twice. Or maybe a third time to get the thought of him out of your mind for the foreseeable future.

Unbeknownst to you, he’s standing behind you. You didn’t even hear the back door open and close. But you catch a glimpse of a long, muscular arm reaching past your ear to grab the glass. You’re frozen, your fingers digging into the wooden shelf, unable to turn around and face him, even though you can feel his gaze hot on your skin.

Your plan is shattered, and you have no choice but to come up with an excuse to leave him. You’re combing through scenarios in your mind as you slowly slide down and perch yourself on the countertop, finally facing him. He places the glass on the counter, away from you, and closes the distance between you until the ridges of his clothed abs brush against your knees. His hands are searing against your skin as they rest on your knees and you watch his thumbs trace an obscure pattern with a touch that is featherlight.

“Your uncle interrupted us,” Toji finally speaks, his voice carrying a hint of hopefulness despite his attempt to maintain a neutral expression. His gaze, so harsh and sharp, is alluring in its own way, tempting you to relax the steady clench of your thighs.

“It probably wasn’t a good idea anyway,” you chuckle, self-deprecation rising to the surface of your skin and prickling against the pores.

“Why not?”

Maybe because you would be too much for him and scare him away? Maybe the fear of being too demanding in bed, of not being able to stop once he kisses you, lingers in your thoughts, making the idea of having him only once and never again infuriating.

“I’ll leave you alone, if that’s what you want. I’ll get you water and let you sneak away when the fireworks go off because I know you want to…even though you shouldn’t give a fuck about what your family thinks…but I would really like that kiss.”

Analyzing his features, you take in the sincerity reflected in the moss-green of his eyes. It’s a last-ditch effort to make sure something else isn’t hiding there, and you find yourself coming up short.

Slowly, you part your legs for him to stand between. His hands slide up your thighs tantalizingly slow, leaving a trail of fire in their wake before pushing the fabric of your red sundress up to your waist. You try to ignore the way the cool air on your panties does little to quell the heat radiating from them. His hands wrap around your waist and a gasp heaves from your lips when he yanks you to him, your thighs brushing the sides of his thick waist.

One of the hands on your waist trails up to the side of your neck, gently tilting your head up, so you can look fully at him as his thumb traces the skin of your bottom lip.

“You better make it good,” you challenge, hoping your faux annoyance can mask the anticipation building in your gut.

He sees right through it and simply hums before he leans down to finally seal his lips against yours. He’s a big man, an overwhelming man, and you feel it in his kiss as his lips take every ounce of breath you have in your lungs. He tastes like the pound yellow cake that everyone got to before you could and a hint of beer and it’s the perfect combination that you want more of.

His hands are under your dress, brushing beneath your thighs for traction and pulling you impossibly closer to the point where you feel your clothed center brush against the zipper of his jeans. You dig your hands into the fabric of his shirt, twisting and silently commanding for him to give you more. You open your mouth to coax him and his tongue is wet and insistent against yours.

You can feel your resolve dissipating in the air, fizzling against the heat that radiates from your body and your self-control is walking on a tightrope, precariously and seconds away from falling. And once it’s gone, you’ll be a woman unhinged.

He yanks you to him again as if its not enough, harder this time with a growl in the back of his throat that makes you gasp into his mouth, then rolls his hips against yours and behind his zipper you feel him hard and bulging and angry and oh—

You pull away with a harsh breath, gasping for air and biting back a moan that gurgles in your throat when his mouth works its way down the skin of your neck. Your skin is sensitive, and it buzzes with the touch of his lips and invokes a fervent need so deep within you that you’re losing awareness of where you are. You’re lightheaded, brain in the fucking stratosphere and you have to lay down, you have to—

He’s guiding you onto your back before you can do it yourself and the cool counter is a balm against the skin of your exposed shoulders and back. He looms over you from his place between your legs, big and muscular and reeking of hunger.

“Toji,” you try to speak into the air, stifling a whimper at the sight of him stretching out your leg to rest on his shoulder.

One of his large hands caresses the canvas of your calf before you watch his lips kiss your chocolate skin. His rough scar scratches against you in the most delightful way as his mouth kisses up your calf, bends your leg to get closer, and then resumes his touch on the inside of your thigh. His face should be melting with the amount of heat emitting from between your legs, but he must relish in the burn because the second his tongue slides thick and wet against your clothed cunt, you whimper pathetically into the air.

You have just enough common sense to break from the desire to be fucked thoroughly to whisper.

“Toji, we can’t,” you swallow against the dryness in your throat. “Someone could see.”

You can feel the impatience on his body in waves but he has to listen to you. If your family were to walk in here right now to see their niece or cousin being eaten out like a gourmet meal, the Earth would swallow you whole.

“Shit,” he hisses, pulling you into his arms and carrying you out of the kitchen. You don’t care enough to tell him where to go; you’re too hot, too wet in your panties, and your need is twisting at the base of your spine in the most irritating way, begging to be soothed.

You hear the beginnings of fireworks being popped off in the backyard and your family is loud, thankfully so loud as Toji locks the door to the bathroom and drops you unceremoniously onto the counter. Though the metal of the faucet digs into the small of your back and you fall into the mirror as you clamber to get yourself in order, you can’t bring yourself to care. He’s on you again, all teeth and lips and sinful tongue in your mouth with equally sinful hands digging impatiently into the sides of your panties.

“Take them off,” you demand, practically whining and in less than a second you can only get one leg out before he’s sinking to his knees, eyes wild and shoulders heaving with untamed breaths.

“God, you’re so fucking wet. So damn pretty,” he whispers in reverence, throwing your legs over his shoulders, and the compliment makes your cunt throb in anticipation.

You can’t be sure if he’s talking to you or himself. Before you can breathe to calm yourself, it’s catching in your throat, hitching against a moan as his tongue licks a long wet stripe up the slit of your dripping cunt. His tongue parts your folds as if it’s the sea, savoring your essence and then sucking your clit into his mouth like it’s the cherry on top and you love it, whine at the feel, eyes crossing and rolling into the back of your head at the exquisite feeling.

He pulls away for a moment, taking a deep breath as if to regain control, and kisses the inside of your thigh before sliding two fingers up your dripping center, collecting your slick before beginning to rub circles on your clit. He’s mesmerized, and you take a moment to marvel at just how little of his green eyes are visible to you, his pupils are dilated with hunger and focused on the way your cunt moves with his fingers.

“Your bitch of an ex ever eat you out?”

You really don’t want to think about him right now, and you also don’t like the thought of someone feeling like they need to prove themselves to you.

But there’s a big man between your thighs who wants to unwrap you like candy. So you shrug, panting softly as you speak, “Every now and then.”

Toji scoffs, eyes seeming to darken like a forest at night.

“Every now and then,” he parrots, voice incredulous as if he’s heard the most insane thing ever, like he can’t believe it.

He increases the pressure on your clit harshly, causing you to buck against him, yelping in satisfied shock when he flicks your sensitive bud hard with his tongue.

“I’ll make you feel good, princess. Don’t you worry.”

The nickname doesn’t have the effect as before. No, this time you moan in response, your guts churning with satisfaction at the prospect of being worshiped.

Slowly the two fingers on your clit slide into you, testing the waters, gauging if you’re okay, and your jaw slackens at the feel of the stretch. Fingering is an art, an act that requires patience and skill. You have to know the right pace, when to curl, how to know a woman’s body to determine what she wants. It’s glorious when it’s done right.

And god, does Toji do it right.

He’s thorough and fluid in his strokes, using the tempo of your moans to curl at just the right time and sucking and licking your clit like he’s ravenous and your head is falling back into the space between your shoulder blades, eyes wide with disbelief as you stare at the ceiling.

The fireworks are consistent outside, popping off every second and it’s loud enough that you have the courage to voice how Toji is making you feel.

“Every now and then,” he hisses again to himself, angry and curling his fingers a little harder. You jerk against him, whimpering like a fool when you feel his tongue flick your clit harder as a reward. “He’s so fucking stupid. You taste so good, it’s unbelievable.”

He’s curling more now, brushing against that spongy wall that zings heat to your belly. Your insides churn, a molten heat popping to splatter against the base of your spine, pleasure coaxing you to reach that precipice that will let you fall apart.

Vaguely you hear him whispering words into the skin of your thighs that you can’t decipher, the thrumming in your ears too loud to hear anything else beyond the fireworks outside, your escalating moans, and the obscene sounds of him slurping you up. The muscles in your thighs begin to tighten, your fingers are sweaty as they slide against the cool marble of the bathroom counter, and you dig your wedges into the muscles of his back, white panties dangling off one ankle. He’s so good, so thorough and your breath is hitching, choking on a moan.

“There you go princess, cum all over my fingers. Get me nice and messy.”

His deep words are accompanied by a sharp bend of his fingers and you’re cumming with a shout, rejoicing in the hot pleasure that puddles along your bones. It’s abrupt and overwhelming, pulling a sharp current down your body that makes your back arch until it bumps into the sink behind you. He’s groaning from his place between your legs, still pumping his fingers and licking your clit to collect as much of your slick as he can.

By the time you look down at him, you’re still catching your breath, your thighs tremble from the sudden chill injected into your muscles. You catch Toji just in time to watch him begin to slip his two dripping fingers into his mouth, but you snatch his wrist, riding off the high of your orgasm to slip his digits into your mouth instead. Thin rings of green widen in surprise and you savor the way his cheeks darken as you swirl your tongue around his digits.

“You’re unreal,” he gulps when you pop his fingers out of your mouth.

You shrug, not willing to show him just how powerful you feel, and wrap your legs around his waist, panties still caught on the buckle of one of your wedges.

“I’m letting you be nice to me, remember? So what’s next?”

With a harsh pull, he stumbles closer to you, his hands slamming against the marble counter on either side of your waist. His breath hitches as you hastily undo his belt, eyes widening as he takes in the way you leer up at him.

“You got me a drink, defended my honor from my bitchy aunt, asked me about my family, ate my pussy…you wanna fuck me now?”

“I—” he starts, caught off guard by your forwardness.

“You want to bend me over this counter, make me look in the mirror while I take your cock? Smack my ass and make me beg for you to fill me up?”

“You’ve got a mouth on you,” Toji chokes on a nervous laugh, hissing when your fingers graze the sensitive skin above his belt.

“Is that a problem?”

The hair of his happy trail is faint and dark just like the hair on his head, and your touch makes his stomach bunch in sensation. He shakes his head in response and you want to laugh so bad at the sight of him struggling to swallow. You haven’t done anything to the man, but he’s sensitive to your touch, and that makes the blood in your veins sing.

“If you’re letting me have you, you can have it however you want.”

Arousal hums to life between your legs, and you can’t help but be turned on at how much he’s giving you. You want him now and while the prospect of being fucked over the counter was what you had hoped, if your family comes in and hears you taking it like a champ, you’ll never show your face again.

So when the door to your truck’s backseat closes, you’re climbing back on his lap, relaxing further into him with the knowledge that you can be as noisy as you want. Your uncle has a seven-month supply of fireworks and land in the middle of nowhere, Hennessey, and classics booming from his sound system… it’s going to be loud for a very long time.

You’re running on your own current of desire at this point, pawing at his shirt so he can finally yank it off his shoulders and you’re drooling. He’s glorious and you don’t hesitate to rub your hands down firm pectorals, between the abs on his torso, and along the musculature of his Adonis belt. He’s cut like a marble statue, something that takes a painstaking process to hammer and smooth over until the result is almost—

“Let me take you out,” he suddenly suggests, voice gravelly with want but insistent.

Huh?

You’re immediately puzzled, eyebrows dipping into a furrow as you try to decipher his words. His hair is wild, black strands splintering and bushy but still giving you a gateway to his eyes and you see that he’s completely serious.

“On…a date?” A lift of his thin eyebrow in reply and the reality of him actually showing interest flags dangerously against your desire to ride him into oblivion. “Just the dopamine talking, I’m sure,” you say, hoping to dismiss the idea. You hadn’t expected him to actually…want to take you out. You can’t think about that right now because your head is too thick with hunger to try and have a conversation.

He hums, low and dangerous, a hand brushing the skin above your clit and you’re reminded of just how wet you still are from his sloppy tongue minutes before.

“You’re the only one here that’s cum, princess. I’m being serious.”

“It’ll pass,” you reply immediately, licking into his mouth to shut him up.

Thankfully he doesn’t try to interject because you don’t have time to talk right now—you don’t want to. You don’t know Toji, not well enough. While tonight has been one of the most relaxed evenings you’ve spent with a man in a long time, you’re unsure if he genuinely wants you or if he’s merely carried away by the thrill of being with a woman.

He tried to come onto you the minute he laid eyes on you, tried to kiss you after a few hours, and pocketed your panties even though you pretended to be oblivious. You just don’t know. If you had a pretty girl in your lap, you would probably say the same things. Ask her on a date, make her feel wanted so she’s more giving when you slide her panties off.

It’ll pass.

And that’s what you tell yourself when you feel his large hands palm your ass beneath your sundress. You are teeth against him, nipping his tongue, biting the skin of his jaw, the meat of his neck, and the sharp groan that you pull from him in response makes you drip like a bitch in heat against his jeans.

“Take off your pants,” you whisper to him sharply, turning around and leaning over the center console to fish a condom from inside. You had discovered them months ago, and they should have been more than enough for you to dump your ex then.

“Shit,” you hear Toji hiss from behind you before your ass stings from his slap against it. You yelp, jumping from the contact and you hope he can see your cunt pulse from between your thighs in response. “Hurry up, baby.”

When you face him again, you freeze, eyes widening at the sight of his cock. As you take him in, he snatches the condom from your hand and unfurls it on his cock.

Surprisingly trimmed with dark hair, he’s thick—not enough to be painful—but enough to enjoy the stretch so you can ride him until he flatlines and enjoy the ache in your thighs in the morning. It’s perfect; pale with a red tip that leaks into the tip of the condom, a vein along the side that you can’t lick without tasting latex. It’s a shame.

He throws you that devilish smirk, eyes twinkling in pride before he taps his thigh and beckons you like the best ride at the carnival.

“Hop on, princess.”

Your fingers grip the hair at his nape when you feel him inside of you. It’s a delicious stretch that you have to breathe through, and the feel of his hands affectionately stroking your back catches you off guard. You don’t hate it; in fact, you want to lean into it, but you don’t want to give him any ammunition for something you aren’t sure about. So you slide down to the hilt and listen to Toji curse sharply through the sudden heat of you before you start a steady rhythm that throws him off.

Within seconds, you increase your pace, riding him with an intensity that makes the air in your throat catch and drag along the sides. He’s got a satisfying curve to him that grazes those magical spots within you to make the grip on his nape tighten like a vice. Your head is foggy with an overpowering mist that makes your mouth loose and your inhibitions low.

“You feel so good,” he whispers, pulling you out of the delirium you were basking in to focus on him. His jaw is relaxed, hot air puffing from between an open mouth and onto the skin of your neck, a few strands of his hair stick to his forehead and the sides of his cheeks and there’s a slight furrow to his thin eyebrows as if he’s trying to concentrate.

You’re giddy with desire. “Let me guess,” you tease, lips brushing against his. “Am I tight?”

“Yes,” he replies without hesitation, eyelids hooded and upper cheeks darkening with a blush that spreads down his neck.

“Am I nice and hot?”

“Yes, fuck yes, baby.”

It’s meant to tease, because every man that has ever slid inside of you in the past says the same shit, but to hear it from him brings a strange sense of satisfaction that you find yourself slanting your lips against his. He still tastes like the yellow cake that you never got, but the flavor is intertwined with the remnants of your essence that still lingers on his tongue that dances with yours.

You plant your knees harder into the seat on each side of him, use your muscles to bear down and give you more control, and then you roll your hips, guiding him in and out in a tantalizing dance that elicits groans from him and makes him roll his head back against the headrest.

“Let me take you out,” he gasps into the air and you refuse to answer him—you can’t. It’s harder now to believe his sincerity because he’s delirious with lust. “Answer me.”

You growl softly and yank your hands from his hair to push down the straps of your sundress. You’re not wearing a bra, and he cusses like he just stubbed his toe as he watches your breasts spill free.

“Stop talking,” you whisper and yank his head forward, beckoning him to you and he catches on quickly, licking and sucking a nipple before pulling it into his mouth. The sensation makes you shudder, a gentle pleasure that your cunt appreciates and you pick up your pace on him again. “Stop asking me. Just let me fuck you.”

He bites down in retaliation to pull a squeak from you and licks over the sting in a half-assed apology. When you look down, his gaze is illuminated by the streetlights, a harsh glare that showcases his annoyance with your deflection, but his eyes droop when you squeeze around him in response.

You’re stuffed full of him, stretching along the sides, punching the air out of your throat with each bounce on his cock and your legs begin to burn with the build-up of exertion. Your nipples are wet and sensitive against his taste buds as he teases each peak into his hot mouth and it helps to mix that pot of pleasure in your stomach to life again.

You can feel it, like a crescendo of waves crashing against a dock, but the waves are coming in quicker and more turbulent with every moan and cry that falls from your lips. You push him off of your chest, dig your fingers into his shoulders for more leverage so you can ride his cock like you have nothing left to lose.

His chest is blooming red, covered in a light sheen of sweat that dips between his pectorals and pools in his collarbones. Your bun of braids came loose when he was eating you out in the bathroom, and now some are heavy on your skin with sweat and plaster over your shoulders and between your sternum and you’re hot and sweaty and trying so hard to reign it in.

He doesn’t buck up into you and you’re unsure if it’s due to laziness or the fact that he simply wants to watch you while he brings himself closer to climax. You hope it’s the latter.

“Do you like this?” you pant into his mouth and nip his bottom lip. “You can tell me, you know. Be a good boy and tell me just how I’m making you feel.”

He groans and lands another smack to your ass that makes you gasp and arch further into him. It's the right amount of pain that makes your pussy pulse in response, the right amount of manhandling that can take you higher in a second.

“You’re a natural, princess. You ever ride him like this?”

You shake your head and he smacks your ass again, harder this time and digs his fingertips into the flesh to let the sting linger. It's so good, and you can't help the whine that you puff against his lips as he smirks up at you with a proud disposition.

“He couldn’t handle it. Probably why he cheated wasn’t it? You were too much for him. You know how you like it and he couldn’t deliver.”

You don’t answer him, but he’s right. He’s so right. He couldn’t stand it when you took control, hated when you asked him to do something that didn’t result in him being dominant, hated when he couldn’t even eat pussy without you having to ask.

The feel of his fingers on your clit makes you jump and you poke your fingers into his nape again and pick up your pace, panting and moaning like you’re running a marathon as the pleasure rocks inside of you like a pendulum.

“Oh god. Oh fuck, oh fuck,” you whisper, stomach burning.

You’re fluttering around him—pulsing and clenching and gushing over the thickest cock you’ve ever had and it’s glorious, you’re in fucking heaven.

The streetlight shines faintly into your truck, painting half of Toji’s face. He’s beautiful; that same annoying flicker of desire that captivated you when his green eyes met yours hours ago glimmers thin and dilated.

There’s a ruggedness to him that exudes masculinity, but glimpses into the depths of his eyes reveal a tender vulnerability that makes you wonder how soft he could be if he allowed you to get close enough.

The thought makes your cunt tighten around him, your thighs tense and fill with lactic acid and his fingers on your clit are unceasing, rubbing in a precise rhythm that makes you hiccup on a moan of incredulity. The hand not occupied with your clit is reclined across the headrest behind him and it makes him look unbearably sexy.

“I’ve never had a woman ride me like this,” he whispers, and you smile into his mouth, your kiss messy as you swallow down his compliment. He yanks you away and breathes that same insufferable ask against your lips.

“Let me take you out.” He rubs your clit faster, using the way you tighten around him as a guide to your pleasure, and his hand leaves the headrest to dig into the meat of your ass. “One chance. One dinner. I’ll give you what you deserve, whatever you want, princess. I promise just—”

“Stop it,” you whine and fight the burning sensation in your eyes. You’re so close, so fucking close and the storm inside of you is out of control but he won’t stop fucking talking. Won’t stop being so damn nice even though his cock is rearranging your guts in the nastiest way. You grip his hair and pull him closer to you so there’s no space between you to breathe. “Stop talking. Stop asking. Make yourself useful and make me cum.”

Thankfully he does. He scowls up at you behind the curtain of his hair but pinches your clit and you squeal, rolling your hips, riding him like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do. The windows have already fogged up, the truck rocks with your movements, and you are consumed with a blissful incoherence that forces you to surrender and let your walls crumble.

Your thighs burn, your dress clings to your sweaty body, and the stimulation on your clit becomes almost unbearable as you whine with the need to cum. He hisses loudly into the car, bares his teeth for a second, and then his eyes roll before he’s slack-jawed and panting into stuffy air, a current of groans beneath.

“That’s it, Toji,” you gasp, voice strained as you teeter on the brink of an orgasm that threatens to overwhelm you. “Be nice to me just like you said and give me everything like the good boy you are.”

The hand not on your clit slips against the sweat on your hips, and you lick up the side of his neck, savoring the salt taste of his perspiration on his smooth skin, just in time to hear him. It’s faint and low, practically a whisper but he chants--

‘Fuck yes, fuck yes. So fucking good. Ride me, sweetheart.’

It’s tilted in a whine, pathetically desperate, but the sound of him does the trick because the flick of his fingers on your clit makes the biggest wave of pleasure crash over you.

You don’t get the chance to tell him you’re cumming, you simply yank his head back from the sudden force, tilt your head up to the ceiling and cum with an exhausted and wrung out ‘fuck!’ that you’re sure your uncle’s neighbors will hear a mile down the road. You’re dumbfounded with pleasure, dizzy with it and your belly is hot and simmering as you gasp and whimper at just how good it feels.

He’s laying you back on the seat before you can catch your breath. You’re still coming down, still moaning to catch up but his large hands are under your knees and bending them towards your chest to chase his own orgasm. The edge of the seat digs into the crevice of your spine, and your hand flies out to smack against the back of the driver’s seat so you don’t fall but it slips with sweat, is hard to hold onto and you can hardly focus with everything that’s going on.

His mouth is on you, stealing your breath that you still can’t control, swallowing your moans as he fucks you with a ferocity that pulls your soul from your body. He pulls away with a deep moan and stares down at you with a look that makes you anxious—like he wants to see you again, like he wants to come to another cookout with your rowdy family if it means he can bother you some more—like he really likes you.

You know he’s going to try and say something that you may not be able to talk yourself out of, so you take the intense furrow in his eyebrows and the stuttering of his hips as a cue.

“You gonna cum?” you purr up at him, moaning weakly from the harsh thrusts that stroke you into overstimulation.

“Yes,” he answers without fail, eyes locked on yours. “Yes, I’m gonna cum. Fuck—”

Reaching up, you cup his cheek, unsure why but feeling an inexplicable need, and the words that fall from your lips help him across the finish line.

“Cum inside me, Toji. Take what you want and fill me up.”

His eyes widen before they roll closed and he’s slamming against you three times hard and rough before the deepest moan you’ve ever heard slips past his lips. He pants heavily stuttering tiny thrusts into you as he comes down, the tips of his hair drip a few drops of sweat onto your neck before he lowers himself to rest on top of you. He’s too big for the seat and his knee digs into the floor of the truck to maintain his balance. His hot breath washes over your neck, slowly calming down, and in your daze, you realize that you’re holding onto his shoulders.

The hard lines of Toji that you noted when you first saw him now feel gentle against you.

He rumbles your name into your neck and you’re cutting him off before the dopamine can speak for him.

“We should get back inside before someone finally notices that we’ve been gone.” He abruptly lifts to look down at you, annoyance etched on his devastatingly handsome face. He wants to argue, you can taste it, but your fear wins. “My bitchy aunt has been at me all night, the last thing I need is her snooping.”

He’s quiet still, the edge of his lips curling into a dissatisfied frown. It stretches his scar in a way that takes away from the beauty of his face. Makes him look more alien and you have to pull your gaze from him. But he doesn’t argue like you think he would. He doesn’t speak or try to talk back or voice how annoyed he is.

He slowly pulls out of you and you immediately miss the feeling, ties off the condom, and pulls you up tenderly from the seat. Your skin is sticky and the truck reeks of sex. The high has worn off and all that remains is the overwhelming unease that rises like bile in the back of your throat.

When you both are finally dressed and creeping out of the backseat, the cool air is a welcome feel to your overheated skin. It washes away your trepidation, if only for a moment. Toji looms over you, tall like a bear that you desperately want to sink your embrace back into, but he still doesn’t speak, and the crease of annoyance between his brows doesn’t leave. He should hold onto it. It will help him get over you.

“Do you mind getting my purse from inside the house? I don’t want to go back inside just yet and I need to check my phone.”

Impatience emanates from his every pore, yet you can sense his anxiety as he shifts his weight from foot to foot. But he still doesn’t fight and makes his way back inside without a word.

You lied.

Your purse is in the front seat of your car—you threw it up there when you both snuck into the vehicle in the first place, but his attention was too busy trying to feel you up than pay attention to the satchel hanging off your shoulder.

Once you see the front door close, you get into the front seat, start your car, and drive away without a second thought. Your hands grip the steering wheel tightly as the temptation to turn back tugs at you.

It may not be right to leave without saying goodbye, and lying to him has left a bitter taste in your mouth. Your family is too occupied with the fireworks and each other’s company to really notice your absence anyway, and you’re sure they’ll have no problem trying to distract Toji when he realizes that you’re gone.

The grip on the wheel doesn’t lessen, but you roll down the windows and let the evening July air wash away some of the sex that still lingers on the seats.

***

“So you did fuck him,” your cousin snickers over the speaker of your phone a week later.

It’s a Saturday night and you’re knee-deep in your wash day routine. It took you all day to take out your braids and the clear shower cap on your head traps the deep conditioner inside. You wipe away some of the excess near your ear.

You have Chinese waiting to be delivered, and you’re ready to finish your routine so you can go to bed. Your eyes are glued to your television playing some sort of nature documentary but your attention is elsewhere, specifically on trying to worm your way out of this conversation with your cousin. She’s called you every single day since the 4th and she’s done nothing but make you feel guilty about your abrupt departure.

As you expected, your family didn’t really notice your absence. But when Toji asked your cousin for your purse and then realized you had lied, he sulked in a lawn chair for the rest of the night before Shiu drove him home.

“Yes, I fucked him. So what?”

“Soooo do something about it. Fuck him again? He lives in the same city as you and is here indefinitely. Make a move—”

“It was a nice night, but he was already trying to flirt with me as soon as he saw me and I still entertained him and fucked him and—I shouldn’t have done that…I should have waited, maybe tested the waters more. He only tried to ask me out because he was horny as hell.”

She’s quiet on the other line, and you look up at the ceiling in exasperation because you can feel her annoying logic rev up before she fires away.

“So you’re just scared? Your ex cheated on you because he was a spineless pissy boy who slithered away because you didn’t take his shit. That’s not a reflection of you, at all. I know you like to have it all figured out before you make a decision, but not everything works out that way. Toji saw a fine ass black woman who talks her shit and he made a move. He’s a nice guy...a little rough around the edges, but truly…a nice guy. Someone for you.”

James Attenborough elegantly voices something about the cuttlefish on the screen while you try to contemplate what to say. She’s right. You hate that she’s right. It’s why you two are so close but still you retort in the best way you know how.

“Girl, fuck you.”

Her raucous laugh vibrates over the speaker in delight and you snort and roll your eyes when the doorbell cuts you off. The prospect of your Chinese food makes your mouth water and you’re rushing to the door.

Only it’s not your Chinese food at the doorstep, it’s Toji Fushiguro. Toji Fushiguro who is protected from the rain under the overhang of your apartment door with one hand in the pocket of his jacket and the other clutching a container. The annoyed look that you last saw on his face is gone, replaced by a neutral and bored look that seems natural for him, even though his eyes don’t convey that specific emotion. Those green eyes are reminiscent of your uncle’s well-maintained lawn as they look down at you with a nervous glint.

“Toji,” you breathe in disbelief. “How did you get my address…”

Your cousin squawks on the other line and swallows a giggle. “I’m gonna go—”

“Your cousin finally gave it to me.,” he replies simply and gestures down to the phone in your tight grip. “I’ve been trying to get it since you fucking left.”

“Damn, thanks?!” she barks at him. “Lemme get out of here, I’m getting another call anyway. Bye!”

You’re going to kill her. Slowly. Painfully and maybe in front of Shiu to get a few tears out of him if you’re feeling particularly evil.

You know she’s right about Toji, but you can’t do this. You shouldn’t have fucked him in the first place and you should have thought of a backup plan on the off chance that your cousin was going to be annoying and nosy as hell.

You ignore his intense and heavy gaze, shifting in discomfort, scratch the back of your neck, and blanch in horror when your fingers brush the edge of your shower cap. You’re wearing a large t-shirt, your feet are bare and your head is covered in a shower cap with deep conditioner leaking from the sides; a stark contrast from the calm and collected woman who snapped at him all day a week ago. Mortification washes over you in a heavy wave, drowning your mantra of not giving a fuck about a man’s opinion, and you step back to grab the door.

“Listen…I’m waiting for food and then I have to get ready for work in the morning. So you need—”

“You have time to spare then,” he cuts off and walks past you. You round on him, indignant in your gaze.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?! Get out, Toji!”

“You want me to leave? Hmm?” he asks, goading you like you don’t know if you’re sure.

You’re not sure, but—“Yes, goddammit! I shouldn’t have left but I don’t do this sort of thing! The moment you met me, you only wanted to get in my pants. And that makes you trying to ask me out while your cock is inside of me, a lot harder to believe!”

He firmly places the container in his hands on your kitchen counter, takes a deep breath to calm himself, and gives you a look that either makes you want to melt into him or slap it off his face.

“Listen—”

You’re on the defensive now, backed into a corner and ready to pull every card you have to just make him go away. “You here for a quick fuck then? Because you got me to let my guard down and because we had such a steamy time in the backseat of my truck, you thought, what? You could just show up and bend me over my couch?”

That flicker of irritation is back on his face and it crinkles the edges of his eyes, makes him look nasty and hostile.

“Fuck, will you stop—”

“Wanna have a little ‘situationship’ while you get acquainted with your new life here? Have me get nice and comfortable and as soon as I ask for something more, you’re jumping ship. Sounds like a good plan, doesn’t it?”

A sharp growl leaves his throat and he glares.

“Girl—” he starts and immediately stops, eyes wide as saucers at the venomous gaze that you shoot his way. There it is, a hint of a name to make you feel small and insignificant. It reminds you of your parents when you used to talk back and they slid the name to you in a warning to stop talking. You hate it and it stings that you have to hear it from him.

“Get out,” you bark, seething with a rage that brings a sting to your eyes.

He throws up his hands in frustration, looming like a bear from his place in your kitchen. “Will you just stop it!”

“I said—”

“Oh my fucking god—I like you!”

His admission catches you off guard, cutting through your anger, and you stare at him in astonishment. His face is red with embarrassment, eyes trained up at the ceiling as if asking the gods to give him patience. He takes a deep breath before meeting your gaze from across the kitchen.

“You don’t do this sort of thing?” he asks, gesturing between the two of you. You can’t find the words to respond, still too shocked, so you simply nod.

“What sort of thing is that? Flirting with you because you looked like the sexiest little thing in that backyard and I wanted your attention?” He’s annoyed, deep voice razor sharp as he speaks, but you don’t miss the step he takes closer to you.

“Me trying to make you feel better because your family is judgmental? Teaching me about the food you like because I’m not from here?”

He’s closer now and the air is thin again just like that night a week ago.

“Helping me win that little card game?” It’s spades, but you’re too lightheaded with how close he is to correct him. “Telling me about your family? What sort of thing is that? Hmm? Tell me.”

You don’t have a retort. You’re too stunned to speak even though you refuse to let the annoyed expression on your face vanish. You want to hold onto what little shreds of defiance you have left.

“You aren’t mean. You don’t tolerate bullshit, you don’t fuck around, and you put people in their place. You refuse to settle for less, and I already told you that’s what I like in a woman…And I like you.”

What do you even say? You never expected to see him again, and your mind is muddled as if you’re submerged in water. Your heart feels too big in your chest, your body too hot and sweaty and you’re nervous. He’s angry with his confession, almost annoyed and you’re beginning to realize that it is an emotion that’s second nature to him even if it’s not as intense as you think it is.

“Is that right?” you can’t help but test him, lifting a brow. You have to crane your neck just a little to look up at him.

He scoffs, the crease in his eyebrows smooths out and the scar on his lips twitches.

“Yea, that's fucking right. So…” he takes one more step closer and his body is brushing against yours. He smells mildly of toothpaste and bergamot from another brand of cheap cologne and the combination makes you weak in the knees. “Let me take you out.”

It’s the same demand that you’ve heard so many times now, but this time, it feels more serious, more meaningful with a hint of desperation. In the kitchen light, you can see just how silky his raven locks are and you grip your phone and the fabric of your t-shirt to resist the urge to run your hands through them.

“I’m listening,” you jest with a practiced air.

That wicked smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth, scar adding a devilish flair to his features, and your stomach burns with the realization that he’s too cocky for his own good, and you’ve unfortunately grown to like it.

“Shiu has tickets for something here called…football? He’s taking your cousin and has two extra tickets. Come with me and show me how to win.”

You can’t help the snort that leaves your mouth and your stomach flips at the genuine confusion on his face. “We don’t participate in the game. We watch it. But it’s fun.”

“All the more reason for you to come with me.”

“I…”

It’s a compelling argument, all of it is. And you want to, you really want to give this a shot and just be vulnerable for once. Because Toji seems like the kind of man who would let you be just who you are and would never make you feel lesser than about it.

The feel of his large hands cupping your cheeks pulls you out of your thoughts, and he tilts your face up to meet his gaze. His eyes are mesmerizing, like the color of pine trees right before the sun sets and you feel yourself weakening completely.

“One date, princess.”

The deep timbre of his voice does little to help you and it’s worse because it’s just how he fucking talks. You’re not a royal, and you don’t have land, lots of money, or power, but you can tolerate ‘princess’ if it’s coming from his mouth.

Just one date. You deserve it. You’ve earned the reward.

You wave away his hands from your face just so you can breathe a little easier. He chuckles but gives you your space, and makes his way to the door that you usher him towards.

“Fine. Make sure you bring cash because it’s easier at the concession stands. I want a pretzel…and a hot dog.”

He snickers as he pulls his hood over his head, obscuring most of his face except for the ethereal glow of his eyes. His teeth shine from his bright smile and you roll your eyes in response before watching him open your door.

“Toji?” you call, your voice softer…apprehensive.

He turns around to watch you shuffle to him, your feet and legs cold against the chill from the open door. You hand him your phone wordlessly and he takes the hint to insert his number. When he’s finished, you open your mouth to speak, lips shaping words that won’t come out—words you want to say. But you can’t. Not yet. Maybe one day.

For now, you throw him an annoyed eyebrow lift and grumble. “Parking is a real bitch, so pick me up early.”

You avert your gaze, frustrated at yourself for sounding so mean as usual. Because that’s just who you are. The bitter, mean—

A finger beneath your chin lifts your gaze to him and he kisses you full on the mouth, slow and reassuring, minty breath sliding into your mouth when he nips your bottom lip. The self-deprecating voice in your head finally quiets, smothered by a pillow held down by his scarred hands.

When he pulls away, that stupid smirk is on his face, but it’s not as teasing, and your heart does something weird in your chest that makes you swallow hard.

“Yes ma’am,” he replies finally to your demand.

You watch his eyes take in your form from head to toe before he kisses you quickly once more and ducks into the rain.

When you finally get your Chinese and place it on the counter to dig in, your eyes land on the container that was in Toji’s hands from earlier.

You peek inside, and your heart does that weird thing again in your chest when you see a heaping slice of the yellow cake that you never got to have a week ago.

Thanks for reading! You can find the sequel here!

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maxsimagination · 2 months

Note

Hope you have a good day,could you do a Hayley Raso one were reader gets injured and Haley gets overprotective but after that she comes over and checks if your alright? Thankyou:)

𝙙𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙩𝙤𝙪𝙘𝙝 𝙝𝙚𝙧 - 𝙝.𝙧𝙖𝙨𝙤

warnings: major injury (concussion, mention of blood), angry!hayley, mancity!hayley

a/n: no hate to chelsea or its players, it’s just for the fic

------

chelsea vs manchester city.

the two strongest sides in the super league.

all the passion and power both teams had was coming to a head today, in the cup final.

to say i was nervous was an understatement, it wasn’t my first major game with the club but i got the jitters before every important fixture.

gareth had published the starting lineup yesterday at training, which i’d immediately looked over and noted that he’d put me in first. starting at centre back, lucky number eight.

when we arrived at the stadium, there was people all around in the stands. you could hear the crowd, not yelling, but the sheer amount of them made all the talking reverberate and was heard from the changing rooms.

eventually, we all ran out to start warm up, spending time running basic drills, gareth shouting instructions here and there, psyching ourselves up to play in our biggest game yet.

you could hear over the loudspeakers throughout the stadium, they announced each player one by one, as we each came up on the big screen. when we were called back into the tunnel, hayley came up next to me, bumping my shoulder with a grin.

“you excited?”

“yea, you could say that. nerves are buzzing in my stomach though.”

her laugh was light and sweet, her eyes sparkling with humour.

“you’ll do great. best centre back we’ve got.”

i could feel the blush spread on my cheeks. it was then that gareth herded us all in the change room, wanting to give us a pre match pep talk.

“go out there and crush them, girls. we got this.”

with one last cheer, we all walked out, the starting eleven lining up behind steph houghton, the experienced defender leading us out.

when we first kicked off it wasn’t an exciting start.

i didn’t get much ball time within the first ten minutes, kiera and georgia kept the ball up in the middle, occasionally passing back to defense who promptly kicked it back up.

chelsea’s first break came in the 25’ minute with sam kerr. she was lightning fast and had the ability to head in goals from anywhere.

lauren james had given her an amazing pass from the mid, and kerr was bolting for the ball down the left wing. i knew that jen was meant to be there, but she was too far up the field to make it back and still defend.

that’s where i came in, sliding along the grass to kick the ball away from sam’s foot at the last moment. it was a brilliant save, if i did say so myself, and ellie in goal was punching the air at my moves.

finally, we broke the stalemate, kiera landed an unexpected but amazing shot from outside the box. it was 1-0 to man city.

the whistle blew for half time shortly after and i dragged myself down the tunnel. chelsea was definitely making us work for it.

a fifteen minute break only seemed like five when we had to walk back out there. gareth had subbed hayley onto the field to play in striker, hoping we had another lucky break.

quite the opposite happened, however.

chelsea had the ball up our end, before it was tackled away; they had a corner kick. guro took that shot, and props to her because it curved beautifully. i had leapt up to header the ball away, but at the same time, lauren james was there.

her body had smashed into mine, knocking me back. however, it wasn’t the crash itself that had caused damage. when i had fallen back i was too close to the goal and my head had been hit on the metal post.

i heard the crack, and an audible gasp, although i couldn’t determine who that came from. a wave of pain consumed my body, from my head down. the first thing i did was reach a hand up to my head. when my fingers pulled away, the tips were covered in blood.

my blood.

i could barely make out what was happening around me, it was a fight to keep my eyes open and my ears were ringing, but what i did see was hayley going toe-to-toe with lauren james.

the medics had reached us then, but for me it was already too late, i closed my eyes and let my vision go black.

hayley was almost screaming in lauren’s face, this was her fault, she pushed me into the goal post and now i was unconscious. our teammates had to physically restrain her before things got out of hand. the ref handed lauren a yellow card for her dangerous play and hayley got a warning for her words.

i was stretchered off the field and taken in ambulance to the nearest hospital before the girls could restart their game.

when i woke up, the first thing i noticed was the white room. everywhere i looked there was white. then i saw hayley sitting next to me. i didn’t know how long she’d been there, but she was currently asleep in the chair so my guess was long enough.

hayley had always been a light sleeper, so when i moved my hand, it was no surprise that she woke up immediately.

“you’re awake.”

she stood up and called for the nurse. a younger woman walked into the room with a clipboard and some paperwork.

“yn yln?”

“yea-a.”

my voice was all croaky from not having spoken in a while.

“how are you feeling? took quite the fall on the pitch today.”

i didn’t have a clue what she was talking about so i just answered the question.

“my head hurts a bit. i don’t remember anything happening. what happened?”

hayley was the first to speak up this time, recounting what had happened on the pitch earlier.

“your head was whacked against the goal post.”

turns out i’d split my head open, even if it was only a little bit, and gotten a concussion.

slowly i took in everything that had happened within the last couple of hours. i didn’t say anything just say in silence trying to process things.

the nurse ended up leaving after a bit, telling me i was free to go, as long as i had someone that could supervise me for a couple of days. that left me and hayley in the room alone again.

“i was so worried that you wouldn’t remember me.”

i don’t think she expected me to answer, or even hear what she said in the first place, but i knew.

“i wouldn’t forget you, ribbons. i’d never forget you.”

#woso #woso x reader #woso community #hayley raso #hayley raso x reader #hayley raso imagine

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sergeantbarnessdoll · 1 month

Text

After Class » Sebastian Stan (AU)

Pairings: College Professor!Sebastian Stan x College Student!Female Reader

Summary: Sebastian tells Y/N he wants to see her after class.

Warnings: Smut (18+), language, age gap (reader is in her early 20s), dirty talk, kissing, hickeys, fingering, f receiving, unprotected sex, praise kink, sir kink, spanking, name calling (slut), use of pet names

Written on my phone. I’m sorry for any mistakes and typos.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞

Sebastian watched as you walked in his classroom. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you. You were wearing a skirt and a plain black crop top. It’s like you were teasing him on purpose. He took a deep breath before starting class. You stared at him the whole time, biting the tip of your pen. He occasionally glanced at you to see you staring at him with a look of seduction in your eyes. His eyes took a quick glance under your desk, seeing your legs spread and flashing him your panties. You bit your lower lip before sitting up properly and crossed your leg over the other. You leaned your arms on your desk, making your cleavage look good. Now he knows you’re teasing him. The bell rang, snapping him out of his dirty thoughts.

“Make sure to study chapter 7 for next week’s test.” Sebastian says as everyone shuffles out of the room.

Sebastian seen you walking towards the door and stopped you in your tracks.

“Y/N?” Sebastian says.

“Yes, Professor?” You asked, turning around to face him.

“See me in my office in a few minutes.” He says.

“Will do, sir.” You say, giving him a smile before leaving the room.

Sebastian sighs and ran his fingers through his hair before gathering his stuff and went to his office. You knocked on office door a few minutes later.

“Come in!” Sebastian says.

You walked inside of his office to see Sebastian at his desk and grading papers.

“You wanted to see me, Professor?” You say, sounding innocent as can be.

“Yes. Close and lock the door please.” He says.

You did as he said and took a seat in one of the chairs in front of his desk, putting your backpack on the floor next to the chair.

“Do you know why I asked you to come to my office?” He asks.

You glanced down, noticing that a few buttons on his button up shirt was unbuttoned and his tie was off.

“I asked you a question. Don’t make me repeat myself.” Sebastian says sternly.

“No, sir. I don’t know why you asked me to come to your office.” You say.

Sebastian chuckles before standing up and walked around his desk to where you were and leaned against it, crossing his arms over his chest. You couldn’t help but stare at his arms. The way his biceps were bulging in the sleeves of his shirt, like it was going to rip any second.

“You were teasing me today and you know it.” He says.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Professor.” You say innocent and playing dumb.

“I think you exactly know what I’m talking about.” He says.

Sebastian chuckles before pushing himself off of his desk. He leaned over you and put his hands on the arms of the chair, trapping you in the chair and caging you between his strong arms. His face was inches away from yours. Your breathing quickened.

“You exactly know what I’m talking about, sweetheart.” He almost whispers. “You dressed like a little slut just to get my attention, didn’t you? Well guess what, honey… you have it now.” He says.

“Professor Stan, I- that wasn’t my intention.” You say, lying through your teeth.

“Don’t try lying your way out of this. You’re going to get punished like the little slut you are.” He says.

You shouldn’t be this turned on by being called a slut, but the way he says it makes it sound so hot and you were all for it. Sebastian stood up straight and took a couple steps back.

“Bend over my desk.” He orders.

You did as you were told, standing up and bent over his desk. Sebastian approached you and stood behind you. He bunched your skirt up above your hips, exposing your wet panties to him.

“Just as I thought…” His fingers rubbed your pussy through your wet panties momentarily. “You’re wet like a slut.” He says.

Sebastian hooked his fingers in the waistband of your panties and pulled them down your legs, shoving the wet fabric into his pocket.

“You address me as sir and you better count the spanks I give you, understand?” Sebastian says, his hands giving your ass cheeks a squeeze.

“I understand, sir.” You say submissively.

“Good girl.” He praises, giving your ass cheeks another squeeze.

His hands rubbed your ass cheeks before raising one of his hands, landing a harsh smack on your ass causing you to whimper at the sting.

“I don’t hear counting.” He says.

“One…” You counted, whimpering when he landed a second spank on your ass. “Two…” You say, more in a moan.

Eight spanks later your ass was red as a cherry. Sebastian rubbed his hands against your stinging skin to soothe it.

“You took your punishment very well, but I’m not done with you yet.” He says.

Sebastian helped you stand up straight and he kissed you hungrily. He grasped the back of your thighs and picked you up, placing you on top of his desk. His hands found their way the underneath your crop top, squeezing your breasts over your bra. His lips moved down to your neck, marking you up. His hands left your breasts to spread your legs further apart so he could stand in between them. You moaned softly when you felt his bulge rub against your bare pussy. One of this hands moved to your inner thigh, slowly moving towards your pussy. His fingers rubbed in between your folds, blindly finding clit and rubbed it in slow circles. You whined, wanting more. That earned you a smack on your thigh, making you yelp.

“Quit your whining.” Sebastian warns.

His fingers continued to rub your clit in slow circles. He then slid his fingers to your tight entrance, circling it before sliding two fingers in your pussy. A soft moan fell from your lips. His fingers moved at a decent pace while his thumb continued to rub your clit.

“I have to say…” Sebastian starts. “I love seeing you like this.” He admits. “You must be going crazy to feel my cock inside of you, huh?” He says, curling his fingers and hitting your sweet spot.

“Yes!” You gasped, voluntarily spreading your legs wider. “I want to feel it inside of me so fucking bad.” You moaned, tilting your head back.

“Be a good girl and take the rest of your punishment and I’ll fuck you.” He says.

“Please!” You begged, not even sure what you’re begging for. “Faster!” You tell him.

Sebastian moved his fingers faster while rubbing his thumb against your clit, occasionally curling his fingers against your sweet spot. Your chest rose and fell as moans left your lips. Your eyes fluttered shut and you tilted your head back, your lips parted and moans leaving them. You tried your best not to be loud. The more he curled his fingers into your sweet spot made your orgasm build up quickly.

“Professor, sir…” You whimpered. “I’m gonna cum.” You tell him.

Just then, he took his fingers out of you, making you whimper.

“The only place you’re cumming is on my cock.” Sebastian says.

You watched as he unbuckled his belt and undid his pants. You licked your lips at the sight of his bulge in his boxers. That’s when you got a confidence boost. You took off your crop top and dropped it on the floor. Your hands disappeared behind your back to unclasp your bra, letting it fall from your chest and exposing your breasts to your hot professor.

“You gonna show me some skin, professor?” You asked seductively, biting your lower lip.

You watched as Sebastian unbuttoned his button up shirt, opening it up to show you what you’ve wanted to see since the first day you walked in his classroom. You couldn’t help but reach your hands out and rub them against his toned abdomen. You pushed the shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

“You think you can let up on my punishment a little bit, sir?” You asked innocently while rubbing your hands against his muscles.

The innocence in your voice almost made him cum in his boxers.

“Nice try, sweetheart.” Sebastian says, making you pout.

He pulled down his pants and boxers just enough for his hard cock to spring out. You couldn’t help but lick your lips at the sight of it. All you wanted to do was suck him off.

“My eyes are up here, honey.” He says, snapping his fingers.

Sebastian pulled you towards the edge of the desk, your legs spread wider voluntary. You gasped when he rubbed his cock between your folds. He lined it at your tight entrance, sliding it in your pussy inch by inch.

“Oh, professor…” You moaned, feeling every inch of his cock.

Sebastian grab the back of your head, pulling your head forward and gave you a sloppy kiss. His tongue slipped past your parted lips, exploring every inch of your mouth.

“Fuck me, professor.” You begged.

Without hesitation, Sebastian started thrusting at a decent pace which gradually got faster. Your jaw dropped, breathy moans left your lips. One of Sebastian’s hands found its way to one of your breasts, his thumb rubbed over your nipple before pinching it. A gasp left your lips and you arched your back, pushing your chest against his hand.

“You like that, don’t you?” Sebastian smirks. “You like your professor fucking you little pussy?” He asks.

“Yes!” You gasped. “So much!” You moaned.

You wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him closer to you, locking your ankles behind his back.

“Oh yes!” You moaned when his cock hit your sweet spot. “Right there, sir!” You moaned again.

His cock hit your sweet spot perfectly. Your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head. The smell of sex and skin slapping filled his office. The way his cock felt inside of you and the way his hands felt on your body made you feel like you were in a different world.

“Fuck…” He moans, loving the feeling of your pussy wrapped around his cock.

Pleasure took over your body. Your eyes fluttered shut and your head fell back for a moment before looking down at where the two of you are connected, watching as his cock disappeared inside of your pussy and covered in your wetness. Your nails found their way to his strong shoulders, your nails digging in his skin, marking him up with red scratch marks.

“You’re mine now.” He practically growls. “Got it?” He says.

“Yes!” You moaned. “I’m yours, sir!” You moaned again.

One of his hands found its way to your clit and rubbed it in fast circles, helping your orgasm build up even more. A knot tightened in your stomach.

“Oh fuck, professor!” You whimpered. “I’m going to cum! Please let me cum.” You begged. “I’m being a good girl for you.” You say more in a whimper.

“Cum for me, sweetheart.” Is all Sebastian said.

You tried your best to not moan too loud as you came. Sebastian wasn’t too far behind you. He came inside of you after a few more thrusts. His thrusts came to a slow stop. He kissed you hungrily before looking deep in your eyes, both of you panting. He pulled out of you and the two of you got redressed. He helped you off his desk and kissed you once more.

“Dress like this again, I won’t go be so gentle next time.” Sebastian says.

“Yes, professor.” You say.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

#sebastian stan #sebby stan #seb stan #sebastian stan characters #sebastian stan x female reader #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan one shot #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan au

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chronically-ghosted · 5 months

Text

stay gold, baby boy

rating: 18+ (expliiiiicit)

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: almost 6K

summary: six months into your friends-with-benefits situation, you institute a new game. A gold star on the board every time Dieter is a good boy. Today, he gets bingo . . . for wearing real pants.

warnings: friends with benefits (with more feelings), oral (m receiving), dom/sub dynamics (guess who subs today!), talks of edging, hair pulling, creampie, piv sex, praise kink, my mother raised me to have better taste in men but fuck it

a/n: remember when i posted this picture? And then this one? Remember how you could hear me yelling from space? Well, @sp00kymulderr has added fuel to the fire – Dieter and stickers. I can’t explain myself except that I was horny and I wanted to take his pants off with my teeth. So I did.

✨gif credit goes to the ever incredible, talented, and enabler of my dieter fantasies @perotovar! she saw me floundering with the header and immediately was like 'hold please i can make his baby cow eyes even better'✨

🤍Masterlist

With your foot on the low table, your ass firmly planted on the middle poofy cushion of the dumpster bin couch at the back of the trailer, thumbnail nibbled between your teeth, you have to admit it’s starting to get a little embarrassing. It’s honestly such a bad look.

Not that he would ever shame you for it. In fact, he’d probably like it.

And it’s not like you waited for him here all day. You had things to do as one of the co-screenwriters on this film. You had things to do and people to see and stuff to organize – all of which had nothing to do with Dieter fucking Bravo.

Okay, so a lot of it actually had to do with him. Lots of scene rewrites, lots of notes from the studio, lots of instances where the two of you had to put your heads together and come up with a solution that made the studio happy and didn’t make you want to claw your eyes out artistically speaking.

Which had led to this.

And the past six months of whatever this is. Working together led to seeing each other (outside of work), to eating with each other, to fucking each other – with the line firmly drawn there.

Whatever you may say about Dieter, the man could compartmentalize in a way that would make Marie Kondo weep with joy. By the way he treated you on set, no one in their right mind would ever have guessed he knew what you looked like naked. Or that he knew your left nostril twitched just before you came.

The same could be said for you too. Out of boredom one morning in the grocery store, you bought a trashy magazine with his face emblazoned across the top – Dieter Bravo and His Lonely Hearts Club. You weren’t one for the gossip rags, but flipping through it, not a single one of his “club members” mentioned his raging praise kink. You bought the damn thing on the spot, giving them all a consolation prize of some sort. Sorry, ladies, guess I win. Ha. Ha.

But, at the edge of the cushion, eyes occasionally flicking between the door and the failing darkness outside, you didn’t feel much like you’d won anything.

In fact, you’d lost. Big time. When all of this had been your stupid idea in the first place.

It had been your idea (and your initiative) to buy a packet of gold star stickers. Like the kind teachers use with their first graders. Actually, exactly like the ones teachers use for their first graders. You couldn’t form words when the woman at the education supply store ringing you up asked, “oh, what grade do you teach?”. You just tossed a twenty at her and booked it, your face painfully hot for a fairly innocuous purchase.

But all of that was his fault for dropping a praise kink and a teacher kink on you all at once the night after you jokingly spanked him with a ruler in front of the director, in-front of his co-star, because he wouldn’t agree to a line change, and he had to excuse himself from the room.

A month later and he forgoes touching himself for a gold star. He agrees to your line changes without argument for a gold star. He picks you up in the morning and drives you home at night for a gold star (you could drive yourself, but there’s always that last minute thing you need to talk to him about so you do it just because it’s easier, really).

He lets you come, over and over again, and keeps nothing for himself – all for a gold star.

Someone is bound to figure it out. They have to. Six months in and you’re getting sloppy. Obvious. What the fuck would you be doing in his trailer at seven o’clock at night after a full day of shooting unless you’re fucking him?

But you, worryingly, can’t find it in you to care.

You had lost your mind, that’s what you lost. Because tonight is the night Dieter gets his final gold star. It’s his reward but you’re about to vibrate out of your skin with want.

(It didn’t matter that you hadn’t seen each other in two weeks and by the third day, an ache had settled in behind your breastbone, one that clutched your phone in your hand, and forced your eyes to the screen every minute, checking for a new text message.

He called on day five, by the way.)

Your neck snaps up when you hear voices outside of the trailer. Laughter, his.

You suddenly feel the need to flatline against the floor in case anyone might see you.

Fuck, and how are you supposed to explain yourself if the someone he is with follows him into the trailer? Too many frightfully bad scenarios and you’re rooted to the floor, unable to make a single decision.

The metal latch clinks and his trailer door swings wide open.

“Yeah, man, I’ll catch you tomorrow.”

You can hear a deep, “see ya” from the other side (maybe Daryl from craft services?) and the scrap-metal trailer squeaks, as the lock clicks shut.

Dieter scratches his cheek, surveying the trailer as if some part of him knows something is different, but his conscious mind can’t figure it out.

Until he turns. And nearly leaps out of his skin.

“Fuckin’ – what are you doing in here? Wait – I thought you left town to scope out the new location in San Diego.”

You want to answer him. You know how – open your mouth and tell him the trip’s been delayed for a few days, nothing serious, timeline bullshit – but you can’t.

It’s officially embarrassing.

It’s embarrassing how turned on by Dieter Bravo you are.

Hair in all kinds of directions, skinny cloth bracelet loose around his wrist, he had pushed up the sleeves of his henley shirt, exposing the thickly drawn triangle over his forearm and the clear one near his wrist. His hand with the rings hangs by his side and something inside of you silently whines.

But what really sets you off, what really makes this embarrassing and terrible because there’s no bluffing here, no hiding your cards and folding – nothing you can do to keep spit from flooding your mouth the longer you look –

He’s wearing pants.

Black with loose belt loops. Zipper and all. A silver button sitting between his hips. Fuck. Just like you told him to. Fuck fuckfuck.

You’re briefly aware when he says your name and you have to make a physical effort to tear your eyes away from that glinting silver eye winking up at you.

Dieter’s frowning, knowing silence isn’t really your thing.

“Are you okay? Why are you –,”

As though it had called his name, his gaze drifts from your face to the table between you and him. Where his scorecard rests with four stars in the Good column, and shockingly, none in the Bad.

His mouth parts, eyes going dark, as the realization hits him like a mack truck.

“Delays,” you say suddenly, preemptively, knowing that normal people usually have some sort of preamble before tearing each other’s clothes off. You stand up a bit straighter, tilt your jaw away from him, gaze leveling him from the end of your nose. You have got to get this thing under control. “Frank ran into some scheduling issues with the boat for the lake scene so, until further notice, the trip to San Diego has been delayed.”

He blinks slowly as if he’d been struck over the back of the heat, mouth parted. He has such fucking gorgeous, fucking perfect lips –

“So you’re here?” he asks, his voice low, disbelieving.

You scoop up the scorecard and step over the table, your shoes long since gone. It’s like his vision narrows the closer you come; he is transfixed, gaze on you as if molded at the seams, as you step up to him. You tap him on the chest once with the corner of the scorecard, excitement and nerves and that ache making you tremble despite your confident appearance.

“So I’m here.”

“On the last day of the week.” Words thick, as if all the moisture had been sucked out of his mouth.

“On the last day of the week.”

“When I,” he swallows thickly, “when I should get my reward.”

God, this kind of power trip should not be making you this wet.

You lift your gaze from his chest, taking in his beautifully dumb-struck face.

“You will.” You nod. “And do you know why?”

His breath quickens, lip between his teeth, when you scratch off the final star from the package and stick it to the Good column.

“Because I was a good boy?”

You toss the scorecard behind you, it clatters onto the table, and you cup the back of his hot neck.

“Because you were a very good boy.”

He stumbles back, knees unsteady, when you kiss him. You see his eyes a split second before you close yours and hot electricity swoops down to the pit of your stomach. It would be mortifying if you just fucked him right here and now – he does deserve something extra special – but fuck – you want his whole hand inside of you.

His warm palm slides across your jaw, pulling you into him, and Dieter breathes, deep and long, inhaling as much as he can. You don’t think he realizes that he’s picked you up off the ground with his arm around your back until he opens his eyes, vision hazy and off-center.

“Go lock the door, baby.”

He nods and puts you back down. You slip off your jacket as he bolts the trailer door shut.

Dieter’s mouth drops open when he turns around and sees you on your knees.

Shit, you should have stolen some knee pads from the costume department.

“Really?”

You smile at him because he asks like a kid that just got offered a puppy for Christmas. You reach towards him and he takes your hand, unsteady on weak knees

“For as long and as much as you want.”

You palm him and Dieter groans, mouth-closed at the sensation, the hard ridge of the metal zipper not one he is entirely familiar with. At least, not like this. Beneath the warm press of your palm, you feel him thicken, harden, and you press more, digging your fingers into his thighs. The muscles in his legs tense, his mouth falls open, as his hips cant forward, desperate for the new weight of the zipper.

“And I won’t make you wait, Dieter,” you say, eyes tripping up from where your hand sits, up to the flash of exposed tummy where his pants have ridden down and his shirt slid up, into his almost surprised gaze. “You’ve been very good, wearing this for me, but I want you to learn why it’s important to wear pants with buttons.”

“I-I t-t-thought,” he tries, voice abruptly cutting off when you nuzzle the constrained bulge in his pants. He tries again, eyes slamming shut as if to stifle the sensation of your warm breath so near to where he needs you the most. “I thought i-it was so I d-din’t – didn’t look bad.”

Your face still pressed into his crotch, you briefly massage his calves, then the backs of his thighs. You cup the curve of his ass through the starchy back pockets, which is remarkably prominent now that he’s in something else than baggy sweatpants.

You shake your head, nose dragging along his hot length, against the space between his hip bone and his cock, smiling.

“Baby, you know I like how you look. I always want you to be comfortable.” You look up and meet his eyes. The remaining brown not yet wholly consumed by a blurry, heated darkness softens. Somewhere beneath the hazy, disarming feelings of lust currently filling his head like a bike tire, he’s still your Dieter. Or – well, wait – at least the Dieter you know. The Dieter you have impossibly fun times with. The Dieter who makes you laugh like no one else. The Dieter that can make you fall apart until you’re a gooey, dripping mess and he still manages to stitch you back together. The Dieter that keeps you up at night thinking he might possibly want something more. “But this is so much more fun.”

Grounding your chest against his thighs, holding yourself against him as leverage, you sink your teeth into the corner of the fabric fastening his pants together. Eyes up at him again, you tug and his cock is pushed up against your tits from the force of the pull. He rocks forward, an airy gasp escaping his mouth, and the button gives, the lip of the fabric sliding back as the silver disk slips through the hole. Now your touch is unimpeded by rough fabric when you lean forward and kiss him just below the waistband of his black boxers.

It takes you a second to realize that Dieter Bravo is wearing underwear at all and you smirk up at him.

Something about your gaze makes the tips of his ears go red, as if he had been caught being very naughty. His big hand cups from your jaw to your ear, as if trying to placate you, beg you not to be mad this close to his cock.

“You said I had to dress u-up,” he says, eyes wide and round. God, he’s trying to be so good. One week of the rating system and Dieter Bravo is a trembling mess. Despite your wildly beating heart, you smirk, your thighs shaking briefly at the sudden rush of tenderness you feel for the man in front of you. You hide your own blush by mouthing that open spot just below his tummy and above his cock, wetting the black material with your tongue. Before he can whine about it, you pull back just barely, enough to curl your fingers around both his black underwear and the pants he wore for you. Just as you begin to pull down, you nip the zipper between your teeth and slowly, slowly, rubbing your nose against him, tug the metal teeth apart. His pants open and Dieter groans loudly. He’s already so sensitive.

For a mouthy, ego-driven bastard, he really did have a magnificent cock. Flushed at the base, thickest you’d ever had inside you, and he’s leaking silvery threads from the head. The vein thickly pulsating on the side makes you wonder how he hasn’t passed out from all the blood rushing to his cock.

You lick that vein, that beating pulse, and his knees buckle. His massive hand grips your shoulder and Dieter shakes his head, his mouth wrenching open.

“Please, please — mhmm — don’t tease. I-I can’t – you haven’t – please.”

As if you would be cruel to him. You feel rather dizzy, elated on the idea that you wield this much power over him. That he trusts you with all of him. There it comes again, that arching ache in your chest.

“I’m just trying to get myself ready for you,” you confess quietly. “I’m not trying to hurt you.”

Dieter swallows something large in his throat, panic receding from his eyes. His smile is small and his touch on your cheek is light.

“I know.”

And you weren’t lying. You’d never forget the sound of your jaw popping and cracking the morning after you sucked him off three times before you let him come. Dieter is shockingly big, annoyingly only when he uses it against you or makes you tell him over and over just how big he is before giving it to you. For now, you just want to remind him how very appreciative you are that he gives it to you at all.

Eyes decidedly looking away from the warmth on his face, you squeeze the backs of his thighs as you relax your jaw as much as you can. Above you hear him huff with his mouth shut as you start to take him in, your tongue wetting that soft skin on the underside of his cock. One move forward and you’ve wet him halfway, tongue massaging that vein. Another drop of your head and you’ve taken him completely.

“Fuck,” Dieter murmurs, the hand on your shoulder tightening. Your heart pounds in your chest all the harder when he takes his other hand and knots your hair with his fingers. By the twitching of his thighs beneath your palms, you know it’s taking every ounce of his restraint to not buck his hips forward. “That’s it that’s my girl you take me so fucking good you feel so fucking good.”

The thing about your mouth that is markedly different from your pussy: you can’t release your gag reflex to take more of him. But fuck, you want him to fuck the back of your throat – you just might drown before it happens.

He smells surprisingly clean as your nose inches closer and closer to his skin. With each pull, you slide your tongue down the other side, until it pokes through and licks where you haven’t reached with your mouth yet, inches from his pelvis. He shudders when you use the tip of your tongue.

“Oh my god, your mouth, baby, your mouth.” The words dribble out of his slack mouth, fingers flexing in your hair as if he can mimic pushing your head down further. You pull all the way off him, tongue catching the rim of his cock and he drops his head back against his shoulders and moans. The sound of it makes your pussy throb and you breathe out your nose to stifle your own noises. This is about him. He did good. He was a good boy the whole week.

You replace your mouth with your hand. Sufficiently wet from the way you slobbered all over his cock, you use a fist around his flushed head to smear pre-cum all the way down to the base of him. You brush his balls with your knuckles, just as you fit the tip between your lips, sucking – and Dieter bucks, hard.

“Ngh – shit! S-sorry!” His nails dig into his thighs, eyes squeezing shut as silvery threads spurt out from his cock.

Maybe you’d gone too far with the whole sticker thing and he really thought this was another test. His cheeks are burnt pink, his chest heaving and it’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen.

“Dieter,” you cry softly, gently, comfortingly. He still doesn’t open his eyes, not even when you resume stroking him. You lick the soft skin of his balls and his gasp punches the air out of his lungs, his eyes splitting open. He looks down at you, thighs trembling and you squeeze him gently. Not to edge him or punish him, but to make this last a bit longer for him. “Dieter, take your shirt off and sit down.”

He can’t move fast enough. He yanks the henley over his shoulders, the collar scraping his hair up in wild directions. He goes to sit but his thighs are shaking too much and he just sort of tumbles onto his ass. Smiling, you take your own shirt off, hoping to save this particular bra reveal for another time, but fuck, this time is as good as any. Despite his panting and squirming, his gaze rolls from your face to your tits. Emerald green with black lace, this is far too nice for a work bra and it properly communicates to him that you were going to fuck him whether or not he was going to get that final gold star. The realization is visible as it crosses his mind, bleeding hungry black in his eyes.

You take off his pants all the way, before sliding your own jeans down and to the floor. His roving gaze catches the matching panties and the noise in his throat is deep, like a smothered grunt.

“Now, I’m going to suck you off no matter what,” you say as you crawl in between his legs, before leaning back and sitting on your heels. You smooth your hands down his thighs, near his red, stark cock, but not touching. Dieter’s breathing hitches in anticipation, not sure where to put his hands or his gaze. “But I want you to answer one question for me first.”

He nods rapidly, spreading his knees further for you as if to remind you there’s other places he could be fucked.

“Why did you think I was going to punish you today?”

You’ve asked this question paraphrased a dozen times, usually when you both know the answer: he came without asking, or he came by himself, or any of the dozen reasons Dieter liked to push your buttons, only for you to break him as far as he can go. But today, there’s no sultry edge, no double meaning. Your question is sincere and it takes him a moment to understand. He swallows as his eyebrows tug down on his forehead, something vulnerable flashing in his eyes before a look of uncertainty crosses his face.

“We’ve never had sex just to have sex.” He says it like a question. He settles into the floor one hand going behind his head, the linear tattoo on his forearm dark like a third eye. “Not that I’m complaining but it’s always a competition, or because we’re bored, or you wanna work out some personal shit because of the costume department. I know this is my reward, but I figured there had to be some kinda catch to it.”

You frown deeper than him. “There’s no way we haven’t had normal sex.”

Something like a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Define normal sex.”

Now it’s your turn to go warm across the cheeks. “I mean, like . . . outside of . . . our roles. Where there aren’t roles at all. It’s just . . .”

You break off for the third time, the look in his eyes forcing you to snap your mouth shut before you say something incriminating like, just us.

Dieter shakes his head. “No, we haven’t.”

“You’re telling me in six months, that’s never happened once?” You adjust on your heels and cross your arms. “It’s not like you can remember every time we’ve had sex.”

“I do.” This, coming from him, is not a question. It’s an irrefutable statement that you don’t seem able to refute with a no you don’t. There is no room for arguing.

Driving right on through the heat of your cheeks, that ache returning, you shake your head. “Then doesn’t that get old? Having to play games every single time?”

Dieter pouts as he thinks, eyes on the roof of the trailer. “Sometimes, but I don’t mind. Not enough to want to stop fucking you.”

“So, after a week of nothing, you were totally willing to let me edge you within an inch of your life? Let me treat you badly?”

Dieter smirks and it suddenly feels like you’re the one under him. “Sure, but you like me too much to keep it going for too long. And you like watching me come.”

Your teeth grind together at this very bold accusation, your entire face blazing. Weren’t you supposed to be domming him today??

His feet slide out beside you and Dieter is the very picture of arrogance, his arm still tucked behind his head. He drums his fingers on his stomach.

“If it makes you feel any better,” he says, the smirk around his mouth soft, “I like you too.”

It doesn’t. Not really. Not when his words spear through you hot and hard, landing in your chest like a landmine. Fuck.

Fuck.

“Oh, so this is all for me, then?” You ignore the fact that you’ve slipped back into your role in active defiance of talking about this anymore, and crawl forward until your forearms frame his head. That teasing contentment fades from his face as he watches you, eyes following a line that only he can see from your nose, lips, chin, throat and tits. Your hair slips off your shoulder, darkening the light on his face when you straddle his waist. “But what about you? Don’t you want to come?”

He nods, slower than before, but only to keep from breaking eye contact with you. Light as feathers, Dieter trails his fingers up the backs of your thighs, over the curve of your ass, to settle into your hips. His mouth parts in anticipation, pink tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip.

“I do,” he says, rolling his neck as if he can see more of you this way. “I really fuckin’ do.”

“What a coincidence.” You shift down, dragging the wet patch on the emerald green underwear beneath your drooling cunt, shift until it slides across his half-hard cock and Dieter’s hands dig into your hips, a groan breaking off in the back of his throat. His eyes slip half-closed, a thick, smoky black enveloping that beautiful brown. “So do I.”

Grinding down over so slightly, you roll your hips once more – Dieter tenses, his hands easing to the tops of your thighs – before sitting back on his knees.

“Now relax, baby, you’ve earned it.”

You drop forward over his hips, open your mouth, and slurp him up between your lips.

The noise that comes out of his chest is broken, knocked loose, split down the middle. You take him all in one, down until your nose is tickled by his coarse hairs, and you swallow. He is immediately, instantly, rock hard and dribbling. You swallow again and his hands dive into your hair, knotting the strands around his fingers, the way a rider draws up the reins of his horse. He goads you down with just gentle pressure, needy and demanding all at once, and you take him, and you take him, and you take him until the blunt head prods the back of your throat and you gag, throat constricting, and Dieter’s eyes roll back in his head.

“Shit, that’s too fucking good.”

You breathe out your nose, pulling up just enough to keep him off your reflex, but instead you hollow out your cheeks and suck, tongue pressing up against him and around that hammering vein.

And here, here comes the sound you’ve wanted from him all night –

Dieter whines, high and keening, his neck straining, your skull pinching from where he pulls. Between your thighs, the emerald green is completely ruined, buffed out dark in the wet.

The vein throbs again and you nearly drop onto your elbows, not caring if you choke or drown or sputter, you want him in your mouth, you want that salty, gooey taste of him that you find you can’t seem to lick up enough. You want him inside you –

With a grunt that morphs into a groan as it rises up his chest, he tugs hard enough on your hair that the pain splits your mouth open, head tugged back enough that he slips out of you, a thread of pre-cum from your puffy lips to the tip of his blunt head.

You lied. This wasn’t entirely for him.

You can feel your lips twist into a snarl. “Dieter, what are you –,”

He kisses you with such a force, that noise in his chest is transferred to yours, a collision that sparks a causal nexus and his own desperation bleeds with your own. The kiss is messy, dizzying, spit and pre-cum smearing across swollen lips and wet tongues. He twists his fingers deeper into your hair, as if he can consume you through the bowl of your skull.

Your name is something that tumbles, falls, drips from him, his mouth tilted a fraction of an inch away from yours. Eyes dark, full, a beast that howls for the moon in your eyes.

He’s going to fuck your brains out on the floor of this rickety-ass trailer.

Dieter tugs you forward, drags you onto your knees over him as he settles beneath you. Your fingers knock with his in a fight to reach your panties first, to shove them down your hips and thighs, get them to the floor.

Dieter’s flushed, pupils dark, big hands grappling against the weight of you as he pulls you onto him. You are so aroused, so sunken into the smoke of lust, you go as you are moved, his cock smearing apart your wet pussy. Dieter sits up, eyes locking onto where you’ve nearly become a single creature, and then he hesitates.

Sanity seems to ring his bell, for just a moment. Without waiting, he sucks two fingers into his mouth, coating them with his spit, and you can see what he’s about to do just before he moves. You shake your head, knees aching from carrying your weight against the flat trailer floor, and sit up off him, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

“Don’t need it,” you mutter before licking into his mouth. He drops his head back to let you sink your tongue between his lips. Both hands wrapped around his jaw, you thumb his earring and he grunts out the side of his mouth. “I want –,”

His big hands settle and it’s like he dropped a thousand pound weight between your ribs. You drop, right onto him, his cock forcibly shoving you apart in a single thrust. Dieter barks out a moan, his hands clutching your spine, teeth going for your shoulder to muffle anything else that threatens to escape him.

You swear your nerves are on fire.

He always takes his time with you, for your benefit, and his. He can be maddening and incessant and demanding, right up until this part, the part where he could actually hurt you. Right then, he waits. Lets you come to him. Let you take as much as you want and he holds you tight.

But this, this is you taking all you want and then some.

In the split second you allow for your bodies to recognize the give and the take, the swell and the invasion, you meet his gaze.

No roles. No games. No landmines.

Exposure.

Blistering and brittle.

Safety.

You curl your toes underneath you, grip his shoulders, and slide up on an inhale. On an exhale, you thrust down and you don’t know who cries out louder.

Dieter pulls you to him, arm banded around your back, the other to balance as he leans back to meet your downward strokes with his upward thrusts. His fingers pinch the clasp of your bra and the straps slide off your shoulders, your frantic bouncing knocking those emerald cups loose.

“Oh, yeah, oh fuck yeah.” He mouths at your collarbone, tonguing the sweat that blooms across your skin. Your short huffs have your chest trembling, a shudder disrupting your breath when he uses the blunt edge of his teeth against the soft curve of your breast. His nose against your skin, he turns his head and licks your nipple into his mouth. He sucks, licks, your rapid rise and fall catching your sensitive peak against the tops and bottoms of his teeth. He uses the barest hint of pressure and your back arches. He sucks your other nipple into his mouth, repeating that same pattern with his tongue, while his fingers flick your hardened bud.

You think you’re going to melt, fracture and ooze into this hot pool of pleasure that hums between your legs.

“Fuck, Dieter,” your own voice is unrecognizable, breathy and high, cut short every time his hips meet yours in a harsh slap, “I can’t –,”

He rubs up against something truly devastating inside of you and immediately your legs give out. You topple into him, arms around his neck, nose pressed up against his jaw. You feel his overheated skin, a balm, a solidifying force, against your cheek. The whirling inferno in your head soothes. A drop of sweat from his hairline trails down by your eye and you lick it.

“Make me come, Dieter,” you whisper for him, of him, beg in a way that only he can hear. You nuzzle his earring and he keens. “Please – I need it – n-n-need you.”

Open-mouthed, breath hot, flush down to his chest, he slithers the hand against your back between your warm bodies and finds your clit. Drags his thumb across it as his hips pound up into you – you can’t hear what he says in your ear, the edge you’re dangling over loud and pulsing – and then there’s a softness against your throat.

The white spark between your thighs erupts and you come so hard you scream. A release. Controlled and contained brightness now spilling out everywhere, you can feel it as you soak his lap. It drips and winds down, and it drunkenly slides off you. Finally, you curl into him, a muddled tingle radiating out across your nerves.

You sink into your skin again and hear him, still whispering, still talking.

“You’re so fucking beautiful when you come it’s okay baby I’ve got you I’ve got you I’m here – I’m gonna – g-gonna – oh, shit,”

His hips thrust up one more time before a full body shudder yanks his words and the air right out of his mouth. You melt as his cum floods your insides, the warm pulses intoxicating in the place he so forcefully claimed for his own. His shoulders curved towards you, his hand pinches the knot of your spine as if to steady himself, palm scalding against your skin. In your exhaustion, your sweaty forehead falls against his.

He doesn’t seem to mind.

Seconds mold into minutes, minutes into maybe hours then days.

Dieter’s trembling elbow finally weakens and with his arm around your back, he tips you both backwards.

His cock rubs up inside of you in a new way and your cunt clenches involuntarily. You both groan when his cum leaks out of you, squeezed out by the contraction. You shift your hips to lay fully on him, and his cock slides out, but his arm around you remains.

It remains long after your breathing settles, long after the sweat dries and your exposed skin grows cold. The longer you lay together, the more you feel he’s going to start stroking you, touching you in a way that a fuck buddy shouldn’t. But he doesn’t. He keeps you close but doesn’t move.

The feeling, the ache in your chest. It’s soothed and hastened by the beating of his heart beneath yours, your ear lying flat against his chest. It beats so loudly for you.

For some unfathomable reason, you glance up at the window. It’s dark out, the sun set and gone. For all you know, you two might be the only two people on the entire lot.

“Dieter.” His name sticks in your mouth. “Dieter, I –,”

“Five stars?”

You blink, lifting your head for the first time in ages, sweat on his skin almost suctioning your ear to his chest. He’s grinning, curls matted and damp against his forehead.

He reaches up to the table behind him and snags that stupid bingo card, along with that packet of shiny gold star stickers.

This feeling, you can contain it.

For now.

Smirking down at him, you peel off one of the bigger stars and with your thumb, you press it into the center of his forehead.

“Five stars, Dieter. Five star dick.”

His smile widens.

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #the bubble fanfic #the bubble 2016 #the bubble fic #the bubble fanfiction #pedro pascal #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo x oc #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfic #the bubble

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seireiteihellbutterfly · 3 months

Text

Promise Me

ft Nanami Kento

A/N: Some Teen!Nanami angst! IDK why but I've been wanting to write this for a while. Header and dividers all credited at the bottom. Rating: 13+, fluffy-ish Warnings: Sadness, angst, mentions of death and dying Pairing: Teen! Nanami x Reader Summary: Faced with a solo mission, reader finds themselves contemplating their life in the Jujutsu world Word Count: 2301 Nanami masterlist

With trembling hands, you type out the text message. You’re aware it’s long, more like a letter but in that moment it felt like you would crumble if you didn’t get it all out into words.

‘Hey Kento. I hope college is going well. You sounded happy when we last spoke. I hope you’re having fun with your friends.

Upper management has assigned me a solo mission. They said it's because they are confident my abilities have reached a stage where I can handle myself and also take down the curse. I know it's because there are no other sorcerers available to accompany me.

Anyway, it's a big step, which is why I called earlier but I know that you’re busy, so I figured I’d text you instead. I leave tomorrow morning. I’m just packing all my gear right now.

And I’ll probably have dinner with my friends tonight and try not to think about the mission. You know how I get when I start overthinking. It’s probably not as big a deal as I’m making it out to be, right? Students take on solo missions all the time.

I have no reason to be scared, right? Management would never assign me to a solo mission they believed was out of my depth, right? I just keep thinking about what it’s like, not having anyone with me. I’ll have to be at my sharpest, so I’m hoping to get a good night’s sleep.

Call me if you can. Or if not today, then sometime tomorrow? I’ll probably be on the train most of the day but we can still talk. Let me know. I love you.’

You hit send and look at your half-packed bag. Each time you attempt to clear your mind, your thoughts threaten to eat you alive. You were terrified at the thought of this solo mission. When management had called you to brief you about it, you had waited for them to tell you who would be accompanying you. The dread that filled your stomach when they said you’d be going alone made you feel like you were carrying around a lead weight.

This year had been rough. It was the year that Nanami had graduated from Jujutsu High, his college acceptance all arranged, as he readied himself to leave behind the world of sorcery for good. You had attended his graduation, the doting girlfriend, tears in your eyes at how proud you were of him, but also because you knew this meant you wouldn’t see him around here anymore. No more midnight walks, or studying for exams, sneaking into each other’s dorms for little kisses and reassuring hugs. You had never thought his being one year your senior would matter until he had shown you his acceptance letter.

There was a sense of worry there too, because college meant he was going away from you, but he had held you so tightly, whispering this didn’t change anything. You were always going to be his girlfriend. He would make it work. He didn’t want anyone else. It had been a few months and the long distance was hard but it brought you more happiness than anything around here ever did.

You continued to pack, glancing at the clock, unable to shake the jittery feeling from your body. It felt like there were a million butterflies in your stomach, and your heart kept pounding even though you didn’t leave for the mission until tomorrow. The innocent morning sun shone through your dorm window, uncaring about the turmoil inside you. You keep glancing at your phone, hoping Nanami will reply, but the screen remains blank. Phantom vibration syndrome kicked in at one point where you could’ve sworn you heard your phone vibrate, picking it up eagerly to check, only to see nothing new on the screen. Your heart sinks with disappointment each time. You knew his schedule and that he was probably in class. He would call you when he could. He’s never not called or at least texted.

As you sit down on your bed, the overwhelming gravity of the situation hits you. You were going alone. There was no backup. If you messed up on this mission…you squeeze your eyes shut. It was one thing if you failed to exorcise the curse. That in some way brought you relief. If you didn’t exorcise it, management would simply express their disappointment and send someone else. But what if…what if…you didn’t exorcise it and the curse…

You gasp, shaking your head violently, trying to rid yourself of the thoughts of death. No, it couldn’t happen that way. You couldn’t die. What you would’ve given in that moment, to not be a sorceress, but to be a normal teenager! To go dress shopping, and enjoy prom, to start writing your own college applications. To know that your life wasn’t in danger and that you would live, live to spend another day with your friends, live to see Nanami again…

Before you knew it, tears filled your eyes, spilling onto your cheeks, and you hugged your pillow tightly for comfort. You remembered how you had cried when Nanami left for missions, out of contact for days, barely sleeping until he sent you a text that his mission was completed and that he was coming back. You remember him training you, always working on your self-defense, making sure your reflexes were honed and sharp. You remember that even when you were sent with a partner, it sometimes didn’t change a thing.

Haibara’s death still hung heavily over everyone, and you think back to Nanami’s expression when he returned from that mission, his eyes dark and solemn, regret lined heavily on his face. It was so unfair, that at the age of 16, he had to endure that. Haibara had been so kind to you as well, the best kind of senpai anyone could have asked for. Nanami never allowed himself to be emotional in front of anyone but had broken down in your arms in the privacy of his dorm room. Neither of you slept well for days after that, often jerking awake in the middle of the night, immediately texting the other for comfort.

You wondered if something happened to you, would Nanami break down the way he did for Haibara? Would it be equal? Would it be worse?

“Please reply,” you whisper, checking your phone again. Still nothing. Did he not care that you were being sent on a solo mission? Had he finally started to enjoy his life away from Jujutsu High that he wasn’t going to answer you anymore? Frustration fills you and you resist the urge to fling your phone across the room. You curl up into a ball and keep reminding yourself that he’d never play around with your feelings, that he was probably busy, and that he’d call you as soon as he could…

The day passes by in a haze. Still no word from Nanami. You try calling him again but it says he’s unreachable. It only alleviates your trepidation. Maybe he had forgotten you. College was a whole new world after all. You scream into your pillow, allowing self-pity to overtake you. No one understood. Your friends had advised you to break up with him before he broke up with you. That he would find someone else at college, that long-distance rarely ever worked out.

You fall asleep on your bed in a blur of confusion, unable to ruminate about your situation anymore.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Nanami is out of breath as he hurdles through the corridors of Jujutsu High. A few students look at him in surprise and recognition, waving their hands at him as he races past, ignoring their greetings of ‘Nanami senpai!’.

A solo mission…they had the nerve to send you on a solo mission…His breath had caught in his throat when he read your text, all other thoughts wiped blank. He’d immediately talked to his professors stating he had a family emergency and left hurriedly with nothing but his backpack.

It took two trains to get here, one of which had gotten delayed. He couldn’t not see you before this mission, a damned solo mission, without reassuring you, without holding you tight after so many months apart.

A left, a right, another left, then he halts in front of your dorm room and knocks softly. “Y/n?”

When you don’t open the door, he grips the handle, surprised to find it unlocked, and enters quietly. He sees you asleep on your bed, your bag set on the floor. A rush of relief and affection floods him as he sees you holding the little teddy bear he’d gifted you before leaving for college.

‘Hold him when you miss me, yeah?’ He had said to you. You had immediately named it Teddymin, and he was currently tucked under your cheek as you slept uneasily.

“Y/n,” Nanami says your name louder trying to rouse you, not wanting to scare you at seeing him in your dorm unexpectedly. You stir, then open bleary eyes. It was dark outside. Who was calling your name and why did it sound so familiar?

“Y/n.” Your eyes fly open and you quickly sit up, unable to believe it.

“Kento?” You whisper his name disbelievingly, feeling tears well up in your eyes again.

“I’m here.” He sits on the bed, drawing you close to him. You still can’t believe it. Were you dreaming? Was he really here? You grip his sleeve, hear his heartbeat, feel the warmth of his skin, and start crying unrestrainedly. All day, you had tried to keep it together, tried to convince your friends, convince yourself, that you had control over this. That you weren’t fazed about being assigned to a solo mission, that you were proud that management trusted you.

But Nanami’s presence breaks your composure, vulnerability showing through. “Why are you here?”

“Where else would I be?” he asks gently, patting your back. “I couldn’t focus in class, not after seeing your text. I’m sorry for not replying but I was basically catching trains all day to come see you.”

“You did that for me?” Your heart swells with love for him.

“Of course. I just couldn’t…leave you alone, knowing you’re going on this mission by yourself. I had to see you.”

Silence falls between you both, listening to each other breathe. You wipe away your tears and take a steadying breath. Nanami hesitates, then asks, “Y/n, are you sure this is what you want to do? You graduate this year. You can leave all this behind.”

His words root themselves deeply in your mind and you find yourself considering it. Would it be possible to escape this? This unending cycle of fear for your life? “I don’t know. Everyone I know, everyone we know, is part of this. Could I just leave it all behind?”

“You can if you want to,” Nanami insists. “It’s hard, but trust me, it’s peaceful. I don’t want anything happening to you y/n. I’d never be able to forgive myself if I don’t give my best effort to get you away from here.”

You know he means it, otherwise he wouldn’t have come all this way to see you. “You don’t have to make a decision now. We’ll talk about it after you get back from your mission.” He strokes your hair, reassuring you.

“I will come back right?” There. You had asked the question that had been festering inside you all day. Nanami freezes when he hears you and his embrace tightens even more.

“Of course you will. Why wouldn’t you?” He swallows, forcing himself to not think about any other answer to your question. After Haibara, he can’t take any more losses. He couldn’t lose you too. He’d break and probably never be made whole again.

“I’m going to talk to Gojo. This will be your first and last solo mission.”

You wanted to protest but secretly, you’re relieved. “Would it work?”

“I can try. It’s reckless to send you without a partner.” He pulls away to frame your face in between his hands, heart breaking as he sees your look of apprehension. “Don’t worry. You will get back safely. I know your ability. You are a talented sorceress.”

Hearing his vote of confidence somehow carried more weight than management’s. “I really needed to hear that,” you say in a shaky voice. He embraces you again, gripping you so tightly it hurts but you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him to stop.

“You’ll come back. We’ll dance together at your prom. You’ll graduate. And I’ll make sure you never have to face something like this alone again.” He says all the things he wishes for you, wishes for both of you because honestly, he can’t imagine a future without you anymore. The conviction with which he says his words fortify you, and you finally manage to pull yourself into a better headspace.

You wish he could accompany you on this mission, but understand that management could turn this into a cascade of litigation. He had disappointed a lot of people when he had left the school, and you couldn’t risk him using his abilities since he had forfeited his privilege to use them when he had surrendered his rank and title as a sorcerer.

He presses a chaste kiss on the top of your head. “I love you. Promise to come back safely to me.”

“I will. I promise.”

Nanami doesn’t sleep for the next few nights. Finally, after 4 days, he sees the text message from you.

I’m back.

It was only then that he allowed himself to break down and cry, not with grief like when Haibara died, but with relief that you had made it.

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#nanami kento #nanami kento fluff #nanamin #nanami kento x y/n #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x reader #jjk nanami #nanami angst #teen nanami #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen nanami #jujutsu kaisen fluff

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amyispxnk · 5 months

Text

My Sunshine

Summary - Things are getting bad again and you know Joel would be there to help you in the blink of an eye, but you can't help but feel guilty for even feeling this way - so burdening him with your emotions is out of the question. You try to hide how you feel from him, but you know you can't. He knows you too well.

A/N: SO. i am positively struggling at the moment. with life and just everything. and my lonely ass is in need of some comfort, especially when i feel like.. yk, shit. and feeling like doing shit to myself which is not very good 😊. but i could not find a single comforting fic about self harm, and i get that it’s a very sensitive subject - but my god i need this comfort so please let me indulge for a moment.

And going back to how self harm is a very sensitive subject - please heed the warnings and tread carefully. this entire thing is about self harm and comfort when struggling with it, so please be cautious.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader (could possibly be read as gn but I've used things like sweet girl and his girl so)

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: self harm (not explicitly described or anything, but reader struggles with it), fluff, comfort, established relationship, angst, one mention of drugs (i used it as a.. simile, or whatever, nobody’s taking or has taken any drugs!), crying, kisses, pet names, bad thoughts, questioning the purpose of life, brief perspective change, INCREDIBLY BRIEF MENTION OF SMUT (one word.)

DO NOT COPY THIS FIC IN ANY WAY PLS AND TY.

Joel opens the door with a sigh, toeing off his boots and calling out your name as he walks into the living room, wanting nothing more than to wrap his arms around you, breathe in your comforting scent and bask in your equally comforting embrace after a hard day of work. Normally you’d be in the living room, watching TV, maybe reading a book, or in the kitchen, cooking dinner, baking something new you’d found on the internet. But you weren’t today. It’s eerily quiet and he calls out your name again, breaking the silence with his loud voice as he walks up the stairs.

“Dariln’?” He asks as he pushes open the door to your bedroom; you’re not there either. He’s ready to start panicking since he’s checked just about every room of the house when he hears your voice coming from the bathroom.

“Just a minute!” You say, and he exhales with relief when you walk out of the room and up to him, giving him a small smile. It’s one of those smiles which doesn’t make your face look brighter or your eyes crinkle at the corners, no, it’s one of those smiles which you offer to him quickly to reassure him that everything’s okay, please don’t worry about me when you’re probably so stressed already.

“How was work?” You ask as your arms come around his neck and you hug him, breathing him in, holding him a little tighter than usual.

“Was a little tiring today, our supplier messed up the size of the headers and- Sorry, probably don’t mean nothin’ to ya.” He trailed off with a sheepish smile as his right hand came to the back of your neck, tilting your head back a bit so he could kiss you.

You melted into the kiss, eyes fluttering closed as you lost yourself in it. No matter how many times you kissed him, you’d never get enough of the feeling that came with it. Joel's kiss was like a drug, and you were addicted.

His hands skim up your sides but you pull back abruptly, wrinkling your nose. “You smell, Joel. Go shower.” You chuckle weakly and hit him playfully on the chest.

“Mm, I thought you like ‘em a little dirty?” He teased, making you scoff and shake your head as a smirk crept onto your lips.

“Not today. Get.” You told him sternly, still smiling nonetheless as he walked past you to go shower. The smile slipping from your face with ease as the door slides shut behind you.

A few hours later, showers have been taken, dinner made and eaten, and the both of you are now sat on the couch. Joel decided it was a good idea to watch a movie, putting on his favourite - Curtis and Viper 2 - much to your dismay. You swore that you’ve seen this damn movie so many times you’d be able to quote the entire thing word for word, but he still put it on, insisting that it was a classic and it wasn’t like you had any better ideas anyway.

You'd both come to learn that during movie nights, you'd always end up either falling asleep on his shoulder or you were both fucking before even the halfway mark.

Tonight you were curled into Joel's side, silently watching the movie with him. Well, not really watching the movie, just kind of watching the screen. Staring at the pixels and letting the sounds of the film and the world around you in through one ear, out the other.

You were lost in your thoughts, that was happening more often nowadays, mindlessly picking at your nails as you pondered on questions that were far too heavy to ponder this late at night. What's the point of life if we're all going to die one day? Why am I always so hopeless? Why can I never find the purpose in anything? Why am I getting worse at hiding these bad feelings? What if I get too miserable one day and Joel stops loving me? What if I'm just a burden to him?

The final two questions hit you hard, making you do a sharp inhale as you suddenly sit up, startling Joel in the process.

He turns to face you wearily, eyebrows furrowed. “Baby? What's wrong?” He asks quietly, arm coming around you and pulling you back into his side as he kisses your hair.

“‘s nothing. Sorry. Just tired- I think I'm gonna go to sleep.” You mumble, gently extracting yourself from his hold.

He frowns deeper. “Y’ don't wanna stay with me and finish the movie? Even though I know you weren't watching.” He attempts to tease lightly, wanting to lift the mood.

“No, um- you stay and watch it, that's okay. I'm gonna go to sleep now. Goodnight.” You say hurriedly, forgetting to even give him a goodnight kiss before you're up the stairs and in the bedroom, closing the door a little too quickly and praying the slam of it didn't further his concern.

Your back is pressed against the door as you grip the handle tight, eyes squeezing shut as you try to slow your breathing. It's not working, and you just want it to stop. You don't want to be upset, you don't want to feel like you're drowning in your own emotions again, you don't want Joel to find you crying upstairs in your room.

And the only thing you can think of doing is harming yourself. It's been on your mind a lot recently, as your sadness starts to get a little bit too much and you can't find any way to extinguish it. It feels like it's consuming you and you can only think about the last time things got like this. About how you dealt with it.

It would be so easy. You knew how to do it. But you couldn't bring yourself to. You'd be failing him, you saw how upset he was when he found out what you were doing last time and you didn't want to make him feel bad ever again.

You just didn't want to be a burden.

The door slams upstairs and Joel’s frown deepens. His hand goes for the remote, turning off the TV. He's seen this movie enough times, he thinks.

He slowly goes up the stairs and makes his way to your bedroom, wanting to make sure everything's okay.

You were definitely a little off tonight, zoning out and not being as talkative as you normally were, giving him a reason to already be a little concerned. Then you practically ran upstairs a minute ago, seeming panicked and making him worry even more.

He's at the door now, gently coaxing it open, and he's met with darkness. Darkness and silence.

He whispers your name, closing the door behind him as he flicks the light switch on, jumping slightly when he sees that you're right there, sat on the edge of the bed.

You turn to face him and he immediately notices how your face is wet with tears, eyes swollen and red, hair slightly dishevelled.

His heart effectively breaks at the sight of you.

“Baby- what's wrong?” He asks, concerned as ever, as he rushes over to you.

You rub at your eyes furiously, blinking back any further tears as you swallow.

“Nothing- nothing's wrong, Joel-” Your voice wavers as you speak and there's clearly something wrong - why you try so hard to hide it from him is beyond him.

He gently pulls your hands away from your face and holds them together in your lap.

“There's somethin’ wrong, sweetheart. I can see it.” He says softly, his thumb brushing away another tear that’s slowly trailing down your cheek.

You're completely silent, lip quivering.

You don't want to be a burden. If you tell him, he'll get upset and then he'll try to help you, even though you feel like nobody can. You'll just end up being a burden.

You shake your head, squeezing his hand as you do.

“Baby please. Talk to me.” He pleads with you, cupping your cheek and looking at you with so much care and worry that it makes you want to sob all over again.

“I just feel like shit.” You mumble so quietly he almost missed it. “I-” you start, but you just sigh frustratedly, digging your nails into your palms. “I feel.. really bad, again. It almost feels worse this time and it just makes me want to hurt myself. To make it all stop.” You say through clenched teeth, upset and afraid and so, so angry with yourself for admitting how you feel. You do it so much easier now but only because you and Joel had worked so hard to get rid of these defensive walls you'd built around yourself, walls that forced you to conceal your feelings and bottle your emotions.

“Oh, sweet girl.” He frowns, sitting on the bed and turning you to face him a little more. You don't want to look at him. You don't want to see him getting upset and worrying about you. You can't bear it.

So you keep your eyes clamped shut and continue talking. “My thoughts were just getting so.. so loud. And I don't know how to make it stop, and I almost- I just thought it would help.” You're shaking, he can feel it. Little shivers across your entire body, making your breath tremble as you exhale and inhale shakily. “I'm so sorry, Joel. I'm sorry.” You start to sob and he feels like doing the same, because he hates seeing you like this. If he could take all the pain away, force it onto himself so you didn't have to bear it, he would.

He pulls you closer to him, into his lap as he cradles you and rocks you slightly, pressing soft kisses to your forehead and resting his head there.

“Baby, please stop apologisin’. You aren't doin’ anything wrong and.. I know it's hard. It's hard to stop yourself from relapsin’, but you've done so well. ‘m so damn proud of ya, because you've gone so long without hurtin’ yourself. And it's doin’ good for ya; you might not realise it but I do. You’re so much happier now without it, ya like a fuckin’ ball of sunshine.” He teases, making you let out a watery chuckle. He pauses for a moment to brush away your tears, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “I love you. So so much. And I don't want to see you in pain like that ever again. I don't want my sunshine to go away, and I don't think you want her to either.”

You nod slowly, rubbing at your face as the final tears slip past your eyelids, looking up at Joel again.

He held you and you both talked for what must have been hours after that. You discussed what was really bothering you, how you could try make it better. Distractions helped, you decided. Joel proved to be a good distraction, as you ended the night listening to him talk about just about anything from the new diner that opened up in town to that one story from his childhood which made you snort with laughter every time (one which consisted of little Joel falling ‘head over heels in love’ with a girl when he was in elementary school, deciding to profess his love to her by writing a sappy poem for her and reading it to her in front of quite a large group of people.. only to be turned down. Naturally, he would've been, considering she was a fucking 16 year-old!)

He knew that that story would be the one to make you crack a smile, even if it was a small one, he just wanted to make his girl happy again.

You did a little more than smile, giggling so much you went red because that story never really gets old.

“There she is.” He murmured affectionately, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear and kissing the tip of your nose, then your cheek, then your lips.

It was a brief, yet loving, one, as he pulled back from the kiss and stroked your hair as your eyes fluttered shut.

Joel pulled you closer to him, your head now resting on his chest as your eyes fluttered closed from his soothing touch.

“G’night, babygirl.” He murmured, unsurprised when you didn't answer since you had already fallen asleep.

He stares up at the ceiling and he feels happy despite everything that happened tonight, because he feels good knowing that he can give you that solace and comfort that you just need so desperately sometimes, just like he gave you in the hours that passed. He'd do it a million times and more if it was for you.

Thank you sm for reading, I hope you.. enjoyed? Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated and requests are open. 💞

Note: My heart really goes out to you if you struggle with self harm. It's not easy to deal with and even harder to stop doing it once you've started, but you're not alone. Even if you feel like you have no one to talk to, there are countless places and websites you can look at which offer things like helplines and anonymous chats if you're struggling, and also give healthy solutions and alternatives etc. to self harm. You're so loved. Things might seem impossible but never give up. It will get better one day.

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idkwhatimdoinghere1655 · 10 months

Text

Du Lernst Nie - Sebastian Vettel

"Y/N, look, it really isn't that hard. You just need to put a bit of effort in," Sebastian sighed, trying to get you to listen to the fragments of German he was teaching you. "But you can speak for me. I can do the basics. Hallo und danke. Glücklich?" you smirked.

During the Summer break, you and Seb were taking a week long trip to Germany and were going to travel around Cologne and Munich, before going home to Switzerland.

"See, you do know it," he rolled his eyes, frustrated at your stubbornness. "The locals will be happier if you try," he tried to persuade, the flash cards he made were discarded to the side as he was ready to freestyle.

"OK, how would you order something at a cafe?" Seb prompted, looking at you intently.

"What am I ordering?"

"Two bread rolls and a cup of tea," he told you, wondering if you were actually listening to what he had said no more than five minutes ago. "Ich..." you started. Seb internally groaned - he had gotten nowhere.

"Hä-" he started, your brain finally finding the word.

"Ich hätte gerne ein Tasse Tee und zwei Brötchen, bitte," you smugly asked him, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms. "Sehr gut," he praised, smiling. It wasn't a matter of if you could do it, it was a matter of whether you would do it.

"Entschuldigung, wo ist die Bibliotheke?" he asked, putting on a voice and pretending to be a frail old lady who couldn't find her way around. "Die Bibliothek ist in der Nähe, gar nicht so weit weg von hier," you said.

Seb's eyes widened in surprise. "Links oder rechts?" he asked, snapping back into character for a moment. "Links,"

"Danke,"

"Kein Problem," you smiled at the 'old lady'. The only reason you had actually spoken to German with him was because you didn't feel like getting grilled by Professor Seb anymore. "I did not teach you that," he said, impressed.

"I have taken my German learning into my own hands, since you have told me how to order a coffee more times than I can count,"

Seb smirked. If you thought you were so clever, he'd test you a bit, "Ich würde sagen, bin ich beeindruckt, aber du bist ein furchtbar Studente wer zuhört nicht," he said, way quicker than he normally would.

"Erm. Es tut mir leid, ich verstehe das nicht," you sheepishly said, already feeling a blush of embarrassment creep up onto your cheeks. "Oh, es tut mir leid, ist das zu schwierig für Sie?" he said. You understood that, and you felt like he was almost mocking you.

"Ja, ein bisschen," you responded, hoping that because it was in German, he'd be bit nicer to you. "Ich denke, wir haben gelernt, dass ich besser bin als das, womit du gelernt hast."

Now he was just getting cocky. "Okay, I get it. You've proven your point. I will listen to Professor Seb," you rolled your eyes, annoyed to have to give into him.

"I like the sound of that," he smirked, winking at you suggestively. You wouldn't lie, you liked the sound of what he was implying as well, but now it was time to learn. "Shut up," you scoffed, trying to hide your smile.

"What I don't understand, is that every time I try to get you to learn, you get all full of yourself,"

"Yeah, because my German is good,"

"But not as good as you think it is. You never learn," he shook his head, watching as you zoned out and stopped listening to his telling off. "I prefer the sound of listening to Professor Seb," you pouted, and you could see his jaw twitch.

"Let's see what Professor Seb has in store today, shall we?" he said, standing and swiping the papers off the table. "Auf dem Tisch," he commanded, and now, you were all for listening.

A/N - This is just a little something for you guys while I finish writing part 3 to 'Baby Fever'! Also, that picture of Cologne Cathedral in the header is so pretty, and I am so happy to be able to say I've been there. Lmk if the German isn't 100%, I did it myself and my German is quite rocky <3

|masterlist|

#f1 #f1 x reader #f1 x you #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 imagines #f1 imagines #fluff #formula 1 #sebastian vettel #sebastian vettel x you #sebastian vettel x reader #sebastian vettel imagines #sebastian vettel fluff #seb vettel #sv5

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ghostofaboy · 3 months

Text

Inter-Agency Cooperation

Summary: Jack runs into another agent on a mission and figures out a new way for them both to get what they want.

Pairing: Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels/Javier Peña Rating: Explicit. Serious over 18s only | Word Count: 2633

Warnings: Frottage, anal sex, public sex, Jack is his own warning

Note: This as not been beta read so I apologize for any mistakes. This is a fic with gay/bi characters. Please make sure you've read the warnings. Header by @beskarandblasters

Of all the places Jack thought he'd find himself today, a dive bar in the middle of butt fuck nowhere watching a cage fight wasn't even on his list. Silly, really, considering all the strange places his Statesman missions took him. All around him, large drunken men in plaid shirts jeered and shouted at the two half naked men in the cage. The entire bar stank of stale beer and sweat, which made Jack long for the heady woody smells of the Statesman barrel room, but he couldn't argue with the view.

In the cage, a massive slapdash metal structure that dominated the center of the rundown establishment, were two young men. Neither could have been older than twenty-five, both striped to the waist in just their jeans, and both covered in blood and sweat. It was the most homoerotic shit Jack had ever seen in such a painfully hetero bar. He had to stifle a laugh whenever he thought about it.

Taking another sip of his shitty beer, Jack glanced over to his mark, only to find him in the exact same spot since the last time he checked. Fast asleep in a corner booth, drooling into his thick, bushy beard. Another quick look around the bar confirmed that no one else was paying either of them any attention; except for one man.

Sat at a table, set off to the corner with a view of Jack, his mark and the cage, was a broody looking motherfucker. Sporting a well-worn leather jacket, a mustache similar to his own and a casual air that oozed practiced confidence, the other man had definitely made him. Everything about this guy said agent, the only question was what kind.

Jack's money was on CIA considering the dealings his sleepy mark was into, but FBI was also a possibility. There was only one way to find out, and considering Jack didn't feel like competing with another agent for the mark, working together was the better option for them both. Eying the other man, Jack could see he was also nursing what passed for beer in this shithole. There was his opening.

Sliding off his barstool, Jack glanced over at the two young men now slumping against each other, gasping for breath, the sweat rolling off them. Swaggering over to the stranger's table, Jack was met with a single raised eyebrow and a tilt of the head.

"Evenin'." Jack tipped his hat, before leaning down slightly closer to the other man. "Enjoyin' the entertainment?"

"Not my usual kind of thing." The other man smirked and Jack could just pick out the hints of a Texan accent. "But when in Rome or whatever."

"I agree." Jack gave a chuckle. "Almost makes up for the terrible beer. Do you mind if I join you?" Jack gestured to the free chair next to the stranger.

The other man didn't respond beyond a small nod, but his eyes watched Jack intently as he slid into the seat.

“I don’t know about you,” Jack leaned in conspiratorially, “but I usually prefer somethin’ a little stronger. Now, I’m a whiskey man myself. How about you?”

“I’m a cut the bullshit kinda man.” The stranger sat up a little straighter, locking eyes with Jack with a steadiness that could only come from years of experience in the field. “So, why don’t you do us both a favor and tell me who you are and what you want.”

“To the point, I respect that.” Jack nodded. “All right. I’m Agent Jack Daniels, and I’m here keepin’ an eye on that fella over there. Reckon you know who I mean, seein’ as you’ve also got eyes on him. I need him alive as part of an investigation, and I get the feelin’ you do too.”

“You CIA?”

“No.” Jack carefully pulled his fake DIA badge from his jacket, flashing it under the table at the stranger. “You?”

“DEA.” The stranger mimicked Jack, carefully and covertly showing his badge. “Javier Peña. Our guy has links to a new player in the narcotics trade.”

“Indeed he does.” Jack nodded again, glancing around to make sure no one was watching or listening to them. “Amongst other things. Peña, huh? Weren’t you part of the team that took down Escobar?”

Javier shifted in his seat. “That was a long time ago. So what do you want to do? I’m here tonight to see who he meets up with.”

“He ain’t meetin’ up with anyone tonight. He was meant to, but I’ve already made sure that ain’t happenin’.” Jack leaned back in his chair, his eyes drifting over to the cage fighters who were rolling around on the floor trading punches. “The dumb fuck’ll stay here, so I was gonna wait until the mornin’ and tail him back to wherever he’s holed up. You’re welcome to join me.”

Jack watched as Javier’s sharp eyes assessed him thoroughly. Jack could feel those dark eyes taking in every detail of him and knew that on some level Javier wasn’t buying his story. But was it enough for him to leave?

“Fine.” Javier scowled, taking a swig of beer, pulling a face at the taste. “I guess we just wait then.”

“At least there’s a show.” Jack gestured to the cage, scooting his chair back slightly so he was parallel to Javier at the table. “Who’s your money on? The fuckin’ twink blond or the other one?”

“At least that one can grow facial hair.” Javier let out a harsh laugh as he watched the two fighters.

The crowd was getting impatient now, roaring and booing for the two young men to hurry up and finish. The blond responded by lunging at the darker haired man, who stepped back to avoid the attack. Grabbing hold of each other by the jeans, the two men fell to the floor of the cage again, tussling back and forth, much to the pleasure of the crowd.

A loud whoop came from one section of the gathered men and as Jack craned his neck to look he could see that the blond had managed to pull down the other man’s jeans, exposing his ass. As the fighters rolled, grabbed and tugged at each other, the jeans worked their way further down until the man’s cock and balls were free. By this point, he was pinned under the blond, who had straddled his back, causing the other man’s legs to kick wildly. The result was a fantastic view of his asshole bared for the crowd, with his heavy dick and balls swinging back and forth.

Much of the crowd was cheering now, clearly enjoying what they were seeing, as the blond fighter rolled the other man onto his back, yanking his jeans completely off victoriously. Now stark naked, bruised and bloodied, the other fighter slowly climbed to his feet before quickly barrelling into the blond.

Jack could feel his cock stirring as he watched the younger fighter’s naked body in front of him. He wasn’t alone, and Jack could spot more than a few tented pants in the audience. The blond was grabbing the other fighter’s ass and pulling his cheeks open, giving everyone a good view of a tight puckered hole, and Jack could feel his cheeks heating up as he stared. Pulling his eyes away to grab his hip flask from his belt, Jack’s eye flickered over to Javier.

The other man was leaning back casually in his chair, giving the impression to anyone that he was completely disinterested in what he was watching. Taking a mouthful of whiskey, Jack let his eyes drift lower, his curiosity getting the better of him, and to Jack’s delight he could see the very obvious outline of an erection in those ridiculously tight jeans.

Holding his flask out to Javier, Jack couldn’t stop himself smirking as the other man jumped slightly, dropping the veneer of coolness for a moment, before taking the flask. Letting his eyes drop back down to the bulge in Javier’s jeans, Jack made sure to let the other man catch him looking as the flask was returned to him.

“Good show, am I right?” Jack’s voice was a husky whisper as he leaned over to Javier.

“Uh, sure.” Javier’s cheeks flushed slightly as he glanced around, looking everywhere in the bar except at the two young men glistening with sweat as the naked fighter ripped open the blond’s jeans as he swung him against the cage. His body clattering against the metal, his long cock squashed against the bars.

Jack waiting patiently until Javier’s eyes returned to him before gesturing discreetly at his hard on. “Wanna fuck?”

/////

Crashing around the back of the bar, lips clumsily found lips as teeth clashed and hands roamed. Slamming Jack up against the wall of the building, Javier’s mouth forcefully met his as the two men grunted and moaned in the cold night.

Venturing his hands lower, Jack cupped Javier’s erection through the denim, making the other man buck into his palm as he forced his tongue past Jack’s lips. It had been a long time since Jack had been with someone so aggressively dominant, and it was going straight to his cock, which strained against its confines.

Tugging open Javier’s fly, Jack reached inside, stroking the hard length, feeling it twitch in his hand as Javier’s finger’s tangled into Jack’s hair under his hat. Freeing his own cock, Jack pulled Javier in closer, bringing their erections together, as he began to steadily pump them with his hands.

Javier moaned into Jack’s mouth an incomprehensible stream of English and Spanish as he trapped Jack against the wall, pinning him with his body as he rolled his hips in time with Jack’s strokes. But it wasn’t enough. Jack needed more. There was something about this grumpy DEA agent that was filling his head with the most obscene thoughts, and damn it if Jack wasn’t going to try and fulfil some of them.

Pulling his head back slightly to break the frantic kiss, Jack nuzzled against Javier’s jaw as the other man growled and ground against him.

“You wanna fuck me?” Jack panted into Javier’s ear, stopping his hand and pulling it away from their cocks. “I got lube and condoms.”

“Yes.” Was the simple, growled response as Javier took a step back, glancing around as Jack fished a condom out of his jacket.

As Javier busied himself putting it on, Jack quickly unbuckled his belt, pulling his jeans and underwear down to his knees. Reaching behind him, Jack pushed a finger into his ass, hissing at the coldness of the lube, before adding a second finger. Satisfied at the lubrication, Jack handed the tube to Javier, who applied a couple of drops before returning it.

Turning round, Jack steadied himself on the wall with his forearms, planting his feet as far apart as he could and bend over slightly to give Javier access to his ass. He could feel a hand on his bare hip and the tip of Javier’s cock lining up with his entrance before, slowly, Javier began to enter Jack.

Jack let his head drop down as he bit back a moan as Javier’s thick length steady began to fill him. Inch by inch, Javier sank into Jack's hot waiting hole, both hands now gripping Jack's hips as his cock disappeared into Jack's body. Then, once he was buried to the hilt, Javier paused. Jack could hear him muttering and breathing heavily behind him as Jack adjusted to the size.

"You good?" Javier eventually whispered, one hand idly stroking Jack's exposed skin.

"I'm good." Jack hissed back, his arousal fogging his head. "Gimme all you got."

Jack heard a soft chuckled before Javier began to move. Pulling almost completely out slowly, before suddenly slamming back into Jack's waiting ass. Jack bit back a yelp as Javier began to set a rough, unrelenting pace. Each thrust pounding into Jack, rocking him forward until his cheek was barely touching the cold stone of the building. Javier's hips snapped against him as the obscene sound of flesh against flesh filled the night air.

But it still wasn't enough. Jack was sure at this pace Javier wasn't going to last long, and given their extremely public locale that might be for the best. But Jack needed more. Arching his back, Jack tilted his hips slightly and sure enough the next time Javier plunged into him a jolt of electricity coursed through Jack. That's what he needed.

Javier seemed to quickly pick up on what Jack wanted, grabbing his hip with one hand and his hair with another to keep Jack in the right position. Then, like a jackhammer, Javier began to brutally fuck Jack.

Jack's skin prickled with heat as the tension building in him threatened to explode. All he could do was get out shaking moans, and Javier huffed and panted behind him. The pace was becoming more erratic now, with each strike of Javier's hips against his ass, Jack could feel the other man's grip on his control slipping. The hands holding him dug their fingers in deep as Javier's tempo faltered.

Between his legs, Jack's cock swung with every thrust, adding to the tantalizing anticipation as he got closer and closer to the edge. Then with a grunt and a hard snap of his hips forward, Jack felt Javier come. For a few seconds, he stilled, as Jack felt the cock inside him twitching through its release. Then, without warning, Javier began to pounding into Jack again.

The hand on his hip moved, reaching under to gently pump Jack's cock in time with Javier's thrusts. That was enough.

Like falling off a cliff, Jack came, spilling himself onto the dirt as his trembled in Javier's grip. Shockwaves of ecstasy rocked him as Javier continued to roll his hips, hitting that sweet spot, making Jack's knees buckle.

Jack would have been content to rest there against the wall of the bar, Javier's cock still buried in him, as he allowed the high of his orgasm to ebb away for a little longer. But just as his head began to clear of static, he felt Javier tense behind him, then quickly pull his softening length from Jack's now gaping hole.

"Fuck." Javier hissed. "Someone's coming."

"Dammit." Jack muttered, his words slurring together as he fought to pull his jeans up.

Voices drifted through the cold night air and Jack watched warily as two men stumbled their way towards a truck, laughing heartily as a third more sober looking friend brought up the rear. Turning back to Javier, who was in the process of disposing of the condom, Jack smirked.

"We're good. You wanna head back inside, or are you up for a second round somewhere a little more private?"

"Fuck." Javier chuckled, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and after offering them to Jack, brought one to his lips and lit it. "Tempting. Very tempting, actually. But we have work to do."

"Ah, that dumb fuck'll still be asleep for a few hours yet." Jack waved a hand, but following as Javier started to make his way back round to the front door of the bar. "How about we wait till this place clears out some, then have round two in the men's room?"

Blowing out a puff of smoke, Javier stopped at the door, looking around thoughtfully. There were only a handful of patrons still in the bar now. As predicted, their mark was still sound asleep where they had left him. The fight was over, with the two young men now redressed and counting their winnings at a table in the corner. Leaning against the doorway, Javier turned back to Jack with a smirk.

"You wanna fuck me this time?"

/////

If you enjoy this please give it a reblog to share with other.

#agent whiskey #jack 'whiskey' daniels #javier peña #kingsman #kingsman: the golden circle #narcos #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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internet-ink · 1 year

Note

could you do a story where y/n goes up for a header and get into a bad collision and it’s pretty bloody and leah is all worried and takes care of her?

Collision

Thank you for the request anon!

Team spirits were high despite the situation we were in at halftime. It was the game against Chelsea and it was 0-0. Both sides were on the offensive meaning that it was a tough game with lots of dirty tackles, and of course it was McCabe that got the first yellow out of everyone.

“Come on girls, we just need one.” Leah said. We were all sort of huddled up just before we were going back out on the pitch. It was a little weird, usually Kim would do the speeches at halftime but with her out with an injury, Leah was our captain and I was so proud of her.

We all dispersed to get ready to walk back out and before we did I took Leah’s hand to pull her back for a quick chat.

“You look good in the armband.” I winked, making sure to tease her. Leah shook her head and laughed at my words. She had the most amazing laugh, it was the sort of laugh that just made everyone else in the room smile.

“Thank you.” She smiled, with her hand still firmly planted in mine.

I let go of her hand and pulled her in for a hug. “I just wanted to wish you good luck.” I mumbled. I felt her hand start to run up and down my back before we separated.

“Good luck to you too.” She said before looking around and checking that no one was watching us before giving me a quick kiss. We moved to where the rest of the girls were so that we could walk back onto the pitch.

It was time to get a goal.

———

The ref blew her whistle and Chelsea started off with the ball. They were slow to advance up the pitch, with numerous passes back to Berger, their goalkeeper.

Bright passed back to her once more before Berger kicked it up the field into our half. The ball landed at Rafa’s feet and she passed it up to Leah who was playing midfield today.

Leah dribbled up the pitch before she quickly became surrounded by Chelsea players, meaning that she had to pass back to Jen. It felt like every time we had a chance to progress we would just get stopped and have to backtrack. They must’ve switched up their tactics during the break.

I found space and opened myself up for Jen to pass to me, which she did. Then in order to not get stuck again I immediately saw Viv and attempted a long pass to her, praying that no one was going to intercept it. Luckily no one did and it gave Viv the chance to push up until she was in the position where she could shoot.

“Come on Miedema.” I whispered to myself, willing her to get us a goal. I held my breath as I watched her boot the ball towards the right side of the net. Unfortunately one of the Chelsea defenders managed to deflect the ball with her thigh.

That would’ve hurt.

As unfortunate as it was, it gave us a corner which meant we still had a chance to get up by one. I ran up to join the group of players gathering around the net, but made sure to stand back a little to ensure that I wouldn’t be totally useless.

McCabe walked up to take the corner while I waited in anticipation for what would hopefully become a goal. As she ran forward to kick the ball one of the Chelsea players ran towards me, and as the ball was kicked I soon realised that it was coming my direction.

Shit. Stay calm.

As I jumped to try and header the ball I was stopped by a kick to my face and an immediate feeling of pain overtaking my senses.

Shit.

I fell to the ground as tears threatened to fall due to the sheer pain that my face was in. As I jumped the Chelsea player must’ve already been in the air and accidentally lifted her foot, resulting in her studs catching me in the face. It was definitely a sore one.

I laid there on my stomach as my teammates surrounded me.

“Y/N? Y/N? Are you okay?” I heard Jen ask as someone else called for the medics to be brought on. I didn’t reply and kept my head in the grass. I think I was in shock, I literally couldn’t move.

Another girl placed her hand on my shoulder. “Y/N/N? Can you turn over?” Leah asked. Leah. My body began to relax as I heard my girlfriends voice. A groan came out as I attempted to turn over, Leah used her hand on my shoulder to help me but stopped in her tracks as she saw the state I was in.

“Oh my- Y/N/N, just take deep breath’s.” She muttered, now in shock herself.

As I opened my eyes I saw lots of people crowded round me, some from the other team too. My eyes met Leah’s and it was like everyone around us was gone and it was just her and I. Just her stroking my shoulder and just I admiring her like always. However, this effect soon wore off as I became more aware of the current situation.

Multiple of the girls winced as they saw my face. It was covered in blood and I had a big gash on the side of my face that would definitely need stitches and leave a scar.

I did attempt to sit up, however as soon as my head started to lift off the ground a dizzy sensation took over me, making me lay back down and let out another groan.

“Leah?” I mumbled, having no idea if I was actually talking. I could hear the sound of my voice, but I couldn’t actually feel my mouth moving; it was a very weird sensation.

“I’m here baby. I’m right here.” She said, tears now clouding her own vision as she gripped my hand for dear life, too scared that if she let go that I would leave her.

“Is she okay?” The player that injured me asked. At least she felt guilty, it made the situation a lot better that no one was arguing or fighting with each other.

I sighed as I watched as Leah turned to talk to the player, knowing that she most likely would say something angry. I gave her hand a squeeze to remind her that I was okay. “Go away.” She snapped.

“Leah c’mon.” I said making her turn back to me.

The next thing I knew a group of staff came on with a stretcher to take me off, and they weren’t messing about either with always making sure that my head was completely still. You couldn’t mess about with head injuries, they could turn bad quickly so I understood why they were like this.

Leah walked off with me and fought multiple people to ensure that she was always holding my hand. As we reached the side of the pitch I watched as Leah spoke to Jonas before quickly running back over to me.

“Get back to the game Le.” I said and watched as she shook her head. “Leah. Go and get me a goal.” I continued. She shook her head again.

“No, I’m getting subbed off. I’m not letting you out of my sight until I know you’re okay.”

“Okay.” I smiled, Leah smiling back at me feeling happy that she had got her way.

———

The sound of chatter could be heard outside the hospital room I was in before the door flew open and some of the team walked in. Leah was sat in the bed next to me so stood up to greet everyone.

“How are you?” Jordan asked as Beth took the seat next to the bed with Viv leaning on the back of it. The rest of the girls were left standing in front of the bed.

“All good. A concussion and nine stitches but all good.” I laughed. Leah, however, was not finding it funny. She looked at me with her eye brows raised and her arms crossed.

“You could’ve been seriously injured Y/N/N. Don’t laugh.” She said. I gave her a small smile and shuffled across the bed so that she could lay next to me.

“I’m sorry Le. I’m just trying to lighten the mood.” I apologised. Leah put her arm around my waist and cuddled next to me. “You just scared me, that’s all.” She muttered, her tough persona vanishing.

“You know, if you didn’t look like Frankenstein right now I would take a cute photo of you both.”

“Beth!”

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bloody-peach · 9 months

Text

Demonic Possession (BATIM smut: Ink Demon x F!Reader) [NSFW]

(art by Hikase555)

Goodie Bag: Vaginal sex, creampie, monster sex, biting/marking, breeding, fluff and smut, dry humping, grinding [please let me know if i'm missing anything].

Now Playing: The Rigs - Devil's Playground (click here to listen)

Taglist: @omniuravity @eldritch-affair and any other fellow monster/demon fuckers!

~~~♡♡♡~~~

A/N: Oooh man, the monster fucker in me is salivating over Ink Demon rn. I couldn't find a lot of Ink Demon smut (if any) so I made one myself. A few things before we start. 1) The ink demon will not be referred to as Bendy in this, just 'the Ink Demon'. I go against canon and see Bendy and the Ink Demon as separate entities, so it applies here. 2) the look of the Ink Demon in this story is going by hikase555's design. The header image is by them, but here's another one for further reference: [click here]. 3) I had my boyfriend help me with the intro, so if there appears to be a slight disconnect in writing styles at the start, that is why. One last thing: if you ever get confused on how kissing works in this, the kisses work pretty much like how it worked in this image: [click here]. Ok, on with the show!

~~~♡♡♡~~~

Bending through the corridors of the Cycle left closed and locked away, a sound painfully wailed behind the walls. He once found comfort being given form, but now he dreads the very existence left to be his fate; why must ink demons have heat cycles?

The Ink Demon knew that his heat would start today, it started the same time each year (wait, do years even go by in the cycle?). He would usually be able to control it by pleasuring himself in many different ways, and it would usually work, but now he was insatiable. He needed to find a mate or else lose his mind trying to hold off til the end of his cycle, which he knew he couldn't do.

As he ran through the list of potential candidates in his head, a shrill scream rang out through the halls. It wasn't a scream he recognized as anyone from the studio, so he went to investigate. He followed the commotion to find a chase between the Projectionist, and a woman he'd never seen before. A smile grew on the Ink Demon's face. Maybe this was his chance.

-Some time before-

You heard the rumors about the abandoned studio from the 1930s near your apartment from many people, but never really believed them. However, the mystery of what could be inside the surprisingly intact building enticed you to go see for yourself. When you entered the studio, everything around you turned black and sepia. You walked through the halls and explored the many rooms, to the point where it seemed endless.

But you soon found that, unfortunately, you were not alone.

Many humanoid blobs made of ink and morphed versions of the Bendy characters would try to attack you, at an increasingly growing rate. You were able to outrun them, but you started to grow paranoid over whether they'll be back. Nevertheless, you kept exploring, but you carried a makeshift weapon (you found a broken piece of pipe). You walked into a room where there was a projector running, displaying some footage for some TV special with Joey Drew as the host. You took a closer look at the projector, impressed by its ability to still run after all these years. But then, you noticed ink starting to drip down the projector. The ink formed into a puddle and then grew into a body, attaching to the projector. It lifted it off the stand and was now a walking ink being with the projector as its head. The creature turned to you and let out a terrifying shriek, then started to charge at you. You dodged it and ran out of the room, the projector being chasing you.

-Now-

You ran and ran as fast as you could but you could hear that projector being catching up to you. Soon, to your horror, you hit a dead end. You turned to see your demise coming closer and closer. You put your arms up in a defensive position and shut your eyes tight, waiting for a swift death. But then there was a loud sound and then, silence. You slowly opened your eyes and saw the projector on the ground, separated from the demon's body. You put your arms down and almost jumped when you saw who killed it.

It was a 7 foot tall, malformed figure with skin made of black ink that almost looked like tar, appearing to have a fit human torso, legs, and arms, but with a very small waist. His head looked like Bendy's, but it looked like someone dumped ink on his head, making him look melted. It covered his eyes, so you couldn't see them, if he even had any. His horns were curved and almost looked like a crescent moon, almost. His smile matched Bendy's, but it was much wider. His left hand had 4 fingers and was wearing a white, ink-stained glove, while the other hand had 5 fingers and wore nothing. While you couldn't help but blush as you looked at him, you noticed that he wasn't trying to attack you. He was just...standing there, looking at you.

He stood motionless, his gaze fixed on you. His presence felt unnerving and sinister as he slowly approached you, a faint smile curling at the corners of his mouth. You started to relax as your fear started to dissipate. When you saw its smile, you couldn’t help but feel a blush appear on your cheeks. The Ink Demon's smile widened as he continued to approach you, his steps slow and deliberate. His gaze, intense and penetrating, never left your face. He then knelt in front of you, his head in front of your chest, which brought a lump to your throat for some reason. Maybe it was the invasion of personal space.

You felt a bit of unease in your stomach due to his gaze, but you figured he was safe, since he saved you from that projector thing. You cautiously reached your hand out and you gently put your hand on his cheek. As your fingers made contact with the Ink Demon's face, his inky skin felt cool and smooth to the touch. The ink didn’t stick to your fingers, much to your surprise. He remained still for a moment before slowly tilting his head slightly, resting his head in your hand, a low purr in his throat. It seemed that he found comfort in your touch.

You reached your other hand to touch his other cheek and you couldn’t help but smile warmly, realizing he wasn’t like the other monsters in this building, and that your assumption of him being safe was right. The Ink Demon's expression seemed to glimmer with a mix of curiosity and something akin to affection as you held his head in your hands. You felt as he slowly placed his large hands around you, like he was holding a doll. The Ink Demon's grip on you was surprisingly gentle, his ink-covered hands enveloping you with an almost protective hold. He was handling you like you were made of glass and if he moved wrong or squeezed you too tight, you’d shatter to pieces.

His gaze remain fixed on your face, his expression filled with a strange sense of connection. You couldn’t deny that you felt that connection too, along with a warm feeling in your chest. You thought about how sweet this demon was being, that maybe this was its true nature. You then thought about how it must’ve been so long since he’s seen anyone here that wasn’t a monster out for blood, and how lonely he must’ve been. After that thought, you felt a sense of compassion for this creature and you leaned forward and laid a soft kiss on his head.

The Ink Demon seemed surprised by the action, because it backed up a bit. You felt like you did something wrong, so you said, “I-I’m sorry. Was that too much..? I..I...” That’s when the Ink Demon slowly shook his head, his face softening as he continued to hold you. He reached up with one hand and gently touched the spot where you kissed him, a small smile forming on his face. Something told you that he really liked that. After that, he lifted you up and took you to another room.

The next thing you knew, you were in a room with a makeshift bed in the middle of the room. Must’ve been where the Ink Demon slept, you figured. As he placed you on the mattress and stood in front of you, you wondered why he brought you here, until you thought more on it.

Why else would someone bring you to their room? Because they want you to stay.

You look at the Ink Demon and ask, “You..want me to stay with you, don’t you?” The Ink Demon's smile widened slightly, and he nodded in response to your question. He released his grip on you but took your hand and gently held it, as if urging you to stay. Well, it wasn’t like there was anything for you outside of the building. You had no one waiting for you, no one to be worried about you if you disappeared. Plus, it’s not like there was a possible exit to this place anyways. So you looked at the demon and smiled, saying, “Alright. I’ll stay with you.” The Ink Demon's eyes lit up with a mixture of gratitude and excitement, then he nuzzled the top of your head and licked your cheek.

You felt a stinging pain on your cheek, so you touched where he licked and there was blood. Turns out you got hurt as you ran away from that Projector Demon. You noticed you got a few scratches on your cheek and on the side of your neck and on your shoulder, all bleeding. “Shit...” you said to yourself. The Ink Demon tilted his head slightly, observing your injuries with a mix of curiosity and concern. Slowly, he went to your cheek again. The Ink Demon’s long, inky tongue snaked out from his mouth and delicately licked at the blood on your wounds. As you felt the stings, you noticed that even though he was terrifying and intimidating, he was still being so gentle with you. As he continued to clean your wounds, a low growl rumbled in his chest, almost as if he was trying to comfort you. You felt a blush form on your cheeks and when you heard his comforting purr, you felt touched that he cared about you enough to comfort you through the pain.

He then moved from your cheek to your neck and shoulder. You felt his hot breath on your neck, his tongue slowly caressing it as he cleaned up the blood. It sent a heat down to your very core and you could feel yourself getting hot from this. As he slid his tongue down to your shoulder wound, you accidentally let out a soft moan. In response, the Ink Demon’s purr deepened as he continued to lick your wounds. His tongue brushed against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. His gaze stayed locked on you as he continued to lick you, seemingly lost in thought.

He went towards the spot between your shoulder and your neck and he growled again, but a bit louder this time. He then bit down gently on your skin, drawing a bit of blood. A small, almost unnoticeable amount of ink dripped from his teeth onto your skin, sinking into the bite as he marked you as his. You gasped softly as he bit you, but not out of pain. The ink seemed to numb any pain the bite would've caused and it actually intensified your heat. You couldn’t help but start to feel aroused from his bite, his tongue, his touch, his everything. The Ink Demon’s growling deepened as he continued to leave more marks on your shoulder, now with more purpose than before. He could sense your arousal, and it only served to fuel his own. He knew that you had to be his mate, there was no denying it. He wanted you oh so badly, his very being was screaming for him to devour you.

You couldn’t help but reach your hands out and touch him. You wanted to feel his skin, to know that what you were experiencing was real. The Ink Demon purred, reveling in the warmth of your touch. You gently touch his arm, trailing your fingers along his slick inky skin. You reached his hand and after feeling his palm and fingers, you gently intertwined your fingers with his, holding his hand. He smiled warmly and leaned down slightly, pressing his forehead against yours and allowing your intertwined fingers to rest between you. You blushed red and you felt a warm and tight feeling in your chest. Were you starting to fall for this gentle beast?

You started to trail your other hand down his chest and along his stomach, feeling how smooth his skin was. The Ink Demon inhaled deeply, his body shuddering slightly at your touch. He gazed at you, his cheeks flushed and his smile so warm and inviting. He reached out with his other hand, placing it on the small of your back and pulling you closer to him. You gasp softly at his touch, sending shivers down your spine. “Y..You can..t..touch me too...i..if you want,” you were able to say softly.

The Ink Demon pressed his lips against yours, the kiss gentle and slow. His hand moved up your back, tracing the curve of your spine and pulling you even closer to him. His other hand trails down your side, resting on your hip as he explored your body. You kissed him back, letting a moan escape into his mouth. The Ink Demon smiled, pulling away from your lips to kiss your cheek and neck. His hand moved down to your thigh, slowly tracing its contours as he pulled you even closer to him. You sighed softly as his fingers traced along your thigh, opening your legs slightly to let him touch even more of you. The Ink Demon's hand moved further up your thigh, slipping beneath the hem of your dress and exploring the smooth skin beneath. He pressed his forehead against yours, letting out a purr and allowing himself to fully experience the sensations that were running through him. You felt your body heat up more as his hand slid up your dress, and you decided to just speed up the process for him. “H..Here...let me help you..”

You undid your dress and let it slide off of you, leaving you nude except for your panties. You heard a deep lust-filled purr in his throat once you were nude. He gently laid you onto the mattress, ready to prepare you for him. The Ink Demon moved his hand up to your breast, squeezing it gently and exploring the contours of your body with his fingertips as he kissed your neck and shoulder, licking the fresh bite mark and your wounds. He pressed his groin against yours, feeling the heat between your legs as he explored your body with his hands, mouth, and tongue. You moaned as you felt the heat from between his legs touch yours. You couldn't help but slowly rub your groin against his, so he felt as good as he was making you feel.

The Ink Demon smiled, admiring your desire for him. His hand moved up to your face, cupping your cheek as he leaned in to kiss your lips again. He pressed his groin against yours, feeling your warm, wet center against him as you both move against each other, your bodies intertwined and your breaths becoming heavier and faster. The Ink Demon moved his hips against yours, feeling your body shudder with pleasure as you came closer and closer to release. He slipped his hand down to your panties, feeling the wetness between your legs as he ripped them off, exposing you to him completely.

Once your panties were gone, you felt something touch your pussy. You look down and you saw something growing from his groin, which formed into a large cock, matching his skin. The Ink Demon smirked as he grabbed your thighs and rubbed his cock on your pussy for a bit, until he slipped his hand between your bodies, guiding his cock inside of you, gripping both your thighs and slowly pushing himself deep inside. You couldn’t help but let out a moan as he stretched your walls so deliciously. He leaned forward, grabbed your jaw, and kissed your lips, his tongue exploring your mouth as he feels your body writhe beneath him. He started doing long and deep thrusts, your bodies entwined and your breath coming in short, gasping breaths as you both feel the pleasure building within you both.

You had never felt this sort of ecstasy before in your life, not even with any other partner. This thing was reaching depths you never knew were possible, sensitive spots you didn’t even know you had. “Ahh..! S..So..good..!!” you couldn’t help but let out of your lips once he broke the kiss. The Ink Demon's hand moved down to your ass, squeezing it gently as he thrusted into you, feeling your body shudder with pleasure. He kissed your neck and shoulder, his tongue exploring the contours of your skin as you both come closer and closer to release. He could feel his cock throb inside of you, the pleasure building within him as he moved faster and faster, feeling her body writhe beneath him.

He changed position slightly as he lost himself in the pleasure, grabbing your wrists and putting them above your head, your legs a bit in the air as he leaned towards you more and thrusted harder into you. You moaned at each thrust, trying not to cry out loud. The Ink Demon let his tongue out and licked up your belly and breasts as he fucked you so well. Ink dripped from his tongue, leaving trails on your body, like you were his canvas for his lust-filled creation.

He kissed your lips once again, feeling your tongue explore his mouth as you both came closer and closer to release. Finally, he felt your body convulse beneath him, your pussy clenching around his cock as you came, your moans filling the air as you cry out in ecstasy. He follows soon after, letting out a primal roar and feeling his cock throb as he filled you full with his hot, sticky seed. You felt like you were in another realm than you were as the pleasure from your release flowed throughout your body and you arched your back. All that existed was your full womb, the cock inside you, your body, and pleasure. You could feel his seed fill your belly so much that the sensation caused a second orgasm to rock your body.

Once you come back to reality, you both stay like that for a moment, your bodies intertwined and covered in each others’ cum as you both caught your breath, before the Ink Demon collapsed onto the bed, laying next to you and pulling you close. The Ink Demon kissed your cheek, feeling your smile as you both lay there, your hearts pounding in your chests. You hugged him close, your head resting on his chest. He then leaned to your ear and whispered in a deep, gravelly voice, “I love you.” While you were a bit surprised he could actually talk, you felt warmth flood your heart and you smile, kissing his cheek before saying, “I love you too.” The Ink Demon smiled, feeling his heart swell with warmth as he hugged you tightly. He rested his chin on top of your head, closing his eyes and enjoying the feeling of your warm body pressed against his. You both lay there, holding each other close, until eventually, you both fall asleep, your bodies still intertwined.

‘I think I’m going to love this new life,’ you thought to yourself before letting sleep take you.

~~~♡♡♡~~~

#batim #batdr #batim ink demon #batdr ink demon #ink demon #ink demon x reader #bendy and the ink machine #bendy and the dark revival #batim smut #batim fanfiction #batim fanfic #bendy #bendy fanfiction #bendy fanfic

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whipped-for-kpop-fics · 3 days

Text

Forever in the rain with you - L.SM

🌧Who; Lee Seokmin (Seventeen) x reader 🌧What; I know it starts like it's gonna be angst but it's really not. Reader is just being dramatic. Fluff. Established relationship. 🌧Wordcount; 1.7k 🌧Warnings; Profanity. I don't think there's anything else.

Summary; It's raining again and all you want is Seokmin back.

-2024 Masterlist-

A/N- I was supposed to be planning a superhero crack(ish) series and looked over at the window and saw the rain so this happened. It was supposed to be all dramatic and serious but apparently I was still in humour brain from the hero idea so it didn't turn into the angst I wanted lol. And then it was supposed to be a quick humourous piece and turned into this gathering of fluff. Seokmin's just so sweet and cute, I couldn't help myself. Thank you to @hannieween for supplying me with wet Seokmin pics for the header! 💖

It's raining again.

You can't help but think of him when it rains. How it rained so heavily on your first date that you were both soaked by the time he had walked you home afterwards, yet he had looked so happy as he smiled at you at the door. How whenever the rain caught you unaware when out, he'd without fail remind you of your first day with a bright, smitten smile on his face. How the more days spent in the rain together made a mutual love and appreciation for the weather over your time as a couple. How the first time he had said /I love you/ was only a few weeks into officially being a couple when he had insisted on pulling over on a drive back from a date to slow dance with you in the rain. Because he saw it in a movie and always wanted to do it. You could never say no to him. How he had lit up like you had given him the keys to the universe, not just your heart when you didn't hesitate to return the sentiment that same day, and then kissed him silly, of course. How something about the slip of the rain against his lips on your own always made it feel more special somehow. Like even though the world was right there reminding you that it existed around you, the pair of you still only had eyes for each other.

A longing sigh leaves your chest as you follow the trail of a slow raindrop as it makes its journey down the windowpane, joining its fellow droplets to gather at the bottom until they are strong enough to overflow and fall from the sill down to the wet ground. Reunited with their fellow fallen until the sun rises and lifts them to start the cycle all over again. "Oh, how I miss you." It's dramatic but true. You miss him, you always do and always will. The moment he left there was already a heavy weight settling in your chest and it has only grown heavier ever since. From the moment he stepped out of the door, all you've wanted is for him to return right to your arms where he belongs.

The moment you hear the lock of the front door disengaging, you turn with big eyes, hands balled up in the hem of your t-shirt in anticipation.

And then he steps into your home, bag of takeout in one hand and utterly dripping with rain. He looks absolutely soaked. And so so so fucking beautiful. You can never get over how gorgeous this man is. This Lee Seokmin. The epitome of all of your wildest and wettest dreams rolled up into one devastatingly sweet and loving man. You can never wrap your head around it, why of all the people in the world, he chose you. But the love you hold bright in your eyes whenever you look at him has always shone just as strongly in his own eyes when they land on you. And today is no different, he looks up from putting the bag on the side table near the door without stepping off the entrance mat, and his face lights up at the sight of you standing there.

"I missed you." You inform simply and shuffle over.

"I only went to meet the deliveryman." He laughs, reaching out to take your dry hand into his wet one. You hold on tight and step closer to press a kiss to his lips. "I missed you too, my dramatic love."

"You make me this way."

"I'm pretty sure you were dramatic from the moment I met you. Definitely. We met in theatre club, sweetheart."

"I love that club."

"You hated it." He recalls with a giggle. "You said the teacher was incompetent and the other members annoying."

"He was and they were. But I never would've met you if it wasn't for that club."

"Ah," Seokmin smiles adoringly at you and cups your cheek. "You're so sweet, all for me, huh?"

"All for you."

"Until when?"

"Until you no longer want me."

"Then forever?"

"Forever." You agree with a firm nod. For a second, an unusual look crosses his face, he looks relieved to hear that but it passes almost immediately. It's a strange look, you think, considering you've been together for over a year and you never fail to let each other know how in love you are on a daily basis.

"Let's go to the roof." He suggests, reaching back to open the door behind him.

"Okay," You chirp happily and swap your slippers for some shoes you don't mind getting wet before you leave the apartment hand in hand and quickly make your way up to the roof of the building.

It isn't the first time you've done this; rushed up to the rooftop just to dance in the rain together, and you hope it will never be the last. That even years down the line when you're older, you'll still do this together. Like it's the first time all over again, it always feels that way.

When Seokmin pulls you close with a gentle touch and tilts forward to rest his forehead on yours while starting to sing softly the same song he always sings for you in these private loving moments, your heart races as if it's the first time. You hope that feeling never goes away.

As Seokmin sings in his melodic voice, romantic words he quotes to you in moments where his own words aren't quite right, the rain soaks you through down to your skin and splats up your feet and ankles as you both glide smoothly around the rooftop.

Nothing could be better.

Except if it lasted for longer than just a few minutes. As the last notes pass Seokmin's lips, you both naturally come to a stop and know you will have to return home in a moment to dry off and get into fresh clothes, even if you would both happily remain blissfully pressed together sweetly in the rain while the world kept revolving around you. So long as you have him and so long as he has you, nothing else matters.

"Do you mean it?" He asks softly as he straightens up and peers down at you.

"Mean what?"

"Forever."

There isn't a single hint of hesitation in your response. "Yes."

Seokmin bites his bottom lip gently for a second, a nervous habit before he nods and slides his arms away from you and takes a step back. You assume that he's getting ready to go inside so you start to take a step, though you fall still when he reaches into his pocket and then lowers down to his knee once his hand is back out. It does not take a genius to understand what is happening here, especially not when he looks up at you and opens the little box to reveal the ring within. "I-" He starts but you're already throwing yourself at him, all but tackling him to the floor. He yelps and quickly snaps the box shut as he tumbles onto his backside, his free arm wrapping around your waist to steady you both. "Sweetheart-"

"I love you, so fucking much, Seokmin." You declare, looking at him so intently, lips trembling a little even with your smile. Seokmin is pretty sure that some of the wetness on your cheeks can be attributed to tears.

"I love you too," He replies automatically, both of you unable to hear those words without returning the sentiment and meaning it wholeheartedly. "I guess this is a yes?" He chuckles, pulling the box between your bodies to open it back up. "I know that we don't need this to know that we're in love and mean it. I've said I want to be by your side forever and mean it, but I would be really happy to be your husband, sweetheart."

"Yes, of course. I would love that so much, Seokie." You sniffle and nod rapidly. So Seokmin plucks the ring from the box to slide it onto your finger. "I'll buy you one too."

"Mm, yeah?" He beams up at you when you both look up from the new jewellery on your finger. You're pretty sure his cheeks are wet for all the same reasons as your own; rain and tears of joy blended into one shine on your skin.

"Yeah, we're both engaged, we both should have a ring." You declare. "It's fair."

"It is. I want a big diamond." He jests. "Bigger than yours."

You laugh softly and gently take his face into your hold to kiss him with all the adoration in you. However, when you lean back and take in the loving expression your brand-new fiancee has on his face, the adoration returns to full capacity. "Whatever you want, it's yours, my love."

"What if I want to stay right here in the rain?" He suggests with a cheeky grin, clearly joking.

"I'd spend forever in the rain with you if that's what you want."

Seokmin's expression softens out before he kisses you once more. "You really are the perfect person for me. My other half. My soulmate."

"The love of my life."

"For all eternity."

"Amen." He laughs at your response.

"We're not religious but okay, amen." He agrees then taps your thighs a few times in a silent sign he wants you up. You sigh, not wanting to remove yourself from him, yet still reluctantly get up and help him to his feet. "Come on, dinner's waiting." He speaks, lacing your fingers together to try and lead you back inside but you remain in place and pull him back gently. "Baby?"

"One more dance?" You request. Seokmin can't resist you, can never say no to you. Not that he wants to.

"One more dance."

It's the same song, the same dance you've been doing for over a year now; but you truly, with everything in you, hope that it never changes.

Forever is a long time, but forever in the rain with Seokmin sounds like the perfect way to live your life to you. Just you, Seokmin and the rain. Forever.

A/N- That proposal really snuck up on me. It was not part of the plan at all and just happened. Please don't be shy to let me know what you think! I know I don't really write little pieces like this but if people like them, I'll try to do more little scenes in the future instead of longer stories. And please reblog if you liked the lil story!

#wkcnet #svthub #seventeen x reader #seventeen fluff #svt x reader #svt fluff #seventeen fic #svt fanfic #seventeen dk x reader #seventeen dokeyom x reader #seventeen seokmin x reader #seventeen dk fluff #seventeen dokyeom fluff #seventeen imagine #seventeen scenario #seventeen dk fic #seventeen dokeyom fic

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mysteria157 · 1 month

Text

Chapter Two

Pairing: Black Fem!Reader x Hitman Toji Fushiguro

**While I personally do not think this chapter is too dark and angsty, I AM NOT YOU, so please be sure to read the CWs before proceeding.**

CW: Profanity, Physical Abuse, ANGST, Emotional Manipulation, Naobito being a piece of shit, Hitman duties (idk what to call it), Blood and Violence, Depressive Thoughts, Obsessive Coping Mechanisms, Comfort, Toji being down bad.

Word Count: Don't worry about it.

Summary:

Toji hasn't always been cold and calculated. Beneath that harsh exterior is a boy who was made to feel like he never belonged in this world.

Authors Notes: Hello! Thank you all for waiting!

This fic is going to have dark elements as I've stated before. We all know that Toji suffered abuse from his family growing up and that's largely a reason why he acts the way he does. So I really wanted to explore that in my fic and specifically in this chapter.

As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated! Enjoy and thank you for your support!

| Twitter | Ao3| Masterlist | Previous Chapter

Chapter Three: Coming Soon...

Dividers: @royallaesthetics @eloquentmoon | Header: created by myself (fanart from Pinterest)

look at you.

still standing

after being

knocked down

and thrown out

-Alex Elle

*** Toji ***

The first time Toji tastes freedom, it’s a decade into his bleak existence, amidst the sweltering summer heat. The thick, humid air clings to his grimy skin and makes him feel more uncomfortable than usual. His room—or he supposes it’s a small house—is nestled among overgrown trees and an unkempt lawn.

To an outsider, his ‘home’ looks to be a greenhouse shed but with poorly painted walls and small windows. However, within the compound, it represents the dwelling of the man who tainted the revered Zenin bloodline. While they cannot exterminate the one who is responsible for polluting their family, they can make it seem like he never existed, to themselves and the outside world.

He’s far from the main house, but it’s quiet, and even though the breeze always feels nice between his matted hair, it always carries the undercurrent of trash from the large garbage can that rests against the compound walls next to his abode. It’s all he smells no matter the season. The garbage can is one you would find outside restaurants or large establishments, and when it’s trash day, a large truck parks on the other side of the compound, reaches long metal prongs over the white brick walls, and pulls the can over to dump it.

On trash day, it would be so easy for Toji to jump those walls, to hop on top of the plastic lid of the garbage can and let it carry him over. But like many things, fear and hopelessness hold him back. His entire family has never offered him a kind word or a smile, but they are nothing compared to his uncle. Naobito is the head of their family, feared by many within and outside of the compound. His position requires him to be good at many things, and if there is one thing Naobito is especially good at, it’s making Toji realize his insignificance.

“You think you can just leave? Where would you go, boy? No one in this city wants to take in another child. Especially one of low birth.”

“Insignificant.”

“Useless.”

“A stain on something we have worked hard to uphold.”

These words echo in his ears day after day, month after month, year after year, ever since he could comprehend words enough to know their sting. He’s always felt small, always believed the only purpose he has is to breathe and do nothing else.

But today is trash day…

Maybe it’s the hunger that has been gnawing at his stomach for the past two days or the discomfort of dirt clinging to his skin beneath his sweaty yukata. Maybe it’s the sting on his cheek from his uncle’s morning slap, the mocking reminder for the millionth time not to dare do anything besides what he is told. Maybe staring too long at the garbage can and feeling his heart jump when the truck parks on the other side of the walls is a sign; a fleeting feeling within him, his own body telling him to do something before he withers away.

It all sparks a sudden surge of strength, propelling him to climb on top of the plastic garbage lid as the metal prongs dig into each side of the can and lift him and the trash. Adrenaline helps him dig his fingers into the plastic of the lid as gravity pulls him over the walls of the Zenin compound.

He’s prepared to be tackled and dragged by his hair back inside before anyone can see him. He’s ready to fight back with the remains of his strength if he needs to. But as he slides off the garbage lid and his feet touch the cobblestone ground, only silence greets him. The trash collectors don’t see him and they drive away without turning back and he’s grateful. He’s so grateful, he can hardly breathe.

The compound isn’t in the middle of the city center like he once thought. From the many festivals and jovial sounds he would hear on the other side of the walls, he expected bustling laughter and sounds of merchants advertising their goods. But it turns out, the compound is perched on a hillside. He guesses it makes sense for one of Japan’s wealthiest families to be tucked away for safety and overlooking the world to feel more powerful.

Even though he can see what looks to be a village a walking distance away, the compound also overlooks the city and a large river that Toji doesn’t know the name of. He’s never been taught anything, never learned how to read, never learned basic arithmetic or history. He knows nothing other than the fact that he lives in Tokyo, to eat the rancid food he is given and not talk back when his uncle visits him to teach him a lesson about whatever is bothering him that day.

Laughter echoes in the distance, the unmistakable laughter of children—maybe some his own age. Some who won’t sneer at him as if he’s a piece of shit stuck to their shoe.

His legs carry him towards the village, the sounds of the breeze dying down to be replaced with yelling and laughter and normalcy he’s never heard before. Vaguely, his mind screams at him to go back home so he doesn’t suffer later, but he squashes it down. He will do anything to see faces besides the angry ones of his family, to breathe in scents beyond garbage and contempt, and to taste flavors other than the remnants of meals prepared by the Zenin’s esteemed live-in chef.

Ignoring the persistent growl of hunger in his stomach, his mind focuses on absorbing the sounds of the bustling marketplace that he finds himself in. Vendors haggle with customers, offering a variety of goods—fresh produce, meat, and fish—all waiting to be transformed into dishes that Toji wishes he could eat. The uneven cobblestones are ragged beneath his feet, not smooth and pressed down like in front of the compound. These stones protrude from the soil they are rooted into and catch on the thin shoes that barely protect Toji’s feet. But he navigates the crowds seamlessly, wide-eyed at the unfamiliar sights around him even though the brush of people against his body makes the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

An elderly man dozes off beside a vendor stand empty of customers. A woman, younger but with a haggard face, stands guard at the makeshift register, casting a cautious glance in Toji’s direction. He can feel her disapproval and with her gaze, the weight of his disobedience settles upon him—he should be at the compound, under his uncle’s hateful eyes. Hastily, he averts his gaze and quickens his pace, disappearing into the crowd with newfound urgency.

His ears pick it up before his nose smells it—the sound of sizzling and the smell of dough. Toji can’t help but gawk at the long rows of metal scoops, each containing batter with octopus, pickled ginger, and tempura. The sides bubble and cook, frying from the yellow of fresh yolk before the vendor’s deft utensils turn over each ball of dough, revealing perfectly cooked Takoyaki. He’s tasted it before, albeit soggy and half-eaten, but the memory now stirs a desperate craving within him. He could have it now; fresh and untainted by someone else’s bite. But the lining of his pockets holds nothing but lint; he’s poor with not a penny to his name.

The vendor sets her utensils to the side, pausing in her efforts to catch Toji’s wary attention. When his gaze meets hers, he’s stiff and ready to flee. He’s sure the Zenin family’s influence looms large over the city; she could easily summon someone and report his escape. He’s not ready to go—he won’t. As he edges backward, his thin shoes slip on the uneven cobblestones, nearly causing him to stumble.

But whatever look is in her eyes softens, replaced by something unfamiliar—a warmth that unsettles him, makes him almost nauseous, quelling his hunger while stoking the flames of fear in his belly. Her gaze sweeps over him—his disheveled hair, grimy yukata, the smear of dirt on his cheek. Instead of scowling or sneering and spitting at his feet, she smiles. Soft and warm without any pretense behind it, a genuine smile that makes Toji relax and the fear dissipate. She plates a dozen takoyaki into a long paper bowl, tops them with Kewpie mayonnaise, bonito flakes, and powdered seaweed, and shoves a pair of chopsticks into one perfectly rolled fried dough ball before she slides the bowl over to him.

“Eat up before it gets cold, honey,” she says kindly and the tone almost makes the breath in his throat catch.

Snatching the bowl, Toji’s actions mirror the desperate way he consumes the food that Naobito tosses at his feet after withholding a meal for days. Along with an education, he was never taught manners. His cousins know which forks to use for every dish, he knows to use his hands and savor anything he can get before it’s taken away. He offers the vendor a brief nod, eyes shy and looking away from her for as long as he can muster before he ducks away from the stall.

The takoyaki melts on his tongue and he can taste every speck of seasoning that she added. Ignoring the wary glances directed his way, he licks Kewpie off his fingers, uncaring of the bonito flakes that cling to his chapped lips. It’s the best thing he’s ever eaten—delicious, warm, fills his belly, and when he finally wipes the bonito flakes from his lips some tears collect with it. He doesn’t acknowledge the sadness that climbs up his stomach and nestles in the back of his throat. He can’t—what use would it be to cry over a life that will never change? Over a meal for once prepared for him and not someone else?

He stuffs the remaining takoyaki down his throat to push down the urge to sob, savors the taste for as long as he can, and sucks the seasoning from under his fingernails just as he feels something bump into his feet. When he looks down, he can at least recognize that it’s a soccer ball. The dirt turns the white patterns on it almost black, and it looks well-used.

“You gonna give that back, or just stare at it?” a voice demands.

Toji collects the dirty soccer ball and looks up to find a boy who might—hopefully—be his age. His black hair is short and his eyes hold an expression of boredom and grit that reminds Toji a little of himself. He holds out his hand and gestures for Toji to hand over the ball with so much impatience that Toji glares, tossing the ball back without a word. In truth, he’s struck silent because this is the first time in his life that he’s seen another kid his age who doesn’t look down on him from the encouragement of family.

The kid purses his lips, a bushy eyebrow lifting as he thinks something over in his head before he meets Toji’s gaze. He tosses the ball from one hand to the other, back and forth with a practiced air that Toji wishes he had. He’s skinny but his cheeks are full and his arms aren’t bony which shows he’s well-fed. He doesn’t wear a yukata but his shorts and shirt are freshly washed and free of stains from constant use—just dirt off the ground from playing.

Envy, it’s the only thing that Toji can feel in this moment. Because this kid gets to eat food for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He gets to wear nice clothes, play with friends, and breathe air that’s fresh and smells of takoyaki. It’s not fair. It’s not—

“You wanna play?”

Toji’s eyes widen at the unexpected invitation. Play? With another kid? He’s seen his cousins play with each other in the large expansive fields of the compound but he was never allowed to join. He’s familiar with games he’s made up on his own—counting how many times a bird chirps before noon or how many different animals he can imagine in the clouds—but playing with someone else?

“It’s nothing crazy, you don’t gotta think so hard about it. You comin’ or not?”

Toji hesitates, his fingers bending the sides of the now-empty plastic bowl in his hands. He really should head back to the compound because it’s been over an hour. Someone has to have tried to come to his shed and bully him by now. He has to go back. He has to.

But—

“Okay,” Toji replies instead and follows the kid down the cobblestone street.

***

It’s dusk when he finally reaches the white brick of the compound walls again. The evening breeze is thankfully not as sticky as earlier in the day and glides through his hair to cool the sweat on the back of his neck. His skin is dirty from the people he brushed against in the alleyway, from running in fields with a speed he never knew he had, from kicking a soccer ball and falling into the grass to play with a friend he can now call, Shiu. His fingers are tacky from the Kewpie that he licked off hours ago as well as seasoning from the Yakitori chicken skewers that Shiu conned off a vendor.

He never knew he could have so much fun. He’s never been able to experience it once in his life and having to say goodbye to Shiu, to lie and say he would be back in a few days, makes his stomach curdle with sadness and his eyes sting with tears that he’s too elated right now to let fall.

The compound walls, once towering and frightening, now seem conquerable. With a full belly and a newfound sense of strength, Toji takes a running start, vaulting over the barrier and landing with a thud in the neglected grass. He falls to his knees and plops into the cushion of the ground, rolling onto his back with a huff.

He doesn’t know where it comes from, but he giggles, it’s light and unexpected, mingling with the night air, and helps his lips curl into a rare smile. He gazes up at the starry sky, stars that he wishes he had names for but still uses their presence to create warriors and animals to tell himself stories on nights when he can’t sleep.

“No matter what I tell you, you still never listen.”

The sound of his uncle’s voice shoots an electric jolt of fear down Toji’s spine, propelling him to his knees before he can draw another breath. He can’t have his back on Naobito, he needs to have his eyes on every movement even though it won’t make a difference.

His breath is lodged in his lungs, forming a tight knot that constricts his chest and parches his throat. The sight of his uncle, the sound of his voice, and the scent of his overpowering cologne, make him break into a sweat immediately. It’s a Pavlovian response and his body yearns for some sort of survival instinct that has long since been beaten out of him. But he tries, god does he try to defend himself every time.

Toji sits back on his haunches, shooting an ineffective glare up at his uncle that does little to penetrate the unnaturally smooth texture of Naobito’s skin. Toji can’t run, where would he go? To the other side of the compound where another member of his family can grab him by the hair and drag him back to the underbrush? To the front gates that are always locked and manned by security guards who control who can enter and exit?

“I’m guessing you ran your mouth to everyone you saw. Told those commoners that you’re a poor, neglected boy trapped in the clutches of the Zenin family.” Toji should have done that, but he was too caught up in good food and having friends like a kid should. He shakes his head at his uncle, unwilling to form words that bubble with the now overwhelming queasiness within him. “Oh I’m sure you did, didn’t you?”

Toji shakes his head again, more eager, more insistent even though his heart begins to race in his chest. What’s the point in trying to prove himself to someone who’s already made up their mind? It’s useless, Toji knows that, but he continues to be honest, shaking his head over and over, hoping that maybe just this once, his uncle will believe him.

Naobito scoffs, his peppered mustache twitching with the movement of his mouth. The raven hair on his scalp is always gelled and brushed back no matter the time of day. He exudes wealth in tailored suits and eloquence with a nasty edge that cements his authority within the family. He’s a mean man, a rotten man. A man who subjects Toji to torment no matter the time of day.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the authorities are on their way here right now. Ready to arrest your family, to haul away your catatonic mother so she can’t defend you.”

Naobito’s words are a sharpened tool of manipulation, Toji knows the pierce of it against his skin. But the thought that his own actions would endanger someone else, makes him start, to open his mouth in a plea.

“I didn’t—”

But before he can say another word, a searing pain grips his scalp, forcing a hiss of agony from his lips as Naobito yanks him by the hair through the thick grass and drags him away. Knotweed scratches his face and scrapes against his ankles as he kicks desperately, trying to find purchase on the ground before his uncle can do anything else.

His heart pounds in a recognizable rhythm, adrenaline coursing weakly through his veins, its effects dulled by the overwhelming fear. His fighting doesn’t matter. Toji knows the routine all too well—the sensation of the wooden floor beneath his back when he falls onto it, the sting of a slap across his face, the ache of a knee to his gut.

Toji hasn’t sobbed in front of his uncle in a long time, but he can’t suppress the wretched sound that escapes him as the yakitori and takoyaki resurface and leave his mouth bitter. It feels like the worst punishment he’s ever received, the consequence of eating wonderful food that was never meant for a peasant like him. He took it in, and now it’s on the ground.

He shouldn’t have jumped the walls. He shouldn’t have even thought about it.

Stupid.

Worthless.

Insignificant.

“Now what did we learn?” his uncle’s bored drawl cuts through the air, indifferent as his own flesh and blood cries in front of him. It’s just another day for him and he enacts punishment based on ideals that have been hammered into him by his own father and the father before him.

Naobito pulls a silk handkerchief from his pocket, wiping away specks of blood from his knuckles. His perfectly groomed hair is now disheveled, falling over his eyes, glowering with disdain down at his nephew. Towering over him, Naobito radiates dominance, his imposing stature a constant reminder of Toji’s weakness. Toji hates it. He hates Naobito. He hates his entire family. He hates that his very existence brings so much distaste to those who should be protecting him.

His ears are ringing and his face hurts, and large, calloused hands grip Toji’s cheeks, squeezing them painfully and forcing his gaze upward to lock with evil eyes. His charcoal irises hold no depth or uniqueness and they’re devoid of warmth. Pure hatred, it’s all that oozes from his uncle’s gaze. He’s endured that hateful look every day for the past decade, yet it feels just as fresh as the day before, just as painful to the inside of him.

Toji chokes on a tight breath, groaning against the pressure of nails digging into his skin. He’s devastated by the stench of sweat, dirt, and vomit, and he’s so tired. All sense of strength that filled his hollow bones on the other side of the walls evaporated as soon as the sound of his uncle’s voice shot into his ears like a rifle.

“I said,” Naobito begins, voice low and filled with venom. His breath smells faintly of whiskey, but Toji knows he would inflict this pain upon his nephew completely sober. “What did we learn?”

Through the delirium of it all, beneath the horrible smells around him and the pain that radiates from his stomach up to his hairline, he registers the tremble in his body. He’s shaking, quaking in the grip of a family member who has done nothing but terrorize him as early as he can remember. Toji wants to spit in his face, wrap his hands around his pale neck, and squeeze until the life leaves his body.

But he’s not strong enough. He will never be strong enough.

So he does what he’s been conditioned to do, what he knows will appease his tormentor.

“I’m useless,” Toji whispers, tears finally welling in his eyes, shame gnawing at his gut. No child should ever have to utter those words, yet Toji speaks them daily.

Naobito hums in satisfaction, sickly sweet, eliciting a sharp twist in Toji’s stomach. If he throws up, he hopes it gets on his uncle’s finely pressed suit. He hopes the stains never come out, hopes he has to throw it away and spend more money for a new one.

“And what else? You are…?”

The pucker of Toji’s lips quivers as they curl to form the words and his vision swims. The sight of his uncle becomes hazy, and Toji is thankful that he can’t see his face if only for a moment.

“I’m…insignificant.”

Even though his uncle’s features are a blur, Toji can still see the whites of his teeth as he smiles. It only makes the tears fall quicker and scalding, dripping down dirty cheeks and onto his uncle’s fingers that still dig into his cheeks. He recoils in disgust, shoving Toji away as if he’s been burned. The fingers are gone, free from their biting grip, but Toji can still feel the indentation of them on his cheeks, branded and there to stay for as long as he lives.

Clutching the wooden floor beneath him, Toji’s nails try to burrow into the hard surface and he desperately wishes the floorboards could open up and swallow him whole. Tears stream down without reservation, smacking onto the dark wood next to his dirty fingers. Since his birth, he’s known not an ounce of happiness, not an ounce of peace or love, and is always the subject of his family’s wrath. He’s just come to accept what he’s forced to repeat day after day. Of what he is.

Insignificant.

Useless.

And that thought, the terrible and ever-present thought that his life has no meaning, only makes him cry harder. They’re harsh sobs that rattle in his chest and make him hiccup with every inhale, and he can’t stop them. Finally, his uncle has taught him a valuable lesson.

Somewhere in the distance, he hears Naobito scoff as he stands on his feet and readies to retreat and leave Toji in his misery. The routine will continue in the morning—cold water through a garden hose to shower him down, leftover breakfast from the main house, and another dusty yukata to wear.

Toji knows it like the back of his hand. And like so many times before, Naobito rolls his eyes, stuffs his dirty handkerchief into his pocket, and utters the same words.

“Stop—

***

“—fucking sniveling.”

It’s the third time Toji has to say it in so few minutes and his patience is wearing thin. They always get like this, it shouldn’t surprise him, yet his annoyance refuses to morph into practiced indifference, despite his years on the job. A part of him recognizes the fear in the man’s voice and the tears that run down his cheeks. He held that same emotion and cried many times through years of beatings.

But that was a long time ago, and this is different. This isn’t a man who has spent years under the abuse of his family, this is a target, successfully hunted down by Toji. Right now, it’s just another Tuesday. Another contract. Another paycheck.

Toji doesn’t give them names; attaching emotion is pointless in a job he is always eager to finish so he can get paid. But he needs something to keep his mind focused; so he uses adjectives or random words to effectively detach himself. His current target’s name? Greasy.

The moniker suits him, evident from the persistent shine on his bald head, the stain of sweat that builds at his collar, and a dingy button-up that hugs his beer belly. His beady eyes are filled with tears, his lower lids red and swollen and a thin chapped lip split down the middle. He squirms and wiggles in his chair and every part of him seems slimy, reminiscent of a snake fresh from its egg. And Toji hates snakes.

What the hell is he again? A stock broker? Hedge fund manager? Toji doesn’t really remember nor does he really care, it’s not relevant anyway. His career is but a small stepping stone for figuring out the best approach for reconnaissance.

It takes Toji a week to track Greasy’s movements in the vastness of the city that is part of America. Despite Toji’s skills in navigation, everything is unfamiliar. But he adapts quickly—he has to.

Greasy works a typical nine-to-five and has a corner office in a nice skyrise downtown that he spends most of his time taking personal phone calls inside of instead of working. Toji knows because the building across the street is empty and just as tall with large glass windows that are blacked out to those on the outside. On the 42nd floor, Toji has a perfect view of the back of his target and watches every day to note every detail of his routine.

For lunch, Toji stealthily follows Greasy to the same 7-Eleven at 12:35 PM, watches him purchase the same cherry slushie and tuna melt for ten dollars, and grimaces beneath the cloth mask that covers his mouth as he watches Greasy scarf down the food like the pig he is on the journey back to the office. At 5 PM, Greasy walks from the office to the train station, takes the Red Line to another city, and arrives home thirty minutes later.

The routine is as mundane and uninspired as the man himself. Yet, it’s the days marked by suspicious behavior from his client that pique Toji’s interest. Those are the days Greasy indulges, presenting the perfect opportunity for Toji to strike.

On Monday and Wednesday, Greasy tells his wife he has to work late and clocks out at 4:45 PM, riding the same Red Line but exiting the train at a stop before his usual. He climbs into a shiny Mercedes, kisses a much younger blonde woman, and disappears until 11 PM when his client reports that he’s arrived home. Like many others of his kind—seedy and grimy and consumed with themselves—Greasy remains oblivious to Toji’s presence. The last thing on his mind is his wife and children as he indulges in infidelity.

He’s climbed the ranks of his job but failed to realize the ease of it is from his wife’s influence. He’s too selfish to recognize that cheating on a governor with a dark side would not only incur her wrath but also put her in the spotlight due to his carelessness. He’s too conceited to realize his mistress only fucks him because her house and car are being paid as long as she continues to entertain him. He’s stupid in the best way for a mission like this, and ignorant of the world around him.

It turns out, Greasy has been fucking on the side for half of his marriage. And he’s been taking a little bit of his wife’s money that she earns as a politician to fuel his alternative lifestyle. His wife is easy on the eyes, gave the loser two kids, and remained faithful even though her husband slept with anything that had a pulse. The only things Greasy gives his wife in return are two children and an STD. She’s angry, distraught, and filled with rage. Rightfully so.

Thanks to the help of the department in his organization that handles all things technological, Toji is able to SIM swap the mistress’s phone and send Greasy a message to meet her in a different location. Specifically, one of the many random establishments throughout the city that have been bought by his organization under the guise of something else.

Greasy walks into Toji’s trap, ignorant and vulnerable, and now here he sits—tied up and squealing. This contract is so easy that it’s almost upsetting. He doesn’t usually like to get his hands dirty, but mental stimulation would have been a nice distraction.

Toji doesn’t get it—cheating. He’s always been one to stick with a woman and take what he can before he moves on to the next. While his intentions are never worth a gold star, he does things one woman at a time. Cheating seems…exhausting. And he’s been exhausted for most of his life to stay away from it if he can.

He’s not one to be tied down anyway.

At least he thought so.

“Earn me.”

Your words echo in his mind, a precursor to what might become a throbbing migraine because he shouldn’t be thinking about you right now. You shouldn’t be in the dark, bloody recesses of his thoughts focused on killing. The room will only stain your smooth brown skin and ruin you, consume you, and corrupt you in ways beyond repair. He can’t afford your gaze to turn into anything other than teasing or annoyed when you look at him.

“I s-swear. I’ll do-do wh-whate-ever you say just—“

Whiny. Sobbing. Annoying.

“Shut up,” Toji grumbles, using the muzzle of his Glock 43 to massage his temple.

He’s tired, his brain now pulsating and being fueled by the stench of Greasy’s body. Despite the amount of money that he can get from revenge contracts, they are typically handled by those ranked lower than him. Revenge contracts deal with anything personal: infidelity, a family member that is despised just enough to warrant making them disappear, two legal companies doing whatever they can to take the other down. Anything with a vendetta.

They are driven by anger, hatred, and bitterness. Heavy and unnecessary emotions that Toji has to deal with before he can complete the job. Clients often demand specific proofs of guilt, from signed confessions in blood to videos of their target with tearful apologies to a picture of a severed finger if they are demented enough. To the client, it’s freeing. To the world, it’s insanity. But to Toji, it’s tedious and he has no choice but to get it done.

He pulls out his phone, ignoring the absence of notifications from you, and dials the burner number provided to all clients.

“Is it done?”

Most wives would be a sniveling mess under such circumstances. But not this one. She’s been wronged to a degree that her sadness washed away a long time ago and all that was left was rage, revenge, and unyielding determination. It takes a special someone who has been really hurt to stoop this low into darkness.

“Not yet, honey. Doing what you wanted remember?”

Toji sighs, putting his phone on speaker as finally rests his gaze on the disheveled and pissy state of Greasy. His other hand steadies the gun aimed at Greasy’s dick and the hiccuping words flow once again. He’s so goddamn loud. Toji needs Ibuprofen, food, a fucking text from you (but he’s not thinking about that right now), and some sleep.

Greasy has already exhausted the usual litany of cries, but Toji endures the same performance again for his client on the phone.

“I’m sorry!”

“I won’t do it again!”

“Please give me another chance!”

Blah, blah, fucking blah.

In the early years of Toji’s time in darkness, he watched this performance firsthand. It’s a feeble attempt to cling to life, words uttered in desperation on the precipice of death, holding little substance. Once the adrenaline dies down, old habits resurface, seeping through the cracks formed by fear. And Greasy’s wife won’t be willing to pay such a hefty price a second time.

Removing the phone from speaker, Toji presses it firmly to his ear to drown out Greasy’s heightened cries. “You get all that, honey?”

“…yes.”

Mrs. Greasy sounds a little unsure, but she can’t back down now. That’s the other irritating thing about revenge contracts. Deeds fueled by emotion are unpredictable, and in a business like this, you need to be absolutely certain of what you agree to. She could back down, but then that means she knows about this little business and Toji’s organization will have no choice but to come after her.

No, he needs this signed and sealed with a deposit in his account by the end of the night.

Toji waves the gun dismissively, rolling his eyes at Greasy’s flinching. “You wanna stay on for the rest?” It’s a courtesy Toji always extends, twisted though it may be, offering some semblance of closure to his clients.

Greasy’s face is a mess of mucus and sweat, and the front of his pants is wet. It’s fucking disgusting, but there’s a part of Toji that revels in the sight. Perhaps it’s the years of desensitization, but Toji relishes seeing those who deserve to get their due. Rotten people. Terrible people. And while cheaters aren’t inherently evil, they seldom learn until their world crumbles around them.

“Just get it done,” Mrs. Greasy replies firmly, though a tremor in her voice betrays her fear. She should be afraid and drowning her worries in bottles of wine tonight. It’s one of many logical responses to ordering the death of a cheating husband. She hangs up without another word.

Normally, Toji has a few words before he pulls the trigger or tightens the noose or whatever nefarious thing he’s ordered to do before his target goes limp. But the throbbing in his head has blossomed into a migraine just as he expected, he hasn’t eaten in ten hours, and he hasn’t heard from you since last night.

To put it quite simply, Toji is pissed off.

So he cocks his gun and does what he needs to do.

Despite the deafening roar of the gun, the ensuing silence is gratifying to his head. He doesn’t bother with the mess, that’s someone else’s job and he shoots off the text to the appropriate party. In a few hours, Greasy’s body will be dealt with in whatever way the cleaning crew decides. A death certificate will be signed by a coroner and an autopsy report will be forged by a pathologist—two of many on his organization’s payroll—and to the public Mr. Greasy will have been a loving man killed by his own heart. It’s almost poetic how efficiently things are run.

Thick red droplets splatter the grimy concrete, falling in a rhythmic cadence Toji knows all too well. Scenes like this are etched into his psyche, a constant hum in the background of his thoughts like a relentless generator. The instinctual response is to recoil, to scream, to flee at the sight.

But Toji has learned to numb himself to the gore and violence of his profession. To reach the level he has attained, to gain that notoriety, he had to confront the brutality without flinching. He had to absorb it, dream about it, and recall it with clarity when necessary, sketching it on a canvas as if it were fresh in his mind.

Despite the beating he received, the small taste of freedom Toji savored at ten years old was just the beginning. Sneaking out became a routine and it didn’t take long for him to learn from Shiu how to swindle, scam, and steal. Every time he scaled the walls of the compound, Naobito’s wrath got longer and more painful. As if to teach him a lesson, as if the pain would make him fall back in line.

But his uncle failed to realize that he took that hope from Toji long before he decided to seek more freedom. He had taken everything from him. He had nothing left to lose.

On the day that he learned of his mother’s passing, he leaped over the white brick walls and never returned.

The streets became his domain, cobblestones his makeshift bed unless a caring vendor offered him a room for the night or Shiu was able to convince his parents to let Toji sleep over for a few days. They ran the streets together with other kids their age, and as they grew, so did the prevalence of crime.

It didn’t take long for Toji to get mean, to embrace the cruelty that always radiated from his uncle’s pores. Survival demanded ferocity and each fight he got into honed his strength and capacity for violence until it simmered perpetually beneath his skin.

Despite the bloodshed ingrained in his past, Toji shies away from memories of his first kill. He was too young, too naive, and too angry. He refuses to conjure the face of his victim, to entertain the image of the man he eliminated in defense of an older woman who was being attacked. He pushes that memory down into a dark corner where he can never see it. He refuses to remember more.

But Toji does remember how cold it was that night—the rain, the tremble of his hands around the gun, the precision he summoned, the hollow emptiness that followed. Naobito’s influence had carved out any trace of emotion, leaving behind a vessel capable only of detached efficiency. It’s so ironic that it’s laughable. He became the very thing he feared.

When larger and more menacing gangs began to cast their shadows, Toji realized it wouldn’t be long until he would have to fall into one just to survive. He remembers a member from one of the more vicious gangs recruiting him. Not Yakuza, but just as structured and disciplined with a hideout, hot food, and warm beds. How could he possibly say no?

In a year, Toji ascended the ranks, earning his place as Wakagashira—second in command—at the age of seventeen. If someone needed to disappear, Toji was the man to get it done. Morals were luxuries he couldn’t afford; his survival depended on their sacrifice.

Those efforts paid off. He moved from the local hardcore gang to a legitimate organization that gave him a mentor who showed him how to read, encouraged him to get his GED, and taught him how to be disciplined and mature. He began to get paid for his work and his world changed.

He no longer had to think about his next meal; it was always within reach. He no longer endured cold showers from a garden hose and the leaky roof of his shed; he had comfort and a cheap apartment. He no longer sought affection; it was thrust upon him by every woman his age who could breathe the same air as him.

Everything that he has earned in his life, has been by his own hand, his own skill, his own diligence.

But no amount of money and comfort can wash away the brutal beginnings of his life.

Toji swipes his finger on his phone screen, a new ritualized distraction that gives him satisfaction when he watches a row of orange jewels disappear. He’s reached level 150. And while he can’t make any money playing Candy Crush, it still fuels the addiction that he used to harness when he places bets. He has yet to admit freely that he’s a gambler, but you’re no idiot. His determination to win as many games of Spades on the 4th of July at your uncle’s was the first giveaway.

“Jesus. You always this messy?” a voice from behind him calls out, prompting Toji’s hand to instinctively fly to the gun on his side as he whirls around. His breathing halts in reflex, ears straining to capture any subtle sound to give him an advantage. Yet, the sight that meets his eyes—a group of people clad in grey jumpsuits, their insignia faded—elicits only a frustrated exhale. “This how you do things over in Japan?”

There’s an undertone to the comment that Toji recognizes, but doesn’t bother to acknowledge as he walks past the crew and out of the warehouse. There’s no point entertaining them. No matter the contract, the cleaning crew always complains. New recruits in the organization, no matter how promising, have to work their way up and show they can handle any job. So Toji knows what it’s like to complain during cleanup.

But it is true, this isn’t how Toji does things. He’s quick and precise without leaving a mess, silent and stealthy—a reputation that has elevated him within the ranks. He’s heard the whispers, and seen the way those of lower rank either tense up or shine their eyes at him when he’s near. His boss boasts of him as Japan’s notorious hitman—nameless yet highly sought after for his efficiency. The Invisible Man.

With his years in the game, Toji can call the shots on how he does things. He only kills scum. Scum lower than himself. Raised in squalor, abused by those meant to care for him, he knows evil intimately. Each bullet he delivers to his targets brings a semblance of peace, and a sense of justice to his troubled soul.

There was a point in his life when he wasn’t so troubled. Somewhere beneath the layers of filth and pain lies a man sheonce knew—a man of tenderness and warmth, embraced for a fleeting moment. A brief, yet exquisite time filled with the gentle caress of her hands, the comforting cadence of her voice, and the birth of a son, a fragment of her very soul. She was able to push through the anger he gave, wrap her hands around his, and never let go.

But like all things in Toji’s life, he’s constantly reminded that he is nothing. That he deserves nothing. And the world made sure to take her away to reaffirm that devastating fact. Six years of barely holding himself together in front of a child who needed him, made him realize he needed to do better.

He’s not ready to give up his career just yet—he’s not sure if he ever can. However, one thing he is sure he can do is provide his son with a better life. He’s not the best father, he will admit to it, and he always has enough connections to give Megumi protection from his family and the dangers of his job. But it’s not enough anymore. He needs to be more involved, more attentive, more of a parent to fill the hole left by his mother. He can make sure his son has a childhood worth remembering.

Not like his own.

America is big, which means more opportunity, which means more money, and an entire continent away from the echoes of his past.

He should forge a future worth pursuing—a future where his kid can have simple joys he never got to experience; maybe a dog, a nice private school, and a father with a convenient job. Retirement flits through his mind more frequently these days, but he knows that truly getting out of the business may be next to impossible. A small part of him longs for that freedom again, a chance to escape all the shadows of his past. However, as his phone buzzes with yet another notification, he’s jolted back to the grim reality that he lives in.

Unknown: Not your usual leftovers but you still got the job done. You should have your payment later today.

Toji: Good. No more revenge contracts. I mean it.

Unknown: I have another if you’re interested, a classic one and done. Want to get you situated in the new market before people start demanding you.

Toji: Gimme a week.

Unknown: I can do that.

***

He’s downed three Ibuprofen, scarfed McDonald’s, and washed away the remnants of blood and frustration from his skin. In the bathroom mirror, his chest is flushed from the vigorous scrubbing, his scars appearing more pronounced against the backdrop of crimson. Each scar serves as a stark reminder of his tumultuous life, where every gain is intertwined with bloodshed and agony.

Under the dim glow of the streetlights outside your uncle’s house, you likely didn’t notice the scars that mar his skin, a fact for which he’s grateful. It would only be more that he would have to lie to you about and he hasn’t thought of the story that he will tell you when you finally ask him.

He has no idea what sort of card he’s pulled to have you in his life. You deserve someone accomplished—a doctor, lawyer, or politician—certainly not a man who deals in bullets and bloodshed, someone like him. Men like Toji don’t deserve the kindness of a woman. Men like Toji don’t deserve the softness of skin scented with Shea butter and a hint of vanilla or the radiance of sunlight dancing on curly hair. Everything good and beautiful in this world slips from his scarred fingers.

He feels insignificant, worthless, a stray wandering the streets, latching onto any speck of attention. Yet, despite your piercing glares and the thin thread that you have him on, you possess a warmth surrounded by fiery edges. The urge to subject himself to that searing heat is almost unbearable.

Both of your lives are consumed with demanding professions; his by contracts, yours by on-call duties and long shifts. It’s been about a week since your date and you both text frequently. You’re busy with your fifth consecutive 12-hour shift and you haven’t messaged him all day. He knows you’re busy, but there’s a piece of him that has been trained to expect unhappiness.

Deep down, he knows you have every right to cut ties with him forever. He’s deceiving you in the worst possible way. If you were to uncover his deeds, the dark agreements he’s made and completed, you would surely turn away without a second glance. He had no intention of wanting more of you after that night. But women like you are rare, fleeting in appearance and he’s a selfish fucker. So, so selfish.

He was ready to ask you out again before the reality of his harsh world dragged him away. A contract that he thought would be simple and quick, had dragged into a week-long affair; interrupting little moments he could be spending with you.

In those moments, alone with his gaze fixed on Greasy as he observed his behavior, he thought of you. He thought of seeing you again when you’re not yelling and screaming at a referee. Maybe for dinner? Somewhere decent where he can snicker at the way you glare at him in the low lights. Somewhere he can see you in a dress besides the red one he met you in, curls framing your face, naturally long lashes narrowing as he flirts with you without shame.

The knowledge that he doesn’t know more about you, leaves an odd fluttering in his stomach that he can only describe as annoyance. He’s known you for over a month but you are as mysterious as you are beautiful. With his skills, he could easily dig into the far corners of his organization to discover more about you. But the mere thought of knowing parts of you without your permission leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

He’s slept around enough to know a good-looking woman when he sees one, and you stood out like a genuine gem amidsta sea of counterfeit trinkets. Toji can’t deny that he approached you that night with a certain goal in mind, but the instant he looked down and called you ‘princess’, the minute you shot him a glare that could rival a city’s destruction, he was hooked.

He’s drawn to women who are independent, strong-willed, and able to speak up for themselves. The assertive ones were rare until he met you. That night at your uncle’s, you exuded a resoluteness he had never encountered before. You took pleasure solely for yourself, oblivious to the fact that your selfishness merely made you more enticing, inviting him to sink his fingers into your flesh and take root indefinitely. He had never been so delirious with lust, so utterly out of control with his body as you took and took. The sex was amazing, toe-curling, and intense but it wasn’t just that, it was you.

You, you, you—fuck.

Normally, he’s content with momentary encounters with women; lingering around for a few weeks, taking what they offer until he moves on to the next. It’s a practiced air that he’s used to breathing.

Breathe in—a good fuck on Monday that has a little bit of money for him to take advantage of until Friday. Breathe out—she’s had enough of him or he’s taken his fill and he finds a nice brunette on Saturday.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

But the air is a lot thinner when he tries to breathe you in, tight in his chest and too much but also not enough.

Because you’re a fierce little thing, yet he can see hints of vulnerability beneath the steely resolve of your gaze, a softness rarely revealed to others—especially men and those who challenge you. There’s a familiarity in that vulnerability, a long-forgotten sensation buried deep within him, hidden away in that same dusty recess of his being that’s been rattling for attention a lot more lately.

The allure of you is like a swift current within a crystal-clear stream, beckoning him to immerse himself despite the rocky terrain beneath. Against his better judgment, he’s plunged headfirst without thinking about what he’s doing—about what’s at stake—and letting the current take him away.

You must have seen something in him, because, despite your protests and excuses, you dropped your defenses enough to show more of yourself. Enough to smile at the daisies he gave you when you thought he couldn’t see. Enough to mold your soft lips against his one more time.

His mind wanders back to the present again and falls into a familiar urge that has to be satiated. He knows that whatever it is, it stems from his childhood, but he doesn’t know how to stop it. He runs his fingers over his skin, tracing each scar he’s come to memorize to ensure nothing appears out of place. He can distinguish those from Naobito’s cruel hands and those earned from years in the field. He knows. Yet, he still feels the need to double-check, from the locks on the front door to the latches on every window, even poking his head into the attic before bed just for reassurance.

He has to be sure that he’s safe, that he is secure in his home, away from prying eyes because Naobito could be his neighbor. He could be here in the US, here in this city, here watching his every move and he has to be safe.

His fingers tremble against the cool porcelain of the bathroom sink as his heart races, each breath shaky and uneven as it falls from his throat, his eyes fluttering to push away the sting as he begins his own routine that comes up a few times a week. A steady mantra to quell his rising panic.

He’s not here.

He will never be here.

He will never hurt you again.

You’re safe.

He hasn’t had to worry about Naobito in a very long time, but the logic of that falls to the wayside no matter the time of day. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone about it, he’s fine. The fear and pain will fade away with time.

It will.

The chime of his phone interrupts his thoughts and makes him flinch. He exhales another shaky breath and presses the heels of his palms into his eye sockets, using the pressure to ground himself and get his thoughts back in order so he can go about his day with what remains of his sanity.

“Fuck,” Toji whispers and slides large hands down his face before snatching up his phone and making his way to his living room to plop on his couch.

Toji rolls onto his side, the cotton of the couch pillowing his cheek as he stares at the eggshell wall of his living room. The house he’s purchased is spacious, more than he’s ever had, but it’s not for him. It’s for Megumi. His son deserves a proper home, a place to grow and thrive. But it lacks warmth, devoid of the touches that make a house a home. The hardwood floors have no rugs to clothe them, the living room only has a couch and TV with no stand beneath it and the walls are bare and without character. Maybe he could go furniture shopping this weekend? Invite you if you’re not too tired from working.

When he finally checks his phone, his heart thumps heavily in his chest when he sees the notification from you.

You: I’ve had such a shit day. My car wouldn’t fucking start and work has been so busy. I’m exhausted.

Relief floods him too quickly for him to swallow down and analyze later. There’s no stopping it now, and Toji finds himself sitting up on the couch, his nose almost touching the screen of his phone as he types his response. So many thoughts bubble within him at once. The urge to ask you what he can do, the urge to come over to your house so he can take care of you—so many urges that his late wife would effortlessly draw from him against his own volition overwhelm him.

Toji: How did you get to work

You: I took the bus.

He growls under his breath at your response, his mind flashing with every single danger possible at the thought of you traveling alone at night. Any sleazy man could watch the stop you get off, take note of the street, and come back later. Someone bigger than you, stronger than you. And even though you’re fierce and strong yourself, evil usually wins. The thought makes his blood boil. All you had to do was tell him about your car, and he would have picked you up immediately. But the words from you that shine from his phone are a blatant reminder of just how little you rely on others.

Toji: I’ll pick you up.

You: I get off at midnight. Toji it’s fine.

Toji: I don’t care. I’ll be in the parking lot when you come outside.

You don’t respond, leaving Toji to wonder whether you’re simply swamped with work again or pointedly ignoring him out of defiance. He’s showing up whether you like it or not. He tosses his phone toward the end of the couch and rolls onto his back, his gaze drifting up to the ceiling.

Popcorn ceilings. He despises them. It’s a trivial thing to fixate on, but the textured surface only amplifies the visibility of dirt and grime, reminding him of memories of the dilapidated greenhouse shed where he grew up; of dust and dingy yukatas and soiled food. Toji realizes that the stupid thought is so annoying because of how quickly it reminds him of his life. It’s a vicious cycle of how his mundane thoughts can instantly make him think of a painful memory.

Maybe that’s all his brain can do—think of the bad in his life. He’s not meant for happiness. Wonderful things like you are beyond his reach, and even his own son couldn’t be further detached from him. His thoughts are murky and desolate, so burdened with despair that he’s amazed his body still finds the will to wake up each morning. But he does, for some reason, he still does.

***

A few minutes past midnight when you slide into his car, Toji inhales the weary air you breathe out. Your bun is loose, curls frizzed along your hairline, your scrub top has baby spittle on it, and there are circles under your eyes. You’re absolutely exhausted, but Toji’s heart stutters when he glimpses the determination in your gaze—resolute and fierce even when dead on your feet.

And suddenly, he can’t help himself. He leans over and presses his lips to your cheek, siphoning the softness against the chapped edges of his lips to make the coldness in his chest warm over. You don’t smack him or tell him to behave or call him names for taking something without asking.

“Am I at least allowed to do that without you smacking me?” Toji asks you, a soft smirk on his face as he takes in your familiar glare. It almost washes away the blood and murder he had his hands in this morning.

You wave him away in mild annoyance, but Toji sees something on your face. With his years of perception, he notices the subtle tug of your cheek as it pulls inward for you to bite down on it, your lips fighting to contain the smile that threatens to bloom. One day, he will pull a smile from you freely. One day.

As he drives to your apartment, he unconsciously takes deep inhales to savor the delicate vanilla beneath the sharp tang of hand sanitizer and sterile hallways that radiate from your side of the car. He turns on the classic rock radio station that he played last time you were both in the car together, and you hum along again without thinking. Only this time, your hums are broken, and without strength, your head lolling against the window until you slowly fall asleep.

When he parks the car at your complex, he doesn’t wake you up immediately. In sleep, you can’t scowl at him, but even now, your demeanor remains guarded. Your shoulders are tense, hands clutching the strap of a well-worn leather bag, cheeks flushed with a fever you vehemently deny even though he can smell the common cold in the car.

Only two minutes have passed, yet his thoughts are consumed solely by you. Not about the people he’s killed. Not about the abuse he’s suffered. Not even the echoes of Naobito’s taunts that intrude when he least wants them to.

Just you.

He will earn all of you, just like you asked of him.

That rattling in his chest he felt the last time you were both together makes itself known again, pushing against his belief that his happiness will never be permanently his own. Maybe the sight of you rolling your eyes and offering him little pieces of affection with the smirk you try to hide is the very thing he needs to breathe a little easier.

He doesn’t know. He hasn’t quite figured it out.

So for now, he’ll grasp whatever morsel of solace he can, disregarding the ache in his chest that gets worse when he breathes in your air, knowing you remain unaware of such a significant aspect of his life.

He hopes this never catches up to him, and if it does, he hopes that you can forgive him. He hopes that he can forgive himself for taking from you when someone more deserving should occupy his place.

Until that reckoning arrives, he’ll indulge in his selfishness, because right now, it’s the only thing bringing him a semblance of joy.

Thanks for reading!

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