#they can hold there their bodies flush out a bit of the excess energy

[thelampisaflashlight]

Keep It Brief

[Something, something, Mountain really likes Dew's outfit. Mentions of seasonal weight gain, but that in and of itself is not sexualized, fairly neutral on that front. Not suitable for younger audiences.] Below the cut.

Maybe it's the way Dew is dressed; Is it the baggy t-shirt that barely covers his ass, which is hardly hidden by the black briefs he has on to begin with, or maybe it's the socks that come to his mid-calf and draw Mountain's attention to the long, pale expanse of his bare legs, who can say really?

Either way, there's something about the... casualness of his current outfit and the fact that Mountain knows Dew would tug his pants on if anyone else were here that has him staring, without shame, at the subtle squish of the hybrid's flesh where the elastic squeezes around his ass.

Normally, when Mountain wanders over to Dew's side of their shared dorm, the other at least throws on gym shorts or has boxers on, which don't quite have the same effect on him as these briefs do.

They're not even particularly nice looking; Simple black cotton, no designs or lace, but they do look comfortable.

Look soft.

Dew is all lean muscle, so even relaxed as he is, his body doesn't hold much softness to it, though parts of him have rounded out a little since the weather began to cool.

People often exerted themselves more in winter without realizing it, and Dew was no exception, so, of course, he ate more, both to make up for lost energy and because of the holidays, so, although almost unnoticeable to most, Mountain, who spent almost every day -and night- around the other, had taken notice of this change.

Not that he'd bring it up, there was nothing wrong with Dew gaining a little weight, but even if Mountain said something in a complimentary manner, he's not entirely sure how he'd take such a comment; Dew has always been at odds with his body, and Mountain wasn't about to give him something else to focus on, good or bad, because the chances of him becoming obsessive over it were high.

Really, Mountain thinks, it's best to stick to baser thoughts on the matter... namely the fact that Dew was currently having to adjust his briefs and giving the earth ghoul the smallest glimpse of his butt in doing so.

Now that looked soft.

"Whatcha thinkin' 'bout, big guy?" Dew asks, breaking Mountain's concentration on the slight crease between his cheeks and thighs.

Mountain hums, propping himself up on Dew's bed, where he's been laying on his belly since coming over to this side of the room, feeling the bedframe protest with a metallic squeak as he rests his chin on his palm.

"Clothes." he replies, then adds, "Laundry?"

Dew casts his gaze over to the small pile of clothes in the corner of his room, "Ugh, yeah, I gotta do that later... It's such a pain in the ass-"

As Dew rants about the intricacies of doing laundry, from, "If you do it too soon, you wind up with dirty clothes still!" to, "And don't get me started on the detergent pods-" Mountain watches the hem of his shirt rise and fall, flashing his underwear with every other word.

"And-" Dew pauses and Mountain blinks up at him, "...Mount..."

"...Yyyyessss?" He responds meekly, face flushing as Dew descends upon the bed, crossing one bare thigh over another.

"...Whatcha thinkin' 'bout?" he asks again, tongue licking over pink lips...

.

.

.

"Oh, wow, Dew has you doing his laundry, too?" Swiss pats Mountain's back sympathetically, watching the taller man crouch down to toss clearly too small shirts into the dryer, "Poor guy, you can't catch a break with that guy for a roommate, huh?"

Mountain hums, squeezing a bit of excess moisture out of the delicate briefs he pulls out of the washer next, "...Certain hardships are easier to live with I'd say."

Swiss can only stare in confusion as Mountain clicks the dryer shut, briefs still in hand.

"Huh."

[struggling-intuit]

nakamoto yuta

an 18+ headcanon || of his feelings toward the dom label

wayv || nectar

wc || 0.6k

warnings || NUH-UH MISS MINOR; gn!reader, mentions of dom/sub dynamics + tears, feral behavior, a touch of manhandling (a lot of manhandling), ear-licking, dubcon/noncon but it felt like cnc in my head, yuta is coming for you be very afraid

I actually don’t view Yuta as interested in the dominant label often applied to him in fandom spaces, and I say that as someone quite partial to that dynamic and the safety such a relationship provides. There may be no better way to practice difficult kinks consensually than under the protection of safe words, hard limits, and (when necessary) contracts. 

But does Yuta feel the same? 

Probably not, at least not without some convincing. 

I think what many a fanfic writer picks up on lies more in his hyperphysical, teasing/taunting, unapologetically feral tendencies as they emerge in his dynamic with the rest of NCT. But being Dom is so much more than showing one’s affection intensely or having a Plutonic gaze. It’s about embracing Dom-hood and everything that comes with it. The designation should mean something to you. It should feel personal, you should like it and want it.

To me – and this is headcanon so take it with a massive grain of salt – Yuta does not give off the energy of someone proud to be called Dom. He’d view it as useless, a waste of his time.

Sex with him isn’t a game, planned out with rules and penalties so the players can gain pleasure from knowing what game they play. Sex with him is total annihilation… of you. He wants to ravish you, and damn any petty little labels that get in his way.

Dom-hood would be an obstacle in his desire to lie in wait for you, a fickle formality that would force him to question his choice to linger and charm while he contemplates you, memorizes you, worships the fantasy found just between his lashes. Licks his lips to savor the essence he has not yet plundered.

You see, it’s the fact that he hasn’t earned it that makes you so intoxicating. The fact that he has to earn it every time, wonder if this is the day that you successfully defend yourself against his advances. And he can't just order you to submit.

These thoughts of you fill him up because he wants to fill you. And you may not outright resist him, but your innocent hesitancy, juxtaposed against the palpable wholeheartedness of your smile and that delightful laugh, fills him.

He wants to eat you.

My mind paints a picture of him wrapping his arms around you so you can’t run, his hot breath graphic against your ear as he presses your frame tight into his. You’re dizzy, out of breath. You’ve been running ever since you caught sight of those bared teeth.

Your struggle is like child’s play to him, but all that thrashing, squirming, jerking feels good beneath him so he holds you just a bit looser than he should. While you desperately writhe against the sheets (or the front door, or the kitchen table), his manicure is sinking into the excess flesh of your hips. He’s almost ready for you.

But Yuta is nice so he’ll take his time comforting you. He sucks at your neck, shoulder, back, wherever he needs to pull those tiny, stuttering moans out of you again. And the way your entire body flushes as the rim of your ear is violated by his tongue… There is no limit to his love of tasting you; for you, it comes unconditional.

He loves that he can feel the heat dripping off you, can almost feel the saturated embrace of your walls. He can’t wait, but he needs to. You have to want him – really want him, to the point of tears – when he takes you.

And that’s the thing about Yuta. He wants you to want him, but it’s nothing if he feels he didn’t earn it. Despite his aversion to beating around the bush, his bedroom is the scene for the ultimate chase.

It doesn’t feel like he wants to control you or tame you. He wants wild and free, and if that ends up with you on top, goddamnit, he wants that too. 

Fuck.

He really wants that.

click here for main masterlist

and here for nct masterlist

won't you come challenge me down in the comments? send an ask? it's up to you

[chisatowo]

I was gonna do more doodles here but Im tired so

[bokugaos]

cheering crowd.

pairing: bokuto x reader

length: 2k

tags: exhibitionism, predicament bondage, master/pet, degradation, nipple play, lactation, belly bulge, cum inflation, double penetration (one hole), toys, creampie

it’s all just a show and make-believe, but when the curtain goes up and there’s a sea of people behind it, you still flinch back and want to shield yourself from everyone’s eyes.

of course, that is impossible with your hands bound behind your back. still, it makes you wobble on the unstable stools you’re kneeling on, and as you tense your abdominal muscles and struggle to regain balance, you finally realize the predicament you’re in.

there’s an uncomfortable pull from the rope wrapped around you and attached to the floor, and the gentle, not quite satisfying slide of the fake cock in your ass.

you close your eyes and take a deep, shuddering breath through your nose, teeth gently digging at the ball gag in your mouth.

you have to remind yourself that this is all just a game; that this is make-believe, that nobody other than bokuto will put a hand on you. there are lights on stage that transform the onlookers into a faceless, dark mass. 

you blink, trying to discern some of the faces. you want to know if there is anybody in the crowd that you know; maybe have a friendly face that you can hold on to while you are being put on display, visible to everybody and so very, very vulnerable—but your eyes start tearing up from the glare of the light and you’d rather keep them closed.

which makes the whole thing even more scary. your thighs are trembling until the motion travels down and into the unsteady stools you are kneeling on. again, you are clumsily fucking yourself a bit deeper onto the generously lubed dildo before trying to pull up and away, the bindings tugging at your limbs in the process.

you whine, suddenly frustrated with the whole situation—and it hasn’t even been ten minutes yet. nothing has happened at all, other than your blatant exposure and your indignant, embarrassing struggling.

the crowd is watching you fight your bondage, and it makes you all the more antsy. you know they can see how unsure you are about this whole thing. you know they can see all your movements, and you don’t quite like the thought of it. of them realizing that you’re still a pet in training; that your master is letting you play like this for the very first time—

you can feel him hovering just behind you. his energy is warm and vibrating; like he has to physically hold himself back from gentling you down and reassuring you. it’s not what the audience wants, though, and it’s killing you that he has not touched you for the longest time.

everything is so quiet.

one of your legs jerks suddenly, nearly kicking the stools away, and you cry out soft and pathetic, the sound muffled by the gag. your head falls back when the sensation of the fake cock sliding deeper into your belly has warmth radiating off of his insides.

and like that has been the start signal, the show suddenly gets rolling.

“a gorgeous specimen, this one.” an unfamiliar voice booms.

your head jerks around. you try to see who is the one that has spoken, but the person is nowhere to be seen. your sudden motion has you wobbling again as well, and as you struggle not to fall, the binding around your chest tightening.

you groan into your gag, feeling drool starting to slip from the corner of your mouth. you’re very aware of your tits now; hanging from its own weight. it feels swollen from the squeeze, and nothing much has happened yet other than you getting trussed into this current situation by bokuto’s warm and sure hands.

there’s a harness around your waist to make sure you don’t hurt yourself if you were to completely fall off the unsteady stool you’re kneeling on, and you are uncomfortably aware of how it is framing your upper body and making them look more plush than usual; tits looking even bigger and flush, almost.

“there it is,” the unfamiliar voice croons, jerking you out of your thoughts once more. the man laughs. it does not sound belittling, but he seems trained in this kind of thing; like he could make his voice do all sorts of nasty things. like he enjoys doing this.

“she’s getting nice and drunk, do you see? she’s struggling so hard not to go down, but we all know she’ll get there sooner rather than later.”

the crowd murmurs for the first time, low and appreciative. your nipples pebble at the sound, something stubborn wanting to rear inside you; the same thing that made you struggle, not wanting to show off just how badly you like to be praised and cooed over.

you huff, nostrils flaring as your excitement spikes, as much as you hate to admit it. you try to breathe through it and center yourself, but it is difficult when you’re so very purposefully kept off-center.

“bokuto is her owner, and he’s told me quite a few interesting titbits. seems like we have a very good girl on our hands – only that sometimes she doesn’t want to show it. ain’t that right, sweet pumpkin?”

you jerk at the pet name, brows coming down in a fierce scowl. you dig your teeth into the rubber of the ball gag, muscles tensing in annoyance. you sure as hell won’t let anyone else other than your master calling you some cute nickname.

“aw look at that! the little lady is getting all antsy—”

you glare at the ground at that, frustration burning hot through your veins. you twist, forgetting all about the scene as you struggle against all your bindings.

the stools slide away, and all of a sudden your body falls down a few inches. you yelp in alarm, shrill and high-pitched as the fake cock slides into you deep, spearing you open as the harness keeps you from seriously injuring yourself.

you hang there in the air, eyes big and face slack in shock as bokuto steps a bit closer, his big, warm hand landing between your shoulder blades as a point.

he leans forward some, staring into your surprised, big eyes.

“how’s my puppy doing?” he beams, and you, as if in a trance, just dumbly nod.

you are truly helpless now, as you hang in the air, your ankles kept up and off the floor by some more straps that connect them to the back of your arms.

bokuto smiles at you, eager and delighted, like you making a huge embarrassment out of yourself and losing your dignity has all been planned. he steps back again, not moving out of your line of sight as he swings you to face him, and positions you just still, spreading your thighs even wider against the binding.

his hands never leave you, though, tracing the bindings all along the exposed skin of your back.

“there she goes,” the voice says, but it is difficult to focus on it when bokuto slides into you, squeezing his cock along with the slick dildo while the rope around you restricts firmly just how far he can push you through the air.

you whine into the gag, muscles trembling as you try for some semblance of control, and the man keeps talking in the background.

“she’s a good pet. a bit hostile, as you can see—but certainly very eager to please her master. look how sweet and obedient she’s becoming now.”

you are chewing at your gag, drooling around it more as he holds you in the air, the feeling of getting fucked by his cock and the dildo, and getting your nipples tugged on just this side of rough is making it so difficult to keep a calm head on your shoulders.

with that huge cock inside you, that pulsing head, the ridge just beneath it, veins swelling thick all the way to its fat base. more like stone than flesh, dragging brutally on your soft insides, rubbing your inner walls raw. and your pussy keeps gushing despite the humiliation of it all. how could it not when his hard cock fills every possible inch of you, just pulsating at the base of your belly before coming in hot jets and grinding it all in? 

you’re a mess, you know, but the faceless mass of people does not sound put-out by the sight of you.

it is embarrassing to think that they can see just how easy you are for it; how you become all sweet and soft for a bit of rough handling, while you’re suspended in the air, body rocking against bokuto’s massive figure.

“look at how sweet and rope-drunk she’s getting. the little lady just needs a bit of her master’s firm hand.”

you sob at the words. bokuto rams even deeper, leaning into you so you can feel him as he starts to additionally pluck at your nipples, fingers hot and relentless as he plays with your body in front of the whole crowd.

he lets them all see and hear how you go wild when he plays with your nipples. lets them know just how sensitive your tits really are.

and that was it. that flips the switch. you come with a scream, loud but muffled by the ball gag between your lips.

you arch, body curving with the shape of his cock ramming into you. to your shame—and a violent amount of pleasure—it just has your tits squirting all over nipples beaded and splattering bokuto with white. bokuto seems to be going even harder—rougher—between the gushing of your tits and the violent spurt of your orgasm, and they drive him to a massive splash emptying out inside you. the force of it pushes the dildo out of your hole, and the excess cum squelches out, splattering warm and filthy against his slick thighs and down to the floor of the stage, leaving a big wet mess.

bokuto maneuvers himself deeper, twisting like a corkscrew and making your insides twist too, and it only drags your orgasm longer. you are sobbing now, hiccuping and struggling to breathe, now realizing that the hugeness in your stomach just increased by that much. it swells, bloating on cum, the sloshing weight in your stomach; you wouldn’t be able to hold yourself up if not for being held up by the ropes and skewered on bokuto’s hard cock.

as you stare into his eyes, you know you’ll be coming all over your legs again, let him fill you up with his cum. it only rounds your stomach out more, until you think you might burst. there is plenty of excess seed frothing white and creamy at your battered hole, but that massive dick shoves it right back in with a filthy wet slap.

you’re nothing more than his dumb pet; a hole and womb, heavy and teeming with seed. the circumference of your belly and tits, the dilation of your hole, the elasticity. his dick plunges in and out methodically while you shake and squirm, too weak to even utter any words.

his touches tingle through you, jostle the sheer fullness of your belly. you squeal, louder and louder until you’re simply moaning like the cum slut that you are, body singing with pleasure as the horror fades from your eyes.

you ache, seeing nothing but white whenever his cock slots into your gaping hole and fills you back up all the way to the womb. big and rock hard and full of thick, creamy seed for your hungry body. and you’re taking it so well, you’re gonna be so full of cum. each violent thrust rocks your bound body back and forth, but from the mindless smile on your face, it seems you have finally learned to embrace your situation.

your eyes fill with happy tears as you realize you’re stuck here for a while, to be bred like a glory hole for as long as bokuto is done showing you off.

[bastillia]

Loyalties Lie

AO3 Mirror

Summary: You're a bartender in a Lothal cantina, living a quiet life in the Outer Rim after the fall of the Empire. You can't help but wonder what more might be out there for you. One dangerous guest in particular keeps catching your eye. Unfortunately, you've also caught his.

Rating: E

Words: 6.1k

Warnings: possibly mild dubcon, threats with a weapon, rough sex, verbal degradation, mentions of alcohol, cumplay, Boba Fett has a 24oz monster can dick and he knows how to use it.

A/N: Remember when I said I had a Boba Fett WIP laying around like, months ago? Well guess who showed up in Mando S2 with a sexy dad bod and the fattest dick in the galaxy to overhaul my dreams and make them a reality. Fuck me. Yes this is the first thing I’ve written in months hi I’m still here. No I don’t know how many chapters this will be. I live in hell. Welcome. Thank you to @kylorengarbagedump​ for graciously beta reading and listening to me literally scream about this man all the time. Love y’all so much PLEASE ENJOY.

**

It’s the kind of night that hums. 

Like a moonlit Lothal prairie, quiet and alive somewhere beyond the outskirts of town. Except that in here, the crickets swoop past your bar to buy shots, and the stars fall steadily to become the lovely tink of credits in your tip jar. The twin moons are shifting hues of neon light, and time seems to stroll by, like it has nowhere better to be.

Tonight has been steady. 

It’s not busy enough tonight to challenge you, but not slow enough to let you rest. Your guard is up, as it always is when you’re behind the bar. But your hold on it can afford to be loose. 

Tonight has been…

Boring. 

No brawls, no assassinations, not even a drunken paw fumbling across the bar towards your tits, attached to some overly rowdy patron who you then get to watch with quiet glee as they’re dragged out by the ears. No, in fact, it’s hard to remember the last time something remotely interesting happened around here. So much for the Outer Rim’s rugged reputation. You hate to say you miss the Empire’s occupation from time to time. But at least it brought nightly intrigue.

Tonight, your guests are especially calm and happy, lulled by liquor and the easy flow of conversation, murmurs blending like a stream through the grassland. And you suppose you shouldn’t complain. You’ve more than earned your keep for the night, and then some. Best of all, your boss has no reason to be breathing down your neck. 

In fact, he’s happy, too, you note when the Lasat’s bellowing business-laugh resounds overtop a few flutes of spotchka, glowing inside a booth across the room. You pass a cloth around the rim of a clean glass, feeling a tickle of interest as to who he might be schmoozing this time. When you glance up, you can just make out a pair of well-dressed Rodians seated across from him through the leisure-thick air of the cantina, nudging each other and laughing at whatever witty, schmoozy thing he just said. 

A soft snort puffs through your nose. At least Dakk is a predictable man, if nothing else. Must be rich folk, probably well connected. Good. You’ll get no help tonight, but at least he will be occupied for a while.

In fact...

Flicking a quick glance around the room, you take your chance and shrug your outer tunic off your shoulders, quickly smoothing down your much more revealing undershirt until it clings to the shape of you. You know Dakk hates when you do this, always goes on about keeping the place “classy.” But he’s not looking, and if it puts a few extra credits in your jar by the end of the night, it’s worth it. Anyway, you’re in a good mood tonight. Bored nonetheless, and the combination always forges a mischievous kind of boldness in you; a tiny spark that glows just bright enough to cast the idea of consequence in shadow.

You scan the bar for an empty drink, a flirtatious urge rolling off of your freshly bared skin and filling your ribs with air. It’s not long before you hone on your target-- an unsuspecting guest sitting alone, head turned away. Probably eavesdropping. A smirk curves your lips and you sidle over, plink a glass down between you, leaning your elbows on the bartop. 

“Something else for you, sugar?”

His head whips around with a guilty swiftness, but you just offer an easy smile, shifting your weight through your hips to coax his eyes down your body. It works like a charm.

“I, uh...“ The young Mirialan stammers directly at your tits. “Yeah, c-can I, ah…” 

As you wait out his struggle, an idea sparks in your freshly emboldened mind. Maker’s sake, might as well help the poor thing out. 

“Got a ruge liqueur in stock, last shipment off Alderaan. Rare these days.” Your lashes flutter, tongue just barely playing your along your lower lip as if teasing some unspoken promise. “I just couldn’t help but notice, you seem like a person of exceptional taste.”

The words are warm summer air on your tongue, practiced and enticing. You can see them go to the kid’s head like spice smoke, his cheeks immediately flushing deep emerald beneath diamond-shaped tattoos. 

“Y-yeah?” He straightens, runs a hand through his hair, grinning sheepishly. “I mean...yeah! I, uh, I am. That s-sounds great, yeah. Um. Please.”

You smile. Too easy. 

Now, it’s not technically a lie. You do have the ruge in stock, it’s just that--well, it’s definitely nothing this kid can afford. But you’d bet a week’s worth of tips that you can slip him a cheap offworld varietal instead. Charge him triple its price, pocket the excess. Poor thing wouldn’t know the real stuff if it bit him.

You swell with the thought. That amount might even let you buy something nice for yourself for once. It might be a little slimy, but... fuck it. Kid seems well off enough. Decently nice clothes, cologne, that misplaced air of belonging that comes with sheltered entitlement. Surely he won’t miss a few extra credits. Anyway, you deserve this, right?

Moving to speak again, you prepare to lay the flirting on thick, really sell the gambit. But before you get the chance, a loud bang snaps your attention upward just in time to see the cantina door slam open. 

You straighten where you stand, irritation and curiosity pricking your ears in equal measure. But then a slight hush cuts the ease of your buzzing meadow, and your chest squeezes with it.

Boba Fett.

The hunter takes up almost the whole doorway, a broad tower of matte green beskar catching the soft neons of the cantina. The distinctly cold gaze of the Mandalorian helmet scans the room, stirring murmurs and averting eyes until it comes to rest, finally, upon you.

It feels like two cold weights set down on your shoulders, being the focus of that stare. 

Even as the energy picks back up around you, as conversations cautiously resume, it’s like you’re trapped in it, breathless under its weight and unable to look away. You vaguely register the Mirialan turn back to your tits and ask them something about when your shift ends. But you’re still transfixed, watching the armored man take a few deliberate steps towards the bar and straddle a stool, the visor trained like a crosshair upon you as his forearms settle on the bartop.

You’ve seen him here before. Heard his name whispered in weighted ripples ever since news spread through the Outer Rim that Bib Fortuna was dead. Since then, he’s come through maybe once every few dozen cycles, each time with a couple new chips in the paint of his armor. He comes here on business--or at least you assume that’s what it must be, since he always meets someone, speaks in hushed tones enshrouded by the dim corner booth in the back. He’ll toss a few credits on the bar when he leaves, but has never uttered a word to you, never ordered a drink.

Never even glanced your way, for all you know. Until right now. 

You swallow. Fucking hell, if there’s anything you’re used to, it’s being looked at. So why is this gaze kicking your pulse up into the base of your throat, making you feel exposed? A prickle of heat is already settling in your cheeks.

And then the visor cocks, and just barely tilts down the length of your figure. 

A tight breath snaps into your lungs, and your eyes dart to the bartop, across the room, back to the Mirialan still babbling dumbly at you, your face now hot. Kriff, what is wrong with you? Since when are you outright flustered by some stranger copping an eyeful? You try to breathe, ignoring how the hairs stand on your neck.

But you can still feel his attention like the heat of a sun warming your bare shoulder, and it makes something start to coil in your belly and glow there.

“I’ll have that ruge right up, sweetheart.” 

You’re pretty sure you interrupt the kid, but he doesn’t seem to mind, just calls out a stammered thank-you as you pivot away towards your new guest, your heart kicking against your sternum. Your feet almost feel weighted to the floor, and by the time you reach him, your pulse has an edge like a blade. 

“Something I can interest you in?” 

There’s a breathlessness to the warm air of your voice now, and you pray to the Maker that it doesn’t betray you. You lean against the bar, hoping that the solidity of the wood will somehow teach your nerves to follow its example. It doesn’t. 

He seems to study you for a moment, motionless. And then his shoulders shift, his elbows widen, and he leans in towards you.

“Information.” His voice is low and direct, barely above a graveled whisper, the single accent-laden word dragging through your belly and sparking like metal on stone.

Fuck.

Of course he’s after the one thing you’re not willing to sell.

Your heart stalls while your mind starts to race, eyes searching the dark visor. Of course you’d be a fool to deny him, and he knows it. That’s why he’s asking you. Why would you risk rousing a scene in your own bar, especially when the night is so mercifully calm? Easier to give him what he wants. Tap into your collection of liquor-loosened secrets, and knowledge of the local crowd.

The thing is, you’ve built a good rapport for your discretion. You think. Not to mention the number of cutting warnings Dakk has laid on you about the consequences for selling secrets in his bar. Is it really worth risking? Fett intimidates you, no doubt. But he’s also banking on the assumption that you won’t make this difficult for him. He has to be. And now unease and excitement are starting to play a game of catch between your ribs with that tiny, dangerous spark of boldness.

“Fresh out.” Your fingers drum the wood beneath them, trying to ground your reflexes through the rush of adrenaline that accompanies your words. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, and you stare into the blackness of the visor as you let the tiniest, playful smirk flit over your face.  “Perhaps something to drink?”

Slowly, achingly slowly, Boba Fett settles back on the bar stool. Unease lances you, splintering with the immediate question of whether you just made the right choice. You don’t want to think about how many he’d manage to kill before you could even blink, if he decided to do something extreme. His hand starts to shift back along his thigh, drawing a path towards the blaster at his hip. You swallow, panic pricking your neck.

Just as your muscles are primed to dive behind the bar, convinced you’re going to have to evade his quickdraw, his palm just takes a lazy rest on the hilt. The helmet levels, and then leans slowly to the side. 

“No.” 

Dizzied, you blink. It’s impossible to know what he’s thinking through that helmet, and he’s offered you all of two words. But was that… amusement, you heard? No. Anger? Fuck, now you’re really imagining things.

Still a little breathless, you straighten, sensing that you’re dismissed. The thought of flirting with a killer was a much-needed rush, but you need to take his indifference as a mercy after that little stunt and get on with your job while he’s giving you the chance. What little you apparently have left of a survival instinct is at least telling you that much.

You shrug. 

“Suit yourself.”

It feels dangerous to take your eyes off of him. But you force yourself to do so anyways, turning your back on the hunter and making your way to the dim doorway at the end of the bar, his attention still heating your spine. 

It’s a fucking relief to slip through the door to the storage room, ease the door shut behind you, and for the first time in what feels like moons, you let a long breath fill your lungs. The familiar scent of dust and wine-aged wood floods you, and something like disappointment tugs at your heart.

Maybe that stupid, adventure-craving side of your imagination took things too far, fueled by your boredom and the prospect of something exciting finally happening. You suppose you projected that naive hope onto Boba Fett, if nothing else just because he’s the first person to come through here in a long time that actually intrigues you. That confounds your prized, finely-calibrated radar for reading people without having to speak a word to them.

Fuck, he really wouldn’t give you much more than a word, would he? Guess he’s determined to keep scrambling your sensors. It shouldn’t deject you as much as it does. But...  come on, the least the son of a mudscuffer could do is flirt back if he was gonna fucking undress you with his eyes like that. 

Or maybe that was just your imagination, too. 

You sigh, scanning a shelf on the back wall for a ruge that will make a convincing enough dupe. A synthetic varietal, perhaps. No--too cheap. You’ve got something from a Naboo vineyard in here somewhere. Anyways, whatever, since when are you desperate for any man’s attention?

No, okay, it’s... you know that isn’t what this is really about. 

It would just be nice to feel important, is all. Like the secrets you’ve gathered might be worth something. Could someday give you a place in something bigger. Or at least like anything about you might be worth more than equivalent to a shot of shitty spotchka. 

Forget it. As if that will ever happen.

Your finger absently traces the dusty label of a bottle, and then a soft clink of metal behind you freezes your blood. 

You whip around to meet a wall of beskar, inches from your face.

You start to scream, but the sound catches in your throat when a big hand seizes you by the back of the neck and wrenches you around, bending you at the hips and slamming you chest-down against the stale wood of a storage crate. Cold metal presses your thighs and your heart smacks your ribs, your body completely trapped under Boba Fett’s mass in one motion. 

“I said I need information, little one, and you’re going to give it to me.” His voice scrapes over your body, sliding through the dim room like the shadow from a candle flame. You quail beneath him, brain racing with shock.

“I d-don’t—ugh!” The weight of his forearm comes down between your shoulder blades, pressing breathy little grunts from your lungs as you squirm. “I don’t sell out my customers.”

You freeze when the distinct click of a blaster registers right at your temple. 

“Never said I was buying.”

Panic zips down your spine, your chest heaving against the wooden crate as heat slams your core. Somewhere, your rational brain is scrambling to parse the threat, but something about the sheer filth and danger of it is setting your whole body on fire, making far more primal nerves come alive. Trying to shake the feeling, you squirm.

“At lea--ngh, least nothing’s changed there.”

Fucking hell, what are you doing? Besides sassing the known murderer with a blaster currently trained at your head, alone in a dark room. Yet somehow that very fact is making arousal bloom so wicked and fast that you can already start to feel your cunt throb against the fabric of his pants. 

“Willing to die to protect a few spineless slime crawlers who don’t even know your name?” Boba rocks his weight against you, powerful and lazy in the way he simply leans into his hips, grinds them up hard against your ass to keep you flattened over the edge of the crate. “Boss man lines his pockets while his good little pet works for scraps.” Air feels more scarce to your lungs by the second. “Interesting, how your loyalties lie.”

Indignance flares up your spine.

“I w-ouldn’t expect you to understand.” You try to put venom in the words, but it’s difficult between your breathlessness and the sheer eroticism of this position you’re in. “Small price to pay, f-for a good life.”

Through your annoyance, you can’t help feeling a twinge of enjoyment at his solidity, at how you can just discern the outline of him through his pants. An excited thrum of your pulse snaps to your core like a fuse.

Above you, Boba Fett chuckles.

“Is that what he gives you?” There’s a mockery to his tone that heats your blood, and you start to squirm in defiance before remembering the blaster at your temple. Fett simply crushes you harder, drawing your attention back to his crotch. “Seems to me like you’re the mouse in his attic.”

“I suppose you’re better than him? Than any of them?” you immediately bite, not wanting to acknowledge the truth behind his words. Instead, you grab that spark of bravery and crank the voltage until it drowns your doubt, throwing your caution to the stars faster than punching an airlock in hyperspace. “Do you even know m-my name, Mando?” A tiny giggle ripples your chest. “I know yours.”

“Might be the last one you know,” Boba growls, but you’re becoming fixated on his cock now, the way you could swear that it’s growing more distinct by the second.

Fear and pleasure wrack your brain, the combination intensifying so deliciously with the pressure of his groin against your ass that you can hardly think straight any more. In a moment of sick indulgence, you arch your back and shift just slightly, wanting to feel that pressure against something now pulsing and sensitive. 

The grip on your neck locks tight, and your breath stops. 

“So that’s how it’s gonna be, princess.” 

He kicks your legs apart and crushes his hardening bulge against your pussy. And, fuck, you moan. You don’t even mean to, but the thrill of helplessness has you so mindlessly turned on that you can’t stop the noise from squeezing out of your throat.

“Filthy little thing you are.” 

There’s a shift in his tone now. The vice hold disappears from your nape just before your pants are wrenched unceremoniously over your ass and down to mid thigh. You gasp at the feeling of air brushing your bare lips. He takes a moment, and you think he must be looking at you. Heat blossoms from your face all the way down to your chest, and then he’s against you again, a palm coming down between your shoulders as coarse fabric presses flush with your cunt. 

You can really feel the outline of his cock now, hard enough to rival his armor but warm and thick against you, and you whimper. It’s only a click that snaps your awareness back to the weapon pointed at your head. 

“Let’s try this again, little mouse.” Boba’s voice comes lower and airier through the vocoder now in a way that blazes right through you. “You give me what I want, and perhaps you’ll inspire my generosity.”

In emphasis of his intent, he rocks his erection against the cleft of your pussy. Your eyes snap wide, an almost painful stab of arousal making you immediately whine louder than you intend to. “Fuck--oh, please!”

“Careful.” His hand slides up your neck, angling your face so that he can see it twist in shame and pleasure. “Wouldn’t want anyone finding you like this.”

Your cheeks blaze. Shallow breaths stutter in your lungs as his thumb tugs the pillow of your lower lip. And then he releases you, his hand moving back somewhere you can’t sense. The pressure against your ass shifts for a moment, just before the wide, hot shaft of his bare cock caresses your cunt.

“Last night there was a man here, Mon Cala, middle aged.” Your body is on fire as he speaks, the skin to skin contact dousing your brain in blind want. You grit your teeth, screw your eyes shut, trying hard to focus on what he’s saying while your pussy twinges around nothing. “He talked to the owner here, then he met with someone. Tell me who.”

A reluctant whimper leaves your lips, and the noise might just be one of the most pathetic you’ve ever made as your tongue still stubbornly refuses to slip. But Fett’s words ring again through your head with a resentful pang: the mouse in his attic. Is that what you’ll die as?

At your temple, the blaster’s safety disengages.

“Fuck! Okay, okay.” Your breath comes heavily, brain uncertain and lust-addled, fumbling for the details. “He um. Met a--mmh, a woman, I d-didn’t catch her name. Please--” Your voice trails off in a soft whine, your hips shifting back, trying to find the means to swallow his cock where it teases your tender core, entice him with the diversion now that you’ve given him a crumb.

“You must be dumber than I took you for, sweetling.” His hips retreat slightly, evading you. The sheer display of restraint is infuriating, electrifying. It shallows your breath with need. He stills again, a rough, gloved hand running firmly up your spine, pushing your shirt up to bare more of your skin to his view. “Tell me the rest.”

Your teeth set with a final, feeble whine of hesitation. More instinct than anything. But then a cold ring of metal presses your temple, and fresh fear unbinds your tongue in a deluge.

“S-she had, ah--civilian clothes, but, um… an Imperial s-standard issue blaster.” Your eyes screw in concentration, details flickering like a glitchy holocom through your brain. “I heard them talk about, uh. A shipment. For… Fuck, uh. Th-three cycles from now.”

Boba hums, a sound that makes your eyes roll back as you feel yourself nearly dripping against him, your slick coating his cock where it just barely parts you.

“Smart girl.” His hand drags indulgently down your back, coming to rest on your hip and squeezing. “Where’s the shipment going, princess?”

Torture. This is some kind of galactic war crime, you’re sure of it. Pleasure surges from your teased cunt and his grip on your flesh, and his voice is almost soothing now, coaxing you further towards complacency. It’s all too much. Your head rests against the crate, defeat washing in a gentle tide over you. 

“Going... to Hosnian Prime.”

A soft, satisfied puff of noise comes from the modulator. The barrel retreats from your temple. 

“Now, there’s a good girl.”

Warmth crashes through your lower belly, a strange and exhilarating sensation that suddenly makes you want to... purr? No one has ever spoken to you like this, and it’s tickling a part of your brain that feels far, far too good. But then his cock glides thick and heavy along your folds, obliterating your thoughts, and all you can think about is having that inside of you. 

“Fuck,” you whine as he slowly aligns himself, teasing up and down the drenched, tender flesh of your pussy. He takes his time, massaging the blunt head over your clit and sending little shocks through your muscles, making you shiver and clench. “Please, please…” 

“Tame little creature when you want to be,” he grits, pressing against your entrance with an exhaled groan. “Keep being good for me.” 

Slowly, he starts to push. And, oh, fuck.

You’re not ready. 

You’re wetter and needier than you’ve ever been in your life, and you’re still not fucking ready to take a cock like this one when it crushes in and stretches you, setting an ache through your hips that tells you whatever happens, you’re bound to feel him for days. 

A cry sticks in your throat and you will yourself to breathe, to relax as he sinks in further, forcing your walls to flutter and part around him. It truly feels like being broken open, and your fingers have to dig into the wood beneath you when he pulls out an inch and then pushes again, sinking deeper this time as a choked noise pulls through the vocoder.

By the time he finally bottoms out, you swear you can feel him shifting your guts. Every muscle in your pelvis is straining to take him, the intensity mind-numbing already. You’re nearly choking on your own attempts to breathe while he pauses, sheathed like this for a few moments, seeming to concentrate on his own breathing at the same time. 

And then his voice comes again, a growl, pitched even lower and more ferocious than before through a clutched breath. 

“Fuck, you’re a tight little thing.” 

Stars.

This is different.

It’s so hard to think, you’ve never felt more full, but something in the back of your mind is unfurling, turning hot and primal with a roiling kind of need that burgeons and begs at the feeling of his cock rooted so fucking deep inside of you. You’ve had sex before, sure, but this…

You’re about to get fucked. 

“Please…” you mewl. Desperation pierces you when you feel his fingers flex strong and firm around your hip in response. You turn your head, trying to glimpse him--only to realize that the blaster is still right next to your face, its angle nonchalant, close enough to brush your lips. 

Your mind is so drenched in lust, the first urge that strikes you is to stick out your tongue and wet the metal, its sharp alloy piercing your senses and making your pussy seize with the shudder of danger.

In your periphery, you see the visor snap to attention, like he wasn’t fully looking at you before, lost in his own pleasure. But now he is. And he gives the weapon an experimental twist, allowing for your lips to wrap, delicate and wet, just around the tip of the barrel.

“Fearless little mouse.” There’s something dark and charged in his voice. “You look good like that.”

A slight wiggle to open your jaw, and the blaster shoves past your lips, resting thick and cold on your tongue, lighting your spine with a new thrill. Your voice swells on a muffled moan around it, such a soft and lovely sound to accompany a thing that’s orchestrated countless deaths. 

“There we are. Nice and quiet now.” 

Finally, finally, he starts to thrust, slow and measured, forcing your body to yield around the width of him. Something burns hot in your belly with each steady stroke, wiping your brain of everything but his presence.

The rough material of a glove smothers one of your asscheeks, grips and pulls at the pillowy flesh, spreading you open as his thrusts take up a steady, powerful rhythm. Boba Fett lets out a long groan, and you can only imagine the view he has right now. It sears you alive, the knowledge that he likes looking at you like this, pitching and whimpering with his rhythm, the sight of your pussy stretched, helpless around his cock and your mouth wetting his blaster. 

Your spit slicks the barrel more with every thrust, and you can feel the mechanics shifting dangerously between your lips. But his trigger finger is steadier than death, and his control gives you the nerve to let your tongue lick out along the barrel, bathe in the electric wash of fear that sets all of your nerves into overdrive.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he snarls as his pace starts to kick up wilder. 

Intense pleasure cracks through you now, visceral in a way you’ve never felt, and it’s all you can do to keep relatively quiet. The barrel on your tongue is a sharp enough reminder, yet it fuels your arousal to burn hotter and wetter all the same. The more you concentrate on the powerful bliss coiling in your core and rippling outwards, the more you can feel yourself starting to tighten around him, your body yearning vaguely towards a release it can’t seem to center on.

You hear him groan as you squeeze him, his grip on your flesh flexing and shifting. A few more strong thrusts, and then his cock pulls all the way out of you with a woeful pang, the blaster vacating your mouth in the same motion to leave you empty, dizzied and clenching. But before you can unscramble your brain, the blaster slots back into its holster and he’s moving you. With an effortless kind of control, he flips you over, shifting you until the solid wood of the crate supports your ass.

He hikes both of your legs onto one shoulder and in one swift, easy motion, whisks your pants over your shoes and off of your ankles, tossing them carelessly into the darkness of the room before hooking your legs around his armored waist.

“Going to watch you cum, princess. Nice and pretty.”

Your mouth opens on a gasp at his words, and a gloved thumb immediately presses your tongue, the taste of leather and plasma residue grounding your senses enough to register that he’s lining his cock back up at the heat of your entrance. You whine around his thick digit, and he growls somewhere low in his chest as he pushes the thick head back in, this new angle making you see stars all over again. 

He doesn’t bother letting you adjust this time, just uses your wetness to his advantage to start railing through your tightness, burning and stretching you as that warm swell starts to crest again. It’s such a deep, full feeling, spreading a delicious ache from the spot where he hits you deep in your tummy. 

Your brows draw together, your whines pitching higher as you search the visor. It’s a wordless plea, your vision swallowed by the power of him fucking you deep, your body now screaming to cum but needing something you can’t quite pinpoint.

The hunter’s thumb slips out of your mouth, his hand forging an eager path down your body. He palms your tit over your shirt, before grabbing the low collar and yanking it down, baring your nipples to his view one after the other. His whole hand spans your torso as he hooks the lower hem with his thumb, bunching the material until both your belly and tits are bare, your shirt like a handle at your diaphragm that he uses to pound you even harder, watching your body jolt, overpowered by his thrusts.

Airy little wails brush through your lips, the pleasure all too intense and not enough at the same time. You can’t take it anymore, you need something on your clit, and your fingers twitch to seek out that precious target. But he’s already moving, his hips slowing to a lazier pace while his free hand finds some destination at his belt, and what he produces freezes you in your tracks.

“Steady now,” he breathes as he slips a long blade out of his belt and spins it by the hilt, his fingers almost too quick, too tactful for such a brute. 

Instinctual panic grips you at the sight of the weapon, making your legs try to close. But he’s pushed too deep in you, his frame has you pinned open, and there’s nothing you can do against the sheer breadth of his body. Powerless, you simply whimper.

“Wh… what are y--”

“Hush, princess.” 

A flick of his thumb and the vibroblade springs to life, its hum filling the quiet air. He starts to bring the blunt hilt of it down where your body yields to his. Alarm pierces you one final time, but then he touches the pommel, just barely, against the tender swell of your clit.

You want to fucking scream. As if in anticipation of this, he claps his hand over your mouth just in time for you to bite down on his glove while your eyes roll back in a powerful wave of ecstasy. The vibrations surge through the sensitive nerves, lighting your whole body up in a way you’ve never felt before. It’s pure bliss, and then a low, long growl slips through the helmet’s modulator at the feeling of your walls pulsing tight, strangling his cock. 

His thrusts deepen again, powerful and steady, stroking some devastating spot deep inside you. Your muffled wails get lost in the breath-dampened fabric of his glove while the intense pleasure crests from your clit, higher, higher, lasering in on that intangible cusp and barreling you straight towards it.

You suspend at the peak, all senses failing, and then your orgasm takes you in a riptide, surging through your nerves like liquid fire. The magnitude of it rends you, stronger than you’ve ever felt, dragging you under and forcing you to ride it out while it just pulls and pulls. By the time you regain your sight you’re shaking, waves of bliss still pulsing and crashing through your body in time to the strong rhythm of his hips, the glowing epicenter that unwavering vibration at your clit. 

Sobs wrack your chest, pour out high and lose themselves somewhere in the meat of his hand, and you think you try to catch a few breaths, but you can’t even come down. Boba’s voice cuts through the rush in your ears.

“Good. Good girl.” 

He holds the buzzing hilt of the blade impossibly steady against your clit and that glow is still so bright, twitching, starting to spill through your nerves again and holy shit you think you just might--

“Again.”

Your second orgasm shreds you like a plasma cannon.

You’re blind, numb to everything but the intense pleasure, nerves now as raw and sharp as the edge of the blade itself. His hand is tight over your face and you feel your cunt convulsing and gushing around his cock, slick cum spilling to wet your asscheeks, and it must be your own because his pace hasn’t let up. 

A clatter resounds on the edge of your consciousness and when your eyes come into focus, Boba’s hand is locking into your waist, the blade discarded somewhere in the room. His hips piston hard with a few vulgar slaps of flesh, the head of his cock crushing against your deepest parts before he wrenches out of you and spills over your bare stomach with a strangled roar, gripping himself at the base and thrusting against you as warm, thick ropes paint your skin.

His release is long. Grunts distort into rough static through the vocoder as he rides out the last pulses, until finally he braces himself on the crate beside your head, hunched over you like a beast, his chest plate rolling with heavy breaths. You can only blink at him through hazed, damp eyes, your body feeling weak and utterly fucked dumb. The hand over your mouth slowly unlocks its grip, dragging downwards and leaving you to take shallow gulps of air while he gives your tit a deliberate squeeze. 

And then he drags himself off of you, straightening with an almost-concealed groan as he adjusts himself and leaves you to blink at the dark ceiling, still letting oxygen find your brain. 

When you shakily manage to sit up, you just glimpse him slipping the discarded vibroblade back into his belt and turning towards the door. Even through your dizziness, you scoff. Figures. Bastard is just going to fuck your brains out and then leave you like this.

“You know,” you sigh, watching him and lazily trailing your fingers in a circle on your tummy, enjoying the lingering buzz of your skin and gathering a bit of his spend where it coats you, still warm. “I’d say that tip-off was at least worth a handful of credits in my jar on your way out.”

He turns and looks at you then, the helmet cocking in consideration for a moment. As soon as his attention is on you, your fingers move from his mess on your belly to your mouth, where you slowly suckle him off of your fingers, never once taking your eyes off the visor, a tiny ripple of playfulness wiggling your shoulders and curling your lips.

His shoulders square to you, and that hunter’s stance still makes your chest seize, sends a pulse to your exhausted pussy.

Metal clinks softly as he walks towards you, stepping between your knees until you’re forced to drop your hand from your mouth and look up at him, heart fluttering again. He brushes the knuckle of his forefinger under your chin.

“Fresh out.”

His back turns as you stare, speechless. And then the door swings on its hinges, and Boba Fett is gone.

[arhvste]

❝ suna rintarō - because i know you ❞

in which suna speaks his love language to you on one of the days you needed to hear it the most - x gn reader

the balls of your feet ached and the weight of your shoulders felt as if it were seconds away from shattering through your entire body; not that you had enough energy to care, but that wasn’t the point. nothing seemed to be going right today, you weren't given the slightest fraction of lenience and the world had decided to curse you with nothing but misfortune.

deciding your day couldn’t get any worse, you dragged yourself back home to your apartment where you knew there would be limitations to what inconveniences you’d come across before the end of your painstakingly long day. after what felt like years, the elevators had reached your floor and you had never been so grateful to see the front door to your home just ahead. digging through your bag to retrieve the silver key to open the door, you huffed and scowled as your hand couldn't seem to find the small piece of silver metal. small mutters of ‘shit’ and ‘ugh’ left your lefts before you gave up and gently rested your head against the front door.

your eyes fluttered shut and you felt tears of frustration well up before your head lost contact with the solid front surface and you came crashing down onto something almost equally as hard but warm.

“rough day?”

suna looked at you from above, one hand on the opened door and the other now wrapped securely around your waist to prevent you from falling to the floor.

“asshole. you saw me struggling didn't you?” you scoffed peeking up at your tall boyfriend as a small smile graced his face.

“perhaps, but you can’t blame me. your little angry face is quite the pretty sight actually.”

you scoffed as his smile failed to falter. he ushered you inside and took your bag off your hands to drop by the front door.

“clothes off, go to the bathroom.”

“rin, i’m really not in the mood for-”

he cut you off with a shake to his head, his dark mop of hair swaying in the process.

“that’s not what i meant you little pervert. i’ve run a bath for you, you seemed tired.”

“oh.”

“yeah, ‘oh’, you seem a little shocked, do you really think i’m that inconsiderate. you’re breaking my heart angel.” your boyfriend had a playful grin tugged at his lips, a rare smile that he’d often display in small moments of teasing between the two of you. you flushed slightly upon hearing the affectionate pet name that was strictly reserved for you, and you alone. you shook your head and sighed, rubbing at your temples.

“no, sorry. you’re right, i am tired. how did you know though?”

suna’s expression didn’t change as he pulled his phone from the kitchen island. unlocking it and approaching you, suna showed you a conversation the two of you had had earlier during the day.

“blunt answers. i knew you were stressed.” he muttered before pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“now,” he pulled away and stood in front of you. “go take that bath, my kindness isn’t going to go to waste.”

you rolled your eyes but smiled weakly at him in thanks before heading over to the bathroom like he suggested. the soft aroma and steam rising from the warm bathwater instantly eased the built up tension inside of you as you entered the sleek bathroom and noticed suna had laid out products you assumed he noticed you often opted to use. your heart fluttered at the sight. sure, running a bath for your significant other wasn’t a grand gesture, but this was suna’s love language. small acts of intimacy. it was little details and quirks of yours he picked up on and seemed to remember. he wasn’t partial to being excessive and evident in his acts of love to you, but he was rather more thoughtful and considerate in his approaches to show you that he cared and did think about you.

stripping your clothes away, you felt each layer of stress lift off of you before completely evaporating as you stepped into the warm pool of water. your eyes fluttered shut as you let the soothing water soak in and eliminate each blemish of distress you had been bestowed upon throughout the course of the day.

fifteen minutes of lying in the tub and letting today’s feelings of inferiority and distracting melt away, you felt a little clingy. the warmth of the water only spreading throughout your body easing you into the feeling of a heavy sleep wave beginning to tide in.

“rin!” you softly called, voice bouncing off the pretty white porcelain tiles of the bathroom, echoing through the hall.

“you called?” he stood in the frame of the doorway a few seconds after calling for him. his lean figure blocking the faint golden light drifting through from the living room. you watched as his sharp eyes drank in your body soaking in the clear hot water. a small smile playing on his lips as he sighed after a moment.

“and you called me the pervert.” you raised an eyebrow sitting up a little more. your boyfriend snickered before approaching you and kneeling by the edge of the bathtub.

“you,” he began, sincere eyes meeting your own. “are really something else.”

you hummed before suna started to life his shirt above his head. you couldn’t have torn your eyes away even if you wanted to. suna was sculpted beautifully, as if the gods had spent an exaggerated amount of time specifically on him, not a chip or scratch permitted on their art, the finest marble was used with care and polished to perfection to craft none other than suna rintarō.

“you gonna move up or am i gonna freeze here naked in our bathroom all night?”

you ripped your gaze off his chest for just a moment to meet a playful grin and soft eyes adorning his face. you had been so distracted admiring your pretty boyfriend, you had failed to noticed he had completely stripped.

“whatever.” you muttered hoping the steam was enough to mask your slight fluster. you moved forward slightly allowing suna access into the tub. the tub was spacious enough for two, suna had suggested it before moving in admitting he wasn’t a fan of the cramps he’d get after waking up in the bath after falling asleep after training. his legs at the sides of your body as your back was met to his bare chest.

“hands where i can see them.” he teased as you scoffed.

“likewise.”

the two of you stayed like that for a while. his fingers lazily dragging circles upon the top of your thigh as you hummed in satisfaction. his soft breath ticking your neck as he leaned in closer to press soft kisses along your neck and jawline.

“not complaining, but why are you suddenly being like this?” you whispered with a small smile.

“because you need it right now.”

“and how would you know that?” you challenged, playfulness lacing your tone delicately.

“because i know you.”

you laughed softly and leaned back further into his chest as he sighed.

“i know i’m not always the most vocal about it, but i do know you. i know when you’re tired you need attention, i know you hate wearing wet socks so you always carry another pair with you, i know you hate it when people chew loudly, i know your shoulders ache after most days, i know you angel and i do love you.” he mumbled closely to your ear, the kisses to your neck and jawline never stopping between his words.

you bit the inside of your cheek as you processed his genuine words. sure, suna wasn’t huge on pda, but understandably so. that didn’t mean he loved you any less than people who did show their partners public displays of affection. the giddy feeling of being loved bubbled up inside your chest as you couldn’t hold back the wide smile pulling at your lips.

“i love you rintarō.” your words honest and pure alike to his own.

“i don’t blame you.” he shot back as you flicked the water back into his face. his face scrunched as he turned away just in time before squeezing your thigh slightly as he steadied himself.

“let’s stay like this for a while.” he muttered, eyes fluttering shut as he pulled you back to lean on his further. “we can have dinner in a bit, i sometimes like to be selfish too when it comes to you.” he admitted his words showing no signs of deception.

“be as selfish as you want. i’m yours for as long as you need it too. because, i know you too rintarō, and i know you need us like this at times too.”

love languages never had to be explicitly spoken words, but rather a form of communication, whether that was spoken or unspoken between the two of you. just a way to let each other know that you did love each other as much as the other. while not always vocal about it, you understood suna’s small ways of telling you he was in love, and it was small acts like this that you knew he was chanting he loved you a million times over.

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[breakyeol]

Sweet, Sweet Relief

Pairing : chanyeol x reader

Summary: in which your gorgeous best friend knows just what to do to help you relax. 

Warnings: strong language, shy yeol towards the end, explicit sexual content; mild muscle kink?? i think??, dry humping for like two seconds, oral (f. receiving) aka pussy eating king back at it again, fingering, park chanyeol bc the man deserves a warning all his own 

Word Count: 3.3k

a/n; ah yes, best friends to lovers, my favorite cliche. i can’t stop writing for Chanyeol lately?? which really isn’t that out of the ordinary bc the man is literally my muse, but it seems a bit excessive at times yikes. but i also think it’s a good thing because i’m making some leeway with his prince au!!! yay!!! hopefully it won’t be too terribly long of a wait! until then, i hope these drabbles turned one shots will hold you over :) enjoy!

“You’re stressed out.”

It wasn’t a question.

You sighed, head shaking as you spared Chanyeol a glance from the corner of your eye.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re obviously not.” Was his abrupt response, concerned eyes dragging over the length of your tensed features, pausing on the visible lines above your brow and at the corners of your mouth.

He was right, of course. You weren’t alright. In all honesty, you hadn’t been alright for the past month. Your latest assignment was beating the absolute shit out of you, draining your mind and body of all its viable energy and leaving you an exhausted, stressed out disaster of a person.

Unfortunately, you knew that if you admitted it out loud to Chanyeol, he would not let you spend another second staring at your stupid computer screen. But you really had to get the project done by the end of the week or you were totally and royally screwed. And if he couldn’t make you feel better, Chanyeol would end up feeling like shit and that in turn would make you feel even more like shit than you already do and it would be an endless cycle of the two of you feeling like shit and does anybody really need that right now? You were already struggling enough without having an extra pouty, sulking best friend to tend to.

“Chanyeol—“ you began, running your palms over your face as you concocted a number of things to say to get him to stop worrying. But, he didn’t give you the chance.

“I can do it again.”

Your hands fell away from where they’d begun to press against your sore eyes, a look of confusion crossing your features.

“Huh?”

He swallowed, shifting where he sat beside you on the plush sofa. You followed his every movement through narrowed eyes, your confusion building as a shade of pink dusted over his cheeks.

“I–if you want me to... I can do it again.”

It took you a second. To put the pieces together. To remember. For the shock to settle over you. It took a second, but it was with a jolt that you realized what he was talking about. Warmth blossomed beneath your skin, but you forced your expression to fall into that of gentle chiding.

“Yeol. We agreed that it was a one time thing.”

The near rejection had him crumbling in on himself, the blush coating his cheeks intensifying tenfold as he fiddled with his fingers in his lap.

“I know but... I don’t mind. If it helps.” He suddenly straightened his back and you damn near jumped out of your skin as one of his hands fell across your thigh. He stared into your eyes, determination and sincerity burning in his own. “I want to help.”

“Yeah but you don’t have to help like th— ah!” You yelped in surprise as he suddenly pushed you and you fell backwards onto the couch with a soft ‘oof’. “What the h– ell…” your voice gave with an embarrassing crack as Chanyeol crawled on top of you, straddling your hips and caging your head between his arms. The sudden change of position caught you completely off guard, and you found yourself grappling hopelessly to try and get your mind back on track.

“Let me help you, y/n. You know I’m good at it.” His voice had dropped an octave, softening into a near whisper. Heat pooled in your cheek, and you blinked rapidly, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

Sure he was good —probably one of the best you’d ever had if you were being completely and totally honest—, but accidentally fucking your best friend while you are both wasted and horny beyond rationality is completely different than committing the act while sober and capable of discerning between right and wrong. And this— this had to be wrong.

Even if it felt so deliciously right.

Quickly ridding yourself of the thought, you pressed your palms against his chest with every intention to pushing him away, only to falter at the feeling of taut, bulging muscle beneath your fingertips that you were almost certain hadn’t been there the last time you’d laid your hands on him.

“Have you been working out?”

The question was so out of place in the situation that Chanyeol couldn’t rein in his laughter before it came bubbling from his chest in several loud, contagious eruptions.

“A little…” his lips curled into that familiar, boyish grin, “wanna see?”

Asking proved pointless as he sat up before you could conjure up an intelligible response and took hold of the bottom of his hoodie. In one soft motion, he pulled it over his head and tossed it aside without a care. You couldn’t help but gawk like a fool at the sight you were left with.

“W–wow.” You coughed out, blinking rapidly as you absorbed the expanse of the tanned, toned body on top of you. ‘A little’ had been an understatement. The last time you saw him shirtless, you can’t quite seem to recall there being such a defined six pack… or such impressive biceps… fuck.

“Wanna feel?”

His large hand was already wrapped around your wrist before the question escaped his lips, though this time he actually waited for your verbal approval before proceeding. Was it really the best idea to be feeling up your shirtless best friend after he’d just propositioned you? Probably not. Were you going to do it anyway? Abso-fucking-lutely.

Allowing him to guide your palm to his impressive pectorals, you almost moaned at the feeling of the hard, warm skin beneath your greedy fingertips. “Not bad, huh?” He asked, smug smirk twirling at the corners of his lips.

“In a word.” You offered mildly, far too absorbed in tracing the defined ridges of his abs to come up with one of your usual smart ass responses. The faintest of gasps fluttered from his lips as you caressed over a particularly sensitive area, and you didn’t miss the goosebumps that rose across his sun kissed skin— nor the pressure of something hard suddenly nudging up against your hip.

Swallowing thickly, you tipped your head up, making the deadly mistake of meeting his eyes. They were dark, darker than you’d ever seen them, and hooded, pretty eyelashes fluttering across his flushed cheeks with every lazy blink. Something dangerous yet tempting swirled within them, and you found yourself too overwhelmed to hold his intense gaze for much longer, quickly diverting your attention elsewhere.

But, just your luck, your eyes happened to land directly on the second most dangerous feature on his face— his lips. They were a dark, lovely shade of pink and deliciously swollen from the relentless assault of his teeth. The unexpected urge to tip you chin up and kiss him crashed over you with all the strength of a tsunami, heat flooding down between your thighs. Instinctively, you tried to close them, but the shape of his body prevented you from doing such. Unfortunately for your sanity, the pressure of your legs squeezing around his hips gave Chanyeol a different idea all together, a whole new way of absolutely wrecking you.

You almost— scratch that, you quite literally choked on air when he suddenly rolled his hips down, grinding against you. It was more experimental than anything else, testing the waters, seeing just how far you’d let him go. When you showed no signs of pushing him away and telling him to go fuck himself, he did it again, and this time, you really did moan out loud. Chanyeol shuddered at the sound, positively delighted that he’d been the one to pull such a delicate, sexy noise from you.

Encouraged and invigorated with newfound determination, he set a steady, confident rhythm with his hips, rolling them into yours in hard, deliberate, fluid motions.

“Let me make you feel good, y/n.”

A shiver wracked your body, and you found yourself utterly helpless against the deep rasping bass of (what you liked to identify as) his sex voice. It was at least an octave deeper than his regular voice, with a deliberate yet natural hoarseness that shot straight to your core. And no being on earth was immune to it, including you.

“Okay. Fuck, okay,” you caved, breathing heavy and uneven just from that juvenile dry humping alone, “but this is seriously the last time, Chanyeol. We can’t keep doing shit like t–this.”

A triumphant grin twisted onto his rose petal lips, “that’s alright. Just this once is all I need.”

Contrarily, you feared this little indiscretion would make you crave him all the more.

You sighed softly as his head fell into the juncture of your neck, painting hot, open mouthed kisses across the vulnerable skin. “No marks.” You huffed lightly when he resorted to sucking and nipping, and you could feel the pout that downturned the corners of his lips, but he made no objections nonetheless. A trembling breath flooded out of your chest as he descended your body, pushing up the loose fabric of your t-shirt to press searing kisses across your belly, all the way down to the elastic of your leggings. He glanced up at you, and somehow the angle made him look more attractive than he already was.

“Don’t be nervous.”

You shot him a lopsided grin, “who’s nervous?”

He didn’t look convinced, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into the skin of your hips. “If you don’t want to do this, that’s completely alright, just tell me and I’ll—”

“Don’t stop.” Chanyeol’s eyes widened at the sudden interruption, staring up at you with all the excitement and hope of a puppy getting a treat dangled in front of his nose. Sinking your teeth into your lower lip, you allowed your thighs to relax, falling open before him. “Please… don’t stop.”

He literally whined, though it quickly pitched into a rough, heavy groan somewhere deep in his chest. Long fingers slipped beneath the tight elastic of your leggings, making quick work of tugging them down the length of your legs. The air was cold against your bare skin, prickling goosebumps shooting up across your freshly shaved and lotion lathed legs (you silently thanked yourself for making yesterday one of your monthly self care days). The chill of the air was warded away by the warm press of his hands against the flesh of your thighs, grip tight enough to bruise.

“Fuck.” You hissed as he feathered his mouth over your clothed pussy, the heat of his breath rippling through your core in tiny shockwaves. Something dangerous glinted in his hooded eyes, and you let out a shaky moan when he flicked his tongue experimentally. The thin grey cotton darkened with a mixture of his saliva and your arousal, and he moaned quietly when your faint flavor hit his taste buds.

“Baby,” he purred softly, rolling his thumb over your clit and prodding the tip of his tongue where he estimated your entrance was. Your head tipped back against the cushion, mouth opening in a silent gasp. One of your hands reached down to weave through his thick black locks, while the other grabbed hold of the armrest behind your head. “Can I take them off?”

“Yes.” You breathed, removing your hand from his hair to brace it against the couch as you lifted your hips, allowing him to pull the black cotton down your legs. He tossed them aside haphazardly, a low groan rumbling in his throat at the sight of your bare core, wet and exposed in front of him. The first time you’d done this, it had been too dark and he’d been too drunk to really appreciate you. So, he’d take his time now. Really take his time.

“You’re so pretty.”

Warmth blossomed beneath your cheeks and you scoffed softly, trying your best to act like the compliment hadn’t made your heart flutter. He dragged his index slowly through your arousal, mouth falling open with a breath of amazement as he admired the glistening wetness that coated it. Chills rolled down your spine, an almost embarrassingly desperate whine resonating in your throat.

“Chan.” The urgency in your voice made him smile, and he looked up at you with eyes sparkling with mischief. You could only watch helplessly as he dragged his finger away from you, and slipped it between his lips, humming in delight.

Fuck. He was definitely trying to kill you.

Luckily for you, that one little taste proved to not be anywhere near enough for his insatiable appetite and, without warning, he pressed his face in close and began lapping eagerly at your pussy. Your mouth gaped, hips bucking up uncontrollably as his nose ground into your clit, his hot tongue licking hungrily at your entrance. Pleasure ignited in your veins like a wildfire, explosive and untamable and all consuming. It stretched through every part of your body, setting your skin ablaze in the wake of his touch.

“Oh my god, Chan—” he groaned against you in response, hooded eyes fluttering blissfully as he lost himself in the taste of your cunt. He was eating you out like his life depended on it, fierce and unrelenting, the sound of it wet and messy. You were moaning his name, thigh tightening spastically around his head, but his strong, calloused hands kept them apart, forcing them open so he could have his way. You almost lost it completely when he wrapped his lips around your clit and started sucking.

Strangely enough, you found that without the intoxication of alcohol in your system, everything he did had that much of a more intense effect on you. It was like every touch, every sensation was amplified by your mere sobriety; the heat of his mouth, the softness of his lips, the eagerness of his tongue, the pressure of his fingers. You felt all of it, every one of your senses going into overdrive.

And god it was so much. And yet, you still wanted more.

“Y– your fingers, Chan, your fingers, please—” you panted, brows knitting as you felt that familiar tightening in your gut. He quickly obeyed, sinking his long middle finger inside of you with such ease you almost felt embarrassed. But there was no room for such emotions when you were so enthralled in the hot rush of pleasure bursting like the most brilliant of firecrackers in your veins.

A second finger was swift to join the first, stretching you out so deliciously that your toes curled. With his free hand, he tugged at your knee, bringing it up to rest over his shoulder. The new angle forced your hips off of the plush cushion below, his skilled fingers burying themselves deeper, pillowy lips sucking harder. It was over the second his digits curled, stroking up against that perfect little spot that had white hot electricity crackling in your blood.

Your orgasm hit you hard and fast. It was hot and overwhelming, the persistent, eager pressure of his mouth and hands drawing it out as long as it could possibly go. He dragged it out until you were limp and trembling beneath him, moaning and whining out broken fragments of his name, too lost in the bliss inducing thralls of your high to feel even the slightest hint of shame.

His ministrations seemed to grow even fiercer through your orgasm, his ravenous moans increasing in volume right alongside yours. He only pulled away when he knew you wouldn’t be able to withstand anymore, resorting to pressing soothing kisses and murmuring breathless praises against the soft, trembling skin of your thighs.

“Fuck you, Chanyeol.” You laughed breathlessly, tossing an arm over your eyes.

“Fuck me? Fuck you, I almost busted in my pants when you came. That was so fucking hot.” He groaned, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip as he crawled back on top of you, caging your head between his arms. You chuckled, warmth spreading through your cheeks. A sweet smile upturned the corners of his mouth. “Did it help?”

The question was less than a breath against your lips, so soft you had to strain your ears to hear it. You swallowed, gaze momentarily dropping to his mouth before returning to his eyes, only to find that they’d honed in on your lips.

“It helped. You helped.”

He inhaled shakily, tongue slipping out to trace the seam of his bottom lip. “Can I help a little more?” He asked, and you felt his bangs feather over your forehead as his head lowered. Hot breath rushed over your mouth. Instead of answering, you reached up and cupped his face, pulling him into a kiss. It was short, shy, sweet. Such a stark contrast to the fierce hunger he’d displayed going down on you not two minutes ago that you couldn’t help the giggles of amusement that came bubbling from your chest. He broke away from you with a bashful smile, gently resting his forehead against yours.

“You suck.” He mumbled, pouting childishly.

“I’m pretty sure you’re the only one that’s done any sucking.” You teased.

“Who am I to argue with the facts?” He sighed dramatically, feigning defeat.

You laughed loudly, an obnoxious cackle that had to be one of the most unattractive sounds you’d ever made, but it was abruptly cut off when he reattached his mouth to yours. You hummed contently, carding your fingers through the short hairs on the back of his neck. The taste of you lingered on his tongue, and he painted the inside of your mouth with it. Warmth spread through your chest, your heart picking up speed as you melted into his kiss, melted into the warmth that the presence of his body provided you with.

“I lied.”

Your eyes blinked open, surprised by the sudden admission. “Huh?”

The look on his face stirred to life a strange, but vaguely familiar emotion in the depth of your chest. A crimson blush darkened his cheeks and his gaze shied away from yours. For a moment, you were reminded of the little, goofy looking boy that shyly handed you a heart shaped box of caramel chocolates on Valentine’s Day all the way back when you were thirteen. He had the same big sweet eyes, the same crimson cheeks, the same large pink tipped ears.

“I said that just this once is enough...” he swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing as he nibbled nervously on the corner of his lip, “but it isn’t. It isn’t enough.”

“What do you mean?”

He cupped the side of your face, thumb tracing the line of your lip. “I want you. I- I want to be more to you— to be more to you than just a friend.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, offering him a sly smirk. “Are you… confessing to me, Park Chanyeol?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

He smiled down at you bashfully. “If you say yes.”

“Hmm…” you squinted your eyes and pursed your lips as if you needed to think it over. But you had a feeling that a moment like this was long past due, so you resisted the urge to draw it out and torture him, opting to give him a more straight forward answer to put his racing heart at ease. “Yes.”

“Thank god.” He groaned happily, smooshing your face between his massive palms and tugging you into a deep, but playful kiss that made your skin tingle. You giggled noisily against his lips, draping your arms over his neck to keep him close. “Does this mean I get to eat you out like that whenever I want?”

“Oh, without a doubt,” you snickered as he pumped his fist, hissing out an eager ‘yes’. You grabbed his chin between your thumb and forefinger, drawing his attention back to you. “And next time...” you tipped your head up to nip at the sensitive lobe of his ear, letting a downright wicked grin curl across your lips, “I’ll gladly return to favor.”

[bump1nthen1ght]

Deep Blue Sea (Shark Merman x Reader) Chapter 3

Pairing: Gender Neutral!Reader/Shark Merman

Genre: Urban Fantasy, Soulmate AU

Warnings: Slight mention of scars

Word Count: 3122 words

Summary: You and Cruz go for a morning swim in the reef

*Cross-posted to ao3*

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

That Friday, you stay up late, not drinking or binging a new Netflix special, but fruitlessly trying to decide between your athletic shorts are your more revealing swim bottoms. In a stroke of genius the only ever occurs to a person late at night, you wear the shorts over your swimsuit, topped off with a swim shirt.

With your water-proof swim bag, you sit at the tidepool and furtively lather your legs in sunscreen, waiting for Cruz.

Cruz swims up to the edge of the tidepool, pulling himself up and over the rocks before motioning you over.

“Okay, the cool stuff is just less than half of a klick away, I’ll be carrying you on my back the whole way, but some of it’s underwater. Would you-” Cruz stammers, “Would you mind if I took you down with me, to see it?”

You feel that involuntary smile creep up on you.

“I would love that.”

--------

It’s an odd sensation, sitting on Cruz’s back. You had worried yourself and all your gear would be too heavy, but Cruz barely seems to notice the extra weight. You're placed on the bottom of his torso, right before it connects into tail, but you can still feel it’s movements as he swims through the water. It feels almost like a python, muscles pulling and contracting, his arms reaching out occasionally for a large stroke to gain a temporary boost of speed. He’s not moving so fast that the wind or splashes of water hit your skin, but you can still feel the waves pushing over your feet and thighs. The view is breathtaking and you have a nice time looking at Cruz’s ripped back as well.

When you see some small rock outcroppings by the shore that Cruz stops and raises his head out of the water, adjusting you on his back like one would carry someone in a piggyback ride. The tips of his claws brush against your thighs. You are for sure blushing.

“We’re here. Do you remember the signals?”

You nod, responding with the Okay hand signal.

Apparently Cruz had self-taught himself scuba-diving signals, although he initially had thought they were limited to human “ocean-spies” trying to steal precious fish from the pod (“That’s what the older kids in my pod told me! Stop laughing!”). You yourself were a certified scuba diver, and had gone many times with your mother during college.

With a nod and a hand motion, you two submerge, a bloom of color all around you.

Your arms lang loosely around Cruz’s shoulders, chest pressed against his backside and legs hiked up around his hips to give him maximum mobility. A particular bright hydrocoral catches your eye amidst the rainbow, your heart leaping at the sight. You point urgently in it's direction, unintentionally clenching your legs in excitement. Cruz’s chest rumbles with a giggle, bubbles popping  through his mouth and gills. He shrugs his shoulder to bring your body closer to it.

The purple stretches across the rocks in circular bunches, with the occasional starfish interspersed in between. With a good look, you can see the tiny spines and tiny perforations on it’s surfaces. You tap Cruz’s shoulder and throw your thumb up.

Once out of water and properly breathing, you fingers tap eagerly against Cruz’s shoulder blades.

“Cool, right?”

“Yeah! I’ve never seen that kind of hydrocoral up close before. I’ve heard the California corals were beautiful but wow, those were gorgeous. And that patch was so big, it must be- I don’t even know how old! They grow extremely slow, you see, and because of excess-”” Your eyes glance over your shaky fingers, fidgeting and dancing across Cruz’s as the words fall out of your mouth. You forcibly still them. You gulp. “They don’t have those where I’m from. Sorry, I talk too much.” You force out a giggle.

You peel your fingertips away from Cruz, picking at your fingernails as your neck tints red. The heat makes you pull your arms into yourself and away from Cruz’s slick skin. Your thighs lock tight around his waist to stay on.

“Does it have a name?”

“They just call it California Purple Hydrocoral, since it’s so localized. Nothing too fancy, even though it’s so unique.” Typically, to calm yourself down, you fiddle with your clothing or whatever you have your hand on. With Cruz’s body so close by, your first compulsion is to trace shape alongside his back, map the muscle and bone’s topography. But just the idea of such intimacy sends your head in a swirl.”

“What makes them so unique? Just where they live?” Cruz playfully scoffs, “Because I’ve lived in one area for years and you don’t see me getting any trophies.” You chuckle, Cruz arching his neck to smirk at you.

“Well not not only are they super old, but most corals lose their color when they die and California Purple Hydrocorals don’t. The pigment is so deeply embedded in their skeleton, it remains even after they’re gone.” You float your eyes downwards towards the sea, in the direction where you get merely a glimpse of the bright purple mass. “It’s kind of their legacy, hence the name. That color is so intrinsic to what they are, not even death or time could take it from them.”

The water is cool and the sun is hot, beating down at the exposed skin on your neck and back while your feet mindlessly kick back and forth. Cruz’s muscles shift as he  turns his head farther back towards you. Your eyes are lost at sea, caught in the coral possibilities. There’s an absentminded smile on your face. It brings one to his.

“You’re really fun to talk to, ____.”

You’re snapped back into reality, eyes yanked out of the water and back to Cruz’s own. The inky black stares back, serious and focused.

“Wow, thank you. That’s very sweet of you to say Cruz.”

You avert your eyes in a polite gesture, rubbing the back of your neck. Cruz keeps staring. You can feel it tingling across your cheeks.

“I mean it. You’re really smart.”

“Oh, well, I just study a lot-”

“And-and you shouldn’t have to apologize when you get, y’know, into it.”

Cruz looks away, jaw clenched. “Not to anybody. Not to me, especially not to me, because you’re so-so….” He struggles with his words, chin shaking with unreleased energy, “You love it so much and that’s-you should be able to talk about it whenever. Because it makes you happy and any assholes out there shouldn’t ruin that for you, and I-” His chest heaves as he stutters, blue flushing his skin, “I-I like it, when you’re happy, I mean.” Cruz’s breaths are short and quick, his cerulean blush painting the back of his neck and crawling up to his ears. “Does that make sense?”

Words escape you at this moment, like Cruz sucked up all the energy in the moment. In a good way, he’s pulled the rug out from under you. Your eyes wander, brain turning over his words.

But Cruz can’t hear your inner thoughts, he can only feel your still muscles and the lull in the conversation.

“I-Shit, I didn’t mean-”

Your body jerks back to life as you lean over Cruz’s shoulder with a quick motion, eyes squinting in the middle distance. Cruz jerks.

“Cruz, submerge real quick!”

“What?”

You jerk your thumb down and shakily put on your goggles and snorkel with one hand. “Quick! It’s going to notice us!”

Cruz, befuddled, tightens his grip on your thighs and submerges. His head swivels back and forth, looking for what has gotten you so fussy. You extend both of your arms, pointing about 10 feet away, to the side of a bunch of coral. You then close your hands horizontally, interlocking your fingers into your signal.

Turtle!

Besides the small rock is a large Leatherback Turtle, blissfully unaware of the two creatures not too far from it, taking a leisurely swim. Your right arm wraps around Cruz’s clavicle as you lean over to get a better look, enchanted by her beautiful shell. Amidst the reef, she looks like a dolled up grandma, wrinkled and taking an afternoon continental in the garden.

Cruz ducks behind another rock as she swims closer, trying not to scare the turtle away. Your arm tightens around his shoulder, eyes never tearing from her.

You don’t notice, but Cruz feels himself falling deeper when he looks at the wonder in your gaze. Never before has he ever felt so jealous of a turtle.

She cruises along, Cruz dodging just out of her sight but close enough to give you a good view, all while giving you a spare breath whenever you gesture. As she swims back towards the open ocean, Cruz takes you both up and out of the water.

You whip off your goggles and snorkel, taking a long breathe in.

“That was- wow, that was incredible.”

“She was so pretty I didn’t think about eating her for like, forty percent of that time.”

You smack Cruz on the shoulder, but it’s light, half-joking, and an unflattering snort leaves you. Cruz shoots you a toothful smirk.

A light sea breeze rolls over you two, abating the hot sun, although just a bit. The water has thoroughly sunk into your swimsuit bottoms, pulling down with extra weight on your lower half, but you’ve never felt lighter.

In the tranquility, you rest your front on Cruz’s back, head now tucked into the nook of  his shoulder. The smell of salt and a slight tang of fish immediately washes your nostrils. Cruz’s shoulders and deltoids stiffen for a millisecond and slowly relax in another.

“Hey, Cruz?” You whisper, almost mumble into his skin.

“Y-yeah?”

“Thanks.”

----------

Your muscles slightly ache from the long swim this morning, and  boardwalk food is the perfect level of unhealthy to abade it for a bit.

As you walk back to the tidepool, arms cluttered with overpriced boardwalk food, Cruz’s eyes light up. You struggle to sit down easily, but manage to crouch down to Cruz’s level, motoning for him to grab the hotdog from the crook of your elbow.

He does, but Cruz’s eyes are locked on the two Cotton Candies which you hold in a tight grip; The water laps at your ankles and you don’t want the $7 you spent to go to waste.

“Trust me, this will be best after a full meal. Don’t want you getting nauseous.” Cruz lets out a facetious, over-dramatic sigh, but with one bite of a hot dog, his eyes alight once more. He devours the thing quickly, almost with one gulp, whipping his head around to the cotton candy. He wiggles his eyebrows and you sigh, motioning for him to come closer.

Cruz seats himself up on the rock next you, pupils sparkling as you hand him the cotton candy stick. He takes a large bite and is immediately overwhelmed by the sweetness and how quickly the sugar melts in his mouth.

“Is that supposed to happen?”

You chuckle, taking a much tinier bite out of your own cotton candy.

“Yes, it is. It dissolves in liquid, hence the ‘no water’ thing.” Cruz nods, spun sugar strings stuck to his lips as he attacks the cotton candy like a toddler. You smile, taking another bite.

The two of you continue to snack in silence. The end of Cruz’s tail flicks back and forth, stirring tiny ripples in the pool, extremely cute and reminiscent of an excited dog. After licking away the rest of your cotton candy, you lean over to the trash bag to drop off your paper stick. It’s then do you see them.

With your face up close to Cruz’s tail, you notice lines of discoloration, streaks of white, which pepper Cruz’s tail. Your eye catches one, then another, and another. By the time you pull back, you notice quite a few all near his pelvic fins, the tip of a larger one stretching to the bottom side of his tail.

Holy shit. How did I not notice those?

On the side of his tail, three marks stand out to you. Their pink, freshly healed, and rake along his skin for 2 inches.

“Uh, Cruz?”

“Yemf?” He asks, amidst another big bite of cotton candy.

“Did you accidentally cut yourself on some coral?”

About 20 pieces of coral, technically?

Cruz hesitates mid bite, sweet spun sugar and some sort of excuse on the tip of his tongue.

“What do you mean?” Cruz’s voice, same octave, is somehow quieter, devoid of emotion.

“It’s just, you have all these marks on your tail and…” You pull back and turn your back to him. Cruz averts his gaze, but the look he gives his tail is frustrated and simmering. “I got worried, that’s all.”

“They’re nothing, it’s nothing. You wouldn’t understand.” His intonation, like his furrowed brow, bristles with a hostile energy. You turn your whole body towards him, now a bit peeved yourself.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I said it’s not a big deal. I just did something stupid, went somewhere I shouldn’t have. That’s it.” Cruz still refuses to meet your gaze, knuckles clenched white around the cotton candy stick. Your eyes dart back to the littered scars.

Who did this to him? Was it those mermaids I saw?

“Does that happen often? Wouldn’t your pod-”

“Can we just fucking drop it? It doesn’t matter anyway.” Cruz bites back, almost a yell but not quite. Your eyebrows furrow.

“Well it matters to me. If you’re getting hurt then-”

“Then what? Why the fuck does it matter if I get a few scrapes now and again, why do you even care, huh?” Cruz’s glare burrows into your skin, you can feel your eyes go wide. Something deep, something heated and bitter, stirs in your gut.“You don’t have to do anything. Just because we’re soulmates doesn’t mean you have to pretend shit. I’m not so pathetic that you have to force yourself to-”

“Can you stop putting words in my mouth for one fucking minute!” This time, you actually do scream, which echoes off the water and the rocks. Cruz’s eyes widened, stopped in the middle of his tirade. Whatever burns inside boils over, released in hot breathes and the steam under your skin.

“Is it so hard to believe that I might care about you?” Your voice cracks with lost breath and the fast pounding of your heart. You pinch the bridge of your nose and with a deep inhale and exhale, you continue.

“My whole life, people have expected this one thing of me, and I spent so long doing everything I could to be the exact opposite. But I want-” You gesture your hands to yourself and Cruz, “-this. I want to get to know you, I want to hang out and eat expensive seafood and talk about bullshit! But I can’t do that if you won’t talk to me.” You take a deep breath, Cruz not even taking the moment to jump in. “And I get that it’s hard, that we don’t know each other yet. But I want to trust you. I want you to trust me.”

A wave breaks against a rock, the noises drowned out  in the chasm of Cruz’s gaze and the beating of your heart. You can’t read the emotions on his face, what with a thousand thoughts flitting across it and the emotion welling in your eyes. The smell of brine seeps into your skin. You tuck your hands into your elbows, hoping that will stop their shaking.

“I just-”

“I-”

You both pause, caught in the middle of your thoughts. Cruz sputters.

“Sorry, I interrupted you, you can go.”

“No, no you can go.”

There’s another pause, each of you waiting for the other to go. Cruz finally steps up.

“I’m sorry for accusing you. I was making assumptions and-, and that’s not fair to you.” He expounds in one quick breathem sucking another in before continuing. “Since we met I’ve  been….going through some stuff and I think I wanted to let it out. But I shouldn’t-I shouldn’t have, not on you, not for shit that’s not even remotely your fault, damn it.”  Cruz laments, pressing his face into his hands. He takes a deep breath in, then out, and pulls his hands away. “I’m sorry.” He sighs again, scratching nervously behind his ears.

You let the sentence hang in the air a bit, trying to consolidate your mind and think hard about what to say. It’s far from easy, trying to find the words and express them properly. But it feels good. It feels right, cathartic almost.

“Thank you. And you don’t have to tell me everything if you don’t want to. We can take our time with all….this.” You untuck your hands and wave towards the air. Cruz laughs and this time, it actually settles the butterflies in your stomach. “I just want you to know that I’m here for you, whether to talk it out or even distract for a bit.”

Cruz hums in agreement, rubbing his fingers over his knuckles.

“Thanks, for that. And I-I’ll be here for you too, i-if you need it. I mean, you know where to find me.” You giggle, a bubble of exhaustion popping out of your mouth as Cruz joins you. You feel infinitely lighter. A wave brushes against your ankle, the ocean slowly eroding the thick stress in the air.

Cruz and you stand about 1 foot apart from each other, your leftovers discarded in the plastic bag by your side. Cruz fidgets with his fingers some more, eyes glancing back and forth between you and the rocks.

“Can I….Can I hold your hand?” Cruz murmurs.

You don’t respond, just nodding and lifting out your hand. Cruz slips his in.

His skin is damp, slightly cold, and he relishes in the heat of your palm. His fingers dwarf yours as they intertwine, his long claws just barely grazing your skin, careful not to actually cut the back of your hand. You brush your thumb over his knuckles and up his palm. His hands are soft, although his palms are dotted by small calluses. Cruz scoots closer to you, both of you looking out at the ocean. With a full belly and your muscles still quite sore, you rest your head on Cruz’s shoulder. You feel his muscles tense to jerk away, but they forcibly relax as he grips your palm tight. You rub his knuckles once more.

It may not be much, but it’s a start. And you think you quite like where it is heading.

[cybertronian-cupid]

Heya I see requests are open for a bit longer so if it wouldn’t be much of a hassle could I ask for TFP Soundwave with a ftm S/O with tentacles and sex pollen. Thank you so much!

Hopefuly you enjoy and thank you for your patience!💥~Gregoria🏩

............................. ....................... ............................

The man was not even supposed to be here with him. The only reason Soundwave hadn't swiftly sent him back onto the Nemesis with a ground bridge was because they were both too busy to spend time with each other while onboard. So a walk in the woods wouldn't hurt, right? 

Until they came across the wrecker and his charge.

Before he had the chance to properly launch the autobot pet away from himself, her guardian slammed into him with such force the tree they crashed into snapped in half, falling right on top of him. 

His fans stalled and sputtered, the pollen caking his insides while the autobot made a hasty retreat. His wires began tingling, charge rising to the surface with both the overheating of his frame and the strange aroma the yellow powder was producing.

Soundwave felt a surge up his spinal strut, his plating shifting open wider as the temperature of his systems began to climb. His cables unfurled, sensitive tentacles waving away the particles clinging to them, and began swinging wildly around, searching. It collided with the human and coiled around his body, dragging him closer to Soundwave's obstructed visor. Hands scraped the annoying particles away, bringing his partner's worried gaze into focus. 

"Hey, you okay there big guy?" 

His question was answered when the heat of Soundwaves systems swelled once again, rushing through him in a wave. His systems decided that expelling the substance from his internals was a higher priority than confirmation of his well being. His vents blasted air and dust in quick successions, his vocaliser spitting a string of garbled synths. Whatever the intended action was, it did not take care of the problem, since his human began hacking away as well, his eyes watering from the irritant and other organic matter spread on the forest floor.

In the end, it took him three resets of his processor for him to register his partner was looking up at him, cheeks flushed, hair sticking everywhere and caked in the fine yellow particles.

"Stay here, I'll see if I can get a hold of the others."

Tentacle coiled tighter around his body, feelers twitching with the charge. It just wasn't leaving the systems as it should, instead trapped in a seemingly endless loop. And he did not want him leaving. 

"Soundwave?"

His array pulsed painfully beneath his plating, and he let out a broken crackle of a noise.

He could see the man swallow, his throat bobbing, voice cracking slightly when he repeated himself, asking about his well being. It's been lowering in pitch over the past few months and the way he sounded now was not helping with the mech's self control. 

His servo dug into the earth, digits raking the ground, vents puffing hot air with each moment his optic focused on his boyfriends body. His cables would around his legs, feelers caressing the skin where his groin started.

 "What are you-"

A muffled recording of a porn star crackled from his vocalizer, and in the next moment the pants were torn off, his human pressed against the forest floor, Soundwaves tentacles exploring his lovers sex, sending vibrations against all the right spots , making him gasp out and moan into the touches, back arching as the other tentacle would itself against him, the feelers finding their way into his mouth.

»Suck« commanded a deep human voice, and his partner got to work immediately. He could feel the throbbing of his cunt, the way his hips twitched , begging for Soundwaves spike, for his transfluid.

With the look his man was giving him, Soundwave was about ready to do exactly that. Unfortunately, his latches were so coated in the organic matter that his mechanisms refused to open. Or maybe it was his frames last attempt at coherency and attempt of keeping at least some part of him safe from the sensation assaulting his whole frame.

So the next best thing had to be used.

The cable shoved itself inside the man's cunt, the force of it sending him skidding alongside the forest floor, a scream muffled by the feelers shoving themselves deeper down his throat, setting a ruthless pace against him, his body being rocked with a speed Soundwave never dared to try with him before. He could feel the man trying to press his tongue between the feelers fucking his throat, the sensation of the appendage against his own sending a surge through Soundwaves spark. 

The man's walls clenched around the cable inside of him, and somewhere behind his logical processor pinged him with confirmation of his partner orgasming twice already, attempting to convey something Soundwaves' heat riddled processor could not properly interpret. 

At the forefront was only one thing, and that was to breed his human, to have him so spent and stretched by the tentacles, that he won't be able to crawl away from him when Soundwave manages to tear his codpiece off and frag him so thoroughly there will be at least five sparklings kindling inside of him by the time they're done. The thought alone had his panels filled to the brim with lubricant. 

The human's arms gripped the cable fucking his throat and managed to keep it out of his mouth long enough for him to take half of the feelers into his mouth and begin sucking lewdly and bobbing his head on them. He teased at the seams and delicate outer mesh of the cables, before popping his mouth off and screaming Soundwaves designation to the sky, squeezing tightly around the appendage. 

Unfortunately for him, that also meant Soundwaves secondary overload triggered and he was not fully prepared for the charge that fizzled along the tips of his feelers, causing his human to cry out.

His systems noted another orgasm, and slotted the information aside, the heat riddled part of his processor realizing best breeding will be achieved at a smaller scale. His frame, conveniently, could do that, and his tentacle unwound itself from around the heaving chest, instead wrapping around the calves and hoisting trembling legs backwards towards the man's shoulders

»Soundwave,« the man called, tired words full of ecstasy. Before mass displaced the only thing that was truly shoving inside of him were the feelers, but now… 

Soundwave let out a curse in binary, attempting to once again open his codpiece, before yanking at it with his servos, scratching at his paint. Digits too dull to do the job properly. 

His tentacle rubbed itself against the man's folds, drawing another moan of pleasure from him. 

In the next moment it was shooting in and out of him at a speed that had the man scrambling for purchase against the forest floor, sinking fingers into decaying leaves and screaming human curses towards the treetops. It felt like seconds passed in between the messages of his mates' orgasms, Soundwaves own overload approaching, the excess energy crackling under his plating.

His logic and combat unit was screaming something at him, but it took a cable to his medical port and a shock to his systems to get the message across.

Before his vision blackened out from the induced shutdown, his optic registered the blissed out look on his wrecked partner, droll dribbling down his chin. The sight alone almost made him pounce right back on him, keen on flipping him over and exploring just how tight his ass would feel and how loudly he'd beg for him when being fucked and filled even more than before. 

If there wasn't additional weight pressing on his back and another shock administered to his systems, he would have done just that. 

[vangoghmusings]

watch me

✖ previously: best behavior

✖ pairing: daichi sawamura x fem!reader

✖ rating: mature, read at your own risk

✖ synopsis: college frat boy daichi’s world is turned upside down when he learns his classmate is actually a very popular cam-girl.

a/n: this part is written out, i felt it would be best for the story line to have it written rather than in smau format. thanks for all the support and patience! 

As you looked at yourself in the mirror, you let out a shaky sigh. You looked good, great actually. The costume fit perfectly. But that didn��t stop the anxiety from bubbling up inside you. It was just a party, what was the big deal? Well the big deal was Daichi was there waiting and making a fool of yourself was not a part of the night’s agenda.  

An unexpected knock was heard at the door. You hurried to open the door, only to be greeted by Kenma, cheeks flushed in embarrassment. He was wearing a toga with a gold rope cinching at his hips. Peaking from his high tops were his favorite pair of neko-printed socks, so he wasn’t completely out of character.  

“C’mon, I don’t want to be seen in this while in the dorms.”  

You squealed and hugged your best friend.  

“You’re really coming?”

“No, I just put on this bed sheet on for fun.”  

You laughed and grabbed your things, stuffing them into a small backpack and slinging it over your shoulder. After locking the door behind you, you linked elbows with Kenma as he sighed.  

“At least one of us look good. I look like a deflated Michelin Man.”  

“Oh no you don’t,” Y/N answered with a giggle, trying your best not to sound like you were agreeing.  

You reached Kenma’s car, hopping in. You poked the Pokémon ball shaped air freshener and smiled. His car smelled like an orange dreamlike mixed with the scent of the leather seating.  

“Kuroo called me asking if I was coming and he sounded pretty out of it already.”  

You raised a brow and looked at the time on your phone screen.  

“It's not even 11 yet...”  

Kenma chuckled as he began to drive towards the frat house.  

“You know how Kuroo is. If he’s not doing a keg stand battle against Bokuto by the end of the night, it wasn’t a party.”  

The drive to the house was short, to your dismay. Seeing the house with students trickling in and out of it, laughing and drinking caused anxiety to surge through your body fiercely.  

“Hey,” Kenma spoke softly as he parked on the street. “It's going to be fine. You’ll have me with you.”  

A soft smile crept on your face at his surprisingly kind words. It wasn’t like Kenma to be so affectionate, but when he was, it was always with sweet words. You took another deep breath, nodded, and got out of the car, then walking alongside Kenma to the doors of the mansion-like home.  

A “bouncer” stood at the door, peering down at the two from under a bucket hat.  

“Aight, its $3 entry, ladies free if they show their-”  

“Knock it off Atsumu, they’re on the list.”  

Shoving the bouncer to the side, Kuroo greeted you, a red solo cup in hand and olive branch crown resting on his black hair, snug on his bangs.  

“Y/N! Kenma!”  

He enveloped you both in a hug, a wide smile on his face. His cheeks were red from the alcohol he had already consumed, causing the tips of his ears to appear almost pink.  

“Hey Kuroo!” You beamed at him.  

Your eyes darted around the crowded house. Colorful lights hung from the ceiling, fake ivy covered the walls, and the floor felt like it was vibrating from the music coming from the basement. You couldn’t help but smile softly at the nostalgic feeling. It had been a while since you had gone to a party. Cherry Baby occupied much of your time out of class and there was always a small fear that you would be found out. The fear caused your face to sour, but you quickly shook your head to rid your face of the expression.  

You followed behind Kenma and Kuroo, ducking and slipping behind many sweaty and drunk college students.  

“Well well well, who do we have here?”  

A smirking Terushima stood before you.  

“Teru!” You laughed and grinned. Another familiar face, even if he was a bit annoying. He simply shook his head before putting an olive branch crown on your head. He gave you a soft smile as you adjusted it shyly.

“It looks good on you. Now, I’m sure you’re not interested in talking to me, hm?”  

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes as Terushima snickered. He always knew how to push your buttons.  

“He’s over there,” He pointed to Daichi, who was talking to a silver haired boy with small fake ivy leaves in his hair. Daichi looked almost too good in that make-shift toga. The fabric was draped over his shoulder loosely, and he had a piece of rope tied tightly around his waist. He had a similar crown on his head, the branches sitting in his soft brown hair. You eyed his muscles, which were decorated in faux gold tattoos that resembled branches.  

“Go say hello,” Terushima’s said, his low voice bringing you out of your daze.  

“What? He’s clearly talking to someone-”

“Thats just Sugawara, c’mon.”  

Terushima grabbed your arm, dragging you over to where Daichi and Sugawara stood.  

“Daich! Look who’s here!”  

Daichi turned to see you, an instant smile hitting his face.  

“Y/N! You made it!”  

You smiled up at Daichi, a sudden sense of shyness overwhelming you.  

“H-Hey!”  

Daichi didn’t seem to notice your nerves.  

“You just got here? Cool, let me get you a drink.”  

“Oh, I don’t really-”  

“Chill,” Terushima cut you off as Daichi stepped into the kitchen to pour you a drink. “Let him play host for the night.”  

You chuckled at his comment as Daichi walked back over, handing you a red solo cup filled with a dark punch and chunks of fruit.  

“Trust me, it's good, I didn’t let Kuroo or Bokuto near it while Oikawa and I made it.”  

You nodded and took a sip; the heavy taste of vodka being numbed by the strong punch. Your face scrunched up as you swallowed.  

“Whew,” you giggled, as Daichi watched you with a slight blush. Probably the alcohol.  

“I’m really glad you came,” he said before taking a swig out of his own cup. It seemed to be a large sip since he swallowed hard. “You look really good by the way.”  

You blinked at the unexpected compliment as heat rushed to your cheeks. You wanted to blame the alcohol for how Daichi was talking, but you had to be honest with yourself. Daichi was not the kind to drink excessively. So, he meant it.  

“Thank you,” you answered with a smile. Daichi gave off the energy of an excited little boy who was seeing a puppy for the first time. He was bobbing his leg with every word he spoke and biting his lip while listening intently to yours. It was like he was to afraid to reach out and touch your or even get close.  

“So, how do you think the test went-?”  

“Do you wanna dance?” Daichi cut you off. It would’ve seemed rude if it wasn’t for how eager his eyes seemed. There was no malice or ill intent behind them either.  

“Oh? Sure,” You smiled and turned to Terushima who was talking to a few girls. 

“Teru?”  

“Hm?” He hummed and looked over at you.  

“Can you watch my drink? And my stuff?”  

He sighed and looked over at Daichi who was practically pleading from behind you.  

“Yeah yeah, just give it here.”  

You quickly shoved your phone and drink in his hands and tossed him the backpack.  

“Thanks, Teru!” You sang, while turning back to Daichi.  

Daichi gave you a soft grin and extended his hand.  

“The dancing is in the basement and its pretty crowded...I don’t want to lose you.”  

You nodded slowly at his words. Out of context they seemed much more romantic than they truly were. You took his hand as he guided you toward the steep rickety staircase that led to the basement. He was right, it was incredibly crowded. You held his hand tight as you squeezed through the crowd. Students grinding and dancing, singing loudly and waving their hands in the air. It felt straight out of a movie. Daichi eventually led you to a less crowded area of the dance floor. The music was so loud, you could barely hear what he was saying, so you attempted to read his lips. You squinted under the blue and green strobing lights and watched his lips.  

“Are you okay?”  

You nodded and gave him a grin, followed by two thumbs up. He laughed and mirrored your action before beginning to jump lightly on his feet, which seemed to be his attempt at dancing. You giggled as he jumped and moved his arms to the music.  

“You need rhythm Daichi!”

“Huh?”  

“Rhythm!”  

It was clear shouting over the music wasn’t working, so you gently extended your hands to Daichi. He looked at them curiously before taking them in his, and you nodded with approval. You set his hands on your waist and turned around, so your back was against his chest. HIs large hands drifted against your skin as you turned, almost as if he was afraid to fully put the weight of his hands on you. You felt the vibrations of the music through the soles of your shoes and smiled as a new song came on. You slowly began to sway your hips to the beat, Daichi following suit. He didn’t seem to be catching your drift, so with a sudden surge of alcohol filled courage, you pressed your butt against his crotch and continued your swaying motion, essentially grinding against him. You looked back at him to see his reaction, to see if he was okay with this. But under the blue lighting, you couldn’t see the bright red that had covered Daichi’s face, but you could see his lips as they mouthed out the word fuck.  

Upstairs, Terushima was still plagued with holding your drink. He sighed, as the conversation from the previous girls had gotten boring, so he was standing beside Kuroo and Bokuto who were playing cup pong. Without thinking, Terushima absentmindedly took a sip from your cup.  

“Shit,” he mumbled realizing his mistake. He walked off and into the kitchen to pour you a new glass. He poured the rest of the juice down the drain, setting your phone and bag on the counter. As he tossed the cup in the already full garbage, a familiar ping!  was heard from your phone. Terushima, gripped by curiosity, grabbed your phone to look at the notification.  

@STEPONMECHERRY: day 120849283 of getting @thecherrybby to notice me  

Terushima’s eyes narrowed at the screen. Why would you know about Cherry Baby and why was this notification coming up as a tag? He leaned against the counter, the kitchen empty now that the basement had become the center of the party. Attempting to unlock your phone, he put in your birthday.  

Wrong password.  

He tried Kenma, Kuroo, and even his name.  

Wrong, wrong, and wrong.  

1234?

Wrong.  

He sighed. He wasn’t as close with you to know your phone password. He furrowed his brows trying his last attempt.  

0000?

Unlocked.  

Terushima rolled his eyes, mumbling a ‘dumbass’ as he opened the Twitter app. There seemed to be no notifications when he went to the profile, which just appeared to be your private. He opened to view your other profiles, and lo and behold, there it was. Cherry Baby’s profile.  

He blinked, making sure he wasn’t blacked out and actually staring at Cherry Baby’s profile.  

Y/N was Cherry Baby, you were Cherry Baby. Terushima was presented with the truth. Rather than run right back to Bokuto and Kuroo to tell them his discovery, he set your phone down, poured your new drink, and walked back over to the pong table.  

“Hey! Why were you gone for so long?” Kuroo asked while Bokuto tossed the ping pong ball into a cup. He grinned as he watch a far too drunk Oikawa grab the cup.  

“Drink up buddy boy!”  

Oikawa grumbled as Iwazumi patted his back while chugging down the beer.  

“I was just getting Y/N a new drink,” Terushima said while turning to Kuroo. Kuroo nodded and smiled, waiting for Iwazumi to toss his ping pong ball. Terushima’s attention shifted as he saw you walk up the stairs, holding Daichi’s hand. Terushima’s eyes narrowed seeing what appeared to be a hickey on your collarbone. Not to mention the fact that Daichi’s olive branch crown seemed to be falling apart.  

You looked up at Daichi, finally able to see his red face. He was beaming, his fingers laced with yours. Nothing had really happened.  

Except for the fact that he kissed you. Kissed you and pushed you up against the cold cement wall of the basement and gave you a hickey.  

Truly nothing.  

But if it was nothing, why did it feel like your stomach was doing back flips?  

“Teru! Thanks for watching my stuff!” You smiled at him, grabbing your drink, phone and backpack.  

“No problem,” He mumbled, eyeing you up and down. It was hard to fathom that you were the one he looked forward to every Thursday. That you were the one he has such lewd thoughts about. That he had seen your body splayed out for a camera, convulsing and moaning. He couldn’t fathom that that was you. But there you were, sitting beside Daichi in the dark living room, chatting about who you thought would win the cup pong.  

But there was a different game on Terushima’s mind. Cat and mouse. And clearly, this mouse had been caught.

taglist [CLOSED]: @jr-j-j @thebatwrangler @johariameil @mixfi @lilacskyura @katsushimaa @moonlightinsanity @anime-waifuuu @iiminibattlehero @@hay-leeeah @bby-chloe1999 @verymuchbabey @h0wab0utw3d0ntd0that @unknownweeabo @cookednoodlez @helloshoutohere @star-mum @izuku-sakura @thegalxe @kiddiegore @xizimagines @lunabby010 @unknown-jpg @marigoldthoughts @himurayuumi6 @ihatemyselfbutthatsok @pensysto @boosyboo9206 @dekumiya @aristatrois @nekoma-hoe @paranoid-borderline-insane @issueswithhaikyuu @alltimeluw @cashmakozume @eroujo @taxkuu @whyamihere-bro @shoutosteakettle @alchemykitten @bigdickdaichi @hofortendou @skyguy-peach @8zmingi @kingkagss @tetsuswhore @ceo-of-daichi @emiawa @cloudykarasuno @ushiwakaismybae @btssintrash @konohasoftgf @axolotleyeliner @fangeekkk @denkisdurag​ 

[stubbornness-and-spite]

With Friends Like These...

Happy holidays! This is my gift for @sunflowerstalks for the Sanders Sides Gift Exchange @sanderssidesgiftxchange

Thank you @authorgirl0131 for beta reading!

Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Remus-typical raunchiness, kissing, mild gore, mildly graphic injuries, mild angst, swearing

Genre: fluff, hurt/comfort(emphasis on the comfort)

Characters: Janus, Patton, Roman, Logan, Remus, Virgil

Powers/Magic Focus List: 

Janus- studies potions, has scales on half his body

Patton- fire powers, studies energy manipulation

Remus- witch, studies mind magic

Roman- witch, studies nature magic

Logan- alchemist

Virgil- hedgewitch, studies medicinal magic

Word Count: 5156

Summary: All Janus wanted was to have a nice dinner with Patton, but when you live with a crazy alchemist and a witch with a penchant for dramatics and your boyfriend is literally the hottest person in the room at any given moment, sometimes life gets in the way.

AO3 link in reblog - story continues under the cut

~

“Roman, Logan, I swear to god, if you’ve ruined the dinner I made for Patton in the five minutes I left the room, I will dismember you and use your remains for potions,” Janus snarled at the sight of smoke coming from the kitchen. 

“Ummm,” a voice came from the kitchen. “Roman and Logan didn’t ruin anything?”

Janus closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, walking into the kitchen blind, not wanting to see the disaster.

“Hi, Patton,” he said calmly. “You’re here early.” Janus opened his eyes to see a blushing Patton standing in front of a smoking stove.

“Hi, Janus,” Patton chirped. “I missed you!”

Janus sighed fondly, letting go of any pretense of frustration. “What did you do?”

Patton flushed. “I let myself in and saw that the kitchen was empty and the stove was off. I wanted to make sure the food stayed warm, so I tried to heat it up.”

“My stove is not complicated, Patton,” Janus sighed. “You could have just turned it on.”

“Yeah,” Patton admitted. “But I’ve been getting better at heating things myself! So I picked up the pan-”

“And torched dinner,” Janus finished.

“And torched dinner,” Patton agreed.

“Are you two lovebirds done trying to make the scalded remains of that monstrosity romantic?” Roman called from the doorway. Roman was one of Janus’s roommates and had been since their sophomore year of college. They both were suspiciously quiet about their freshman year roommates but no one had ever managed to piece together any of that mystery.

“I called my brother and he said we could go over there for dinner,” Roman said with a smirk. “Something about assuming that between the two of you, something was going to go wrong.”

Patton scowled good-naturedly. “Was that what he meant when he told me to keep my hands to myself when I left earlier?”

Janus slipped a gloved hand into Patton’s. “I assure you, it was not.”

“That wasn’t either,” Roman snapped with a grin, gesturing at their hands. 

“Oh?” Patton asked, his eyes wide with faux innocence. “Did Remus mean I should put my hands on parts of your body that aren’t covered in heat-proof cloth? Because that would be very irresponsible.”

Janus stammered and almost swallowed his tongue as Patton dragged his fingers up Janus’s fire-resistant jacket and hovered them by the jacket’s collar where he could feel the burning heat scalding the wisps of hair on his neck and heating the scales on the left side of his face.

Roman coughed loudly. “I’m going over to Patton, Remus and Virgil’s place. You’re welcome to join me if you aren’t planning to do it in the kitchen. And if you do, make sure that you fully burn whatever you touch.” Roman looked over his shoulder into the hall and called. “Logan! It’s time to go unless you want to be reminded what charred snakeskin smells like!”

Logan coughed awkwardly as he left his room. “I would recommend we all vacate the premises as soon as possible,” he said, avoiding eye contact with all of them. 

“Hi, Logan,” Patton said without turning away from Janus.

“Hello, Patton,” Logan replied curtly. “I would really recommend we leave quickly.”

Roman groaned. “What did you do this time, nerd?”

Logan flushed. “If we leave now, we won’t have to find out.”

“You want to leave a project without finding out what it does?” Janus asked incredulously, pulling away from Patton with concern. “What did you do?”

Logan’s hand drifted to cradle his right arm. “I had two reactions going at once. They were meant to work in tandem, but one rebounded and now the walls are screaming at me. The effects should subside enough for me to fix it by tomorrow.”

“Logan, take off your shirt,” Roman said firmly. Logan sputtered and stumbled back. “Take off your shirt,” Roman insisted.

Logan scowled and tried to pull his shirt over his head. He hissed in pain as it caught on his right arm. He tugged harder, not moving his arm, until he yanked it off, crying out as it jostled his arm.

“Eve and all her daughters, Logan,” Roman hissed. “You’re going to get yourself killed one day.” Logan’s right arm was mangled, the bone warped and the skin peeling and bubbling like it was being burned.

“I’m fine,” Logan growled. “Everything is intact. When the burning subsides I can fix it.”

Roman stepped over and put his hands on Logan’s shoulders. “You are not trying medical alchemy on yourself. I don’t care if you’ve done it before, you aren’t doing it again. We’re going to see Virgil and Remus and you’re going to let Virgil fix your arm.”

“I can deal with the active reaction,” Janus offered. “I’m not half as good as you, but I should be able to reverse it.”

“I can do it,” Logan insisted.

Janus shook his head. “If you weren’t dealing with a rebound, you probably could. But you are so I’ve got it.” He shrugged. “Besides,” he said, gesturing to the scaled half of his face. “My curse gives me a bit more natural protection than you. If you’re really worried, I’ll have Patton with me to siphon off any excess energy I can’t control.”

“You know I’d do that for you anytime too, right Lo?” Patton asked, frowning at Logan. “It’s a lot safer for me to be a conduit than you and having a living conduit gives you more control over your reactions.”

“I know,” Logan snapped. “I’m the one who’s actually studying alchemy. I’m perfectly capable of controlling my own reactions without your help.”

“Come on,” Roman cut in before anyone could get more heated. “Let’s head over to the others and worry about this later.”

“No,” Logan snarled, “We can worry about this now.” He twisted away from Roman and threw both of his arms down to his sides, ignoring how his mangled arm twitched. “I’m sick of you all thinking I’m incompetent. I make mistakes sometimes, we all do, but I know what I’m doing. I have worked too hard for you all to keep acting like I need you to hold my hands. I don’t need your pity and I don’t need your help.”

Roman lunged forward and grabbed Logan’s right wrist, both of them ignoring the tears welling up in Logan’s eyes. 

“We’re not helping you because we pity you,” Roman growled. “We’re not helping you because we think you aren’t good enough by yourself. We’re helping you because you’re too smart for your own good and you worry us sick with how little you care about your own safety. We’re helping you because just because you can do it alone doesn’t mean that you have to. So please,” he sighed and dropped Logan’s wrist. “Please let us help you.”

Logan stared Roman down for all of three seconds before he dropped his eyes with a sigh, tentatively rubbing his right wrist. “Okay.”

Roman sighed in relief. “Thank you. And I’m sorry about grabbing your wrist. I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay, Roman,” Logan said softly. “It’s okay.” Logan bit his lip and without thinking, leaned up on his toes and kissed Roman.

Roman’s eyes widened and he froze, Logan’s lips shaking slightly against his. His hands drifted forward of their own accord and threaded into Logan’s hair, pulling him closer. Logan dug his nails into Roman’s back and clung to him for dear life.

After a moment they pulled apart and Roman chucked. “First kiss and I’ve already got you shirtless,” he quipped. He groaned suddenly. “Virgil is going to be so pissed that I kissed you first.”

Logan’s eyes flew open. “Oh my god,” he breathed. “I forgot you were dating Virgil.”

Roman rolled his eyes. “Did you miss the part where I said he was going to be pissed that I kissed you first? I mean, if you’re only interested in me that’s fine, but Virgil and I have both been flirting with you for months.”

“Oh.”

“As sweet as this is,” Janus drawled from across the kitchen. “I would like to eat sometime tonight. Perhaps we can continue this with the raccoon actually present?”

Roman blushed. “Come on, let’s go.”

~

Roman, Logan, Patton, and Janus entered Remus, Virgil, and Patton’s apartment with all the grace of a herd of elephants. Remus popped his head out of the kitchen at the sound and grinned when he saw them. 

“I thought I might be seeing you before tomorrow,” he crowed. “Did Pitter-Patton burn Double-D’s dinner or did the Ro-Lo tornado force you over here?”

Patton scowled lightly and swatted at Remus who batted his hand away with an oven mitt. “I burned it,” he said sullenly. “I thought I was getting better.”

“You are,” Remus said with a grin. “I don’t see any ash on you four so I assume the apartment is still standing.” He turned to yell towards the living room. “Hey Virgil, you owe me ten bucks!”

Patton and Roman made identical affronted noises.

“That’s not to say that the Roman and Logan tornado didn’t also force us out,” Janus said dryly. “Patton just managed to burn dinner first.”

“Dammit,” Remus muttered. “Hey Virgil, I also owe you ten bucks!” he called.

“Can we just say we both lost the bet and you should shut the fuck up?” came a muffled shout. “I’m studying!”

“While I am glad to shoulder the blame of any of my dear comrade’s actions,” Roman said with grace. Suddenly, he got a glint in his eye and smirked. “It was mostly Logan!” he yelped.

Logan tried to look intimidating, but his soft grin that hadn’t faded since they’d left the apartment ruined any efforts. So, he rolled his eyes and swatted Roman in the shoulder. 

“Fuck!” Logan shouted, gripping the wall for support, tears welling up in his eyes. He’d smacked Roman with his right arm. His arm felt like it was pulsing along with his heartbeat and he swore he could see bone through his torn skin. Black veins started inching past his damaged forearm and up his bicep. “Oh, what did I do?” Logan hissed, finally managing to catch his breath. He stood up shakily and coughed, straightening his tie.

“My apologies,” he said, coughing to cover up a wince. “You were saying?”

“Oh, fuck no,” Remus cut in, eyes wide. “You need a doctor like now. At least let Virgil look at you if you won’t go to the damn hospital.”

Logan sighed. “I don’t need to go to the hospital. I’m fine. And Virgil is busy studying.”

“Uh, no, I’m not.” Five sets of eyes swung over to the end of the hall where Virgil was standing, his couch and books abandoned. He flushed and ducked his head. “Yeah, I was pretending to study so Remus would leave me alone and not make me help cook,” he admitted. “That went out the door when you started screaming, L. What the hell happened?”

“My reaction rebounded,” Logan replied stiffly. “Despite my earlier refusal, I… could use some help.”

“Gotcha,” Virgil nodded. He gestured to the living room behind him with his head. “Come in here and lay down. Roman, come help me clear space.”

Roman nodded gravely and scurried into the room to clear off the couch so Logan could lie down right away.

“Left or right?” Virgil asked, digging through his bag and not looking at Logan.

“Right,” Logan replied curtly.

“Okay,” Virgil fell silent for a second. “Put your head closer to me so your right arm is open and your left is against the back of the couch. Roman, get him a pillow.”

Roman grabbed a pillow and Logan settled down on the couch. Meanwhile, Patton, Janus and Remus filed into the kitchen to finish dinner and to give the other three some space.

“Virgil,” Logan said quietly. “Thank you.”

Virgil brushed him off. “Shut up, nerd.” He flipped through a black leatherbound book that looked one wrong look away from falling apart. “Roman, look at me and pay attention.”

Roman rolled his eyes. “I’m listening.”

Virgil scowled. “Look at me. I need you to grab something off of my ‘fuck up’ shelf and if you grab the wrong one and I don’t notice, we could kill him.”

“You never let anyone touch your ‘fuck up’ shelf.” Roman’s eyes went wide.

“Yeah, well,” Virgil muttered, not looking at anyone. “We’re on a time crunch.”

“We aren’t,” Logan protested.

“We are,” Virgil snapped. “Whatever you did didn’t just rebound, it cast something else inside your arm. There’s a good chance that it will eat your arm if I don’t get it out.” Virgil lifted his head and looked at Roman. “Roman, look at me. Go to my room. From the door, there’s a shelf on the left, the left, with bottles. Grab the one labeled “Logan” and the one labeled “Janus” and bring them here without opening them.”

Virgil turned to Logan without watching to see if Roman listened. “Okay, you are going to be completely honest with me about what hurts, how much, and where. I could do so much damage if I don’t take something into account or if I try to fix something that isn’t there.” Virgil knelt by Logan’s side. “What hurts?”

Logan stared at the ceiling. “My forearm is either numb or burning. I can’t tell. My upper arm feels like it’s being stabbed. I’m dizzy and feel like I might throw up but that might be because I kissed Roman and I’m terrified I ruined our friendship.”

Virgil stiffened. “You kissed Roman?”

“Yeah,” Logan admitted. “I kissed Roman.”

“Okay,” Virgil said haltingly. “After I fix your arm, can I kiss you too?”

Logan smiled. “I would like that.”

~

Logan stretched his arm and smiled. “It feels great,” he said. “Better than before.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Because you don’t take care of yourself, L. I don’t like having to use my ‘fuck up’ jars. Don’t make me do it again.”

Roman coughed from his chair across the room. “I have to ask. What is a ‘fuck up’ jar?”

Virgil smirked. “The ones I just used? Fixes for the most likely way each of you will fuck up. Logan’s was a quick fix for a reaction that rebounds. I used Janus’s because it looked like whatever L used for his components mixed with his arm and made a poison. The jars just have standard herbs and components, so I can tweak them to fit whatever actually happens.” He smirked. “The ones on the right are components for hexes, tailored to however each of you would want to fuck someone up.”

Roman gaped. “I see why you didn’t want me to get them confused.”

“Yeah,” Virgil snorted. He shook his head and grinned at Roman. “So, I heard you kissed Logan.”

Roman blushed. “I kissed Logan.”

“Was it good?” Virgil leered, ignoring Logan’s reddening face.

“So good,” Roman teased. “So very good.”

“What about you, L?” Virgil said, lightly shoving his shoulder. “Was kissing my boyfriend good?”

Logan stared at the ceiling. “I would rather not answer that question.”

“Okay,” Virgil said, softening. “How about this one? Can I kiss you?”

Logan sat up and turned to Virgil. “Please.”

~

“So…” Remus drawled. “Anyone wanna guess why they’re taking so long?”

“No,” Janus snapped before that conversation could go anywhere. He was sitting at the kitchen table and scowling. Remus was bustling around the stove, pots and pans bubbling cheerfully, with a pink apron that said ‘I like my butt rubbed and my pork pulled’ on it. Patton had been leaning on the counter, watching Remus, but he walked over to Janus and pulled up a chair next to him.

“Are you okay?” Patton asked.

“I’m fine,” Janus snarled.

Remus snorted without looking at them. “We know you well enough to know you’re not, Jan. What’s wrong?”

Janus huffed. “I hate this. I hate that we always end up here. I hate that I can never do something nice for my boyfriend, that you,” he jabbed a finger at Remus. “Always need to come running in to fix everything.”

“I’m really sorry I ruined your dinner, Janus,” Patton said softly.

Janus scoffed. “Patton, it was shit. I was in the bathroom trying to figure out an excuse to throw it out so we wouldn’t have to eat it before you showed up. I was ready to recruit Roman to just hex the entire kitchen and be done with it. I’m the one who always ruins things.”

“Do you think we care?” Remus cut in. 

“Remus,” Patton chided.

“No, Patton,” Remus pushed. He turned around to face Janus. “I’m serious. Do you think either of us give a shit if you mess up? I love cooking for you two. I love spending time with you two. I can back off if you want me to, but I like coming in to rescue you. And Patton? Patton adores everything you do. If there was ever a person who genuinely meant ‘it’s the thought that counts,’ it would be Patton. We don’t care if you’re perfect. We lo-” he coughed. “Like you, the way you are, a lot.”

“Yeah,” Patton murmured. “We love you. A lot.”

Remus’s eyes dropped to the floor and he turned back to the stove. 

“Hey, Janus,” Patton said, looking at Remus. “Can you give us a minute?”

Janus blinked. “Um, sure?”

“Okay,” Patton replied absentmindedly. He leaned over and kissed Janus on his scaly cheek. The scales sizzled slightly, but Janus didn’t flinch. 

Janus swallowed heavily, his mouth suddenly dry, and stepped out of the kitchen.

~

“Remus,” Patton started.

“Don’t,” Remus said firmly, not looking at Patton. “I’m sorry, okay? He doesn’t know and I won’t push. He loves you and he’s happy.”

“He loves you too,” Patton insisted. “He loves you too and…” he took a breath and steeled himself. “And so do I.” Remus turned around to look at Patton. “We love you too. Remus, you have to know that. You’re with us on ¾ of our dates and you’ve heard us complain about the ones when you aren’t there. We like you, Remus.”

“I like you both,” Remus admitted. “But I like you too much. I’m too much. It’s for the best.”

“Because you feel too intensely?” Patton asked sharply. “So do I. I burn things when I get mad. Janus has to wear gloves because touching me hurts him. We work with it and we will work with you. Do you want us?”

“I want…” Remus breathed. “So much. I want to let J and L experiment on me until I can put my mouth everywhere on you. I want to lick Janus’s scales. I want to never need a blanket again because you’re cuddling me and I’m drowning in my own sweat. I want to find out how Janus’s tongue feels. I want-”

“You,” Patton finished. “I can only make guesses for Janus, but Remus, I want you too.”

“Kiss me?” Remus asked breathlessly. Patton smiled helplessly and pointed at the ceiling, a flame flickering above his finger like a birthday candle. 

“Sorry,” he said.

Remus shook his head, grinning widely. “No, it’s fine. I can’t feel pain right now, so we just have to be quick enough to not do lasting damage.” Patton’s brow furrowed and Remus laughed. “The oil was splattering so I did a quick hypnotic charm on myself so it wouldn’t bother me. It wears off in about an hour; I do them all the time.”

Patton’s pupils went wide. “You,” he breathed. “Are. So. Smart,” he said, punctuating each word with a kiss pressed to Remus’s lips. “You’re smart and wonderful and-”

“Hot?” Remus teased.

“So hot,” Patton hissed, grabbing Remus’s neck and pulling him in for a searing kiss. 

~

“We really should talk to Janus,” Remus said, licking his lips for any remaining taste of Patton.

Patton smiled, bemused. “Did you really think I would kiss you without talking to him first? We should but he probably already guessed.”

“Or,” came a voice from the doorway. “He got self-conscious wondering what you two were talking about and came back and decided to enjoy the show.”

“Hi, J,” Remus said quietly.

“Hi, Remus,” Janus responded. “Care to kiss me too?”

“Oh, hell yes,” he hissed, lunging across the room to throw himself into Janus’s arms. Janus caught him by the sides of his face and slammed their mouths together. Remus’s hands flew up to Janus’s and pulled off his gloves, reveling in the feeling of cold scales on his right and a warm, clammy hand on his left.

Remus pulled back for a second, smiling at the small whine that escaped Janus. “I love you,” he whispered, before crashing back into him.

~

By the time the six of them actually sat down to eat, they were all beaming with suspiciously red mouths.

“So,” Remus said with a glint in his eyes. “Are double dates going to be six people now?”

Janus cuffed him upside the head, but the sparkle in his eyes matched Remus’s and he was doing a terrible job of hiding his laugh. He sat down next to Remus and slipped off his gloves to eat. Remus snagged the left glove with a wink and sat down between Janus and Patton, sliding his newly gloved hand under the table.

“Maybe we should swap Janus out for Virgil,” Roman teased, smirking at his brother. 

“Oooo!” Remus cheered gleefully, “I’d take that trade.”

“We’re not trading,” Virgil deadpanned. “Living with these two hazards to society, I would probably die of stress in a week.”

“Oh, you love us, Doctor Gloom,” Roman snapped goodnaturedly.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Doctor Do-the-Most.”

“As much as I would enjoy spending more time with Virgil,” Logan cut in. “I do rather enjoy living with Janus.”

“Relax, Sub-astute Teacher,” Roman groaned with a grin. “We’re not actually swapping roommates. Janus knows too many secrets for me to let him leave.”

“I was almost flattered, but then Roman opened his mouth and I remembered why I should have known better,” Janus deadpanned, not looking at any of them.

“You know you love me,” Roman taunted.

“Really?” Janus said, locking eyes with Roman. “I had thought the fact that your brother’s tongue has been in my mouth would make you less inclined to carry on our sordid affair.”

“But however shall I go on without it?” Roman faked a swoon. “It is the only excitement in my dull and pitiable life!”

“Alas,” Janus cried, swooning as well. “It cannot be, for as I am bound to my loves so are you to the bitchy raccoon who would punch my teeth out if we were ever to be amorous.”

“Bitchy racoon!” Virgil yelped indignantly.

Janus smirked. “You’re the one who assumed I was talking about you.”

“I love that you’re more upset that he called you a bitchy raccoon than that he said he was having an affair with your boyfriend,” Roman said, sitting up with a grin.

Virgil shrugged. “I mean, any excuse to punch Janus, but if you two really wanted to, I wouldn’t try and stop you.”

Janus coughed. “Well. This just got uncomfortably honest.”

“Yeah.” Roman winced. 

“Sorry?” Virgil said hesitantly. “I mean, was I supposed to say I’d try to control your love life? Our relationship has never been like that.”

“You do know we’re joking, right?” Janus said suddenly. “I’m not interested in Roman. At all.”

Roman let out an affronted gasp and grinned. “Well, my ego had been irreversibly damaged, but same. Flirting with you is fun but I’m not interested in anything more than that.”

“Well, now I know that.” Virgil muttered.

“Did you really not know they were only joke-flirting?” Logan asked. “Roman doesn’t look at Janus the way he looks at you. Janus doesn’t look at Roman the way he looks at Remus and Patton.”

“How does Janus look at me?” Patton spoke up.

Janus flushed. “You don’t have to answer that-”

“Like you hung the moon,” Logan answered. “He looks at you like you hung the moon and the stars, like he’d learn how to hang them himself if it would make you smile.”

“How does he look at me?” Remus mumbled.

“Like looking at the sun,” Logan said without hesitating. “He looks at you like you like everything that is is because of you and if he looked too long he would burn up.”

“Where did that come from?” Virgil asked incredulously.

Logan’s eyes dropped. “I have an appreciation for poetry.”

“Well, now I have to ask,” Roman murmured. “What do you see when you look at me and Virgil? How do you look at us?”

Logan looked up and caught Roman’s eyes like he was the only person in the world. “I see someone who’s not afraid to try, who makes me be not afraid to try. I see someone who could stand next to galaxies and still shine brighter. I see someone was given countless opportunities to be selfish and chose to be kind. I see someone that I could picture myself falling in love with.” 

He turned to Virgil, biting his lip. “I look at you and I see someone who took their fear and made it a strength. I see someone who is loyal to a fault, but strong, stubborn, and determined enough to be loyal anyway. I see someone who I could spend the rest of my life learning and still always find something new that makes you worth knowing. I see someone I could see myself falling in love with.”

“Oh my god,” Roman whispered to Virgil. “He’s perfect.”

Virgil barked a laugh, startled out of his trance. “We already knew that, Princey.”

~

Remus was sitting between Janus and Patton. He hadn’t eaten a bite because both of them had silently grabbed his hands at some point and there was absolutely no way in hell that he was letting go. 

Patton squeezed his hand gently and he melted. Remus had been gone on Janus since about a week after they’d met in freshman year. Janus had sat down next to him in a basic introduction to potions class and immediately started complaining about his roommate. Remus still wasn’t sure if Janus had thought he was Roman and was too embarrassed to admit it after realizing his mistake or if Janus really just walked up to a stranger to complain about his roommate. Remus had, of course, taken his complaints as a challenge, to simultaneously be worse than the roommate and to terrorize the school into assigning Janus a new roommate. Remus liked to believe he had succeeded on both fronts, but considering Janus was now dating him, the first one was probably a failure.

Remus was very okay with being a failure in that particular venture. Janus was amazing.

Then there was Patton. Remus had hated Roman for introducing Patton and Janus because they had fallen for each other hard and fast. The day Janus started wearing heat resistant clothes and gloves everywhere was the day Remus decided that if he ever met Patton, he was going to steal his liver. Then this absolutely adorable little fireball with a smile like the sun waltzes into Remus’s psychology class, asks to sit next to him, and absconds with the remains of Remus’s heart. Remus would do anything for either one of them, including keep his silence. He let times hanging out with one of them become dates he third-wheeled on without saying anything; he made sure they ate and ate well, putting to use the skills he’d learned growing up with busy parents who always had time to make dinner but never time to make anything interesting; he listened to them gush about each other and only cried a little bit after he was alone. He took what they were willing to give him and enjoyed it, because they were happy and he loved seeing them happy; he was happy and it was enough. 

But as always, then there was Patton, who saw too much and couldn’t stand by if he saw someone hurting. Remus was utterly terrified that they were just indulging him, that they felt guilty about his jealousy, but Remus wasn’t noble or chivalrous; he was selfish and, at least for now, he would take.

~

Patton had never been more scared in his life. He squeezed Remus’s hand and practically squealed when Remus squeezed his back. There were so many things that could go wrong, not the least of which was that the two of them would get tired of having a boyfriend that they could barely touch and leave him. Patton adored Janus and had practically swooned when he’d first talked to Remus. They were sweet and wonderful and perfect for each other. If that meant that they weren’t perfect for Patton, then he was pretty sure he loved them enough that he’d rather see them happy. But for now, Janus was smiling at him and Remus was holding his hand and as scared as he was about the future, Patton had never been happier.

~

Janus was feeling a lot of things. Mostly uncomfortable. He was still hung up on the short conversation he’d had with Virgil and Roman when they’d first sat down. It was no secret that Janus and Roman were close. Janus had only met Remus because he’d mixed him up with Roman in his frustration and by the time he’d noticed, he was enjoying Remus’s company. Janus had feelings for Roman, but they had only ever been platonic. Virgil, on the other hand, had been the subject of more romantic fantasies than Janus would care to admit. They’d been friends as kids, close in middle school, drifted apart in high school, and ended up at the same college. Except they’d done more than drift apart in high school. Janus developed a crush on Virgil and like the exceptionally smart 14 year old he was, he’d stopped hanging out with him and started being rude. Virgil eventually blew up on him their sophomore year, screaming painfully specific insults and obscenities in the middle of the cafeteria. They didn’t talk again until Roman tried to introduce them their freshman year of college. It had been awkward and they never really got close again, but they were back on speaking terms. 

It still hurt, hearing Virgil remind him of exactly how badly he’d messed up. ‘Any excuse to punch Janus.’ In Janus’s opinion, any excuse for Virgil to punch Janus was probably fair.

Remus looked over at him, his mouth barely pinched and his brow slightly furrowed. He squeezed Janus’s hand.

Janus smiled and squeezed his hand back. He leaned over and dropped his head onto Remus’s shoulder.

“Love you,” Remus whispered into his hair.

Janus squeezed his hand. “You too.”

~

[internalsealpanic]

Do It Yourself Hauntings

Summary: You and Terry get extremely bored while on a group date as you walk through a haunted house. Terry has a brilliant idea that’s sure to chase away your boredom. 

masterlist

a/n: Guess who is flagrantly avoiding homework to write a fic? So this is Cat!Reader x Terry McGinnis. Reader is still as gender neutral as I can make them so I went with the name ‘Stray’. A tid bit I could not write in organically is that reader is painfully shy in their civilian identity but has little to no inhibitions when in their night time persona. Another clarification is that this is the outfit I had in mind. It was legit the thing I had my heart set on when my lizard brain said Catwoman character.   

Warnings: Adult language, clowns, clownery, and this maybe a tinsy bit spicy at one point (I tried) (kind of? Look, I just don’t want anyone going all mother superior on me. Just in case. ).

You were incredibly, stupidly, magnificently bored.

You shifted on your heels, letting them click and echo trying to distract yourself from the thrum of excess energy surging through your body.

It-It didn’t work.

The clicking only made you more anxious, plucking at your taut nerves like well-tuned guitar strings.

It probably didn’t help that you just came back from a dazzling night of heists and getting shot at. Adrenaline still flowing through your veins like molten ichor. Heart still floundering in your chest as if- at any moment- the cops would come rushing in and you would have to make your daring, if not dramatic, escape.

Between this and the sorry attempt at jump scares the poor underpaid actors subjected you to, your head started aching and your mood plummeted into something vile. Thankfully, your group was none-the-wiser unless all of them spontaneously decided to master micro-expressions then you were the picture of an apprehensive young adult trekking through a cheap haunted house.

Why did you agree to this again?

Pulse still pounding loudly in your ears and content with letting the others have their fun, you silently fall into the back of the group. There was a higher chance that you would encounter the cringe-inducing scares but you weren’t too concerned. Nope. You were more worried about the very real possibility that you might deck Nelson or Chelsea or Blade or whoever the fuck decided that girls need to play scared to make guys feel cool. Ok, yeah, the last one.

When Chelsea did another ill-timed flinch, scrabbling for Nelson’s arm, and Nelson ate it up, you swore your eyes would roll their way out of their sockets. Whoever popularized this needed to be shot. Twice.

There was always a possibility that they weren’t faking it, that they were genuinely terrified but you highly doubted it considering if anything actually scary happened, Nelson would be the first one to run.

Neck deep in your musings, you hadn’t noticed as Terry slowed to keep pace with you. He leaned down close enough to brush his lips against your skin and blew a light gust into your ear.  You jumped clutching your ear feeling the heat spread through your body. You twitched away. The memory of his lips against your ear making your stomach dance. Your skin prickled with curiosity-

 You glowered at him. You prayed that the embarrassment plain on your body language did not dampen the venom in your eyes.

“Told ya I could be scary,”

He winked.

You sighed.

Of course, he hadn’t let that go.

You rolled your head to the side and shrank into your puffy leather jacket trying to hide the bright flush of your cheeks. From the absolutely smarmy grin he gave you, he was enjoying this. Was this payback? It was probably payback. Payback for all the slag you said over the comms, the flirty little touches, or all the little kisses you dealt him every time you encountered him in the field.

Here’s a novel concept! Maybe don’t dish out what you can’t take.

“Compared to this place? Yeah,”

“Ouch, what’s got you in a mood?”

You leveled him a look. Terry leveled you with his own. You tilted your head ever so slightly to show the bruise blooming on your collar bone. He winced. His jaw clenched.  You instantly regretted showing him when his brows were carved with guilt. Normally, you liked looking at Terry. Easy on the eyes kind of handsome. He only looked punchable in the Batsuit. But you could never stand the guilt and worry on his face, especially when you were the cause. It wasn’t even his fault. You took the blow knowing your armor wasn’t quite as enforced. That was on you.

You sucked in a breath and rolled your shoulders contorting yourself away from the ever-present need to apologize. Instead, you waved your hand vaguely at the cheaply constructed haunted house. “Admit it, this place is-” 

“isn’t that-” He looked around rubbing the back of his neck. “-bad?”

“Terry, the scariest thing about this place is how many credits I wasted,” you deadpanned looking down at your, now, lighter wallet. It wasn’t physically lighter but you were a drama queen and you had a point to make.

Terry chuckled at your antics and rolled his eyes. “It’s got its charms,” You raised your brow and crossed your arms. His shoulders slumped then straightened, a teasing quirk to his lip curling.   “Still better than doing that family studies paper,”

Ok, that you could agree on.

The rest of the walk was marginally bearable with you and Terry providing quiet commentary on each scare. It was hard to hold back laughter. Your body shook, nearly falling into a giggle fit several times. You got dirty looks from the others several times for the transgression of ‘ruining’ the mood.  You were a little impressed that they had managed to make a mood for you to ruin. After all, what’s more romantic than zombie clowns and warehouses?

 Your sides ached. You really wanted to just let out a laugh, a real full belly laugh but you hated your laugh. Terry, you thought, was aware of your broken plate laugh. Why did he keep trying to draw it out?

Your group made it into a large clearing. Your anxiety immediately ratcheted up with the wide-open space but relaxed after scanning the room. There was nowhere to put

Creaking and scraping of old rusty metals resonated in every corner.

Terry nudged you and pointed upward, directing your attention to the silhouette moving around in the rafters.

Your heart stopped momentarily but picked back up again as soon as you saw the graceless way the figure moved around.

A clown covered in gore and shards of metal jumped down from the rafters landing in the middle of your ragtag group. You scattered. You heard a few gasps. You even saw Nelson flinch. You took some petty satisfaction in being right.

You yawned less concerned with the crazy act he was putting on and more with how the hell he hasn’t landed on a single patron. You made your boredom plain. You’ve seen crazy.  Your sides throbbed in protest of the reminder.

You looked down to distract yourself only to be met with the sight of floppy red clown shoes. Genuine, floppy, red clown shoes. You pinched the bridge of your nose and bit your lip. Your body trembled from trying to contain the laughter roiling in your stomach.

The man continued to spout something about keeping you all here for his entertainment. Blah. Blah. You crossed your ankles and leaned ever so  slightly into Terry’s space, cocking your head to the opposite side.  You yawned into your hand muffling the sound as best you could in an attempt to be polite. Terry had other ideas.

Terry leaned down into your ear making an exaggerated snoring sound.  An ugly snort tore its way out of your nostrils loud enough to be heard over the clown’s overly dramatic soliloquy. You felt everyone’s eyes on you. You clamped your hand over your mouth to stifle the onslaught of snorts rising up from your chest. You narrowed your eyes at Terry who, at the moment, was also fighting his own fit of laughter. You couldn’t keep the smile off your face as you, in solidarity, tried not to laugh too hard at the expense of the wannabe Shakespeare actor.

You kind of felt bad.

Maybe.

Ok, you did. But not nearly enough to actually stop laughing. In your defense, Ace had more acting chops than this guy. But kudos, he was really into the bit.

He lunged at the two of you, fuming with smoke coming out of his ears. Terry grabbed you pressing you to his side and wrapping a protective arm around you. You let out an embarrassing little squeak. You witnessed as he cataloged it into the ‘stuff y/n is never gonna live down’ part of his brain. ‘Cute’ he mouthed silently. You cursed yourself. You turned to cuss at Terry-

The clown lunged at you again, murderous intent plain as day on his face. He snarled as you two dodged him easily with a quick sidestep. In the corner of your eyes, you could see the other actors look on in bewilderment.  One of them shook her head clearly exasperated. Ok, so you unintentionally pissed off one of the actors. Great. Now, what?

The man lunged for you again. Dodging gracefully, you two turned on your heels and bolted leading him away from the group. You could hear the group collectively cheering him on behind you as you made your escape.

Technically, you could just knock him out and maybe go back to the group. One of you was the goddamn Batman while the other was Stray, thief extraordinaire, after all. But between the gasp of laughter and the playful grin stretching across Terry’s face like hell that was happening.

You two ducked into a corner tired and panting. You press yourself against the cool metal of the wall with Terry shielding you from view.

“You ok?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,”  You whisper, shrinking into your leather jacket feeling keenly aware of your lack of undershirt as the heat radiating from his skin pressed against yours. He leaned against you, closing the gap between the two of you.  His panting breaths fanning against your skin, lips brushing against the bare skin of your collar.  You bit out a curse as the color on your cheeks darkened. You swallowed a lump, heart floundering again. You felt him smile against your skin.

You like to say it was anger that flared up in you. You really would but the heat suffusing in your body said otherwise. You pushed at him weakly. “We have to get back,”

Terry stepped back giving you space. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in.

“You sure you want to? Bozo is still looking for us. That and you’ll probably still be bored,”

You tapped your foot and tilted your head considering it. You looked into his face searching for something. You sigh inwardly. “Yeah, no. I really don’t wanna go back. The scariest thing is still the amount of money we wasted and I have yet to be scared shitless,”

He smiled at you victoriously. “I have an idea,”

You blinked at him.“Ok, great job! Now, I’m pissing myself with fear,” You teased. You weren’t a fan of Terry’s ideas half the time but hell if they weren’t entertaining.

Terry rolled his eyes at you holding out his hand. “You brought your goggles, right?”

“McGinnis, I didn’t exactly have time to go home and-” You stilled, feeling his eyes trail down your chest before darting back up. Normally, when you were in costume, you left the zipper of your jacket open showing tantalizing glimpses of your soft flesh. Terry was absolutely not opposed to your costume choice unless you were in danger which was rare (thank you very much). This was what led to your current blushing predicament not that the other aspects of your costume were any less complementary. You sighed inwardly before stammering out “Yeah, I have my goggles,”  Fishing them out of an inner pocket of your jacket, you waved them around half-heartedly. 

“Schway! Come on follow me,” He said grabbing your wrist before you could see the flush creeping up his neck.

You rounded a couple of corners before stopping at a beam. He looked from left to right brow furrowed. He tapped his foot twice then somehow decided to go left. How the hell Terry managed to find his way around in the dark was a complete mystery to you. Your first guess is echolocation but the second, more logical guess, was that Bruce was a paranoid old man. Like a normal human, you were entirely dependent on the night vision mode of your goggles. 

You stopped when Terry stretched his arm out in front of you. You squinted seeing another group of bored-looking patrons. You turn to Terry who was looking at them and seemingly analyzing the group and it clicked.

“Oh,” you whispered quietly as you understood what he was planning. He threw you a playful smirk knowing you wouldn’t be able to resist this golden opportunity to fuck around.

“I would like to go on record and say this is a terrible idea,”

“And yet you’re going along with it,”

You were about to protest but couldn’t really think of a good defense.

“You know, if you really wanted to scare them you could have just dressed up as old Brucie,” 

You huffed and put your goggles on before crouching low. He followed suit bending low.

“Weeell, sorry. Your gremlin mug was the best I could do on short notice,”

You made a face of mock hurt which made him chuckle. “Am not,”

As it turns out, two vigilantes well-trained in sneaking around are actually pretty good at scaring people. In the last 5 minutes, you’ve scared four different groups of patrons all with varying reactions but all equally hilarious.

“Yanno we could probably scare Nelson,” Terry hummed innocently trying to keep the excitement out of his voice. You answered him with a vicious smile. “You just want payback for the prank he pulled yesterday,”

“And you want to see him  piss himself,”

This was true.

“Ok, fine. What’s the game plan?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Terry chuckled knowing he’s got you hook, line, and sinker. You scoffed but let him lean closer to you to whisper his maniacal scheme.

“If this works I am going to cry-” You crowed ducking behind another row of boxes as you quietly trailed your group.  “-Hand me your jacket,”

Completely avoiding your outstretched hands, he draped his jacket over you like a strange leather veil before giving your head a quick pat. “Hope you brought tissues then,”

“Like slag, this is gonna work,” You said quirking your brow and tilting your head to make the doubt plain on your face. Even with your vision impaired by your new headpiece, you could still admire how nice he looked in his shirt. Not that you let it show. You hoped.

“Just watch and learn nonbeliever,”

“Oh god he thinks he can pull off miracles now,” You sneered climbing on to his broad shoulders.

“Shhhhhhhh”

You pouted down at him crossing your arms. He shrugged his shoulders, the movement drawing a surprised yelp from you in turn making him snicker. You were about to open your mouth when your smoke trap was triggered.

Ok, this was a blatant abuse of your equipment but who was gonna tell you off? Bruce? Probably but the man was allergic to fun so being at a Halloween fair was, likely,  safe.

Thick waterfalls of white smoke cascaded down from the rafters, blanketing the floor with a thick mist of curling smoke. The group stopped almost mystified by how well-timed the eerie effect was. You had to hold back a derisive snort when they all turned to each other confused.

Because, yes, this is what your hours of booby trap training have been leading up to.

Truly, a magnum opus of spite.

You could already see Nelson readying himself to bolt even as Blade and Chelsea hung off his arms. Petty satisfaction bloomed in you.

Ok, you may be a gremlin.

You threw your voice in a shrill cackle letting it echo and bounce in the room over the too slow circus music playing in the background. It was a chilling sound, the kind that rattled in bones and traveled up the spine. One that you’ve only ever used for pranks during long nights at the lab. You even felt Terry freeze up beneath you. His grip on your thighs getting tighter. How on earth you didn’t yelp or squeak or make any other little noise at that was the true miracle.

“Wha- what’s going on?“  Blade squeaked, pressing into the group.

"Didn’t we just pass the last attraction?!”

“Are you sure it was the last?”

“I don’t know man!”

The group shrank in on itself as the conversation grew more panicked. You felt Terry shaking from holding in laughter. You nudge him softly with your heel. He took a breath and nodded to tell you he was fine.

“Oh children, there’s no need to fuss,” You coo sickeningly sweet. You see them swallow taking in your presence heavy as it was.

“The fun’s only just beginning!” You shriek flicking on the orange lights of your goggles. Your shrill, shrieking voice transmuting over the speakers filling the room.

They screamed, scrambled, and scattered. Your nearly 10-foot silhouette hovering over them. They tripped over each other. Some of them pulling at each other. Some stepping over feet in their haste to get away. Pure terror etched themselves on their faces.

You let them all sprint to exit, watching their forms all disappear before bursting out into laughter.

“Did- Did you see their faces?!”

“Please tell me you were recording,“

“wait-” You choked grabbing for your goggles. You made a show of checking and letting your shoulders fall in disappointment.

Terry looked crushed. A vicious grin carved across your face. “Relax, I was,”

Terry’s slumped against the crate as he leaned back. He ran his hand through his black hair and began to laugh again.

You put your goggles back to your jacket pocket. You clutched at his jacket letting your ugly laugh tumble out of your lips. Terry planted a kiss on your nose making your breath hitch. 

"What was that for?!” Your hands flying to your nose. Your fingers traced the small patch of skin he touched.

“You were just too cute,” He laughed ruffling your hair.

How do you respond to that? How could he say things like that so casually? Does he not know how many heart attacks it gives you?

“Jerk”

“PFFFFT”

“Don’t ‘pfffft’ me!” You bit out, throwing his jacket at him.

“Pfffft”

He stuck his tongue out at you.

“I-”

“Ahem!”

You both looked up to see a security guard and Bozo glowering down at you. You gave them both what passed for a sheepish, but not exactly, apologetic look.

The burly guard picked you both up by the scruff of your necks and hauled you out of the building. He tossed you out back as Bozo yelled “stay out” from the comfort of the guards back. 

“Kick us out yourself, coward!” Terry yelled, shaking his fist like an old man. You slapped your forehead in an effort not to encourage him. Bozo glowered at him from behind his meat shield. Terry snarled. You grabbed his arm to stop him from doing anything stupid.

“I knew it was you two,” Max sighed, hand on her hip.

“How’d you guess?”

“Circus music,”

You looked at her uncomprehendingly before remembering your well-documented discomfort with circuses. You slapped your hand against your forehead. Terry, helpful as usual, snickered at you.

 But before you could throw hands, Max spoke cleared her throat.

“You dumbasses are lucky they don’t press charges,” Max aggravated pinching the bridge of her nose. You had the decency to look a little sheepish at the accusation but Terry looked pleased which earned him a chastising look.

“Sorry, ma’am” You both grumbled as she pulled you both up. 

All three of you walked in tandem.  Max let up the responsible act.

“Not the worst group date you’ve been on, right?” Terry nudged.

 “No, guess not,” You scoffed, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Stiiiiill not as bad as that time you got us caught by the Joker Gang~”

“That wasn’t even my fault,”

————————————–

Thanks for reading! Also please do not do this in real life. They will get mad at you even if their haunted house does stink.

taglist:  @batarellabatarella (YOU BITCH I GOT ANOTHER BATBOY FOR YOU), @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @idkmanicantenglish,@birdy-bat-writes,  @boosyboo9206, @americasmarauders (I wanna drag you into Terry hell), @l-horizon11

[murphslass]

Imagine Smoking With Jude Fischer

Warnings: fluff, slight smut, smoking

i dedicate this to my girls, @ffakc and @negans-attagirl

“So you’ve never smoked before?”

“I mean not since highschool. But it’s been a while.”

“Aww you turn into a goody goody Y/N?”

He giggled as you were both sitting in his cozy trailer. He had met you while you wondering around town. You were looking at a cute thrift store and you had bumped into him by the clothes. Jude was super handsome and super nice to you. He had been trying to convince you to hang out with outside of a cliché of a coffee or lunch. You would tease him a bit with a peck on his cheek after the usual coffee you both had. But he wore you down eventually to come to his place and indulge in “special herbs”. He had been rolling joints since you arrived and made some sweet tea for you. He was such a sweetheart.

“Here, I’ll go first. Then I guess I can share with you.”

“You sure you aren’t pressuring me Jude?”

He shook his head as he lit up the paper joint. He took a deep inhale and released it from his lips to blow excess smoke out. He coughed lightly and you slowly moved to take the joint from his fingers.

“There you go beautiful. Take a hit and relax.”

He said as he laid against the small couch. You giggled and slowly slipped the joint between your lips and took a small hit. You started coughing a bit as Jude laughed at your reaction.

“Shut up! I told you it’s been a while!”

“What? It’s kinda cute.”

You couldn’t tell whether it was the first hit you took or maybe your feelings getting to you. Your cheeks started becoming flushed. Jude noticed but didn’t say anything as he smiled. Gradually you both were scooting closer toward one another and eventually you had been holding hands.

“Jude?”

“Yeah sweetheart?”

“Can I kiss you?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

He smiled as placed a hand onto the side of your neck and kissed your lips. He slowly kissed your lips and your hands rested on top of his shoulders. His tongue ran over your lower lip and his hand slowly drifted to the hem of your shirt.

“I wanna touch your body. If that’s okay with you?”

You nodded and let his hands slipped beneath your cotton shirt. He drifted to lower his mouth onto your neck. You breathing became heavy as his warm breath and beard tickled your skin. Your body was giving into his touch. Normally you would have been overthinking about being intimate with anyone, but with the drugs in your system and Jude’s energy made you feel relaxed. He slowly leaned into your body more and urged you to lay flat. His tongue ran over your warm skin and his hands stopped at themselves when trying to take off your shirt.

“Shit, wait. Hold on Y/N.”

“What’s wrong? Am I doing something wrong?”

“No, no. It’s just I wanna do this somewhere different. And well not stoned. I mean I like you a lot. And I do want to do this but I don’t want us to regret this time together.”

“Okay. Can we still kiss for a bit?”

“Of course sweetie.”

Jude kissed you all night and kept his hands to himselves like a real gentleman. You wanted more but then again it would be better to wait for a better time.

[brokutosan]

Title. Burnt Out, Part Two

Pairing. Suna Rintaro x Fem!Reader

Summary. In which he’s intoxicated and opens up about things he never got the chance to. Part two of Burnt Out, Suna Rintaro’s point of view.

Warnings. Excessive intake of alcohol, cursing, and manga spoilers.

Suna Rintaro started dating his long-term girlfriend L/N Y/N in highschool. She was the type who kept to herself and had a small, yet golden, circle of friends. She got along well with his volleyball team because she had a great personality, and she went along with teasing their friend Miya Atsumu.

He met her when he was in preschool and he made her cry because he accidentally took her chuupet. His mom made him apologize and they bonded over a whole pack his mom bought for them to share. A few years later, he realized he liked her in his last year of middle school, when he got upset over losing his last competition with the team and she was there to cheer him up with a pack of chuupet.

He admits he’s not one for romantic gestures, but his feelings for her were always sincere. Growing up, Suna lacked the energy nor the personality to make much friends, so he was always relieved knowing she was there. They grew up together, and that’s something Suna would never replace. He associates his childhood with her and their love for chuupets.

Throughout their relationship he tried his best to show he appreciated her. Though what he liked best about her was that he didn’t need to try. He always assumed she knew and she understood his actions. After joining a pro team he got a bit busier, but he assumed she would understand.

“Quit assuming Y/N-chan’s gonna stick around for your shit. Sure, she’s always been the best of us for understanding your...detachment to everyone else, but she ain’t a saint. Get ‘yer shit together or she might just finally up and leave.” Atsumu once told him, but Suna tries not to dwell in anything the piss haired dumbass tells him. But what he said was true.

Which is why Suna decided to gamble. He told his teammates and the twins that if he won the next three consecutive games and the team placed top three in the league, he’d finally propose. Osamu told him not to gamble with life, his teammates told him not to blame them if they lose, and Atsumu rejoiced and called him brilliant. Suna’s not sure how he feels about their response, but he’s willing to risk it. Because it’s for her.

After the third win Suna went with his team to celebrate, mostly because he was in a good mood and because he was nervous yet excited at the same time. But then she called.

What if she found the ring he loosely hid in his sock drawer? What if she thinks it’s for someone else? Oh god, what if she thinks he’s cheating on her? What if-

“Actually-” “By the way-”

He lets her go first because he cares like that. But suddenly he wishes he didn’t.

“I don’t think we’re in love anymore.” Oh. With that one sentence all the pride and joy brimming up his body is flushed down by sorrow and dread. Color drains from his face and he feels like he’d stopped breathing. Suddenly all those “what-ifs” didn’t sound so bad anymore.

“I’ll pack my bags while you’re at work tomorrow.” Suna ends the call there because he’s scared she might hear his life crashing down through the phone. Still a bit shocked, Suna lets his body slide down the dingy alleyway. No tears fall because he’s not an emotional person like that, but the turmoil in his head makes him itch for a distraction.

He hears the loud cheers of his teammates inside the bar and finds the perfect solution.

-

“Rintaro-kun, get ahold of yourself!” Komori Motoya whisper-yells at his intoxicated teammate. Said intoxicated teammate is currently stumbling over his own two feet as he tries to walk in a straight line with one arm slung over Komori’s shoulders.

Komori mumbles a few strings of curses as he drags the man to the elevator. “Why did you even drink this much?” He asks no one in particular, mainly because the man in question was too busy laughing at his own reflection in the elevator mirror.

Komori remembers that MSBY has an away game, which probably means they’re all together in a hotel or probably running late with practice, and decides to call Sakusa for help. Much needed help, as he hears another groan from Suna. If he pukes - no, he won’t even think about it. Shaking his head, Komori pulls out his phone and dials a number. It rings four times, before his cousin’s cranky voice mumbles out, “Hello?”

“Sakusa! Is Miya still around?” Komori urgently grunts out, simultaneously hoisting up his teammate who’s currently being dragged down by gravity and alcohol. “What could you possibly need from that moron?” He can imagine the scowl on his cousin’s face, but he decides to focus on more important matters.

Like the idiot now hanging loosely on his shoulders. Suna’s a bit taller, so Komori has to drag his feet through the floor with one arm and keep his phone pressed to his ear with one hand. “Tell him it’s about Rintaro-kun.” There’s rustling and the sound of the phone being handed off to someone else, and then Atsumu’s croaking out a, “What-,” obvious that he was awoken from his sleep.

Komori’s not in the right state of mind to feel any remorse, so he gets to the point. “Miya, do you know Rintaro-kun’s girlfriend’s number?”

“Why?” Atsumu grumbles, still half asleep. The sound of a boisterous laughter through the phone snaps him awake, though, as he recognizes the familiar sound. “Holy shit!” He shoots up, sheets strewn on the floor. Sakusa looks like he’s about to commit a crime.

“Komori, listen - whatever he does, make sure you get it on camera!” (Komori hears Sakusa mumble, “You’re a shitty person,” and Atsumu bark back with a, “Shut ‘yer trap, Omi-kun!”) Choosing to ignore his idiocy, Komori urges on, “Do you know her number or not?”

“I mean yeah, but if ‘Taro’s that drunk then I’m pretty there’s problems with Y/N-chan.” Komori feels a vein pop, both because Suna’s weight is really starting to push down on his shoulders, and because Atsumu’s proving himself to be pretty useless in this situation.

“I don’t care anymore! Can you just text me her number so I can drop this idiot off?” Komori huffs. Atsumu hums and hangs up, seconds later texting him Y/N’s number. He hands Sakusa (who’s now unsurprisingly wearing gloves) back his phone and plops back down to his comfy hotel room bed, remembering to check on his friend the next morning.

-

Komori finally makes it to the address sent to him by Suna’s girlfriend after about thirty minutes of dragging the said man through crowds and avoiding the judgemental looks from people passing by.

He wastes no time in pressing the doorbell before he’s met face to face with the girlfriend-in-question. Her eyes are red and puffy, and she looks about as bad as Suna does, though a lot more sober. Miya was right. He thinks to himself. Relationship problems, huh?

“Ah, thank you for bringing him home safely, Komori-san!” She bows. Her voice is strangled and hoarsed, but the politeness is still there. “I’m so sorry for bothering you, I can take him from here.” Y/N holds out her arms, and perhaps because of how heartbroken she looks, Komori gently shakes his head.

“I can set him down on the couch. He’s not exactly lightweight, you see.” She simply nods, not having enough energy to go back and forth over the matter. “Thank you so much.” She says with another bow. Once Suna’s bodyweight is off his shoulders and he can feel his full body again, Komori waves his hand to show that it was no big deal.

He silently hopes he’s not overstepping, before mumbling on his way out, “I hope you two work it out.” She responds with a weak smile and another bow before locking the door behind him.

Finally alone again, Y/N steps towards her now-ex boyfriend, and decides to help him feel more comfortable by removing his shoes. Suna complies by grumbling something that can’t be understood, so Y/N continues with cleaning him up.

“Sit up real quick, ‘Taro.” She whispers. Suna obeys and sits up with his eyes still closed. His movement releases a whiff of beer and his usual cologne. Y/N has to hold her breath because of the pungent scent, but she continues to care for him with gentle hands.

Suna opens his eyes and though everything is still blurry, he could easily recognize her anywhere. He grabs hold of one of wrist that was busy yanking off his coat from his body and pulls her closer to him. She slightly falls down on where he’s seated on the couch, but she catches herself before she could completely crash down on him.

“Hi.” Suna mumbles into her neck.

“Hey. Let’s get you into some more comfortable clothes, ‘Taro.” Y/N tries to pry herself off him, but his hold on her tightens and now she finds herself engulfed into his chest with two strong arms wrapping around her frame. “Don’t wanna. Just wanna stay here.”

“Okay.” Y/N decides there’s point arguing with an intoxicated man and allows herself to melt into his hold.

But then she remembers their conversation from earlier, and her cruel decision of breaking it off without an explanation. Guilt overwhelms her and soon she attempts to pry herself off again, and this time she’s successful. Suna whines.

“Come back.” His voice is an unfamiliar pitch higher and he’s making grabby motions at her with his arms. “Try to sober up a little first, okay?” Y/N calms him down before heading into the kitchen to grab a glass of water.

It only took ten seconds for Suna to follow suit, albeit still drunk and wobbly, but he is able to hold himself up until he grabs hold of her from behind, her warmth heating up his frozen body once again. “Don’t leave me.” Y/N’s not sure if he means now, or in general. Does he even remember their phone call?

Nontheless, he isn’t in his right mind, and Y/N doesn’t want to say anything that might cause him to react wildly. “Okay, let’s sit down though, yeah?” Suna nods, and his hair tickles the back of her neck. They awkwardly shuffle through the kitchen back to the couch, where Suna continues to snuggle into her chest. Y/N finds herself combing her hand through his tangled hair, somehow finding comfort in this rare display of affection.

They stay like that for a couple minutes, Y/N sitting awkwardly down on the couch and Suna’s overgrown body slumped over hers as he clings onto her waist for dear life. Y/N decides not to beat around the bush and tries to clear the elephant in the room.

“Did this happen because of what I said?” It’s a stupid question, and Y/N knows the answer to it, but she doesn’t know why she needs to hear it coming from him. Suna only nods, not once breaking away from his hold on her.

“Do you want to talk about it now?” Y/N offers. Maybe, if he’s being this uncharacteristically clingy right now, then he’d be more comfortable with opening up.

“Don’t leave me.” Suna mumbles again, this time Y/N can feel the desperation in his voice.

“I won’t. Not right now, at least. But we need to talk about it.” Y/N’s hand is still combing through his dark locks, and for a second she thinks he fell asleep because of it, but he speaks up again.

“If I ignore it will you take back what you said?” Suna tries to bargain. Y/N lets herself laugh, though it comes out choked because of how dry her throat was from crying. The sound however, makes Suna lift his head up from its place on her chest, his chin resting just above her breasts as he stares straight into her eyes.

“I’m being serious right now.” Everything about him is delirious, but his eyes scream that she should listen to what he’s about to say.

“I don’t know what changed, but I’m sorry if it’s because of something I did.” Y/N can easily tell that he’s just starting to sober up, but not enough for him to totally pull away or stop talking yet. “It was because of something Atsumu said,” She finds herself confessing. Perhaps she hasn’t totally sobered up from the bottle of wine she finished a few hours ago.

“That bastard.”

“- back in highschool.” Suna shows no remose towards what he said. Highschool school or now, Atsumu is still Atsumu, and he said what he said.

“When you guys fought over who’s fault it was when you lost a game, he told me I was dating a rock.” Suna tilts his head in confusion (and Y/N tries not to make it too obvious that she’s getting ticklish every time he moves). “A rock?” He grumbles with a scowl on his face. (He totally looks like an angry puppy right now, but Y/N decides that this isn’t the right time to gush over it).

“And then I got a wedding invitation from Mika and Daishou-kun. I drank a little too much too, so my thoughts just spiraled down negatively.” Y/N sighs as she relives the emotional turmoil she went through that evening. “I let my emotions and something Atsumu said years ago get the best of me, and I really hurt you. I’m sorry, ‘Taro.” Y/N doesn’t notice the tears streaming down her face as she cups his face in her hands. Suna leans into her touch and hums.

“I think I can understand what Atsumu said, though.” Suna mumbles out. He gets up from his comfortable spot, and Y/N feels herself missing his warmth right away.

And then he heads into the bedroom, much more sober now, and Y/N stares at him him out of curiosity. He comes back out within seconds with something in his hand and sets it down on the coffee table as he sits back down next to her. Y/N gasps.

“I told myself that I was gonna do this after winning three consecutive games. I think I was gonna do it even if we didn’t, though.” Y/N switches her gaze between her lover and the velvet box that contained a ring.

The ring itself was simple, yet elegant. There’s a single big diamond sitting in the middle of a silver band, and its beauty makes up for its simplicity. The ring is true to Suna’s character, though she suspects some of his friends had a say in picking the ring (there’s no way Suna would have been able to decide on it himself).

“This wasn’t how I planned for it to go down, but I feel like if I don’t do it now, I might not get another chance.” There’s a certain sincerity in his eyes and desperation in his voice that makes Y/N’s heart ache, both out of happiness and guilt for what she did earlier that night.

“I know I’m not gonna be the best husband - hell, I wasn’t even close to being the best boyfriend - but what I do know for sure is that there’s no one else I’d want to be with other than you.” Suna grabs the box from the table and gets down on one knee in front of the couch, where she’s still seated with tears streaming down her face.

“I promise I’ll try my best to open up more. I won’t let you get bothered by something that idiot said in highschool again, and I’ll make sure you’ll never have to question my love again.” Suna finishes with a smile, “So, Y/N, will you marry me?”

Y/N doesn’t trust her voice so she chooses to nod vigorously instead, launching herself into his welcoming arms. He falls back from the impact but his hold on her is still tight. Everything is in place again, and the figurative fire between them sparks again. If they tried hard enough, even a burnt out match can still be relit.

“Wanna mess around and pretend we broke up because of what Atsumu said?”

A/N. Also another re-uplod. Thank you for reading! You can tell I was pushing my ‘komori is team mom’ agenda bc I love my boy. Anyways, sorry if the ending got a bit cheesy but I don’t really know how to write it without making it cheesy - chuu

[wordstrings]

Kryptonite pt 2

Written & submitted by Silvie. Publisher’s notes can be found at the end. Words: 2,150

Part 1 | Part 2

A/N: CW-undisclosed boundary accidentally crossed, trauma response (rift repaired with care and attention and consent re-prioritized), vague/brief nsfw reference at very end of fic.

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Lightning fast, Cas’ hands are on Dean’s uppermost ribs, prodding in between them with lethal skill. 

It takes no time at all for Dean’s knees to full-buckle and drop. He is squatting above the kitchen tile, falling forward, away from Cas, who has followed Dean to the floor and is on him so close Dean can feel Cas’ exhilarated breath on the back of his neck. He spends a few moments fighting between his opposing urges to extend an arm to hold himself up, or to clamp his elbows to his sides in an attempt to dampen some of the electricity sparking under Cas’ fingers. The leftover wine-buzz, the late hour weighing on his muscles, the surprise of it all, leaves him no room for defences, and he is barking out his laughter more quickly than he’d hoped. 

Cas has been following Dean’s every movement, tracking him, moment by moment, and adjusting himself accordingly. When Dean’s knees buckled, Cas stepped in closer, flushing his chest to Dean’s back, bracing to catch whatever fraction of Dean’s weight would inevitably fall into him. When Dean dropped to a squat, Cas went right to the floor along with him. From there, he enjoys watching Dean short-circuit, tied between reaching for purchase and protecting himself. When Dean’s sensitivity wins out over his dignity, and he clamps his arms down over Cas’ fingers in protection, Cas sure does not waste any time in propping Dean back, helping him totter and sprawl awkwardly out on the linoleum. Cas smiles, loving the way Dean is fully allowing himself to be guided into a more vulnerable position. Cas pries his hands from where Dean’s trapped them in his protective slammed-to-sides arm trap, and steps gracefully around the cackling man to straddle him. 

Cas beams down at Dean while he gives him a moment to sober.

“I really thought you were being hyperbolic when you described yourself as ‘stupid ticklish’.” Cas says, grinning while Dean throws his hands over his face, avoiding Cas’ gaze. Dean tries to groan, like he wants to be anywhere but there, but the sound comes out far too brightly, and giggles tumble into his hands.

Cas wants to see more of that pretty, giddy face. He takes his two pointer fingers and wiggles them high up on Dean’s obliques. Dean makes a glorious sound of surprise that fizzles into slithering snickers, slipping out between his tongue and teeth. He dismisses one of his hands from its face-hiding post and allows it to bat uselessly in Cas’ general vicinity.

He pokes around and wiggles over Dean’s front ribs and abs and he loves the way this makes Dean stick the tip of his tongue between his teeth and crunch his nose as he laughs. Cas flexes his hand into a claw and spiders it up Dean’s side. He wiggles his fingers into the divot between Dean’s pec and his upper ribs, like a real spider might dig down into desert sand. He finds his way in, and is able to dance his fingers at the bottom of Dean’s armpits, no matter how hard Dean squeezes his elbows in. Dean’s feet scramble out on the floor behind Cas’ back—shaking out excess energy or fighting for purchase— and from his seat on Dean’s bouncing hips, Cas bucks in place. 

“You could also accurately employ the term ‘debilitating’ next time you’re prompted to describe your ticklishness. Dean, you are definitely debilitatingly ticklish.”

Dean makes a noise that could very accurately be called a whine, but the mouth it slips out of is smiling ear-to-ear. He shouts “Cas!” through his laughter, in a tone that indicates this teasing is unfair. His hands snap back to his still-flushing cheeks and he attempts a slight roll to the side, trying to hide his growing blush.

Cas yanks his hands again from Dean’s smoosh-sandwich and takes advantage of his mostly-unprotected torso, pinching around the lower part of Dean’s sides. Dean gasps. His laughter lightens into silence and his head shakes no, eyes wide, and he grabs the wrists of the offending hands. 

For the first time, Dean is protesting, although the fight he puts up is not very convincing, his watery wait’s and his jovial no’s are threaded with genuine excitement. They spend a moment tied up in the action— Dean, who was previously quite clumsy in his defence efforts, suddenly has laser-sharp focus and a seemingly primal, instinctual knowledge of how to protect himself. They go through a few rounds of Cas getting his wrists caught by Dean’s hands, then slipping out of his grip and reaching back in for his hips, then being thrust away again. Dean’s laughter has kicked up a notch; though premature, he’s graduated from snickers and giggles and chuckles to shouts and a deep belly-laughter. He’s babbling, bartering, trying to negotiate like his life is on the line, but there is sunshine glaring from his every pore. 

Cas really wants some quality time with those hips. But he must take a detour. The scenic route, he supposes.

He stretches his arms back behind him, past the limits of Dean’s reach, and digs with clawed hands into the meat of Dean’s thighs. Dean gasps before falling into cackles. He jackknifes, reaching for Cas’ arms again, finds he can’t quite reach, and settles for his default—hands over face, rolling and arching and crashing into the tile below. He’s kicking his legs out straight, bending them, twisting them side-to-side, but there is no way he can move that will evade Cas’ feverish hands.

When Cas deems Dean sufficiently melted, sufficiently distracted, he swoops back in, latches those claws onto Dean’s hips.

Dean shouts out his surprise, curls to sit right up, grabs again at Cas’ hands, his breath stuttering between his deep and easy laughter.

Since someone didn’t dry their dishwater-wet hands quite so thoroughly, his grasp is far too easy to slip out of, and Cas is swift then, guiding Dean to lay back down and scooching his seat up to straddle higher on Dean’s waist, so he can’t sit back up if he wanted to. Cas leans into Dean, smiles dangerously down at his wide-eyed, fully grinning face, which rolls back and forth as he shakes his head, expression laced gorgeously with intertwining panic and ecstasy.

Cas walks his fingers like scurrying spiders against the tile, reaches behind his own seat, where Dean’s hips are now completely unprotected. He skitters there gently, taunting Dean’s bare skin, where the bottom hem of his shirt’s rumpled up in the scuffle.

Dean bucks at the light brush of Cas’ fingers on his skin. He takes a moment to fully absorb his position. Cas looks menacingly down at Dean, but raises his eyebrows, adding a false painting of innocence to his expression, watching him realize how absolutely fucked he is.

“Uh oh,” Cas singsongs, on Dean’s behalf. 

Dean babbles, already laughing, pushing at whatever part of Cas he can reach. His mouth is saying, “Wait, wait, wait—you can’t,” sputtering words out between breathless laughter, but his eyes are genuinely begging him to continue.

The look on Cas’ face is delicious, so devious, when he hums and says, “Can’t I?” He floats his hands a few inches above Dean’s skin and makes a big, slow, show of getting closer, and closer, and closer.

And though the opportunity has always been there, it is the first time Dean moves to scribble his own hands into Cas’ skin. In this new position, with Cas straddled higher on Dean’s waist, Dean can reach easily up to the dip of Cas’ own waist. So he does. Cas gasps to cover what had nearly been a squawk. His laughter bubbles out right away. He grabs Dean’s wrists, pulls them away from his sides, looks at him, feigning appall, like, how very dare you? and pins Dean’s wrists to the floor above his head. 

When Dean tugs at his captive wrists and squirms, his expression suddenly shifts. His energy changes and it seems that every cell in the room changes with it. Cas notices immediately. By the time he hears Dean’s genuine protests start to spill out, he is already letting go, moving off of him.

Dean moves to sit up, is trembling slightly. He sips at a series of grounding breaths.

When the game is no longer something that Dean feels like he is playing an active part in, and shifts into something that is happening to him and his system panics. 

Dean stands first and Cas follows, keeping his distance, staying attentive while Dean paces a little, moves his own body, reminding himself he has control of his movements again. 

Dean is murmuring something a few times over about being sorry, trying to laugh it all off, hiding his further-reddening face. 

Cas pulls out a seat from the kitchen table for Dean, and he sits down, face toward the floor. Cas chases Dean’s downcast gaze. “You have nothing to apologize for,” Cas insists. “I apologize. I crossed a boundary. I should have asked.” 

Dean lifts his gaze slowly, like it takes tremendous effort, and meets eyes with Cas. He nods and half-smiles in an appreciative way, then lets out a long exhale, hands on his knees. 

Cas gets Dean a glass of water, and he sobers soon after. Cas is attentive and caring and apologetic until Dean convinces him he really doesn’t have to apologize anymore. 

Cas finds the nearest wall leans back against it. Things are silent and a little awkward for a moment before Dean gets up from the chair, shaking the moment out of his limbs a little, and walks toward Cas. He laughs out his nervous words, wringing a bit at the back of his neck. 

“I didn’t mean to cut the fun short.”

He fumbles, tries explaining that he just needs to have his hands, needs to be able to go through the movements of protecting himself, even when he knows the fight is futile. 

Cas nods, offers a soft smile. 

“That makes sense. Duly noted.” 

Then he asks, plainly, “How about when I straddled you? Was that too much?” 

Dean shakes his head, smiling at the memory. 

“No.” He scuffs his feet sheepishly, mumbles, “Liked that.” 

Dean is looking somewhere above Cas’ head when he suggests maybe they could try again. 

Cas nods, eyes adoring. He asks, “Now? Or sometime in the future?” wanting to be clear on boundaries this time. 

Dean plays with his lower lip, looks at every wall, every piece of furniture, every floorboard—everywhere but at Cas. 

“Maybe, now? If you wanted….” he manages. 

Cas nods, takes a step toward Dean, comes closer until he’s standing near enough for him to hold Dean by the waist and for Dean to lean his forehead on Cas’. 

They do just that, and Dean focuses on playing with the hairs on Cas’ forearms. 

“Anything else I should know?” Cas asks. 

Dean doesn’t mean to say this, he really doesn’t, but the words slip out, dressed in a whisper: “Hips are a death zone.” 

Cas breaks into an unbridled grin. He wants to tease, Yes. That is information already gathered. Instead, he nods. He wants clarification, though. 

“Something to steer clear of or—?” 

Dean interjects quickly. 

“Something to be careful with,” he corrects. 

Cas nods again, and Dean is starting to love watching him nod. 

Cas swings him around slowly, guiding Dean to lean his back against the wall. The spot is warm from where Cas had been standing. He waits a moment, eyes on Dean’s, to make sure this position does not have him feeling constricted. When Dean gives the all-clear, fingers slide slowly down his waist, lifting the hem of his shirt again, and teasing gently at the aforementioned “death zone.” 

The touch is so slow, so light, so feather-soft, it has Dean inhaling through his teeth and gripping Cas’ skin and working to override his every instinct because he does not at all want to run away. He tosses his head back against the wall, jaw slack, throat stuttering, eyes rolling behind his closed lids, as the electric sparks send a rush of blood down beneath his waistband. He soon finds his groin pressing through his jeans against Cas’ leg. 

Cas stills his fingers. He drops his eyes slowly from Dean’s face, to the junction of his legs. He makes a grand show of noticing; arching an eyebrow up before flicking his eyes back to up Dean’s, tilting his head slowly, examining. He looks at Dean’s lightly panting mouth, and is inspired to make an even bigger show of being really, really into this. 

As he snakes around to mouth lightly at the side of Dean’s neck, below his ear, he drops his voice just shy of a hiss, lets it gravel. 

“Anything else I should know?”

—

Publisher’s note: This… is the best birthday gift I’ve gotten in a LONG time. I am IN LOVE with this characterization. Silvie, you are incredible and I adore you.

[tickly-trashcan]

Excess Energy {KageHina}

A/N: ahhh hinata is definitely the kind of person who would get easily obsessed with a pumpkin spice latte, haha! this prompt is perfect for him and kageyama, thanks anon for sending it in, I had a lot of fun with it!

Summary: Hinata orders yet another pumpkin spice latte, but it ends up giving him a lot of energy. What can anyone possibly do to bring his energy levels down?

Word Count: 1.2k (under the cut)

Hinata practically skipped into the gym, holding a coffee cup in one hand and his volleyball bag in the other. He took another sip of the drink, caffeine rushing through him as he shivered a bit. His tiny body probably couldn’t handle the largest drink size possible, but that wasn’t any means of stopping him from ordering it.

He opened the doors of the gym, yelling “Good morning, everyone!!” at such a high volume that Yachi covered her ears on the opposite side of the gym. Tanaka yelled back.

“Stop yelling!”

“You’re too loud!” Nishinoya shouted as well, and they were both promptly hit over the head by Sugawara, who whispered loudly.

“Both of you… shut up.”

Kageyama walked over to Hinata, arms crossed as Hinata looked up at him, beaming.

“Good morning, Kageyama!” He said, his voice still loud enough to echo through the gym as Kageyama stood in front of him. He glanced at the cup in his hand and sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he shook his head.

“Please tell me you didn’t get another pumpkin spice latte…” Kageyama groaned, peeking at Hinata through his hand as Hinata shook his head vigorously, his smile never fading even a bit.

“What size?”

“Venti!” He said, again echoing through the gym, where everyone collectively groaned in exhaustion. There was only so much Hinata everyone could take, especially when he’s that heavily caffeinated.

“That’s the third time this week, Hinata, you’re gonna burn yourself out with all that energy!” Sugawara called, his tone similar to that of a worried mother. Daichi sighed and nodded his head.

“You should listen to Sugawara… plus those aren’t very good for you in such large amounts,” Daichi agreed, his tone similar to that of a father.

Nishinoya and Tanaka chuckled together at Daichi and Sugawara, something that they miraculously didn’t notice.

Hinata cocked his head innocently to the side, his eyes mirroring that of a puppy as his lip pouted slightly in confusion. Kageyama felt his cheeks warm; he would never get used to his boyfriend’s face.

“But the energy is good for practice, isn’t it? And besides, it’s not like I’m getting it every day,” Hinata said, his voice a tad quieter than before.

Sugawara and Daichi shared a glance with each other, both shrugging.

“You’re gonna get sick, your tiny little shrimp body can’t handle all that sugar and caffeine,” Kageyama said flatly, looking down at Hinata who looked up at him with a look of betrayal on his face. 

“Kageyama!” He wailed, stomping his foot. Kageyama smirked faintly.

“It’s true.”

Hinata pouted, stomping away from Kageyama and setting his bag down, chugging the rest of his latte and throwing the cup in the garbage. He changed quickly in the closet, coming out in his practice clothes and ready to begin, still full of energy.

Practice went as it normally did… sort of. Hinata was so full of energy that his spikes constantly went out of bounds, scoring a grand total of zero points every time he was set up to spike. Annoyed, Kageyama pulled him off to the side after they took a quick break.

“This is why you can’t have that much caffeine, you can’t even play right! You’re too energized!”

“It’s not my fault! They’re just so yummy!” Hinata retorted, crossing his arms as he pouted. Kageyama sighed.

“We need to get rid of that excess energy. The question is how?” 

Hinata groaned, throwing his arms down in annoyance. “I don’t need to get rid of the excess energy, it’ll go away while we practice!”

“We’ve been practicing for thirty minutes and you still can’t spike like a sane person!”

Hinata couldn’t argue with that, he really hadn’t been doing too good in terms of his performance, and so far the only thing they could blame it on was the pumpkin spice latte.

An idea popped into Kageyama’s head, and he smirked deviously.

“I think I know how to get rid of that excess energy now, Hinata…”

Hinata gulped at the sudden change of aura, slowly looking up at Kageyama who looked down at him, an evil look on his face. Hinata slowly backed away, holding his hands up in defense as Kageyama followed him, cracking his knuckles.

“K-Kageyama, I don’t know what you’re planning but it’s not gonna work, it’s just gonna have to wear off eventually!” Hinata squeaked out, hitting the wall of the gym as Kageyama continued to close in on him. 

“Oh I think it’s going to work great, especially on you,” Kageyama said, his tone menacing as Hinata immediately tried to scramble away, Kageyama chasing after him. Unlucky for Hinata, Kageyama had gotten a lot faster lately and he was able to easily catch up to Hinata, right in the middle of the gym as he tackled him to the ground.

“Oof! Kageyama, what are you doing- Ahh! Waahahahahahahait, not that!”

Hinata laughed loudly as soon as he felt two hands scribbling along his sides, digging into his sensitive flesh as it sent electric currents of ticklish sensations all over his body, making him squirm as he laughed.

“Get him, Kageyama!” Tanaka yelled from the side.

Kageyama grinned uncharacteristically at Tanaka’s encouragement, digging his fingers harder into Hinata, making him yelp before laughing harder than before. He wiggled his fingers up and down Hinata’s waist and sides, occasionally poking Hinata’s tummy which made him jump and squeal every time he did.

“KAgeyamahahahaaha! DohohohoHOHON’T! AaHA! Stohohohohohop!” He whined through his cackles, shaking his head from side to side as his cheeks reddened, tears pricking the corners of his eyes.

“Don’t stop? Alright, if you insist,” Kageyama teased, drumming his fingers along Hinata’s ribs as he arched his back, letting out a shriek.

“Should we… intervene?” Sugawara asked, nudging Daichi’s shoulder gently. Daichi shook his head, and Sugawara hesitantly nodded, turning his attention back to the two boys.

Hinata tried to crawl away, pushing at Kageyama with his hands and pulling himself away from the evil tickler. Kageyama quickly darted his hands under Hinata’s arms, halting him as Hinata threw his head back, laughing hysterically. 

“KAHAHAHAhahahageyamaaaa! Stohohohop it!” He screamed through his laughter, rising in pitch as he kicked his legs out, gluing his arms to his sides in an attempt to get rid of the horrible feelings, but only trapping Kageyama’s hands. 

Kageyama pulled one hand out from under Hinata’s arm, reaching down and squeezing his hip, Hinata instantly bucking as a reaction, letting out a high pitched shriek as he continued to laugh hysterically.

His face was bright red now, and tears were starting to form in his eyes, one trickling down his cheek. Kageyama felt his own cheeks warm at the sight of Hinata’s flushed face, and it distracted him to the point where he didn’t even realize he was tickling Hinata anymore.

“Kageyama, I think that’s enough,” Sugawara called from the side of the gym, knocking Kageyama out of his trance. Kageyama halted his fingers, pulling his hands back as Hinata panted heavily underneath him, greedily taking in all of the oxygen that he had lost.

“How are your energy levels?” Kageyama asked awkwardly, trying to fill the silence as he felt the stares of everyone in the gym on him.

“Gone,” Hinata wheezed, completely exhausted. Kageyama nodded.

“Good, maybe now you’ll play normally.”

Hinata glared at Kageyama and stood up, dusting himself off. He crossed his arms as he stood over Kageyama.

“Then you better give me some good serves.”