#it shouldn’t matter if i’m black or not. what matters is spreading the fic. getting it to the ppl it IS meant for. that’s how i see it

[togamest]

just so y’all know. if you’re not the target audience for a story, or you don’t identify with the reader described in a story, but you’re friends with the author or simply enjoy the story and how it’s written…you’re allowed to reblog it and interact with it. you’re allowed to spread its reach. gatekeeping has its uses but for fan-made things let’s stop doing that. who is that helping??

[tkwrites]

It Doesn't Matter - Part II - Nico Hischier x ofc

Gif from offside-the-lines

Title: It Doesn’t Matter - Part II

Part I | Part II | Part III | Playlist

Author: Tory / @tkwrites 

Relationship: Beginning: Nico Hischier x Original female character 

Summary: When Nico agreed to pose for Lena as her nude model, he never expected how difficult it would be or where the night would take them. 

Warnings: Slow burn, talk of lots of anxiety, being naked for the sake of art, smut at the end (18+): handjob (f on m) fingering (m on f) 

Word count: 12,200

Comments: This fic has taken on a bit of a mind of its own. It’s much, much longer than I originally envisioned, but I couldn’t bear to cut any of it down. I hope you like it as much as I do and enjoy Nico and Lena finally sharing their feelings for each other. 

If you enjoyed this, please let me know by commenting, reblogging, or sending in an ask. Your encouragement and comments truly inspire me to keep writing. 

It Doesn’t Matter - Part II 

“I feel like I shouldn’t eat before,” Nico said, looking down at the spread of sushi that had just been delivered to the apartment. 

“Why not?” 

“So I’m not…” he patted his stomach affectionately. Not only would he be immortalized in her art, he didn’t want the first time she saw him naked to include being bloated from eating too much rice. 

Lena flipped her hand and shook her head, “the whole point of a nude study is to see a human figure as it is, not as someone who's prepped for three days or something.” 

He looked unconvinced. 

“Do whatever you feel comfortable with, but don’t get hangry on me,” she warned, pointing her chopsticks at him.

Holding up his hands in surrender, he laughed. 

He ate but stopped as soon as he felt the mildest hint of fullness. He could eat more when they were done. 

“So, do I just get naked?” he joked, sliding the plastic takeout containers into the fridge. 

She snorted, but the tips of her ears flared pink. 

“I…kind of hoped…” her voice trailed off. She wasn’t sure if she could just come out and ask for what she wanted. If he were a hired model, she would have asked him to come in a specific outfit, but this was Nico, and he was doing this as a favor. 

“What?” he asked, unsure why she was being so hesitant. He was doing this for her. Didn't she know he would do just about anything for her? “Do you want me to wear something specific?” 

Well, if he was offering. “Can you put on some dark suit pants with a belt?” 

That wasn’t so bad. “Anything else?”

“No socks.” She knew he didn’t love to be barefoot, but for this, they would go against the picture and story she was building in her mind. 

“Does it matter what color boxers?” he asked instead of protesting. He couldn’t remember what color he’d put on that morning. 

Just thinking about seeing him in his boxers made her blush. Which was so stupid. She’d walked into the kitchen just the week before, only to find him walking around in nothing more than a tiny pair of black boxer briefs. They’d hugged his ass so tightly that she could see the muscles shift every time he moved.  

Finally managing to shake her head and desperate to change the subject, she blurted, “I’m going to go set up in the living room.”

Nico smiled at how flustered she was as he went to change. Maybe Nina was right. At the very least, she might not be totally wrong. 

“Maybe I’m just reading too much into it,” Nina had said when he had called his siblings in a panic the day before, trying to figure out how exactly he was going to get through this. “But I think you should give it a try. At least tell her how you feel. You don’t see the way she looks at you.” 

He did see the way she looked at him. The same way she always had. Friendly and open and kind. But that was it. It never went beyond that.

“And what if I tell her and she turns me down? Or what if I tell her, and she says she doesn’t feel that way? I can’t just go back to how it was before. I can’t just take it back.”

“Isn’t it killing you to not tell her?” Luca asked. He didn’t understand it as well as Nina did, and had both feet firmly in camp ‘grow a pair and tell her,’ like Jack. 

He gave a non-committal shrug. It was killing him. No, that was too dramatic. It wasn’t killing him, but it was making him a little crazy to feel so much intense emotion without having anywhere to put it. 

Nina was tired of having this same discussion with him, which had only increased in frequency when Lena moved in. If she knew for a fact Lena wouldn’t turn him down, she wouldn’t hesitate to bully her little brother into spilling his guts. But as it was, she couldn’t guarantee anything.

“I’m going to make an ass of myself,” Nico moaned. 

“You are not,” Nina admonished at the same time Luca said, “so what if you do?” 

Luca continued before either of them could jump in, “you make an ass out of yourself every day you don’t tell her the truth.” 

Nico had glared, and Nina had rolled her eyes.

In any case, knowing Lena was also nervous took some of his nerves down, too. At least he wasn’t alone in that. 

Pulling out her art supplies, Lena felt like she might throw up. She was nervous and excited, and also so worried she wouldn’t be able to capture him. The last thing she wanted was to make Nico look flat. 

Although landscapes were her specialty, the Institute insisted every artist get a full education, crossing over as many mediums and styles as possible. Even if it wasn’t the students' specialty, lots of things could be learned from going outside your own box. 

She was scraping by in the class mostly because Professor Brown took pity on her. She told Lena over and over again that she had the talent but needed to feel the art. It was a criticism she only partially understood. Lena always felt her art, but figure drawing was indeed harder for her to connect with. She wasn't even sure why it was so difficult. Perhaps because a person was always moving, unlike a mountain that stayed steady and steadfast no matter what was happening around it. Capturing a facial expression was definitely harder than it was to find the divots and crags of a landscape.

This was another reason she wanted to sketch him. She knew him so well and knew she wouldn’t be able to turn off the part of her brain that was freaking out about seeing him naked. She would have to pay attention to his humanity and try to translate it onto the page. 

Nerves ate at her stomach. Not only with the idea of not being able to capture his lovely figure, but also… Nico was her friend. Sometimes a little more than that if either of them needed a date to an event, but they’d never taken it beyond their usual, comfortable banter that often flirted with the idea of more. It was one of the things that made moving on from him so hard. He never made solid moves, but he never cut it off, either. He flashed his dimples and made her weak in the knees, but never went so far as to kiss her or really ask her on a date. 

Seeing him naked without being in a relationship felt like a step too far. At the same time, it felt like the only option. There wasn’t another man she’d be comfortable sketching, despite her bluff about Jes. 

Now she wished she hadn’t eaten. 

At the very least, she would have the barrier of her art and easel between them. Maybe this really would force her into feeling her art. It already felt like she was fighting through her anxiety, and he wasn’t even there yet.

When he came into the living room, Nico found the furniture rearranged. She’d shoved the coffee table out of the way and set two of the dining room chairs in its place. She was unpacking her supplies, leaning a large sketching pad on her easel and lining several graphite pencils up on the side table, along with a sharpener. 

“No paints?” he asked. 

She jumped, and her heart did a little skid to the side. “These pieces are all supposed to be done in one color. I feel most comfortable with graphite, so I’m doing that instead of colored pencils,” she rambled before managing to cut herself off.

Turning to look at him, she breathed, “good heavens, you look hot,” before she could stop herself. She knew he would be, but she still felt like she’d just been socked in the stomach.

It was a bit selfish of her to request this particular outfit. She always liked the way his suit pants fit, and seeing his toned chest rising above the clean, sharp line of his black belt made her fingers itch to hold a pencil. His muscles were sculpted for practical use - not too bulky, but not too lean. Chiseled enough to show ridges and valleys, but not so much that he looked like a hulked out action hero. 

He was desire personified. He was… he was an Adonis.

A cheeky smile lit his face, “good to know.” 

She made herself laugh to break the tension. 

“Where do you want me?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows. It felt too intimate, too much like something he fantasized about if he didn’t force himself to joke about it. 

A triumphant smile lit her face. This she could do. She was used to directing models into shapes where the light would highlight the most interesting part of their features. She asked him to stand in the middle of the room and turned him a few times, trying to get the lighting right. 

Nico tried not to flex or stand too stiffly when her hands were grasping his forearms to turn him this way and that. She stepped back to study him, then came forward to begin the process again.

Eventually, she shoved the couch out of the way and asked him to lean against the wall.

He stayed rigidly in the position she left him in as she brought another lamp into the room, angling the shade to get the shadows she was looking for. 

“Just lean against the wall with your hands in your pockets.” 

He did, and laughter burst out of her chest, “you can relax.” 

“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted, looking up without changing his posture. He felt stiff and on display. In his mind, this was going to be much sexier than the reality was turning out to be. He didn’t know what to do with his hands or his eyes. Or his mouth. Was he supposed to be doing something with his mouth? Should he be smiling? 

“Just stand like you would if you were waiting for something.” 

"What am I waiting for?" 

“Like you’re waiting for…me?”

“Where?” 

“I don’t know, Nico,” she caught the exasperation in her voice and cut it off. He wasn’t a professional model. He wasn’t used to coming up with scenarios on the fly like this. “I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head, “like you’re waiting for me to…” she trailed off. “It doesn’t really matter why.”

If it was up to him, he’d be waiting to take her to bed. She was wearing the same pink shirt she’d worn that day he walked in on her in the kitchen, and it brought up vivid memories of her wearing it without a bra. He wondered if she was wearing the matching underwear. The thought made him blush and cast his eyes down. 

His hair flopped over one of his eyes in that cartoon prince way it always did.

“Stay there,” she practically yelled, her hands itching to capture the angles of his face. 

The sound of her pencil brushing her paper took over his thoughts, and he tried not to twitch as his hair tickled his eyelid. 

“Can you relax your shoulders?” she asked. 

He rolled his shoulders back and did his best to relax, “better?” 

“Don’t move,” she chastised. 

He smiled a little before trying to settle his face back into the expression he had before. 

Just as his neck was beginning to ache, she ripped the page from her pad and asked him to sit down. 

He looked at her for direction and smiled at her intensity. He wondered if she always looked at people like this when she was drawing them. He was a little disappointed that in the six years he'd known her, this was the first time this kind of intensity was being turned on him.

“Just get comfortable.” 

Nico extended one leg and slouched into the chair, letting the other knee fall to the side so his legs were spread.

“Can you,” Lena stopped herself mid request, biting her lip. In her mind, she was forming an art story of him slowly undressing. She wondered if this was just her lust talking and if that was okay.

“Can I?” 

She decided she didn't care if it was her lust driving. It would be a good, easy to follow series.

Her cheeks were aflame, glowing bright in the lamp light. “Can you undo your pants?” 

His eyes widened momentarily, and she saw his Adams apple bob in his throat.

Forcing his fingers into action, he worked at the button and zipper, well aware of her watching his movements. 

“I want to sketch your hands,” she said, voice reverent.

Nico stilled immediately and looked at her, holding his zipper pull. That wasn’t a reaction he’d expected.

“Oh, God,” she covered her face, pencil still in her fingers so the point angled down at her wrist. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.” 

He couldn’t stop the cocky grin that spread over his face. This was more like what he’d imagined posing for her would be like. “You can sketch my hands anytime you want, hase,” he said, adding on the pet name before he thought better of it.

Her blush got brighter. She hated when he called her that. Bunny. It was a term of endearment that Nina assured her was well known and used by friends and lovers alike, but it brought up all sorts of wishing on her part that they were the latter. 

“Where do you want my hands?” he asked because he knew it would make her more flustered. 

She had to clear her throat and duck behind her easel. “Wherever,” she squeaked out, trying to calm her racing heart. 

Laughing, he thought about photos of underwear models and tried to get his body into a position like that. He hooked his right thumb into his waistband, exposing more of his red boxer briefs. The other hand fell off to the side, relaxed. 

Peeking around her easel, Lena lost her breath. She had never seen him so sexy. He radiated confidence and comfort with his body — something she never quite managed to feel about herself. 

This was going to be impossible.

“Look at me.” She really didn’t want him to look at her. She felt like she might set fire to her sketch pad if he did, but it would make the most impactful portrait.

Nico’s eyes met hers, and her stomach jolted. The teasing, flirtatious energy radiating from him hit her in waves. The rumble of desire she'd been feeling in her low belly purred to a higher gear, and she had to consciously stop herself from clenching her thighs together. Flirty and intense, his eyes were focused on her with purpose. Wanting, she realized with a jolt. That’s what this expression was. The kind of wanting where you want the person you’re looking at to know you want them. 

She’d imagined getting this look of open desire from him so many times that having it turned on her now nearly knocked the breath out of her. 

Forcing her hands into action, she’d never been happier to find muscle memory taking over – drawing the basic shape of his body when her mind was still running around screaming about how outrageously, unfairly attractive he was.  

Eventually, her creative mind took over, and she relaxed into the art, strokes lengthening and easing. 

When it came time to detail, she started with his face, trying to capture his relaxed, intense stare. In any other circumstance, she was certain her panties would catch fire or dissolve right off her body if he gave her this look. In all the years she’d known him, she’d never seen this expression. He would never be so forward with her in real life. 

Despite her heart beating so hard she felt it in her throat and her wrists, her pencil stayed steady. 

The exercise wasn't lost on her. Even the first drawing felt different. This looked different from her usual work, too - more real in a way she couldn’t really describe. Almost as if he might just walk off the page and kiss the viewer. 

Wanting to get this expression just right, she paused to take a photo so she could reference it later. 

“Can we turn on some music?” he asked after a minute or two. 

“Sure. What do you want?” 

“Whatever, just something.” 

Flipping on the TV, she pulled up his music subscription service and selected a slow playlist. Something he wouldn’t be tempted to bop his head to before going back to her easel to finish.

Pushing aside the longing to be on the receiving end of this wanting in a situation where he wasn’t acting, she continued on. 

He stayed in this position the longest. He found it the most comfortable, and apparently, the way he was watching her, the concentration in her mouth, and the way it narrowed her eyes just slightly was fine for her. It was a relief to not have to school the wanting off of his face for once.

After getting to a place where she felt like she could pick back up in a day or two, she had him remove his pants and sit backward. 

Almost immediately, he leaned back, one hand gripping the chair for balance while the other ran into his hair. She yelped at him to still. 

He went rigid. The position forced him to engage his core, and the arm lifted to push back his hair started to cramp from halting mid-movement. 

This sketch ended up being her favorite, though she knew people would like the one before better. This one was really a study of his body — how his muscles flexed and bulged. She even somehow managed to capture the feeling of movement in his bicep. She’d only been able to do that with trees before. Plus, the whole thing was such a Nico gesture, it felt more like him, too. 

A page ripped from her sketch pad, and finally, letting his arm down and shaking it out, he watched her settle it, face down, onto the pile, 

“Okay,” she came out from behind her easel, her hands clasped in front of her, “I’m gonna go… get some water if you want to undress and sit back like this?” 

He nodded, feeling his cheeks heat to match hers. This was all fun, games and teasing until he had to be naked in front of her. And she wouldn’t even be touching him. She’d be standing three feet away, looking at him the way she looked at one of her paintings. 

He’d daydreamed about being on the receiving end of that intense gaze so many times, but getting it in this situation felt like a poor consolation prize. 

He was on his own here, with no one to share the vulnerability of being naked with. 

“Do you need anything?” she asked from the kitchen as he was stripping off his boxers.

“Water?” he asked, setting them on top of his folded pants. 

Walking back into the living room, two bottles in her hand, Lena stopped short. 

She had seen many nude models and taught herself to get over the shock quickly. Training her mind to see the person as a sculpture, not a living being, she focused on the beauty of the human body and not the person living in it. And Nico’s body was beautiful. Smooth golden skin, dotted with freckles and moles, that stretched over living, moving muscles. 

Except, he wasn’t a marble statue. He was a living, breathing, beautiful man, and she knew him. She knew how he acted and what he loved, and she knew how much she loved him. And how much it meant to her that he was willing to put himself in such an uncomfortable position for her. She loved him so much, her heart ached with it. How could she possibly translate that into a two dimensional piece of art? 

She knew from experience how awkward it was to be a model, let alone a nude model, and that was with people she barely knew. For Nico to be naked in front of her, willing to let her sketch his strong legs and expressive eyes was something totally different. Now, besides seeing his body, which really was so beautiful, it nearly made her lose her breath. She could also see the anxiety in the set of his thigh and the curve of his spine. 

Quite suddenly, gratitude and love for him swelled within her chest in a way she had never experienced. It felt hard to breathe. 

A small noise escaped her throat.

Looking over his shoulder, Nico asked, “okay?” 

She nodded. Her feet finally moved, and she handed him the water. “You’re so beautiful, Nico,” she said, that reverent tone back in her voice as her eyes wandered down his body.

He felt a blush creep down his neck. “I don’t…” he cleared his throat, “I mean, you’re…” 

His brain wasn’t working right. She was watching him with this wonderment in her face, like she’d just found the answer to the universe. He wanted to tell her she was the beautiful one, not him, but he couldn’t seem to find the right words when she was looking at him like that.

“Thanks,” he finally managed to say. "What do you want me to do?” 

Now that they were here, she had no idea. She just wanted to watch him for the rest of the night.

The embarrassment she’d expected never came. 

She adjusted her easel, so she was looking at him, just off to the side. She could see three-quarters of his face, but his thick thigh hid his penis from her view. “Just try to get comfortable,” she said. 

Her voice was so kind and gentle that it relaxed Nico a little, but mostly, he still felt coiled tight and out of sync. “I don’t know that I can,” he said truthfully. 

“That’s fine. I know I’m asking you to be comfortable in a really awkward situation. If you feel like you can’t look at me, that’s fine.” 

The truth was that he always wanted to look at her, but seeing her this way, looking at him with holiness in her face, made him ache for her in a way he’d never felt with anyone else.  It felt nothing like any of the dreams or daydreams he’d had that involved him being naked in her presence before. 

She started with his legs first, so he didn’t have to find a way to position his head right then. “Can you flex your right thigh?” she asked. 

He did, and she giggled. He glanced over to find her in the same spot, shaking her head, “sorry, the other thigh? Your left. My right.” 

Nico tried his best and heard a breath rush from her. 

“Good grief, your legs are so sexy,” Lena said before she could stop herself.

His breath lodged in his chest. “My legs?” he repeated, his voice one step off from croaking. Had she really just said that?

“Yes,” she said, her tone serious, pencil still working. “Men’s legs are severely underrated.”

When he glanced at her, he found her concentrating again, but her mouth was set in a new expression, lips soft and parted slightly, like she was waiting to be kissed. At this point, it was nothing short of torture.

Pulling his eyes from her, he folded his arms around the chair back and set his chin on his hands. He watched the album cover bouncing around the TV screen. Mens legs were underrated. How many men did she think about like that? 

“That’s really nice, Nico, if you can just stay like that.” 

Cookie wandered in then and flopped onto the carpet previously covered by the coffee table. He watched Nico with slow blinking eyes, and he tried not to feel so observed. 

After four more songs of listening to her pencil and eraser working, she said, “Okay.”

He sat up. 

“Wait! I have to take a picture.” 

He winced, feeling the muscles in his back knot up. “Those aren’t getting turned in, are they?” 

“Nope, they’re just for me,” she winked.

His eyes widened, and she laughed.

“No, they’re for reference so I can finish the drawings. I’ll delete them later.”  

Forcing a laugh, Nico couldn’t quite decide which was worse - her taking the pictures or telling him she'd delete them so casually. 

“Okay, so for the last two sketches, I was thinking one with you standing, and one with you supine.” 

“Supine?” he repeated. He’d never even heard that word before.  

“Laying on your back.”

Well fuck. Of all the times he imagined himself on his back with her, this was just another one that would crush the daydreams he clung to on long, lonely nights. Pushing that thought away, he asked, “what’s first?”

“Whatever’s easiest for you.”

“Standing full frontal?” he asked. 

“I don’t know,” she said truthfully. “None of my figure drawings have included genitals. I could cut you off at the pelvis or sketch from behind. Which would you prefer?” 

He shrugged, feeling too spent to make a decision, especially one like this. Then, quite suddenly, he realized: If he was standing in front of her, he’d have to watch her looking at his dick the whole time. “Behind,” he blurted, too quick, too loud. 

After following her instruction, he found himself standing, facing the large window, where the curtains were mercifully drawn. One of his feet was up on a rung of the coffee table, forcing him to keep balance with the other. 

“I think you need to hold something,” she said, standing and walking out of the room. 

Upon coming back, she handed him the chain he wore most of the time. He’d left it on his bathroom counter, unsure if she wanted him to wear it. The fact that she seemed to know where he’d left it without asking wasn’t lost on him. He wondered if she assumed that’s where he’d left it or if she’d somehow seen him put it there. 

“You can fiddle with that,” she said.

It was cool and solid in his hands, and he allowed it to slip through his fingers, feeling the ridges and links of the metal, before his fingers slid over the cross. His breathing centered, and he felt some anxiety unknot between his shoulder blades. 

After a quick outline, she filled in some details that wouldn’t come through in a photo and asked him to lie down. She knew he was losing steam. It was a lot to ask to pose for six different portraits. Not only did it require a certain amount of stillness on his part, but it was also a night full of being watched. She could fill in the details later. 

“Let me get you a blanket to lay on,” she said. 

He breathed a sigh of relief. At least he wouldn’t have to lay buck naked on the floor. 

She fetched the cozy blanket she kept on her bed. It was soft and comforting and smelled like her, like the  sweet, citrusy scent of her perfume. It was all at once comforting and disconcerting. He had so many memories with this scent. There was even a time his dick would twitch every time he smelled it. It was around too much, now, for that reaction, but it still called up a sharp longing in his gut.  

Wrapping it around himself,  he sat on the floor, then lay down. 

She fetched him a pillow, and once he was comfortable, began directing. “Can you bend your knee closest to me?”

He was slow to move but did it anyway. 

Sensing his fatigue, she told him, “I know, we’re nearly done.”

He sighed, relieved he didn’t have to ask. 

“I was hoping this one would be sort of satisfied.” she said, settling herself onto the floor facing him, her easel collapsed to be shorter. 

He arched one of his eyebrows.

“I don’t know,” she answered, “I mean like, content, I guess.” 

“I don’t think I can do that right now,” he said, hearing a wearied annoyance come into his voice. He was too tired to school it back. He was feeling spent up. Too much vulnerability with too little reciprocation. 

Lena bit her lip. “Can I do anything to make it better?” 

A sigh shifted his chest into a new position, “I just feel really…” he wasn’t sure what the words he needed were. 

She waited patiently for him to finish. He liked that she never rushed his thinking. 

Finally, he threw the other half of the blanket over his lap and sat up to face her. “I feel like I’m all exposed.” 

She nodded. 

“And you’re not.” 

She hmm’d and pulled her bottom lip into her mouth, thinking. It was such a Lena gesture that it made him smile. 

“Do you want me to get undressed?” she asked, then immediately regretted it. It seemed like the reciprocal thing to offer, but upon hearing the words out loud, she realized exactly how much she didn’t want to do it. Then they both would be anxious and awkward, and she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on her art, and that would be a loose loose for everyone.

“No.” Yes, of course he did. But if that were to happen, he wanted to earn it. He didn’t want it to be because he couldn’t sit through modeling for some portraits. Plus, then he would be completely distracted by her. 

She scooted a little closer to him, questioning in her eyes.

“I feel,” he hesitated, searching for the right thing to say. A long pause passed where she didn’t get fidgety or impatient, just waited for him to continue. The phrasing came in SwissGerman first, or course, and then he had to figure out how to best say it in English. “I feel like I’m doing this for nothing.”

“For nothing?” she repeated, a mildly panicked look crossing her face.

“I’m doing it for you, but for what? So you do well on your project?” He was happy to help, but it felt like too much. Too much given without any reciprocation. Perhaps his fatigue was talking. 

Her mouth pursed, “I can see where you’re coming from, but it’s a little more than a grade at this point. With you, I've finally been able to sketch the body the way I've been trying to for so long. And the fact that you’re willing to do something so uncomfortable, so vulnerable for me makes me just…I don’t even know how to say it.” She wanted to tell him that it made her love him. She’d told him she loved him before. She’d told him that many times: “love you, see you later,” but this felt different, deeper and truer somehow, and she wasn’t sure she was willing to admit those feelings. 

Instead, she asked, “do you want to see the sketches so far?” feeling they may be the best explanation she had. 

He perked up. She rarely showed anyone her art until it had been worked on more. A rough sketch was something she held close to her chest, wanting to keep it private until she deemed it good enough to display. He nodded, and Lena stood to retrieve them. 

Given a moment to think, he assessed his body, finding what was lacking with a quick scan. “I think I need to eat,” he said. 

His metabolism was so high, spiked higher by so much physical exercise all the time that hunger often came on swiftly, affecting his mood more than he’d like to admit. His teammates teased him to the point that he always had a snack with him. How long had they been at this drawing thing? He hadn’t eaten enough to begin with, and now they were however many hours in, and he was hungry. 

That would also explain it. She hadn’t been joking when she told him not to get hangry on her. Setting the sketches in front of him, she went to grab the sushi from the fridge.

The drawings were farther along than he expected. She worked faster than he knew. 

It was a strange thing to see himself in her delicate, penciled outlines.

Flipping over to the second sketch, he blinked a few times. He was himself, but not. The man on this paper was confident, relaxed, and flirtatious in a way he always wanted to be, especially with Lena.

“Is this how you see me?” he asked when she came back into the room.

“That’s how you are, Nico.” 

It was like looking in a weird, funhouse mirror. Was this how she saw him all the time? 

The third sketch was all in the details: the peek of the tattoo on his bicep, the flex of his abs, and the swell in his boxers. 

He flipped to the first nude sketch. She perfectly captured how he felt. Anxious, unsure, and alone. It even looked like he was bouncing his leg. Yet, the portrait didn’t seem to feel anxious. It somehow felt like acceptance. She wasn’t fighting against his feelings to make them prettier, never asking him to feel anything different. She took him as he was and translated him onto a page in a way he’d never seen or expected to see. 

How could he possibly be these two things just an hour apart? 

“It’s weird to see your own facets turned back on you, isn’t it? I felt that way when I had to sit for class portraits.” They had all taken turns modeling for their classmates so they could understand better the perspective of the model, and it had been strange to see sixteen different versions of herself at the end of the class - each of them skewed a little based on the artist. 

In the last drawing, he looked more relaxed. He was so glad when she’d handed him his cross to hold. Not only was it something comforting and familiar, but she’d also given him something to do with his hands, which felt important. 

This was the drawing that most made him look like a hockey player, he thought. He could clearly see how his butt and thighs were thicker than the rest of him. He’d long ago gotten used to the size of his legs, but it was still strange to see the disproportion of them in comparison with the rest of his body laid bare so thoroughly. 

She dipped her head to capture his line of vision, “I meant what I said before, Nico,” she said, handing him the to-go container. “You really are beautiful.” She flipped back to him tense and unsure. “Even here. Maybe even most here.”

His eyes shot to hers. 

“This,” she tapped the drawn version of him on the back, “represents a huge sacrifice you're making for me. Putting yourself in a very uncomfortable position to help me get better at my art. To help me really understand the human form for the first time. I look at this, and I see how much you care for me.”

When he’d finished with the rest of the sushi, feeling sated and comfortable, he looked at her. She’d placed her sketch pad on the floor and put the last drawing on top of it. Hunched over, she was filling in detail.

He always appreciated this about Lena, that if he needed some time to himself, she would find a way to keep herself busy. He didn’t feel like he had to entertain her all the time, like he did with a lot of the women in his life. It was a refreshing change of pace. 

He watched her work for a while, fascinated with the way she braced her hand with just the knuckle of her pinky finger so she wouldn’t smudge the charcoal already on the page. 

Clearing his throat, he set the empty container to the side. 

Looking up, Lena could see how much better he felt. His shoulders were more relaxed, and his hands were loose in his lap. 

“Do you want to keep going?” she asked, moving the drawing back to the pile. 

He nodded. 

“We can pick up again on Sunday if you’d rather.”

He wasn’t sure he could convince himself into doing this again. “No, I feel better,” which was a partial truth, “let's finish now.” 

She scooted back to her easel. When she got settled and looked around it, she found he had changed positions. Still on his back, his other knee was slightly bent, the blanket draped around his far hip to cover himself. His hand was up, resting under his head, showing off the smooth underside of his bicep and the tattoo of his families zodiac signs. 

“Is this okay?” he asked. 

"Yeah. Could you adjust the blanket?” she asked. “So it’s not so folded?”  

He nodded and pulled himself into a half crunch to see and adjust the fabric. His abs contracted, and Lena looked at the ceiling before she could be overwhelmed with attraction. 

“Like this?” he asked. 

When she looked again, it was better, but still looked too placed, not like it’d been hastily thrown over him. 

Her lips pressed together, an he sighed, knowing what that meant. “Can you just adjust it?” 

“You’re sure you’re okay with that?”

Pulling in a fortifying breath, he nodded. 

As she crawled over to him, Nico felt his heartbeat quicken. 

Her hands softly gathered the blanket, pulling out the folds. If he were wearing something underneath, she’d just toss it up and let it fall, but she couldn’t do that.  

Her fingers brushed the inside of his thigh as she tucked more of it between his legs, and the muscle fluttered all the way up to his groin. Biting his cheek, he stifled the groan of frustration that crawled up his throat. 

“Sorry,” she said, holding her hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry.” 

He shook his head, eyes still closed. Maybe he hadn’t been as successful as he thought. If he looked at her now, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop the semi he was sporting from popping into a full boner and he just couldn't take that embarrassment. “it’s okay. Just, no more.”

Nodding, she scooted back to her easel. 

Keeping his eyes closed, Nico thought about swimming in the cold, glacial lake near home until his body relaxed. 

“Nico,” Lena asked, her hand on his shoulder. 

His eyes fluttered open. 

Above him, her expression was soft and full of that same wonderment from before. “I’m done if you want to get dressed.” 

He nodded, and she left the room. 

Before going to join her in the kitchen, he pulled his boxers and trousers back on. 

“Sorry I fell asleep,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face. 

“Nothing to be sorry for. I’m glad you felt comfortable.” 

He hugged her then, bringing her body closer to his. He'd been thinking about it for too long. 

“Thank you for doing this for me,” she said, voice intimate, dim and quiet. 

“You know I'd do anything for you,” he said. 

Did she know that? She figured she did. “Still, I know it wasn’t easy, so thank you.” 

Nico stilled when she tucked her face into his neck. She’d done this before when he’d comforted her after a breakup. Then, he’d wanted to show her he could be the better man for her, but he’d been unwilling to cross that line. He still was. Maybe Jack and Luca were right. Maybe he did just need to grow a pair and ask her out. But what if she didn’t want him and didn’t want to deal with the repercussions of that discussion and wanted to move out? He would feel horrible. She’d have to find a place that would let her keep Cookie or take him back to her parents.

“Are you okay?” she asked, running her hands over his back. His skin was warm and surprisingly soft. Along with the scent of his soap and the mild undertone of sweat, there was a faintly cedar-y smell clinging to his skin. She’d never been able to tell where it came from. It was too faint to be cologne. 

His muscles trembled. “Yeah,” he said into her hair, trying to calm his racing heart. 

Her phone trilled from her back pocket. Lena was the only person he knew who didn’t keep her phone on vibrate.

She pulled back so she could look at it.  

Nico reluctantly let his hands fall to his sides. “Your mom?” he asked. It seemed she was the only one who ever really called Lena. At least when he was around. 

“No, it’s Milo,” she said, silencing the ringer and setting the phone face down on the counter. “He’s probably drunk and wants to get laid.” 

Nico’s heart began to race with worry, jealousy, and fear. “Does he do that a lot?” Thank god his voice didn’t squeak over the words.

“Once a month or so, I guess.” 

He knew he shouldn’t ask this question. He knew it was none of his business, but he was tired and emotionally empty, and his filter was thinner than usual because of it. “Do you take him up on it?” 

Her eyebrows raised, a sarcastic look taking over her pretty features, “are you serious, Nico? Of course not. He’s just drunk dialing through his contacts list.” 

“I always hated that guy. He’s such a tool.” 

Hearing that phrase come out of Nico’s mouth, in his strong accent, made her laugh out loud. “What?” 

“That’s not the right word?” he asked. “Like he’s selfish and just does things to be cool?” 

“It’s the right word,” she confirmed, this teasing smile on her lips that would liquify his bones if he let it. “I know you never liked him. I just didn’t realize you felt so…strongly about it.” 

His nose scrunched as he blew out a frustrated breath. “He wasn’t good enough for you.”

“Well, he couldn’t measure up anyway.” 

“Measure up to what?” 

“To this guy I’ve liked for a really long time,” she said, not quite brave enough to spit out the truth.

“So why don’t you date him?” Nico asked instead of demanding to know who this man was. 

“I can’t ever tell if he’s into me.” 

“He’d be a fool to not be into you.”

“Would he?” she asked, looking into his face, wondering what he meant by that.

“Yeah. You’re kind and fun and smart,” he said. 

Part of her swooned when he didn’t lead off with the fact that she was pretty. The other part of her was a little disappointed he didn’t seem to notice. 

“Any man would be lucky to have you,” he added on quietly as his eyes dropped to his feet. He couldn’t possibly look at her while telling her another man would be lucky to have her. It would happen one day, he knew, but he kind of hoped he’d somehow be out of the picture when it did. 

Lena studied him as he looked at his bare feet. 

His curiosity got the better of him, “who is this guy anyway?” 

Well, shit. She’d really talked herself into a corner this time. What was she supposed to say now? 

“Do I know him?” 

She nodded. 

“Does he play?” he asked hesitantly. 

She nodded again.

“I thought…” The knowledge sliced through him: if it wasn’t about hockey, it was about him. “I thought you didn’t like hockey players,” he said, fighting against the ache in his chest. 

Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “What gave you that idea?” 

“I overheard you talking to Jessica at the rink once about how you wouldn’t date me because I was a hockey player.” 

“You’re sure I was talking about you?” 

“You said ‘I don’t date hockey players,’ and then Jessica asked, ‘what about Nico?’” 

Understanding sparked her memory. “Did you stick around to hear my answer?” She hadn’t even known he was listening in on that conversation. She’d been sitting on the refreshments counter while Jessica baked the soft pretzels. He must have been around the corner, heading into the locker room.

“You said ‘it doesn’t matter.’ I couldn’t listen anymore, so I walked away.” 

A small smile lit up her face. “If you had stayed, you would have heard me say, ‘it doesn’t matter, Nico’s not like the other guys. He’s sweet and respectful.’” 

“Oh,” he said because he didn’t know what else to say.  “I thought you didn’t date hockey players,” he said again, lamely. 

“I don’t. I mean, not the average ones,” she added on when his expression fell. “I told people that because they’d wonder why I was around the team all the time, but not shacking up with any of them. Those boys I grew up with were all such dogs, but you never made me feel less than for being a woman or like I needed to put out to be accepted.” 

His nose wrinkled. 

“See, that?” she asked, noting his disgust. “That’s why I like you, Nico. You’re sweet and kind and so respectful of women.” 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“You see it in locker rooms all the time. I’m sure you see it in yours currently.” 

The conversation paused as he thought. 

“You’re different than other players,” she said. “Jessica was asking me that because she knew you’re a hockey player that I liked.”

“You liked me?” he asked, his mind running in circles trying to process all the information coming at him. 

“Yeah, Nico,” she said. Well, she was already here, she may as well spill the whole pot. “I still do.” 

Half of his mouth lifted just enough to dimple his cheek.

“Ugh, don’t flash your dimples at me! I can barely keep my hands to myself as it is,” she said, shoving his shoulder.

That was new. “What if I don’t want you to keep your hands to yourself?” 

Her breath hitched in her throat. “Don’t tease Nico. It’s rude.” 

“Who said anything about teasing?” 

“I —” she was having a hard time articulating her words, “but you —” 

He patiently waited for her to finish, attempting to school the grin off his face. 

“But you don’t even like me like that,” she finished, lamely.

He couldn’t help it, laughter burst out of his chest, “what?” 

“You’ve never made a move,” she said, feeling outrageously embarrassed. It was one thing to admit her feelings, but then to have them thrown back in her face was something she just couldn’t handle. 

“You know what Jack tells me every time he sees us together?” 

She was so taken off guard by the question that it jolted Lena out of her spiraling thoughts. “What?” 

“He tells me to make it happen.” 

Her eyebrows shot up. 

“All the guys know I’m in love with you.”

Her breathing hitched, and she gripped the counter behind her to keep from falling over.

“In fact, everyone knows I’m in love with you. Nina says I look so lovesick no one can miss it.” He took a step in so they were nearly chest to chest. “But somehow, you don’t ever see it,” he added quietly. 

He was so close, she was certain he could hear her heart hammering. Her mind was still caught on, ‘all the guys know I’m in love with you.’ It was like she couldn’t process the words. “You’re in love with me?” she asked. 

A deep, frustrated sound, like a groan, filtered up his throat. The thought of pulling that sound out of him in any other circumstance made her knees feel weak. It sent heat racing between her thighs.

“I’ve been in love with you since I left Halifax,” he said, relief he didn’t have to keep anything under wraps flooding through him. “That’s why I broke up with Viv when I left. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and it wasn’t fair to her or to me.” 

Her wide eyes snapped to his, and Nico took a steadying breath. She really hadn’t known. All this time, he thought she must have, but held to her principles enough to turn away from it. 

“I’ve been in love with you since you left Halifax, too, Nico.” 

It was his turn for his breathing to hitch. “What?”

“I thought you didn’t like me like that.”

How was this possible? Nico felt like his knees were slowly turning to jelly. “How could you think that?” he croaked. 

“You never made a move,” she repeated. 

“You said you don’t date hockey players,” he defended. 

Hands fluttering up to cover her face, Lena shook her head. “I can’t believe this,” she said, a small laugh escaping. 

Reaching up, Nico gently encircled her wrists and pulled her hands away. She let them fall by her sides.

His heart was galloping in his chest. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, surprised to find his voice quieter than he meant it to be.

Lena nodded, a feeling as though she were about to jump out of a plane surging through her body. Something grand and beautiful waited for her if she could just put her faith in the parachute and step into the unknown. Well, partially unknown. She knew Nico, and she wasn’t afraid.

One of his hands drifted up to her face. Cupping her jaw, he stroked her cheek with his thumb. “You’re so beautiful, Lena,” he said, glad to find his voice had evened out. 

For the first time, she recognized that look he was always giving her. That wide open, soft gaze. Love, she realized with a shock of understanding. It was love. It had been love this whole time. She really had been blind. 

Her eyes darted away as her cheeks flushed pink. “Thank you.” She wouldn’t lie, hearing it eased some of the anxiety in her chest.

He waited for her eyes to come back to his before leaning down. Heart hammering with six years of anticipation, their lips finally met.

When her head tipped slightly to the side and her mouth opened to him, a shock raced down his spine while a sigh filtered up his throat. The kiss was better than any fantasy his mind had concocted through the years.

His tongue tentatively slipped into her mouth, and Lena felt a flash flood of right, this is right, this is the most right thing that’s ever been right in my life, sweep through her. 

Her hands fluttered up to his shoulders, and she felt his, heavy on her waist, squeeze when her tongue slipped past his lips.

God, Nico was in paradise. This was the softest, most heavenly, love-filled kiss he’d ever experienced. How did people even find words for this? Sudden understanding sparked in the back of his mind. This was why people wrote sonnets and songs and books. He wanted to drown in this feeling.

Eager to see his face again, she eased back.

“This is okay?” he asked, eyes snapping to hers, worried she was having regrets.

Nodding, she leaned forward and slid her mouth over his. 

This kiss was slower, more passionate. When her teeth grazed his bottom lip, Nico felt electricity zing through him. 

His fingers ran into her hair to cradle the back of her head. 

There was no stopping the moan that filtered up her throat when he sucked on her tongue gently. 

Fuck, he loved that noise more than anything he’d ever heard. He wanted to hear it again, and again and again in every possible position and every possible circumstance.

All at once, the kiss was electric, the initial softness giving way to the chemistry and sexual tension that had been brewing between them for more than half a decade. Lena had never felt anything like it. It was exhilarating and somehow grounding in a way she’d never experienced, as if they were rooted together by their passion.

She wanted more of him. Her hands dove into his hair, noting the groan he let out when she pulled it lightly. 

Nico lifted her onto the counter. He wanted her closer than their standing position allowed. She wrapped her legs around his waist. It was exactly what he’d been hoping for.

He broke away and trailed his mouth to her jaw, eager to taste her skin.

“Nico,” her voice was a breathy little moan. 

He was a fool for not telling her sooner. God, he was such a fool. 

Her hand found his jaw and pulled his mouth back to hers with a simple, “more,” that nearly drove him out of his mind with the need to obey. 

Their teeth clicked, and she gigged. 

He loved this, too - getting her in all the ways, even the awkward ones. A laugh fell into her mouth, and it brought him back to himself. He wanted to savor this. There was no need to rush. She wasn’t going anywhere. 

Nico felt himself pout when she proved him wrong, and her lips broke from his. She stripped off her shirt, and before he could get his eyes on her, he felt her mouth connect to that soft spot under his jaw. How did she know?

“Lena,” he breathed. Her hands slid down his front, and the shock of her touch sent his skin to trembling. “Oh my God, Lena.”

She’d always loved the way he said her name, but this was something else. This was a song she would never get tired of, one she wanted to listen to again, and again, and again. 

Her mouth explored his throat, sucking his pulse point. His dedication to go slow dissolved a little with every brush of her tongue, every graze of her nose ring across his skin. 

His hands were suddenly everywhere. All over her back, cupping her butt to pull her to the edge of the counter so their hips could touch. 

Feeling the rigid length of him pressing between her legs turned Lena feral. She’d done this to him. She was doing this to him. Tightening her legs around him, she wanted to do so much more to him. 

Their hips ground together as his hands slipped to unhook her bra. “Okay?” 

“Yeah.” 

He fumbled with the clasps briefly before they gave way. 

Taking the garment at the center gore, she pulled it away from her body. A brief moment of chaos ensued as their arms tangled in the effort to get it away from her. Finally, she flung it over his shoulder and giggled when the metal bits clinked against the tile floor. 

Laughter split his face into the adorable, dimpled smile she loved so much before his gaze turned back to her. Even as the corners of his mouth remained turned up, his jaw slackened as his eyes blew wide. 

Dreams and reality crashed into each other, and Nico felt his breath rush from his lungs. He’d never seen anything so beautiful in his life. 

“Hase,” he said, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say. It was a bit of a cutesy pet name, but his brain was too busy trying to soak in every detail of her he’d been so starved for to think of a new one. 

He murmured something under his breath in German, and Lena felt heat race to her core. She slid her hands into his hair in an attempt to pull him into a kiss, but he resisted, eyes still glued to her chest. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he breathed, voice husky. 

“Thank you,” she said, feeling a blush overtake her cheeks. 

He reached out, then paused, hands stopped in mid-air. “Can I?”

When his eyes flicked up to meet hers again, she lost her own breath. She was so used to seeing Nico’s expressive eyes wide with (what she knew now was) love, sparkling with mirth or drooped with disappointment. This…lust, different even from when he was posing with his pants undone, was new. Heat mixed with love and wonder. She’d never felt so desired. 

She nodded, finding her voice wasn’t where she left it. 

Nico was already throbbing against the zipper of his trousers, and cupping her breasts in his palms only made it worse. When she arched into his touch with a moan, it became damn near unbearable. 

Unable to wait any longer, he crashed his lips to hers as their hips surged together again. 

If he wasn’t careful, he was going to blow his load in his pants before he even got to feel her touch. Forcing himself to slow down, he concentrated on the weight of her breasts in his hands and the taste of her tongue in his mouth. 

She was the one who took it further, one of her hands slipping down his stomach to cup him over his fabric prison.

Now would be a horrible time to faint, he told himself, even as he felt his eyes rolling back and his hips pushing forward into her hand. He groaned against her lips. 

His mouth slid to her neck, and she shivered, feeling her nipples tighten more as his teeth scraped over her sensitive throat. 

He was hard and so hot, even through the fabric of his trousers. It suddenly wasn’t enough. Removing her other hand from his hair, she fumbled with the belt buckle. Finally managing to get it open, she asked, “this is okay?” 

“God, yes,” he moaned, hips restlessly moving against her hands. 

As she was tearing the zipper down, one of his hands slid toward the fastening of her own jeans. “Okay?” 

“Uh-hu.”

It was only after he flicked the button open and managed to pull the zipper that she realized she didn’t want to do this here. Not where, if she leaned back, her head would hit the cabinets, and not so close to where they prepared their food.

“Can we move to the couch?” she asked, breath in his ear.

Could they move to the couch? He would move them to the moon if she asked. 

Lightning fast, his hands were suddenly cradling her bum, hauling her off the counter so he could cary her to the living room. A surprised yelp escaped her at the sudden show of strength.

He had to wrench his eyes open so he wouldn’t dump them on the floor as she licked his jaw up to the lobe of his ear, which she nibbled gently. 

When they made it there, he tried to sit down still holding her, but only half managed it before he was falling the rest of the way. He didn’t mind her crashing on top of him. Feeling her chest pressed to his was a lifelong dream coming to fruition. 

She was moving so restlessly on top of him, hips grinding, it made him whimper. Her hands snaked between them again, this time to shove his pants down. 

They both pushed and tugged, and finally, he was free. 

She broke away to look at him, and he had a sudden, terrible worry she would be disappointed. He wasn’t the biggest guy, but he wasn’t too small — at least no one had told him so. 

“Oh, Nico,” Lena murmured, finally getting her hands on him. He was perfect. Thick and hard and searingly hot against her palm. 

“Lena,” he moaned, head tipping back against the couch cushions. Finally feeling her touch was incredible. Now really would be a terrible time to faint. 

She pulled her hand away briefly to spit into her palm, and he almost lost it, feeling like he could have come from the sight alone. 

As soon as she began to stroke him, he was done for. There was no coming back from this — though he couldn’t think of a reason why they would need to. 

His mouth dropped open, and his eyelids fluttered, attempting to keep looking into her face. The pleasure she was pulling out of him won out, and his eyes closed.

“Feels so good,” he groaned, his accent thickening as he spoke. He was going to lose his English next. 

It happened, and he started babbling in German. 

His voice was lower in his native tongue - it always had been. Lena felt her core flutter in anticipation. 

He repeated the same word several times like it was a question, but she didn't know what it meant. 

Nico opened his eyes and came back to himself enough to realize she didn't understand, and therefore couldn't do what he was begging her to. 

“Kiss,” he managed in English, unable to pull out the correct grammar. “Please, kiss.” 

Oh, that's what kush meant. In hindsight, it did sound a lot like kiss. 

When she caught his lips, Nico couldn't hold back a moan as her tongue licked into his mouth. He had imagined this so many times, but those fantasies didn't prepare him for the actual feel of her hands on him, or the sweet, warm taste of her mouth, as if she'd just eaten one of those cinnamon sweets she liked so much. 

Pleasure sparked and fizzed across his skin.

Jesus, this was better than anything he’d ever felt. Was this what six years of longing and anticipation did? Deciding it didn’t matter, he pushed the thought aside and let his whole mind be consumed by her soft hand, her incredible tongue, and the knowledge that this was actually happening. This was happening for real. He wasn’t going to jolt awake in a few minutes with a boner so hard it hurt. 

“Lena,” he groaned into her mouth. 

She pulled away just enough to whisper against his lips, “what do you need?” 

Everything. He needed everything. “You,” he said instead. 

“I’m here,” she said, pulling at his length with a little more fervor. 

His hips pumped up into her hand, desperate for release. 

“Lena, I’m…” he couldn’t even get the words out before he was exploding. 

She moaned along with him, drinking in the pleasure that washed over his face - his fluttering lashes and panting mouth. 

Closing his eyes, Nico tried to compose himself. The sight of his release splattered over her breasts might actually make him faint. 

She kept going with slower, gentler strokes until he winced, then gently pulled her hand away. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, voice deep and satisfied.  

She giggled. 

God, he couldn’t even move. Her mouth was back at his neck, and he breathed out a curse in German. 

“Is that good or bad?” she asked into his skin. 

“So good.” He needed to teach her so he wouldn’t have to explain. “Wanna make you feel good, too,” he said instead of launching into a lesson in German swearing.  

Lifting her mouth from his neck, she looked down at him. 

God, he was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. “You’re so handsome, Nico,” she whispered, tracing a thumb over one of his bushy eyebrows. 

He flushed. 

“I’ve thought about what you look like when you’re coming so many times,” she said, tracing over his cheekbone this time. 

“You have?” he squeaked. 

She nodded. “And it was so beautiful.” 

“I have too,” he admitted, slowly sliding his hand up her thigh. “Can I see it?”

Biting her lip, she nodded. 

Even as he was working his hand into her underwear, his other was coming up to her face and gently thumbing her bottom lip out from under her teeth.

“Show me how to make you come,” he said, eyes boring into hers. 

Shit, she might just fall apart from that look alone. 

Rising onto her knees, she shoved her pants and underwear down to give them easier access. His fingers slipped between her lips, and she moaned, pressing toward them.  

“I don’t really get off from penetration,” she said, “I like it, but it won’t make me orgasm, so it’s all about the clit for me.”

Sliding his fingers back from her entrance, he searched for that little nub. “Here?” he asked when he thought he’d found it. 

Reaching down, she moved him where she needed him, so the pads of his fingers were making direct contact. “Here,” she breathed, guiding him to circle over and around her pearl.

Her eyes fluttered closed, and he devoured the pleasure that flowed over her face. 

“I like this, too,” she said, moving his fingers into a V so they traced on either side. 

He started a pattern from her instructions — circling and stroking, then splitting as he pulled back. 

“You can press harder,” she moaned softly.

He did, and her hips stuttered into his touch. 

“Can you…” she trailed off, feeling suddenly shy. She’d never asked a man for this before. Then again, this was Nico. He’d taken every other instruction to heart and was touching her exactly the way she wanted. She knew he would at least try.

“Anything,” he rasped, “tell me.”

Hips seeking, she moaned and loved that he was so willing to please her. She could see it in the way he was watching her — this eager, desperate look in his eyes, full of wonder and desire and so much need. 

“Can you suck my nipples?” she finally whispered. 

Growling something affirmative, he leaned in and drew one of the tender buds between his lips. 

Her voice keened, and her hand flew into his hair to cradle him to her chest, “use your tongue,” she instructed, then moaned, “yes, Nico,” when he laved over the sensitive peak. 

He was so turned on by her. By her confidence in knowing what she wanted and that she trusted him enough to tell him. Not to mention the way his name was panting out of her mouth.

Her back arched, pushing her hips into his hand and her breast into his mouth.

If Nico had known pleasing a woman could come with instructions like this, it would have changed his whole life.

He moved to the other breast, almost suckling at the tender bud. 

“Fuck, Nico,” she moaned, “feels so good.” 

“Show me how to take you there.” 

“Put your fingers inside me.”

He obeyed even though he didn’t know how he’d stroke her clit now. Just as he was getting ready to detach his other hand from her breast, she guided his wrist so the heel of his hand pressed into her.

“Nico,” she moaned as pleasure flooded her system. Her hips ground into his hand. He felt incredible. God, was this what she’d been missing every time a man asked what she wanted and then did what they wanted anyway?

Her next words fell apart just as she did, turning as nonsensical as her rhythm.

Even watching the pleasure roll over her face didn’t prepare him for the feeling of her coming. He'd never felt anything like it. Her muscles clenched in quick succession, fluttering around his fingers. Fuck. If she did this around his cock? He might die. 

All at once, the pleasure surging through her snapped, and she collapsed against him. 

Nico eased his fingers from her and eased them up to his mouth, eyes rolling back at the first taste of her. He couldn’t wait to get his mouth on her. 

Before he could suggest they move to the bedroom, she was curling against him and tucking her face into his neck. Her breathing slowed. It was late - well past her usual bedtime, and Nico knew how a good orgasm could relax his body right to sleep if he was already tired. 

“I love you,” she whispered into his neck. 

A thrill zinged through him. “I love you, too,” he said, stroking a hand up her spine. 

Upon waking, the first thing Lena noticed was that her breasts were bare, nipples puckered so tightly in the chilly morning air that they ached. Somehow, though, the rest of her wasn’t cold. 

Trying to roll over, she ran into a solid body behind her. 

The night before came crashing back. Nico posing for her before admitting he loved her. He loved her! Part of her still couldn’t believe it. She smiled, remembering the incredible way he looked falling apart beneath her before he teased the most incredible orgasm she’d ever had from her body. So incredible, she’d fallen asleep right in his lap. He must have moved them into this spooning position on the couch rather than moving her into her own bed. 

Her phone trilled again. That’s what had woken her. Where was it? It sounded nearby.

Nico mumbled something and tightened his arms around her when she tried to get up. 

When it rang for the third time, she realized it wasn’t ringing at all - it was her alarm. She needed to get up. As much as she wanted to just stay here and recreate the night before again and again and again, something Nico wouldn’t have minded if his hot length currently pressing into her back was any indication, she couldn’t. She had to show Professor Brown her sketches, and she had a painting to turn in in her post modernism class.

“Nico, I have to get up,” she said, lifting his arm from around her waist. Her chest was itchy from where his cum had dried on her skin. 

“Nonig,” he mumbled, pulling her back into him. 

“Yes.”

Finally managing to extract herself, she immediately fell off the couch. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice still thick with sleep.

God, he was adorable waking up. Mussed hair and heavy lidded eyes. 

Nico didn’t want this moment to end. It couldn’t. It was too good. He watched, amused, as she tripped over her pants before tearing them down her legs and kicking them them off before she stumbled into the kitchen.

She finally found her phone — she’d left it on the counter — and cursed when she saw the time. She didn’t even have time to shower. 

He groaned a pleasant curse in his native tongue and rolled onto his back, stretching his arms over his head. Sleeping on the couch was definitely not going to help him in the game tonight. 

He sat up abruptly. “What time?” he called.

“It’s 9:05. I have to go to class.” she said, debating if she should just pull her jeans on and go. No, if she couldn’t shower, she at least needed to change. 

He cursed again,  jumping to his feet. This was not how he wanted the morning after to go. He wanted to make her breakfast in bed and ravish her again before he had to leave. Now, he had to rush. Practice started in 30 minutes, and it would take him 20 to get to the rink.

He ran to his bedroom and stopped short. There was a suitcase next to his dresser. He’d forgotten he was heading out on a road trip. 

Running his hands into his hair, he wondered how this could have happened. He would have to be at the arena before she got home from class, and then they would leave from there to catch their flight to Florida. He finally got her, and he had to leave. This was the worst morning after he could have imagined. 

Attempting to run down the hall and pull on her chucks at the same time probably wasn’t the best plan, but Lena needed to see him before he left. She wouldn’t see him again for six whole days. Stumbling, she crashed through his doorway just in time to watch him pulling on a new pair of underwear. She finally got her other shoe on before she stood up, pushing her hair out of her face. 

He turned to her, and she lost her breath. She’d seen him naked, and he still did this to her. 

“I’m sorry, I have to go,” she said quietly. 

He didn’t hesitate to stride to her, take her face in his hands, and kiss her deeply, like he’d wanted to for so many years. He was never giving up the opportunity again. 

Gathering her against him, he broke the kiss in favor of burying his face in her hair. “I wish this morning was different.”

“I know, I do, too. But I’ll be here when you get back,” she assured, running her hands down his back. At the tail end of her stroke, she let her fingers curve in so her nails traced over his skin. 

He pulled back to look into her eyes, cheeks dimpling. 

A smile spread over her face, and she leaned up to brush her lips over his, “I’ll see you on Thursday.” 

He nodded. 

“Good luck,” she said, kissing him again, “I love you.” 

Maybe this morning wasn’t so bad after all. “I love you, too.” 

The smile she gave him made him want to move mountains. 

“Thank you again,” she said, leaning in to kiss him one more time. 

“For what?” he called after her as she ran down the hall. 

“For everything,” she called back. “For all of it.” 

It Doesn't Matter:

Part I | Part II | Part III | Playlist

To read all my fics, check out my Fanfiction Masterlist

[voxofthevoid]

I present thee with Role Reversal Fem!Goyuu Wednesday #4.

I'm currently 37k into this and working on Chapter 6. The final chapter count is still projected to be 8, and if I don't end up splitting the next chapter, this will remain the case. This will be a novel-length fic all the same. I need to write a couple of oneshots after this just for the hell of writing something short.

Click forth to see Satoru finally getting to put her mouth and other assorted body parts on her teacher 🦵

Yuuji’s naked.

She’s lying on her bed, arms folded under her head and over her stomach, legs drawn up and spread wide, and she’s naked, everywhere.

“Satoru-chan,” she says, with a lazy tilt of her head toward Satoru, “I was starting to think you’d never come out.”

“H-ah,” Satoru says intelligently.

Yuuji’s amused expression shifts into concern. “You alright?”

“You’re naked,” Satoru chokes out.

Understanding dawns on Yuuji’s face. “Ah. Yes. I am. Are you shy again?”

Shy? Satoru’s about to combust.

She stumbles forward like a zombie—a very thirsty zombie. Yuuji watches her with a slowly growing smile, its bigger mirror image cutting across her stomach, and the flash of teeth on both sets of mouths is too sharp to not be concerning, but that only pulls Satoru in even harder, till she’s climbing onto the bed like a woman possessed.

A foot stops her before she can touch Yuuji, pressing against her chest. The toes settle snugly between her tits.

Satoru looks down at them, blinking.

They wriggle.

“Where are you going?” Yuuji asks lightly.

“You?”

The foot curves, black nails turning into gleaming claws turning into threatening pricks on Satoru’s skin. She freezes, smothering the instinctive urge to use Limitless. Yuuji hasn’t broken skin, yet. She could, easily.

Satoru’s more focused on how big it feels between her tits.

“You should know by now to ask permission first.”

“Please,” Satoru gasps immediately, the easiest she’s ever begged. “Please, sensei, let me—”

Yuuji looks surprised. And she doesn’t take her foot away, but there’s a huskiness to her voice when she speaks: “What do you want, Satoru-chan?”

Everything.

Fuck, she wants everything.

Yuuji looks—

Yuuji is—

Satoru can see her cunt.

“Mouth,” Satoru gasps, half the words still stuck somewhere in her windpipe, and then they stumble out, quick and clumsy— “You, my mouth, Yuuji—”

Yuuji makes a low noise, too hungry to be teasing. She’s still smiling, still fond, but there’s something about it that bites into Satoru, everywhere

“So cute,” Yuuji says. “But I shouldn’t.”

“Sensei—”

“Ssh,” Yuuji chides. “I’m not done. I shouldn’t—I’m meant to punish you, not reward you.”

“You can punish me after,” Satoru says immediately. “I swear, Yuuji, you can do anything, I’ll let you, just please—”

“Let me,” Yuuji echoes. Her foot slides up, claws very gently scraping Satoru’s skin to rest against the hollow of her throat. “You’re my best and worst student, Satoru-chan, and this is why.”

Satoru swallows a noise, part frustration and part sheer fucking need.

She knows what Yuuji means, and it’s burning her, the implication that Yuuji would just do what she wants no matter what Satoru says—the knowledge that she can, that night at the school and every touched since provoked testament to how thoroughly this woman can overpower Satoru. And Satoru hasn’t really fought, not yet, not in the ways that matter, but if she did and Yuuji took her anyway—

It’s some skewed sense of self-defense that has Satoru reaching down and grabbing her own tits, squeezing them around Yuuji’s foot.

Yuuji makes a startled noise, something in the shape of Satoru’s name.

And this isn’t really something ever thought she’d do, even with her fantasies covering nearly every damn inch of Yuuji, but now, with the shape of Yuuji’s foot burning against her ribs and cushioned between her breasts, Satoru finds herself breathless and warm and very, very into it.

She leans forward, pushing her tits even closer together with Yuuji’s foot still between them. The robe slips off her left shoulder.

The look on Yuuji’s face tells her everything about what she looks like right now.

“Sensei,” Satoru breathes, squeezing her tits around the foot and rubbing against it a little, “let me, please.”

Yuuji swallows audibly and tips her head back, but her eyes stay on Satoru, heated brown and red peering at her through narrow slits.

“Spoiled,” Yuuji declares, with a laugh that doesn’t sound all that amused. “Alright then. Use your pretty mouth, Satoru-chan.”

Satoru surges forward, abandoning Yuuji’s foot in a frenzy that has those sharpened nails raking against her breast and clavicle, and Yuuji apologizes, of course she does, but it’s barely out before Satoru’s swallowing it from her mouth, collapsing on Yuuji to press their bodies together from lips to hips, and Yuuji welcomes her kindly despite the way she was acting, a pair of hands cupping Satoru’s face while the other pair skim down her sides to rest on her hips, the pressure light but sinking into Satoru even through the robe. Her mouth opens hotly, and when Satoru licks inside, she tastes spearing mint—a far cry from Yuuji’s mouth tasted the last and only time they kissed, ripe with the heat of Satoru’s own cunt.

But it doesn’t really hide the taste underneath—warm flesh, through and through.

Satoru winds her arms around Yuuji’s neck, pressing closer and licking in deeper, and Yuuji makes an unidentifiable noise against her lips but resists nothing, and her parted lips and lazy tongue feels more indulgent than anything, but Satoru’s used by now to that specific flavor of this woman’s affection, and she takes it, greedy and needy, until her own mouth doesn’t taste like dinner or toothpaste but like Yuuji, a heat turned sweet.

She’s panting when she pulls back. A few strands of Yuuji’s hair cling to her for a moment before falling limply away to rest across Yuuji’s face.

They’re damp, just like the thick mane crushed against Satoru’s arms.

Satoru pouts. “You could’ve joined me.”

“I considered it,” Yuuji says frankly. “Figured it’d be counterproductive. But here we are anyway, hm?”

“Yeah,” Satoru says, getting her knees under her so she has better leverage to touch Yuuji—and god, there’s so much to touch. “So just join me next time. You can spank me over the damn toilet if that’s what you’re into.”

Yuuji barks a laugh. “Is that what you think I’ll do?”

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Satoru says absently, feeling up Yuuji’s thighs; they’re like rock. Her abs aren’t any less insane, even with the thin layer of soft fat covering them—a little pressure, and Satoru’s palms meet solid resistance. The lips of her belly mouth are soft, and they curve up against Satoru’s fingers when she touches them. “Eat me alive if you want.”

Yuuji’s whole chest rumbles with a noise that’s suspiciously like a purr. “Careful, Satoru-chan. I might take you up on that.”

“So?” Satoru arches a brow at her. “Do it. I ain’t a coward.”

Yuuji tilts her head, her smile growing crooked; her second mouth echoes it under Satoru’s palms. “One day. But weren’t you whining for something else right now?”

“I didn’t whine—mmph!”

Yuuji presses Satoru more firmly into her chest—into the pebbled swell of a breast, the nipple flush with Satoru’s mouth. Satoru moans, opening up to suck it inside, and Yuuji reacts with a soft sigh, her fist gentling in Satoru’s hair to pat her once and then just rest there, and Satoru wouldn’t have minded the guidance, but she sure as hell isn’t complaining about this, not when her whole body’s burning with the slightly delayed realization that her mouth is on Yuuji’s tits.

Satoru gropes blindly until her hand finds Yuuji’s other breast, her fingers sinking into the flesh there while she sucks on the one in her mouth, and it tastes like skin with a faint aftertaste of soap, but every breath Satoru remembers to inhale is thick with an intoxicating blend of blood and rot—something sweet about it, defying all logic the way Yuuji has from the start.

Satoru whines around her mouthful, desperate for things she can’t name.

Yuuji only strokes her hair, all the way from the crown of her head to where the tips of her hair brush her mid-back. The rest of her hands are also gentle and undemanding on Satoru, stroking and skimming over skin without even really groping.

It’s almost confusing.

Satoru pries her mouth off Yuuji’s nipple to bury her face in the cleavage, gripping Yuuji’s tits with both hands to push them against Satoru’s own face, and this, she knows, the warmth and the heat and the suffocating blend of sweat and worse, and she tries to make it good for Yuuji too, squeezing her tits and thumbing her nipples, half instinct and half the memory of how Yuuji touched Satoru, and she doesn’t really think it’s doing much for Yuuji, not with how sedately her chest rises and falls under Satoru, but her hand has curved against the back of Satoru’s head now, holding her there with tender pressure, and how the hell is Satoru meant to resist that?

She loses track of how long she stays like that, but when she rears back, heaving for air freer and fuller than the thin little pockets she dragged in with her face in Yuuji’s chest, Yuuji’s scent stays in her nose and her throat, flavoring the air she inhales like it’s sunk into the lining of her flesh.

“You smell like blood,” Satoru tells her, a questioning confession she’s been holding back for ages, “and rot.”

Yuuji tilts her head. “Does it bother you?”

“Are you kidding me? It makes me—” Satoru shuts her mouth in the nick of time, but the wetness between her legs grows a little like it wants Yuuji to know. “No, it doesn’t bother me. I’m just curious.”

Yuuji looks pretty curious herself, and Satoru knows damn well what about. But she doesn’t push, instead saying, “The state of the soul shows in the body. That’s all.”

“That…explains nothing,” Satoru says, unimpressed. “What, is your soul bleeding? And rotting?”

“Who knows.”

“Sensei. If you don’t wanna answer, just say that.”

“As if that’ll stop you.” Yuuji chuckles to herself, and she seems unbothered by everything from Satoru’s questions to her own ominous answers, but every single one of her hands is restless on Satoru, stroking bare skin and thick cotton, a few fingers even playing with her hair. “It’s not just my soul in here, Satoru-chan.”

“But you ate her.”

“I did,” Yuuji confirms, and there’s something vicious about her smile, even though it’s so small and toothless. “But souls are stronger than you think—and hard to digest. Sukuna’s not the kind to be easy, even in death. What’s left of her is festering. That kind of decay leaves a mark. There is no longer a boundary between where I begin and her corpse ends. So tell me again—does it bother you?”

[bossidiotart]

Me: man, I wish rottmnt fanfic writers would write in a cat sleeping next to Leo when he’s healing from his wounds after the movie :/

Also me: wait….I’m a rottmnt fic writer…..

————————————————————————————-

Leo did not want to be awake. Awake meant pain, it meant uncomfortable bandages, stiff joints and muscles. It meant a groggy mind from painkillers that should be saved for those who need them most. Yet here he is, pain dully throbbing almost everywhere on him, his eyes dry, body achy and stiff. Not to mention the chill that told him he’s definitely in the med bay. One thing, however, that he didn’t expect was a soft, hot patch snuggled between his left arm and side.

He cracked his eyes open and moved his head as much as he could, blinking a few times to register what’s there. A soft smile spread on his sore face. The unmistakable black and white came into focus, a little pink nose standing out from it. Leo lifted his right arm as best he could and stroked its head.

“Hey, Snuffy,” he cooed in a hoarse whisper.

Mr. Snuffles stirred and stretched his legs. He twisted a bit while leaning into Leo’s bandaged fingers. Leo huffed and flinched when his ribs protested.

“You keeping me from getting up, buddy?” A low rumble emitted from Snuffy’s body. He’ll take that as a yes. “Clever kitty.”

He gently pushed the cat’s head closer to him as he bent his head down to plant a smooch on his head. The purring grew louder. Snuffles tilted his head up, and Leo took advantage to scratch under his chin.

“You’re gonna get me in trouble,” he croaked. “I shouldn’t be moving this much.” Mr. Snuffles doesn’t care. He’s getting attention and that’s all that matters. Leo winced as his body protested the movements and kept petting him. “Worth it.”

Mr. Snuffles stood and arched his back. His body trembled from it.

“Big stretch,” Leo instinctually commented. Mr. Snuffles turned around and flopped onto his shoulder. He licked Leo’s cheek, his rough tongue scratching his skin. “Aww, thanks, bud. I love you, too.”

Snuffy dropped his head and snuggled into his neck. Leo smiled, gently dropping his own head onto the cat’s and closed his eyes. He breathed in a sore breath; he slowly let it out through his mouth while focusing on Mr. Snuffles’ purring. They stayed like that for a whole three seconds before Snuffles moved his head to lick his fur.

“Come on, man, you’re ruining my focus.” The feline, of course, did not care. He just went on cleaning himself. Leo chuckled; a cough shook his frame, and he turned his head away as more ripped out of him. Mr. Snuffles let out a concerned meow, stood and pressed his body against Leo’s head. His purring amped up some as he licked at Leo’s sweating head.

“Snuffy—“ Leo’s voice strained between coughs. “Gross!” He took in deep breaths as the coughing died down. His ribs hurt worse now. His body’s uncomfortably hot. Damn it…that’s the last thing he needs after waking up. A goddamn infection.

A wall of black and white fur obscured his vision and got in his mouth. Leo pulled his head back and spat out the fur.

“Snoofle, please, I’m trying to cough my lungs out.” The cat paid no mind as he settled himself on Leo’s chest. He loafed himself and closed his eyes. A gentle purr vibrated through Leo’s bandaged plastron. He rested a hand on Mr. Snuffles’ back and laid his head back against the pillow.

[blenderhemmings]

sneaking around (calum hood)

calum hood x non binary!oc (they/them)

summary: sneaking around and fucking their tour photographer was NOT part of calums plan, but maybe its just what he needs

word count: 3524

warnings/rating: explicit (18+ minors do not interact), hooking up, awkward sexual situations, enthusiastic consent, OC is their tour photographer, calum had a slut era, whoops he got caught, insta love? maybe? idk, at least from calums pov, OC is demiromantic but also a slut, the OC is non-binary AFAB, a good amount of cock, sub!Calum, but hes actually a switch in this universe, dom!OC

notes: this oc was created by my friend and i for a large and queer fanfic universe we've been building for OVER a year. some quick visual pointers of the OC: theyre 6'2, have split dyed black-blue hair, a lot of tattoos, and dress in a lot of gothic-punk black outfits (platforms are a must).

this fic is cross posted to my AO3

It was their last meeting before the tour and Calum was fidgety to say the least. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the tall, dark haired, and heavily tattooed person sat across the table from him. His knee bounced as people kept talking, waiting anxiously for the person to be introduced to them.

“And this is Archer. They’ll be your photographer on this tour. We’re sorry the other photographer had to cancel on us last minute, but Archer is a wonderful photographer.” Their tour manager said, motioning towards the now named person. Calums eyes lit up, a smile spreading across his face as he leaned across the table to shake their hand.

“Archie works just as well.” They said, a soft smile slipping across their face, shaking hands with Ashton and then Calum. “I actually prefer that. I’m excited to meet the four of you, and I’m so sorry it’s last minute.”

Calum kept a laser focus on Archie, watching their every move as they talked with the rest of the band and crew. He was transfixed on their movements, unsure of what lured him in. Was it the fact he’d really never met anyone as tall as him? Could it be the split dye hair, their soft facial features, or even the large amount of tattoos littering their body? He’d never know, but he knew that he wanted to shake their hand again, just as an excuse to hold it.

He was confused by his feelings. This was someone he just met, he shouldn’t feel this way. He was used to the casual hook up in LA. Using Tinder and Bumble to meet anyone looking for something casual. Fuck buddies, one night stands, and month long flings were his best friend. He’d never wanted to settle down, but he was always looking for a good fuck. It didn’t matter who it was, as long as he was getting that sexual fix.

Once the tour began, Calum started to notice that Archie was a distraction. He’d fumble during soundcheck, watching them walk around the venue to find vantage points. He’d miss a note here and there or trip over his own feet when he saw them in the photo pit. His reaction was worse the closer Archie got to him, quietly hyperventilating and struggling to keep his composure.

They were about four shows deep when Archie pulled Calum aside, “Hey, Cal, question. When we get back to the hotel, can you come to my room? I need your help picking photos of you for the show recap post.” They smiled, leaning back in the chair a bit, scrolling through the photos, picking the ones to set aside and show Calum later that night. “We don’t have time here, so just meet me in my room, yeah?”

Calum nodded, fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt, trying to hide the anxious look on his face. “I- uh, yeah, I can do that. You’re in room 687, right?” “678, actually. Don’t go knocking for a stranger. I don’t think that’s one of our rooms.” They laughed, closing their laptop and shoving it in their backpack, zipping it up and checking through their camera bag one last time, accounting for all their equipment. Archie got up and patted Calum’s arm, walking out of the room. He was lost in thought and left in the unknown until he’d be meeting up with Archie later that night.

He didn’t go to their room right away. Calum found himself lingering in Michaels room, fighting with himself about getting up to go see the photos. “Dude, why is hanging out with Archie eating you alive? It’s literally to ask you about some photos, relax.” Michael grabbed Calum's shoulders from behind, squeezing him a little, “Unless somebody has a little crush or something.”

“Why do you think I have a crush on them? I barely know them and I don’t want to like anybody like that either. I’m fine being single for now. You know fucking around is what I do best.” Calum sighed, feeling Michaels hand on his shoulder, squeezing it slightly. “Not every interaction I have with people like this is because I like them.”

“Yeah, but you’ve never acted this way with anyone else.” Calum went red with Michael’s words. He wasn’t wrong, but Calum was scared for him to be right.

“I- Shut up! It’s just photos, I’m just going to help Archie pick out some photos, I’ll be back.” Calum sighed, getting up from the chair in Michael’s room, and heading towards Archie’s. Maybe Michael was right, he had the slightest crush, but it was nothing worth acting upon. They only met a month ago and he barely knew anything about Archie. All he knew was that they were the in-house photographer for a venue in their hometown, had at least 50 tattoos, and they both used the same blue hair dye.

His knock was weak, but Archie heard it. There was shuffling on the other side of the door, and then their voice. “Didn’t I give you a keycard?” Calum panicked, digging through his wallet, only for it not to be there. All he had was his own keycard, bank cards, tour laminate, and a bit of cash. 

“Uh… I forgot it? I came from Michael’s room. Let me in, please?” Calum asked, flipping through his cards again, checking that he didn’t miss it. Archie laughed, unlocking the door and opening it for Calum. “T-thanks. So… Those photos?”

“Right, the photos.” Archie was antsy, bouncing back and forth on their feet before sitting on the edge of the bed. Calum understood the emotion though, he couldn’t imagine being placed into a new environment, forced to get the band's best angles and post their work for millions to see. “Those… they're… let me grab my laptop.”

They dug around in their bag for the hard drive and their laptop, pulling both out to go through the photos with him. “Why… why just me? Don’t you have to ask the others too?”

“I have the most photos of you, so it’d be easier to get it out the way now. I have time with them tomorrow. I need good photos of you, yanno?” Calum nodded at Archie’s words, sitting on the edge of the bed, watching the photos appear on the screen before him. Archie had a good eye and Calum was glad management was able to get them to be their photographer. “Are there any you see right away that you want for sure or any you want deleted?”

Calum shook his head, watching Archie scroll through the hundreds of photos, many looked like they were taken in bursts. 

“Can I have some of these?” He pointed to the black and white photos on the screen.

“Yeah, those are already edited. There was a bright blue light behind you and it was hard to save it, so I made it black and white.” Calum nodded as if he knew anything about photo editing. “I messed with the white balance and exposure to try to take away from how bright the light is, but black and white saved it.”

Archie closed their laptop, placing it on the nightstand, hands folding in their lap, swallowing the lump in their throat. “Uh… this is… this is poorly timed, but can I kiss you?” Calum went cold, goosebumps forming on his arms, eyes wide. It’s like the world froze as his chest went heavy. “God, that’s a dumb question. We barely know each other, let's just get back to the photos.”

Calum shook his head, leaning into Archie, one hand on their thigh, the other unsure where to sit. “That’s not a dumb question, you’re just scared.” Calum leaned in further, pressing his forehead against theirs and then his lips to theirs as well.

He’d kissed hundreds of people in the last few months, but nothing was as good as this. Nobody ever tasted as sweet as Archies vanilla-orange chapstick or smelled as good as their cologne. The kiss progressed quickly, Archie knocking Calum down onto the bed, taking full control.

“C-can I?” Calum nodded, feeling a cold hand slip under his shirt, going towards his chest and then back down to the hem to pull it away from his skin. “I- Uh… My shirt’s gonna… it’s gonna stay on. Is that okay?” Calum nodded again. He didn’t care how clothed Archie stayed, he just wanted their lips and whatever else they were willing to give him.

Shortly after, shoes, socks, and pants made their way to the floor, leaving Calum almost bare, and Archie their shirt and boxers. “Fucking Christ, do something, would you?” Calum whined, feeling Archie’s cold hand press against his skin again, this time on his stomach, creeping towards the waistband of his boxers.

“Be polite and use your words, would you?” Archie teased, fingers going under Calums waistband, snapping it against his skin before tugging it away from his skin, making him yelp. “And be quiet, nobody needs to hear us.” Calum was exposed at this point, Archie straddling him to keep him in place on the bed, one hand resting firmly on his pelvis, the other resting on the mattress. “Quiet, Calum.”

Calum nodded, nothing but a squeak escaping his lips. “Y-yes, please- fuck, please stop teasing me and do something.” The noise got louder as their hand wrapped around the base of his cock, free hand going for his mouth to quiet him down. His instinct was to bite, but not hard. It was just enough to keep himself quiet. A smile crept across Archie’s lips, breathing heavily from making out just moments prior.

“There you go, Cal, just like that. Nice and quiet.” Archie laughed a little, twisting their hand around Calum’s cock, making him yelp and whimper into their hand again. Once Calum had control of his volume, Archie pulled their hand from his lips, only shushing him if he got loud again, which proved to be easy with them on top.

“I want more… please.” Calum whined, feeling Archie’s hand move along his cock. “I want to fuck you, please, Archie.” And everything stopped for a second. Calum was terrified he said the wrong thing, scared that Archie was three seconds away from kicking him out of their hotel room, but they weren’t. “Please, that’s all I want.”

It took Archie a minute to process what Calum said, swallowing the lump of anxiety in their throat. It had been a while for Archie, so it felt new again. “All you want, yeah? How about we make a deal. You get to fuck me, but I get control. Or is that too uncomfortable for you?” Calum shook his head quickly, he would take anything at that point. He wanted to touch Archie in ways he’s never touched anybody else. He felt an instant and true connection that never appeared with anyone else.

But a sudden silence fell over Calum. Sure, he’d had plenty of flings and one night stands with trans people before, but he didn’t want to fuck this one up. It almost felt invasive to ask Archie how to fuck them. Would they have a preference? What if they didn’t want the same thing as him?

“Earth to Calum? I’m not making you uncomfortable, am I? We’ll only do this if you want this.” Archie asked, hand waving in front of his face a little. “You’re not lost in thought, are you?” Calum shook his head a little, he was, but he didn’t want to admit it. “Is it about how you’ll fuck me? I promise that’s a normal thought. We’ve never done this before, I promise it’s okay.”

Archie smiled softly, hand resting on Calums stomach, rubbing their thumb gently over his skin. “I don’t really have a preference, but I know one will be easier than the other.” He nodded, hands moving from the mattress to their hips, body tense as a wave of awkwardness hit him. He felt like it was such a dumb question, even though he needed to ask it. “I promise nothing you’re asking is dumb, Calum. You’re making sure I’m comfortable, and I appreciate that. This could be a one time thing, or it could be something more, and you don’t want to hurt me.”

They pushed their weight against Calum again, pushing him further up the bed, head closer to the headboard, hands going to his wrists to pin him down. “O-Okay.” His voice was shaky, but he was sure this is what he wanted. “I want this, I really do.” Calum’s brain was almost on autopilot at this point, hands going to their hips, resting on the elastic of their boxers. “Can I?”

“Of course, I’ve been waiting for you to do that from the second you walked into the room.”  Both of them chuckled, Archie lifting away from Calum to kick off their underwear, the laughter turning a bit uneasy as their boxers caught around their ankle. “Fuck, that wasn’t hot.” “I don’t care. You’re naked how I want and need, that’s hot enough.” Calums hand went for Archie’s crotch, stopping himself to ask, “Can I… Can I touch you?” The room went silent again, Calum terrified he’d crossed yet another boundary. “I just wan-” Archie grabbed his hand, guiding it further down their body and to their crotch.

“Stop asking questions and thinking you’re overstepping. I’d tell you otherwise. Now, please touch me. I want this just as bad as you, Calum.” He whined, feeling the wet warmth against his fingers as Archie let go of his hand. He lapped his fingers around, dragging them up and down before curling in softly. Archie let out a soft moan, immediately collapsing onto his chest, almost knocking the wind out of Calum. Their head rested on his shoulder, mouthing at the skin, “Fuck, please. More of that. Just like that, please, Cal.”

As Calum continued, he pushed Archie's head up to kiss them, letting them moan against his lips, a knot of warmth forming in his stomach. He couldn’t pull away just yet, but he was sensitive and he needed Archie’s touch once again. “Fuck,” he groaned against their lips, forehead pressing against theirs, two fingers curled inside of them, “I want you.” He whined, sliding his fingers out, a small look of concern taking over his face, unsure what to do with his damp fingers.

Archie grabbed at his wrist, bringing his hand up between them, lips to his fingers to suck them clean. “There, that’s all it took.” they smiled, licking the stringy substance from their lips, “I have no condoms, just so you know.” “O-oh. Nor do I. Do… Do we stop here?” Calum’s voice was weak, but Archie shook their head at his words, hand moving to hold his jaw, forcing him to look back in their direction.

“Unless you want to, absolutely not. You didn’t just make out with me and finger me for nothing. We only stop if you want to stop.” Calum whined at the grip to his jaw, shaking his head that he wanted to continue. “That’s what I thought, baby. If it eases your mind, I’ve been on birth control for years and with a decent amount of people who could… yanno, but it’s never happened, so I don’t think we have to worry.”

“Y-Yeah. Fuck, I want you, Archie.” Calum whined, letting them resituate themself on top of his body, knees resting on each side of his torso. “You’re sure, right?”

“I wouldn’t be half naked, literally inches from letting your cock in me, if I didn’t want this, Calum.” Archie laughed a little, one hand grabbing at Calum’s cock under them, guiding it and letting themself slowly sink down. “God- Fuck, Cal.” They gasped, knees giving out a little as they let him go deeper.

It wasn’t just Archie who whined, Calum did too. The touch to his cock and the feeling of Archie sinking down felt so good. His hands reached for their waist, grabbing tight, a loud and long hiss leaving his lips. “You feel— fuck!” 

Archie let out a deep moan, hands resting on Calum’s chest, digging their fingers in ever so slightly. “That’s it, baby. Rock your hips just like that. Let me do the hard work.” As Calum moved with them, he whimpered at the sensation on his chest. “Just like that, baby. Feels good, doesn’t it?” They rocked slowly at first, hips digging into his, only picking up the pace once they settled and Calum was ready.

He yelped as Archie bounced, feeling their knees against his waist, panting heavily. He’d had his fair share of sexual partners, so being on the bottom was nothing new, but this level of control was. “Go on baby, tell me how this feels. Does it feel good, sweetheart?”

Calum nodded, panting, head thrown back into the pillows as he spoke, “Feels good. You feel good, Arch. Fuck- feels so good.” He was a disaster at that point. His skin was warm, cheeks flushed, forehead sticky with sweat. His lips were parted, leaning up towards Archie, “K-Kiss me, please.” He begged, feeling their sweaty forehead press to his.

Their lips connected momentarily, noses brushing against each other as the kiss got passionate. “You wanna cum, baby? Wanna feel so much better?” He nodded again, feeling the heat building up in his body once again, heart racing. “Let me take care of you then, don’t move.”

Archie worked quickly, nails digging into his chest again, picking up the pace. Their lips touched as they both moaned, Calum struggling hard. “Fuckfuckfuck” He whined, pressing his head into their chest, fingers pressed against their shirt, nails digging into their hips, “G-Gonna cum, fuck, fu-”

Calum choked on his words as his vision blurred, his minimal thrusts turning sloppy, hips meeting Archies at a painfully slow pace. Their orgasm wasn’t far behind, all it took was a few more thrusts and they were moaning into his neck, blush crawling up their neck and into their cheeks.

The silence quickly turned into soft giggles, Archie’s full weight on Calum, foreheads pressed together, refusing to move from the position they were in. Cum dripped out of Archie and onto the base of Calum’s cock. “Holy shit,” Archie gasped, hands moving back to his chest once again. “God, you felt so good.”

His giggle faded, turning into a soft chuckle instead, head resting in the crook of Archie’s neck, whining at any slight movement, as if it would send him into another orgasm.  “S-so did you. Fuck… Can we do that again sometime?”

“So long as we don’t get caught sneaking around.” Archie let out a soft moan, pulling off Calum’s cock, whining at the emptiness and cold feeling on the inside of their legs. They grabbed the pile of clothes and shoes on the floor, separating them out, handing Calum his clothes. “It’s the last thing we want.”

His head was in the clouds, but he understood what Archie meant, “Y-yeah. You’re right. Text me after your shower? I still want those photos. Can I have a towel or something. I don’t wanna get my clothes messy.” “Oh, yeah. Sorry, I forgot about that.” They walked off for a minute, grabbing a small hand towel from the sink and handing it to Calum to wipe himself down. He threw the towel to the side, slipping on his boxers, followed by his pants, zipping them up and putting on his shirt afterwards.

“Th- Is this what’ll happen every time you want to show me photos?” “Maybe, maybe not. Just go take your own shower and I’ll text you, okay? I enjoyed this. It felt nice. I want more of it.” Archie motioned their hands to the bed, then Calum, then themself.

Calum nodded, brushing his hands down his shirt to straighten it out, turning to the full length mirror to fix his hair. “I do too, Archie. I should… I should go before someone catches me.”

“If anything, we were looking at photos. There was a lot… so it makes sense it took a while.” They smiled, walking towards the bathroom as he walked towards the door to the hall. “Photos, with a side of sex and making out.” He nodded again, listening for anyone walking past so he wouldn’t get caught.

The door clicked shut behind him and he scurried down the hall to his room, head turning like an owl in every direction to make sure nobody saw. Every shadow and rustle of sheets behind doors scared him, thinking it was someone who heard the whole thing.

“You look like a deer in fuckin’ headlights, mate.” Michael laughed, tapping Calum on the shoulder as he unlocked his door.

“You bastard!” Calum yelped, dropping his phone and wallet. “I thought you’d be asleep already.”

“It’s only 2am… You’re lucky if I’m asleep by three. So… How did looking at those photos go?”

Calum's brain stopped. He couldn’t lie to his best friend, but he had to, he was not getting caught sneaking around.

[pumpkinfreak]

Plastic Inferno

Hey if you fallow me for horror stuff you may not like this, or maybe you will. I don’t feel like making a second blog for comic related stuff so I’m posting my fics here. I have too many fixations and too little patience. Anyway, Plastic Man centric fic starts below. ***

Plastic man stared, eyes unfocused, into the vast expanse of space. The Watchtower hummed around him, rotating at an almost imperceptible rate. The conversations behind him fade into the hum. He shouldn’t be here, but Woozy said it would be good to get away for a few hours. “You alright over there Plas.” Superman called from behind him. Twisting his midsection around he smiled, “Oh me,  I’m great!” Plas had never craved a cigarette so bad in his life. It made his teeth itch. “ Probably gonna head out early.” Not waiting for a response, Plas stretched over the table and out of the room. They watched as he left. 

The sound of the Teleporter rumbled through the walls, finally Wonder Woman broke the silence. “I’m worried about him.” Kyle Rayner, Green Lantern, nodded in agreement. “He’s been weird all day. Well, weird for Plastic Man. He barely spoke!” Superman swiveled his chair to face the Flash. “Explain again what happened last night?” The Speedster shrugged. “Not much to tell. He was on monitor duty. Called me at midnight, and said he had a family emergency. So I took over for him.” 

Superman rubbed the back of his neck. “Huh,  Never really considered that he had a family.” One by one guilt clouded over their faces, as they looked at one another. Plas talked a lot, but what did he ever say about himself? None of them had bothered to ask. Exception is Batman, of course, but never asks, he just finds out. “Kyle, you should go talk to him.” Wonder Woman offered, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You spend the most time with him.” Kyle crossed his arms. “Yeah, but we never talk about anything serious.” Batman stood up sliding past Kyle on his way out. “Now is a good time to start.” Kyle sighed, he was right. 

Kyle followed Plastic Man’s coordinates, teleporting to an alley in Brooklyn. Powered down, he stepped out into the street, and began typing out a message to Plas on his phone. Kyle stopped when a tall man walked out of the corner bodega ahead of him. Black pants, red shirt, white goggles tucked into the back pocket. “Plas?” Kyle called out tentatively. The man turned around, eyebrows raised. 

“Kyle, what are you doing here? Did something happen?” He asked, coming close. “You're not…shiny.” Kyle replied, caught off guard. When meeting Plas a few years ago he had been so put off by his appearance. Shiny, perfectly smooth skin, no pores or wrinkles. Except when he smiled. Plas was a walking PVC mannequin. Seeing him now, as a normal middle aged man, it felt almost wrong. 

Plas smiled. His first real smile of the day. “This is what I looked like before my accident.” He popped a cigarette in his mouth,  spreading his arms out. Giving Kyle a good look. “You’re older than I thought you were. No offense.” Plas waved him off. “None taken, I’m frozen at thirty five. No matter what I look like.” Plas lit up the cigarette, storing the lighter and pack inside his body. Yup this was Plastic Man. “So why are you here?” 

Kyle rocked on his heels. May as well be honest. “You just seem down today . I thought I’d come check on you.” Plas exhaled a puff of smoke. “It’s nothing, I just have a lot on my mind.” 

Kyle crossed his arms. “Since when do you smoke?” Plas grinned, biting the cig between his teeth. “You sound like the nuns.” He remarked. “ Cut me a break, this is my first one in three years.” Kyle nodded. “It must be pretty serious then.” Plas’s smile went flat. He looked tired. Kyle used his ring to fly them up onto the rooftop. “I’m pretty sure this is kidnapping.” Plas remarked. 

They sat on the edge of the roof, their feet dangling off the edge. “It feels weird to call you Plastic Man when you look like that.” The older man glanced over at him. “ Patrick O’Biren, but everyone calls me Eel.” He offered his hand to Kyle, who shook it. Then they were quiet for a while. It was different, being quiet with Eel, who was always joking or rambling about something stupid. 

Right now he just sat, glassy blue eyes heavy, as he looked out over the street. Smoke swirling up from his mouth into the cold night. Kyle could see it in his body he was agitated. Shoulders rounded and high. Clenching and unclenching his hands. 

Kyle waited until Eel lit a second cigarette. “So are you going to tell me what happened?” Eel sighed. He wanted to scream it from this rooftop. Maybe that when lighted that weight in his chest, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t face the fullness of it yet. So he met it halfway instead. Rubbing out his cigarette he confessed. “My son was in an accident last night.” Kyle turned to him, Eyes wide. “You have a son? I mean, is he okay?” Eel looked out into the city like the void of space. Unbothered by Kyle’s surprise. “He’s stable now.” Kyle felt a pit grow in his stomach, there was something else. 

“Luke, that’s a good name. How old is he?” Eel faced him. That familiar smile tugging at his lips. “Twelve, although he’s quick to remind me he’s nearly thirteen.” Shame washing over Eel. “I didn’t know about him until he was ten.” Kyle frowned and opened his mouth to speak . “Don't pity me. You know the story. I was a thug long before he was here and too long after.” Eel interjected as he stood. To pace back and forth on the ledge of the building.  

“Can you believe she recognized me?” He morphed back to his shiny body, for a moment. “ Saw me on T.V. next to Superman. Decided maybe I deserve a chance to meet my boy. My Angel…” He stopped, cursed himself for slipping up. She hadn’t been his Angel. Not for over a decade. He cleared his throat roughly. “His mother, Angle, offered to have him tested to prove it . I laughed at her. He looks just like me.”  

Kyle knew he wasn’t really talking to him anymore. Eel’s eyes looked wet, straining to keep from crying. Kyle stood  and Eel turned away from him. “Eel, what happened to Angel last night.” Neither of them could hear the city anymore. 

“Kyle, did I ever tell you that my mother died when I was thirteen.” His voice was choked, his body didn’t want these words to escape. It made it real to say it. Eel bitterly wiped away tears. Kyle kept his distance, uncertain of how to proceed. 

“Does Luke know?”

If Plas said anything he didn't hear him. Not over the sound of the explosion below them. A massive plume of purple flame came roaring out of the sewer. Fire bursting manhole covers out of the ground. The force shattered windows down the block. “Let's go.” Plastic man said, stretching down to the street. “Wait, Plas I’ll handle it. You should get back to the hospital.” 

Plas didn't look back at him. “ It could be hours before Luke is coherent, I may as well be useful.” He was already lowering himself down into the sewer. Kyle tried calling after him, eventually giving up to fly after him.    

Using his ring Kyle lit up the space around them. Chill damp air made them shiver. “What do you think could make a blast like that?” Lantern asked. A shrill screech came howling from down the tunnel. Both men covered their ears, the sound piercing threw their skulls. “I think it might be down there.” Plas sarcastically replied. Kyle flew them down the tunnel, avoiding the slimy dark water below them. 

The tunnel opened to a much larger chamber that dropped down into a dark abyss. “It's too quiet here.” Plas whispered. Both men could feel it. Something in this place was wrong. The darkness was different, As though you could reach out and touch it. “Hey, just let me call someone else. Go be with your boy.” Kyle offered again. “GL I appreciate it, I really do, but-“

A strong gust of wind came up from the darkness, knocking them back, and Kyle cried out. The two began falling. The ring lighting the way down. Plastic Man managed to reach Kyle. Wrapping him up as he formed into a ball cushioning the impact. They splashed into warm water, an acrid sour smell washed over them as they broke the stagnant surface. 

Plas reformed holding Kyle, eyes watering from the stench. That oppressive darkness still gripped them. The ring only illuminated a few feet around them, and Plas saw the gash in The Lanterns side. 

“GL, Lantern, Kyle!” Plas shook him gently, but Kyles only limply moved his head. “I should have listened to you.” Plas Whispered to himself. His rubber skin rippled, and he searched the darkness. There was someone watching them. “Who’s there!” he shouted. The blackness disoriented him. If Plas couldn’t feel the water around his ankles, you could convince him he was suspended in an endless void. He shouted again, searching up above him, hoping to see the shaft they fell down.   

There was a pinprick of light, he noticed, just outside the reach of the light. He moved toward it, stopping, when the light multiplied to two, then five.

In the green glow of light, a tall figure melted out of the shadows. stepping forward on bird-like feet. Plas pulled Kyle closer. The creature's five eyes, fanned out over its white disk-like face. They blinked in unison at him. It was an owl, or something like one. “You should not be here.” Its voice is like the rumble of a furnace. 

“Did you-Did you do this.”Plas meant to shout it, but it came out soft. It flapped its large black wings. The feathers on its long neck and chest bristled. It raised its hand, human-like and bone white like its face, fingers tipped with long thick claws. Plas instinctively wrapped one arm around the creature's neck. It didn't flinch, only blinked again. “Please, I only wish to help.”

 A purple flame emerged from the creature's open palm. Plas’s grip on its neck tightened. “He will die.” Eel felt sick loosening his hold as the flame wafted over from its hand and into Kyle's wound. The flesh coming back together. Kyle groaned and then sighed in relief. “He will sleep for some time, You must follow me.” 

Plas moved Kyle onto this back. Tendril of his body kept him in place. The creature swept past, Plas noticed the glint of metal in its opposite hand. A sword. “Lantern was right, I should call back up.” The creature flapped its wings, agitated. “It is too late for that. You are no longer on earth.” Plastic Man squinted trying to see more of the creature. 

“Fat chance, I’m listening to you.” He stretched up quickly, only to have his body pulled back. He tried again this time he was pushed down by what he did not know, but it nearly knocked him off balance. “It’s not you, but your friend.” It said gesturing to the unconscious Lantern. “He cannot leave, my opponent took his blood. He is trapped here until I find his enchanter.” 

Plastic Man perked up. The word enchanter caught his attention. “Magic! Of all the heroes to get sucked into this…it had to be me.” Plastic Man lamented. “You must follow me. Neither of you will survive, unless you go back to Earth alone.”      

Plas furrowed his brow, his goggles going u-shaped. “Fat chance of that.” He quipped. The creature nodded, “It is your choice O’Brien.” Plas cringed, he needed to keep his distance from this thing. It knew his name, who knows what else. “What are you anyway, Where are we?” The creature blinked its eyes, and came close in a single stride.

“ You are in Hell Patrick O’brian.”

[daily-rayless]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love❤

Thank you, but aaaaaaa, this is difficult. I only started posting on AO3 last year, but I've been posting fic online since 2006, and while there's a lot of old stuff I can't 100% stand by, there are also older fics and elements of older fics I'm still proud of today.

I think for a lot of ficwriters, our fics are tied very closely to different points in our lives and our sense of accomplishment -- so things like that also make it difficult to pick favorites when looking at these titles stirs up so many memories.

But here, I'll give it a shot:

5: Kindred (Harry Potter, 2007, no longer online): These days, my feelings about HP are less positive, but Kindred was my take on the life and upbringing of Fleur Delacour. It allowed me to research an expansive fantasy world as well as make new friends online as they patiently fielded my questions about life in the UK. I got to play around with original world building when it came to Beauxbatons and Veela (at a time when the HP world was still more open) as well as imagine the latter sections of the series from the perspective of the Order of the Phoenix. I was also writing this right during all the build up to Book Seven. I thought I was pretty safe in world building for Fleur, figuring she'd never be all that central, only to read Deathly Hallows and find not only that she's fairly involved, but a good chunk of my headcanon had to be thrown out and rewritten. Kindred was also the first time I'd contributed a longfic to a major fandom that was simmering with interest and energy, and I got so much encouraging feedback. It was a lot of work, I felt so proud of myself, and I was so pleased people enjoyed it. I'm still touched when people message me and say they remember it all these years later.

Weasley gives me an automatic smile. “Just a moment, excuse me.” He jerks his chin to Hassan, and they pass out of the room, down the hall. Hassan glances at me, raises his eyebrows, and grins.

Damn.

I distract myself from my hunger by studying the office. This is one of the smaller ones I’ve seen, cluttered with unopened boxes and a half-filled bookcase. The desk is neat, stacked with papers. A black leather-bound book on the desk catches my eye, its cover stamped with broad gold swirls and dots. It also, I realize, opens right-to-left. Hebrew?

I glance at the still-open door. No sounds.

I slide my fingers under the front cover, flipping it open. Then I blink and lean forward. Every left page is full of that sweeping, dotted script. Every right page has pictures, very stylized. Hieroglyphs, I think. A lot of the figures have animal heads on human bodies, and I recognize the ancient Egyptian numerals from Arithmancy class. I shut the book. I really shouldn’t pry.

My stomach yowls. Well, glancing at stuff on the desk isn’t prying.

I pass over the papers. There’s a framed photo of nine people standing in front of a pyramid, all of them vibrantly redheaded. I pick out Bill Weasley in the group, sans ponytail and earring. He looks better with them.

I check his wall clock. 12:31. Argh.

There’s a small glass case by the photo, containing a chip of some rock (lapis?) inlaid with gold. Arranged around it are what seem to be ancient corn kernels...no...Oh my goodness, they’re human teeth.

Rattle.

I jump, wheeling guiltily towards the door.

Thud.

Rattle.

I look back down at the desk. The sounds are coming from the top left drawer.

Slowly, steadily, I back away from the desk.

Thud. It sounds large, as though something almost filling the drawer is shifting around.

Suddenly, the fact that I’m in a Curse-Breaker’s office carries much more weight. If Kensington could get a curse in the mail, couldn’t Weasley keep a special occasion curse in his desk drawer?

No matter. It doesn’t concern me.

“Mphlum?” comes from the drawer.

That was a human voice.

“Gphlb? Gvpblaffx!”

His muffled voice sounds like he’s struggling. I realize that I’ve stepped back towards the drawer.

Really...Weasley’s a Curse-Breaker...why would he keep a curse lying around? It’s his job to get rid of them.

“Plibg.”

I run my thumb along the smooth brass drawer-pull. Probably it’s some annoying portrait he’s imprisoned there for peace and quiet. I know all about that.

“Thfssss?”

I jerk the drawer open. A human head stares back at me.

4: The Stars Are Fire (Tales of the Abyss, 2021): This is my longfic about Asch and Natalia, exploring their relationship before and through the game, then examining Natalia's life after the war. I think what I love so much about this one was how emotionally free it felt to write it. Generally I write in a very linear style. Stars was written all over the place -- one scene here, one scene there, with very little regard as to stringing everything carefully together. The hope is that if you've played the game, you can follow where you are in the timeline, and the scenes are connected more by theme and feelings than plot. Doing it this way took a lot of pressure off of me. I didn't have to write "boring" scenes, I didn't have to carefully plot. A lot of the time it was just, "Oh, what about exploring this canonical scene?" Or, "Wouldn't be interesting to show this about their childhood?" And I could just go with it. Stars is also special to me because my earlier attempts to write long Abyss fics hadn't quite worked, which was a little discouraging because Abyss is one of my very favorite games.

Natalia flew into him, and, as if it were a dance they'd already learned, he closed his arms around her shoulders, the both of them burying their faces in each other. He could feel her fingers gripping his back, her eyelashes against his cheek, her heart pounding against his own. For just a moment, his brain was released from all thoughts, all impressions but breathless relief.

He was here. She was safe.

There were voices, the others exclaiming over Luke. In a moment, Natalia would push away from him, go to Luke too. But she'd come to him first. She'd run to him.

His brain was catching up to all of this, reminding him there was no time for any of it. Nor a point to any of it.

Natalia was pulling away, but she didn't leave his embrace, taking him by the shoulders, looking at him, saying something – asking if he was all right? Asch was about to say something stern – he didn't know what – but she had one of his hairs smeared across her wet cheek and first he needed to wipe that away, otherwise she looked ridiculous – and he touched her cheek, and the next thing he knew, he'd pressed his forehead to hers and shut his eyes and he could feel her soft breath and her hands tightening on him and he was doing his best not to say all of the things he needed to say – he –

“Whoa, what's this?”

Luke's – the replica's baffled voice was what Asch needed to break out of this storm. Not roughly, but firmly, he stepped back from Natalia – she kept hold of his arm, and he didn't stop her. And Asch felt almost furious satisfaction as he saw the replica staring confusedly at the Jewel of Lorelei in his palm.

After Asch explained, as everyone exclaimed over the Jewel – and that somehow they'd both survived the hyperresonance – Asch again felt weight settle over him. He was alive. It wasn't over.

He still had to go on.

3: The Muse of Last Songs (Transistor, 2019): The first in my Muse Trilogy. It was hard to pick between this one and the final installment, because the final one brings things all together to a (hopefully) satisfying close. But I really like Last Songs because it was my chance to world-build a past for Red and dig into her history with the Boxer. The game drops so many little hints about who they are and how they relate to each other, and these hints felt like fun toys to play with. I was a little hesitant to start posting the trilogy because I'm not sure the universe was asking for a very long Transistor trilogy with a lot of of OCs, so that makes me feel so flattered and grateful that people are interested.

Red had no special plans for that day, aside from the lunch with Belrose. She's not expecting any interviews, any photographers. She's wearing trousers and a blouse, a large triangular ring on her right hand. She'd written some notes for her song on her inner arm during lunch, and the marks are still there. Her hair could use a bit of comb, and she's only bothered with lip gloss. She looks more or less how she usually does on a day left alone to herself.

Whether that's a plus or a minus is really just a matter of perspective.

Colette beckons her over, sort of like she's trying to coax some animal that's never been properly domesticated. “We're interviewing bodyguards. Give me thirty of your priceless minutes.”

Red focuses, looking past Colette to the three men. Though of different heights and ethnicities, there's a certain look that they all share – young men, dark hair, dark or tan skin, squarely built and solid looking. She takes a moment to study each. She's never shy about looking people in the eye, and she's glad to see that each of them has the nerve to maintain eye contact.

One of them.

One of them.

One of them, she looks at a few moments longer than the others. Not out of recognition or distrust. He just keeps her attention a bit longer.

2: Death and Ker (Persona 3, 2010): My what-if story exploring if the female protagonist came on another adventure with SEES. While it's no longer my best writing, and I'm sure there's lots in it I would now do differently, this fic still has a very special place in my heart. My earlier Persona longfic, Elysion, is very sad in places, and while Death and Ker also has its bittersweet moments, it was my opportunity to write SEES as strong and hopeful after the harrowing events of Persona 3. I also love the FeMC, Minako, her energy and strength, and I loved writing from her perspective, particularly exploring her relationship with her Persona Thanatos. Add some references to Greek mythology, lots of Shinjiro, and my opportunity to finally get Akihiko and Mitsuru together (one of my favorite ships, but one I find very hard to write), and I still look back on this one happily.

I've come abreast of a bar, with some guys out front smoking, nearly silhouetted against the lit windows. Another guy, broader across the shoulders than the others, has kicked a trashcan onto its side, letting the garbage spew out. He's sitting on it, hair down to his waist and bearded, a shapeless cap over one eye and a long, ragged greatcoat. There's a smell rather worse than cigarette smoke, and I pick up the pace again, wishing I was upwind.

"Hold on," that same gruff voice says, and I realize that Lovely here is my defender. "You took a long look. You can't say you're too proud to say 'good evening'."

His Japanese is perfect, but there's some accent I can't pick out – English-speaking, I think, but I don't recognize it as British or American or anything like that. I've turned towards him before I can tell myself to keep walking. He leans back to study me, throwing his face into better light. Gaunt features, a long pipe between his teeth, some of which are missing. I can't guess his age, except that he's older than me. His hair is some color between blond and brown, and his eyes look greenish, and they track me up and down a few times.

I'm not good at staying away from trouble; people always used to say this about me. But this isn't trouble, it's just a word. So – "Evening," I say, and turn to go.

"You have a look of death about you."

I turn back around. The guy's leaned forward onto his knees again, and the others are talking amongst themselves, someone laughing. Is this a weird set-up, or...? I turn to go.

"You keep out of the light, but there it is just the same."

What?

...I've got a naginata and a Persona with a huge metal mask thing. I can handle whatever's going on here. I turn back and stare at him, waiting for him to explain. He gestures sideways, and unresistingly I step into the glare of the windows.

He stares at me a moment, teeth cracking around his pipe, and nods slowly like he already knew what he'd be seeing. "You're pale enough, and your hair's the color of dead things, dead leaves. Eyes like dirt and blood." He leans back and turns away, drawing on his pipe. "Why pussyfoot around it? Why not carry your damn scythe in the open?"

I blink, but I can't quite deadpan this, and I find myself shifting my weight once from foot to foot. "Are you friends with Mama at Club Escapade or something?"

"Shove off," the guy says, gesturing me away. "Take your dirt with you."

"What are you talking about?"

"Pretty girl." He swings to his feet, the trashcan rolling away with a clatter. "Death shouldn't pretend to be cute. It's raw and bleeding and it loves the living more than food or air." He chuckles. "I don't want to be friends." And he slouches into the light of the bar's front door.

I pitch forward a step, about to follow, then pull to a stop, hardly hearing the question one of the other guys throws at me. What was he talking about? Could he tell I was dead? I could ask Death himself, but Thanatos is quiet, uninterested in this exchange.

1: The Beast in the Dark (Fate/Extra, 2017, not online). So this feels kind of selfish, seeing as no one can read it and I don't know whether I'll even post it, but I really love this fic. In the mid-2010s, I was sad and frustrated and artistically unhappy (unhappy about art -- not unhappy in an artistic way), particularly with my original fiction, which didn't feel very good, and most of the time wasn't even happening. In this mindset, I wrote a trilogy of fics set in the Fate/Extra universe, focusing on female Hakuno. And what I love about that experience, along with it helping me through that patch, is that I just let myself go. I threw basically anything I wanted at the story. I researched all sorts of weird things about history and different cultures so I could incorporate them. I really like words and their derivations, so I just told myself I could include unnecessary explanations of word etymologies. I threw in cringey tropes I enjoy but might be embarrassed to admit to other people. I had no expectation of ever posting it, so I truly was able to please myself. Beast is the final installment of the trilogy, the longest, and all the angst and shippy stuff and nonsense comes together in a big loud crash for it, and I just really loved writing that. Almost immediately after finishing Beast, I suddenly felt ready to write The Price and Prey of Magic -- the original novel I'd been thinking about for years, but been unable to start. I don't know if Beast unlocked something in me, but I like to think it did me good.

Was it even possible to really love someone with your whole soul? Maybe a parent could love a child that way. Maybe if the two of you had grown up together, and they'd always been part of your life. But a person who had a whole life separate from you, whom you'd met only recently?

Could you really graft your soul to the soul of a comparative stranger?

There was a tree by the well, and its leaves rustled in the slight breeze, sending a sympathetic shiver down Hakuno's back.

A man's shadow fell across her

She looked up.

It was a tall man in army fatigues and a burnoose. She couldn't really see his face because of the sun behind him.

Crow, she thought.

“You're the American?” he asked.

Hakuno sat up, unprepared for how relieved she was to hear English again. His accent was unfamiliar, but the words were perfectly clear. “Yes,” she said, squinting up. “My name's Hazel Kuznetov.”

Maybe he noticed the squint, because he moved out of the glare, though not any closer. His skin was tanned, but he wasn't actually Middle Eastern – possibly Japanese. Despite his white hair, he looked to be in his twenties. She thought she saw a red muffler wrapped around his head and throat under the burnoose. There was a long gun on his back.

He held his hand out. “I'm Shirou Emiya.”

Thank you for tagging me, @deemoyza. Going through my archive brought a lot of feelings of happiness and gratitude bubbling to the surface.

[tainted-wine]

Primal Dissonance

Hawks x Reader (NSFW)

So anon was like:

And since I’m total ass at writing short drabbles, or maybe it’s because they called me senpai, I ended up with a whole-ass fic. This took a different route than planned but I hope you enjoy, anon!

Words: 4.3k

Warnings: Dubcon, Pheromones, Mindbreak, Feral Hawks, Rough and Public Sex, Tit Abuse. This totally isn’t as dark as it sounds.

--------x--------

Hawks has been getting noisy. Not in the usual sense; he’s always a motormouth. No, he’s been making sounds that you’ve never heard him make.

At first you thought he was sick and something was irritating his throat, but on one occasion when you offered him water after hearing the sound, he almost looked offended. You concluded that it wasn’t an illness.

You later noticed that the noise often happens when it’s just the two of you together. During late night movie viewings at his place, he’d hold you close and release a constant hum, the vibrations from his chest and wings soothing enough to make you drift into sleep in his arms. You never saw the look of disappointment in his face as he decided to cuddle you for the rest of the night.

Just a few days later, he spots you during one of his patrols and presents you with a surprise expensive gift. A ruby pendant, the same brilliant shade as his feathers, was placed around your neck by gentle gloved hands.

“Hawks—why—what did I do to deserve this?” You asked while your eyes reflected the gemstone’s sparkles.

“Just wanted to give a pretty gift to my pretty girl.” He gave you a kiss, and waves of soft hums leave his mouth and into yours, flowing through your body, stimulating all of your nerves and triggering pleasant shivers. One makeout session later, and you both pull back to lock eyes. He’s looking at you expectantly, but you don’t even know what the hell he’s expecting.

You look to the side awkwardly. “Thank you, Hawks. It’s beautiful, but I…don’t have anything to give in return. This was a complete surprise, after all.”

His eye twitches, but he smiles and embraces you. “That’s fine, chickadee.”

A pigeon appears during your hug, and the soft coos emanating from it give you an epiphany.

“A pigeon! That’s what it is! You’re cooing like a pigeon!”

This time it’s his smile that twitches. Did you say something wrong? Whatever it is, he brushes it off with a half-hearted laugh. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

That was also the day you noticed his rising body temperature. You asked once again if he was feeling ill, and at least this time he didn’t appear to be upset when he answered ‘no.’

On the next night you spent in his home, he—and you’re still not over this—took your hand and pulled you in for a dance. It wasn’t some silly jig in which he blindly moved to a random pop song, it was a slow classic love song, and he moved both of you in an elegant dance fitting for a ballroom.

It was the last thing you expected from the hero that normally took you on KFC dates or, if he had the time, reserve a spot at his favorite yakitori place. But there was no way you could say that you didn’t like the way his feet glided across the floor, wings acting as a living cape that made each of his movements look all the more graceful, and you followed his pace as best as you could.

You clung onto him more tightly than intended when he dipped you after a spin, sharp avian eyes boring into you before he buries his face in your neck, and that’s when you feel more than hear the cooing return. It’s a tune that never fails to make you feel so warm and safe; you have no idea how his gentle sounds have such influence over you.

He looks pleased by your relaxed state, pulling you back up and brushing a few stray hairs out of your face. “So?”

You smiled and gave him a quick peck on the lips. “I didn’t know you had such grace, Hawks. Now hurry up, or we’re going to miss the movie for tonight!”

You scampered off into the kitchen to prepare the popcorn, completely oblivious to the baffled look your boyfriend was giving behind your back.

A few days later and you’re more certain than ever that he’s coming down with something, because now there’s a constant sheen of sweat all over his skin, and his breath sounded labored even when he was just sitting around. Since he ignores all of your pleas to stay home for just a day or two, you come up with another solution. Hawks pouts like a child when you tell him that a little nature and clean air might restore his health, but he still accepts your offer for a date at a nature park because hey, spending a day in natural beauty with you sounds great.

You practically dragged him into a bus after telling him several times that he shouldn’t tire himself out prematurely by flying both of you there. One long scenic drive later, you both arrive at your beautiful destination. The park was huge and lush with flora of all kinds, from tree-filled paths to endless flower fields.

Exploring everything this paradise has to offer with Hawks sounds like a dream, but your main goal was to loosen him up and help him feel better, so you avoided the populated areas, passing the cycling roads, the play areas, the bug houses, all of the charming attractions until you reached the long stretches of vibrant colors. The flower park.

You and Hawks began a slow stroll hand-in-hand, taking in the seemingly endless blooms, the trees shedding petals onto the walkway—all of it served as the most delicious treat for your eyes.

But when you looked at the winged hero to see if he was enjoying the scenery as much as you were, you saw that he was staring at you. His face was slightly flushed, but you couldn’t tell if it was the result of his feverish temperature or if he’s finding this whole date very romantic.

“The flowers are over there, birdbrain,” you joked with a squeeze of his hand.

His wing wrapped around you and pulled you in closer, encasing you in his abnormal heat. “The only flower that matters is right here.” There was a rough breathlessness to his voice that made the otherwise corny line sound sensual.

And then the coos returned, bringing you back to that pleasant world where everything was warm, soft, and safe. The red feathers surrounding you quivered and rippled like ocean waves of scarlet. You were supposed to be making him feel at ease here, not the other way around.

A chorus of chirps snapped you out of your stupor. You broke out of the hypnotic embrace and spot a bunch of small bouncing figures in the white lilac tree in front of you. “Aww, look at all of the little tits, Hawks!” You point at the flock of singing critters.

Hawks snorted immaturely.

Before you could withdraw your arm, one of the Japanese tits flew over and perched on your still-extended finger, leaving you bug-eyed and your mouth agape. “Hi there! You’re a brave little guy, aren’t you?” You said softly, hoping not to startle it. It tweeted in response, fluffing up its black and white plumage as it looked up at you curiously. “Hawks! It’s so cute!”

Red wings bristled, but you were too enamored with the friendly bird on your hand to even look back at your boyfriend. It continued to sing, the tits sitting in the tree joining in to create an adorable medley of chirps, tweets, and peeps. “Such a nice sound, I never realized how amazing these little guys are.” You keep watching the beady eyes that stare right back at you, feeling the bird’s little feet move quickly as it adjusted itself to get more comfortable.

And with a powerful slug from a hardened red feather out of nowhere, the tiny tit is knocked off of your finger and sent flying like a fucking golf ball.

Your pointing hand was still out as you looked on, eyes and mouth now wide open in horror instead of awe. The poor bird managed to right itself before it hit the ground, flapping frantically to ride the light breeze and fly past its tree of brethren and off into the distance, its sloppy turns and sudden drops betraying how dazed it was.  

With your short-lived friend out of your sight, you turned to the man that ruined your magical bonding session, multiple negative emotions boiling inside you and ready to spill right onto this bastard. “Hawks!” You’re prepared to blow his ears off with every ounce of frustration, every concern that’s been plaguing you for the past week thanks to the strange changes that he refuses to talk about, but then you freeze.

The man’s face has darkened, eyes narrowed with its pupils shrunken into beady slits, lips pressed together in a tight frown—he looked enraged. But the terrifying look wasn’t directed at you, he was looking up at the innocent tits still residing in the tree and paying no mind to the violent treatment of one of their own. As his wings slowly spread with feathers sharpened, your chest constricted once you realized what was about to happen.

“Stop!” You threw yourself at him, grabbing at the outstretched limbs in a pitiful attempt to stop them, the bladed edges cutting your hands. It was still enough to shock and prevent him from launching any of the deadly weapons at the birds. You felt his feathers return to their soft fluffy state as he stumbled from your weight. “What the hell are you doing? What, are you pissed that it chose my hand instead of yours? The hell is wrong with you?”

Now he was aiming the glare at you, and you couldn’t help but shrink under the intimidation. His voice was shockingly low. “Just what game are you playing at here? Gushing over another bird’s song right in front of me?”

You eyed his still-expanded wings as you tried to make sense of what he said. “What?” Was all you could say.

“Here I was thinking you just had extremely high standards, but maybe you’re the type that likes to play hard to get, or make your guy jealous and see how he handles it.” He took a step toward you, and you took one back. “Well let me tell you, I’m not handling it very well.”

What he was implying would have made you burst into laughter if he didn’t look so threatening right now. “You’re…jealous? Of the bird that was on my finger?”

He laughed, or at least tried to, but the shortness of breath made him cough. The sudden anger must be worsening whatever has been making him hot and throaty for the past days. He needs to calm down for his own damn sake. “I guess I shouldn’t be, should I? Not for a girl who gets wet over any bird that does something as simple as approach her.”

“Excuse me?” Did you hear that correctly? No joke, did you really hear that shit correctly?

Hawks just keeps on going, taking your bewilderment as more mockery. “I give you something shiny, you don’t say anything.” A flash of several feathers and you feel your arms being pulled in front of you, the red tufts tying your wrist together.

“I put on a nice dance I practiced for, and you don’t say anything. Did you even notice that I cleaned and decorated the room that night?” You’re panicking from your tied hands and don’t see him fire another barrage that goes for your ankles, their tugs forcing you to lose your balance and fall hard onto the ground with a pained cry. Your hands are forcefully pinned above your head. “Hell, you seem to enjoy my song every time you hear it, so what’s the deal?”

While your heart is on the verge of exploding from its anxious beats, the gears in your head are spinning as you try to figure out how exactly this whole miscommunication even happened, but they keep jamming, filling your head with sparks and smoke of pure confusion. “What song? You haven’t been singing anything!” You yell as you fight against the feather-made cuffs around your hands and feet, but there was no breaking free. They suddenly felt as strong and durable as elastic metal.

Hurt flashes across his face and you don’t understand why goddammit, but it’s quickly masked with another scowl. “You mean the song that’s lulled you to sleep? The song that never fails to put you at ease every time? I can sense it, you know. How calm and pleased you feel whenever you hear it. I know it’s not the loud obnoxious tune of a songbird,” he glances at the tree that continues to emanate various calls as he kneels over you, nearly straddling your waist. Smart of him to keep his groin out of the range of your knees. “But you still enjoy it, right? I’m not too upset that you compared it to a shitty pigeon.”

You only stutter in shaky breaths as he lowers himself and presses all of his weight onto you, your eyes shut as he nuzzles your face lovingly. He feels like a furnace, the sweat from his face slathering onto yours from his rough rubs.

That’s when you smell something potent. You’ve picked up traces of it from him throughout the week, a strange but not unpleasant mixture of salt and sweet. You assumed it to be some sort of shampoo or cologne, but now it’s hitting you full force and it’s making your body…respond. With each inhale, the exotic scent sends a tingle down your abdomen and a release of wetness that dampens your clothing. What the hell is happening to you?

Hawks pulls away and sniffs the air. Your feminine aroma has him moan so suggestively that it makes your core heat up even more. “Oh, so this is getting you going?” He questions in a judgmental tone before something appears to cross his mind, and he laughs with a slap to his forehead. “I’m such an idiot. I’ve been doing this all wrong, haven’t I? You’re not a bird.” He kisses at the side of your face and licks the shell of your ear before whispering, “You’re a mammal. You don’t choose a mate by their pretty gifts or fancy dances.”

The lustful haze invading your mind almost distracts you from whatever is tugging at your pants and pulling them down. “H-Hawks…” You accidentally moaned. You were too out of it to even properly convey your worry. Your pants are removed and something tickles your hips to remove your panties next—that’s when you identify them as more feathers.

“With mammals, males just take what they want. They catch her, hold her down, and fuck her on the spot.”

You gasp when your lower body is completely stripped and exposed—a mistake—Hawks’s intoxicating smell rushes into your mouth and nostrils, making you clench and gush. He lifts himself just enough for the living binds around your wrists to pull and drag you off of the stone walkway and into the blooming batches. The flowers were just tall enough to probably hide you from anyone at a distance, but the winged man crawling over and sitting in front of your feet would easily give you away. “Hawks, someone…might see us,” you mutter.

He only chuckles. “Good, I want them to see. Are you little bastards watching?” He looks up at the lilac tree that now looms right over both of you. The resting tits have gone quiet, most likely intimidated by the large bird-human hybrid that continued to glare at them.

The response was ridiculous enough to temporarily free you from your trance. “I’m not worried about the birds, you dumbass.”

“Hmph, of course you’re not. You’d let them all join in if I’d let you, wouldn’t you?”

You have so many questions about how that would even work.

But you’re interrupted by the feathers around your ankles pulling your feet apart, easily overcoming your resistance and spreading you wide open for the hero in front of you. You have to look away from just how soaked you are, juices flowing from your swollen pussy and onto the soft soil, some of it sticking to your parted thighs in strands. The sight makes Hawks salivate.

“I’m at the peak of my rut and I’m tired of waiting. Gonna make you mine.”

It’s all he says before his entire mouth is on your cunt, tearing a startled cry from your throat. The peaceful sounds of the wind and rustling leaves are overshadowed by the absolutely filthy slurps, sucks, and growls between your legs. He was being a greedy savage that simply wanted to drink you up. There were no careful methods or patterns, just a hungry tongue that lapped at every inch of you and lips that sucked on anything they could grip.

You could barely even writhe from the onslaught, what with your arms pinned over your head and your feet held down so strongly that you couldn’t even move them across the dirt. You kept your sights on the rich colors of various flowers that encircled you as the sweet-smelling haze enveloped you again, enhancing your pleasure. Despite Hawks’ sudden loss of his oral skills, the feral nature of it all—the smothered snarls against your sex, the startling feel of his teeth carelessly grazing your sensitive flesh, and the lewd sight of his face covered in your glistening juices as his glassy eyes opened and stared into yours as he ate you alive—his voracity had you boiling over.

He gulped your essence loudly, welcoming every drop of the orgasmic flood into his mouth. All of the colors in your vision blurred more with each mind-numbing pulse. You weren’t even aware of the shameless wails that left you until the blissful waves finally subsided.

Once he had his fill, he finally pulled away from your mound and boy did he look like a hot mess. His cheeks were a deep red that was slowly spreading across his cum-covered face, a beady string of your fluids hanging from his lips before dripping off. He was climbing back over you and when the fuck did he take his pants off? He must have unbuttoned and removed them while he was licking you into heaven.

He still manages to look smug while he takes in your spent form, your slightly parted lips impossible to resist. Your mouth was suddenly locked with his, the breath you were desperately trying to get back stolen from you. And then the scent returns, this time accompanied with a powerful salted lemon flavor that assaults your taste buds. The taste of your own pussy was insignificant; his aroma in both your nose and mouth is nearly suffocating, your still-recovering inner walls already squeezing out more of your slick.

His tongue thrashes about in your mouth to paint his sweet saliva on every spot he could reach. You swallow it up thirstily and feel an immediate response in your throat that somewhat frightens you. Numbness overtakes your mouth and your throat relaxes completely; you felt like it was suddenly impossible to choke.

Hawks messily pulls away, breathing heavily and licking his lips. “Look at you. All it takes is a whiff and taste of a rutting male to turn you into a submissive little bitch.” You’ve never heard him speak like that, but like every action he’s taken since you’ve been at his mercy, it doesn’t fail to arouse you for reasons you still don’t understand. “Do you want some more? Hmm?”

You’re nodding before your crippled mind can comprehend the question.

The drugged kiss has you dizzy. You’re doing your best to keep track of his movements as he straddles your chest, his cock coming into focus and pressing against your lips. He doesn’t give you a command, you simply open up like a trained whore.

You’re moaning from the addicting taste of his length that pushes all the way to the back of your throat. Once his pubes are flush against your nose, your eyes roll back and you lose all sense of…everything. Everything except for that exhilarant fragrance and flavor.

Even as he begins to move in your mouth, your tongue swirls all around the sweet meat in an attempt to taste him all over. You’re throbbing wildly, but the feathers prevent you from bringing your thighs together for some much needed friction.

He was thrusting in and out at a pace that should have you gagging, but you take the pounding smoothly. Everything was murky, save for the pleasure that was slowly consuming you. You think the birds are singing again, maybe.

Something was smacking against your chin…rather loudly, you think. Hawks’s balls. How obscene, the way he’s hunched over you and fucking your face so roughly, but it’s hard to feel embarrassed when it’s all making you feel so damn good. Drool gathers and drips down your mouth. Your throat has become a second pussy, and he was fucking it like one.

The scent has your entire body on fire and you wish so badly that you could touch yourself. It was too powerful, each breath filling you with more burning tension. Your desperate whines came out as bubbly gurgles around his hammering dick. Your climax is dangling right at the edge. All you need is just the smallest touch on your drenched, deprived pussy.

His thick intrusion suddenly leaves your mouth, allowing oxygen to properly enter your lungs and for the pooling saliva to be swallowed. Hawks says something as you cough and sputter, but everything is still too muffled.

“Good……….not yet……….finish inside.” That was all that you were able to catch. You frankly don’t care. You immediately want his overpowering scent back.

When something pushes past the entrance between your legs, you cum instantly. Your scream is silent, or maybe you just can’t hear it, as your restrained limbs twitch like mad from the excruciatingly pleasurable contractions.

You’re already being fucked roughly while you’re still coming down from your orgasmic high. You’re rocked against the flowers and the soft earth beneath, your peaceful surroundings a stark contrast to the raunchy act currently taking place among them.

Hawks leans in once again, and you have to turn away and hold your breath because you truly felt like one more whiff of that mouth-watering smell would bring you the most euphoric death. His mouth drew closer to your ear, harsh pants in sync with his rapid thrusts. There’s no way a body was meant to handle so much stimulation, yet you didn’t want it to end.

You wanted this powerful man and everything that he had. You want him to fill your womb with his seed…bear his strong and healthy offspring…then let him take you all over again…

There’s a soft rumble that brings you back down to earth, clearing your mind just enough so that all of your senses work properly again. The smudged colors return to their original shapes, and the cooing that vibrates through both of your bodies can be heard loud and clear. His song.

“That’s it, baby. I’ve got you right here. Just give in to me.” Hawks sounds on the verge of losing his voice, weak and graveled, but his singing and hips aren’t letting up.

Finally, fucking finally, the feathers release your limbs. Ignoring how boneless they feel, you use all of your strength to wrap your arms tightly around his neck, and your legs lock right above his ass. You cling onto him like a parasite and moan freely, trusting his low and soft vocals to keep you grounded as his citrus aura captivates you again.

Your involuntary clenches ruin him and take him to his peak, several more hard and deep pumps bringing you to your final climax. Both of you cry out loudly enough to scare away the tits still resting in the tree, the small flock flying off to find a quieter perch.

--------------------

Good. That showed the little bastards.

Hawks smiled triumphantly as the small birds fled the erotic scene. Once he was certain that none of them were coming back, he returned his attention to you. Your chest heaved with each audible breath, your entire body drenched in sweat, just like his. He laid a gentle hand on your cheek, thumb stroking lovingly as you close your eyes for much-needed rest after almost losing your mind.

He did it. He finally claimed you, and all he had to do was just show a little dominance…and expose you to a hefty dose of pheromones. It was clearly way more than you could handle—maybe the face-fucking wasn’t the best idea, but it looked like you were enjoying yourself enough. No harm done.

“Excuse me, sir?”

Hawks was a cool-headed man. He’s managed to stay calm and collected in the direst of situations. Still, when he slowly turns around to see a man dressed in the park’s staff uniform, blushing at the sight of a sweaty couple with no pants on among the innocent blossoms, he can’t help but feel just a wee bit fucked.

“H-Hawks? It’s really you? Wha-?” The poor guy is lost for words from the fact that he just found the number 2 hero banging someone in public.

Eh, he’s talked his way out of tighter spots.

With a smile, the winged hero sends a few feathers to his discarded pants and withdraws a pen from its pockets.

“How about a deal, buddy? An autograph from yours truly and a coupon for my merch. All you gotta do is walk away and forget what you just saw.”

[jungshookz]

teeny tidbits: jungkook picks y/n up from class & all eyes are on him

➺ pairing; badboy!jungkook x y/n 

➺ wordcount; 1.6k

➺ p.s. yes i’m aware this REEKS of 2012 wattpad clichés and i basically groaned and rolled my eyes the entire time i was writing this but i’m trying to redeem myself from the tragedy that was the 2018!badboykook fic and 2021!cee needed to get this out of her system!!! and sometimes cheesy things are good for the soul!! please enjoy this teeny tidbit and feel free to roll ur eyes with me 

(unfortunately i wasn’t able to track down the original maker of this gif but this is where i sourced it from! all credits go to the maker of course :-))) 

                                     »»————-　🏍️　————-««

“can’t you ask jungkook to get us in?” jimin sighs frustratedly, nudging you with his elbow before reaching over and pulling the door open for you, “come on… this is going to be the party of the semester! we can’t miss it!”

“i’m sure there’ll be a big ol’ party next semester, jimin-” you roll your eyes playfully before shaking your head, “besides, we’ve been to dozens of parties already! the world isn’t going to end if we don’t go to this one, right?”

“but kim taehyung is hosting this one!” jimin exclaims, grabbing onto your elbow before giving you a shake, “and his parties are legendary. do you know what people are going to say if they find out i wasn’t there??”

good grief

you’ve come to really like jimin in the five-ish months that you’ve gotten to know him, but if there’s one thing you could change about him it’d be his obsession with campus parties

(sometimes you think that jimin probably wouldn’t hang around you as much if you weren’t dating jungkook and his magical ability to get into pretty much any party possible... but that’s a conversation you can have with him another day.)

“you care far too much about what people think.” you frown, shaking your head in disappointment, “i promise you no one’s going to care when you tell them you weren’t at one party-”

“come on…! please??” your eyes widen when jimin stops in his tracks and stomps down on the ground like a petulant child, his plush bottom lip pushed out in a pathetic little pout, “don’t do this to me, huh? just- just bring it up to jungkook and see what he says- promise me you’ll ask jungkook- please please please-”

“okay, okay!” you turn around to face jimin before letting out a huff, “fine. if it’ll get you to stop whining, i promise you i’ll ask jungkook about getting you-”

“-us-”

“-us- getting us into this dumb party.” you smile, crossing your fingers behind your back, “happy?”  

you most certainly will noT be asking jungkook about getting you guys into this party because you’re sick of going to parties!

sure, this is all part of your ~university experience~ but that doesn’t mean you have to go to a party every other weekend

you’d love to just stay in and sleep

god, you’d kill for a good, long night of sleep...

even thinking about it now is making you drowsy

“mhm!” jimin’s face immediately lights up in a delighted smile before he points over your shoulder, “you can ask him right now.”

“ask him n-” you glance over your shoulder, eyes widening in surprise to see jungkook waiting for you by the sidewalk, “-ow... uh, perfect!”

jungkook’s here!

...you… weren’t expecting him to be... here...

jungkook gives a couple of girls a polite smile and a nod of acknowledgement as they walk past him with flirty giggles

“okay, uh-” you turn back to give jimin a stiff smile before crinkling your nose and holding a finger up, “would you mind waiting here for me?”

“i'll wait as long as you want me to as long as you get us into that party-!” jimin calls out after you as you hurry down the brick steps to jungkook

“holy shit. i’d love give his motorcycle a ride-” 

“mhm, any day... any day!” 

you stumble over your feet a little as two girls brush past you from behind, leaving a trail of sweet-smelling perfume tickling at your nose

“hey, there you are!” a grin spreads on jungkook’s face when he sees you coming towards him, pushing himself up so he’s not leaning against his motorcycle, “i was worried i was at the wrong building.”

“uh-huh, so what are you-” you clear your throat quietly before letting out a nervous chuckle, giving your boyfriend a chummy, super casual and not at all romantic punch to the chest, “what are you, uh, doing… here?”

“picking you up from… class?” he mocks your high-pitched tone with a boyish smile before pursing his lips, “you are done for the day, right? that’s what your schedule says.”

“yeah, i’m done, i just- wait a minute-” you frown, your eyes flickering to the side as you try to recall jungkook’s schedule, “shouldn’t you be in a biology lecture right now?”

“the prof dismissed us, like, forty minutes early.” jungkook shrugs, “so i thought i’d come and pick you up so that you didn’t have to walk all the way back to your dorm to meet m-”

“-why’d you take the bandaids off your cheek?” you interrupt him suddenly as you reach up to cup his face, gently brushing your thumb over the healing cut on his cheekbone (he was half-asleep and walked directly into the frame of the bathroom door), “i told you to keep them on for another day. i was going to take them off for you tonight.”

“they made me look lame.” he scrunches his nose and you immediately frown in disapproval, “plus, showing off the cut makes me look so much cooler-”

“that’s not a legitimate excuse-”

“it so is!” jungkook turns his head before pointing at it, “look at that and tell me you don’t think i’m cool-”

it’s not that you don’t love that jungkook knows what time you finish class and where exactly to pick you up (swoon!)- the thing that’s making you nervous is the fact that people naturally seem to just... stare at him whenever he’s around

to be fair, you would stare too if you didn’t know him!

the all-black outfit, the perfectly tousled hair that never seems to be out of place, the obviously very handsome face, and the shiny shiny motorcycle that makes a very obnoxious vrOOm-vroOOom sound whenever he revs the engines

you’re not embarrassed to be seen with him because you are very!!! fond of your boyfriend but…

well, it’s just that if they’re staring at him, they’re most definitely staring at you, too  

and sometimes you worry that you don’t look very compatible with jungkook... and then you worry that people are laughing at you and only you... and then you wonder what people mutter to each other whenever they walk past you two and give you that awful ‘how did someone like you land someone like him?’ stare... and then you feel like you have to prove that you’re dating jungkook but you don’t want to make a scene...

it certainly doesn’t help that there are rubber-duckies on your socks

also, it’s hitting you now that it’s pretty hypocritical to call jimin out on how intense he is about other people’s opinions of him when you’re so in your head about this

jungkook tilts his head curiously when he notices you glancing around like there’s a big target on your back and he resists the urge to snort

he knows exactly why you’re so twitchy, and as much as he wants to reassure you and tell you that literally no one is paying attention to the two of you - and even if they did, who cares? - ...well, he’s allowed to have his fun, isn’t he?  

“oh, what’s the matter, sweet girl? you still embarrassed to be seen with me?” jungkook coos mockingly, slipping an arm around your waist as he pulls you in towards him with a cheeky grin, “hm? don’t want anyone to see your big, bad boyfriend?”

“jungkook-!” you grip onto his forearm in alarm when he leans in, nudging his nose under your jaw so he can give the side of your neck a teasing bite, “cut it out, you weirdo-” your face immediately goes bright pink and you reach up to flatten your palm against his chest to create some distance, “jimin’s still over there-”

“is he?” jungkook hums, giving your warm cheek a kiss before pulling away and looking up towards the staircase, “ah, yep. i see him...” he gives jimin a wave accompanied with a friendly smile and jimin takes that as a sign to come over and join you two

“oh, god. he’s coming over.” jungkook keeps the smile on his face as he looks back down at you, “please tell me he’s not about to ask me about another party. i’m starting to worry that the number of times i’ve asked to come to a party is starting to make me look desperate for socialization- hey, jimin!”

you turn around so you can face jimin and jungkook reaches down to link his fingers with yours  

“hey, bro!!!!” jimin greets a little too enthusiastically as he holds up his fist for a bump, jungkook’s eyes flicking down to it before he reluctantly raises his own arm to bump his fist against jimin’s, “so, like, i’m sure y/n’s already debriefed you on kim taehyung’s party-”

“ah, yeah. taehyung’s party- you sure you wanna go to that one?” jungkook frowns as he glances back down at you, “because taehyung’s from one of the sleazier frats-”

“i heard they pop open bottles of champagne and spray them, like, all over everyone-” jimin gushes, jungkook raising a brow before chuckling lightly

“and you… want that?”

“it’ll look great on my instagram highlights.”

“that… yeah, that’s a bonus for sure.” jungkook gives your hand a squeeze and you bite back a giggle, “who cares about wasting multiple bottles of expensive champagne when they make for a great instagram highlight?”

“see? you get it!” jimin chirps before looking over at you, “he gets it, y/n.”

“mm, he certainly does.”

(jungkook likes jimin, it’s just that he thinks he’s a little too eager about his place on the social ladder sometimes…)

“oh, and don’t worry-” jimin beams, “y/n and i won’t abandon you at the party or anything because i hear their house is huge-”

“yeah, because i’m the third wheel in this trio.”

🎙️help me help you make your wishes come true (send me a request!)

✨why don’t you explore the rest of the library while you’re here?

💫or perhaps you want something shorter to read?

🌟or something even shorter?

[dejwritesarchived]

↠ characters: ran haitani, mentioned in story all the other bonten members.

↠ warning: heavy smut, praise kink, size kink, alcohol, drug usage, overstimulation, edging, virgin!reader, slight age gap, mention of fetishization,  this fic lowkey smut but with a plot !!

↠ pairings: ran haitani x [black fem coded] reader

↠ timeline: timeskip, doesn’t really follow anime/manga

↠ chapter summary: ran is invited to [y/n]’s place so she could sketch him, but he decides that the young woman should approach her project in the a different way.

↠ a/n: when i told you guys that this fic was going to be smut with a plot. i wasn’t lying. anyway, hope you guys enjoy this. remember to message me if you want to be tagged because i no longer use a tag form.

[ &. playlist + aesthetic ]

[ &. previous + masterlist ]

RAN STARED AROUND THE FLAT, HIS FINGERS TRACING ALONGSIDE the sculptures that [Y/N] created. The scent of dried acrylic paint and a vanilla candle lingered his nostrils as he was giving himself a tour of the small apartment complex. His hands shoved into his black-colored slacks as he stared at the various paintings that decorated the place. Some of them finished, some of them incomplete. He could hear [Y/N] shuffling around trying to find her sketchbook. He would have thought that she would have multiple ones, but she mumbled along the lines that it was her favorite and lucky one.

“Finally, I found it. You’re ready?” She asked as she plopped down on one of the singular chairs in her living room.

Ran unbuttoned the jacket of the nicely tailored suit he wore. He sat down on the fusion-colored chair that sat in her living room. He watched as [Y/N] eyed him, a pencil in her hand and her book in her lap. She then let out a sigh, “You need to relax.” She says,

He let out a sigh. How could he relax when the events that were taking place that involved Bonten was causing him so much stress? He would spread his legs and arms to relax. “How long will this take?” He questioned, his violet-colored eyes stared at the woman across from him.

“It depends.” She speaks through the sound of her drawing and erasing.

“Depends on what?” Ran asked.

“If you stop talking or not,” [Y/N] responded as she looked up at him.

Ran chuckled as he stopped talking. He took in the features of the woman in front of him. The way her eyebrows crinkled together when she looked down to draw or the way her teeth grazed her lower lip in dedication. It was attractive.

It would be cliche for Ran to admit that the young woman lingered in his mind ever since she paid for his coffee. Perhaps it was the way when he mentioned the word sex; she got so flustered. She reeked of innocence.

“Are you going to sculpture me naked?” Ran asked, causing her to shoot her head up with a quickness.

That same bewildered look he got from her a couple days ago appeared on her face. “That’s the plan, but I just wanted to start with a sketch of your face and then work downward as you get comfortable with me drawing you in that matter.” [Y/N] explained.

“You don’t think I’m comfortable with this?” Ran asked.

“No.” She answered truthfully. “You’re still tense.”

“And you can tell that by?”

He watched as [Y/N] shrugged her shoulders. The man reached over to undo his tie a bit, letting out a sigh. “If you’re a sculptor, shouldn’t you be more hands on with your model?” He asked.

“I mean probably, but I can do well with just looking from afar.” [Y/N] said. “See.” She flipped her book over to show him the sketch she did of him.

He leaned forward to look, she indeed was good at what she did. “My point still stands, shouldn’t you be more hands on. I mean the sketch is nice and all.”

“I know what I’m doing,” [Y/N] huffed as she got up, she sat on the coffee table that was in front of the fusion colored Ran sat at. She needed to get a closer look of his facial features if she wanted the sculpture to be accurate.

“I didn’t say you didn’t. Just think you should approach this project in a different way,” Ran suggested.

“Who’s the artist here?” She questioned.

“And who’s the model you practically begged for?”

Her plump lip gloss covered lips gasped open, “I did not beg.” She says, “But I am open to hear your suggestion since you think you know everything.”

“Do you trust me?” Ran questioned as he undid his tie. Her eyes stared at him with so much confusion, her teeth grazing her lower lip as she searched for words to say.

“I mean, I let you into my space and you haven’t killed me yet,” [Y/N] answered, her shoulders shrugging at his words as she watched him tug the dark colored tie from around his neck.

“Okay then,” Ran simply said as he would motion for her to scoot closer.

She placed her pencil and book down and leaned forward. She looked up at him through her eyelashes with so much innocence. Prepared and eager for what he was about to. Ran brought the tie up to her eyes, he could feel her tense up just like she told him he was a couple minutes ago. When he was finishing tying the tie around her neck, he would place one hand on her shoulder. “Relax love, this is the different approach.” He admitted.

“How exactly will this help me?” [Y/N] questioned. Her hands gripped at the ends of the coffee table. Even though she was blind folded, she was facing Ran and seemed to move her head in his direction each time he spoke.

“You’ll see…well actually, you’ll feel.” He answered as he unbuttoned the button down shirt he wore. He neatly placed it on the other end of the couch, his bare chest now exposed for [Y/N] to touch.

“Feel?” [Y/N] questioned.

And that’s when he saw her knees click together and her head tilting in such a manner that caused Ran to just lean back and smirk. He had dug into his pockets to collect the pack of cigarettes and his lighter. He quickly lit it and placed the nicotine rolled object in between his lips. His dark and excited eyes stared at the woman in front of him who was placed in between his legs as she was using the coffee table as a chair.

“[Y/N], you’re a sculptor. Which means you’re most likely better with your hands, I’m sure the sketch is just to see where you’re at with your project. But just touch me. Feel me. You’ll get more familiar with my body more than staring at a sketch of me.” Ran admitted.

He watched as those lip gloss covered lips formed a straight line. Her hands were practically tugging at the wooden object below her. “And the eye covering is for?” She questioned.

“So you won’t get distracted while feeling me. AKA, stare at me and then get all flustered sweetheart. Are you uncomfortable with this? He asked.

She shook her head quickly. “Just relax okay?”

“Anything for you, gorgeous.”

“And stop with the names.” She adds as she inched closer.

Ran would smirk as he relaxed, head leaning back on the couch before he could feel her hands on his torso. He lifted his head up, getting a glance of her, her teeth biting on her lower lip as she timidly was feeling on his toned torso.

“Don’t be afraid [Y/N], I’m not going to bite,” Ran answered as he would watch her.

Her hands were feeling on his body and he could only exhale the toxins from the cigarette he was smoking. Her hands roamed his body as if she was trying not to break him. He would grab a hold of her hand guiding it across his body. He felt her tense up a bit, his lips curling in a smirk. “Relax.”

“Quite hard to do that when I’m blind folded and feeling on your bare body.” [Y/N] answered, “But I definitely understand the approach you suggested.”

He watched her lips form a smile. His lips parted to speak but his cellphone interrupted him. He glanced down to see that his brother was calling him. Ran let out a sigh and answered the phone. “I’m kinda busy right now, can't this thing wait.” Ran spat on the phone.

He watched as [Y/N] hands dropped to her side. “Fine, I’ll meet you guys. Give me ten minutes,” Ran says before hanging up. He watched [Y/N] smile disappear as he leaned over to untie his tie that was wrapped around her eyes. The two of them stared into each other's eyes searching for words to say.

“Can I just finish this sketch really quickly?” [Y/N] questioned, she picked up her sketchbook once more and looked at him. There wasn’t any space in between them as she was still sitting on the coffee table and he was still sitting on the couch.

“Fine,” He said. “You got five seconds.”

“Five?! That’s not fair,” [Y/N] said out loud as she was trying to sketch Ran’s eyes on the paper.

“Five.”

“You know that’s so shitty of you, only giving me five seconds.”

“Four.”

[Y/N] glanced up at him after putting her complaining to a halt. Seemed like the young artist didn’t notice how close the two of them were. Thighs touching and Ran seemed to inch closer to her due to him leaning forward. As Ran finally got to zero, he stood up tugging his shirt back on. He would sooner grab his jacket as [Y/N] was walking him to her front door.

“Here’s your tie.” [Y/N] extended her hand out to him, the tie that once was around her eyes was in her hand.

“Keep it, I have plenty.” He said as he left the apartment complex. His fingers combing through his hair as he left the artist in her doorway flustered as ever.

He was going to have plenty of fun with her.

[tomurasprincess]

Kinktober Day 22: Zombie (Voracious)

Day 22: Zombie Title: Voracious Word Count: 2.6k Warnings: Noncon, necrophilia (cause zombie), predator/prey, biting, marking, blood play, yandere Note: Thank you so much to @thewheezingwyvern who is always down to help me without batting an eye when I go “so, zombie plague...what are some good symptoms? And yes, the zombie is going to fuck you.” Also, for the love of everything that is unholy, please mind the warnings. Do not read the fic and come to me to tell me how disgusting it was. Trust me, I know. :)

Kinktober Masterlist

The country of Japan is dead. Or at least close enough that the distinction doesn’t matter.

Several months ago, an aggressive virus leaked from a quirk research facility and spread through the population like wildfire. Nobody was informed about what was going on, and nobody was warned when the virus first began to hit the cities. Officials kept it as quiet as possible, hoping to contain the spread before it got out of control. And before anyone knew how big of a mistake they had made.

But it was far too late for any sort of containment. The virus already spread fast in a lab environment, and it was even faster as it tore through an unprepared population.

The first sign of contracting the virus is tiredness and body aches.  The infected simply thought they caught a minor illness, and they continued their business as usual, expecting it to go away on its own. But as the virus continues to spread through their body, the tissues start to die and they develop intense fevers and headaches. By the time the infection makes its way to the brain, confusion and outright delirium has begun to occur.

The infected are wild by this point, feral to the point of attacking, biting, and eating the uninfected.  The ones who were bitten and survived had the site of their wound swell and turn agonizing to the touch, and they would suffer the same progression as the other infected.

The final stage is always the same though. Once the black rot of plague starts appearing on your skin and spreading like the branches of a tree, it’s too late.

The worst part is that the infected still have use of their quirks, and the devastation has been immense. Super powered heroes and villains with their minds rotting and decaying from infection, losing the ability to distinguish friend from foe. In some areas, the casualties were even worse from fighting than they were from the virus itself.

Somehow, you have managed to keep yourself alive and stay away from the worst in-fighting and the areas with the highest concentration of infected. Still though, it is a surprise to you. You’re simply a quirkless nobody with no way to defend yourself.

You have seen so many better, stronger people die right in front of you, leaving you forced to continue on alone.

You sigh as you scavenge through an old building that was once a store, looking for more supplies. Yours are dangerously low, and your dry mouth and grumbling stomach tells you that you need to find something quickly, before you become too weak to continue on.

You practically jump out of your skin when you hear the banging of items hitting the ground from deeper within the store. It might be survivors, or it might be the infected. The thought briefly occurs to you that you need to check to make sure, but you quickly shake it away.

Survivors or not, you didn’t come this far by being careless. But as you inch quietly towards the exit, you see a flash of red eyes from within the darkness as something emerges.

No, not something. Someone.

One of the infected.

It’s clear that he’s in the late stages of infection, the black rot spreading out through his body, but most notably his left leg which he drags limply. He’s wearing what are essentially black rags that flow out from behind him, leaving his chest bare so that you can see more of the black spiderwebs of rot twining outwards.

His eyes zoom in on you, narrowing slightly as you stand there frozen in fear. Neither of you moves for what feels like hours, but is really mere seconds. You break out of your trance first, turning on your heel and running for the door. The infected pursues you instantly, jumping over a table rather than running around it to save time. The move is a sign of intelligence that instantly fills you with dread. By this stage, the infected are usually too confused and delirious to remember such things.

You make it to the door with him hot on your heels. You’ve always considered yourself a fast runner, especially lately, but this is an entirely different story. He’s fast, too fast. The infected are not supposed to be like this, especially not with a bad leg. But yet he is quickly catching up to you as you dart through streets you know so well.

You realize that your only chance is to lose him somehow, as you’re never going to be able to outrun him. Your breath is coming in harsh pants already, a stitch burning in your side as you make a sharp, desperate right turn into an alleyway.

An alleyway with a dead end.

This area was clear just a week ago, but now it looks like an infected hero or villain used their quirk to collapse both buildings in the area, causing massive chunks of cement and debris to block the road out. There is no way to climb over the rubble and no handholds or stairs to use to climb up the buildings. You’re completely trapped.

You whirl around quickly, hoping to get out before the infected catches up with you. But you’re too late. He’s already standing at the entrance of the alley,  staring you down with heated red eyes. A sharp burst of awareness fills you as you realize exactly who this is. The leader of the League of Villains, Shigaraki Tomura, whose whereabouts have been speculated on for weeks along with the rest of his villain group.

No wonder he’s so fast and so dangerous. The infected retain some level of awareness and ability from the time before, and Shigaraki was one of the most deadly villains in the country.

And if the way he’s acting towards you is any indication, he still is.

You take a step back. He takes a step forward. Another step back. Another step forward. You scan through your chances of getting out of this alive and uninfected, but your mind comes up with nothing.

Your back hits a wall abruptly, and in your split second distraction, the infected is on you. You’re pulled roughly to the ground, hands barely breaking your fall as you land on your front. This is it, you think to yourself, I’m about to be eaten. All this time of running away, of watching people you care about die, all for nothing.

You can’t stop yourself from trembling as you try to brace for the pain of being devoured. But instead, he leans down and buries his face into your neck, sniffing the skin deeply as he pushes your body further onto the ground. His hips are bucking against the curve of your ass, and with dawning horror, you realize exactly what the hard bulge in his pants is.

He grabs your pants and you watch as decay overtakes them and dissolves them into ash. He decays your shirt and bra next, leaving you bare from the waist up and shivering from the cold of his body pressed against you. You’re too scared to move, too scared to do anything.

But when he reaches for your panties, that’s when your paralysis finally breaks and fear takes over. You try to lift yourself up from the ground to run, only to hear a snarl as teeth sink into the flesh of your neck.

You go limp with a choked sob, losing any and all desire to try and get away. It’s all over now. That one single moment has doomed you to infection and madness. The pain of the bite is nothing compared to the despair you feel.

He lets out a pleased hum at your sudden obedience, pulling your panties aside as you feel something cold and hard prodding at your entrance. You barely have time to comprehend what’s happening before your pussy is filled with one sharp thrust of the creature’s hips. The infected aren’t supposed to do this, aren’t supposed to have these urges, you think wildly to yourself. This can’t be happening, it’s not possible.. But it is happening. You’re being taken by this creature like a wild animal in a back alley.

And then he is moving, hips slapping against your ass as his throbbing length pounds into you. There is no gentleness, no precision, just deep, feral thrusts that have you unwillingly clenching. He’s thicker than you’re used to, and the pain of your muscles stretching around him causes you to whine from the back of your throat.

This shouldn’t feel good. You should be horrified, disgusted. You should be fighting tooth and nail to get away, even though it’s hopeless since you’re already infected. But the cold of his cock pressing against your warm walls has your head spinning from the contrast.

He hits a soft, spongy spot inside of you, and you let out a squeal as your stomach tightens. The teeth are removed from your neck, only to bite down in another spot on the other side. He ruthlessly breaks skin, causing blood to run down your front and drip onto the pavement below.

Your body feels like it’s on fire, everything so overly sensitive as his cock forces your walls to stretch open even further as he gets rougher. The hands gripping your hips feel warmer than they were before, fingers digging hard enough into your skin to create bruises. The grunts and groans leaving his throat are positively lewd, and he takes his mouth away only to bite down in between your shoulder blades.

Your scream echoes through the alley as the teeth penetrate flesh, his tongue lapping at the bite and taking deep swallows of your blood. You try to imagine yourself somewhere else, anywhere else so that you don’t think of the pressure building up inside of you and the pain from the throbbing bites now decorating you.

Your nails dig hard into the cement below you as you try to ground yourself and ignore what’s happening, but Shigaraki doesn’t seem to appreciate that at all. He smacks his hand hard against your ass, keeping his pinky raised delicately off your skin in a way that has you worried about his level of awareness.

Now that your attention is firmly back on him, he bites the back of your neck, and you can’t stop the howl that leaves your throat when you feel your skin break, or the orgasm that wracks your body as you feel blood trail down the column of your neck and down in between your breasts.

Tears run down your face as humiliation burns through you, the shame of cumming around this infected villain’s cock almost too much to bear. Almost worse than the fact that you’ll soon be just like him.

“M-m-m - “

Your eyes widen as you glance behind you, seeing the infected concentrating hard as he tries to get words out. He’s stopped thrusting, as if he’s trying to focus entirely on whatever he wants to say. As he opens his mouth, you see his teeth stained with your blood and the sight shoots straight to your core.

“M-m-mine,” he finally manages to stutter out, “mine.” He forces your head down onto the pavement as he begins to ruthlessly pound into you.  The infected don’t speak, they’re not supposed to speak -

“Mine,” he snarls, almost as if he heard your thoughts and is trying to prove you wrong.

You’re oversensitive and wet from your previous orgasm, allowing him to fuck you deeply, hitting your cervix with every thrust. You can feel your pussy dripping your juices all over his cock, and the wet squelching noises that fill the alleyway has you shaking with embarrassment.

“Mine, mine mine,” he chants as he bites again and again, each time pausing long enough to take gulps of your blood. Your head is spinning, lightheadedness from blood loss overtaking you. The ground below you has puddles of your own blood where it drips down, and you briefly think that maybe you really will be eaten right here and now instead of being infected and left to wander.

His hand comes in between your bodies to stroke tight circles against your swollen clit as he chuckles deeply into your ear. “Mine,” he whispers darkly. “Why else would I stumble across the cure for the plague if you weren’t meant to be mine?”

Cure for the plague? That’s not possible, there’s no cure for the plague, and you’re completely quirkless -

He bites down one last time, sinking his teeth into the back of your neck and holding you there like a dog refusing to let go of a bone. You realize why immediately when he groans into your heated skin, warmth spreading through your core as he shoots hot ropes of cum directly against your cervix. The pain of his teeth buried into your flesh has you thrown over the edge as well, legs trembling and eyes rolling into the back of your head.

He removes his teeth from your neck once he’s emptied himself inside of you, letting you go as you collapse onto the ground. You roll over enough to meet his eyes, seeing sharp intelligence and contemplation. The black rot is quickly disappearing, color returning to his skin. Within no time at all, you can no longer tell he was ever infected.

“How - I don’t - I’m quirkless - “

“No, you’re not.” He states it matter of factly, as if it was already known. “You have a quirk, it just didn’t have a purpose until the plague. Your blood carries the cure.”

You consider everything that happened, realizing that the more blood he drank, the more human he seemed. The faster the infection was being cured. He snorts at the look of disbelief and then understanding on your face. “With you on my side, I can remake society exactly the way that I want.”

“I am not on your fucking side! You’re a villain who just - “ You can’t even bring yourself to finish the sentence, but Shigaraki has no issues doing it for you.

“A villain who just fucked you and got you off?  Such a dirty girl, getting off around infected cock.”

Your face heats up and you instantly glance away, drawing another chuckle from his throat. “I won’t help you,” you say stubbornly, ignoring his previous words.

“Who said I was giving you a choice?” His fingers dig into your arm as he pulls you off the ground. “You belong to me now, and I’m going to do whatever the fuck I want with you. Just think about the power I have now. I control who stays infected and who gets cured. No more hero society.” His voice has taken on an excited, almost manic tone as he considers the possibilities.

“Are you - are you going to let them do what you just did?” You whisper quietly, a single tear running down your face at being used the same way by other people.

He instantly scowls at you. “Of course not.”

You perk up just a bit, until you hear his next words.

“I’ll let you be a blood bag, but for everything else - you’re mine. And I don’t like to share.” He begins to drag you back the way that you came, walking with purpose.

“Now come along. We have so much work to do.”

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ❋ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

Kinktober: @ichor-and-symbiosis, @thewheezingwyvern​, @vixen-scribbles, @katsukisprincess, @hisoknen, @trafalgar-temptress, @leeswritingworld, @burnedbyshoto, @bakugotrashpanda, @dee-madwriter, @kittycatkrissa, @reinawritesbnha, @yanderart, @dabilove27, @fae-father, @anxietyplusultra, @flutterfalla, @angmarwitch, @nereida19, @babayaga67, @fromsunnywithlove, @dabis-kitten, @bakugos-cumsock, @yumeneji, @the-grimm-writer, @iwaizumi-chan, @slashersheart, @bunnyywritings, @bakarinnie, @angie-1306, @emplosion22, @lalalemon101, @videogameboiwhowins, @f4nficbaby, @tenkoshimmy, @baroque-baby, @bbyspiiice, @thirstyforthem2dmen, @blissfulignorance2000, @bluecookies02-main

[willwriteforhugs]

just a sniffle!- hwang hyunjin

boyfriend! hyunjin x reader- one shot !

word count: 1.6k

genre: fluff, domestic scenario

synopsis: after your boyfriend comes home from a long day, you swear you can detect a scratch in his throat... but he insists he’s fine. fast forward 12 hours, and hyunjin is practically bed-ridden with fever. and now what...

warnings: sickness/a high fever (obviously), minor cursing

a/n: this prompt was requested by an anon!! i hope i didn’t take too long to put this out- it takes me forever to edit when the fic in question is a request, because i just want it to be perfect :’) anyways, to my lovely anon: thank you for the request, and i hope you enjoy!

- - -

earlier, when hyunjin had told you he’d be able to get off early, you’d been over the moon- it was a rare occurrence, after all. your boyfriend has- as many idols do- an extremely hectic schedule, with practices often going late into the night. so when he’d said the two of you would be able to spend the evening together, it had taken all your self-control not to start cheering right then and there. but you had managed to stay calm- and still devise a thorough, detailed plan of how the night would go.

you would make dinner, and it would be ready by the time hyunjin got to your place- because who doesn’t love being welcomed by a warm meal? then, after you eat, hyunjin can run and get cleaned up while you do dishes. when that’s all done, the two of you can get down to business by binge watching all the drama episodes you’d missed. (you never watched them without him, even though you usually fall way behind in the show, due to his lack of free time. he insists that you shouldn’t wait- but you love to watch them with him, so you always let them pile up...)

now, in the moment, you scurry aimlessly about your apartment. dinner is ready, waiting to be served in the kitchen, so you walk around your front room. you know that everything is clean- this is the fourth time you’ve checked. but still, this isn’t an everyday thing, and you want the place to be tidy for your boyfriend. (you also know he doesn’t really care all that much- but it’s the thought that counts, right?)

your train of thoughts ends abruptly when a knock sounds from the front door. already smiling, you rush to answer it- and sure enough, there he is.

hyunjin stands in your front entryway, tilting his head as he looks at you. a smile toys at his lips, and he extends an arm. fighting your own glee, you lean into his embrace, breathing in his familiar scent.

“hey,” you say into his chest. he hums in reply, and you stand there for a moment, simply appreciating each other. after a beat has passed, you speak up again. “let’s go inside.”

the two of you enter, hyunjin closing the door behind him. he’s wearing a casual outfit, made up of just black sweats and a hat. you assume he’s already showered, too, because, well- you won’t lie- he usually doesn’t smell that great after a long practice. but he seems clean, and all for the better- that just means the schedule gets sped up, and more time for the two of you! 

as he usually does, your boyfriend wanders into your bedroom to set down his things, not lingering. he meets you back in the kitchen as you begin to serve the food. you see him smile at the spread, and finally he speaks: “wow, babe. that’s a lot of food.”

at the sound of his voice, you start a bit. it’s much lower than usual, and you detect a bit of scratchiness in it. without looking up, you make your inquiry: “are you feeling well? you sound a bit froggy.”

hyunjin snorts at your description. “froggy? you really are something...”

you smile, bringing two servings of food to the table. as you begin to eat, the two of you settle into comfortable silence. 

as the meal continues, though, you feel yourself begin to frown. despite his obvious attempts to hide it, hyunjin seems to be having trouble swallowing his food. with every bite, you see your boyfriend flinch just a bit. 

not being able to take it any longer, you set your chopsticks down. “really, hyunjin-ah. you don’t seem well, are you getting a cold?”

your boyfriend makes a mocking pouty face at you. clearing his throat, he responds: “i’m fine, y/n. i really am, so don’t baby me.”

you give a half hearted glare. “fine. but if you wake up tomorrow feeling like shit, don’t say i didn’t warn you.”

- - -

you had been right, of course.

and, for the record, you had warned him.

it’s 6:48 in the morning, and both of you were awake. you lean over in bed, switching on the light. laying in a pathetic lump on your other side, hyunjin groans loudly. you turn back around to face him. “hyunjin-ah, seriously. let me feel your head, you’ve been coughing all night!”

the lump that happens to be your boyfriend shifts to face you in bed. you frown once you can seem him clearly- his face is red, and his eyes are watery from the coughing. you place your own cool palm on his forehead, and almost jerk back in surprise. “babe, you’re burning up!”

flinging your blankets away, you spring out of bed. “hyunjin!” you groan. “i knew you sounded off, why wouldn’t you say anything?”

he coughs again, finally managing to clear his throat. in his raspy voice, he manages: “i didn’t want to ruin your night. i knew you were excited.”

you sigh, knowing the feeling, and hating the understanding. hyunjin was overworked, truly. he shouldn’t have felt the need to lie just to spend time with you, no matter how excited you were...

“c’mon.” you say nudging him in the hips. “sit up, i’ll get you some painkillers and water. are you hungry?”

he grunts in response. when you don’t move, he finally mutters into his pillow: “i don’t know.”

a smile tugs at your lips at this. “that’s alright. i’ll get you a bit anyways.”

you know that hyunjin’s dramatics are probably a conductor to this situation, but a tiny part of you is excited at this opportunity to spoil him, even if it’s at his expense. 

in the kitchen, you dig around for the promised medicine and some snacks, then pour a glass of water.

when you re enter your bedroom, you see hyunjin has managed to sit up. his tall figure is slumped as he leans against the headboard of your bed. nonetheless, he smiles as you enter the room. “you’re so pretty in the mornings,” he mumbles.

you gently smack his head as you set down the water glass. “oh, shut up. at least take the meds first so you’ll be able to defend yourself later on.”

at this, he chuckles- but the joy quickly dissipates as the laugh turns into a pained cough. you use your palm to rub circles over his back as he regains his breath. the fit passes, but the tension in the air doesn’t. 

in perfect unison, the two of you sigh.

hyunjin breaks the silence. “i’m so sorry, y/n. i should have just told you i wasn’t feeling well last night... maybe we could have caught it before it got this bad.”

you give him a bittersweet smile. “your pride can be a weakness, my love.”

at this, hyunin puts his hand to his chest in fake shock. “i can’t believe you’d say such things to me. and while i’m ill!”

“it’s just a cold, your highness. take the tylenol and see how that helps.” you pause, knowing that he is probably in more pain than he’s letting on- you can tell because he was covering it with humor, something he rarely does. “do you- do you want a washcloth or something? an ice pack?”

your boyfriend’s expression is warm. his voice is still uneven, and he responds in an almost whisper: “is that alright?”

your heart stutters at his demeanor. “yes, that’s alright.”

when you return with the cold washcloth, hyunjin has slid down a bit- now only half sitting up. his eyes are closed, though you suspect he isn’t asleep, at least not fully. but you can tell he’s exhausted from being up all night with his sneezing and coughing... maybe he really is asleep...

you make your way to him, and pause to admire his peaceful face. he truly is beautiful... you reach over and gently sweep his long hair away from his forehead, allowing your fingers to linger. he’s still very warm to the touch, and you can’t help but worry for him. after a moment, you swap your hand for the washcloth, draping it gently across his already damp forehead. 

you aren’t really sure how to properly care for a sick person, but a cold compress seems to be what all the dramas suggest. so you sit back down and hope for the best. 

a few minutes pass- hyunjin breathing peacefully in the bed, and you in a nearby chair watching him. suddenly, your counterpart’s eyes flicker open, deep brown eyes meeting your own. “y/n-ah?” he rasps.

you almost launch out of your chair. “yes? are you alright?”

hyunjin gives a half-hearted snort as his eyes drift shut again. he continues to speak without seeing you. “i’m fine. but- will- do you mind sitting with me? over here?”

you stare at him for a moment, processing. then you smile. “yeah, i can do that. as long as you don’t get me sick.”

“no promises.”

and with that, you crawl back into bed with hyunjin, his back to you. you scoot up a bit, positioning yourself so you can hug him from behind. you’ve never been the big spoon before- but honestly? you love it, and you bury your face in between his shoulder blades, filled with an overwhelming rush of affection.

“y/n?” comes hyunjin’s voice again, very quietly.

you don’t move, answering into his back. “yes?”

“i love you.” 

and with that, hyunjin slips back into sleep, this time nestled in your arms.

[jangofctts]

Bloodsport (din djarin x fem!reader) (part one) 

rated: 18+

word count: 5.4k

warnings: smut, knife kink (no blood is drawn and consent is clearly given), blowjobs, vaginal fingering, din is sorta a virg duDE, alcohol, mentions of violence (reader punches someone in the face kwejrkejh), some gambling (sabaac) also please let me know if I missed anything!

a/n: oOf this is the first fic in sO LONG IM SO SORRY YALL KEHJRKEJH BUT ANYWAYS I HOPE YOU ENJOY

It’s been a couple months since Din’s stepped foot on the sandy nightmare of a planet. Went through hell and back and kriff—it feels like a lifetime ago. But the landscape before him hasn’t changed an inch, Mos Eisley same as always—busy with all sorts of scum and villainy he turns a blind eye to. 

Din hopes it’s not the only thing that’s stayed the same—selfish as it is. Someone as volatile as you is bound to catalyze and shift, so is the nature of life. A lot can happen in a month or two and it’s ridiculous to think that you would ever push your life to the side and wait for him to return.    

Turns out, you are here, still working as the resident mechanic. Though in the same elated breath of hearing that tidbit of news, it’s equally dissatisfying when he somehow misses you completely. You’re off planet, looking for power converters and electrical wiring—back in few days Peli promises. Maybe by the time his wild goose chase is over, back from the butt fuck middle of nowhere, he’ll get to see you— 

Nothing goes as planned—naturally. All Din finds is a man playing dress up, an oversized lizard, planetary drama he’s forced to resolve and—to top it all off—an attempted stickup. Maker—he’s not even worried about anything save for the kid and your speeder. The very same one now scattered over the sand in miserable heaps.           

At least some of it is salvageable…

By the time Din reaches the outskirts of Mos Eisley, the binary suns are smearing across the horizon like molten puddles of magma. Deep aches amass in his shoulders and back from the weight of the speeder parts, his gear, and the second pair of armor. Maker—it feels like his arms are going to be ripped off.

The baby babbles something incomprehensible. 

“Almost there, kid,” Din responds, sparing a quick glance down the baby. “How does soup sound?”

Instead of trudging back to the hangar, Din wanders to the cantina. Call it a hunch or just you and your aunt’s tendency to lurk around the premises, he’s certain he’s going to find one of you here. 

Din is right.

The moment he steps inside, he spots your mess of hair, the low solar lights illuminating the rich colors with a soft orange. The baby coos and blinks up at Din, his tiny clawed finger gesturing in your direction. 

Din hums. “Good job—you found her.” 

The child’s little teeth peek out, pleased with his discovery. Din steps into the doorway, down the carven stairs and over to your table. A older man—a ship rigger by the looks of his uniform—sits across from you, a game of Sabaac spread across the table between you. You’re winning. 

“Hello, Shiny.” You greet, dipping your chin in his direction. “Your armor is looking a tad ripe.” 

It’s true. The layer of slime coating his armor had baked and crusted under the suns—probably doesn’t smell too good either… 

“I killed a Krayt dragon.” Din states it with a twinge of smug satisfaction despite knowing how little something like that would mean to you. He could conquer three dozen planets and shower you in all the precious metals in the world and you’d still turn your nose up at everything.  

“And I curb stomped a centipede today—you aren’t special.” Your eyes never leave the set of worn cards you hold between your fingers, acutely ignoring him like you would an overly enthusiastic puppy. You inhale and scrape your right thumbnail along the edge of the hexagonal cardstock—it’s a subtle tell, one Din would more than likely miss if he were the unlucky bastard brave enough to sit at the other end of the table.  

“You playin’ or what?” Your opponent gripes. He scratches his unkempt salt and pepper stubble and quirks a furry brow. 

You lift your chin in scorned defiance and lay your hand down—full Sabaac. The man hisses through his crooked, clenched teeth and utters a curse as he shoves his winnings towards your end of the table.  

“Peli promised me information.” Din pushes, hearing the kid coo in curiosity as you begin shuffling the cards with practiced flare. “About others like me.”

“Do I look like my aunt to you?” You grumble. It’s the first time your eyes leave the perimeter of the game to look at him. They settle on the kid first with a guarded version of compassion, then leap to the faded green armor clipped to the heavy luggage, and then his visor. Your lip twitches at the green slime still coating the beskar. “I’m assuming my speeder didn’t make it.”

“A technical difficulty.”

You roll your eyes and snort, dealing out the cards then setting the stack in the middle. “Right…”

The background ambiance of the bar and the quiet rasp of cards fill the brief lull in conversation. Any other rational person would take the blaring hint to leave, but Din is just as stubborn as you are. 

“I don’t remember where the hangar is,” Din lies, cocking his head to the side in mock innocence, “could you show me?” 

The tip of your tongue peaks out of the corner of your mouth. The unconscious tic is not one of irritation—not yet. Though before you’re able to respond, your opponent beats you to it. 

“Yeah—I know where it is. It’s between fuck off and take a hike.”  

Din turns his head, the cool, even tone of his words sharper than shrapnel as he address the man. “I was speaking to her.”        

This is funny to you Din realizes—one of the tiny mysteries of your entirety clicking into the place of the puzzle map he’s conjured for you. 

“Well, I don’t have the time of day for cowards who wear shiny buckets over their head.” The man gripes into his drink, dark eyes flicking over to Din as he sizes him up. “What’s a Mandalorian doing out here anyway? Thought your planet exploded or something.”

The man’s ignorance irks him—sure. How could it not? But with years of harsh words and jabs at the foundation of Din’s very being, he’s learned to adapt. It’ll always sting no matter how many layers of beskar he wears but you on the other hand…

Your eyes spark, molten and bright like the last solar flare on the surface of a decaying star. Each encounter Din’s had with you, he’s bared witness to the deep well of your anger that fuels your being like the auto-mechanical heart of a droid. He’s felt the bite of your rage firsthand, but this anger—this is the tragedy of the delicate mayfly wings trapped between the black teeth of misfortune—the story of the boy who rammed a spear into the flank of an ancient beast that bites before it barks and gnashes its yellowed teeth in warning.

Din’s hand inches towards his blaster. He’s not willing to weigh the safety of the kid against your rash decisions, despite it being on his behalf.   

Though, just as quick as it appears, it recedes like the cool drawback of a tumultuous ocean. Din’s arm relaxes at his side as you release a puff of air. 

Your scuffed up fingers, stained with years of engine grease, scars and dirt, curl around your half finished drink. You stand, lay your cards face down onto the table and flash the stranger a feral grin.

Without a word, you toss your drink directly into the man’s unsuspecting eyes. In another breath, the pointed edges of your knuckles fly forward and hook beneath the point of his chin with a meaty thunk. The man’s head whips backwards and connects with the gravely wall—

Out like a light.  

Jaw clenched tight, you shake out your bleeding knuckles and gather up the strewn credits over the table. You shove them into the pockets of your jacket and side eye Din. “Restitutions for damages,” you mutter. 

The other patrons keep their eyes to themselves as the three of you hurry out the door. Only an apathetic glance from the bar tender serves as proof that something did, in fact, occur. No one wants to dirty their nose sniffing about where they shouldn’t be when they have their own business to safeguard.

The crisp night air rustles the stray strands of hair that escape from your ponytail. Ghostly moonlight carves the shape of your cheeks into an almost ethereal sight—one of those deep space creatures with pointy teeth and hellfire for eyes. Stuff of legends you’d never think to look in a dingy bar for.     

But he knows—Din knows that cool mask is just a front from what you hide. It is a hungry ghost that hounds your thin stretched shadow—what ifs and the glories of war you never really escaped. You forget that you are flesh and blood and ghosts are only air and echoes, nothing more. 

Din is sharp edged steel. A stray fragment of a shattered mirror, the lacerated reflection of a nameless purpose and a faceless existence. He’s torn edges and cracked glass but his heart beats within his chest with the blood of a thousand suns. Two souls under the umbrella of the word damaged but entirely different in nature.     

“No one—“ you growl, your voice a steady and lethal timbre that terrifies a part of Din’s unconsciousness, “—speaks that way to my friends.” 

Touching. 

“Don’t look at me like that, Creature,” you huff, staring down at the child who gurgles in return. “He deserved it—“

The reunion certainly wasn’t the one Din imagined, though it’s a relief to find that there’s no roughened edge like sandpaper over skin wedged between you. Picked up right where you left off—no questions asked and no inglorious retelling of how Din nearly died on the floor of a shitty cantina. There’s not a doubt in his mind that you'd laugh at him for it—it is sorta funny…   

The rest of the evening is spent walking back to the hangar, arguing over the fact that yes Din should take the couch instead of that miserable little hovel he calls a bed, and spend the night. He’d have to find some other mechanic to work through the night if he wanted to leave in the morning, because you certainly did not want to volunteer for that. And so—Din reluctantly takes the couch and agrees to let you tackle the monstrosity of fixing up his ship for tomorrow. 

He has to admit…the couch is a bit smaller than the length of his body, but it’s comfortable…maybe he’d buy a better blanket while he was here. As a treat.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- 

You purse your lips and whistle. “I swear each time I see it, it gets worse. Y’know, I know a couple guys selling—“ 

“Can you fix it?”

You fold your arms over your chest and roll your eyes.“Yeah I can fix it, jeez—no need to get your undies in a twist.” 

You try not to take offense, because hey—you’re offering him the info on the good deals on new ships (and at this point anything would be better than this old rust bucket). But if Din doesn’t want anything to do with that, then whatever. His loss.   

When you wander onto the ship, toolbox in hand, the Mandalorian tags along. Unsure if he doesn’t trust you with his things or just wants to hang out, it blankets the space with an air of uncertainty. Turns out it was neither of those guesses. All he does is throw open his stash of weapons, collect his pile of vibroknives, and set them on a table to polish and sharpen. 

Makes sense, you suppose. Everything has to be as shiny as his armor. 

You drop to your knees near the closest wiring panel you find. You wrench open the paneling and frown at the disarray of sparking wires and tangled cords. You organized these perfectly last time he was here. “Who the fuck junked up my rigging?”

Mando sits at the little table tucked away in the corner, brooding over his cache of weapons. He shrugs. “Could’ve come loose when I landed.” 

You roll your eyes at his half assed excuse and mutter a foul string of curses under your breath that’d make even Peli wince. It’s fine. It’s cool—no biggie. You can sort through this in a couple hours, maybe three. 

But of course rarely anything goes as planned. As time ticks away, arms deep in wires older than the kriffing Clone Wars, the distractions begin. The scrape of metal on durasteel makes the hair rise into little pricks all up your arms—you shoot a glare over your shoulder. Din tilts his head, your kneeling self reflecting within the ever dark visor, features scrunched into an obvious tell of annoyance. Huffing, you bury your head back into your task at hand. 

The second distraction arrives in the form of a quiet hum of curiosity originating from the Mandalorian. Out of the corner of your eye you see him bring a vibroblade up to his visor, inspecting the notch in the blade that disrupts the electrical current that flows through the weapon. Din then rubs his thumb over the handle of the vibroblade in a slow, sensual circle. You lick your lips and tear your eyes away. That shouldn’t be hot.

You furrow your brows and tear apart another wire, but the metallic tap, tap, tap of Din bouncing the tip of a different blade over the table is bothersome. You swing your head to your left, mouth parting to snap at him, but his hand—sans glove—brings you to a halting stop. 

It’s alluring, the way his long, weathered fingers twirl the knife with practiced ease—like silk through water and followed by the low hum of electricity meant to slice through flesh. Din tosses it in the air, watching it spin three rotations then catches it by the handle. Your lips purse when his visor meets your eyes. He spins it between his fingers.  

“Am I bothering you?”

Fucker.   

You scowl. “It’s fine.” 

The soft rasp of his thumb sliding along the flat of the blade entices the eye and damnit—he’s doing this on purpose. 

“Doesn’t seem fine,” he hums. 

“Well, it is.” You retort hotly. You snatch up your pliers and imagine you’re pulling his teeth out in place of the crooked paneling. “I’m currently thriving in my element.”  

Din hums, the sound buzzing with grainy distortion. “Do you want a closer look?”

You chew your bottom lip. He’s playing with an open flame and you with volatile jet fuel. 

“I don’t know, seems kinda lame from here.” You scoff, busying yourself by pinching and twisting another set of frayed wires between your fingertips. “A toothpick if anything.”

Din snorts behind you. The deadly whisper of beskar against the durasteel tabletop makes the hair on the back of your neck prick into points. You tense as heavy boots shuffle along the floor, the near silent rustle of armor tinkling behind you as Din steps closer. You’re slow to stand, even though the presence of the Mandalorian is no less than overbearing. You wipe your grimy hands onto a spare rag, continuing to face the paneling. You then turn, a coy smile threatening to break across your face. 

Stars Din is broad—and close enough you swear you’re able to see the perspiration of your breath fog the beskar plating. Your eyes follow the seams of the cuirass, across the leather bandolier and up to his helmet that’s fixed in an impassive glare of tempered steel. Your back bumps into the wall as Din takes another step forward, boxing you in. To escape you’d need to duck under his arm and yet…you refuse to move.   

Your breath catches as he languidly lifts his hand and taps the flat side of the vibroblade over your collarbone. The sharpened point tickles up the column of your throat, a crackle of nerves and your pounding pulse following in its wake. Din turns the blade to flat edge and pushes into the space right below your jaw—you squirm when he chuckles, the sound low and deep. 

“You like this…”

Din grunts as your hand reaches between his legs, squeezing the growing hardness there. “So do you.” 

Din circles his hand around your wrist with his free palm. Moons above his hands are warm. He murmurs your name—you shiver. “Tell me you want this—want me.”

A blush, hotter than the surface of Tatooine in the midday sun, rushes up your neck and pools into the apples of your cheeks. Maker you want him. With a shuddering sigh you nod—braving the scathing shrapnel of vulnerability. “I need you, Din—please.”

A low chuckle rumbles through Din’s chest. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard you say please before.”

Din drops his hold on your wrist as you roll your eyes. “Shut up, Bucket Head.”

The Mandalorian snorts and dips his head—gesturing towards the blade still lightly pressed against the base of your throat. “This ok too, Skitter?”

You flash him a wolfish grin. “Gonna fuck me with it?”

Din swears under his breath, crowding his body closer to yours. You hear his strained sigh as he dips his head closer, the beskar a chilly whisper against your cheek. “You’re depraved…take off your pants.”

You smirk, tear off your belt and shimmy out of your pants and underwear, bottom half now bare. His visor dips, entranced.  

Your heart leaps into your throat, your pulse roaring in your ears as he settles one of his bare hands over the swell of your hip while the other trails the blunt edge of the handle from your clothes collarbone, and down your belly. From your mid thigh he skates the handle up your bare thigh and then rests it over the crack of your thigh. Heat flushes through your entire body, a stark contrast to the cool metal of the handle. A shiver races down each vertebrae when he drags it over the swell of your cunt and then carefully pressing it against your clit. You gasp and arch into the light touch, your thighs involuntarily jerking as he increases the pressure. It’s cold, rigid and filthy. Who knows where that knife has been—how many lives it’s taken or severed through muscle and skin. 

You don’t find it in you to care all that much.    

He trades his hold on your hip to slide his hand into your shirt, palming and kneading your breast through your bra as you roll and whine against his fingers. The tight circles he's drawing over your clit burns through your abdomen, drags you closer to the precipice that you’re all ready so close to. Fuck—it’s been so long since you’ve indulged in this sort of pleasure.You whine his name as wicked heat licking up your body and spreading to each limb. You arch into him, the handle of his knife slipping through your folds as arousal drips from your cunt.   

Your groan as you tilt your hips into the handle, craving any lick of pleasure he’ll give. Your breath hitches as Din pushes the hilt closer to your throwing entrance, murmuring praise as he sinks the first couple inches inside of you. It’s cold—the knobby feel of the handle not too much thicker than one or two of your fingers combines. You huff and grab at his cowl, the warmth of his hand grazing your pussy each time he rocks his wrist forward. 

“You’re so quiet,” Din goads, pulling the handle free from your aching center. “You usually have plenty to say.” 

You shoot Din a glare, tongue weighed down by arousal to come up with a god retort. You lean your head back against the wall of the Crest and with a chuckle, Din’s hand leaves your shirt to pull you against his chest, the vocoder rumbling against your ear. The blade clatters to the floor and instead brings his calloused fingertips to your cunt. He softly rolls your swollen clit between his forefinger and thumb, delighting in the way you shake. “Be a good little thing and cum for me.”

Shit, you didn’t think it’d be that easy. Your body seizes as white hot heat ripples through your core. Stars, brighter than a dying sun burst behind your eyes, a high pitched cry filtering past your lips as shake and fall apart in his arms, your cunt clenching tight around the thick fingers he slips inside of you. 

You whine as he pulls out, little aftershocks of pleasure wracking through your body in wake of your euphoric high. You groan as he lifts your head and pushes his digits, coated in your juices into your mouth. You lick them clean, tasting the tang of your own arousal and the salt on his skin. “Fuck—that was good.”

You can only imagine that Din rolls his eyes. He takes a step back but before he can escape—

You drop to your knees, a wicked smile curling over your lips. The muscles in his thighs jump as your palms smooth over the outsides of them, then up to his narrow hips, your thumbs lightly massaging the ligaments that protects the fragile joints. Din sucks in a sharp breath when your fingertips hook around his trousers. 

“What are you doing?” Din asks, brushing a thumb over your jaw. 

You pause and glance up at him. You quirk a brow. “Was gonna suck you off, but if you have something else in mind…“ He hisses and tips his head back, flashing the underside of his chin as your hand leaves his hip to cup the heavy bulge tenting in his trousers. 

“Maker—“ He looks off to the side, inhales a choppy breath and then snaps his head back. “You’d…you’d do that?”   

You nod and flash him an encouraging half grin. “Wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to.”

Din mumbles an incoherent string of words under his breath and shifts his weight onto his right leg. His fingers touch your cheek again then tuck a loose hair behind your ear. “But—“

Moons above this man is straight out of some kind of fucking fairytale—arguing about getting his dick sucked—or not. 

Whatever.       

“Din…” His breath hitches at the sound of his name. “I’m asking you kindly to fuck my mouth—it’s cool if you don’t wanna, but my knees already kriffing hurt and—“

He cuts you off with a hasty nod. “Yes—stars, please.”

Fuck yeah.

You smile and slide your eyes past Din’s legs to the cargo crate shoved up against the wall. “You should sit—easier that way.”

He nods and shuffles over, lightly perching himself on the edge and ready to flee at the barest hint of well—anything.

Din’s knee jumps when you place your palm over it. You assume his nerves are from the nature of his occupation—trouble always strikes when you least expect it—and what better time would that be when his pants are around his ankles. “Relax—I’m not gonna bite—maybe.”

He makes a wary sound low in his throat as your fingertips hook into the waistband of his trousers and pull. Din lifts up as you tug the fabric further down his legs, tan skin and solid muscle following in its wake. Fuck…

You swallow, mouth feeling quite dry when your eyes drift between his legs. Din is thick, a rosy brown color, flushed at the tip and curling towards his bellybutton. Beads of liquid shine at the tip, dribbling down the underside and pooling into the dark patch of curls at the base. Din’s fingers hook over the side of the crate, squirming under the weight of your stare. 

Yeah—that’s gonna leave your jaw aching.    

You hear his breath hitch, magnified by the crackle of the vocoder as your lips descend over a silvery scar on the inside of his right knee. You pepper a trail of wet kisses and light nips up his thighs, and by the time you reach the crease of his leg, his hips mindlessly rock with need. 

The second the wet warmth of your tongue brushes over the tip of his cock, his hips jolt off the crate, a load groan echoing through the empty ship. It’s like striking a match to an open line of kerosene—devouring and explosive that’ll leave your delicate skin singed. You’re not nervous playing with fire if this barest scrap of wild heat is anything like burning to a crisp. 

Emboldened by his initial reaction, you wrap your hand around the base, pulsing and achingly hard beneath the velvety flesh. You flatten your tongue over the tip, lapping up the sticky liquid the slip the head of him into your mouth. His hands fly to your hair, tightening into fists as he throws his head back. The beskar scrapes over the durasteel with a sharp squeal, but you don’t find it in you to care about the abrasive sound—eardrums be damned.  

“Fuck—kriffing hell—“ Din snarls, arching his hips to seek more of your warmth. “K-keep going.”  

Your own rekindled arousal blazes hot in your core hearing his stuttered pleas. You pull away to catch your breath, feeling almost guilty for doing so at Din’s low whine of protest. He picks his head up, watching as you languidly jerk him off—entranced with the way your hand rolls over the leaking tip, back down to the base, then up again. You could keep him like this—tease until he cracks under the pressure and begs you for whatever iota of pleasure you want to give but—

You’re not that mean.    

Wetting your lips with your tongue, you part your mouth and slide nearly half of his length into your mouth. Din mutters something garbled, his hips jolting as you hollow your cheeks and bob your head.

Din shifts, arching his back and stuttering out broken whispers of encouragement. Placing your hand over his thigh, you can feel his pulse thrumming beneath your fingertips, wild and alive—something real beneath all that heavy armor and unforgiving helmet. 

“You—you look…” He grunts as you hum around around his cock, swallowing him down further. “Shit—you look so p-perfect like this.”

You groan and squeeze your thighs together, attempting to ignore the gnawing hunger snapping at your insides. 

Rolling your tongue along the underside of his shaft, your fingers slide over what your mouth cant reach—squeezing and gently coaxing him towards his high. He seizes up tight—yet, just when you think you’ve got him skidding off that precarious edge—

His hand fists your hair at the base your neck and yanks you off his cock. He huffs, breathy little pants as he folds into himself like he’s been punched in the gut, his head rolling forward onto his shoulder. Din shivers as he scrambles for control, beginning to loose that slippery foothold he’s so intent on maintaining. His cock, flushed an angry red and still slick with your saliva, twitches and throbs for the release so cruelly wrenched away. 

You let him catch his breath. The fingers tangled in your hair go lax and drop away to rest at his sides. You swallow, his previous skittishness suddenly clicking into place. “Din, are you…?” A virgin. Your question tapers off, unsure if it’ll embarrass and scare him off. 

“No,” he answers—not in a sharp way like you’d hear with a bruised ego—just stating a fact. “Just not—not this. Never had someone—stars—“

Your teeth roll your bottom lip between them, forcing your face to remain neutral despite the stroke of pride blooming singing in your chest. You’re his first—lucky enough to make this the best goddamned oral he’ll ever have. Something he’ll remember for years.  

“Do you want me to stop?” You ask, praying to the Maker he’ll say no. 

He shakes his head, sucking in another calming breath and unfurling himself. His fingers clench into fists then relax, crackling with pent up energy and unsure nerves as to where he should put them. You solve it by threading your fingers through his and placing them around you head. 

Your lips quirk. “You’re allowed to cum in mouth—don’t worry about it.”

His cock twitches as a quiet moan fizzles through the modulator. “You su-sure?”

“Oh, yeah.”

With a smile you bring your mouth back to his cock, tongue swiping up the entire length of him. Din groans as the soft warmth of your mouth slips over the flushed tip of cock, his thick length twitching as you hollow out your cheeks and suck. You bob your head as you slowly work him in further because even like this, hardly halfway into your mouth, you feel your lips stretching a bit too much around him. You groan and part your mouth wider, letting him sink into the soft warmth of your throat.  Din inhales, the sound shaky and unsure as his hips twitch with a few tentative thrusts. 

You take it slow—lifting your mouth nearly all the up to the tip then back down to the base. Din rolls his hips, helping you ease into the gentle pace. Saliva drips down his cock and over your knuckles making an absolute mess you have zero intentions of cleaning up. It’s his ship after all. Din swears as his hips stutter, your hand squeeing around him, trying to push him off that edge he so deserves. Din gasps your name, the pitch of his words knocking up to a lighter, more airy tone, warmer than melted butter. 

“Ca-can’t believe, it—ah—it fits.” He groans with astonished reverence. You preen under his praise. 

You swallow around him and grunt at the abrupt jolt of his hips. There’s no distinctive rhythm you can follow as you let him rock his hips into your mouth—seeking out his pleasure without a coherent thought in sight. Just a cacophony of gasping breaths and rough moans. 

You can feel is cock twitching over you tongue—he’s close—and when your eyes roll up to meet the darkened visor, he’s gone. He shouts your name and knots his fists around your hair as he spirals of that edge. You nearly gag from the force of his release hitting the back of your throat—cock throbbing and jerking in your mouth like he’s been denying himself release for months. His moans, fragile and gasping, filling the quiet space as his hips grind his cock deeper down your throat, his hands threaded into your hair acting as an anchor—the sole tether he has to the waking world. 

Din’s grip relents as the last few catastrophic waves tear through his body. He doesn’t move his hands, just lets them rest over your skull  as his chest heaves for precious air, a harsh crackle through the vocoder. You pull his still twitching cock halfway out, dragging the tip of your tongue below the frenulum while one of your hands circles the base of his length. Maker—he’s still going—

Last little dribbles of his cum spurt onto your tongue and drip over your knuckles still securely wrapped around him. His legs and lower abdomen flex when your hand falls lower to carefully knead at his balls, milking out his pleasure for all its worth. You let his softening cock slip from your mouth when he swears and mumbles your name.      

When you rest your back against the wall, he slips himself back into his trousers and joins you. You take a risk and rest your head over the chilly beskar pauldron. You’d never call this love—the word is much too harsh for this delicate string of seconds. Love means giving pieces of yourself to others like martyrs give their hearts to the sky—or risk fragile skin against the rays of an unforgiving sun. Broken ribs and clenched fists, immensity beyond comprehension—

“You should come with us,” he says with a hesitant mumble. Love is formidable—but you know that somehow, here, pressed against Din’s side, that this is right. In a golden way, a honeyed way, a path that tastes of blood, freedom and blaster smoke that will leave your lungs stained with blackened soot. Cowardice has long made a home inside of your soul, and he’s offering you a chance to shake off the layer of frost clinging to your bones and step into the gentle merciful dawn.  

“Yeah—alright, Din. I will.”

tags (only tagging some moots for now bc i have no clue what’s going on in this fandom anymore dbdndn): @goldafterglow @jango-fettish @djxrxn @blsmjoon @spookoofins @krissology @steeeeeeeviebb @teaofpeach @comphersjost @gummiishark @delusionsxfgrandeur @pettyprocrastination @huliabitch

[seiyasabi]

The Scientist

(Hange (Hanji) can rearrange by guts tbh :P Lol, anyways, this is a Yandere Hanji x Female Reader story! It takes place in current time tho (same universe as Yelena). Also, idgaf how tall the creator says Hanji is. In this fic, even the tall girlies get to be shorter than Hanji. 

TW: kidnapping!, !drugging!, unwanted advances, stalking!, etc! 

Please proceed with caution! Also, I’m sorry if you can tell that this was in my drafts for a hot min. I started to write this when I first started this blog, and I just finished/revised it lol. ) 

“Hey, (Nickname!” Hearing the loud shout of a certain brunet, you jump about a foot in the air. As usual, Hanji decides to surprise you whilst you’re in the middle of something. 

Pulling away from the microscope you’re currently looking at, you put on a strained smile, “Yes?” 

Their one eye sparkles in a hopeful fashion from behind their glasses, one of her their fiddling with their eyepatch, “Sooo,” They draw out the o, seemingly trying to disarm you, “Are you free this weekend? There’s this suuuuper cool bar that’s just opening, and me and the others are thinking about going! It’s totally not a date or anything,” They pause to let out a loud laugh, “I think it’ll be fun! What D'ya say?” 

Forcing out a chuckle, you shake your head, “Ah, I’m sorry, Hanji, but I’m busy this weekend. I have a lot of samples I need to process for that upcoming court case,” You chew your bottom lip nervously, “I’m sorry. I hope you and the others have a good time, though!” 

A new voice is heard, butting into your conversation, “I can do those! I’ve been needing more hours, anyways,” Whipping your head in the direction of the voice, you silently curse. Fuck Armin for being so helpful! 

Hanji beams even brighter than before, clapping their hands together happily, “See! Armin can do that for you!” They lean in closer to you, their lab coat brushing against yours, “Come on, (Nickname), I’d be reaaaaally happy if you go!” 

An uneasy feeling pools in your gut, as an anxious sweat begins to bead at your brow, “I-uhm-I suppose I can go for an hour or two.”

“Great!” They grab your hands in theirs, squeezing them in a friendly manner, “The bar is called ‘Titan’s Wrath,’ and we’re meeting at eight on Saturday!” Releasing you, they pat you on the back, “See you later!” They run off, most likely back to the dry lab. 

After a moment of silence, you slowly turn towards the short haired blond man, “Armin, I’m going to kill you.”

He blanches at your blunt tone, flushing a bright red, “Wha-what?” 

You grit your teeth, tears starting to bead your eyes in frustration, “They’re the person I was telling you about! Hanji constantly harasses me, and you practically just tossed me into their arms! Why would you do that?” 

A look of pure terror and remorse appears of his face, “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t realise that they were the person-oh my God, I’m so stupid. I-I really didn’t know! I’m so, so sorry!” You let out a quivering breath, hands clenched into fists to calm you down. 

“It-it’s alright. I never really told you who they were. Just never do that again, okay? If you need more hours, just tell me, and I’ll see what I can do,” The younger man sighs in relief, shoulders deflating. 

“I promise to never do that again!” You nod, blinking away your unshed tears, and smile at him. 

“Okay, then we don’t have any problems,” You laugh lightly, shaking your head, “Who would’ve thought our newest intern was the dry lab’s wing man?” He panics again, making you cackle good-naturedly, “Now, can you please grab the dilluter? I forgot to grab it from the fridge.”

-

Hanji, being the ever cheerful person that they are, set their sights on you the moment you were hired. 

But, if they came out with their feelings immediately, you’d just assume that they wanted to take advantage of you. 

So, they watched you. Writing down your likes and dislikes, your quirks, everything. Through their ‘research,’ they came to realise that you’re very good at your job. The wet-lab should be lucky that they have you… but they never give you the recognition you deserve! 

They bombard you with assignments, become upset when you don’t finish them in seconds (which is so unreasonable!), and hardly give you any time off! 

You don’t seem to mind, being the good girl you are, but Hanji sure does! 

So, they’d seek out the top graduates from the college nearby, and help them become employed at the lab. The newbies really helped get the load off of your shoulders, and once done, they decided to swoop in now that you had a decent amount of free time. 

It started at the vending machine- they’d asked you if you wanted to get coffee with them sometime. You said no, probably because you felt it wasn’t professional. After all, rumours would spread like wildfire if you went out with the lead lab tech of the dry lab! 

So, everytime they knew you had a weekend off, they’d approach you with new places to try. 

Be it a movie, a store, a concert- it didn’t matter. They just desperately wanted to have some time with you! 

But, you reacted the complete opposite of how you were supposed to. 

You’d pick up as many shifts as possible, most times going into over time, just to avoid the flamboyant lead. Whenever you saw them in the hall or by the break room, you’d turn in the complete opposite direction. If wet-lab needed to correspond with the dry-lab, you’d send your most qualified coworker to do so. 

It was saddening, to be honest. They love you so much, yet you refuse to even face them. 

But, thanks to that Armin kid, their plans can finally bloom into fruition. For once, you can’t escape the brunet’s advances! 

Because of that, Hanji made a note to the owner of the lab that Armin would make a good contribution to the lab after he gets all of his qualifications. 

-

Saturday night comes far too soon. 

Dressed in black skinny jeans and a cropped, white long sleeve, you stand in front of ‘Titans Wrath.’ Scoffing at how the bar sounds like a metal band, you make your way inside. 

Grabbing the door handle, you yank it open, immediately hearing loud rock music. Mentally patting yourself on the back for your observation, you step inside of the cool building. 

Looking inside, you see a large, double sided bar in the middle of the room, a stage and standing area just behind it. There are a few pool tables in the front area where you’re standing, along with double doors leading to a hidden kitchen. 

There’s also a lot of people inside. You can’t see Hanji or their friends, but seeing a band setting up on the stage tells you that they’re probably on the other side of the bar. 

Walking over to the steps leading down into the stage area, you try to ignore the leers of a few men around you. Maybe you shouldn’t have worn clothes that accentuate your beautiful figure. Peering around the corner, you see the scientist and their friends, an empty seat in between them and a large blond man, that you vaguely recall being the police chief of your city. 

Strolling towards them halfheartedly, you give yourself a small peptalk inside of your mind. Sure, Hanji has always been touchy-feely with you, sure, they’ve asked you out about one hundred times, sure, you run into them every time you leave the house, sure- 

“(Nickname)! You actually came!” The brunet’s voice is loud, loud enough to cut through the loud music and equally loud chatter. Forcing a smile onto your face, you give a small wave, suddenly uncomfortable with the line of strangers at the bar suddenly looking at you. 

“Yes, hello, Hanji,” When you’re close enough, you’re thrown into a tight embrace, their body practically molding into your own. They’re about a head taller than you, making it so your head is practically forced against their protruding collarbones. Hesitating slightly, you give them a soft pat on the back, trying to escape their suffocating embrace. 

“I’m so glad you came!” They release you just as suddenly as they grabbed you, putting a hand on the small of your back, and practically forcing you in between the blond man and themself, “(Nickname), this is Erwin. Erwin, this is (First Name).”

His blue eyes rake over your appearance, recognition appearing on his face, “It’s nice to see you again, Ms. (Last Name), especially under better circumstances.” 

You nod, thinking back on some high profile cases you met with him for, “Yes, it’s nice to see you again, Mr. Smith.” 

A loud scoff is heard from beside Erwin, the head of a short, dark haired man peeks around the broad chested man, “It’s about time you brought a respectful brat,” You have to stop yourself from flinching at his harsh tone, “I am Levi,” Opening your mouth to introduce yourself, he holds up a hand, halting you, “There’s no need for introductions, Shitty-glasses has gushed about the ‘pretty wet-lab scientist’ for months now.” 

“Oh, alright. It’s nice to meet you,” His lifts his whiskey on rocks in acknowledgement, before downing it with one swig. 

“Likewise,” After that, he turns towards a light brown haired woman, her high pitched voice is heard from where you’re sitting. 

“I’m sorry about that. The detective is very… unsociable.” 

“It’s alright, Mr. Smith. He kind of reminds me of one of my interns, Annie,” You say with a small smile, before your swiveling bar stool is forced around so you’re facing Hanji. 

“Sooo, you like the bar so far?” Their smile is somewhat pleading, and you can’t help but just go along with them. 

“Yes, this place is, um, cool. Very interesting choice,” They clasp their hands together with a pleased expression, as they somehow move closer to you than they already are. At this point, you’re worried that they’ll fall off their stool. 

“Right? Our residential emo boy found it, and we’ve been hooked ever since,” A loud ‘Shut up, Shitty-glasses,’ is heard from behind you, making the brunet laugh, “Let me order you a drink! I think there’s something that you’ll really like!” 

Opening your mouth to reject, it was seemingly too late, because the brunet has already waved over a punk-ed out bartender. You didn’t really hear what the drink is called, but the man sets to work immediately. 

It barely takes a minute for it to be finished, and the purple drink is suddenly in front of your motionless form. Looking up, the purple haired man winks at you, before turning his attention back to a speaking Hanji. 

“Anything she orders, put it on my tab,” He nods, before walking off to service another customer. 

Turning your attention back to Hanji, you try to persuade them to let you pay, “Thanks, Hanji, but it’s alright. I can pay for my own drinks-”

“Don’t worry about it; I asked you out, remember? And it’s the least I can do for harassing you for the past few months,” Startled by their uncharacteristically somber words, you nod in understanding. 

“Alright. Thank you,” They nod, before motioning towards your drink. 

“Try it! I’m sure you’ll like it!” Grabbing the cool glass cup, you bring it up to your lips, and take a small sip. It’s amazing. It tastes like (favourite flavour), and it goes down smooth. 

“You’re right, this is delicious!” They grin brightly, clapping their hands together in glee. 

“Great!” They motion towards the stage with their head, “The show’s about to start! Are you ready for a kickass night?” You laugh at their vigour, and nod. 

“You bet!” 

Maybe tonight won’t be so bad after all. 

-

You spoke too soon. 

It seems like you’ve drank too much, because you’re now feeling dizzy. Throughout the set, you’d ordered about five more drinks, and they seemingly hit you all at once. 

Hanji, who’s been watching you since your fourth drink, feigns shock at your unstable form. That Rohypnol they grabbed from work works quite well! Now they can see why it’s the choice drug for those awful, awful people. 

“Whoa there, (Nickname), it seems you’ve had too much to drink!” Hanji jokes, hands holding you steady on your bar stool. The only person from your group still at the bar is Erwin, but he knows they have it under control. As chief of police, he feels a bit of remorse, but he knows it's for the best. Hanji will take care of you, because, after all, you’re their only true obsession. 

“Wha-huh? Was’ happenin?” Hanji can all but coo at how cute you are. 

“Don’t worry, cutie. I’ll get you home safe,” Helping you to your boot clad feet, they send a knowing look to Erwin, who smiles in return. Wrapping an arm around your waist, they help you stumble out of the bar, and walk towards their car. Once at the passenger side, the brunet unlocks the door, and assists you inside. You flop onto their leather interior, eyes unfocused, and body movements random. Chuckling to themself, they buckle you in, not before pulling on gloves, and taking your phone, keys, and wallet off of you. 

Taking these items, they empty your wallet of its cash, and chuck everything into a nearby bush. Knowing that the cameras outside the building and the buildings surrounding the place are off, they feel at ease. If anything, they feel like your knight in shining armour. If they hadn’t taken you, someone else would’ve-you’re just too cute. 

Closing your door, and rounding the car, they slide into the driver’s side, before starting the car. Buckling themself in, they look at your out-of-it form, and smile. 

[fightxxmexxshiggy]

I don't know if you write for Aizawa but I could use some good Aizawa smut. He doesn't often have good smut🖤🙏🏽💛

So sorry this took so long this went from a headcanon to a full fic before I knew what happened.

The beast tames a brat

You decide to get revenge on your boyfriend only for it to backfire.

Shota aizawa x female reader

TW: degradation, OVERSTIMULATION, slight PREDATOR KINK, fucked stupid.

Word count 1477.

You were definitely in a mood today. You had been restless and horny all morning and when you texted your boyfriend to ask when he'd be home he had given you a one word response of "eventually". This was not a good idea on his part as you immediately started planning your retaliation. After a quick shower you started your plan. You took pictures in your towel, took pictures of you slowly slipping it off frame by frame but never letting the full sight of your breasts or pussy be in the shots. You put on makeup and pulled out some of your favorite lingerie. 3 absolutely mouth watering peices that had never failed to have shota pushing you against the nearest hard surface. It took about an hour but you completed the most sexy solo photo shoot that you had ever done. You made sure to include a variety of toys and positions that would have shota losing his damn mind.

Once it was around the time the school broke for lunch you started sending your pictures to his phone. The first one received no response, just the icon showing he had seen it. So you sent the next one, each picture was sent 20 minutes after the last as you tried to give him time to respond. He never did so when you ran out of the sexy yet tame pictures you sent one of the most naughty ones you had taken. Within 5 minutes he was calling you. You let it go to voice mail before sending another picture even more naughty than the first. He called again and this time you picked up. You didn't even get a chance to say hello before his deep, frustrated voice came through the speaker.

"Princess when I get home you better be ready for your punishment. If you wanna act like a slutty bitch then I'm going to treat you like one. Your gonna remember not to fuck with me even if I have to spend all night reminding you why."

He hung up the phone while you were still in a daze. You were definitely gonna get the raw fuck you were craving tonight. You thought for a moment and smiled, you still had some more pictures including the one you had take with your ass spread showing the plug in your and the dildo stuffing your pussy. So being the brat you were you sent it giggling at how shota was definitely going to get you for that. You ended up not having to wait very long for him to get you as an hour later he came home. Shota stalked through the apartment like a beast, throwing off his clothes as he went. You looked up at him as he came into the bedroom more than a little shocked to see him so early. The corners of his mouth turned up in a cruel almost sadistic manner that you really didn't want to call a smile.

"What's the matter princess? Afraid of the consequences for teasing your man?"

He launched himself on the bed grabbing your ankle as you made to scramble off the bed. Pulling you back towards him with one hand he caught the front of the black lace lingerie set you had yet to change out of, using only two fingers he tore it right down the middle leaving you bare except for the tattered scraps. Keeping his hold on your ankle he rubbed his thumb against the pulse point he found there before trailing slow kisses down your leg. When he reached your inner thigh he paused staring up at you until you locked eye's. Once he knew you wouldn't look away he kissed your thigh gently, slowly sucking on your dampening skin. Then he grinned and bit down making you whimper and buck at the slight pain. You whined his name as he moved on to your pussy,kissing all around your lips without ever touching where you really needed him. Reaching down you grabbed his hair as you begged him to touch you properly. Relief swept through you as he made to do just that. It was short lived though as shota took that chance to begin mercilessly fucking your needy hole with his tongue. The pleasure was intense enough to have you panting and pulling on his hair, but it wasn't enough to make you cum. Over the next hour no matter how much you begged, pleaded, and threatened him he just continued to keep you on the edge of release.

" I told you baby your gonna remember why you shouldn't fuck with me. I already called your boss on my way over your not working tomorrow. Not that you could with the jelly legs I'm going to give you."

Whimpering you desperately tried to wiggle out of his grasp more than a little regretful of your bratty actions from the afternoon. Shota decided to give you a little taste of what the rest of the night would be like when he locked both his arms around your thighs and sucked your clit into his mouth. You didn't even last a full minute before you were coming against his lips. But he didn't stop, he kept sucking your clit. Shota had latched on to your clit, sucking hard until he got what he was working for. You came for a second time in less than five minutes squirting all over his face with a squeal. He drank and licked your squirt, making sure to get his fill. Sitting up shota flipped you to your back while you still panted and twitched form the overstimulation. Kneeling behind you he pulled your hips back to rest on his thighs. Adjusting his grip on your hips shota chuckled darkly.

" I hope your ready princess because your kings about to give you everything you were begging for. I'm going to fuck the brat right out of this slutty little cunt."

With precision that no man should have he began ramming his cock inside your still twitching hole. His every thrust was angled to hit your gspot, he continued to hammer it as he fucked you with only six or so inches of his thick cock. You were so fucked out already that all you could do was lay there moaning and mumbling gibberish. Shota continued his pace relentlessly his mind sinking into a feral place where his only thought was to pull as many orgasms from you as he could. Growling as his release came closer shota finally gave up on his torturous game to instead fuck you like the beast he truly was at his core. Griping your thighs tighter he pounded all his ten and a half inches of cock into your already over stretched pussy. Your back was arched as you sobbed out your pleasure, shota's heavy thrusts keeping you in a constant state of orgasm with no end insight. This was what you had been wanting, what you had been needing. To be taken animalisticly by your man, your king, your unchained beast. Seconds turned to minutes as shota finally let himself go, shoving his cock head flush with your already bruised cervix he let out a primal shout as he came. At his core the man who called himself your king was cunning beast, but one that loved and lusted after you unconditionally. The sound set something off inside of you that made you want to find a way to submit to him even more than you already had. The heat of his cum set you of into your final orgasm. You screamed, your eyes rolling back in your head while your pussy milked his cock for every drop almost as if it was trying to suck his seed into your womb. Pulling out of you shota grabbed your phone off the bedside table and turned on the camera, recording a few seconds of your hole gapping open, grasping at nothing before his cum slowly started to leak from it. He let a little drip out , catching on your clit before pushing it back inside of you.

" you did so good for me baby. I know your gonna do even better on our next round. I need that tight little hole milking me again already."

You sighed as he placed sweet kisses down your back. The little part of your brain that was still functioning knew what you were doing when you sent those pictures for sure but from the looks of it you might need to be a little more patient and less brash the next time you teasing your beastly king. But for now you were gonna nap while he kissed and massaged your spent body. You had more rounds of fucking coming and you really did wanna be good for your king tonight.

[the-queen-of-hell-666]

The 100-Year Old Virgin

Pairing: Virgin!Steve Rogers / Fem!Reader

Words: 2000+

Summary: Reader has a crush on Steve but he is already seeing someone.

 Warnings: explicit sexual content (vaginal sex, unprotected sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex (M and F receiving), squirting), friends to lovers, lost of virginity, SMUT!!!!! NO MINORS!!! 18+!!!!

A/N: This was my first time writing a Steve Smut fic (Only because I have only written Supernatural smut) and I am very proud of this fic. I like to write in 3rd person, just because it makes it easier on myself. There is some fluff at the end but for the most part it’s smut. Also I posted this on my Ao3 account and people seemed to really like it and I want to see if it happens with all platforms. I hope you enjoy this as much as I did while writing it. 

Y/n sat on the couch of the Avengers compound. She was wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and one of the t-shirts, she stole from Steve, her best friend. She has her Y/h/c hair up in a top knot and black fuzzy socks on her feet. She was watching The Big Bang Theory on the giant tv in the lounge.

She was relaxing, when a tuxedo clad Steve Rogers came rushing out of the lift. She looked up as he rushed past her with a pair of black dress shoes in his hands. 

Y/n whisted, “Why do you look like a blonde double o’ seven?” She questioned, pausing her show and standing up. Steve tries to put on his shoes but ends up falling flat on his face, he rolls onto his back and looks up at her. “Steve, why’re you in such a hurry?” She asked, helping him back onto his feet.

“You know Destiny?” He questioned, oh Y/n knows Destiny. She hates her, because the day Y/n had the courage to tell Steve how she felt about him, was the same day Steve introduced Destiny, his girlfriend, to the team.

“Yeah I know her.” She nodded, and then clenched her jaw shut, so she didn’t say anything she’ll regret.

“Well tonight I have a date and I think tonight… might be the night.” Steve shrugged, and a blush dusted his cheeks.

“Tonight might be the night for wha-” She started to ask, but it clicked with her and her eyes widened. “Steve are you a virgin?” She asked.

“What?! No, no…” He trailed off, and Y/n suppressed her smirk and took his shoes from him. She helped him with his shoes and then stood back up. He looked at her faded dark blue t-shirt. “Is that my shirt?”

“You should know by now that I steal your clothes all the time, Steven.” She shrugged, and patted him on the shoulder and walked to the couch and leaned on the back. She crossed her arms and looked up at him. The look on his face was nervous and he was playing with his fingers. “Tell me what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He shrugged, and nervously chuckled.

“Really? ‘Cause it looks like you’re about to sweat through your suit.” She said, and he sighed and dropped his defensive facade.

“Fine! I’m nervous that I’m not ready to cross that line.” He explained, and Y/n cocked her head to the side.

“If you’re not ready. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“But I feel like it is and I don’t know how she is going to react if I’m not ready.” Steve rambled, and she placed her hands on his arms, and he looked at her in the eyes.

“Steve, if she really loves you then that shouldn’t matter.” She said, and he let out a breath of relief.

“I wish that all women were like you.” He sighed, and she chuckled.

“Well they aren’t, unfortunately. But you’re going to be late.” She said, and he quickly placed a kiss on her cheek and grabbed his keys and wallet. “Bye!” She yelled, and Steve waved before slipping out the door. Y/n sighed and plopped back onto the couch with her blankets and pillows. “Good job, Y/n. You love him and yet you let him go.” She sighed, and buried her face in a pillow and screamed before taking a breath, then unpaused her show.

After a while she fell asleep in the sea of blankets and pillows. She woke up to the sound of the door open and shut. She jolted awake and looked at the mystery man in the kitchen, but she could see it was Steve. He saw that she was awake and paused in his tracks.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” He questioned, as Y/n got up and walked into the kitchen behind the lounge. She grabbed a bottle of beer and popped the cap off.

“Yeah. But I needed to get up anyway.” She shrugged, then took a long sip of beer and then looked Steve up and down. “Your tie is still around your neck. So I’m guessing it didn’t happen.”

“No. I wasn’t ready, but she was and then when I told her I wasn’t… she broke up with me.”

“I’m sorry, Stevie.” She said sympathetically. “Wanna stay up late watching crappy tv?” She offered, walking back over to the couch.

“Sure.” He shrugged, and plopped down next to her. She leaned over and grabbed the remote, and her shirt rode up and Steve saw the back of her Y/f/c lace bralette, he blushed and quickly looked away. She leaned back and sank into the pillows.

“Alright what’d you wanna watch? Big Bang Theory? Game of Thrones? Supernatural?” She questioned, and Steve looked over the tv screen.

“What about Friends?” He shrugged, and she nodded.

“Sounds good.” She said, and played it and leaned back against the couch. After it started, Y/n realised that it was the episode, where Ross came back from China with Julie and Rachel was jealous, and Y/n can’t help but feel like she was in the same thing. The episode ended and Y/n was quick to pause the tv before another one could come on. Steve looked at her confused.

“Why’d you pause the show?” He questioned, and she turned to look at him.

“Why didn’t you go through with Destiny?” She asked, and he looked a little taken back by her question.

“Why do you ask?”

“I mean you can get any woman you want by just stepping outside. Most women are practically in love with you. I mean I’m in love with you-” She stopped her sentence, in realization of what she just confessed.

“Y-you love me?” He questioned, but Y/n didn’t answer, she just dashed down the hall to the stair and took them two at a time. She got to her floor and ran into her room.

She paced the room waiting for Steve to come knocking. “God damnit, Y/n! You take one look at that man and practically fall apart! Now you just confessed your love to him, right after a break up! Stupid, stupid, stupid!” She exclaimed, and then someone cleared their throat from behind her. She froze not exactly knowing what to do.

“I don’t think it’s that stupid.” Steve said, from where he stood at her doorway. Tears filled her eyes as she slowly turned around. She laughed a watery laugh and sat at the edge of her bed.

“Yeah, well I think it’s stupid that a man like you would ever look at me the way you looked at Destiny.” She explained, and he sat next to her.

“Why would you say that?” He asked her sympathetically, and looked at her with big puppy dog eyes.

“Because, I’m not pretty enough, skinny enough, good enough for a man like you.” She whispered, and Steve looked at her with confusion and a little bit of pity. She looked at him and saw the pity so she jumped up and started pacing the room again. “No! Don’t look at me like that!”

“Look at you like what?”

“With pity! I don’t want to be pitied.” She sighed, and he stood up and took her hands in his, so she’d stop pacing.

“I don’t pity you. And as far as I’m concerned, you are the most beautiful dame I’ve ever laid eyes on.” Steve said, she looked up at him as tears fell down her face.

“Then why don’t show it?” Y/n questioned, as her voice cracked. He decided instead of words he would show her, so he placed his hands on her face and leaned down and kissed her. She froze for a moment not really knowing what to do, but then she came back to reality. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. He pulled her up by the backs of her thighs. She jumped up and wrapped her legs around his waist. He laid her down on the bed and hovered over her without removing his lips from hers. He then pulled back and looked down at her.

“I don’t show it, because I was too scared to.” Steve said, and she placed her hands on his face, so he would look at her.

“Well, don’t get scared now. Because I want you, and by the bulge in your pants I think you want the same.” Y/n whispered, and he leaned down and kissed her hard. She untied his tie, then pushed his suit jacket off. She took her hair down and it flowed around her face, like a halo. She reconnected their lips as she unbuttoned his dress shirt. “Too… many… clothes…” She said, through kisses. He quickly stood up and took off everything except his boxers. He stood back and watched. As she sat up and took off her shirt, then her socks, and finally her sweatpants, leaving her in matching lace panties and bralette.

“You’re so beautiful, doll.” Steve said, and climbed on top of her. He kissed and sucked down her jaw, to her neck, collarbone, then finally to her chest, leaving little red marks in his wake. Before Y/n knew it her bra was gone, and Steve had taken one of her breasts in his mouth.

“Ohh… Steve.” Y/n moaned, as he nipped and sucked on one breast before switching to the other. He kissed down her stomach to the hemline of her panties. “Are you sure about this?” She questioned, and he looked up at her.

“Of course. I love you and I want to show you.” He said, and she smiled and pulled him up for a heated kiss.

“I love you too, Steve.” She whispered, and he again kissed down her stomach to her panties. He hooked his fingers under the hemline then slowly pulled them down. The cool air hit her already soaked pussy, and she mewled out. He smirked and gently spread her legs. He groaned at the sight of her completely exposed to him. He used his fingers to spread her folds, before he dived in. He thrusted his tongue into her wet channel. She moaned and mewled out as he sucked on her clit. He plunged two thick fingers into her. He curled and thrusted them in and out of her pussy. “Ohh… Steve, how are you so good at this?!” She exclaimed, as he slammed three fingers into her.

“Tony sent me a lot of porn, when I first started dating Destiny.” Steve explained, and Y/n rolled her eyes and scoffed.

“That sounds like him.” Y/n said, then he curled his fingers and they hit her g-spot and she arched her back. She cried out as her orgasm took her over. He continued to suck her clit and thrust his fingers, until she came down from her high. He took his fingers out and she took them and sucked them clean. He smirked and climbed over her and connected their lips. She rolled him over onto his back. She straddled his thighs, then pulled his boxers off. His hard member slapped his taut stomach. Y/n took in the size of his and practically drooled at the sight of him. She took Steve in hand and gave a few pumps, before taking the head of his cock in her mouth. She licked the slit, tasting the pre-cum already dripping down his shaft. She slid her mouth down his shaft, until he hit the back of her throat.

“Ohh… Y/n!” Steve groaned out, as she swallowed around him. She hollowed out her cheeks and gently sucked. He moaned and thrusted his hips up, so that his cock moved farther down her throat. Steve pulled her up, then rolled them over, so he was on top. He kissed her fiercely, as he lined up and started to push into her. She had to break away from the kiss, so she could cry out, as he bottomed out. “Oh. You’re so tight, doll.”

“Move. Please, Stevie.” Y/n whined, and he started thrusting in and out of her slowly trying not to hurt her, but she wanted more. “I’m not going to break. Please fuck me. Hard!”

“Whatever you want, babydoll.” He whispered into her ear, then started thrusting hard and fast into her. She cried out and arched her back, he used this new position and took one of her nipples in his mouth. He sucked and nipped on her breasts, leaving hickeys and red marks all over her chest. He kept thrusting hard and fast into her wanting pussy.

“Oh, fuck! I’m gonna cum!” Y/n yelled, and he brought a hand down and started rubbing tight circles on her clit. His cock hit her g-spot over and over again, and that set her off. Her thighs shook as she started squirting all over his cock and chest. Steve groaned at the sight of her squirting all over him. He pulled out quickly and came in spurts of hot, white cum. The cum covered her stomach, pussy, and breasts. He slumped over her without crushing her. After a few minutes of resting, Steve got up and walked to her bathroom, and grabbed a washcloth. He soaked it with some water, then came back in to see Y/n tangled in her white sheets, his cum covering her body, her hair a mess around her head, her eyes closed in peer bliss, and a lovestruck smile across her face. If Steve could take a photo of this he would, she was just so beautiful in his eyes. He walked over to the bed and gently cleaned the cum off of her body, then threw the washcloth in the laundry hamper. He climbed into bed with her, and she immediately cuddled up to his chest.

“I love you, Y/n.” Steve whispered to her, thinking that she was asleep until he heard her voice.

“I love you too, Steve.” Y/n whispered back, then closed her eyes and cuddled closer into his chest. He wrapped both arms around her, and hugged her closely to himself, silently promising never to let her go.