#the encounter number continuously going up is so fucking funny

[pastelclovds]

yo @trianglesimp, imagine after reader fucked the other alternates, they decide to keep reader and make their home as their hangout place or a place to gather more alternates into our world, and ofc reader is chill with it.

reader doesn’t fear going outside after dark due to the alternates they’ve befriended always guarding them from other alternates who’d want to hurt them. reader isn’t fazed when they see dark, distorted figures eyeing them everywhere they go. all they see are desperate creatures who want a taste of their dick and euphoric orgasms, and reader is always happy to indulge in their needs cause it’s 100 times better than using their hand to get off.

gabriel is both amused and surprised that reader had survived this long after encountering a number of his creations, and the fact that reader is not even afraid of them nor throwing a fit over them staying in their home is beyond impressive. not only that, but the stories his servants told him about your… sexual acts has him curious. gabriel feels torn over wanting to indulge in his needs or simply killing reader. he decides to let you live with the excuse fact that his creations find you entertaining, and that if they ever need relief; they can use you. your future is unpredictable at the moment, but one thing is predictable, you will have these creatures by your side for a long time (and meet their leader very soon).

i also have a funny scenario that involves reader and an acquaintance they have in their workplace.

you were currently chilling on the couch and sharing a bowl of popcorn with an alternate that was watching the television along side you. it was a cheesy romcom that you’ve quickly lost interest in, but the alternate continued to stare at the screen intently.

you had assumed that since they had used electronics to travel wherever they’ve please, that they would have known about the media that electronics produced. but the fact that their blank, dark eyes continued to stare at the show with curiosity and slight fascination was… kinda adorable.

but still, you remember this one very vividly because they were the first one whom you had railed the hell out of. you still have the looks of pleasure on their faces engraved in your mind as you made them lose theirs. you could tell they have never experienced pleasure that you have given them, and they were greedy for more.

their long, distorted limbs wrapped around your body nearly twice as you continued to ravage into their cunt. harsh thrust after thrust made them forget that their original purpose for you was, they continued to cry out to their creator as they squirted over your pelvis and you didn’t stop until you buried yourself to the hilt and filled them up with warmth that doesn’t compare to anything else. you’ve allowed yourself to drift off to your own fantasies of how it would feel if you had owned the alternate beside you.

make them wear a collar with your name on it, make them choke on your dick while their on all fours, and make them scream your name as you rail them in a park, church, anywhere public. so that if any poor, unfortunate soul were to see your acts, they would know who your alternate belonged to. you were snapped out of your thoughts when a frail looking claw-hand landed on your thigh.

the alternate was staring into your eyes, their pupils were pitch black and held a pleading and desperate sort of emotion within them. their hand moved from your thigh to your crotch, you let out a small gasp when they slid their cold, slim fingers inside your boxers and began to fondle your balls.

you let out a breathy chuckle as you imagined the alternate with a wet pussy, and like magic, it appeared between their thighs. the alternate began to shiver and let out low labored breaths as you slipped your own fingers to play with their clit. “i-i knew you were here for a reason, i asume you want the usual? fucking this pretty pussy until nobody else but me get to use it, filling it to the brim with my cum until you become pregnant, is that what you want, pretty thing?” you ask as you removed your sweatpants and threw it off to floor somewhere.

the alternate nodded quickly as they rolled their hips along with your fingers, and gasped when your fingers entered their pussy and began to finger them furiously. “as much as i love seeing you lose yourself to my fingers, i-i can spread for both of us when i say that we should get to the main event.” you spit onto your palm and stroked your cock to full hardness as well as to lube it, and once that was done, you pushed them down onto the couch and lifted their long legs over your shoulders.

the alternate let out a distorted howl when you entered them and didn’t waste time with waiting, the living room quickly became humid as you thrusted in and out of their drooling pussy, their warm walls made it hard for you to not cum right then and there, but you wanted to make them cry and beg you for more until they couldn’t.

a sudden ringing from your phone made your movements stop for a second, the alternate whined when your pleasurable thrusts came to an end, you simply pulled their legs from of your shoulders and wrapped them around your waist (you noticed how their legs immediately tightened around you) and grabbed your phone that was on top of a small cabinet beside your couch. “sorry baby, why don’t you ride me while i’m taking this call?” you almost couldn’t finish your sentence due to the alternate pouncing on top of you and moving it’s hips in a fast pace.

you looked at who the caller was, it was simon from your workplace, you answered him. “what do you want simon i’m— oh fuck-, r-really busy right now,” you tried your hardest to try to pay attention to what he was saying, something about him being worried because you haven’t shown up in work for the past few days or some shit. you were too fixated on the sight of your cock disappearing inside the alternate and the lewd noises of skin slapping against skin to focus on simon.

at the moment, nothing else mattered except for fucking this creature dumb. who needs work when you have this one and their friends at your doorstep. “what is that noise, are you okay?” simon asked, “oh- i’m more than okay, keep moving your hips faster baby, cum on my cock.” on your command, the alternate let out a cry that distorted all electronics nearby before creaming around your cock, the sight alone was enough to make you burst inside them.

“what the!? are you fucking somebody while on call with me?” your acquaintance asked in disbelief, you bit your lip when you saw your mixed releases drip from the alternate’s cunt and down your balls. “fuck yeah i am,” you chuckled before bidding simon goodbye and hanging up. the alternate let out a whimper as the began grinding on your dick once more, what a greedy little thing. you wrapped one of your arms around their waist and thrust your hips up into their used cunt, “you’re desperate to milk another one outta me, aren’t you?” the alternate nodded frantically, moving along with your thrusts as it spewed out strings of moans.

you were caught off guard when you heard static coming from your tv, the romcom was long gone. in the gray mess on your screen, a hooded figure made himself known, and he was staring intensely at the mess between your cock and the other alternate’s pussy.

you couldn’t help a grin overtaking your face, “hello six, the usual as well?” you we’re gonna be busy after all, and not with work.

authors note: well, i’ve officially descended into madness. that or it’s just my monterfucker brain going crazy because it’s nearly october. I hope you’ve enjoyed this, cause i did ;). love you! 💙

[gemini-sensei]

@sensei-venus I just got a chaotic af idea for gremlin!Reader. What if she had a cryptic pregnancy? (cw: birth scene, blood)

Like she never knows or even suspects it at all. Then one day when she's home alone, she starts having this awful tightness and pain in her belly and pelvis. Then it passes and she thinks it's okay, but it continues to happen again and again throughout the day. She hates hospitals and doctors so she refuses to go to one and tough it out.

When she realizes it's labor ain't and contractions, it's too late to do anything about it. She has to push. So as the boss-ass queen she is, she delivers her baby on her own. She pushes a good five or six times before he slides out onto her bed. She struggles to sit up but does it anyway to get her baby in her arms, pat his back, and get him breathing. He starts crying so loud that it shocks her. She gets him cleaned up as best she can and lays him on her chest, hoping to calm him down.

All these little baby delivery things she's learned from listening to Moon's midwifery stories. So naturally when things calm down a bit, she calls Moon and is like "Hey, so I just had a baby."

And Moon is like "Haha, that's so funny, Reader."

"No, I'm serious, Moon, I need you to come here now."

She speaks with a certain urgency that's far from her normal, playful tone. It's how Moon knows she's serious and she grabs up everything in her kit and goes to Hawk and Reader's house. Luckily she knows where the spare key is hidden and she gets inside. She finds Reader in her bedroom with the tiniest baby she's ever laid eyes on sucking on her tit. The room is a fucking mess, especially the bed sheets since they're covered in blood and other bodily fluid. Reader doesn't have anything to cut the umbilical cord with so she and the baby as still very much attached.

"Oh my god, how did you... oh my god." Moon can't contain her shock. She's only ever heard of cryptic pregnancies at this point in her career and she never imagined she'd encounter one.

Moon knows about Reader aversion to hospitals, so she doesn't even bring it up. She doesn't want to stress Reader out more than she probably already is stressed out. So she calmly comes over to sit beside Reader, gathers up the messy sheets, and throws them aside so they can at least get some clean sheets in there.

"Sometimes it's hard for first-time moms to get babies to latch on," she says, watching the tiny baby hungrily suckle on his mama's tit. "How'd you manage this?"

Reader kind of shrugs. "I don't know... when he started crying again, I just kinda knew he was hungry and did it."

Reader's voice is so soft and it's a different side of her that Moon hasn't seen before. She's still their gremlin of the group, she's sure, but Reader is so tired after the surprise labor that she really can't expect more of her. Still, Moon takes it as a sign that Reader is going to be a great mama despite not being ready for a baby whatsoever.

As Moon does everything she needs to - cut the umbilical cord, clean up Reader, check the baby - they talk about how this all happened. Reader explains how she had no idea about any of this, she never even had a suspicion. Then she tells her about how much it hurt, how scared she was, and how when she finally realized what had to be happening, she just had to do it. Moon tells her how proud of her she is for staying calm during the whole ordeal and how strong she is. Having a baby is a lot on the body and labor is intense, but she's done so well.

While she's checking the baby, he gets a little fussy when taken away from his mama. However, as soon as Moon starts talking to him, he calms down. He knows that sweet voice. This is one of his mama's friends.

Moon brought everything she could possibly need for the occasion and she's happy to report his good health. "He appears fully developed and perfectly healthy. Good job, mama."

She also brought a number of baby things for Reader, like a few clothes and a blanket, so she wraps him up to stay warm as soon as he's all checked out and cleaned up. Things calm down again and the pair talk about everything they can about having a new baby around. Then they hear the front door open and shut.

"Hey, babe! I'm home!"

It's Hawk. And it's at that moment Reader remembers how she never called or texted him about what was going on. She just took right to taking care of her baby boy and getting Moon over there.

Of whom, Moon jumps up and assures Reader she'll handle it. "I'll go tell him gently." Then she disappears and there's some light greetings to be heard.

Then Reader is pretty sure she hears Hawk faint.

Moon comes back in, grabs something from her bag, and exits again. She uses a smelling salt to bring Hawk back to reality and he jumps up.

"I could have sworn you said, with all the seriousness I've ever seen from you, that Reader had a baby."

"That's exactly what I said, Hawk."

She explains the situation to him before anything else happens.

When he brings her to the bedroom, he doesn't faint again. Instead, he goes straight to Reader's side as quickly and quietly as possible. "Jesus Christ, are you okay? Is the baby okay? I didn't even know you were pregnant- well I guess you didn't either based off of what Moon said, but still. Holy shit."

Reader states at him, then laughs. It's that chaotic laugh he fell in love with and he wonders what the fuck is so funny in a time like this, but also he's relieved because she's feeling well enough to laugh.

"We're fine, Eli... he's perfect."

She smiles and looks down at her baby boy in her arms. He stares up at them, taking in his pretty mama and handsome daddy. He's dressed in a green onesie Moon grabbed on her way out (I think she keeps all sorts of baby stuff to give to parents she works with in baskets she makes for them because she would so do that). It's a little big for him but it keeps him warm and that's what matters right now.

Hawk takes his little hand and holds it, staring at him with a still shocked but happy smile. "Hey there..."

While they're having their little moment, Moon starts filling out the birth certificate. She looks up ever so often to check on them, only to find Hawk holding Reader as they just admire their little one. It's so cute of them.

She stands up and brings the certificate over, showing it to them. She explains what they have to do and ends by saying, "You don't have to have a name for him now. Figure that out when you know."

"I think I know," Reader giggles, looking back down at her baby boy with a smile.

Hawk kisses the side of her head. "What's that?"

"Mason... Mason Elijah Moskowitz."

[alovelessmelancholy]

OMG LISTEN.

I THINK BOTH NIGHTTIME SCENES ARE REAL.

Update: HEY! I was totally wrong! But read this anyway if you want just for funsies😂

Someone said that one scene is Colin’s “do over” in a sense. (I heard this idea somewhere, I can't remember exactly but let me say that I’m not trying to steal anyone’s intellectual property or anything like that, just agreeing/elaborating on it). I think that’s absolutely what happens, but at the time Colin doesn’t realize it.

I think Pen is crying in the original scene we were given (sitting at her window thinking and then later when Colin discovers her in the garden) because Colin has continued to give her mixed signals (him watching her touch her mouth at the fair tent, telling her “don’t forget you’re Penelope Featherington”, all his longing looks and being his usual idiotic “I don’t know how hot I am being with Pen” self because he doesn’t realize that she secretly loves him. You know, just another Tuesday when Colin is around.)

ANYWAY, she is crying so he comes to console her and she decides then to let him go - what she was agonizing over while thinking at her window because she can’t come back from it if she decides to marry someone else. Colin likely (stupidly!) says something that solidifies her resolve to move on (“You can do it FRIEND, go find your husband!”)

SO she does just that, which means no kiss during this scene despite all the wishes that they would- me included .

Pen moves on while Colin is still helping her to dig his own hole to fall into, encouraging her to accept Debling's suit (DERP)

Colin finally comes to his senses and sees that he 💚LOVES PENELOPE FEATHERINGTON💚 for fuck sake (the beautiful symbolism with the candles OMG I love that but HURRY UP MAN your candle is LIT🕯). Listen to your mother and kiss your friend on the mouth.

By this time Debling may or may not have proposed, but based on Portia’s reaction about what a GOOD GIRL Pen is for landing a Lord as a potential husband, we should assume that all things are pointing in that direction. Colin has picked up on this too, and he has probably made attempts to end their attachment - maybe in some funny ways that make him look like a fool (yes please), maybe a few not so funny ways (he is STURDY now as if anyone could forget that fact but we'll hope he keeps his boxing gloves off - just for now.) 🔥 We DO know that Colin got visibly upset about Debling talking to Pen, so much so that he looked like wanted to do something about it.

SO now we come to the second nighttime scene where Colin put on the Regency Gentleman signal or whatever he had to do to get Pen to come into the garden. This is the do-over part, where he has been doing his own pining, thinking, CRYING (I cannot convey to you how much I love Teary-Eyed-Colin, he’s so gorgeous and vulnerable). He either shows up in tears and tells Pen he loves her, don’t marry Debling or he sees her crying and it makes him cry. She might confess that she was never going to marry Debling,”BECAUSE HE ISN'T YOU, COLIN.”🥺 I imagine her saying this and then…longing look number eight leads to a first kiss/extra-spicy encounter beyond just looks and hand touches. 🔥🔥

Maybe they break some patio furniture if we’re lucky.😏

UPDATE: Well I obviously had this all wrong! Ep2 confirmed REAL and a kiss ( just like RMB but outdoors 🥰) And the foggy one was. confirmed as a dream, so we can assume this is what wakes Colin up in a hot sweat 🥵

JUST LET ME HAVE THE SEASON.

[chris-continues]

Unconventional, Unusual, and Unapologetically Yours

Inspired by this text post I made!

In which you enter a relationship with an unfamiliar creature.. yet he’s the sweetest person you’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.

TAGS: @beanibon @vashfantasy @h4venpha @lune010

WORD COUNT: 1.6k

Available on ao3!

NOTES: I cranked this out in like less than an hour I think. Uncanny Vash makes my fingers type like the fucking wind LMAO- ALSO I MIGHT DO PT2 <33 ^^lmk if you don’t want to be tagged! Some people asked and I know others like uncanny Vash a lot, so I thought you’d enjoy. I tried to add a bit of creature Vash as well, please feel free to comment/reblog if you enjoyed! And lmk any ideas you have :D

Your boyfriend deviated from what one would call the standard partner. 

Well, not that such a thing was negative. He was by far one of the most beautiful people you’d ever seen, that much you noted from your first encounter. An abandoned warehouse, where you’d been forced to do an odd job when tight for cash. “Get a photo of the infamous Humanoid Typhoon!”, they said, giving you directions out of town. The warehouse then had appeared nothing short of shady, with its shabby walls, unfamiliar state, and a slight mildewy smell you weren’t too fond of. 

That would soon change, becoming your safe haven, as you recalled how you’d met. 

Your tentative steps inside, phone flashlight beaming as you explored for a good few minutes before- “Ah!” You jolted, the wide smile of a tall man, startling you. He apologetically waved his hands before you, attempting to reassure you, “Aw god, I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to scare you!” 

“It’s uh, fine, yeah.” You cleared your throat, turning your flashlight down slightly, “Who are you?” “Vash.” He chirped, quite literally. “And you?”, he offered his hand, ever so charming. If you recalled correctly, his pupils dilated a bit too much at the touch of your hand against his.

Humanoid. Not human.

It took you an embarrassingly long time to connect the dots, your attempt to search for the man of the hour futile (or successful, depending on how you viewed it). Searching for any extending corridors, or perhaps a hidden room. His company was originally slightly unsettling, as he was a stranger just tagging along for the ride, but he had no ill intent and with each sweet remark you found your night to not be a complete failure, swearing you’d return next weekend, same time to find the Humanoid Typhoon together. 

It turned into a game of stalling. 

Searching the same wall as last week, fingers tapping at the eroding wood of the building. His fingertips had brushed yours a handful of times as he blamed it on the darkness, a slight squeak leaving him each time, and maybe it was your fatigue riddled mind but you almost swore a slight glow emanated from him each time. 

After the 3rd week of searching you really didn’t care about finding this Typhoon guy anymore, figuring he was just some urban legend. Why did you keep going? For Vash, of course. He was a great listener, funny, and seemed to enjoy your company, and you really enjoyed his, and by god were you absolutely horrendous when it came to romance. So continued your pining of poking and prodding at an abandoned warehouse at the late hours of night. Too nervous to ask for his number (you found out later he didn’t have a phone), too shy to initiate anything further. 

Aha, until one night. 

Your searching had become less investigative of the building and moreso of each other, legs crossed and sitting in the middle of the warehouse with music playing from your phone on occasion. Discussions ranging from god knows what, each interesting in their own right. What confused you was that something as mundane as you telling a story in which you got your neighbors mail left him at the edge of his seat, but you simply chalked it up as him being a good listener and eager to engage in conversation, (that being partially true). Exhaustion creeped at you one night though, your horrendous sleeping habits having caught up with you as you rested your head against the derelict floorboards and gazed up at the ceilings. 

Vash had a habit of humming to fill in silences, and much like the rest of him you found yourself inexplicably drawn to it.. So sue you for being soothed to sleep by such a thing.

He didn’t tell you until much later, but that night he’d let his hand graze the back of yours, feathers peeking from beneath his jacket with the slight bumps ever so comforting against your skin. You let out the cutest hums, rolling just a bit closer to him.

His breath caught in his throat, as he let himself touch your hand just a bit more. His long, inhuman tongue laved over his several rows of sharp, unnatural teeth in a fidgeting motion. His pupils expanded, admiring you. You always appeared a bit nervous or tense around him- of course that diminished over time, he noted, but why were you so nervous? God, he hated being like this sometimes. To be.. A normal human companion of yours was something he found he craved. Every week, waiting for you in this dingy, subpar hiding place..

You were the highlight of his week. 

He had to hold himself back from instinctively curling into your side, wrapping his lanky limbs around you and allowing his vertebrae to extend to his full height.. Several feet taller than you. He wants to engulf you whole, keep you forever close and cherish you with chirps you couldn’t possibly understand. 

When you awake, he lays beside you. His body is as stiff as the wooden planks lining the warehouse floors, glancing at you as you finally make a move.

You scoot an inch closer.

His breath hitches in his throat. 

He can feel a draft making its way through the building,your body shivering as you shift just a bit closer.

“You.. are you cold?” He hesitates, arm stiffening as the fabric of his jacket meets the sleeve of your shirt. 

“Yeah, kinda..” You murmur, eyes darting away from him then back to him- god, you could stare at him and never tire of it. 

Your arms are pressed against one another, his fingers- wait, they’re uncharacteristically smooth, toying with the end of your sleeve. Oh god. The cutest guy you’ve ever met and he’s- oh god- you’ve dreamt of this more than you’d care to admit, hugging a pillow to sleep most nights, mind drifting to the cute guy you meet every weekend outside of town. 

Your fingers graze his once more, breathing pausing once more.

He intertwines his fingers with yours.

You think you’re going to die.

He chirps happily, and with your curiosity getting the better of you, you can’t help but ask, “What’s that noise mean?”

He blinks owlishly, sheepish smile crossing his face, “Oh uh, I don’t know really. It just.. happens?”  

“Ah, mhm. That’s fair.”

You peek down to your intertwined hands, only to see-

“Vash?”

His mouth gapes open to speak, and you get another peek of his- oh god, now that it’s morning you can see better.

Rows upon rows of his sharp teeth. His mouth forcibly staying together in one piece rather than three. Unnaturally long limbs. Feathers sprouting from him. 

“You.. you’re not human, are you?”

Oh god. He scared you. He’s so ugly, and you’re frozen, backing away slightly- “Oh my god you’re not- are you?”

The Humanoid Typhoon.

“Yeah. I.. I am.”

It takes you a moment to collect your bearings, mouth agape. “You.. you  never planned to hurt me, right?” Your eyes are wide, hands in your lap as you now sit up, legs criss crossed. 

“God no! Never! Oh god, I'm so sorry.” He buried his face in his hands, hiding it from the peeking rays of sunlight peering through the wood of the warehouse. “I don’t try to hurt anyone really, it just.. happens.” He swallowed thickly, “You can leave, if you’d like. I won’t hold it against you.”

You shake your head adamantly, “No, no I trust you. Just surprised me is all. I’ve never seen anything like it, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Vash.” Your hands fidget within your lap, “I enjoy your company and you not being human won’t change that.”

He peeked at you from his fingers, pupils dilated. “..really?”

You nodded. 

He certainly didn’t appear very convinced, but as you offered one of your previously fidgeting hands out to him.. he took it. Hand much larger in yours, inhumanly smooth- you found upon closer inspection he had no fingerprints. 

You stayed like that for god knows how long, until you checked your phone, “Shit! I’m sorry Vash, I’ve got to-” Aw god, his face, he was so cute..

“I’ll return soon.”

He walked you to your car parked outside. 

Your next few visits were a lot more different. He never directly said it, but before long you started staying the night, pressed close to one another, easing closer and closer to one another with hesitant touches. His eyes pleaded for your company each time you left, a small pout forming on his lips. 

You hated leaving him each time. 

Your first kiss was sweet, clumsy, and absolutely adorable. Just like him. 

He laid atop you, the world’s best weighted blanket, wrapping his unproportionate, lanky limbs around you to pull you flush against him. “I like you Vash. A lot.” You admitted into his hair quietly, shyly kissing the crown of his head. He chirped excitedly, a few clicks escaping him as he shifted to have your eyes meet, lips peppering pecks on your cheeks, jaw, and the corners of your lips. 

You both were too nervous to initially confess, just basking in one another’s company. 

“Like you too.” A series of inhuman noises escaped him, elated by your flustered giggles. 

He almost felt bad for temporarily silencing you with a shy and quick peck to your lips. His eyes widened, before going in for another. 

Another, another, another, purring contentedly as he pressed closer to you in hopes to mold you both into one. 

Your hands tentatively reached to cradle his face, grinning into the dorky kiss you two shared. 

Now though? You glance at him, wrapped in a mini nest you two share atop your bed. He nuzzles into your neck, teeth gently nibbling at the flesh as the rays of morning peek through your bedroom window. His legs hang off the bed with how tall he is, but he couldn’t care less.

Is it unconventional? Sure. Unusual? Most definitely.

But you’ve never been more happy than you have with him.

[radiosummons]

Do you guys ever wonder if Obi-Wan had a moment where he just, I don't know, sat down and thought about the sheer number of Sith coming after him and only him specifically?

I know it's pretty much just a meme at this point in the SW fandom that Obi-Wan has something like a sixth sense or something for attracting literally almost every Dark Side user in the nearest vicinity.

But, like ... if you remember how Obi-Wan is potrayed as a Jedi Initiate and later on as a Padawan, it's kinda crazy/hilarious to think about how this super anxious and emotional kid, who constantly questioned whether he would ever measure up to the expectations placed on him (by himself and others), went on to not only become one of the most famous Jedi in the galaxy but also a sort of legend in his own right. And then straight up became so popular that even the Sith couldn't ignore him.

And this arguably all sort of started after he defeated Maul (for the first time), who was believed at the time to be the first Sith/Sith Lord to appear in over a millenium. And not only did he gain the title of Sith Killer, but he later joined the Jedi Council as one of their youngest members and then went on to play a pivotal role in the Clone Wars as High General.

Like ... he was already a pretty big deal in his own right before the Clone Wars even began. But once the war was in full swing, the man never fucking stopped.

Besides obvious plot and writing reasons, it does sort of make sense then for all these Sith and Dark Side users to constantly target Obi-Wan. I mean, what Sith wouldn't wanna have at least one go at the legendary "Sith Killer?" Why wouldn't they want to test their abilities against a famous Jedi, especially when their head honcho Sith Lord is all but begging them to do everything they can to just fucking end him?

But then, of course, because Obi-Wan is Obi-Wan and he's never one to back down from a challenge, I do find it very compelling and hilarious that his go to reaction when faced with a Sith/Dark Sider is to just taunt and drag them for filth. It's almost like he can't help himself. He's just so clearly unimpressed with them and it's really funny to see the Sith/Dark Sider he's facing get riled up over that. They take is so fucking personally. Every. Single. Time.

Like: "How fucking dare he not take me seriously! How dare he imply that I'm not his equal! How dare he criticize my fashion sense and my abilities in the force! How dare he try to lecture me on the better way to execute my attacks (even if that was actually sort of helpful advice, but I will die before I ever admit that)!"

The fucking gall of this guy, amiright fellas?

So to get back to my original point: Do you guys think Obi-Wan ever regretted his flirting/taunting tactics? Because clearly all those ever did was sort of encourage the Sith/Dark Siders he faced to become a little bit more obsessed with him. Maybe even a little enamored (not in a romantic sense, but no shame to those who like this interpretation). It's weird 'cause aside from Darth Sidious, most of the Sith Obi-Wan encounters seem to sort of respect him? If not on an individual level, at they very least they respect him as a worthy opponent and fighter.

(Small aside: I don't know if I'd go so far as to say Maul ever truly respected Obi-Wan. I'm sure on some level he must have because he literally made obsessing over Obi-Wan his entire personality. But I'd concede that maybe somewhere, deep deep DEEP down in his tiny little cockroach of a heart, Maul respected Obi-Wan enough to at least hate him to the point that even death could not stop him from continuing to wreak havoc on his life.)

And while, yes, this tactic is very amusing to watch and clearly a quite successful one ... I can't help but wonder if maybe it works a little too well. Lord knows Anakin/Darth Vader and Maul never got over Obi-Wan's little taunts. And Asajj seemed to all but look forward to trading witty remarks with him at every given opportunity, even when they were temporary allies. Dooku, of course, basically went full grandpa mode trying to reconnect with his grandson and then took full offense to said grandson not buying into his Sithy bullshit. Obi-Wan didn't even give Dooku a chance to finish submitting his request for adoption/Force custody before dragging his ass for failing Qui-Gon.

I'm almost willing to bet that if Obi-Wan had been alone in a room with Darth Sidious (master plan and true identity fully revealed), Sheev would just withered to an even wrinklier raisin after the absolute READ Obi-Wan would have given him.

Tldr: I just think the idea of a worn out Obi-Wan lying face down on the floor while regretting all his life choices--mainly the whole "I must throw my opponents off by flirting as much as possible. Yes, this is an actual tactic and not am excusable way I can be petty while not violating the Jedi Code"--is a fucking hilarious mental image.

[bellshazes]

do it again directors commentary part 2

He and Etho had shown up at her favorite diner for takeout midnight breakfast while she had been hanging out at the bar, chatting with Scott, and without even thinking about it she’d joined their argument, switching sides periodically to keep it going. Years enough have passed that she can’t remember now what it had even been about, but she remembers Bdubs’ instant adoption of her as an ally and the wounded look he gave her when she conceded Etho had some good points, too. Etho had smiled brightly with his eyes and given her the faintest nod of approval, opening up the takeout boxes and settling down on the seat next to her.

this is very explicitly inspired by all the times i've gone to waffle house and the encounters i've had meeting old friends there who i never expected to see again. it's about the familiarity but also the capacity to shift and surprise and change the dynamic if it's funny. so it goes

Bdubs smiles knowingly at her. He heard all the goings-on of her tabletop campaigns and knows exactly what happened to her old D&D group. He’d been an exceptionally good sport about it, showing up for many late-night dinners to let her vent, as if it were a recap of his favorite TV show.

this and other things allude to the cleo-big b breakup that i never found a good place to make more explicit. i like the idea of it being some nebulous D&D situation partially because i despise D&D and because i think it's fun that since cleo continues to care that big b betrayed them, it should show up in silly ways, because it's fundamentally a betrayal in the specific context of a game. but it matters, what we did or didn't do, etc.

Cleo pauses and holds eye contact. For half a second she imagines a red bandana around Bdubs’ head, but it’s only the force of Bdubs’ belief that snares her.

another thing i never quite made explicit but is true: cleo received an unusually high number of lives, as did bdubs, and it's that fact that makes her more susceptible to remembering. if i had got to make it more explicit, i could've got into the exchange of lives as memory and as permanency, as debts and owing and relationships built across lifetimes... but I didn't. so this is what you get.

“That is a lot to ask of a guy, Cleo,” he says, but he stands up when she does. “If I for some reason am prevented from talking to Etho by such things as him being asleep all day, or un-overcomeable anxiety -”

i hate this line? i think i nailed bdubs' voice in the first half but i've spent so long trying to come up with something better than "un-overcomeable anxiety" and never did. i think he says things in super fucking weird ways but that's not right. it was worth leaving because i do believe in the dynamic of cleo playing mediator insofar as it's funny to them, and in cleo chastising bdubs, and their back and forth.

“Bdubs,” he says. “Hey, Bdubs.” He squeezes his hand again. “I wanted you to know. I’m so glad you were my partner.”

this whole Death Coffee Incident is borrowed wholesale from opera25's mll au, but it was fun making something kind of fantastical work. etho never was given any lives, and only gave one up to tango for the you bet your life game; he remembers here solely due to the life-threatening duress of consuming wayyyyyy too much caffeine. it was fun to write but also the pivotal moment in bdubs becoming convinced etho always had remembered and thinking then that the only reason he'd behave the way he did if he remembered was out of bloodlust... not that bdubs had yet unlocked memories of enjoying that murderousness and play back and forth.

there's a level to which this misunderstanding is a satirization/playing with fandom conceptions of if you view LL in a vacuum you get some crazy interpretations. but as they both learn, the threats were fun BECAUSE they had history and both enjoyed it. four more chapters for that to sink in though.

The process of checking into the ER is as onerous as he expected – trying to fill out the paperwork for Etho, who is still more out of it than Bdubs was when he had a head injury, having to put his foot down that he’d like to stay with his partner as much as possible and yes he had the paperwork to back him up, because Etho had made him keep a copy of important things in his wallet after he fell of the roof in case of something like this.

this part is in spite of my severe medical phobia, but also because of me working in insurance-related fields for the last 4 years. this document is called an advance directive or living will and if you live in the USA you should complete one by searching "advance directive [your state]" and filling it out and filing it according to the directions on your attorney general's website or whatever. it's genuinely imporant esp if you're not married and queer in any way. this is my one genuine PSA of the fic. but also they would. etho requesting to dot Is and cross Ts bc he thinks bdubs will be the one who needs and and then needing it himself... well. anyway.

He remembers fragments from his last death: that he had made some promise that didn’t save him, that cost him his last life. That he died calling Etho’s name, calling out to an Etho who took great joy in menacing him and making him paranoid, who had attacked him in that long dark stairway. It does not comfort him to know Etho thinks he’s responsible for whatever happened.

this chapter ends with bdubs trying and sort of succeeeding in believing in etho, but that last sentence is the lynchpin of what comes after: etho feeling even a little responsible for bdubs permadying - esp when bdubs remembers being a ghost for session 7 but was not present for etho's permadeath in session 8 - makes him think etho knows more than he does, and holds him accordingly responsible. the metacommentary is there but it wasn't the point; it's true, but incidental. the reveal eventually is that the trust was there, and that bdubs' permadeath was stupid and willing because it's about the novelty and the endless beginnings. spoilers but whatever if you're reading this you must not care by now.

chapter 4

He can feel his heart beating in his chest, and he has a sense-memory of falling down with all the vivid, terrifying sensation of jumping from the height of a swing in the park as a child, down to the faint awareness that the intervening years meant it was no longer quite the same body, that something had been knocked out of alignment by time.

it's a little tonally dissonant, but i'm still proud of this. you can tell later on i floundered for plot in this chapter, but the image of being both in the past and in the present and the overlay is important to me. it's very poetic.

Etho snagged a nametag off the apron that had been draped over the drinks counter, presumably in a now-ruined hope of ending the shift quickly, and slipped it into his pocket before turning back to smile placidly over Bdubs’ shoulder.

etho stealing the nametags is another MLL AU concept i stole and can't take credit for, but again trying to find a plausible concrete explanation for it was really fun and was the impetus for this whole chapter. grateful for it, and he's an ass and also nosy like that. he would.

Etho punched the crosswalk button and tried to remember that conversation but couldn’t. He remembered getting coffee, and that he’d almost finished it off by the time he’d gotten home. [...] “No,” he said, sounding strangled. “That hadn’t come up, actually.”

the limited alternating third person POV is restricting at times, but i really enjoy the contrast between what we already know of bdubs' perception of the Death Coffee Incident re: etho's knowledge and etho's POV making clear he doesn't know jack shit, but he cares. bdubs is reacting this way because etho saying he took the crazy coffee to stay up to see bdubs sounds like a threat, but it's also an expression of caring and not knowing how to bridge a distance.

if theres anything i believe it's that these two motherfuckers don't capital-T talk. they exclusively communicate through threats and shenanigans and team-ups and every time they mention talking outside of Events it shocks me. and yet their friendship persists over more than a decade! what miracles.

“You can’t take dreams too seriously,” Etho said, cat purring loudly under his hands, a soothing anchor. “It’s just your brain picking up on whatever’s going in your life and making up stories about it. No good worrying too much about them.”

this is mine own opinion on dreams, despite my sincere involuntary belief in signs and omens, but more importantly it is another point at which bdubs is implicitly in his own POV goign oh my god this son of a bitch is manipulating me. miscommunication for ages.

 He spends a few nights on the couch, methodically trying to rule the variables out: the quality of moonlight through his bedroom window, some oppressive sense of confinement, embracing the possibility his roommate is testing him and trying to prove to his subconscious that fishing rods are nothing to be worried about.

etho being experimental and scientific about this all is important to me. almost as much as half-remembering bdubs misinterprets this exacting need to know as being meaningful and knowing when it's not, especially when he was trying to elicit some response. guy gets a response and thinks the worst even though he's causing his own problems? there's a thesis in that

Etho bites back a comment about Bdubs’ dedication to sleep schedules and waves the criticism off instead. “I’m trying to sleep right now,” he lies. “Not my problem if you want to haunt me.”

if i ever let myself revise this chapter (and this chapter is the one i want to revise most) i want to include the detail from beau's comic of this passage of etho having his glasses on when he says this. my dude was definitely not tryign to sleep AT ALL and i forever wish i'd thought of that indicator myself.

When he sits down to start his own work for the day, he thinks about the drawing and decides then and there what his plan is to fix all this.

i wrote this line bc i have such a sense that chapter endings, like the endings of short stories, should have a paritcular cadence and effect - but neither etho nor i knew how "to fix all this" and in fact the subsequent chapters indicate he definitely was not laying his final plans yet. i've let it stay because putting this line in let me move on to write the rest of the fic... but it's untrue and a red herring and i hate it. i will fix you eventually. but not yet because i still dont' know how to satisfyingly transition.

etho doesn't get his next POV chapter until the second half of chapter 6 at the diner with cleo, where he finally confronts that his dreams might be real enough to have to deal with, and even then he goes through great lengths to validate cleo's theories by messing with tango... so who knows. but it's fine. it's fine. i hate it. it's fine

[marinecorvid]

conclusions to be had after replaying 1/3 of a way through leafgreen:

first of all im having serious nostalgia emotions. it’s been so long since ive played lg and its to me like what unwavering emotions is to some people. depression? nonexistent im too busy playing pokemon

really like how you have to catch a certain number of pokemon to get Important Items (vs seeker, exp shares, etc), makes catching and evolving pokemon and not just blasting through the game worthwhile

vs seeker is just as awesome as i remember it and i’m infinitely pissed it didn’t continue as a concept. i dont wanna have to challenge the elite 4 + champion to exp farm for lower level pokemon

its rlly interesting to go back and see what movesets are like (limited, challenging but not bad) and how you have to balance out your mons

ALSO status effects can be gotten semi-regardless of type. you rlly need to work around slp and prlyz ALSO ALSO accuracy lowering moves will really fuck you up, aerial ace and swift are good moves to have

it also throws into comparison how like. non gimmicky so many are? like im not trying to be bitchy and im not a wild gen1-er but after seeing the leaks from sv and going back to the ogs it’s fun to see how many designs are believable “naturally occurring animals who are also made of and can control the elements” for example my blastoise is a giant blue turtle who is so fucking shaped. and at least 2/3 of the starters for the past few generations look like furbait.

not very hand holdy, i forgot how saffron city is closed off and if you want to get back and forth between places you have to brave the many tunnels around. you want important item? go walk through every door and talk to every person to find em

hms are kinda annoying in this incarnation. i dont mind the concept of hms as long as they’re like... at least a decent move that isn’t dead weight in battle (hackers that change hm moves into usable battle moves *chef kiss*)

i dont know if it’s the romhack i’m playing on but i have encountered numerous shinies that have not been on shiny-specific spots! like two shiny geodudes within 10 minutes of each other (and i consulted the pdf guide, not shinyzer spots) so idk if ultraviolet has increased shiny odds or if i have gotten extraordinarily lucky

blue is so funny he’s so rude but it’s always in a way that seems like he’s trying to look cool

the only reason i didn’t evolve eevee into umbreon is because umbreon’s gen 3 moveset is unfortunately ass >:(

soundtrack is creepy good!!! viridian forest, cave theme, lavender town

i am going to slam my head against the wall i need tms from the rocket game corner but they’re so expensive but you get the amulet coin AFTER going through multiple trainer dungeons

it’s super cool seeing starters with non-rival trainers!

[infernalodie]

𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 || 𝐊𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐫𝐚

“𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘴 𝘐𝘧 𝘐 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯! 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘐𝘧 𝘸𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯.“

Inspo: Jon Bellion - One More Time Kid Travis - Butterflies

Pairing: Kiara Carrera x Black!Male!reader

Summary: The relationship between you and Kiara, simply put, was complicated. You were a kid from the Cut who she’d spotted while hanging out with the rest of the Pogues and you had seen her at the Boneyard. But her parents knew your business as a drug dealer and didn’t like the idea of her being around you. What is life if you don’t take a couple risks, right?

Warnings: Passionate smut, fluff, angst if you squint hard enough, and a pretty funny ending

Words: 2508

DNI IF YOU’RE YOUNGER THAN 18!

When Kiara first encountered you, it had been at her family’s, The Wreck. It was near closing time and the minute you had walked in, Kiara picked up on two things. The first was that you were from the Cut by the dirt that splotched your legs and the rest covering your arms. Your clothes weren’t as fancy as the ones a Kook would wear and a few of your friends from what she had guessed was work, had come in with you. The second had been how unbelievably high you were just by the goofy smile that formed on your face when you saw her.

Kiara couldn’t hold back the smile that etched itself onto her lips as you walked up to the counter. She approached as well, using a cloth to dry her hands.

“What can I get you?” She asked, slightly amused by the shameless stare you held with her. Giving her enough time to see that your eyes were indeed bloodshot, indicating you were higher than a fucking kite.

“A cheese burger with some fries as well as your number.” The forwardness did surprise Kiara, who continued to hold a grin of amusement.

Deciding to play hard to get, she turned around and gave the order before turning back to you. Bracing her hands on the edge of the counter. “And why should I give you my number?”

“’Cause you are the most beautiful girl on this island.”

That may have been the moment Kiara had been hooked. Not from the corny pickup line, but from your state and that funny smile you wore while saying it. More confident than half the guys who have tried hitting on her. But even then, you had said it as a joke and she didn’t hold it over your head. Nonetheless, she did end up giving you her phone number and that brought on a whole new world.

Whenever you were off work, not constructing houses on Figure Eight, you were texting her. Kiara would be lying if she said she didn’t feel something stir in her stomach whenever she saw your name pop up on her phone. Or even when she would see you riding your dirt bike whilst she was with the Pogues, who had taken a liking to teasing her for her crush.

Her parents on the other hand didn’t share the same type of enthusiasm. Constantly telling Kiara to not get involved in whatever you were doing and that you were nothing but bad news. And Kiara always told them she would and that she would block your number. But let’s be honest, she wasn’t going to keep that promise.

When she did ask what it was that you did beside drugs, you had confessed, “I sell weed. When I can’t make ends meet, I sell so I can help my parents with bills.” That was enough to sooth Kiara’s worries and only pull her in to your alluring world of mischief and chaos you constantly embarked on.

Soon enough, after a few drinks one random night, the both of you were on each other. Clinging at one another’s bodies for dear life and shedding any article dividing the both of you. And after that, feelings had been laid out.

From there, your guys’ meetings became more frequent and parties were the only areas the both of you could be together and intimate. Besides when you actually spent time with the Pogues who had welcomed you in with open arms. So, one night, when Kiara had gotten drunk from a kegger at the Boneyard, you had driven her home. Let’s just say, that it didn’t exactly go as planned.

“This is me.” You slowly pulled the rusty Buick to a stop and put it into park. “Thanks for the night. School has been a pain in the ass.”

“Same here,” you sighed. “Haven’t been able to get any rest for the past couple days.”

She never understood why you constantly piled responsibilities on to your shoulders. But then again, she didn’t live in the Cut and she didn’t fully understand the troubles that went on over there. Though, she did wish you gave yourself more time to relax. It made her guilty for making you come out to these parties when you had work and school the very next day.

“You should use your sick days.” She grabbed her bag and pulled it up onto her lap. “I’m sure your boss would understand with you having to balance that and school.”

“Yeah, go tell that to Ward.” You laughed. “That fucker doesn’t give a shit about his workers. Especially if they live on the Cut.”

Kiara scoffed. “Tell me about it.”

As she was getting out of the car, the porch light of her house turned on with the front door swinging open. Her father and mother stepping out with looks that weren’t hard for you to see were angered.

Almost seeing exactly what would happen, Kiara glanced back at you. “Have a good night, Y/n.” She leaned over, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. “And don’t piss my dad off, please.”

You gave a smirk and wave as she shut the door and walked up to her parents. They whispered hushed words as you watched. Mike, Kiara’s father, turned his attention to you and quickly made his way down the steps. As horrible as it sounded, the whole schpel from girls dads weren’t new to you. You had dated and had sex with enough dad’s that you knew what to expect at this point. The empty threats, the warnings, the wanna-be intimidating looks. None of them freaked you out or changed how you may feel about that girl.

And Mike wasn’t going to change the fact that the girl you liked, his daughter, wanted to spend more time with you and you with her. The both of you already had feelings for one another and had confessed them a while ago, but you guys wanted to take it slow.

Coming to the passenger window, he leaned down and looked inside. You watched him inspect the vehicle before his gaze landed back on you. “Stay away from my daughter.”

“What if I told you I love her?” You raised a brow, holding back the urge to smirk.

“Well, then I would say I would break your legs with a shovel.”

“I could still marry her.”

Mike hadn’t known how to respond to that and you took it as your chance to drive away. A smirk crossing over your face as you felt your phone buzz in your pocket.

Ki Ki: you are going to get us killed!

“Y/n, hurry.” Kiara giggled as you tumbled through her window. Knocking over a few items from the small desk. Praying that the thud that your body had generated wasn’t loud enough to wake your girlfriend’s parents.

When you got to your feet, your lips were on hers in an instant. “I think we should skip the foreplay, right?” You mused. “Just save that for later. I don’t need your dad following through on his threat.”

“Oh, yeah. Totally has nothing with the both of us being horny tonight, right?” She teased but a gasp leaving her lips when your lips attached to her neck. Biting back a grin as her hand held the back of your head, keeping your lips attached.

It had to be at least 6:13 AM in the morning and the both of you hadn’t been able to sleep well. And the constant dirty talk had led to Kiara suggesting the idea that you come over and sneak inside. Who were you to deny such a perfect offer that stood by everything you were? A risk taker. A delinquent. You were made for this type of shit.

Pulling your shirt from your head, Kiara was quick to run her hands up the expanse of your stomach. Fingers tipping between each ab, completely perplexed by your physic. Your dark skin being the only thing she ever cared about whenever she slept Guess this is what came with working construction for Ward Cameron.

Her hands then grabbed the hem of your shorts and pulled them down to the middle of your thighs. Hand coming around to the back of your neck and kissing you with her other hand palming you through your briefs. A groan slipped out your lips as you leaned forward, far more needier with her hand now on your dick.

Your tongues battled against one another in a sloppy and unorganized kiss. It always felt like bliss when the both of you sought for the same thing. A release from the stress that had been going on and a bit of fun. Because fucking Kiara in her house, at 6:13 AM with her parents only a room over did get you excited a bit. And judging by the eagerness that Kiara showed from over the phone, she shared it.

Having had enough with the foreplay, you pushed your shorts off and grabbed Kiara by the waist and pushed her onto the bed. She lifted her hips as you quickly grabbed her pj shorts off and discarded them across the room, along with your favorite black lingerie panties.

“You look beautiful, Kie.” You whispered, kissing along the inside of her thighs. Biting just hard enough that it made her whine before you licked to ease the pain.

“Y/n, c’mon.” She whined impatiently.

“What do you want?” You murmured, kissing her other thigh with tenderness. Eyes flickering up to the girl who watched each movement eagerly.

“No foreplay. Just fuck me.”

That had you nearly pulling away in surprise, but you decided to oblige. Pulling your boxers off before sitting on your knees on the bed. Her legs spread wide and open for you. You could never get over how beautiful she looked like this. So eager for you to give her exactly what she wanted while you got indulge in her beauty. It wasn’t even the sex that drove every pleasure through your body. It was purely the love that she held in your eyes every time the both of you had ex.

Pulling her panties to the side you angled yourself perfectly with your entrance. With a tiny jab to remind her of what was coming, you thrusted in down to the base of the tiny hairs above your dick. Kiara, lost in the bliss, let out a moan that you had to interrupt with your hand clasping over her mouth.

That’s when you felt a something wet trail across your palm making you recoil. “Did you just fucking lick my hand?” You laughed, still rocking your hips slowly to ease her into the size her pussy had never been able to get used to.

She laughed with a nod as you shook your head and leaned down, kissing her passionately. Grabbing her hands you lifted them above her hand and pinned them with one hand while the other rested underneath her right knee. Keeping it up as you sped up your thrusts.

Kiara’s moans were swallowed by your lips. Making sure she felt every inch of your dick and for you to feel her walls tremble around you. “I love you, Kie.” You slammed your hips into hers, hearing her let out gasps. “I love you so much, baby.”

“Ah- Y/n!” She moaned, her back arching off the bed with those earth shattering thrusts slamming into her g-spot. Her walls clamped around you repeatedly, only egging you on to go harder.

You leaned over her, momentarily stopping your thrusts. But right when Kiara was about to protest, she was silenced by you continued. Mewling at your lips attaching to her jaw. Feeling your hot pants against her skin as you groaned at her walls clenching around you.

It all felt primal to you. The fucking, the intimacy from loving one another, it all had felt different with Kiara. And the way she pleaded for you to go harder, faster, and then moan in thanks for her requests, it was just right. Her quiet whimpers, “I need you.” It hasn’t been anything what you’ve experienced, but it felt so right.

When Kiara had inevitably came with you cumming on her stomach, you had quickly ran to her bathroom and grabbed a dirty towel to clean her off. Smiling when she grabbed you and kissed you. You could get used to this.

But, through all the blissful pleasure and mindless fucking, you hadn’t heard a door swinging open and loud footsteps approaching Kiara’s room until it was too late. The door swung open with Kiara’s mom screaming at the sight of you being naked and her daughter laid out in such a sinful position.

“Mike! Mike, Y/n’s in your daughter room!” Anna yelled as Maddy was quickly slipping on some sweat pants with you grabbing your boxers and shorts, shirt in hand.

“Hurry!” Kiara ushered as you jumped, tying the loop on your shorts.

Glancing up, you saw Mike entering the room with a bat. “Woah, woah, woah!” You yelled, stopping the man.

There was beat of silence with Kiara quickly slipping some shoes on. When she did so, you gave Mike a smile. “Can I marry your daughter?”

“Oh, you sonofabitch!”

You scrambled out the window and quickly climbed down. “I’ll get you, Y/n!” Mike yelled as you hit the ground with a grunt, scrambling to your feet as you looked up at the window.

Giving a mock bow, you smiled cheekily. “Sorry to disturb your morning, Mr. Carrera. Have a good rest of your day.”

The front door to the house swung open with Kiara racing towards you. “Get in!” She laughed as you raced around your car with a grin. Staring the vehicle up with Mike and Anne rushing out the front door, hoping to stop the both of you.

Thankfully, you sped out the area, tires squealing loudly with yours and Kiara’s laughter filling the early morning air.

He was surely going to break your legs now.

The ocean waves crashed loudly with your eyes fluttering open. Sniffling as you looked down at Kiara’s body laying against yours. Chest resting yours with her hands holding tightly onto you.

Since the both of you escaped her parents, you guys decided to spend the rest of the morning somewhere relaxing. It wasn’t often either of you got to do this unless Kiara was able to lie to her parents and say she was sleeping over at the Chateau when she was actually staying at your place.

A buzzing sound grew your attention and you groaned, reaching to the cup holder and finding Kiara’s parents to be blowing up her phone. A grin formed on your lips at some of the threatening texts that Mike had sent whilst Anne’s were far more worried.

Oh, the life you lived loving a girl, who you were willing to die to be around and be with.

[dabilove27]

Paring: Shuji Hanma x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (MDNI)

Word Count: 5.9K

Warnings: Dark content,  All characters depicted 18+, Hanma is a jerk, a hint of Yandere, noncon, nonconsensual somnophilia, explicit sexual content, oral (F!receiving), unprotected sex, cursing, reader is a bit spoiled, drugging, pet names (love, babe, baby, little one), smoking, alcohol. Please let me know if I missed any!

Summary: After ten dates Hanma is sick of waiting for his prize. His chase is almost done and he's about to devour you.

a/n: hello hello! Thank you for taking the time to read! This is my submission for downtown-roppongi's dine and dash collab! Check out the masterlist! Thank you so much to my wife @lady-lunaaa for reading this through and cheering me on! love you! PLEASE read the warnings before continuing to read!

Ten. This is the tenth fucking date Hanma is taking you on. And you haven't let him anywhere near the bedroom. And while he liked taking his time, savoring his prize once he finally succeeded–Shuji Hanma was not a patient man.

He thought three dates was a bit excessive, and you still hadn't even given him the satisfaction of a kiss. But you kept saying yes every time he asked you out, so you had to be into him somewhat, right? 

Even if you weren't into him, he decided from that very first moment that you were his, and he would have you, no matter how hard he had to try. Maybe it's because you made him chase so much. Maybe that was the reason he couldn’t tear himself away from you. Whereas in the past, he would've dropped a girl by now if she wasn't putting out yet. Call him a prick, a jerk, an asshole, call him whatever you want, but he wasn't going to apologize for enjoying himself.  And he knew–just fucking knew he had to have you the moment he saw you in that cafe

It had been a light spring day when he encountered you in that little coffee shop that he decided to visit to get a pick-me-up after a long night out. It was typical and predictable like any other shop–slow jazzy music wafting from the speakers, the smell of freshly brewed coffee covering every inch, and young baristas hustling to make drinks. But then, like a deer in headlights, he came to a complete stop when he saw you, curled up on one of the oversized lounge chairs, your nose pressed into a book. 

He couldn't help taking every inch of you in, though. Beautiful legs curled up beneath you. His mind instantly traveled to how they would feel if wrapped around his hips. His eyes raked to the tiny white shorts that rode up your thighs from how you were sitting, showing more skin than you probably intended. A light pink t-shirt fit comfortably on you, but he wished you wore something more revealing so he could flood his imagination with every aspect of you.

At that moment, he knew he had to have you. The thought of you lying beneath him blissed-out, soft lips open in a pant, infiltrated every part of his mind. And so, without hesitation, he approached you–like a predator stalking his prey. You didn't even snap away from your reading until he was towering above you and cleared his throat.

The way your eyes darted up to him, all doe-eyed and shocked out of the little world you were in, set every nerve inside him on fire. You were perfect, every single bit of you. 

Hanma fell instantly into a persona he pulled off well, charming, interested, and funny. A little bit of small talk, some compliments, and a joke later, he had your number and promised he would text you to meet up for coffee sometime. 

He left that date feeling high and like he was on top of the world. But he didn't expect how hard you would make him work to achieve all those dirty fantasies running through his brain. 

And that's how he ended up here, on date number ten. He left every date with blue balls. Images of you haunted his thoughts every night– your pouty lips choking on his cock or how tight your cunt would clench around him when he finally made you cum for him. The nightly images were driving him mad. He wanted you so bad, there was something about you that he couldn't just give up. He had to taste you first. 

So far, he's suffered through nine excruciating dates with only as much as a peck on the cheek for his troubles. He had already decided by the end of this date it was happening. No wasn't an answer he would accept by the night's end.

Hanma pulled out all the stops to seal the deal, booking a room for you in a prestigious hotel in Tokyo with a renowned restaurant. Both filled with rave reviews. It had cost him a pretty penny, but he had to have you. He couldn't spend another night fucking his fist pretending it was you. So whether you liked it or not, you were spending the night with him.

Hanma waited in front of your apartment building; as the afternoon set into early evening, the sky was filled with light oranges and yellows. You never let him in your apartment either, a thought that enraged him if he spent too long focusing on it. He had spent a lot of money and time on you over the past dates; the least you could do was invite him up. But you never did, always laughing nervously and telling him your roommate wouldn't appreciate an unannounced guest.

So that's why he chose a hotel; because he knew you wanted this, he was sure. He could see it in your coy smile and how your hand traced over his tattoos. You wouldn't keep saying yes to dates if you didn't want this. Right?

Hanma is brought out of his thoughts by the absolutely sinful image of you slowly stepping down the stairs from your apartment. And this, your outfit just confirms how much you want him to ravish every inch of you. You wouldn't wear that if you didn't want him to look and lust after you. It's a tiny piece of blue fabric that shouldn't even be called a dress because of the way it lays on your body. The deep V gives an expansive view of your cleavage that Hanma wishes was a view only for himself and not one you were going to show in public. The bottom of the dress hits high on your thighs; it would be a whole show if you had to bend over. And paired with matching tall blue heels, you looked like complete and utter sex personified. 

Hanma feels blood rush to his groin as he takes you in. Just like every single date, you never hesitated to show skin–always flaunting your curves. He just didn't understand why you wouldn't let him in, wouldn't let him have a taste of what you were teasing. He felt like a child being punished in a candy shop.  

But he doesn't dwell on that too long; if he does, the anger will eat him alive, and he needs to try and make this night go as smoothly as possible. So he plasters on a smile and turns on the charm. Cooing in a sweet, sultry tone telling you how beautiful you are. He doesn't miss the way you shy away, avoiding eye contact, a nervous chuckle–it's so cute it sends another rush of blood to his dick. It was only a matter of time until he had you writhing under him, that shy look dissolved into pleasure as he pounds into your tight cunt. Hanma has to snap himself away from those thoughts quickly. They would only distract him from actually achieving his goal.

He wanted to try and do this the right way, the sensible way, before resorting to plan b. You gingerly take his arm, and he's caught up again in the feel of your soft skin and the clean but light smell of you. You drive him fucking insane. It takes every ounce of control to not move a hand to grip your ass as he opens the passenger door to his car and watches you slide in, and more of your skin peeks out from under your dress. 

The drive to the hotel is calm and boring by Hanma's standards. The two of you talk about your week. You bring up how some asshole at your job tried to ask you on a date without even bothering to pull his eyes away from your breasts. Hanma can't blame the poor sap though you've got a fantastic pair of tits. But it sends a surge of rage through him thinking about another man even laying eyes on you. His hands grip the steering wheel tighter at the thought. Whether you knew it or not, you were his. And he would decide when to let you go.                            

The two of you arrive at the sprawling hotel in the heart of Tokyo. Hanma quickly pulls his car up to the hotel and stops in front of the valet booth. He doesn't miss how the young man attending the booth can’t rip his eyes away from you as he opens your door to let you out. He would've knocked the kid on his ass if he wasn't trying to impress you. 

But instead, he takes a deep breath and tries to chase away those thoughts. His golden eyes  watch you like a hawk, in awe of your beauty. You’re graceful even in those heels as you stare in awe at the immaculate entry way. The marble accents, the glass doors, and the high ceiling of the entrance to the hotel screams high class. 

"You didn't tell me we were coming to a hotel, Shuji," you turn to him, your voice coy and a playful smile across your face. 

Hanma knew very well that you liked to be spoiled. Almost every date you showed excitement and giddiness when he bought you the best wine off the menu or took you to the most expensive destinations. You were a spoiled brat, but that didn't stop him from pursuing you; it made him want you more. He couldn't wait until he had that brat begging for his cock, to know who had control of this relationship. 

"They have a restaurant on the thirty-first floor, my love," He responds sweetly. He knew what you were alluding to in your earlier question; you wanted to be wined and dined but would never say that aloud. But you would surely throw a fit if that didn’t happen. Hanma places one of his large hands on the small of your back, "Only the best for you." 

You let out a little squeak as he guides you to the pristine elevator, complete with a window to watch the view of Tokyo as you ascend. The two of you step in and take the long ride up to the floor with the restaurant. As the elevator ascends you lean forward to gaze outside the window, standing close enough to him that your ass brushes against the front of his black dress pants. And all he wants to do is take you to that room he had checked into earlier today and fuck your brains out. You had to know, right? You had to know your ass was rubbing against his dick. You weren't stupid, but fuck, you were a tease. And it was driving him up the goddamn wall. 

Hanma lets out a thankful sigh of relief when the elevator lets out a little ding indicating it's reached its destination. One more moment with you pressed against him, and there would be no dinner. He didn’t care anymore, he would take you right there, pressed up against the glass for all of Tokyo to see.

But that had to wait until after giving you an extravagant dinner; he would get his reward, just a bit longer, and every moment would be worth it. The two of you sauntered into the restaurant; the table that he had already booked sat completely made up in the private dining area next to a large window where you could look across the skyline. He would have never done this for any other date, none of them had ever caught his interest long enough; but there was something about you that just kept calling to him. He kept chalking it up to the chase, you always made him chase you like no other had before.

Dinner goes off without a hitch like most of your dates do. The two of you feast on fresh sushi and make idle chatter. You've drunk a fair amount of wine, and he can tell you’re teetering on that tipsy edge. Your eyes are lidded, and a lazy smile is permanently plastered on your face. Hanma hopes that will make you more willing for tonight's activities, he lets you order as much wine as you want to help move things along. Everything about this place, the food, the drinks, the price tag he picked with you in mind. Anything to get you to say yes to his tenth attempt to bed you. 

He watches like a wolf to an unsuspecting lamb as you finish your last bite of sushi. His eyes follow the swallow of your slender throat, and he feels his mouth start to water at all those things he could do with your throat. 

"This was so good, Shuji! We should come here again!" You chirp as you daintily tap the sides of your lips with the black linen napkin.

Hanma doesn't fucking care that you want to come here again; all he wants is to lay tangled in the soft thread count of the hotel sheets with you. But he had to play this carefully, had to make sure you were in the best mood possible. "I'm glad you enjoyed it, babe," he takes a breath before extending his offer, knowing that if you said no, he was moving forward with his alternative plan. "I booked us a room here tonight as an extra surprise for you." He folds his hand under his chin and smiles at you, watching your movements carefully, waiting for your response. 

And he knows that the moment your face falls from that happy tipsy face to a frown, that you’re about to turn him down. He can feel the anger bubble up before you even open your mouth. He can't stop the involuntary way his tongue moves out to wet his lips, a nervous gesture he’s had since childhood.

"Ohhh Shuji, I'm exhausted; I'm sorry, you should try to get your money back!" Your words are slurred from the alcohol as you try to console him; he knows you're being genuine; you probably are really sorry, but all he can hear is the denial, the tenth denial. After all the teasing and everything he’s done for you to make sure this night is perfect, you still turn him down. What a fucking insult. 

 He reels in that anger quickly and covers his disappointment with a happy mask "Sure, babe, why don't you head to the bathroom while I call the front desk," he keeps his voice even as he watches you nod and tells him that's a good idea. You wobble slightly on your way to the back of the restaurant where the bathrooms are located, and he knows it will be a bit until you return with you being that inebriated. 

He has to act quickly, though, before you come back. Sliding his hand into the pocket of his suit jacket he produces a tiny vial of clear liquid. Hanma really hated this was the way it had to go; he wanted you willing and pliant beneath him, but this would have to do because he wasn't taking you on another date, not until he got what he rightfully deserved. It was time for you to chase him now. He swiftly removes the little rubber cap, drops the contents into your mostly untouched water, and then stirs it in with your straw. 

He is placing the vile back in his suit pocket when you arrive back at the table. "They haven't brought the check yet?" you ask, a bit of annoyance in your voice as you take your seat. 

"Not yet, my love. Why don't you have some water?" His voice is steady and calm, as his eyes hold your gaze.

You smile at him, reaching out to pick up the glass. It's cool and wet from the condensation in your palm but feels good against your heated skin. The alcohol has made you warmer, so you welcome the cool liquid as you greedily sip it through your straw. You were thirstier than you had initially thought because, within a few seconds, all that was left were a few halves of melted ice cubes sitting at the bottom of the glass. 

Hanma watches as you finish the glass and then set it back on the table with a tiny clink. Next step is to get you to the hotel room, luckily he had already planned each step down to the smallest detail. He knew you'd follow him up like a little puppy when he tells you he is going to grab his things and check out now if they weren’t going to stay the night. "It would be a pain to battle traffic here again," he says calmly as he helps you out of your chair. You slur an agreement at him as you try to get up.

The drug starts to affect you as you sway into his hold. It won't be long until you can't keep your eyes open. Hanma wraps an arm around your waist, the fabric of your dress brushing against his skin. He can't wait to get it off you and see every inch of you. Just a little while longer and then all of you will be his. But he has to make it to the room with you upwards so he doesn’t raise suspicion.  

He’s able to pass the two of you as a loving couple eager to maintain physical contact with each other as he walks with you out of the restaurant. He flashes a smile at the unsuspecting waitress and continues to gently walk you forward until the two of you reach the elevator.

His adrenaline has started pumping through his veins, he presses the up button a few times, smooth marble cool against his finger. Luckily for him, no one else was on the elevator when it dinged to let them know it had arrived. He was sure he could explain that you weren’t feeling well but he’s glad he didn’t have to go through the trouble.  

He guides you gently into the elevator, careful not to let you stumble in your too-tall heels. Your warm, soft skin is pressed against his side as you struggle to keep your eyes open. "Shuji, I'm tired," you murmur, your eyes closed for a fraction of a second as you wobble and then snap open only for them to slowly start sinking again. 

"I know, baby, I know," he comforts you while rubbing one of his tattooed hands up and down your back. Hanma supposes he should feel guilty, trying to comfort you when he was about to do the opposite once he had you in that hotel room. But the ding of the elevator announcing your arrival snaps him out of his thoughts. Besides he had already treated you well ten times now. You can hardly hold up your weight at this point, the drug coursing through your body, pulling you deeper and deeper to unconsciousness. 

Hanma has to hold his grip tightly on your hip so that you don't fall face-first into the ground. He thanks whatever deities are out there that the long hallway is empty as he pulls the key card from his pocket and waves it against the scanner on the door. The door lets out a little beep, and the lock coming undone penetrates the hallway's silence. 

It's a delicate dance trying to gently move you through the doorway without completely letting go of your loose body. The door almost catches one of his legs between it and the frame, but he maneuvers quickly at the last second to avoid a nasty bruise.

The hotel room is standard, with a bathroom at the front and a short hallway leading to a king-sized bed, two night tables nestled on either side, a desk against the wall under a large mirror, and a set of drawers directly across from the bed. He lowers you slowly to the bed, and you fall into the white soft down-comforter without any resistance. Your body is like gelatin now, limbs wobbly and feeling as if they are miles away. Hanma heads into the bathroom to relieve himself; now that he's confident you aren't going anywhere. 

A heaviness settles over you, and you can't keep your eyes open for a moment longer. Maybe if you just close them for a moment, you'll feel better. That's the last thought you have before drifting off into a deep drug-induced sleep. A few moments later, Hanma emerges from the ensuite bathroom to find your sleeping form sprawled along the bed. 

His eyes wash over your curves, and he can't believe he's about to get precisely what he's been waiting for for so long. The anticipation in the room is palpable. Your dress had ridden even higher on your thighs, your lacy red thong peeking out below. Even more, evidence to show how badly you truly wanted this. 

Hanma gently approaches your sleeping form and allows himself to touch your soft skin. Fingers graze the smooth skin of your cheeks. Gingerly he picks up one of your limp hands and watches as it drops like lead once he lets go. 

A sigh of relief comes from knowing you are knocked out; he knew you'd be pissed if you woke up and saw him so close and yourself in such a disheveled state. But for now you were all his, he didn’t have to worry about you waking up anytime soon.

This time, a little less gently, he pulls your limp body to the top of the bed and places your head on the plush pillows. He is able to access every part of you from this angle and doesn’t have to worry about your body falling off of the bed. 

His eyes gloss over your plump lips, spread just slightly, and he can't stop himself from placing a soft kiss on them. The two of you had had quick kisses before but never anything intimate like this. Your lipstick was already smudged from eating, but his kiss left it even more of a mess, and he knew its evidence would probably be staining his own lips. He can't stop his palms from tracing your curves. He's only had quick touches before this, never enough time to fully appreciate every part of your body. To fully indulge in all of you. 

But your soft lips silently call him again, and he can't stop himself from placing more kisses on them. The kisses become rougher as he goes on, his excitement getting the best of him as he cups your jaw in one of his large hands–so fragile beneath his fingers. His tongue snakes its way into your mouth while his hand holds your jaw, so you don't accidentally bite him in your sleep. You taste like the wine from dinner and something he can't explain that's so specifically you. God, he could get drunk on just the taste of you.

Anticipation of what's to come rises up inside of him, and he pulls away from the kiss to figure out how he’s going to take your dress off. Impatience gets the best of him, and he ends up tearing the fabric right down the middle where the V was resting perfectly between your beautiful breasts. 

Laying before him in the ruined outfit, he can't help but feel like you're his trophy, his prize for trying so hard; for treating you so well, perfectly splayed out and ready for the taking. A ferocious need to take you overcomes him, and he finds himself attacking your neck with harsh bites and sucks. He wants you to wake up, see the bruises, and know that you fully submitted to him even if that wasn't your plan. 

Hanma continued his journey down your body, leaving little love marks as he went along. He finally reaches your breasts, always covered before, but always taunting him with glimpses of your cleavage. But now, seeing them free of their confines, nipples pert due to the cold air in the room. They were beyond perfect, everything he could have imagined and more. After taking a moment to truly admire how stunning your body was, he latches onto one of your breasts, pulling your nipple into his mouth as he sucks on it. His other hand is busy with your other breast, pinching and pulling at your hardened nipple. Under him, you let out little moans and whines. The sounds he had only been able to imagine up until now were like a symphony to his ears. 

Hanma didn't want to spend forever on your breasts, even though he knew he could. After giving them ample attention, he sits back; a sense of pride flows through him as he takes in each little mark adorning your skin. You look even more beautiful to him all marked up. He leans down to place another chaste kiss on your lips before moving to your panties. 

The sense of satisfaction surges through him when he sees how they cling to your folds, a dark wet spot already soaking through. The sight gave him a high better than any drug.   

"I knew you wanted this from the very start, you acted all coy but look at you now, soaking wet, and I've hardly touched you," his lustful voice fills the room's silence. "But fuck, I wish you were awake to experience every part of this." 

You let out a quiet moan as his hand dips below your thong and circles your aching clit. He knows you were waiting for him to finally reach this part of you. His golden eyes watch every movement of your face, eyes screwed shut and little whimpers coming from your parted kiss-swollen lips. He can’t help himself; he was ravenous for another taste of you as he captures your lips in a heated kiss.

His fingers move faster on your swollen little bud, but he restrains himself before you fall over the edge. He has other places he wants you to cum. Another soft whine comes from your lips as he pulls his fingers away. 

"My needy little one, don't you worry. There's more to come."

Hanma reaches down and pulls off your soaked thong, mouth-watering when he feels how wet they are. His large tattooed hands grip the soft skin of your thighs as he coaxes your legs apart. Settling your knees on his shoulder he presses his body against yours.

And like a starved man, he dives face first into your core unabashedly. The little whines and mewls falling from your lips only push him forward. 

The taste of you is better than he ever could have dreamed. He would stay here forever between your thighs, tongue lapping at your juices. But he was limited on time; maybe he could spend a day in bed with you in the future–eating you out until you screamed. One of his large hands was on your hip, and he was delighted as he felt you wriggle beneath his palm with every long lick.   

He could tell that you wanted more of him; you wanted all of him.

Continued mewls of pleasure spill from your lips, an angel singing to him. The hand that wasn't on your hip squeezes tightly to your thigh, leaving finger imprints in their wake. His other hand moved from your writhing hips to the little bundle of nerves aching for his touch. He rubs you in tight, fast circles as he continues to fuck you with his tongue. 

Hanma knows your orgasm was approaching quickly by the way you were moving more desperately below him, thighs clenching around his head. In a split second, he decides that he wants to make you cum on his tongue. His hand moves quickly away from your clit and pulls your other thigh away from his head as he fills you with his tongue. And all at once, you’re quivering, shaking beneath him. He continues to lap at you languidly as your juices cover his tongue. Golden eyes watch your expression, taking in every change so that he can commit it to memory. Your body goes limp below him again, but he's absolutely high on your taste and can't stop himself from lapping more of you up.   

After his fill, he pushes himself off the bed to take all of you in. Your face is serene now as you lay in post-orgasmic slumber, but your body is littered with marks from his fingerprints, hickeys, and bite marks that send a sense of satisfaction through him. But the best part of evidence that was left on you was your soaked cunt, wetness glimmering in the room's low light. 

The sight causes more blood to rush straight to his dick, already aching to be freed. He had to have you now. He quickly pulls off his dress shirt and unbuttons his slacks. Left in only his underwear, he gives you another kiss, short but he still manages to press his tongue into your mouth, hoping that you’ll be able to taste yourself when you wake up. His member is aching to be freed from its confines, as he schucks off his black underwear.

He runs two long fingers across your glistening slit to collect some of your essence. Hanma was obsessed with the idea of you tasting yourself when you woke up and he wants to make sure it happens. 

Those fingers work their way into your mouth to coat your tongue with the transferred juices. Hanma is smiling sadistically above you as he shoves the digits deeper into your warm mouth. But he needed to get on to the main event.  

Every moment he feels himself getting harder, the tip of his member an angry red color. He situates himself between your thighs, slowly rutting against your wet lower lips. A moan escapes him as his tip meets the heat of you. Opening your lips with two of his fingers, he swears he could orgasm on sight, seeing how your hole clenches around nothing. Hanma situates you by slinging your ankles over his broad shoulders.     

Every moment had led up to this. Where Hanma would finally get his prize after waiting so long, after treating you so well, and after chasing so hard. He finally is able to fully sink into your warm heat, and it was more heavenly than he could ever have imagined. The sound escaping from his lips was gruff, coming from deep in his chest. You were warmer, softer, and wetter than any of his many fantasies. He couldn't stop his head dropping to your shoulder from the overwhelming feeling of it all, his black and blonde bangs brushing your skin.

He felt your unconscious body clench around his member, urging him to move again. After a few gentle thrusts, he builds up a punishing rhythm, each movement harder and faster than the last.

Nothing he has ever seen compares to the beauty of how you look being fucked. Tits bouncing in time with Hanma's thrusts, parted lips, letting out sounds little whimpers, and your face caught between a mix of serene and pain. God, he wishes he thought to record you, to have this in his possession forever. But maybe he would have that in the future when you come crawling back to him.  

He could tell that both of you were close, though; his rhythm became lax with each tighter clench from your pussy. But he wants to feel the two of you climax simultaneously, to feel you milking his leaking cock as it releases into your womb.    

He had to get deeper, and had to feel you even more. Hanma pushes your legs to your chest as a soft grunt falls from your lips and he continues to slam into you. With this new position, the tip of his cock kisses your cervix with each thrust.

Your tight heat is wrapped around him, sucking him back in greedily. He knows you’re just at the tipping point, and he brings his gaze back to your face to see your expression when you orgasm. "Come on, baby, cum for me," He growls out, pushing as deep as he possibly could.

And like the good girl you were, you cum hard, snapping that tight coil inside you and bringing a wave of pleasure crashing behind it. 

Hanma continues to fuck you through your orgasm, loving how your pussy clenchs and holds onto his cock. And not long after, he’s jumping off that ledge of pleasure, hot thick spurts of cum painting your plush walls. Hanma is panting heavily, trying to come down from his high. 

No sex that he had ever had before compared to this. You were perfect for him. Made for him. And this only proved it even more. The way you held onto him and milked him, there’s no way you were meant for anyone else. He’s reluctant to leave your glorious heat but knows he has to. Pulling with a hiss but he’s delighted to see the mixture of cum seeping out of your aching hole. He leans up to give you one last quick kiss, a goodbye for now. He scribbles a quick note on the hotel notepad on the nightstand–call me adorned with a little heart.  

Still going off of his high, he moves you under the comforter and begins to gather his clothes. Slowly dressing, he tucks himself back into his boxers and slips on his dress pants. And finally, puts his dress shirt back on before going to the bathroom to run his hand through his post-sex hair and fix it before leaving the room.

He looks at your slumbering body before stepping out the hotel room door and slipping the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the handle. Like a cat who had just caught a mouse, he struts proudly towards the elevators. He can't stop thinking about your perfect body the whole ride down. The little sounds that graced his ears when you came under him ring in his ears. 

The loud ding announcing his arrival on the ground floor snaps his mind out of the thoughts that weigh heavily in his mind. But he doesn't let his composure slip as he waltzes out the glass entrance doors and hands his valet ticket to the young boy still working the counter. 

As he waits, he pulls out the small rectangular pack in his pocket and a single slim stick–his other vice, besides you. He lights it effortlessly and takes a long drag, savoring the nicotine hit. As his car pulls up and the keys are given to him, he allows himself one last glance to the tall hotel, wondering when you’ll wake up and how long it will take you to reach out. A thrill rushes him at the thought, at you begging for him to come to you this time. Let the real chase begin. Is the last thing that crosses his mind as he speeds back home.

Thanks for reading!

[kingexpl0sionmurder]

Body Electric - Kaminari Denki - Smut

Author: @kingexpl0sionmurder Pairing: Kaminari Denki/F!Reader Rating: 18+ (contains smut) Words: 5,491 Warnings: Sex work (Cam boy/girl), Quirkless AU, Aged-up Adult characters (someone is in grad school! wow!), mentions of masturbation (both male and female), mentions of casual ShinKami, established KiriBaku, Idk they are all just really sexually liberated and don’t care about watching each other cum. Is that voyeurism? I’m bad at tagging things. Title taken from a Lana Del Rey song. AN: Another BNHarem collab piece! The theme was sex work, and I have wanted to do a camboy Denki for a long time so here we go. This was really smutty in my head but Denki makes me soft and it turned out really cute in the end, I’m sorry? He’s such a dork I feel like any sexual encounter with him would just turn out like this in some way, idk.  Thanks to @unbreakablekiribaku​ and @sailorsero​ as usual for being supportive of me. Happy birthday to @lady-bakuhoe and @burnedbyshoto​ 🎂🎂 There is no one else I would rather be birthday triplets with!

Please check out the Collab Masterlist: HERE Look 👀 at My Masterlist: HERE Buy me a Kofi if you’re scared of clowns too: HERE

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Sighing, you sat up on your elbows, squinting at the chat on the screen, willing your heart to stop pounding and your breath to even out. The donations were pouring in, the chat moving so fast you couldn’t even read it. “Alright, lovelies, I hope you enjoyed that. Be right back and we’ll chat a little bit, okay?”

Donations popped up, the chat slowing a little as the clients who only came to jerk off to you left, leaving those who considered themselves true fans. You stood and made your way to the bathroom to pee, rinsing your toy off in the sink and washing your hands. You went back to your room, pulling on a hoodie and settling in front of the screen again.

“Alright, I’m back! I have some time for a few questions and then I have to go for the night. Let me see what we got!” You scanned the chat, ignoring the normal inappropriate questions. Mindfucker:  Do you know who Chargebolt is? Cause I heard he watches your stream.

Your heart, which had finally slowed to a normal rhythm, picked up again. You most definitely knew who Chargebolt was. You gave him a good amount of money from your donations when you watched his cam shows yourself. “I do actually, he’s pretty popular on here, isn’t he?” You sat back a little, furrowing your brows. “How do you know he watches me?”

RedDaddy: He did a Q&A and mentioned your channel! Told everyone to check you out.

You recognized the names of the viewers and knew they were also regulars on Chargebolt’s streams as well, so you believed them. Chargebolt was gorgeous and funny, just your type. The knowledge that he was interested in you enough to watch you get off on camera was flattering. You hoped your blush wasn’t showing on your face. 

“I’m surprised he knows who I am!” You had missed the last Q&A he’d done, since it hadn’t been on his normal streaming day, and you’d been stuck at work late. Leaning forward again, you bit your lip, looking into the camera from under your lashes. “Can I tell you guys a secret? I watch him, too. Why do you think I never do shows on Thursdays? That’s Chargebolt day.” With a wink you sat back, trying to will the blush from your cheeks. Mindfucker: I knew it! I bet he’s watching right now. You smiled, shrugging. “I hope he enjoyed the show, then!” You tried to hold it together, suppressing the urge to burst into a fit of giggles at the thought, answering a few more silly questions from your regulars, before signing off for the night, promising to be back again the following week.

You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding, leaning your head back and groaning. It was wild that the guy whose cam shows you watched on the regular, the one who had inspired you to start your own, who you thought of half the time when you were filming yourself getting off on camera for strangers, knew who you were and was one of your viewers. 

It brought you down a whole rabbit hole for a second, wondering if he got off on you getting off. Why else would he watch? Did he ever donate? You assumed he had a secondary account so you wouldn’t know it was him even if you tried to look at your past viewers, just like you had a secret account so you could watch him as well. 

Cracking your eyes open, you clicked to view the donation tallies for the evening. You’d made enough to pay the rent on your apartment for the month in just one night. Sometimes you wondered how you ever managed to survive before you started doing this. It was meant to be a temporary side job, but you’d been running this cam channel under the screen name Neko for over six months, and you had clawed your way out of debt in such a short time, it didn’t make sense for you to stop.

You viewed a few more visitor stats with interest, before logging off the computer and shutting the laptop. You had to get to sleep for your real job in the morning, so you figured it was time for bed, pushing thoughts of Chargebolt to the back of your mind for now.

It wasn’t until later when you were lying down to sleep, that you thought of him again. Your eyes closed as you ran through a scenario in your head, wondering if he would mention you on Thursday, and what would come of all this? You had noticed your viewer numbers had spiked that day, so it was definitely beneficial that you’d caught his eye. You just weren’t sure what would happen next.

--

Denki was grinning into the camera, wiping the cum off of his abs with the towel he kept beside him, his chest and cheeks flushed pink. He adjusted in his chair, tugging the toy out of his hole and chucking it to the side, pulling his boxers back up over his softening cock. “I hope it was as good for you as it was for me, babes.” 

He chuckled at the comments flooding the chat as he reached for his water and took a sip. 

Tapeman: As always, you never disappoint me, Chargebolt.

“Hey thanks, Tapeman! I appreciate you always coming to hang out...get it? Coming?”

Mindfucker: Ridiculous.

“Aw, you love me, Mindfucker.” He winked at the camera. “So, did you guys enjoy my Q&A the other day?”

The chat filled with praise, making him grin. He loved to talk to his fans, and sometimes they had some great questions for him. He knew a lot of people just watched him as a way to get off, but he liked to give a little piece of himself to them because he knew that most of the people who watched were probably lonely, and he wanted to help with that in some way. He kept things laid back, joking and laughing with his viewers before and after the show, taking requests and doing his best to remember some of the regulars. Some of the few who had been with him from the beginning he’d made into moderators to help with keeping things somewhat orderly in the chat. Some of them he actually knew in real life, like his roommate Hitoshi, who used the alias Mindfucker.

Mindfucker: So are we going to talk about Neko? Denki’s eyebrows rose. “Oh, you mean the stream the other day? It was…” He made the appropriate motion as he said it. “Chef’s kiss, immaculate. She’s so beautiful…” Trailing off, he let himself think back to the way your chest heaved and the face you made when you came. “I would do anything for her, man.”

RedDaddy: Dude, I agree! She’s also super sweet, like, the total package.

Sighing, he leaned his elbow on the desk, his cheek resting on his palm. “I am a simp, my guy.” He sat up, squinting at the chat. “She said she watches, right? Is she here right now?” He scanned the names of the viewers, frowning. “She probably has a second account. Well, if you’re here, Neko, you should hit me up. I read all of my DM’s okay?” He grinned, winking again. “Alright, I have to go feed the cats so I’m outie 5000, thanks for hanging out and I’ll see you guys next week!”

He said his goodbyes, ending the stream and sighing. He wiped off his toy with the towel and clicked through his stats for the day, smiling at some of the comments that came with the donations. Hitoshi came into his room a few minutes later, holding one of the cats, an orange tabby named Miso, in his arms. “I fed them, you don’t have to.”

Was it weird that his roommate watched him fuck himself on toys and jerk off on the internet on a weekly basis? Nope. Denki had forgone all sense of modesty when it came to sex a long time ago, and Hitoshi was the same. It helped that they fucked around on occasion, best friends who got lonely and lived together sometimes did that, he guessed. Or maybe they were weird. It was whatever, he didn’t like to think about it too much. 

“What would I do without you, Toshi?”

“Kill the cats, probably.” He deadpanned, leaning in the doorway. “Burn all the toast you try to make, buy the wrong peanut butter, eat Cheese-Itz for breakfast every day, forget to pay the cable bill.” He raised his eyebrows. “I can keep going.”

“Fuck off, I got the all-natural peanut butter once, it was an accident!” Denki threw his soiled towel into the laundry basket by the closet and picked up the toy he’d used, waving it around a bit. “Did you enjoy the stream?”

Hitoshi snorted, eyeing the dildo warily. “I didn’t really watch, I had my eye on the chat. I was looking for Neko.”

“Man, I can’t believe she’s a fan!” He waved the dildo some more, watching as it jiggled. “I would let her do unspeakable things to me.”

“Look out, your sub is showing, Denki.” Hitoshi teased. “But I agree, she’s pretty great. I wonder if she’ll ever do private shows.” Pausing to scritch Miso behind the ears, he continued. “I’m sure they’d be in high demand.”

Denki stood, pointing at Hitoshi with the dildo. He really needed to put it down somewhere and stop brandishing it around like a sword. “Don’t even, I’d spend all my money on that girl.” 

“I know you would.” He chuckled. “I did try to go through the usernames and see if I could find out who she could be, but I didn’t have any luck.”

“It’s okay! I’m leaving it up to fate now, man. If the universe wants us to know each other, we will.” He stuck his thumb towards the ensuite. “I’m going to wash my ass and then we can play Among Us if you want.”

Hitoshi, completely unphased as usual, nodded. “I’ll get a team together. Check the discord when you get out.”

Humming, Denki made his way to the bathroom, picking up his phone on the way. It buzzed as he closed the door, and he glanced down to see he had a message from his other moderator and friend, Eijirou, aka RedDaddy. Tossing the dildo in the sink, he looked down at the screen and opened the message.

Eiji: No luck on finding Neko on the stream, but she said she never misses a Thursday, so I bet she was there.

Denki: Thanks for keeping an eye out, man. I appreciate you. Among us in 30?

Eiji: Bet. I’ll ask Kats to play too.

--

Your next stream day had you feeling nervous. Chargebolt had talked directly at you on his last stream, asking you to slide into his DMs, and you had yet to take him up on it. You didn’t know what you were so scared of, Chargebolt was a nice guy. You chalked it up to the fear of the unknown. If you sent him a message, what would you even say? ‘Hey dude, nice cock?’ It was bound to be a disaster.

Pushing your nerves back down, you made sure you were ready for your stream, excited for the news you were about to drop on your viewers. You were needing a little extra cash due to some unfortunate car trouble, and you’d figured out a way to make up what you needed in record time.

“Hey everyone, welcome!” You smiled at the camera, waving your fingers. “Thanks for coming! I see a lot of familiar names here tonight. Hi Mindfucker, Dynamight, RedDaddy, Tapeman, LightningMcQueen!”

LightningMcQueen: Hey, beautiful! I’ve been looking forward to this all week.

Dynamight: Chill out, McQueen, you look desperate.

RedDaddy: Be nice, Dynamight. Hi, Neko!

Dynamight: Fuck off, Shittyhair.

Mindfucker: How’s your cat, Neko?

“Be good, Dynamight. You’re lucky I know you don’t mean that!” You giggled at the antics of your regulars, smiling at the question about your cat. “Ichigo is doing good, Mindfucker, thanks for asking! I’ll bring her on camera after the show if you want to say hi!”

Minfucker just sent a cat emoji and you laughed, shaking your head. “I’m beginning to think that you’re just here for Ichigo and not me.”

The chat went crazy with people denying it, telling you how much they loved watching you every week. You lit up, feeling more excited about your news.

“So I have something I want to discuss before we get started today. I’ve decided I want to try out doing some private shows, so I’m going to be offering up a few spots. I’m going to give some of my longest and most frequent supporters a shot first, and if all goes well, then I’ll open them up to the rest of you! I’ll be adding a signup link at the bottom of my page after tonight’s stream, so if you’re interested you can apply and I’ll pick a few of you and we’ll work out a schedule! How does that sound?”

Dynamight: McQueen already has his credit card ready I bet.

“Aw, you don’t want to play with me, Dynamight?” You teased, giving the camera your best pout.

Dynamight: You couldn’t handle me, Princess.

LightningMcQueen: Hush. You’re a bottom, Dyna.

Dynamight: Die you fucking extra.

LightningMcQueen: Love you too, blasty.

“I was going to let you pick the toy today, Dynamight, but if you can’t behave then I’m just going to have to let someone else have a turn.” You gave the camera a disapproving look, frowning. You’d picked up that these guys were friends, so you knew they were just messing with each other.

A donation popped up from Dynamight with a comment attached. 

Let McQueen choose this time, babe.

“It looks like Dynamight is going to let you choose, McQueen. Which one?” You pulled over the box you kept your toys in and showed it to the camera. “Pick a color.”

LightningMcQueen: Yellow

You pulled the yellow silicone out of the box and showed it to the chat, smirking. “I call this one Chargebolt because it’s the same color as his hair. Are you sure this is the one you want me to use?”

--

When your stream ended, Denki leaned back in his chair, taking a deep breath. The fact that he’d watched you fuck yourself with a dildo that you’d named after him was the hottest thing he could have imagined. He was jealous of that piece of bright yellow silicone more than he should be. He’d still enjoyed it, if the mess across his abs and chest were any indication. 

He cleaned himself up and pulled on a shirt, clicking on the link for the private show signup. It was pretty straightforward, listing the price and how long the show would be, and asking for his username and what he would be interested in doing or seeing and what day would work best.

Staring at the form for a moment, he contemplated his options. He could sign up with his LightningMcQueen account, and he might have a chance. He was the first one out of his friends to find your channel one night when he was bored and horny. Then he’d shown it to Hitoshi and then shared your info with Eijirou, Katsuki, and Hanta. He would be considered one of the longest and loyal viewers like you had said.

However, if you got a request from Chargebolt? What would you do? Would you ignore it? 

“Toshi!” He called out, knowing his roommate would hear him without him having to get up. “I’m having a crisis!”

The door opened, and the purple-haired man stood in the doorway. “I am not prepared to handle your bi panic right now, Denki.”

“Are you going to put in for a private show from Neko?” Denki pushed on, ignoring his friend’s exasperation. 

“I spoke that into existence last week, you know. You’re welcome.”

Flopping back in his chair, Denki closed his eyes. “Should I send in the request with this account or with the Chargebolt one?”

Hitoshi shrugged, watching their cat Sashimi wander into the room. “You’ve wanted to talk to her for ages, man. You could have messaged her forever ago and you wouldn’t be playing this game with her. Sign up with your actual account.”

“I mean, she must think I’m cute, right? Otherwise, she wouldn’t watch.” He sat up, logging out of his secondary account and into his main one. He had a few unread DM’s, so he clicked, his breath catching in his throat. “Dude, look.”

There was a message from you, short but sweet.

Hi, Chargebolt. I don’t know if you saw the stream today, but you should check it out if you haven’t. I left it up for you.”

“She wants you to see her use that dildo she named after you.” Hitoshi patted his shoulder, and then bent down to pick up Sashimi. “I signed up but I told her I just wanted to have a date with her cat. She probably won’t pick me.”

“She will, she loves cats.” Denki clicked on your page and scrolled down to the bottom where the signup was again, letting it populate his main account in the information, and writing ‘any day except Thursday’ in the section for the time that worked for him. “I’m going to get this girl to date me, just you watch.”

Snorting, his roommate closed the door behind him as he left. “I believe in you, Pikachu.”

Once his request was submitted, he went back to his DM’s and sent you a message back.

“I was there, Neko. I never miss a stream. I submitted for a private show, so I hope you’ll pick me. I’ve been one of your viewers since the beginning, you know.”

---

In your head, you tried to plan what you would say once you were face to face (via camera) with the one and only Chargebolt. Everything your brain seemed to come up with fell short. What did you say to this guy, who you’d been simping over for over 9 months, who lit up your screen every Thursday with terrible puns and panty-dropping smiles? You knew exactly what he looked like and sounded like when he came. It was a strange thing to think that you knew that but you’d never actually spoken to him before.

It made you feel a little better when you realized he knew just as much about you. That he watched you fuck yourself on a dildo you’d named after him, and then spent the rest of the stream showing off your fluffy white cat Ichigo. 

It was time to put on your big girl panties. You could do this. 

Chargebolt had been one of the few that you’d chosen to do these shows with. He was also the last one. You’d met with 4 others, the ones who were the most active in your chat, the ones you assumed were actually friends. 

Your first one was with Tapeman, who asked you to call him Sero. He was cute, with the widest, prettiest smile you’d ever seen. He made you laugh, and called you beautiful, and spoke to you in Spanish. You didn’t feel uncomfortable once with him, and the experience gave you hope that the rest would be just as nice.

Mindfucker was next, whose name was Shinsou and lowkey your favorite one. He didn’t want anything sexual at all, which surprised you. You sat with him and drank tea and you got to meet his two fur children, Miso and Sashimi, while he told you about his roommate. You let him admire Ichigo, and talked about music. He was sarcastic, but not in a mean way, and you were pretty sure he was going to be your new best friend.

RedDaddy and Dynamight had asked to do theirs together since they were dating. You wanted to question why they both watched your stream but RedDaddy, who was actually named Kirishima, answered it for you.

“We’re both bi, and we think you’re cute!”

“Yeah, plus McQueen has a thing for you so we like to be in the chat to help him out.” Dynamite, aka Bakugou, added in his gruff voice, folding his arms across his chest.

“Aw, that’s sweet!” You smiled at them. “He didn’t request a private show though, so I guess he doesn’t like me that much.”

Bakugou coughed and Kirishima grinned. “Maybe he was nervous! I’m sure you’ll meet him in one of these someday!”

“Enough about that dumbass.” Bakugou leaned forward, his hand on Kirishima’s knee. “Give us a show and we’ll give you one in return. Use that orange and green one for me, Princess.”

And give you a show they did. You got lost in how they looked at each other while they jerked each other off, and you were pretty sure they forgot you were even there at some point. When it was over, you suggested that they start their own channel.

Bakugou scoffed, but you could tell he was blushing a bit.

“I don’t know, Neko. I don’t think I could share him with anyone else. Except you, you’re the exception.” Kirishima grinned, winking at you.

But now it was Chargebolt’s turn. You made sure you had everything you needed, making sure Ichigo was out of the room, and then signed into your account. 

Chargebolt was online, so you made the private room and sent him the request. You felt like you were shaking, and you checked yourself in the camera to make sure you didn’t look like a wreck.

You barely had time to breathe before he entered the chat, his camera screen coming to life and showing you his smiling face. You melted a bit, biting your lip, gazing at how attractive he was. 

“Hey, Neko!” Chargebolt was as vibrant as ever, tucking his hair behind his ears, the black lightning bolt in his hair dark against the bright yellow of the rest of it.

“It’s nice to see you, Chargebolt.” You tried to relax, rolling your shoulders back. “It’s kind of weird knowing you can see me too.”

He laughed, leaning back in his chair. You tried not to stare at his arms in the tank top he was wearing. Chargebolt had a small frame, but his muscles were defined. You’d seen him plow through an entire bag of chips on stream once, without pausing to breathe, so you assumed he must be one of those people with amazing metabolism that you envied. “You can call me Denki if you want, kitten.”

You choked on air at the nickname, trying to compose yourself. “Kitten?”

“Well, Neko means cat, doesn’t it?” He raised an eyebrow. “I won’t call you that if you don’t like it.”

“No!” You practically shouted. “No, I mean, it’s fine. I like it.”

“Sweet.” He grinned. “Man, I’ve wanted to get you alone like this for so long, and now I’m just feeling really nervous.”

“You’re nervous?” You were surprised. The always cool but super dorky Chargebolt was nervous because of you? “So am I.”

Chargebolt- sorry, Denki, rested his elbow on the desk, propping his head in his hand. “Well, glad to know I’m not the only disaster here. I’ve been trying to get the courage to talk to you for months, and then finally Hitoshi got me to talk about you on stream a few weeks ago, and now here we are.”

“Who’s Hitoshi? One of your regulars?” Knowing that you weren’t the only one who was sweating bullets had you relaxing a bit. 

“Oh yeah, Mindfucker! You know him right? He did a thing with you the other day, didn’t he?”

Eyes wide, you stared at him. “Shinsou?”

“Yeah, that’s my best friend and my roommate. He said he showed you the cats.” He shrugged. “You picked all my friends for your private shows. Sero, Kiri, Bakugou, Shinsou.” He paused, smirking. “I forgot that you don’t know that I’m LightningMcQueen.”

“That’s you? I was wondering why they didn’t send me a request, but it all makes sense now.”

Denki shot you finger guns and winked. “Kachow!”

“Oh god, stop it.” You rolled your eyes.

He chuckled, grinning at you. “So, did Shinsou talk about me?”

You giggled, remembering back. “He told me a story about how his roommate mistook a fuzzball for a spider and spent the afternoon sitting on a table waiting for him to come home and kill it.”

“It looked like one of those freaky poisonous ones from where I was sitting. I was afraid to let it out of my sight in case it got away and then multiplied and killed me in my sleep or something.” He took a deep breath. “Spiders are terrifying.”

This man was amazing. “You are everything I always thought you’d be, you know that?”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment.” He sighed. “You have to have some kind of embarrassing story to tell me so I don’t feel like a fool. You’ve got to make it even.”

“One year my dad hired a clown to come to my birthday party. He walked in the front door and I jetted out the back door and hid in the garden until he left. Clowns are just as terrifying as spiders.”

Chargebolt laughed, and the sound made your stomach do a somersault. It was just as bright and happy as he was. “That is the cutest shit I’ve ever heard!”

“I’m glad my childhood trauma is amusing you.” You deadpanned, trying to keep the smile off your face.

“Aw, don’t be like that kitten! I’m glad we can bond over our irrational fears like this, you know?” He 

You shivered happily. “Okay, okay.” You cleared your throat. “So, you didn’t write anything down here for what you wanted out of our chat today.”

“Oh, okay, down to business then.” He sat up straight. “Well, I wanted to tell you myself instead of submitting it on the form.”

Intrigued, you raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t want to give me a chance to back out?”

Snorting, and shook his head. “Nah, I think you’ll like it, kitten.” He folded his hands behind his head. “I want you to tell me what to do. I’m at your mercy.”

Swallowing thickly, you blinked at him. That was...really hot. “You like being told what to do?”

“I would love nothing more for you to pull my hair and peg me within an inch of my life while calling me your little cock slut.” He stared at you with an eyebrow raised, looking pleased with himself when he saw your expression.

Your thighs clenched together involuntarily. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, right? I mean, I’m a switch, I’d do the same to you if you asked.  But we can save that for next time.” He smirked. “So, you down?”

Next time? This man was going to kill you. “Take off your shirt, Denki.”

“Fuck yes.” He groaned, reaching behind him and tugging the garment over his head. 

His chest and abs came into view, and you let your eyes linger on the barbells through his nipples. “Pants too.”

He pushed his chair away from his desk and shimmied out of his shorts, kicking them to the side. You gazed at him in his blue boxer briefs, eyes lingering on his thin waist, strong thighs, and the outline of his cock. He was a sight to behold, honestly.

You held the fangirling back, leaning forward to get a better look at him. “Do you have any toys, Denki?”

“Of course, Kitten.” He moved out of view for a moment, coming back with a box. 

“Let me see.” He tilted the box towards the camera, your eyes flitting over the different colors and shapes inside. “The pink one.” 

“Okay, hang on, let me-” He cut off, standing up and throwing the pink toy on the bed. He picked up the laptop and moved it, laying down beside it and angling the camera so you could see what he was doing.

“Did you stretch yourself, baby?” 

He made a noise that sounded like a whine in the back of his throat at the pet name, obviously pleased by it. “Yeah, of course I did.” He glanced at the screen. “You should, uh, take your shirt off too.”

“I thought you wanted me to tell you what to do, not the other way around.” Teasing him, you crossed your arms over your chest.

He pouted slightly. “I’ve been good so far though, right?”

“All you’ve done is take off two items of clothing and move to the bed. You’re gonna have to work harder than that!”

Huffing, he lifted his ass off the bed and tugged his underwear down his legs, kicking them off, his hand already moving to wrap around his already hard cock.

“Did I say you could touch yourself, Denki?” It was getting hard to keep up the stern act you were putting on, but you knew it was what he wanted. You wanted to watch him touch himself, watch the way his eyes fluttered closed when his thumb brushed over the leaking head of his cock, and the way he would bite his lip when he moved his wrist a certain way.

You could be patient though, so you continued.

“If I was there right now, what would you want me to do first?”

He stilled, blinking at you a few times. “I would want your mouth first, I think.”

Humming, you sat back, pulling your shirt over your head, letting him admire the lacey purple bra covering your chest. “You’d want my mouth on your cock? Trace my tongue along that vein along the underside and suck on the head a little?”

Denki groaned, closing his eyes, his grip visibly tightening around his shaft. He looked like he was trying not to get worked up too fast. You were amazed at how your words were affecting him, so you pressed on.

“I’d take you all the way down until I was choking on it, and I’d let you hold onto my hair and fuck my face. God, you don’t know how many times I've dreamed about doing that for you. What would you say to that?”

The blush spreading down his neck and chest made him look so pretty. “Ugh, fuck kitten, you’re killing me.” He swallowed hard, opening his eyes to look at you again. “I’d tell you how good you made me feel, but I wouldn’t let you finish me off that way.”

“Oh no? Tell me what else you’d do.” You took the opportunity to move to the bed yourself, pulling off your leggings and panties all at once. 

Eyes glued to you while you unclipped your bra and threw it across the room, he continued. “Fuck, um, I would...god, you’re beautiful.”

Flushing at the compliment, you looked down shyly, breaking character. “I’ve heard you say that before and I still don’t believe it.”

Denki scoffed. “If you need a daily reminder, I’d be happy to be the one to tell you, kitten.” You could hear the sincerity in his voice, and it made your heart do a little flip. “I might seem like a dumbass but I’m using this camboy money to pay off my student loans for my masters in English lit so I can quote you entire sonnets from Shakespeare without hesitation if that will help you believe me.”

Your eyebrows shot up, impressed. Realizing you’d ruined the moment, you sighed, covering your eyes with your hand. “I’m sorry, I’m crap at this. I really just want to watch you cum.”

Chuckling, you heard him shifting on the bed. “Okay, how about this? Forget the toys. Just close your eyes and listen to me.”

“Okay.”

“If you were here with me right now, just like that, I’d spend so much time exploring every inch of you with my tongue. I’d start with your lips, your jaw, your neck. Collarbones, shoulders, your chest, those cute nipples-”

“How are nipples cute?” You interrupted with a snort.

You could hear him trying not to laugh, his voice pitched a bit higher. “Shh, don’t ruin it.”

“I think you just did when you said ‘cute nipples’.” You’d never had this much fun with someone in a situation like this. “If I had a dick, my boner would have just died.”

Denki wheezed, and you opened your eyes to look over at him. He was gazing back at you, his eyes bright as he laughed into his palm. “God, I like you so much, kitten.”

Your grin softened, your heart pounding at his words. “Me too, Denki.” 

[storiesforallfandoms]

pose ~ pete davidson

word count: 1418

request?: yes!

“Hello!! Could you do a Pete fic where the reader is a photographer, they are doing a photoshoot and Pete keeps flirting with her throughout the photoshoot. She brushes this off and continues as normal, but after the shoot they keep running into each other and one day he asks her out on a date and she says yes. Please? Sorry if this doesn't make sense”

description: in which her flirtiest subject runs into her weeks later and decides to finally make a move

pairing: pete davidson x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist (one, two)

The interviewer kept trying to ask Pete questions, but he kept getting distracted by the photographer who was taking his picture for the article. She was a beautiful young woman who was so engrossed in her work that it made her ten times more attractive to Pete.

“Mr. Davidson,” the interviewer said, the annoyed edge evident in her voice.

Pete dragged his attention from the photographer, a dopey smile on his face that he knew no one could be upset at. Seeing a fantastic photograph opportunity in this, the photographer quickly snapped another shot.

“What was the question?” Pete asked.

The interviewer sighed and shook her head. “Let’s just finish the photographs and finish the interview back in my office.”

“I think we should be good on photographs, actually,” the photographer said. “I got a lot of good ones if you two want to look at them.”

“Wait, I have a great one to finish with,” Pete said.

He turned his back to the photographer and dramatically stuck his butt out. He twitched towards the camera and made a pouty face, putting his finger to his lips. The photographer giggled and took a snap of Pete’s ridiculous pose.

“(Y/N),” the interviewer snapped, “don’t take a picture, that’s unprofessional.”

“I’m not seriously sending it to be used,” (Y/N) said. “It’s just a funny picture.”

“I don’t care, delete it.”

The interviewer stood and walked back to her office, not even asking Pete to follow her. He looked back to (Y/N) to see her face was flushed and she looked a mixture of upset and angry.

“Don’t actually delete it,” Pete said. “I want to see it.”

(Y/N) brought the picture up on her camera and showed it to Pete. “It’s just the rough copy so it’s sort of lame. With the fancy magazine editing it would look really cool.”

“I think it looks great as it is,” Pete assured her. “I’d love to have a copy sent to me.”

“My boss would freak if I did.” Her eyes flicked to the door where the interviewer had just walked away. Pete could see the frustration in her eyes and guessed that this wasn’t the first time (Y/N) had been verbally berated by her.

“I’m sorry you go through that,” Pete said.

She shook her head and waved away Pete’s apology. “Don’t be. I’ve gotten used to it. Doesn’t make it any less infuriating whenever she gets angry for stupid reasons, but it happens.”

“You don’t deserve to be talked to like that, though. You seem very professional, and even that goofy picture you took of me looks incredible.”

(Y/N) smiled and shyly looked down at her camera, unsure how to respond to his compliment.

“You’re also extremely beautiful, but that’s neither here nor there in regards to photography.”

(Y/N) giggled at this.

“You should go finish the interview. Her royal bitch will be waiting for you,” she told him.

Pete didn’t want to leave. He wanted to keep talking to (Y/N), and he really wanted to ask her out on a date. In a very uncharacteristic way for Pete, he found himself too nervous to do so and instead left with a lame “See you around”. The minute he walked out the doors of the studio they had been taking pictures in, he regretted his decision, but continued to the office of the interviewer so he could finally get it done and over with.

~~~~~~

A few weeks later, the article had been published and, unsurprisingly, had blown up massively. It was one of the first interviews that Pete had done that got really deep, and he had talked about a lot of things he had never really publicly discussed before. He fans were eating it up and talking about it non-stop. Pete was happy it had gained such positive traction, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the photographer.

He was in his favorite coffee spot, waiting for his order before running off to work, when the bell over the door rang to signal someone had walked in. Pete glanced up from his phone a moment before looking back down, but then did a quick double take when he realized he recognized the woman who had just walked in.

“Hey! (Y/N)!”

(Y/N), who had also been distracted by something on her phone, looked up to see Pete approaching her. She smiled as she pulled out the one headphone she had in her hear.

“Hey Pete!” she said. “How are you?”

“I’m good, I’m good. How are you?”

“Doing great! I have a job offer with a bigger photography company than the one I was working for. I’m heading there after here actually.”

“Holy shit, that’s amazing!”

“Yeah, well I kinda have you to thank for that. They were impressed with the pictures I took for your article and reached out to offer me the job.”

“That must’ve been a saving grace from the wrath that was your boss. When I saw you had included the goofy picture I could only imagine how angry she must’ve been.”

(Y/N) smirked, the memory of her boss’ face, tomato red with anger, after seeing the silly picture taken of Pete in her “very serious” article.

“It was actually the editor’s choice,” she told him. “When I submitted the pictures I had taken, I had included that one by mistake. But the editor loved it. He said that it showcased more of your personality than just your super serious side. He was so insistent on having the picture in the article that he even threatened to take my boss’ name out of the credits if she continued to throw her hissy fit.”

Pete whistled. “That’s brutal. She must’ve loved that.”

“She practically had steam coming out of her ears for a week. She tried to punish me by having one of our other photographers follow her for her next article, but my editor just paired me up with another of our journalists who is much nicer. And now I have this job offer anyways, so there’s really no lose here for me.”

“Well I’m really happy for you. You deserve a place that’s really going to understand your talent and appreciate you for all you do.”

(Y/N) smiled warmly at Pete. She had also been thinking about him a lot since their first encounter. There had been a few times where she almost asked her boss if she know how (Y/N) could get in contact with Pete, but realized that would likely be a bad idea considering her boss basically already hated her.

The cashier called for the next person in line, which was (Y/N). As she stepped forward to place an order, Pete’s name (or rather his fake name as not to be recognized when out in public) was called. He went to collect his coffee and turned back to (Y/N), who had stepped aside to wait for her own. She was looking up at him, almost expectantly.

Before he could stop himself, Pete blurted, “Do you wanna go out some time?”

(Y/N) nearly sighed with relief when he finally said the words. She nodded quickly and took Pete’s hand in her own. She pulled a pen from her bag and wrote her number on his hand.

“Very middle school of you,” Pete teased.

“That’s what makes it so adorable,” (Y/N) responded. “Text me later, we can figure out a time and date. Preferably sometime soon if you’d like.”

“If it were up to me I’d be taking you out right now.”

(Y/N) giggled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and looked down at her shoes. “Tempting, but I do have to go for that job interview.”

“How about after that? We can go out to celebrate you getting that super awesome job that you deserve.”

“What if I don’t get it?”

“Impossible, but if that happens then we’ll go out and get fucked up so you forget about the interview instead.”

(Y/N) chuckled. “Okay, sounds like a plan.”

Her name was called before Pete could say anything else. She grabbed her coffee and waved goodbye to Pete, calling, “See you later, Pete!” over her shoulder as she walked out the coffee shop door.

Pete had to stop himself from happy dancing in the middle of the shop in front of so many people, but inside he was already celebrating his own little win.

[mandoinevarro]

WILL BUY STOLEN GOODS FOR LOWER PRICE

Rule Maker, Rule Breaker: Chapter 1

Words: 8.4k 

Rating: E

Warnings: shooting, non-descriptive death, SMUT, fingering, mentions of masturbation, AND masturbation now that I remember, penetration, creampie! just general filth, gambling?

a/n: SO literally nobody asked for this, but I decided to turn NO REFUNDS into the prologue of a short series (you don’t really need to read NO REFUNDS, it’s only for context.) Anywayyys heavy feelings, heavy plot, heavy smut. Have fun. 

……………

Maker, you need to start cheating. That way you wouldn’t be in the middle of a staring contest with your cards, like you can change their colorful drawings and numbers if you only glare hard enough. You’ve never been particularly good at sabacc, but a little luck wouldn’t hurt, especially since this is the third round in a row you lose.  Duma deals the last couple of cards across the coal black table and stacks the deck, signaling the start of the game.

Well, you suppose it doesn’t really matter; you doubt your sabacc buddies have better hands. These days, everyone in Nevarro is short on luck. Luck and food and water. Others are less pessimistic: As soon as Greef Karga glances at his hand he leans back on the carcass of a cantina booth and slaps his belly. “Ha!” he bellows, “by the end of this round, you filthy gutter womp rats will have to borrow from your womp rat mothers to pay me.”

“Quit bluffing, Karga. We know you don’t have shit,” Cara mutters. She picks up her cards and pulls a face like she bit on lemon, but still the veteran goes all in, pushes forward a couple of stabilizing coils, an identity beacon you could’ve sold at a decent price some months ago and—maker—even a pouch of nova crystal dust. Nobody here is stupid enough to gamble with food, but you’re surprised that even nova has lost its worth and been demoted to casino chip status. “This place smells like shit.”

“Bad bluff, piss-poor trash talk too,” you taunt. “Looks like all that time doing business with Imperials smoothed your brain, Karga.”

“Ex-Imperials,” he corrects. The ex-Guild leader slides a few more credits to the center of his ex-cantina’s table. “We live in a jolly Republic now, didn’t you hear? You’ve been liberated.”

“Fuck ‘em.” Duma turns her head, spits on the melted floor. “Can’t eat liberation, can I?” She throws a few more worthless credits onto the growing pile of nothing. At least, for now, it’s nothing. Credits and ship parts and every other type of currency haven’t meant anything but props in Nevarro for five months, when the siege began. That whole mess with troopers and Greef and Cara was bound to bring some repercussions—aside from making Karga’s cantina look like a volcano erupted inside. For five months, Imperial forces have surrounded the planet, and for five months, food and resources haven’t been allowed inside. They won’t let up, rumor has it, until they find the culprit: one particular Mandalorian with a valuable asset. They think he’s still hiding somewhere in the planet, but you know better. You watched the Razor Crest’s fly off-orbit and leave everything behind. Everything and everyone.

“This place smells like shit,” Cara repeats.

“Not shit,” replies Duma, “ash.” She picks up a card from the deck with long fingers. “You never did explain how that Mandalorian managed to torch this place.”

Cara’s sabacc face melts. Her fingers tighten and bend her cards as she exchanges a complicit look with Greef. “Never said it was Mando.”

“Who else? I was there in the first shootout. That hunter was fierce.” Duma dons a wolfish smile, because this is how she always wins: She plays with people, not cards. In fact, she abandons her hand face-down on the table and—oh no—gives you a once-over. “You knew him well, didn’t you?” You almost want to show her your garbage hand so she doesn’t bother trying to throw you off your inexistent game.

“Swung by the store a couple of times,” you answer as casually as you can manage and pretend the most interesting book is written on your cards. “But we weren’t exactly chummy, if that’s what you’re asking.” Creeping warmth attacks your face and there’s no stopping it. Shit.

“Funny, could swear I saw him leaving your store more than a couple of times.” You feel Duma’s eyes piercing into your forehead. “Pretty late at night, too.”

“Is that so?” Cara pipes with a lopsided grin.

“I thought you two were…friends,” Duma adds.

“Yeah, well,” you mutter, “you thought wrong.” Friends don’t leave friends to their luck in the middle of a fucking siege. It’s the same prickly thought that’s plagued you since you watched the Mandalorian take off triumphantly. It’s a stupid feeling. He was under no obligation to take you with him. You didn’t lie to Duma, you two weren’t friends. You couldn’t even call what you had a fling, even those require some degree of making-love-below-the-stars, quoting-passages-of-Naboo-Nights-to-each-other romance. Flings are shooting stars. No, your…thing, whatever it was, did not belong to the heavens. It was earthy. Human. It was counting credits and arguing about fuel prices or old modulators. It had weight—too much, apparently, to escape gravitational pull and fly away with him on the Crest. It was doomed to planets, both feet planted on the ground.  

Still, you remember times when earthy was good. There was never anything airy or celestial in the way he’d take you. The shoved clothes, the harsh grunts, the rough hands, the pleasure, it was all palpable and primitive; earthy was dirty. Your furtive encounters had beating heart of their own, and there was always hard evidence left behind in case either of you ever needed a reminder: marks on the skin, ripped clothes, stained bedsheets. The bruises he left always took too long to heal, as if his touch enhanced your mortality, made you more human. Stars, those moments are what you miss the most. Five months is a long time to be neglected of touch—six, actually: five months since the siege, six since he last came to you. Earthy expires.

It’s not like there’s nobody in the planet willing to help you soothe your needs; quite the opposite, actually. Lately, it seems like handjobs are the new Nevarran handshake. Just last week you caught Cara feeling up some pretty market girl in an alley. You saw her, she saw you, you rolled your eyes, she grinned and got back to work. You were almost offended. Everybody’s screwing their time through the siege, while you’re left with nothing but reruns of filthy memories with the Mandalorian. You just know nobody but Mando will do. You replay your moments with him like a sad, mental porno on the nights you spend trying to get yourself off. Trying and failing, like having to put out a fire by spitting on it, because the only person in the galaxy with a hose is too busy playing hero lightyears away.

“Last round. Place your bets,” Karga announces and pushes a few more trinkets forward. Cara follows, and you pat around your pockets for something to lose. It’s all just rusted metal anyways. Only…shit, the last three games drained you. And Duma reads it on your face like you’ve got “BROKE” written all over your forehead.

“All out, huh?” She reaches down the table for her bag and drops a beskar pauldron on the table with a thud. A Mandalorian pauldron.

Cara purses her lips and balls a fist, but Greef shoots her a warning look. As if cantina brawls could make this place look worse.

“Still can’t believe you didn’t take anything that day,” Duma continues, shaking her head. “Regret it?”

“I’ll regret it,” you answer and go fish, as if a new card—the right card—could fix a life’s worth of bad luck, “when you learn how to chew beskar.” That earns you a signature “Ha!” from Karga and a cocked eyebrow from Duma. She can arch her eyebrows all she wants, but that much is also true. You don’t regret leaving the Mandalorian covert empty-handed.

You were the first on scene that day. After the smoke cleared, the remaining imps left to lick their wounds, and the Crest flew away, you went to check on Karga’s child, his pride and joy. You were met with a gruesome scene. The cantina, Nevarro’s most sacred landmark, had been reduced to its black skeleton, third-degree burns all over, gone. It sounds dramatic, but the cantina used to be the closest thing to a place of worship on this planet. God Booze was dead.

You kicked around the bar’s guts, until you found a gaping mouth on a wall, leading down, down, down into Nevarro’s entrails. Finding purgatory would’ve surprised you less than what you stumbled upon: an underground tunnel, an abandoned covert, and a sinister, unguarded pile of Mandalorian armor. Stars, it would’ve been so easy. You could’ve hoarded the spoils and stashed them away for better days. That amount of beskar could’ve bought you a one-way ticket out of this dumpster and an early retirement. But when you lifted a helmet, it stared back. It was blue and definitely not his, but Mando was all you could think of while you studied the helmet’s unique curves and creases. You heard his exasperated sighs when you got on his nerves, his moans when you’d touch him. And you just couldn’t do it. You sat back and watched as this skughole’s scavengers crept into the tunnels to pillage. Easy as that, everyone in Nevarro but you and Cara now has a beskar toy or two. Soon enough, this planet will house the wealthiest corpses in the galaxy if the siege is not lifted before reserves run out.

Karga clears his throat. “Well, ladies first. Let’s see those cards.”  

Duma ignores him. “You know,” she tells you, “I’ve more beskar than I know what to do with. I’ll trade you a vembrance for a couple of ration packs.”

“And what am I supposed to do with a Mandalorian vembrance, play dress up?”

“The cards,” Greef urges.

“You’ll be rich.”

You snort. “The rich don’t starve.”  

“Give me a break, we both know you’ve got portions to spare.”

Elbows on the table, you lean forward and closer to Duma. She sniffs weakness like a Corellian hound, and if you falter she’ll sink her fangs. “I’m not interested in your fucking loot.”

“Cause it’s stolen? You never had a problem with that before.” She mimics your move and leans closer. Karga fiddles with a coinage of calamari flan, like you’re both Canto Bight slot machines and he’s trying to decide where to put his money. “What, did you grow morals all of a sudden? Or maybe, you’re too worried of what your Mandalorian friend would think.” You flinch. She smirks. “Oh my, what would the disgraced hunter, code-breaker, cult member say—”

The tiny noise of Karga’s coinage clinking on the table is not enough to distract you from the verbal beating Duma is laying on you. But his voice—like he got the air knocked out of him—is enough to grab your attention when he murmurs, “Ask him yourself.”

Cara, Duma, and you turn to Greef Karga, who stares saucer-eyed at the window. All three of your heads move simultaneously, guided by the line of his eyesight. Outside the window, on the deserted street, stands a trooper barking orders. It’s one of those in all-black armor, the extra trigger-happy ones with a side of god complex because they think the change of color magically makes their aim less shitty. His blaster is drawn (surprise, surprise), and on the receiving end of its barrel…

Maker’s fucking mercy.

You don’t even see the blaster shot, only smoke snaking out of a hole on the shiny breastplate. The trooper plummets to the ground like his puppeteer cut off his strings: no last steps, no resistance. Now, anyone else would’ve walked away from what’s clearly worm food without a second look, but one does not become the best bounty hunter in the parsec by taking chances. A mountain of unpainted beskar looms over the corpse and kicks the blaster off the imp’s limp hand. The Mandalorian sheathes his own weapon—that blaster you’ve tweaked and polished so many times you know it as the palm of your hand—and scans the perimeter for danger.

You don’t tell your legs to move, but they don’t need the command. You find yourself trailing behind Cara, Duma, and Greef, rushing for the door. Outside, all four of you stumble and stop on your tracks to blink stupidly at the Mandalorian, the way children stare wide-eyed at soldiers on military parades. But this warrior stands grander than any Republic or Imperial officer you’ve ever seen. He’s clad head to toe in silver beskar—except for one armorless thigh that makes his other leg look even bulkier. His old armor, the one you used to shine and buff, is gone. This one you’ve only seen from afar, on that day he crashed the imps’ safehouse, and later when the battle broke out. You know it’s him, but in this new getup it’s easy to doubt. Maybe he’s a stranger. Maybe he won’t recognize you.

The Mandalorian studies each of you one by one, his hand near the blaster in case he spots any enemy faces. The hand twitches when he sees Duma—she doesn’t have the cleanest reputation around here—but she’s shocked and unarmed, so his arm relaxes. To Greef and Cara he gives short nods that they return.

And then you. He actually takes a step back when he spots you, like you pushed him square on the chest. The helmet lingers on you and tilts, shamelessly rakes over every feature like he’s memorizing you. You hold your breath. It reminds you of the day you met, that weight on your chest from knowing you’ve been seen. That’s how you know it really is Mando: Whenever he stares at you, you feel it in your bones.

You realize the moment’s dragged out for too long when Karga clears his throat. The spell breaks.

You and Mando look bashfully away from each other. You squint up at the clouds, your hands stiff on your waist in a forced, generic, looks like rain! pose. He turns to his boss (ex-boss? enemy? You never asked for an update on Mando’s most recent status in the Guild) and mutters a short, “Karga.” To Cara he’s warmer, offers a comradely clasp of hands and a pat on the shoulder. “Good to see you again.”

“You too,” Cara drawls, as she stares suspiciously between you and Mando. You squint harder at the clouds. “Didn’t expect you back during a siege, though.”

“I have to…” he spies a furtive glance at Duma and lowers his voice, “I’ve something to do here.”

Duma rolls her eyes and clasps her bag across her chest. “Don’t worry, Mando. I’ll leave you girls to catch up on the hot goss.” She strides into the cantina (probably to bag the bets, the asshole), and goes back outside.

She points at the window of a crumbling building. “Careful with snitches.”

You glance back to the window. Nothing. Jerk. Duma’s not above a made you look moment, apparently. You turn back to her but she’s already disappearing into an alley.

Cara waits until she’s gone to grab the Mandalorian by the arm. “Mando, where’s the…” she glances at you and hesitates. You fold your arms and raise your eyebrows at the veteran. If she expects you to leave graciously like Duma she’s got another thing coming. You’re actually very, very interested on the Mandalorian’s hot goss. Especially it comes with an explanation as to why he left you stranded here. Even though he doesn’t owe you one. Technically. “Y’know,” she finally says and drops her hand. “The asset.”

“On the ship. I need to get back.”

“You, my friend, need to lay low,” Greef says with a raised index. “Every imp in Nevarro will be looking for you. Maker—” he spreads his arms “—they already are! And someone must have heard the blaster shot. You have ten minutes or so until an Imperial squadron gets here. The, uh, asset will be fine.”

“The asset,” Cara exclaims, “is a ch—is…is delicate. He can’t just leave it on the Crest!”

Mando interrupts their game of taboo. “Cara,” he starts, “you go to the ship and check on…the asset. Please. I landed where I did last time. I…I’ll lay low in the covert.”

“About that,” Greef mumbles. He looks at Cara for support, but she steps back and raises both hands: You say it. Greef sighs. “They…they found the tunnels, Mando.”

The helmet crooks slowly to study Karga.  “Who’s they?”  

“Everyone. Half of Nevarro is living down there, you…you can’t go back.”

Silence.

You imagine all four of you go through the same checklist: Even if Cara didn’t already have a top-secret assignment with whatever the asset is, she doesn’t have a place of her own yet. Every week, she crashes on one of her sweethearts’ couches. On their beds, more likely. There’s no way Karga is letting him near his house, not after what happened at the cantina. That leaves…

“Stay with me,” you blurt before you can really think it through.

≈

The cramped storage room you call a home sits a story above your store. It’s four walls and only the essentials: a bed, an armchair, a table, a stove, and the only detached room is the refresher. It’s enough for you. But the Mandalorian looks like he squeezed into a dollhouse when you usher him inside and close the door behind you. He stands in the middle of the room, all fighter’s bulk and grandiose armor, like he’s afraid he’ll break something if he moves. As if he’s never been here before, which couldn’t be further from the truth. The apartment may be small, but it’s so filled with memories you could turn it into a museum of your dirty escapades with him. And if you look to your right, you’ll see the armchair where he sat while I went down on him on a stormy night.  

“So,” you say and lean against the front door, “business or pleasure?”

He moves to stand to the side of the window opposite the front door and his glove moves the old washed out curtain to the side to peer into the street. The sun is setting, and the last streaks of light paint the beskar with warped yellow-orange streaks that stay as still as an undisturbed pond. So this is how he wants the evening to go: quietly and with a reasonable amount of distance between you. Disappointment knots in your stomach.

“Business.”  

You open your mouth to cut into the silence, but you’re all out of words. Maybe you’ve lost your touch. It used to be so easy to tease him, but now…a heaviness seems to weigh down on his shoulders, some heightened sense of duty. But also determination: He stands taller now, prouder, like he woke up one day and knew exactly what he needed to do and why. Whatever that purpose is, you’re pretty sure it doesn’t involve you. You’re a detour, and not even the fun kind, judging by the space between you. Maker, this man used to pounce on you. Has the siege really battered you up that much?

“Been busy?” The sudden question startles you. He’s never been one to break the ice, that was usually your job.  

“Sure.” Nope, not at all. “Store and all.” You closed the store three months ago. Turns out nobody buys equipment for their ships when they can’t fly past the atmosphere. “Plus, somebody needs to keep Karga distracted from his mourning. You owe him a cantina.”

“He told I did that?”

“Just a guess.” You move a couple of steps forward, like you’re approaching a nervous lothcat. When he doesn’t move away, you sit on the armchair, a little closer to him. “You like that flamethrower too much.”

“That what you four were doing in there?” The helmet moves to the side so he can spy deeper down the street. Always careful. “Assessing my damage?”

“No, just sabacc. Different kind of damage.” He’s making small talk. The Mandalorian, whom you’ve overheard have conversations solely based on grunts and sighs, is chatting with you. He’s not just answering out of politeness, he’s prompting you to go on, to keep running your mouth. That’s something he said once between thrusts, perched over you right on this floor: Keep running your mouth, see what happens. The memory warms your neck. Maker, not the point. The point is, before, he always said you had a smart mouth. Sometimes he’d chastise you for it, other times he’d encourage it. And you used to have the suspicion (or, let’s face it: fantasy) that he actually liked it. That somewhere hidden, beyond his pride and honor’s jurisdiction, he enjoyed the teasing and the banter, the challenge of having to deal with you. Better yet: More than once it crossed your mind that he got off on it, too. It’s been a long time, but some of that might remain. Maybe you’ll take his advice: keep running your mouth, see what happens.

You sit straighter, arch your back a bit just in case he’s watching. “You interrupted a round with your little stunt.”

“Yeah?” The helmet doesn’t move, but his hand runs up the curtain, considering. “Sorry. I bet you were winning.”

That makes you smile. It’s a dig at you. Far and wide across Nevarro, your uncanny ability to lose every single game of sabacc you play baffles locals and foragers alike. Yes, you know you suck, but the game amuses you anyways. You like the trash talk, the double-guessing, the bluff-calling. So much so that you forget to actually play. But what’s important is he’s teasing you, and that’s more than charted territory with him, a match you have a shot at winning. Okay. Game on.

“I was, actually.”

He huffs. “Don’t believe you.”

“Then I don’t believe you’re here on business.” Pause for effect. You can almost see a question mark form in a cloud above the helmet. You lean forward and lick your lips, lower your voice. “I think you missed me.”

You’re used to the helmet’s features remaining impassive, so you don’t look for clues on there anymore. Mando’s hands are more telling. You want to believe you actually see his fingers twitch and clutch the curtain a little tighter, that he takes too long to answer. That’s what trying to read him is all about—blind-guessing and wishful thinking.

“Don’t know about that. Six months and two weeks without your cons, I’m almost rich.”

Down to the week, huh? “Okay, if you want to make it about money we’ll bet on it. Twenty credits says you missed me.”

“Last time I was here you weren’t a compulsive gambler. Store’s doing that bad?”

“Last time you were here,” you coo, “there was a lot less talking involved.” You stare into the visor, and pray he can’t see the desperate hope in your eyes.

Your prayers are answered. In a way. Mando ignores you, doesn’t even look at you.  You hear your clumsy attempt at seduction buzz around him like a one-winged bee, crash into the unmoving, unmoved Mandalorian, and fall to the floor in a pointed-lined spiral. You’re so embarrassed you want to step on it. Well, that settles it. Six months is apparently enough for a Mandalorian to lose interest.

“And store’s doing fine,” you lie to try and sway the conversation away from that lame innuendo that missed its mark. He really just wants to talk, then. No big deal. It’s fine. “Nobody gambles for money anyways.”

“Then why?”

You shrug. “Why do you hunt?” He’s never told you, but you saw him chase down a bounty once. He was ruthless, sweating adrenaline and with far too much stamina to only be chasing a bag of credits. “For the risk. The thrill.”

He lets your words float for a second. “You get a thrill out of losing?”

You roll your eyes. “I only lose cause everybody knows my bluff.” That is, except you. “You need to know someone to know their bluff. Greef and the others already know me too well. You, on the other hand.” You smile. “If you and I played, I’d get to keep so much of your stuff you’d think I’m half Jawa.”

And, only then, he seems to tense. That stupid throwaway line is what makes his spine grow visibly rigid and his hand drop from the curtain to his belt, where the leather of his glove creaks with how tightly he clutches the buckle. White and blue streetlights that reflect on his armor glide around like it’s water instead of beskar, and they’re your only indication that he’s shifted slightly. Slowly, so slowly you expect his neck to creak like a door, the Mandalorian turns away from the window to look at you. He holds there quietly, and you feel ants running down your back…stars, you’re nervous. For the first time in a while, he makes you genuinely anxious.

“You’re saying I don’t know you?” he rasps under the helmet. No, not really, but if it gets a reaction out of him…

“All I’m saying,” you start, summoning all your strength to keep your voice from faltering, “is you’ve been gone too long.” You try to make it sound a bit playful, but the words come out tasting bitter when you remember the sharp little edge that’s been digging on your side. He left you here, it whispers, he left you here and didn’t bother looking back. But a heavy boot suddenly drops forward and you’re forced to stop nursing your grudge to try and predict what Mando’s next move will be.

With every step he takes, you’re instinctively swallowed deeper into your armchair, until he’s looming over you. Stars above, the sheer size of him is enough to block out most of the artificial light coming in, and you’re left to squint in the blue twilight. Maker, you don’t remember him this big, this intimidating. Five months ago you would’ve smirked and opened your legs wide. C’mon, I don’t bite unless you ask, you would’ve teased, but now…now you think maybe you are the one who doesn’t know him anymore.

But some things never change, and having him so near still makes your thighs press together. If anything, this new foreignness, the inherent threat of a bounty hunter in your home that never quite poked the right nerve before now pulls on your most sensitive areas. It propels your heartbeat on a sprint. His arm moves, and—oh, you want him to touch you.

Visor trained on you, Mando points to the floor instead. “You hide your credits here.” To illustrate (or just to rub it in that he knows) his boot presses down on the loose tile and shifts from side to side. The sharp sound it makes irritates you less than knowing he found the fox clever hiding spot you used to pat yourself on the back for. “You don’t keep them in the store because it’s too easy to break into. The security panel downstairs is broken, but the one up here works fine.”

You can almost hear his proud smirk under the helmet. There’s a reserved side to him, sure, but bastard can be arrogant when he wants to. And no, you have no idea how he found the spot, but you’re not about to admit it.

“Congrats, boy scout. You can spot a busted panel and you have flat feet. Want a badge?” Your irritation brings back some of your old snark, but you still flinch when he moves closer and his legs brush against your knees.

“You also keep expensive parts inside the stuffing of this—” he takes a tiny step forward and frames  your knees with his legs “—armchair.”  Your blood freezes at his words, but it abruptly runs hot as the city’s lava river when you realize how close he stands now. His legs press against the armchair and there’s nowhere to go. You’re cornered.

A leather glove moves close and you hold your breath, before you realize he’s only toying with the tips of your hair. But his fingers dig deeper, tangle on thicker strands and, without warning, give a short but firm tug. It’s a tiny pull, but maker’s mercy, you feel your core pulse. And then, before you can regain some lucidity, his fingers dip lower, where the tips trace a slow line down your nape. He draws featherlight circles on that spot between your neck and your shoulder that he knows makes your toes curl, and—stars, it’s just been too long—you whimper.

“Still so sensitive here,” he whispers.  

Once, this shielded man knew his way around your body like it belonged to him. You thought that part of him was lost, that he forgot, that he’d truly been gone too long. Those fears dissipate when his palm curls around the back of your neck to hold your gaze on him, while the thumb of his other hand brushes your lips. You know the drill—you open your mouth and give the orange tip some kitten licks. Mando huffs: You can do better than that. Maker, it should be a red flag, how quickly you comply. That urgent need to please him that had never, ever felt so crucial. An O forms in your lips before you can stop them, and his thumb pushes down on your tongue deep and deeper. You should play hard, make him earn it, bite him. But his finger starts to retreat and you panic—no, he can’t change his mind, not now. You seal your lips, trap him inside your mouth and suck. But his grip on the back of your neck grows beskar stiff, and he forcefully removes his finger…only to glide the spit over your lips. Just like that first time.

The visor looms closer to your face, and you catch a ruptured sigh, the pleasured kind that these four walls know so well. If Mando wasn’t holding you down, your chest would balloon with satisfaction and you’d float. His thumb trails down your throat, wetting its path and no doubt feeling the vibration when you chuckle. He cocks his head to the side in a silent question.

“You owe me twenty credits,” you explain, your breath clouding the helmet’s surface. “You did miss me.”

Mando crouches lower, where his helmet brushes your nose, and gropes the tops of your thighs with those wide palms you’ve been dreaming about for weeks.

“Yeah? You like bets?” You’ve never heard his voice so coarse, scratchy like week-long stubble. Did he change the settings of his modulator? Or is it just rash, pent-up need? “Then thirty credits says you’re fucking soaked.” His fingers butterfly higher up your thighs, almost at the apex. Your legs jerk.

“That’s cheating,” you gasp.  

He takes one glove off and settles the covered hand on your hip, while the other disappears between your legs until—stars—he cups your core through your pants. You mewl and he hums when he feels the hot, damp fabric.

“I still win.” He presses the heel of his palm right into your clit and grinds it back and forth. Oh, if you thought you were wet before. The pressure, the friction, him—it all scalds you from head to toe like a fever, but you chase it, greedily push your hips into his palm. His fingers flatten along your slit and grope you tighter. “Gonna pay me? Doesn’t have to be credits.” He pushes viciously into you with that wide, hard palm, preening at the little gasps that escape you. Whimpering, you let your eyes fall shut and focus on something sprouting in your belly. Stars, you’re close—how the fuck are you so close already? It must be all the repressed desire, all that time. Fuck, you’re close—

The Mandalorian halts. You’re eyes flash open to see him straighten and step back, take his other glove off to stuff it snug between his belt and his hip, and remain still as a building. Still catching your breath, you study him head to toe, scanning for a sign of what went wrong. He’s clutching his belt, his stance is too smug. This isn’t him fighting temptation, he’s toying with you. Maker help him, you’re going to kill him. Some corner in your brain reasons that it’s kinda fair, as payback for all the times you messed with him. But in the forefront of your mind pulses the climax he just denied you, cast aside and angry.

Before you know what you’re doing, you push yourself off the armchair. “You—”

Mando beats you to it. A hand on your shoulder and a vembrance across your chest, he lunges forward and slams your back against a wall. He hovers over you, tightly pressed against your body. A fleshy, hard bulge covered by his pants throbs against your belly. Of course. You forgot how much he likes it when you look like prey; how much he enjoys the hunt, whether he admits it or not. The hand on your shoulder trails down to cup your breast. You squeeze your eyes shut and let out a shaky exhale.

“You need it bad,” he breathes as his fingers massage your chest. The movement shifts the fabric of your tunic, brushing it against your nipple. You roll your hips to try and stimulate him, to show you’re not the only one worked up. His erection twitches and you smile.  

“You—mmm—you’re projecting.” You grind again to prove your point, but he catches on to what you’re implying and retaliates by shoving his hand inside your cleavage. Stars, you have to punch down the moan surges up your throat when he pinches your nipple.

“You missed this,” Mando hisses, and whether he’s trying to convince you or himself, you don’t know. What you do know is he’s plotting to settle this stupid inkling of a bet in his favor. He wants you to admit you missed him so he doesn’t have to. You know, because it’s exactly what you are trying to do.

You sneak your hand down his torso, aiming for the hem of his pants—but before you can get even with him, he crushes his hips against yours and traps your palm between them. And he’s not done—he wedges his thigh between your legs and rubs it up and down, drags your clit just right. Your mouth gapes in a silent moan as white hot pleasure lights up your spine. You want to get away from it but, maker, his forearm is still stiff against your chest. Even when you grab the vembrance with your free hand it doesn’t budge. You’re trapped between him and the wall.

“Can take care of m-myself just fine,” you croak as a last attempt to hold on to your dignity. “At least when I’m alone I don’t have to fake any orgasms.”

Yeah, it’s a low blow. A dirty fucking lie too, but desperate times call for desperate measures and all. Good news is it gets you a reaction—he immediately stops moving, as if your words punched him off balance. Bad news is you hit a nerve—his breathing becomes harsh like a bull’s, so much so that you expect clouds of smoke to come out from under the helmet. The Mandalorian creeps closer to your face and his forearm digs deeper into your chest. There’s a promise of danger in the dark visor that makes your pulse race, and a primitive instinct blasts emergency sirens. Maker, this won’t end well for you.

Just as you’re about to backtrack and whisper you didn’t mean it, Mando lets go of you—only for a split second, before he grasps your shoulders and turns you around to push your front into the wall. You jerk back on instinct, but he flattens a palm between your shoulder blades and squishes you right back against it.

The helmet rests right next to your ear when Mando growls, “You expect me to believe that?” His hands drop to your hips as he replaces the pressure on your back with his chest. His body weight holds you in place, and he rocks the hard outline of his erection along your ass. “That I don’t make you cum, you little fucking—” You curl your back as much as his body allows so he can stroke himself tighter against you. He groans and kneads your cheeks, moves the flesh in tandem with his thrusts. “I shouldn’t let you tonight, t-teach you a lesson.”  

The mere suggestion feels devastating enough to let a pathetic whine tumble from your lips. Before, you could’ve turned this into a game, held out a little longer just to watch him break first. But you’re too pent up, too desperate, too sick of waiting. Your fingers hook on the hem of your trousers and push them down. Mid-movement, he traps both of your wrists in one hand and keeps them pressed against your lower back, while the other one gets your pants the rest of the way down, underwear too. You barely have enough time to step out of them before his free hand reaches between the apex of your thighs. You’re sticky, leaking around his fingers, and pushing back against his crotch like you’ll drop dead if he doesn’t fuck you.

“Fucking wet, fuck…” he mutters. His fingers follow the heat and your pussy clenches around nothing. Stars, if he just moved higher, a little higher where you’re hot and soaked and throbbing for him. But he takes his sweet time, molds the inside of your thighs like clay, pulls the flesh, squishes it together, until you’re writhing against him and leaking down your leg. Your vision blurs. “Can—can I…?” He lets his index finish the sentence, teasing at the edges of your outer lips.

Even with the side of your face against the wall, you manage to nod. “Yeah,” you breathe.

Two fingers slide around your folds and you gasp. Mando moves slowly, collecting your arousal and coating his fingers. Your breath catches when the tips finally push into your entrance—only a fraction before they slide back out, so the rest of his palm can cup along your cunt and drag more slick behind it. He’s strategically avoiding your clit, though, and with both arms behind your back and at his mercy, you can’t reach for it yourself. Fuck, you…you only need to hold on a bit more, he’ll get bored of his game soon enough. That’s it, just a little longer. You waited six months, no way he’s making you beg after a few minutes of teasing.

The Mandalorian eventually pulls his fingers away from your thighs and curses under his breath. You hear the familiar rustling of fabric and a divine zip that fills your eyes with tears of relief. Fucking finally. You brace yourself and relax your pelvic floor in preparation, but it’s barely necessary—you’re so ready for it. Your cunt is open and weeping, he can just slide it in. All this time, with nothing substantial inside you, your lower muscles pump and twist painfully with demanding want. Even with his size and in this position, you’re so turned on he might even be able to bottom out. Fuck, he doesn’t have to move much, a few good pumps and he’ll have you cumming, easy. Stars, what’s taking so damn long—

A modulated, battered moan and a wet noise make you turn your head over your shoulder and look for the source. The low light makes it difficult to make out shapes, but there’s no mistaking what you find below you. Hand wrapped solid around his cock, Mando is jerking himself off. With your cum as lubricant. While he treats you like a piece of furniture he’s only gripping for support. A chemical cocktail of lust mixed with fury spikes your blood.

“Is…wh-what are…what the fuck do you think y-you’re…”

“Say it,” he spits between his teeth, “say you f-fucking need me.”

No, no fucking way. As much as the words burn on your tongue and your clit tugs and begs, you’re not saying it. He left, not you. You waited for him. You turn your head as far back as your neck allows without snapping a ligament and look straight into the visor. And pointedly curl your lips inside your mouth, sealed.

Your act of rebellion lasts a good ten seconds.

“You’re so fucking difficult,” he snarls. He stops tugging on his cock, and for a moment you hope he might indulge you, push into you and stop the masochist torment you’ve talked yourselves into. But when it comes to Mando and you, it’s never that easy. Still not releasing your wrists, he grabs the base of his cock, glistening with your stolen juices, and rubs it up and down the swell of your uncovered ass. You gasp, let your lips part and your gaze fall to where he’s rubbing up against you and refusing to push inside.  

He's not going to last long. Swollen and a strangled purple, the head of his cock dribbles warm precum and smears it on your lower back. The veins on his length throb against your ass, and stars, they’d feel so much better inside you. The Mandalorian’s grunts and groans ring more frustrated than lost in pleasure; it’s not enough for him either. He’s torturing you and himself just to prove a point, while you refuse to speak the magic words just to keep your pride. Desperate tears threaten to spill, but you shut your eyes to push them back. Either of you could put an end to it, right now. Maker, it’s on the tip of your tongue: I need you. Spit it out, end it. I need you, Mando, I need you, do whatever you want with me. It doesn’t matter that you abandoned me in this shithole, that you discarded me like faulty equipment, that you didn’t even have the decency to tell me—

The thrusting stops. When you open your eyes, you find the visor fixed on you, cocked slightly to the side, like there’s writing on your face. Mando’s grip on your wrist softens, his frustrated panting slows. Maybe he sees the unshed tears, or maybe your face really is that transparent, because he takes pity on you. Gentle palms on your shoulders, he turns you around to face him.

Night has fallen. Fragments of fluorescent light pour inside through your worn out curtains and give the helmet a fuzzy silver halo. The rest of the armor is shiny black, smudges of light here and there. His head moves around the features of your face, one by one, taking its time. Showdown’s over. He’s not playing a game anymore, not trying to get you to break, he’s just…studying you. Staring his fill of you farewell-style, even though he just came back. It hits you that you don’t know how long he’s staying this time. You open your mouth to ask, but stop yourself in time. If he leaves, he leaves. He doesn’t owe you any explanations.

But when he curls an arm around your waist and holds you against the wall and his cold breastplate, it doesn’t feel like goodbye. It feels like old times—pre-siege, pre-battle, pre-everything—when he confidently grabs your left thigh, sinks his fingers into the plump flesh, and hooks it on his lower back. You drape your arms around his shoulders and hold him closer. You’ve always liked the bulk of him against you, it makes everything feel more real. Buried on the crook of your neck, you hear him sigh when he lets go of your thigh and blindly searches your cunt. With your leg around his back you’re completely open for him, so it takes him no time to find your bud. He presses against it and rubs it in slow but tight circles that make your legs cramp.

You push down on him, demanding more. He groans and complies, inserts one finger and continues rubbing on your clit with his thumb. Maker, this has no right to be so good. He’s doing pretty much the same you’ve done to yourself these past months, but with Mando there are never any ghost sensations, no what ifs. It’s all here and now, and you swear you feel the pleasure of his fingers picking up speed in every corner of your body. He has you moaning and rocking your hips, dripping down his hand, and when he starts rubbing you harder and tighter, you finally whine a tiny, “Please.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t need to ask what you want, but he moves his helmet to look at you square in the face, check if you mean it. You stare droopy-eyed into the visor and nod: yesyesyesyes. Mando groans and grips you tighter. Maker, he’s right, you need it—need the bruises, need his cock, need all of him.

“Fuck,” he breathes. His hand leaves you to grab his cock and guide it to your entrance. He moves it around your lips and brushes his tip against your clit as he looks for your hole in the dark. It doesn’t take long for the head to poke right outside where it needs to go. “Fuck, I don’t—don’t think I can hold back, don’t want to hurt you—”

“Stars, please,” you whine, “I want it rough.” You want it more than rough. After six months, you want it fucking depraved, but neither of you is going to last long enough to make it elaborate. Maker, you don’t care. Right now, you don’t care for risky positions or clever techniques, you want him.

He groans and pushes inside—only the head, still testing, but your walls immediately grip him tightly to hinder any attempts to move away. That’s not what you should’ve been worried about. Fingers tight around your waist, Mando pulls you down as he pushes up. Stars. The brutal thrust reaches the end of you and then some more. Fuckfuckfuck. The dull bam of your skull hitting the wall is suddenly drowned by a slicker, filthier sound coming from between your legs. His length begins to pull out, your pussy complains the whole way, and you can almost hear the Mandalorian gritting his teeth through the sweet torture of feeling you squeeze around him…and thrust back up—harder. He likes the pace and sticks to it—fast, rough, deep, repeat—while you make sounds like you’re choking on air. Stars, it has been long. Long enough to partially forget his size, his fucking girth, currently filling you to the brim and punching high little sounds from your throat.

“Mmmando,” you sob.

Mando groans in response, snakes a hand down to your clit and rubs with the same wild abandon as his pounding. Maker, your memory was never this fucking good. No matter how many details you recalled, there’s nothing compared to the real, human meat of his cock pulsing urgently inside you, hitting your cervix, making you whine. Nothing like his fingers around your waist, or knowing there’ll be bruises tomorrow. The pleasure has teeth, carries a painful bite, but it’s exactly what you need. That tangible grit in his thrusts and his fingers is the missing piece. Your muscles start cramping, you pull him tighter against you—Maker, right there, you can feel it. It reaches your head and makes you dizzy, sheds light on some hidden, shameful words.

“Mando, I…”

“I—fuck—I n-needed this,” he grunts and brings his hand down to feel where his cock is inching out of you, like he has to double check it’s actually happening. Thrust. “Used—used to d-dream about you.” Thrust. Three fingers now push into your clit and draw frantic shapes. You clench your jaw, feel the hot tide in your belly rise faster. Thrust. “Wake up so f-fucking hard—cum in my pants.” Thrust—thrust—thrust.

Maybe it’s his words, maybe the rough pace, but something holds a flame to the dynamite building inside you and it explodes. Maker, your head’s going to burst. You moan long and deep into the spot Mando’s ear might be. Your legs shake, your arms cramp. Months’ worth of frustration gush hot and wet around him, as he babbles encouragement: There you go, just like that, make it fucking good. Your walls are still fluttering, your ears are still ringing, you haven’t even ridden out the last of your climax when his hips pick up the pace.

“Let me—let me cum inside,” the warrior pants, “let me f-fill this cunt…I—I haven’t since—fuck, I didn’t—”

“Yes,” you gasp, “yes, please, Mando, cum, cum inside—”

There’s no space left between you, but Mando finds a way to squish you tighter against him as he pounds into you for a few last moments, until you hear a strangled grunt, and a half-forgotten warmth pools inside you. The extra lubrication drives his last thrust as deep as your body allows. A few more lazy thrusts inside you, short and stunted as you take his load inside you, before he stops. A warm string trails down your leg, and—stars, he’s leaking out. How much did he cum that it didn’t fit inside you?  Fuck.

You take turns panting, whimpering, listening to each other’s heartbeats slow to a semi-normal pace. The Mandalorian moves away from the crook of your neck to meet your glossy eyes. He doesn’t say anything, but you think will. You can almost hear his mouth opening, words boiling and rising in bubbles up his throat—

Zium!

It’s your imagination. It’s your ears ringing from that orgasm, your mind making stuff up. But. You could swear you saw a red flash glade right past your cheek. And from the way Mando’s helmet cocks to the side, you know he saw it too. You turn your heads in unison, to see smoke coming out of a hole a breath away from your ear. It takes both of you too long to put two and two together, and—before he can pull out—more of those red flashes are raining down on you.

…………

Edit: Chapter 2 let’s goooooooo

Taglist: @rosetophighlander​ @hellomothermoon @newyorksins​ @leo-moon​ @benedrylcumbersnatch

[leviiattacks]

heyyy there, saw your requests are open. and i'm wondering maybe you could do a timeskip where everything is done and levi finally opened his tea shop. then there he met reader, and he treats them differently from other customers. thank you, hope you're having a good day.

author note :: this was kinda rushed as is most of what i post. the reader is a writer just bc i thought it would be cute and also ISTG. i wrote this entire thing thinking leviolas was such a cool name for a tea shop then googled it and saw it’s also the name of a spider so... ++ btw i have not yet double checked or proofread this because i wrote it at 2am but yeah it’s definitely not great :-) word count :: 2.4k??? somehow???

you’re sweet like honey when you first order from leviolas. you’re the same when you ask the owner for extra napkins and you remain exactly the same when you return with the intention to stick around for a writing session with a black tea by your side

something about you is attractive. that’s what levi thinks of you when you first walk into leviolas

you’re just incredibly wholesome poking your head around looking at all of the handmade pastries and confectioneries in admiration

you think the homely decor is cute and reminiscent of cottages in the countryside, the view outside the windows is beautiful and the scent of coffee alongside tea is heavenly

the pastries are beautiful and you find yourself eyeing the macrons pretty frequently. just EVERYTHING about leviolas is cute :-(

but one particular thing is especially adorable to you

and that would be the owner

when you hear his name for the first time you’re a little shocked

levi ackerman to be specific captain levi ackerman, the high ranking official who aided in paradis’ independence and freed the nation from the grip of titans

you read about him a year back in a paper or two and vividly recall the valiant title he held as humanity’s strongest soldier

he still holds the title that’s for sure but now he happens to own a tea shop

it’s slightly unusual it’s not every day you see a soldier retire and live such a plain life but you suppose the simplicity makes levi happy

honestly, if you had been through hell and back like him you too would wish to spend the rest of your days in the company of tea leaves and sweet cakes

today is a day like any other you’re sat by one of the windows and contemplating sitting in the outside seating area

the sun is shining and lands uncomfortably on your face at this angle and you may as well make your way outside

but before you can a shadow looms over you and a broad chest leans over to cover the window with dainty curtains

“you looked bothered by the light.”

oh god.

it’s him.

he’s standing there looking at you with an unreadable expression and all you can do is open and close your mouth not knowing what to say

humanity’s strongest soldier

levi ackerman

also known as the really really really attractive cafe owner you’ve been crushing on for the last few months now

seeing him up close is much more different to looking at him from the comfort of your seat or whilst you order

he’s normally got his back turned whilst collecting orders or another worker collects them as he prepares the beverages

that’s why the unexpected interaction has you nervous

you can always tell when he’s made your drink because he honestly has a way with tea leaves and you kinda want to gush about how much you enjoy it

but, no, no, no.

you’re panicking just looking at him

soft black strands of hair stick to his forehead, his undercut is oddly satisfying to stare at and he smells of pine trees which again is refreshing

“ah hahaha thank you for blocking the sun out!!”

why the fuck did you ha ha????

this is so awkward.

putting on your best front you beam up at him hoping your toothy smile doesn’t look stupid

then again it probably does because who the hell has a good toothy smile

nobody.......

levi’s gaze lingers on you but if he has anything else he wants to say he doesn’t make it known

instead he firmly nods and turns away

you’ve messed up,,

only!!! you manage to mess up even more....?

without thinking your hand latches onto the back of his blue button up and your face burns up realizing what it is you’ve done when he stiffens to a stop

as quick as your hand has grabbed onto his shirt it lets go and you awkwardly laugh again

hahahahaha

“i’m sorry i didn’t mean to hold onto you so hard i was just...wondering if you could let me in on your secret.”

the random sentence is one you’ve made off the top of your head because you don’t have any real reason for holding onto him

but thankfully for you the saccharine of your voice is enough to sway levi

when he turns to see you with the same smile eagerly awaiting his answer something sparks in him

his chest feels a little funny but he ignores it

“secret?” he questions

“yeah!! your tea!! you’re really good at making it and aaaahhhh” you sigh contently thinking back on it.

“i remember when i ordered rose tea one time. you made it beautifully and the taste was infused so delicately it was incredibly soothing.��

hearing you ramble passionately about what he loves to do makes his chest feel funny again

he doesn’t know what the hell is going on exactly

but the only way he can explain it is his heart somersaulting and flipping despite him not wanting it to

despite that, it’s quite enjoyable

it’s probably got something to do with your kindhearted demeanor or the way you always manage to give him a smile when you waltz in

but levi finds himself fighting to touch you more and more as the days pass

your collar is always haphazardly done and he wants to lean in and fix it

sometimes you’ll have an eyelash on your face and he wants to lean in to swipe it away with his thumb

occasionally he stares at your hair and wants to sort it out. half the time it’s all over the place from the wind

he wants to lean in and smooth it out.

all he wants to do is LEAN IN but he sees no valid reason to

he’s lucky he’s always able to catch himself before his thumb reaches your cheek (you’re very oblivious and never notice how close he really gets)

ever since your first encounter at leviolas a few months back he’s been dragged into your world of books and lively stories

it doesn’t take you long to break out of your shell and you’re always telling levi something new

he doesn’t speak as much as you but when you coax out a story or two out of him he’s always earnest

you’ve learnt a lot through the conversations

you’ve learnt about his lost comrades, the horrible things he had to see on the battlefield, how he hopes he’ll live happy with what he has left

there are certain conversation topics he skips entirely and you respect his boundaries

you and levi are sat by a window and a comfortable silence floats between you two

it’s been four months

four months since you asked what his secret was

come to think of it he never told you what it was

he’s intently staring at you as you drink the lemon tea he’s just made you and his stare is a little too intense

feeling nervous you pick up your cup hoping for something to occupy yourself

recently the butterflies in your stomach have been increasing in number but you know it’s wrong to fancy levi

you don’t know why you think that but it’s the fact that you’re sure you’re not his type

he probably likes organised people, dependable people, funny people

not you.

you’re just an irksome author who spends your days writing in his shop

honestly he finds you annoying he has to. you’re always hanging around here

however, you do remember the one day you did choose to write in the park he thought you had died or something. that made you feel a little sad because he can’t really help but automatically worry if his routine is broken and you happen to have accidentally become part of his schedule

no, like levi’s literally said he has your name in his planner and whenever he thinks of a new thing to make you he’ll write it down with your name next to it

but still,, you’re convinced he has to find you annoying

there’s no reason for thinking it but you DEFINITELY think it’s correct

absentmindedly you haven’t even noticed levi still staring at you

“y/n?”

looking up at levi he’s clearly worried about something

humming in response telling him to continue he does

“i like someone.”

oh.

“...i’m not sure they’d return my feelings, that’s why i mentioned it.”

you smile at him warmly and you feel your heart sink, obviously he has to like someone. it’s probably someone in the corps, someone strong, someone capable. you’re not any of those things.

“well, you need not worry. if a man as good as you fancied me i’d be over the moon. i’m sure they would too!”

keep optimistic, don’t let him see you upset.

levi’s cheeks grow bright red and he bashfully tries to hide his embarrassment by covering his face with his hands

you laugh when he doesn’t budge and stays in the same position 

“c’mon levi, confess they’ll accept you have nothing to fear.” you coo persuasively

finally letting up after a few seconds he lets his arms drop to his sides.

“would you date me?”

the question takes you aback and you stare at him startled

soon realizing the idiocy laced in the inquiry he quickly retracts his statement

“nevermind, that was stupid.”

ignoring him you still want to answer

“uh well, i would. i have thought about it on occasion.”

he’s blinking rapidly trying to process what you’ve just admitted.

“you’ve thought about...?”

“dating you. yes i have.”

“and why the hell would you do that?” you can’t tell if he’s mad at you

“you’re capable, respectful. you’re considerate and quiet. i mean it you’re an amazing man really. also your tea!! imagine getting to drink it every day.”

you really have to add in the part about his tea because you know he loves it when you compliment it :-)

“ok, you drink my tea every day already.”

his short uninterested response stings and the dam of regret bursts open 

you shouldn’t have said all of that.

you and levi sit in an awkward silence for what feels like an eternity. you don’t dare look at him and your course of action is too drink your tea as quick as possible before dismissing yourself.

but before you can set your plan in motion levi breaks the ice.

“let’s date.”

you freeze and your eyes grow to the size of saucers

what did he just say???

he has to be losing his mind

“but levi what about the person you like?”

his eyebrow cocks upwards and an amused expression stretches across his face.

“i was talking about you.” he confesses boldly

this is a fever dream, nope, nope nope. you can not comprehend that this is your reality.

pinching your arm you hiss a little when you feel the pain

okay so, you’re definitely not dreaming...

“i, you, me. you...you like me?” the sentence is a jumble of words but you manage to sputter out something that makes sense

“yes. i like you.”

he’s being so blunt you can’t tell if he’s being serious but when you remind yourself that this is levi you relax, a blunt straightforward confession is meaningful coming from him 

BUT THAT’S BESIDES THE POINT

HELLO???? HE LIKES YOU BACK?%^%^”*

you get all blushy and flustered and you let out another one of your awkward hahahahaha’s but it’s a good hahahahaha

cautiously testing the waters he grabs your hand from across the table intertwining his fingers with yours

the gesture is adorable. the buzzing sensation that travels through your laced fingers makes you giggle to yourself giddily

“leviolas suddenly a matchmaking agency now? ;-)” your joke is dry and unfunny and levi rolls his eyes at it 

“you’re not funny.”

“but you still like me.” you tease

“yes. i still like you.” he admits

a few days have passed since then

you and levi have been the talk of the town 

humanity’s strongest soldier finally found his flame???

the chatter and rumors spread like wildfire, both you and levi aren’t fans of being in the spotlight but nothing negative has been said so there’s no complaints so far

levi places a cup of tea in front of you, it’s a herbal kind because you’ve been complaining about a headache

today you’re explaining why you dislike the plot of beauty and the beast and how there’s so much wrong with it. from the weirdly toxic relationship to the power imbalance. levi stands listening attentively whilst waiting for you to take a sip of the tea

just as you’ve paused to take a large breathe and prepare yourself to continue explaining how unbearable that book is levi uses it as his chance to say what he’s been wanting to 

“drink up before it’s ice cold.”

following his instructions you interrupt yourself and take a gulp of the herbal tea

your eyes glimmer in approval. it tastes of strawberries and you’re delighted already feeling your mood slightly raise in response

“it’s GREAT?? what did you put in it?? it doesn’t even taste medicinal.” once again, you’re fawning over his tea

“so levi ackerman, what really is the secret to all these perfect cups of tea?”

and without a seconds hesitation he responds.

“i was making the tea for you. that’s the secret.”

it takes a while for the gravity of his words to sink it but when the meaning does you cup his face in your palms and peck him everywhere. he whines a little but you can tell he enjoys the attention

you find that you’re more than happy you’ve found a home in levi and his shop

and levi’s more than happy he’s found a home in you and your books

:-)

[blahkugo]

Manual

Terushima Yūji x Reader (Haikyuu!!)

Word Count: 4.5k

TW: dub/noncon (noncon filming & voyeurism), manipulation, drugs (weed and alcohol), implied virginity, degradation, exhibitionism, daddy kink

A night of danger and debauchery with the city’s infamous drug dealer. 

It was a simple enough text that started it, but you’re not even sure how he got a hold of your number. A few days ago, a plain ‘hey’ had flashed across your screen and before you knew it, you were agreeing to go for a ride in his speedy car. ‘How fast is it?’ you had asked as an attempt to stall the conversation. But it was his reply that settled it for you: ‘As fast as you want it.’ 

It’s stupid how easily swayed you were, but the words left a knot in your stomach that you had never encountered before. Like a ship setting its anchor on the seafloor, though not one of anxiety nor tension caused by any of the usual stressors of your life—something entirely alien. The real issue wasn’t its unfamiliarity, but how much you took pleasure in it. And as ships do, the feeling set sail as quickly as it appeared, and you were left wistful and aching for its return. 

Never had you been like your classmates at the private school, who used familial wealth to excuse week-long benders and avoid lengthy jail sentences, because never had you felt that depravity necessary. But as you make your way down the block, you envision daddy waking up to find his little girl simply vanished, and you can’t help the wicked smile that spreads across your face.

When you arrive at the grimy, red sports car— music blasting through the open windows despite the dead quiet of the block— that ball of thrill settles in your gut yet again. As long as you’re in the company of Terushima Yūji, you’re well aware that the feeling isn’t going to go away.   

The car is low. So low, in fact, that you have to balance a hand on the roof and slide in legs first. How does he even drive around in this metal death trap without scraping the asphalt? Your leather skirt bunches and slips further up your thighs no matter how hard you tug it lower. 

“Alright?” It’s the only form of greeting he calls out to you over the ear-splitting music. Terushima eyes your lustrous, bare legs resting in the passenger seat of his beat-up Camaro, but doesn’t bother turning down the tune. He’s not very polite, but you didn’t exactly accept his offer to be drowned in refinement, did you? 

“I’m okay,” you shout, struggling to be heard over the booming voice rapping about ‘drugs and bitches.’ Typical. “How are you?” You’re not sure if it’ll break the ice, not even sure he wants to speak at all, but anything’s better than fidgeting awkwardly in your chair with nothing but the god awful music to drown out your anxiety.

He mumbles back a simple reply, fixing his gaze on your breasts straining against the tight, low cut tank. You fished the two-piece outfit out of the depths of your wardrobe, a revealing number borrowed from a friend that you never even bothered trying on before tonight. His stare has you itching to cross your arms over your chest, but you hold out. You can’t have him thinking you’re a prude, even if it is the truth. 

His hand grips the stick shift lazily and before you know it, the engine is rumbling and you’re peeling away from the curb. Terushima’s driving is every bit as reckless as you assumed, stop signs appearing to be soft suggestions rather than mandatory decrees. The residential roads are practically deserted, but the lack of caution has your heart racing wildly all the same, fingers clutching at your seat. As the adrenaline rushes through your veins, your stomach sinks further into the frayed leather seat. 

When the music is shut off abruptly, you believe he must finally want to speak to you, perhaps even exchange pleasantries— but the next words out of his mouth are a sly, 

“Do me a favor, yeah?” You nod, before realizing his eyes are still fixed on the road ahead. It’s not like it matters anyways, because he continues on as if you had answered him. “Grab the bottle under your seat for me, princess.” Princess. It’s uttered so nonchalantly, but there’s a certain edge to his tone— the tiniest hint of a teasing lilt. You don’t like it, but logical as your brain may be, your stomach still swirls with butterflies. 

Swiping at the floor, you search until your fingers make contact with glass. Low and behold, you pull out a bottle of– 

“Smirnoff,” your eyes scan the label intently, attempting to place the emblem among the liquors you’ve seen at the country club. While you weren’t exactly expecting a water bottle— that’d be much too off brand for Terushima— you aren’t too keen on the idea of reckless and intoxicated driving. He glances towards you once, but doesn’t make a move towards the drink at all. 

Only a few seconds later, he shoots you another look, single brow raised in quiet anticipation. The long-forgotten burdens of high school peer pressure washes over you again, fingers quivering as you unscrew the cap. 

You’ve never had vodka straight out of the bottle, never had vodka in general except for when it’s mixed into your cocktails. But his expectation weighs heavy in the confined space. So, fuck it. What did you come out with him for if not to live a little? 

Nail polish remover, children’s cough syrup, and liquid fire. That’s all you taste as the lukewarm fluid glides down your throat. The burn is unbearable, but a pool of warmth oozes through your chest and your hand relaxes a bit on the edge of your seat. You don’t even realize that you’re coughing.

“First time drinking?” He offers you a lazy smirk, tone edged in ridicule. 

“What?” Holding your breath, you silently beg the itch in your throat to disappear. “No, I- I have wine with dinner.” 

The laugh that rumbles through his throat is deep and hoarse, much too loud to be laughing at your comment— and thus, is only perceivable as taunting. Even so, you can’t deny the seduction threaded into his smoky vocals, or the wire deep within your core, pulled taut and ready to snap at any moment. 

“Wine,” he snickers again. “You’re funny, you know that?” He swipes the booze out of your hands and chugs. If there’s ever a proper time to start worrying, it’d be now. But at least he stops for lights? 

Besides, you can’t say you’re not enjoying the view. Terushima’s defined jaw ruts outward with every swill, his lips puckered towards the bottle as if his life depends on it. As cautious as you should be, he’s too pretty to keep your eyes focused anywhere else; your mouth surely knows it, practically salivating at his Adam's apple, bobbing as he gulps. If you reach your hand out just a few inches, you can run your fingertips against it and–

“Gross,” he pushes the bottle back towards you. 

“Black cherry,” you counter, as if it’s an explanation for the disgusting taste. 

“Is that the flavor I nicked? Damn, wasn’t paying enough attention,” he shrugs. 

“Nicked?” Mouth agape, you stare intently at the side of his face and hope for a valid answer. 

“Bottle looked lonely, so I swiped it,” he brushes a finger at the alcohol trickling down his lip; one of your own digits twitches in envy. “Is that too criminal for you, princess?” 

So he is mocking you. The vodka must be melting your brain, because all your body comes up with in response is a wind chime of a soft laugh— an entirely foreign noise to your ears. It must be a mistake, or the music playing tricks on your hearing, because you don’t giggle. 

Still, according to Terushima’s awful pet name, you have something to prove. Not sure how else to shut him up, you opt for the easiest way out. 

“I’m not drunk enough for this.” The bottle meets your lips and liquid fire waltzes through you again. Seconds pass as you chug, the haziness of your last sip urging you to down just a teensy bit more. Just enough to get you tipsy, just enough to prove him wrong, just enough to drown out the voice in your head claiming this is a terrible idea. 

This time, you don’t cough. 

“‘Atta girl.” 

Then, you’re drinking, and he’s drinking, and the two of you are having the grandest of times. Never mind the fact that he’s consumed far less alcohol than you have, or that lines are blurring and you’re no longer able to see straight. Gone is the anxiety you were plagued with upon meeting him and the worries that shadow you day and night in your regular life. And that’s all that really matters. 

He blasts the music once again. Maybe it isn’t as terrible as you originally thought. A deep, pumping bass resonates through every bone in your body and Terushima seems to be pressing the pedals harder with every beat. 

Up you go, higher, higher— higher?

Your eyes have been scouring the mischievous man next to you so intently that you never bothered to ask where you were going. But can you blame yourself? Even now, as you round up the side of a cliff, every thought passing through your murky brain pertains to him. 

His lazy half smile that won’t drop, as if he’s keyed in on a secret that’s all his own, lidded eyes that make him look entirely apathetic and alluring all at once. Hell, even his fingers are beautiful. Slender and graceful, one hand is placed leisurely at the wheel and the other is shifting the gear stick with meticulous precision. Terushima Yūji has always struck you as raw and vulgar, but now you see there’s a sense of finesse to him as well— and of course, you’d need to be halfway into a drunken stupor to truly notice it. 

You’re shaken from your thoughts once he cracks the windows, hair whipping around violently. If you only knew the lyrics to any of these songs, you’d be singing along. Instead, you settle for kicking your legs out the window and tapping your fingers to the beat. Who cares that your fingers are moving too slowly to match the rhythm? 

Terushima says nothing at your erratic behavior, only smirks when your head leans against his shoulder and you stare idly up at him. Relief. It’s the only identifiable emotion you’re able to place in the midst of this haze. Yes, the world is foggy and black spots take over half your vision. But you hold onto that feeling— the breeze, the weightlessness. All the while, the anchor in your gut makes its home further into the sand. 

“We’re here,” he chuckles, pointing at your windswept hair when you turn to him. It’s the first time his laugh sounds genuine, bubbling up naturally instead of forced and vicious. And he’s finally looking at you; not in stolen glances, with eyes glazed over in mockery or lust, but truly looking at you. You break out of the murkiness clouding your brain to catch what ‘here’ is, only to gasp at the sight in front of you. 

He’s brought you to the very top of a cliff, overlooking the city. Cars and buildings seem nothing more than blips on a map, insects to your God-like view. 

As beautiful as they are, the dazzling lights of the world below you pale in comparison to the deity seated inches away. It’s difficult to believe that you had never once taken notice of him, though your younger self filed him away as a troublemaker—an invaluable waste of space— based on gossiped knowledge and without a second glance. 

“Y’know what I never noticed?” You’re well aware the words tumble out a whine, drawn out and a bit slurred, but proper diction is the last thing on your mind. “You’re really pretty.” As soon as you’ve said it, your face is set ablaze. Control yourself. 

“Pretty? Haven’t heard that one before,” he throws his head back and you’re struck with that gruff, raspy laugh once again.

“But you are,” you’re unable to contain yourself at all now, all proper thoughts replaced by the cut of his cheekbones, the messy bleached hair tumbling over his sleek undercut— and best yet, the tiny piece of metal prodding through his tongue and now balanced between his teeth. “A pretty bad boy, with pretty teeth, and a pretty piercing, and you texted me why?” With the hurried words, another wave of heat spikes your body. 

Perhaps his eyes brighten at your little confession, or perhaps his face gives away nothing. You can’t really tell much of anything.

“You really wanna know?” You nod hungrily at his whisper, his hushed tone teeming with temptation. Terushima creeps closer, so much so that you feel his breath fanning your face. Underneath the overwhelming scents of cigarettes and booze, he smells a bit like tea leaves. Strange, but pleasant. “Are you sure?” He’s smirking now, obviously finding your curiosity entertaining. 

At the same time, one of his hands inches towards you— cautiously, deliberately, like a predator creeping towards its skittish prey. You tremble in your seat, unsure why the proximity has your heart beating out of its chest. 

All at once, his hand shoots past you and towards the glove compartment. Terushima lets out a snicker, flashes you a brilliant set of teeth, and proudly offers you nothing: “Sorry, not tellin’ you.” 

Your slurred gripes do nothing to sway the tease, who’s now engrossed by the itty bitty ziploc baggie he pulled from the glovebox. Though your head is spinning, you yourself can’t help but feel enthralled by his movements— staring shamelessly as he sprinkles the weed onto paper. His fingers prove precise yet again as he rolls the greens into pretty little cylinders. 

Almond eyes meet yours only when he brings the wrap to his lips, gazing directly at you while his tongue slides across the paper. A chill prickles across your skin, but there’s only heat within the parked car. 

Before you know it, he’s extending a large hand towards you, silently willing you to take the first hit. Somewhere far away, you hear your own voice mumbling, ‘I don’t know how to.’ As hard as you try to put up a front, to exude sex and confidence in front of this well-versed man, you’re not quite sure you can pretend your way through this one. 

A wispy laugh, a sly comment and a wink later, two of his fingers have the joint pressed between your lips. ‘I’ll teach you,’ he promises, instructing you on precisely how to breathe. You barely register the palm fastened at your chest. Is he being a creep? Maybe he’s just trying to help. Either way, you don’t pay it much mind. 

And then, smoke fills your lungs, fills your head, fills the already-depleting air of his tiny car. You’re coughing again, but he warned you of the burn this time, and ‘besides, it’ll get you higher.’ 

You were hoping to see chalky hues of pinks and blues, but the drug does nothing but provide you with lidded eyes and a tingle that runs from head to toe. A single stroke of your finger against the leathered seat sends waves of shivers throughout your arm. Your palm splayed against your own thigh feels unfamiliar and ticklish. 

The buzz is only truly worth it when you finally turn to look at the wicked man next to you; Terushima has a slick smile dancing across his face, eyes heavy and probing you for any sort of reaction. The bleached blonde hair at the top of his head pales under the moonlight, suddenly seeming impossible to resist. When you reach out to grasp a strand, he moves quicker, gripping your fingers tightly between his. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” His low drawl is lazy, more amused than genuinely angry. But your fingers twitch beneath his grasp all the same, completely embarrassed and still itching to touch his locks. “Princess doesn't know how to ask for things politely?” You don’t have to look into his eyes to feel the smugness radiating off of him. 

“No, I-” There’s no saving face now, and he knows it as well as you do. 

“Or are you just so used to getting what you want?” Even as he taunts you, his digits thread through yours, pulling you towards him so that your hands hover over his lips. “Is this what you wanted?” 

You shake your head, but the thought of grazing his pillowy lips— of your trembling fingers exploring that tiny metal ball in his mouth— is now etched into your clouded brain. 

“No? What about here?” He trails your digits down his crisp t-shirt, stopping only when you’ve reached his midriff. You should stop, should adhere to the yellow tape bound around this entire encounter; instead, you stare at the blonde with wide eyes, tongue poking out of your mouth as you debate your answer. He breathes an airy laugh, “use your words.” 

But before you can, his lips are meshing into yours. And here are the hues of the pinks and blues you so desperately wished to see, hidden in his caress all this time. There’s heat, and heat, and more heat— and a quiet hum traveling from the very tip of your mouth to your toes, as you melt together. 

When he releases your hands, they fly towards his hair, finally tugging at the soft pieces. A simple clasp of your waist and you’re moaning into his mouth, a warm welcome for his tongue to slide in. Embers spread through the tiny space, setting your lungs ablaze far quicker than any drug could. His cool, metal piercing tickles the roof of your mouth; if you were coherent enough, you may wonder what it would feel like skimming other stretches of skin. 

But your thoughts are cotton candy melting at his touch and allowing one, singular thought: him, him, him. 

Your sugar-spun mind loses track of the time he spends pressed into you. Seconds, minutes, hours later, he finally pulls away, the long string of saliva between you the only remnant of your lip-locked endeavors. 

“It’s getting late,” his words are a whisper, a break in the heavy silence of heaving chests and spinning minds. You’d have thought the infamous heartbreaker would urge for more, and a part of you wishes that he would. But instead, he drives you back down the cliffside in silence, his hand on your thigh rooted in place, keeping you longing for another taste. 

Only when you’re coming down from the high, still a bit tipsy, do you realize you’re almost home. Terushima’s fingers still play at the hem of your skirt, stroking at the fire deep in your gut. With all his teasing, you figure you may as well make your move now. 

“You can pull over here,” you instruct, happy to have found your usual domineering voice. Perhaps it was buried under the weight of weed and wandering lips. 

“Your house is another block away,” he refutes with a grumble, but heeds your demand anyways. When he turns to you, you’re caught in that bewitching gaze, finding yourself at a loss for words yet again. “Anything else you need?” The words are laced with possibility, a dangerous challenge. But any gall you felt coursing through your veins has vanished without a trace. 

“No- I- I should get home,” your eyes drop, staring at a loose thread on his pants— and all at once, moving to leave the car. “Daddy’ll be mad if he catches me out.” The words are barely out of your mouth before he’s chuckling, repeating them.

“Daddy will be mad? You still call your father daddy?” And there’s the Yūji Terushima you thought you knew, mockery and taunts always at the tip of his tongue. You throw a weak punch against his chest, huffing in confusion. 

“What’s so wrong with that?” 

“Nothing,” He exclaims a bit too smugly, climbing out himself.

Next thing you know, you’re caught between his body and the hood of the car, sturdy arms trapping you in place. Chilled air nips at your bones; a single skim of his knee against your thigh and that cold is forgotten. You really should be at home. 

“Terushima.” It’s funny how a single word— a person’s name— can contain a thousand different meanings. You’re not even sure how you say it, questioning the inflections of your cracked voice and wide eyes. He whispers your name right back, the gleam in his eyes magnifying tenfold. 

You’re well aware he has you right where he wants you, a little bird caught in a cage, though you’re more than happy to be singing any song he asks. 

But there’s only silence as you stare at each other beneath the flickering street light. So much so, you can hear your hearts pump blood, can hear the engine of a car rumbling by, can even hear your neighbor’s pesky dog barking a block away. 

“Do you need something, or do you just like saying my na–”

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in. 

It feels different now. Perhaps your nerves aren’t frenzied, and you don’t attain euphoria with every graze. But you feel him. You can taste the smoke on his tongue as it knocks against your teeth. Black cherry floods your brain, the same flavor that drifted you up that cliffside to begin with. 

Terushima’s hands grab at your waist before you’re hoisted up and placed on the hood of the car. Gone are the lazy kisses of two heads in the clouds. His movements are quick and decisive, aggressive even. A hand roams your body, trailing under your tank and across your breasts. The other shoves aside your panties, nimble fingers circling your bud. 

A low whimper leaves you when he runs a digit across your slit. 

“Careful,” hot breath fans your lips as he chuckles, “too loud and he’ll hear us.” 

But you can’t stop your wanton mewls. Not when he dips into you, curling his fingertips to hit a spot that has you seeing stars. Not when his teeth nip at your jaw, your neck, the shell of your ear— leaving soft marks behind. And most certainly not when you can feel his cock straining against your thigh. 

“Fuck, Teru I–”  Within minutes, your entire body trembles, hands clutching at soft hair as you chase your high. 

“Tell daddy what you want,” his eyes pierce into yours, completely unashamed of his perversion of the pure term. You try to shake your head no, to refuse his order— but he simply flicks his wrist quicker, pumps into you faster. You’re so fucking close, too near the edge to care, so you simply allow the words to tumble out, 

“Daddy p-please, I want to cum.” 

A few circles on your clit, and you’re putty in his hands. The high hits you with a loud, leg-shaking cry— far more dizzying than any of the debaucheries of hours past. 

You’re flipped over without a moment to breathe, breasts rammed into the frigid car hood. Terushima pulls your skirt up with one hand, the other nudging your cheek firmly against the metal. 

Never would you have thought you’d be one for such public indecency, but the elation of your last orgasm still hasn't even completely resided. For the third time tonight, you find yourself drunk off the ambrosia of this wayward god.  

“Beg for it,” he slides his cock up your slit, coating his thick member in your slick. 

“Please Teru,” you whine helplessly. A loud slap echoes through the empty street as his hand meets the globe of your ass, the pain more shocking than painful. 

It reminds you that anyone could walk out of their homes to see you being railed against a beat up car— and the thought of one of your neighbors waking up to that sight wracks your body with a twisted pleasure. 

“What was that?” The bastard actually laughs, gruff and hearty, as you writhe against him. 

“Daddy, I need you.” And then he’s thrusting into you, pushing into the tight ring of muscle. Though he prepped you, you claw at the car, searching for any sort of relief from the overwhelming pain. 

A few snaps of his hips later, you relax as the stretch becomes bearable. He takes his time rutting into you, spreading your legs further, making sure you feel every inch of him deep inside you. 

Only when you begin bouncing back to meet his drives does he quicken his pace, a single hand gripping your waist— five finger-shaped bruises you’re sure will be evidence for days to come. You barely recognize your own voice; high-pitched wails spill from your lips, curses and pleas and cries of ‘daddy’ like a broken record on replay. 

“Look at the little slut, creaming all over me,” a particularly hard thrust sends you reeling, tears flowing freely down your face as you blabber mindlessly. “Who’d have thought the city’s very own ‘prude princess’ would be blacking out over some dick?” 

You should be ridiculed, would be utterly offended by the insult, if not for the fact that his cock has you teetering the delicate line of consciousness. Those words are precisely what send you over the edge for the second time tonight. 

“Fuck, stay right there,” a low, gravelly groan as Terushima continues pounding into you. Then, a few more prods and he’s following suit, pulling out to spill his seed all over your backside. 

Vision still spotty, you finally turn to look at the beautiful man, hoping for rosy cheeks and that soft smile you believe is a secret saved just for you. Instead you’re met with a dull frown and a look of pure apathy. 

He won’t even meet your eyes. 

“Can you walk the block or should I drive you?” Though he poses the question, the lack of his typical liveliness tells you everything you need to know about his preference: he doesn’t have one. 

Somewhere far away, you hear yourself tell him you’ll walk. Your head’s still caught on cloud nine, or perhaps it was only ever the ninth circle of hell—twisted and contorted by black cherry and rotten greens.

“Are you sure? You look a little shaken,” he laughs, that same hoarse tone you once thought charming now seeming gnarled and vicious. The taunts once endearing, now simply malicious. 

From the corner of your eye you spot his phone, unlocked and teeming with messages. A flash of a familiar black leather skirt bunching, a flip of your hair, pieces of your purity plastered across his screen for the world to see. 

You walk back home in silence. 

[sillyrabbit81]

The Instructor - Part 4

Summary: Agent Walker continues your training.

Pairing: August Walker x Female Reader

Word Count: approx 3.8k

Warnings: smut, Dom/sub dynamic (m Dom, f sub), dégradation kink, praise kink, slapping, rough sex, orgasm control, I think thats it?

Authors note: Not beta read, only edited by me. There will be errors, my apologies.

Masterlist

Part 3 Part 5

The Instructor Part 4

August took you to the surveillance room. The operation had the whole ninth floor to work from, you didn’t know how the CIA was able to pull off such a requisition, but you knew not to ask questions. Chances were, even August didn’t know how that was done.

Agent Thomas was there with two other Agents and although they were both men, they were so opposite in nature and appearance you wondered how they could possibly work together. One of them seemed to radiate constant joy and good humour, while the other seemed dour and uninterested in anything. You receive a handshake and a welcoming smile from Agent Ortega and got a short nod from Agent Turner. Despite August introducing you by your name, since Agent Thomas had beaten you to them, your name was New Girl.

Apparently, there were two more Agents you would meet when your shift finishes. The number of Agents on this case struck you as odd. Six agents plus August all in the field seemed overkill for any simple surveillance case. Four should be more than enough. Hell, you could probably do it with three.

Ortega was the agent you would spend the next 8 hours with, and you were relieved. You were confident you knew how to do your job, but since this was your first field assignment, you were nervous and Turner made it worse.

So did August, if you were honest with yourself. You found yourself playing with the golden circlet around your neck a lot and chided yourself for bringing attention to it. It was meant to be discreet but if you constantly played with it, eventually someone would notice. You frequently found your concentration lapse and you would focus on August instead of your job. He was becoming an obsession, he invaded your mind constantly. You couldn’t stop thinking about him, anticipating your next visit or, remembering your too few encounters.

During one such daydream, you caught Ortega staring at you, expectantly. You quickly realised it was because he had spoken to you but you hadn’t responded. “Sorry,” you say. “I tend to get really focussed on my work and block out other sounds.” You lie smoothly. Ortega waves away your apology and repeats the question.

You enjoy your time with Ortega, he was friendly and warm without being lecherous. Perhaps his simple wedding band helped to put you at ease. He doesn’t offer information about his partner and you don’t ask. You both eat a lunch of sandwiches made in the kitchen and while the work doesn’t stop, you and Ortega start chatting and you find yourself growing more comfortable with him. Even though he calls you New Girl, he doesn’t treat you like a rookie and you found your confidence increase as the day went on. You even found yourself sharing jokes with him.

However, an hour before your surveillance shift finished, August came back to the room requesting an update. As he comes in the door you were smiling, still getting over a laughing fit with Ortega. Although he shows no obvious reaction, you notice a slight tightening of his jaw. You keep the smile plastered to your face as you look away, but you know there isn’t a hint of a smile in your eyes.

August checks in with Ortega who reports the day’s events. He leans over Ortega’s shoulder resting one hand on the desk while the other held one side of a pair headphones up to his ear as he listens to some audio. You can feel August’s gaze boring holes into you, and you can almost hear him say, “Look at me, Pet.”

Slowly you raise your eyes and look at him. You had to smother a gasp. He wasn’t just staring at you, it felt like he was stripping you bare with his eyes. The fire is his blue orbs was scorching with desire. His gaze holds you captive, and you know if Ortega sees what was taking place, your secret would be out. Scandal at this point in your career would mean you were chained to a desk for the rest of your life, if you didn’t quit in frustration, which was usually what most people did.

But August doesn’t take pity on you, he knows the risks too and doesn’t avert his gaze. He licks his lips, drawing attention to his mouth. With a leering look he mouths, “I’m going to fuck the shit out of you tonight, Pet.”

You make a strangled noise and Ortega looks up at you started. “You ok, New Girl?” he asks.

You reach down and clutch your foot, slipping it out of your shoe. “Yeah,” you say, hiding your face while you rub your foot. “Just a cramp.”

August ignores the situation and keeps listening to the audio. You avoid looking at him and he leaves a few minutes later. Even after he is gone, you still feel your ears and cheeks burn and you doubt you will be able to regain your concentration. Then you receive an email from August that simply reads “8 pm.” The rest of your shift is a write off.

Not long before eight pm you stand nervously outside August’s apartment. With trembling hands, you knock on the door. You feel tipsy, you can’t think straight, you’re giggly with nervousness and your legs are unsteady, ready to betray you at any moment.

“It’s open,” you hear August call from inside.

You take a deep breath in a useless attempt to settle your nerves and open the door. You see him sitting at his dining table reading from his laptop and nursing a tumbler of what looked like gin or vodka. He didn’t get up, just flicks his eyes up as the door opened, saw it was you and flicks his eyes down again.

“Lock the door,” August says and you do as he asks.

He is wearing his suit pants and button up shirt, but he had taken his jacket and tie off. His sleeves are rolled up and a few of the top buttons on his shirt are open and you can see tufts of his dark hair on his chest. His hair is still impeccably groomed, but a five o’clock shadow dusts his jaw. Even without the suit, he exudes authority, from the set of his jaw, to his posture, the only thing casual about him was his laxed attire.

“You’re early again,” August says. You still can’t tell if he thought being early was a good thing or not. Until he said otherwise you would continue to be early because you were sure August wouldn’t tolerate tardiness.

You half shrug in reply, but don’t say anything. You realise you hardly say anything in front of August, he intimidated you more than else did. He made you nervous in a way that was so intoxicating that you found it hard to even think of anything you wanted to say. Unless, he asked you a question, then you can hold nothing back. Perhaps it was because you know there is no one in the world that has more power over you than he does.

“Take your clothes off, pet.” August says, still not looking at you. “All of it this time, except your stockings and heels.”

You try to swallow, your mouth feels dry, but you don’t hesitate to obey, his tuts of disappointment that morning still lingered in your mind. Your hands shake as you undress and fold your clothes neatly. You aren’t sure why you feel like its important to fold your clothes, maybe it was because even when August was relaxing, he always had an air of clean order around him. Like he needed things to be just so. However, you know that’s not completely true, you have seen the chaos dance in his eyes, the thin veneer of civility he wore like a skin suit couldn’t hide all of his primal urges and tendency towards recklessness.

“Come sit next to me,” you hear August say the second you had folded your underwear and placed them on top of your clothes. You didn’t think he had been watching but he must have been, because even now he seemed to still be focussed on the screen in front of him. You feel a little silly that you had undressed like you would have at home, you didn’t even try to make it look good for him.

So, you make an effort this time, to show him you want to please him. You let your hips sway just slightly as you walk, the movements feel natural, yet seductive as you near him. You pull a chair away from the table but August stops you, putting his hand over yours. His fingers are warm on your skin and you feel a shiver run up your spine.

“Not there,” he says.

You walk around to the chair on the other side of him, but August stops you again. “Not there.” He looks at you, then with a small movement of his head and a smirk, he indicates the floor. “On your knees, pet.”

You’re shocked and before you can stop yourself you say, “On my knees?” You look at the rug under the table. It was fairly plush looking and soft so your knees wouldn’t hurt. You wondered if he wanted you to take him in his mouth again, you couldn’t think of another reason he would want you on the ground.

“Yes,” August says, with little patience, but his smirk holds. He must find your bemusement funny. “Now.”

You slowly sink to your knees next to August, you feel a little humiliated, but you are curious to see where this was going. August lets out a content hum as you obey. The sound makes you smile and you look up at him, his smirk now looks more like a smile and he pats your head. “Good girl.” He praises. All thoughts of humiliation left you as those two words warm you. August places his large hand on the back of your head and guides it to his thigh.

Again, you’re confused, until you feel his hand stroke your head. He pats you, soothing himself as he finishes his work. He occasionally lifts his hand to do some typing and you find yourself watching his hand impatiently until it is returned. Occasionally he touches your collar, running his fingers along it, as if reminding himself that you as his. Sometimes his fingers slide up and down your back, with long tender strokes that make you break out in goose bumps and when he makes you shiver you hear him hum with satisfaction.

Eventually you hear August give a big sigh and he stretches his neck before closing the laptop and moving it out of the way. He takes a last swig of his drink before putting it aside as well.

“Pet,” August says. You look up at him and he gives his head a little jerk again and you stand up. He looks you up and down, his eyes seem critical as he inspects you, but you know he likes what he sees because his tongue licks his lips before he bites his bottom lip.

August guides your leg over his and you stand in front of him now, your legs on either side of his and your bottom rests on the table. You feel exposed while he continues to study you, and you want to close your legs as you see his eyes linger on your bare slit. You know he would see the slick wetness of your arousal, you could feel it on the inside of your thighs. You close your eyes, a little embarrassed by your obvious display of desire.

August starts to run his hands over the outside of your thighs, hips and waist and back again, while he leans in and kisses the soft skin of your belly. You involuntarily giggle and your hands reach for his head as his stubble tickles at your sensitive skin. Still smiling he takes your hands in his, pulls them behind your back and holds both of them in his huge paw. He returns his kisses to your tummy, but this time they are bigger, wetter and you can feel his tongue lick at your skin as he does. You try not to wriggle, you try and hold still for August, but his teasing touch is too much and you find yourself squirming as he plays with you.

Between kisses he says, “I think its time I got to know you better, Pet.” You feel the heat rise in your body and you feel your heart beat everywhere. God, he has barely even started and you were so ready for him. “Time I explored you.” His eyes looked up at yours as his tongue slid up your body and over your nipple briefly. He held his face in front of your breast, letting his breath tickling your hard bud. “Time I tested your limits.” He takes you in his mouth, sucking on your nipple, and letting his teeth graze you, your body shuddering with pleasure.

Looking up at you August’s voice is suddenly serious, “If you need me to stop, say Red.”

“Red to stop,” you repeat, letting him know you understand.

Letting go of your hands, August lifts you by your waist and sits you on the table. “Lay down, pet.” He says, pushing against your shoulder. He lifts your legs so that your heeled feet rest on his thighs. You moan, and want to draw your knees together, but you feel his hands on the inside of your thighs pushing them further apart. You are completely on display for him, you can hide nothing as he continues spreading your legs. You shut your eyes, tight. Your mind and body were in conflict. You were on fire, hot with lust and need, but your mind wanted to say no, to stop, you couldn’t stand the embarrassment.

“Spread your lips wide for me, pet. I want to see your cunt dripping wet for me.”

You shake your head, you can’t do that. It was too much. Already so exposed and naked, the thought of holding yourself open to him was too humiliating. “Please August,” you murmur “I can’t.”

The loud smack against your breast takes you by surprise. You hear the noise before you even register the pain. “August,” you cry. Your hands reach up, covering your breasts, and you try to rub the sting away.

“Hold yourself open. I want to see inside you.” August’s voice is low and firm, not angry, just stern. You lift your head to see him, he tilts his head and his whiskered lip curls in a cruel grin, almost like he was daring you to say no again.

Laying your head back on the table and squeezing your eyes shut, you move your shaking fingers down to your slit. You’re so wet and so aroused you struggle to hold your swollen petals apart. You hear August’s breathing start to quicken and his voice is barely above a whisper as he says, “Good girl.” You feel a finger slide teasingly over your exposed core and despite your shame your hips roll in desire. “You have such a pretty wet cunt, Pet.” His finger sweeps up your slit, his rough pad pausing on your clit. You gasp as he does, and a low moan escapes you parted lips.

August chuckles, “You’re very responsive, Pet. I like that.”

His finger moves back to your entrance, and with agonisingly slow movements he pushes his finger into you. You feel yourself clamping down on him already, you’re so desperate to be filled. Your hips start to rock as he curls his finger inside you, searching for your spot.

“Oh fuck,” you cry when he finds it, you unconsciously try to curl up into a ball as every muscle in your body contracts. Your hips move faster now, and you eagerly beg, “Please August.”

“You are an impatient little slut sometimes, pet,” August says as he lays an arm over you, stopping your undulating hips. “I think patience will be your next lesson, but lucky for you, today I want to watch you cum.”

Without warning, August pushes a second finger inside you. You cry out as you feel yourself stretching to accommodate him. You were so close to coming, your whole body felt pulled tight like an elastic, ready to spring apart when the tension got too much. Your fingers start to hurt as you hold yourself open. Even your fingers feel tight, ready for the release of your orgasm.

Your thighs start to tremble and you feel the warm wave start to rise from your toes. “Are you about to come pet?” You barely hear August through the fog bliss you’re feeling as his fingers dance inside you, coaxing you to your peak.

“Yes,” you say through your moans.

“Ask permission,” August says.

You’re so close you can’t make sense of his words. “What?” you ask.

“Ask me if you can cum. This is my cunt pet, I will control when you cum. Or I can stop now.”

You understand that threat, “No, no, please don’t stop.” Panting, and breaking out in sweat you say, “Please August, can I cum?”

“Yes, my needy little slut. Cum for me. Now.”

And you do. You don’t know if it was because he told you to or if it was because you were so close anyway, but when he said now, you felt a wave of warmth flood you. Your body pulsed and your core milks at his fingers and they keep hitting your spot. It feels like your orgasm lasts for an age and even as you come down from your high, you tremble in little after shocks.

You are in such a haze you don’t notice August removing his fingers until you feel both his hands on your knees, pushing them up and out as he stands. Wrapping his arms around your thighs, he gives them a tug. Your ass is barely on the table and in your malleable state, you feel like you’re going to fall off, but he holds you there.

There’s a new sensation at your core, and you groggily sit up, resting on your elbows. You see August, cock in hand lining himself up. You whimper, not yet, you think. Augusts lifts his eyes and you’re caught once again in his piercing blue eyes. His shows you his teeth and grabs your throat as he impales you with his cock.

You would have thought that you would adjust to his size quicker after the euphoria of your orgasm, but you were wrong. You feel yourself reluctantly stretch around him, and despite the pain, as he fills you, tears you apart, it feels good, he feels good.

August pulls you up by your throat, and you wrap your legs around him for stability. You think he’s going to kiss you, but he studies your every facial expression, listens to every little moan as he starts to fuck you. Still feeling weak, every thrust from August throws you, his firm grip on your throat was the only thing stopping you from falling back on the table.

“You look so good, pet,” he grunts at you through his gritted teeth. “You look like a slut, with your pretty mouth moaning for more.” He leans in close to you, and growls into your ear, “But you’re not just a slut, pet. You are my slut.”

You cry out as he says it, his claim of you relights the fire between your legs and you start moving with him, trying to fulfil the growing need inside you. You grasp his shoulders, holding onto him as he keeps whispering in your ear, “You greedy girl, you want to cum again don’t you?”

“Please, August,” you say. He raises his head and sticks two fingers in your mouth, pushing them in deep, almost making you gag. As you build to your peak so does your boldness and this time you find Augusts eyes. You run your tongue around his fingers, before starting to tease them and suck on them.

August snarls as he watches, and increases his pace. You want to cum again, but you don’t want to stop sucking his fingers. But then August breaths a curse, “Fuck.”

You couldn’t hold it off now, you say around his fingers, “Pease August, can I cum?”

“Fuck, yes,” August is as lost as you are and as you fall over the edge, and your pulsing walls grip his cock he thrusts into like he wants to tear you in two. On his last pump he lets out a deep rumbling growl, before his whole body shudders. You had never seen a man who came like him, the way he doesn’t hold back, the way he lets his primal urges over take him, the noises, all of it was so fucking hot.

August leans his sweaty forehead against yours while you both get your breath back. His hand still holds your throat but he moves it under your chin, and with the gentleness that always surprises you, lifts it and kisses you with soft lips and a caressing tongue. You kiss him back, matching his mood, softly licking at his lips.

With a final kiss, August pulls away and helps you to your feet. “Ok?” he asks. You nod and he chuckles briefly, “Who knew you had both a degradation kink and a praise kink?”

You look away from him, embarrassment filling you. August sees it and lifts your face to his again. “I fucking love it,” he says. “Much more to explore.”

You smile, still a little shy about it, but not as embarrassed. “Come,” he says and takes you to his bedroom where you both get in bed and you lay like you had that morning.

You stay awake, pretending to sleep, keeping your breaths long and steady. Eventually August drifts off, and you wait until he falls into a deep sleep.

You slowly get out of bed and creep over to the dining table. You lift August’s laptop from the chair he had left it on. You open it and enter the password you saw him use on the plane. Your hands start sweating as the machine connects to the CIA network. You think you hear a noise and you look behind you, but you can see or hear nothing.

You type August’s CIA log in and enter another password. You are worried about this one, you aren’t sure if you had been able to catch all of it. You release the breath you didn’t realise you were holding when the CIA logo fills the screen.

You feel eyes on you and the hair on the back of your neck starts to rise. Terrified you turn around and come face to face with August and his unforgiving eyes. “What do you think you are doing, Pet?”

Part 5

Tag List:

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[angsty-omi]

radio stations

sakusa kiyoomi x reader

sequel to drivers license

it’s been years since your last encounter with sakusa.

honestly, you should thank him. why? without him, you wouldn’t have dropped your first single right now. funny enough, it’s called ‘drivers license.’ how fitting. pouring your whole heart out into words allowed forgiveness. not just with sakusa. not just with hana. but to forgive yourself. during the past few years, you slowly pieced yourself back together. it was only later till you realized you weren’t the problem.

thus led to the present, where your song was immediately picked up by the media.

you weren’t the only one feeling depressed.

ever since that day, sakusa was consumed by the guilt that he himself caused. every night, the small sliver of time where it’s just him and his thoughts before bed, he thinks of you. thinks about how your lips tasted. thinks about your smile, which in his eyes did light up the world... and then he remembered what he did to you. god, does he remember the physical sound of your car speeding away. how when hana kissed him abruptly as a “goodbye,” and was supposedly going to beg for your forgiveness afterwards. it never happened. hana simply just moved on to other people. him, however, knew you deserved better.

so why did it hurt so much?

so much so, sakusa swore to never let anyone close again. his emotions were monotonous, and his teammates thought he was a robot. wake up. volleyball. eat. sleep. repeat. that’s what he’s been doing so far, and it seemed to have been working. he doesn’t think about you all the time, he slowly is gaining acquaintances, and honestly he was moving on.

or so he thought.

on the drive home from a late practice, he looked at the clock. it was 12 AM. in order to prevent him from drifting off to sleep, he turned on the radio.

big mistake.

little did he know, it was your debut day. the radio station had offered to stream it because you were a local.

“i got my driver’s license last week, just like we always talked about.”

sakusa’s eyes widened. he knew this voice. the same voice that would bicker with him on whether that turn was legal or not. he put the volume button louder.

“and you’re probably with that blonde girl, the who made me doubt”

“oh how wrong you were” sakusa thought while inadvertently chuckling.

“today i drove through the suburbs crying cause’ you weren’t around”

sakusa clenched his steering wheel. it’s been so long since he continuously thought about you. and now it’s all coming back to him.

“and i know we weren’t perfect but i’ve never felt this way for no one”

sakusa pulled over. “i was her first love?,” he thought. so much confusion hit him all at once. when he really thought about it, he never got closure either. he didn’t truly know how you felt about him. all he had to think about was that kiss.

“and i just can’t imagine how you could be so okay now that i’m gone”

that lyric. that was the one that finally broke him.

“i’m not okay y/n, i haven’t been for a long time” he sobbed. he lightly punched the steering wheel. he wondered what would’ve happened if he never hooked up with hana. would this heart-wrenching song not exist? he couldn’t hear anymore. he physically couldn’t. so he slammed it off, almost breaking his speaker switches.

when he finally got home. all he needed was to shower. all his tears were now dirty with regret. his apartment was pretty high in the complex, so it took him even longer to get to the shower. in the mean time, his thumb was hovering over your contact information. debating on whether he should call you or delete your number. he threw his phone down in frustration. as soon as that the elevator doors opened, and he swore he saw a ghost.

it was you. a mature version of you. your hair was cut roughly shoulder-length, your style became girlier, and your whole ambiance was different. in addition, you were leaning on his door.

he fell to his knees.

“sakusa! are you okay?!” you panicked. you saw him from afar, and rushed over to him. he looked well- horrible. his eyes were baggy and swollen and his fists were all bruised from hitting the wheel too much.

no answer from him. he did, however, touch the side of your cheek endearingly.

“it’s really you” he shockingly whispered. you snuggled up against his touch. his hand felt so warm and so... right.

“would it even be okay if you let him in again?” you pondered to yourself.

as you helped him into his extravagant apartment, he showered. a nice long 45-minute shower, enough to pull himself together.

“it was you. you were out there on the couch, and awkwardly fiddling with your fingers nonetheless.” he thought to himself.

as soon as he got dressed, he walked out of his single bedroom. he slowly sat in front of you, trying to read the room. you just nodded and your eyes started boring into each other. neither of you knew where to start, so he took initiative by telling you what happened with him and hana. including the part where she kissed him as a goodbye and promising to apologize to you.

“that bitch never did,” you both spilled with laughter.

once both of you calmed down, he sighs “y/n, i have not been okay ever since that day. i’ve had okay days, but it was never a longing feeling. with you, it felt like my days were carefree and wild. wild in the sense you would mistakenly drive past a red light-”

you scoffed, “i am actually a great driver!”

“no you’re not”

“yeah huh”

“no”

“yes”

“no”

“y-“

“anyways,” he cut you off. “what i am trying to say is that i’ve never met anyone like you, nor do i want to find someone like you. i just want you.” he said with dead-serious eyes.

there was only silence.

until you stood up from him, and his face was pale. he thought you were leaving for the second time. this time he would really accept your choice and it, again, panged his heart.

but you weren’t leaving.

you were walking over to his speaker, connecting it and playing your song. however, you skipped to a specific part in it. the end. the part where he didn’t listen to due to his breakdown. you sat back down i front of him and unpaused at the part.

“cause i still fucking love you babe.”

a/n: so many requests for a part 2!! here it is. you guys can imagine what happened next. they live happily ever after. fun fact i’ve actually never done a fluff ending before.