#Had a sudden burst of inspiration paired with missing them a bit so here they are again lol | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cyancherub · 2 years

Note

just saw some art and had a sudden thought but. I think...I think ginoza would absolutely enjoy some blindfolded sexy time wherein he is the one wearing it.

and now thinking about riding him in the office, blindfold over his eyes and hands bound behind his back with his own tie (but somehow I feel like he'd still manage to remain in control of the situation) skfjlskd

lapdog | ginoza n.

PAIRING. enforcer!ginoza x fem inspector!reader

LENGTH. 13.8k (also available to read on ao3)

PLAYLIST. eat him up

SYNOPSIS. poison comes wrapped in pretty pink.

CONTENT. femdom & role reversal, power imbalance (reader is his superior; he also reveres her), strict / maneater reader, office sex, dubcon (not really, but he asks her to stop because he’s going to cum), accidental creampie. m receiving / m focused -> [ begging, blindfolding, breathplay / choking (w/ belt), cum in mouth, dacryphilia, degradation (light), edging / orgasm delay, finger sucking, gagging w/ fingers, hair pulling, humiliation (light), impact play (light), orgasm denial, pet names (baby, good boy), praise, restraints (handcuffs), teasing, loss of control ]. body worship (in his thoughts, i also mean this quite literally), breeding / pregnancy kink, cockwarming, ma’am kink, multiple orgasms (f receiving), oral (f receiving), riding, scent kink (slight), spit, very little aftercare

OTHER NOTES. lots of metaphor relating to dogs (b/c of his position in relation to her), lots of metaphor relating to purity, reader is a bit evil to him but he likes it, self deprecating thoughts, some toxicity / sleaziness (slight obsession, manipulation, mind games), a tiny bit of angst (he pines for the reader)

NOTES. UMM... i might have missed the brief a bit because this fic is about total loss of control KLALKDS but. here it is .. baby’s first femdom fic!!! some parts were inspired by @venussins sub!choso fic, pls give it a read!! ALSO THE BIGGEST THANK U & all my love ALWAYS to fang @prettyboykatsuki for beta reading this and for listening to me yell about it and encouraging me as always !!!!

DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS WORK IF YOU ARE A MINOR. BY CLICKING THE READMORE, YOU CONSENT TO VIEWING THE CONTENT STATED IN THE WARNINGS.

It’s late.

It’s been a long day, and Ginoza is tired. But there are just a few more things to do. Double check the reports, add some final notes. The paperwork after a big mission is always a pain. But he’ll stay after you; he’ll finish up the little things before he heads back to his quarters. You have a lot on your plate.

He feels for you. You handle the duties of an Inspector well, but he knows exactly what it’s like.

Well — he knew what it was like, once. So he helps where he can.

But he needs a break before he gets back to it. Even here, away from the desk, his head is pounding. It doesn’t help that he finds the selection of drinks in the vending machine in front of him a little overwhelming. The break rooms are well-stocked; there are more flavors than employees on this floor, probably.

He opts for a ginger ale. This brand is a little bland, but he’s not really craving something with a lot of flavor. It’s just that the water at the fountain always comes out lukewarm, and he wants something that’ll burst on his tongue. Something with carbonation. Something that’ll wake him up, at least for the rest of his shift.

He holds the can in the metal fingers of his left hand and cracks it open with his right, wandering over to the window. The tab lifts under his fingertips before the metal pops down under it — a little jump under his fingers, tactile. Ever since he lost his left, he thinks that his right hand has gotten more sensitive.

A little wisp of something snakes out of the can; beyond the window, the horizon begins to swallow up the sun. He takes small sips, watching night fall. It’s winter, and the sun is setting early.

The metal fingers of his prosthetic grow cold around the can, but of course, he doesn’t feel them. Just the fizzle of the carbonation in his mouth.

“Ginoza.”

He pauses with the can halfway raised to his mouth, ears perking up — a dog attuned to the familiar voice of its owner. His owner’s voice is stern, controlling, but it’s always that way. Somehow, he finds that comforting.

“Inspector.” His tone is formal — respectful. He abandons his drink, lowering the can as he turns to watch you enter the break room. “I thought you were heading out? I’ll take care of the rest of the paperwork.”

“Soon.”

You study the vending machine with a critical eye. He wonders if something there displeases you. If maybe you’re looking for a flavor that isn’t there.

“Is everything alright?” he asks. “Do you need anything?”

“No, no.”

The beep of a button as it’s pressed, the rattling of a can falling through the machine before it’s deposited in the slot. He averts his eyes when you bend over to get it, fixing his gaze on the fake plant in the corner of the room. He pushes the panel of his suit jacket back, slipping his right hand into the pocket of his slacks.

There’s a thin layer of dust collecting on the leaves of the plant; he wonders when the last time was that someone came to dust.

“You did very well today, Ginoza.”

His eyes are drawn to the pink of the can in your hand. A strawberry soda. How odd, he thinks. How odd for you. For a person who’s so formal, so severe, and so strict. Of all the things you could choose to drink, you chose a strawberry soda.

“I was impressed with your performance.”

He’s taken aback, doesn’t know how he should respond. In all the time he’s worked under you, he can’t think of one instance of praise. You don’t compliment him. Or anyone else, for that matter. You treat all of your Enforcers equally. A terse nod after a tough mission, maybe. If you’re feeling particularly generous, they might even receive a Thank you all for performing your duty.

But nothing like this.

Ginoza’s cheeks are hot. He’s flustered, for some reason, watching you take a sip of your strawberry soda. There’s a loose fiber in the pocket of his slacks; he pulls at it until it unravels.

He clears his throat. “It’s always a pleasure to work for you, Inspector.”

You sit on the couch, strawberry soda in-hand, and fix him with a lazy smile. “Is it really?”

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen a smile on your face.

“I wouldn’t lie to you, Inspector.”

As strict as you are, as unyielding, you’re efficient. You get things done. You’re a bit like he used to be, he thinks, but more level headed. Much more capable than he was. The control is out of his hands and in yours completely. Some might call your behavior uptight, but he respects it.

He likes it.

“I didn’t think you would,” you say. “You’re too earnest for that.”

You’re resting against the arm of the couch. He finds your posture almost slovenly. It’s usually rigid, upright. It’s usually tense. You cross your legs and sigh, and he sees your shoulders slump just a little. Then you cock your head to the side and fix him with a smile. Loose, he thinks — it looks unnatural on you.

His fist is balled up in his pocket. Nerves.

“This place is like a ghost town after six, isn’t it?” you muse. “Everyone just clears right out.”

Hunters like you don’t make small talk with their dogs, Ginoza thinks.

After a pause, he says, “It’s quiet.”

It’s empty.

“Am I making you anxious, Ginoza?”

“No, ma’am.”

In the pocket of his slacks, his trimmed nails dig into the skin of his palm. You gesture to the little couch opposite yours with your manicured fingers wrapped around the strawberry soda.

“Sit down, Ginoza,” you say. “You look a little stiff.”

Obediently, he rounds the couch and sits. Facing you, separated from you just by the little coffee table on top of which he sets his can of ginger ale. He hasn’t had even a quarter of it yet. The coasters on the table are gray. A muted earth tone, just like everything else in this room.

Except for the little strawberry soda in the little pink can.

You run a hand absently down your thigh. Your skirt is riding up, but he looks away as soon as he sees it.

“Kougami’s already gone back to his room?” you ask.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“But you stayed after.”

“Yes, ma’am. I told him to go. That I’d handle the rest.”

Nerve-racking. That’s what he’d call every single interaction with you. He wonders if he’s done something wrong, something to displease you. He hopes not.

“He’s difficult sometimes, isn’t he?” you say.

You lean over to the coffee table, dragging his drink just slightly to the side, with one manicured fingernail on the coaster. He’d thought your nail polish was more muted. Some neutral color, something mundane. Closer up, the color is more pinkish. A trick of the fluorescent lights, maybe.

As he watches you place your strawberry soda next to the cold silver of his ginger ale can, he wishes he’d set his coaster in the right place. He hopes he hasn’t inconvenienced you.

The empty space of the tabletop is vast, broken up just by the two cans. They sit, one next to another — dead center, not even an inch apart.

You rise from the couch; he remembers to answer.

“Difficult?” he says in a small voice.

Watching you pass the coffee table, nearing the couch he’s sitting on, Ginoza feels like the dying sun just before it’s swallowed up by the horizon.

“Disobedient,” you say. “He’s not a team player, is he?”

Your hand trails over the arm of the couch as you pass him. He loses sight of you as you round the back of it. But he keeps his gaze straight as he listens to your footsteps behind him; he doesn’t have the nerve to turn around.

“I suppose not,” he says shakily.

Ginoza feels a hand on his left shoulder first, and then one on his right. Your hands, resting on his body, warm. He feels a chill, even as the heat of your fingers starts to seep through the fabric of his suit jacket.

“But not you,” you say. “You always help when it’s needed.”

The hands on his shoulders squeeze. Ginoza gulps, listening to you speak through a voice that doesn’t sound like your own. This voice is too sweet; the lilt is near-artificial, cloying enough to leave a strange taste in his mouth — a bite of dessert after he’s already overfull, or the lingering flavor of manmade sweetener.

“You’re always there to do whatever you’re told. And so much more. You’re a big help to me. Did you know that?”

The praise makes his cheeks burn, the squeezing of your fingers on his shoulders.

He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “I just want to make your job easier, Inspector.”

Your hands snake downward. Down, from his shoulders, down, skimming over the plane of his chest. You — his austere Inspector, his strict, unforthcoming Inspector — touching him. You, his withholding superior, bending over the back of the couch, leaning forward to cross your arms over his chest and tilt your head over his shoulder. You — looking into his eyes, with a little smile on your face.

“Ginoza.”

He can see your tongue in your mouth when you talk. Pink, a gradation of the label on your strawberry soda. He can feel your breaths on his jaw. Warm, just as warm as your arms crossed over his chest, just as warm as this embrace from behind — a close embrace, a familiar embrace so terribly unbecoming of his frigid, ungiving superior.

“Inspector,” he says breathlessly.

“If I tell you something, will you promise to keep it just between us?”

On the table — as close to your soda as you are to him — his ginger ale sits, warming slowly. A droplet runs down the side, slow at first, then quick, cutting a line of dark gray through the silver condensation. The path goes cold again a moment later; the droplet splatters onto the coaster.

“Of course,” he says. “Anything.”

He can smell the strawberry on your breath. He can smell your shampoo. Something sweet, with chemicals underneath.

“Of all my dogs,” you say with a lazy smile, “you’re my favorite.”

Your favorite. Ginoza’s heart pounds in his chest. The sweetness masks the chemicals until he can barely smell them at all.

“You know what I like about you, Gino?”

He smells toxins again; they prickle in his sharp nose. The nickname is foreign in your mouth. Hostile, almost. Off-putting, awry, like that little smile on your face — just the slightest bit crooked. You drink strawberry, but you’re oleander — a pretty pink flower in the middle of an unassuming forest. Beautiful, but lethal.

“What is it, Inspector?”

You tighten your arms around him.

“You’re so obedient,” you say. “You’re so good.”

Maybe he likes the proximity.

“You know just what I want. I never have to tell you twice. Sometimes I don’t even have to tell you at all.”

He does like the proximity, he decides. Maybe he likes the smell of chemicals, too, of toxins. Maybe it’s the combination of toxins that make you sweet.

“No one understands what I need like you do, Gino.”

The sweetness is that enticing; it makes his mouth water. He’ll ingest your poison even if it kills him.

“Anything for you, Inspector.”

And he means it.

“Tell me something…” you’re drawling.

He wants to shudder — pulse pounding, suddenly fearful. Your lips keep getting closer to him, and he thinks you might consume him, might eat him whole here in the middle of this bleak breakroom. You’re so blinding that he can’t even look at you; everything else is gray in comparison — wilting. On the table, your drink is still cold, condensation beading on the bright pink can, but his has gone warm; it’s too late, it’ll be flat soon, the carbonation bubbling down to nothing —

“Is there anything I can do for you — for my favorite — to make your job easier? More enjoyable? As your Inspector, it’s my responsibility to ensure that your working conditions are good. You can ask me for anything you like.”

A privilege. Special treatment. Gratitude, bubbling up, from deep in his chest, like carbonation.

Still, the answer is shaky. Demure. He wants to ingest your poison, to take it like medicine, but he’s afraid that it’ll hurt.

“Nothing at all, ma’am. I - I’m perfectly happy. I love working under you. For you.”

Your face twists into a pout. “Hm.”

The disappointment on your face makes his stomach drop, makes him sick. The thought of displeasing you makes something in his chest twist, and when you withdraw the warmth of your arms from around him, the twist becomes an ache.

He stands as soon as you’ve left him, turning to watch you pace to the window. You stand in front of it, arms crossed, looking outward — downward. The city is far below. Little dots of multicolored light, and you, standing far above it all.

“Inspector,” he says.

He approaches you the way a wounded animal might approach a human with a hand extended — keeping his distance, unsure if the upturned palm will wound or nurture. In the window, his reflection lingers far enough behind yours that, even though he’s much taller than you, he looks small.

At least, compared to you.

“Go ahead.”

“Is there anything I can do,” he ventures, clearing his throat, “for you?”

He thinks he can see you smile in the reflection. But he can’t really tell, because the fluorescent lights cast a strange shadow on your face.

“There is.”

His relief is multiplied when you turn to face him with a pleased expression.

“I need a favor,” you say.

“What is it?”

“Don’t be shy, Ginoza. If you want to help me, you need to come here.”

And even when he’s directly in front of you — even when he’s looking down at you — he feels small. He wonders if the smile on your face is genuine. But he supposes it doesn’t really matter, because he finds it pleasing to the eye either way. The alluring, unnatural, too-bright pink of an oleander flower. Just a single leaf will kill.

He loses sight of it as you round his body again. Circled by a great white, he thinks, treading blood-baited saltwater in a rusting metal cage. He’s read about people doing that for fun: apparently, some people pay to be lowered into the ocean in a little cage. Chum is thrown in the water, and sharks circle. People do it for the thrill.

He’s never seen the appeal of an adrenaline chase like that. He’s never been one to get off on a racing heart. Until now, maybe.

You grip his wrist from behind. Your hand on his, the little squeeze of your fingers on his veins. Pressing into his racing pulse.

You draw his hand behind his back.

“The Bureau has been issuing us new equipment,” you’re saying. “You’ve already worked with the improved Dominators, but, you know, I haven’t had the chance to try these yet.”

There’s cold metal on his wrist. A snap. Handcuffs closing. You grab his other wrist, fingers on the metal of his prosthetic as you draw it behind his back, too. The click of metal on metal — his left wrist restrained next to his right.

“These new handcuffs are supposed to be even stronger. Strong enough that even augmented prosthetics can’t break through.”

Your hand rests on the small of his back, just above his bound wrists. He watches you come back into view with ice shooting up his spine.

“How are they? Any give?”

He pulls his wrists apart, or tries to. The cuffs catch on the metal of his left wrist with a clink, and dig into the skin of his right. Unyielding, just like you.

“No, ma’am.”

He’s rewarded with a little smile.

“Ah,” you say. “That’s perfect.”

“Do you have the…”

“The keys?”

Ginoza nods. But he’s cursing himself. He’d stopped himself mid-sentence for a reason. It’s because he doesn’t know if he wants you to unlock the handcuffs.

A click of your strawberry-pink tongue. “Ah. Not on hand, I don’t think.”

Maybe it’s twisted, but Ginoza feels relieved.

He feels thrilled by the look on your face. It isn’t the look of someone who’s forgotten their keys. And, besides, you don’t forget anything. Every single thing you do is intentional.

“Is that a problem?”

He laughs nervously. “Of course not. We can always ask…”

He flounders. He’s in that little shark cage under the surface of an endless ocean. His oxygen tank is running low. The bars on the cage are flimsy. They’re placed too far apart, and the great white is starting to ram against them. The bait in the water isn’t enough; it craves something larger. Something whole.

Ginoza was afraid of the ocean as a child. He liked the shore, but there was always the nagging feeling that something was waiting in the depths. He remembers learning once about female great whites, and how they dwarf their male counterparts by several feet.

You cock your head to the side, eyes widening. Mocking.

“Who? Who can we ask, Ginoza?’

When something sharp enough lacerates the skin, the initial cut isn’t felt. There’s no sting until seconds after. Ginoza wonders how sharp your teeth are. How many rows you have. How long it’d take you to eat him whole, and if it’d start to sting before you devour him completely.

Even if it were to sting, he thinks, that kind of pain might be pleasant.

“Well…” he says.

“There’s no one here, Ginoza. It’s quiet. Like you said.”

A pause. A shaky breath.

“It’s just you…” you say, placing one perfectly manicured finger in the very center of his chest, “...and me.”

You smile. His heart jumps under your fingertip. And then you push.

A small push, just with the tip of your finger to his chest. Barely any pressure. But at the same time, there’s so much. He finds himself stepping backward with each step you take forward. He finds himself pushed back and back and back, until there’s the soft impact of the wall behind his shoulder blades, the little thunk of the handcuffs behind his back hitting it too.

Maybe it’d knock the breath out of his lungs, if he had any left. He’s already struggling for air — taking short gasps with his back to the wall. He’s supposed to be your hunting dog, but your teeth are so much sharper than his.

“Inspector?” he asks, face hot.

Your critical fingers come to his tie. They run down it, flatten it, neaten it — as if something about it is out of order. Just the slightest bit crooked, and you’d be displeased. He knows that. You don’t like things to be off. You put him in order with your fingers just over his pounding heart, and then look up at him. Right in the eyes.

Holding your gaze makes his head swim. It makes his knees weak.

So when you place your hand on his shoulder, when you apply the slightest bit of pressure, when you command him — Sit down, Ginoza. You look a little stiff. — his knees give with no resistance.

He yields under your palm. It’s so little pressure, but somehow, it’s so heavy. His back slides down the wall, metal cuffs scraping downward, until he’s seated on the floor, looking dizzily up at your towering form. To him, your presence is larger-than-life; your personality expands until it takes up the entire room, a stifling blanket nestled even in the corners, where dust collects. And his personality — it’s tiny, meager, folds in on itself, over and over and over, until it becomes infinitesimally small. No bigger, no more significant, than one of the dust motes floating through the air.

But his eyes are large and fearful.

“You’re a good boy, aren’t you, Ginoza?”

A shaky breath. A dry swallow. A good boy. Praise from you is so scarce that just the slightest amount makes his chest ache.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Why are you so good for me?”

His head is floating — full of so many reasons, too many reasons. I respect you. I admire you. I like you. I want you. But there aren’t enough reasons, because there’s not one that he has the nerve to say. Because here, between your legs, level with your crotch, looking up, at the underside of your tits, and the upward curve of your little smile — he feels too weak. Out of control.

And that makes him feel…

Good.

“Hm?” you prompt.

He feels too weak, but if you insist —

“Don’t make me wait for a simple answer to a simple question, Ginoza.”

If it would please you —

“Because,” he stammers, “because I like you, Inspector.”

“Is that all?”

“Because… ”

He gulps, eyes on the bottom hem of your skirt, eyes on your thighs, where the fabric is riding a little high.

“Tell me,” you say. “I’m waiting.”

“Because,” he says breathlessly, “because I want to please you, Inspector.”

“Because, because,” you tease, putting a finger under his chin and nudging it upward.

He looks into your eyes again, nearly flinches when your finger pushes his hair gently out of his face, nearly flinches when he suddenly detects the smell of something sweet — strawberry.

Strawberry lotion, on your bare, slightly spread legs. He imagines his bound hands free, running over your calves, spreading lotion over your skin.

Your heels press against the outside of his thighs, caging him in.

“Because you want to service me?” you smile lazily down at him.

A hazy nod, slow blinks up at you through long, heavy eyelashes. His head is spinning; the fingers of his right hand tingle, crushed into the cold metal of his left hand. And then —

“Because you want to pleasure me?”

To like you. To please you. To service you. Appropriate for a pet to its master.

Ginoza’s sharp nose detects another smell from between your spread thighs, a smell that’s equally as sweet as the strawberry on your legs and on your tongue.

To pleasure you —

It’s not right, it’s not appropriate, it’s not his place. Ginoza thinks he might soil you — might dirty you with his hands. With the paws of a dog. They’ve been in the dirt, doing your bidding, and your fingers are clean. Like they should be. Your hands are pristine, sullied only by the indentations of your dogs’ leashes on your palms. But those indentations are temporary; they fade away, don’t stain the fingertips like iron in soil does.

“Because you want to make me feel good, Ginoza?”

Pleasuring you. Making you feel good. His cock stirs. It’s been growing for a while now, stiffening against his thigh. Slowly, because he’s been trying hard to curb the rush of blood between his legs. He’s too afraid he’ll disgust you.

But he just can’t help it anymore. The prospect of this — the privilege of being able to pleasure you — is too much. There’s an image of you whirling in his mind, a pretty one, an approximation of how he thinks your features might contort. He shouldn’t be imagining that, but it makes the blood rush to his cock, makes it stiffen. Fast, this time.

Your cold eyes are fixed on his crotch. It embarrasses him. It makes him harder.

“Yes or no, Ginoza?”

He’d die for it, he thinks.

“More than anything, Inspector,” he chokes.

You fix him with a woeful expression. An expression that makes him want to fix anything in the world that displeases you.

“But it looks like your hands are tied,” you pout.

His response is hasty. It’s pleading. “I can help you. I want to help you—”

But the words die on his tongue, go flat like soda, as he watches your fingers trace the bottom hem of your skirt. Fingernails lacquered in pretty pink slip under the drab gray, lift the drab gray, hike the drab gray up, revealing skin. Pristine skin, lovely skin — the skin of an untouched fruit before it’s broken by the teeth. Skin exposed to someone as undeserving, to someone as dirty, as him.

A treat dangled in front of a panting, sharp-faced shepherd. This shepherd is his master’s most obedient; this shepherd won’t move a muscle, no matter how close the treat comes. Not even if it bumps against his nose.

But he’ll track every single movement. Vigilant. A watchdog, a hunting dog, any kind of dog his master wants.

A lap dog, even. Something easily distracted, easily entranced. Hooked on every new glimpse of your skin as you hike the skirt up and up and up, until he can see the pretty curve of your spread thighs in front of him. Their apex, and the sweet space between them.

And the strawberry pink of your panties.

In the midst of all the dull gray in this break room — the gray carpet, the gray couches, the gray curtains, everything so gray it’s almost greenish under the fluorescent lights, greenish and cold — there are three points of warmth.

The first — that can of strawberry soda, long since warm.

The second — your neatly lacquered fingernails.

The last — your little pink panties. Your little pink thong.

Pink, the same pink as the inside of a ripe strawberry. Your thong is tiny like a strawberry, tight. And sheer.

Ginoza can see your pussy through the lace.

Damp lace grows wet, a dark spot spreading on the crotch of the fabric right in front of his face. The smell of strawberry spreads in his nose, the smell of pussy — the taste of anticipation for one or the other on his tongue. His mouth has gone dry, but his cock is leaking all over his leg.

You hook your pretty fingernails over the sides of your panties. He gulps, he watches, as you shimmy them down your thighs. Ginoza thinks he should look away; he thinks he shouldn’t sully your perfect body with his impure gaze. But he can’t look away. He has to watch — eyes stuck to you like the little gooey line of arousal that sticks to your panties before it breaks.

He has to watch you pull your thong all the way down our thighs, has to watch it drop down your strawberry-lotion-covered calves, has to watch it fall to the bottom of your heels. He has to watch you step out of the garment with your right leg, lift the left, and pull the damp fabric away from your heel.

You tuck your panties away into the band of your skirt — hiding the pretty pink in the gray. That point of warmth is gone, is out of sight, but there’s something much hotter in his vision. Your dog’s object permanence is fickle; he’ll forget about a hidden treat as soon as you brandish a bone.

Sleepy eyes, framed by long, feminine lashes. Dilated pupils, fixed on your bare pussy. His tongue itches for a taste, and his mouth is no longer dry; it’s watering — wet enough to match your glistening pussy. He sees soft, wet flesh; he sees flesh full to bursting with juices.

A fruit that’s plucked from its stem in the dead heat of summer, perfectly ripe.

Something a bad dog might devour with teeth bared. But obedient dogs don’t bite when they’re not supposed to; obedient dogs are gentle with toys their owners give them. Obedient dogs lick, don’t bite, at least not until their owner sics them.

Ginoza watches his owner play with the toy — watches your manicured fingers slide through the wet skin of your pussy, watches your fingertips brush over your seeping hole and gather up all your wetness right in front of his face.

Like a drooling dog, Ginoza waits for his owner to say fetch. In his slacks, his cock throbs, dribbles, gets his thigh slippery.

But he’s patient; he’s intent, concentration unbroken. He’d stay here forever in limbo — would never leave, if he had a choice. Maybe it’s not limbo, he thinks, but heaven, or maybe even the second circle of hell — the circle of lust, ruled by a pink-horned devil in gray clothing.

He’d stay here, patient, but his fingers don’t have the same restraint; they’re filthy, overwhelmed by the dirty instinct to touch. His wrists test the bounds of the handcuffs, pulling outward until the metal of his left hand clinks against the restraints.

“Are you trying to get away from me, Ginoza?”

Voice breathy in his sharp ears. He loves that sickly-sweet tone, the toxicity layered right beneath.

“No, ma’am,” he says hastily. Never, ma’am. He slackens his hands. “No. I just… I just want…”

To pleasure you. To make you feel good. To touch you, for you, so you can rest your pretty hands.

Pretty hands, he thinks, pretty fingers, suited to touch a pretty pussy. He licks his lips while he looks at it — at how wet it is, watches your fingers get slick and shiny with your own juices.

“You want what?” you tease, using two slippery fingers to spread yourself open in front of him. “This?”

A wet dream, he thinks. This is a wet dream — you above him, with your skirt hiked up around your waist, fingers sliding over your pussy before teasing little circles into your clit. Breathy moans float in the air, tumble down to him, fill his ears, make his cock pulse.

“Yes,” he says, “please.”

“Well,” you say, breaths hitching, “see, there’s a problem, Ginoza.”

“Let me help you,” he pleads. “What’s the problem, Inspector, what can I do—?”

But he’s cut off as your wet fingers leave your pussy to rest on his lips. He parts his mouth, takes them in immediately, with a needy whimper — a grateful whimper. He’s lucky, he thinks, lucky that you’ve finally blessed him with a taste. And it’s even better than he expected, tastes even sweeter than it smells; it’s a taste that makes his eyes go soft. Your towering presence above him blurs as he sucks your fingers clean, gets drunk from the taste.

You watch him through eyes slightly narrowed with amusement, your tone woeful — false — as you push your fingers a little deeper into his mouth.

“I just…”

You sigh.

“I’ve just been so busy, Ginoza. And I really, really,” — you pause, to push your fingers to the back of his throat; they hit his gag reflex, and the taste of you is deep in his mouth, is dripping down his throat, is coursing through his body, until it reaches his cock, making it so hard that his head spins — “really need to cum.”

Another whimper around your fingers — this time at the thought of making you cum. He’s so desperate that as soon as you take your fingers out of his mouth he’s already pleading, through lips covered in his own spit —

“Let me help you, Inspector, please.”

“Oh, but you already do so much for me. Staying late all the time. Always going out of your way. Taking care of all the paperwork without being asked. The least I can do is give you a break, right? Do you think… Kou would be willing to help me instead, maybe? I could always pay him a visit.”

“No.” Desperate, needy. Possessive — the bark of a guard dog.

You raise your eyebrows and smile down at him. A cruel smile, a severe smile, a smile that’s much more like you. But he’s already correcting himself.

“I’m sorry. Please let me…”

Pretty fingers swipe the spit from his lips. The action is soft, tender, full of warmth — so much warmth from his cold Inspector that his heart melts in his chest. His eyes drop back to your pussy, where you press your fingers to your clit again, massaging his spit around it. His spit, rubbed into you, deemed good enough to lubricate your pristine body, allowed to aid your fingers, allowed to please you and make you moan.

“Let you what, Ginoza?” you ask through a breathy sigh.

“Let me help you.”

“Be more specific.”

“I want to…”

He trails off, shaky. He can’t say it, not to you. You’ll think he’s filthy, you’ll think he’s disgusting, because he is.

“You’re not going to get anything if you can’t even say it,” you tease.

He takes a shaky breath. “I want to… I want to make you cum.”

His cheeks burn hot. Saying that outright to you is awful. It’s embarrassing. But something about it all — the words, the shame they bring him, the cruel smile he can hear in your voice from above when you laugh a little — makes his cock twitch in his slacks. They’re painfully tight; he’s painfully hard, soaking through the fabric over the tip.

“Mm…” Amusement and pleasure in your voice as you rub your clit lazily in front of his face. “...Do you really?”

“Yes. More than anything.”

It’s not even a want, Ginoza thinks. It’s a need. He needs to make you cum.

“How do you want to make me cum?” you muse.

He can’t meet your eyes. He can’t look at you when he says it, so he looks at your hand instead, watching you rub yourself. Hiding from you under long, heavy eyelashes, he forces it.

“I want to lick your pussy,” he says, voice sheepish and fast and trembling, “I want to make you cum in my mouth. I want to make you feel better.”

A soft laugh from above. He trembles, wondering if you’re disgusted with him.

But your touch is fond when you brush the hair out of his eyes. Fingers carding through, pushing strands backward, then tightening just above his hairline to tug. His chin lifts, head jerked back, eyes forced upward, meeting yours. And he groans. Maybe from the pleased look on your face, maybe from the sharp tug, maybe from your words —

“You’re so sweet. That’s why you’re my favorite, baby.”

Baby. He’s undeserving of the praise, of the honor of being your favorite, and especially of the nickname; the familiarity makes his heart swell.

“Thank you,” he chokes.

“Get my pussy nice and wet with your mouth,” you say from above. “Maybe I’ll ride your cock if you make me feel good enough. Understand?”

His heart races, the throbbing between his legs intensifying — his body responding as he imagines your pussy wrapped around him. Just the thought of being buried inside of you makes his mind go so blank he can barely even manage the breathy, desperate little Yes, ma’am, I understand.

“Good.”

Another tender touch — your fingers tucking stray hairs behind his ear before skimming around to the back of his head, where his hair is tied up.

“Are you good at eating pussy?” you ask.

He takes a shaky breath. He’s had several long term relationships; none that worked out, but over time he’s learned how to use his tongue. He’s never left a woman unsatisfied, because he’s patient, because he knows his priorities.

But he’d never build you up to disappoint you. And, besides, he doesn’t think that anything he could do would be good enough, if it’s done for you.

“I don’t know,” he stammers.

With a critical look on your face, you grip the rubber band holding his hair up and use it to tug his head back more. He whimpers, feels like a helpless animal — head pulled back, neck exposed, eyelashes fluttering as he looks up at you.

He’s going to eat you, but he thinks you’ve already devoured him.

“Keep your mouth open.”

The closer you get, the stronger the smell of you grows, the sweeter. The scent of your pussy spreads, intoxicating — fills his sharp nose, fills his open mouth. He can taste the tang of you on his tongue and you’re not even in his mouth yet. More than anything, he wants to please you. He’s desperate to make you feel like the women who came before you.

No, he thinks, that’s not right. You’re nothing like the women who came before you. You’re better. So he has to make you feel better.

But does he know what to do? For some reason, in this moment, he can’t remember what to do. He feels like a virgin again: clueless, fumbling and unsure. He can’t remember anything from his past. He can’t remember anyone who came before you. What they were like, what they tasted like.

But, he thinks, nothing from his past could ever compare to his first taste of you.

The first lick to your clit is light, timid. But then he really tastes you — sweeter than strawberries, juices on his tongue, juices dripping from your entrance onto his chin. Then he really hears you — moaning, Can you make me cum, Ginoza? I really need to cum.

The request makes his eyes go hazy. The need to service you takes over; trepidation gives way to instinct, instinct gives way to hunger. His mouth waters for your pussy while he laps at it.

Even with his head in the clouds, even with his hands restrained, his tongue itches to service you. Muscle memory comes back; he knows what to do. He experiments with the placement first — starts with his tongue flat on your clit when he licks. And he keeps moving it slightly, changing the angle just the tiniest amount until he finds the spot that makes your moans sound the sweetest.

Every single moan is sweet to him, but he can hear where it feels best.

And once he’s found the right spot, he experiments with the speed. Starts slow, then builds up, until you give him the signs he’s looking for. He’s attuned to your body, always attentive, alert, will pick up on cues no matter how small. A relieved sigh, the slight tremble of your thighs. Hitching breaths, fingers tightening in his hair.

The right spot, the right pace, and consistency. He gives you that, and in return praise pours from your lips the same way arousal oozes from your slit into his waiting mouth.

Right there, baby, just like that, you’re being so good for me, keep going.

Sweet words get him high until he’s a mess for you, falling apart — more precum soaking through his slacks, more blood rushing between his legs. He’s so hard he’s lightheaded, but he’ll keep going, he’ll be good to you, he’ll do anything you ask. For as long as you need him to. For as long as you let him.

And it seems like the longer you let him give you that consistency — a steady pace on the same spot — the better your moans sound. Everything’s redolent, aromatic; juices burst on his tongue, pleasured sighs fill his head, and he can’t help but moan with you: soft, needy, open-mouthed whimpers against your pussy while he licks your clit.

He’s rewarded. More tension as you tighten your fingers in his hair, more of your juices dripping into his hungry mouth, more sweet words —

You’re good with your mouth, you like making me feel good, don’t you?

He moans, hazy, wishes he could get the words out to tell you that he does. He does like it. He likes it so much that his cock is aching to do more for you. He’d serve you with his entire body if he could; he’d give you more pleasure, make you feel even better. But he’s bound — hands held in place by the cuffs, head held in place by your hand. But even if there were no restraints, he wouldn’t dare move an inch. There’s no place he’d rather be than here, where you want him, servicing you with his tongue.

He thinks his tongue must be getting tired by now, but he doesn’t feel it at all; he’s too wrapped up in your body. Living to serve you, senses fixed on every part of you — ears up, eyes up, blinking at you through long lashes while he licks you.

He feels every change with every one of his senses, hears it clear as day when your moans get particularly lewd. Heavier, more breathy, longer-lasting. He feels his own stomach tightening in response, pleasure coursing through his untouched body.

A side-effect of the juices dripping onto his tongue.

Sweet nectar of a deadly flower, full of toxins. He’d been afraid to ingest your poison, afraid that it’d hurt. But it turns out that it feels better than anything.

There could be no death sweeter, no death more delicious.

There could be no sight more delicious than the one above him: pink fingernails skimming up your blouse, up to your chest. Your hand squeezes, kneads at your tits gently through your blouse while he eats you. His hands are so much larger, but he thinks they could be just as gentle. They could make you feel just as good, if you wanted. If they weren’t bound behind his back.

But maybe it’s good that they’re bound. Because to touch would be to defile. To touch would be to bring night to a day-blooming flower. He’s lucky he hasn’t already defiled you with his eyes, the impure gaze that observes every contortion of your face as his tongue massages your clit. Somehow, you’re still so pristine, even when you’re moaning filth downward.

Do you want to make me feel even better? Do you want to make me cum?

That you’d let him — that you’d give him the privilege — leaves him reeling. He’s so desperate to please you, so hooked on the sight of you feeling good above him, that he could cum just from eating you.

Just from watching you, from hearing your cresting moans. Just from your words and from the anticipation they bring.

Do you want my cum in your mouth, baby?

A hazy groan, an open-mouthed whimper against your pussy with his tongue still lapping at your clit — that’s all his mouth can manage. But his head is full of things.

Anything, he thinks, I’d do anything for it. I want it. I need it. I need you to cum.

But it’s not about what he needs. It’s about what you need, and he knows what you need. The consistency of his tongue on your clit, just a little more to make you cum; all the cues are already heightening. Your hand tight in his hair, your thighs trembling, your breaths picking up until each exhale is a moan.

Each moan is more lewd than the last — a cresting voice full of pleasure filling his ears, more of you seeping into his mouth. Everything that leaves you is sweeter than strawberries in the summertime.

You’re so good for me. I’ll give you all my cum, baby.

But nothing sweeter than that. A promise that makes his lower stomach twist and tighten up so hard he’s just a few moans away from cumming in his slacks. But he crushes the pleasure down, endures it, because this is about you. It’s all about you, about licking you until it’s enough to make you cum. He wants to be enough to send you over; he’d do anything to be enough.

But he can’t believe it when he is.

It starts like a sudden thought that occurs to the unoccupied mind on a lazy, humid summer evening. A thought that gnaws, that expands until it consumes.

Like something out of a fever — that final strangled moan fills his foggy mind, and then it starts.

You tighten your hand in his hair first, tugging his face forward against your pussy, And then he feels your clit pulsing on his tongue, juices flooding from your contracting slit and surging into his mouth. You allow him to indulge, allow him to lick your pussy through your orgasm, allow him to taste while you cum into his mouth.

More and more of you bursting on his tongue. Every drop feeds him, makes him moan. But he’s greedy, and every drop makes him hungrier, until he’s so desperate that little tears bead at the base of his long lashes — dew on grass. He’s not sated, doesn’t think he’ll ever have enough of you.

You’re too intoxicating. Even when it’s done — when he’s licked all of the pleasure out of you, consumed it all — it’s not enough. He’s even worse off now that he’s tasted your cum, he thinks; his cock is harder, the tip wetter, his stomach so tight that he could cum without a touch if he had the permission to.

But he doesn’t have the permission. So he’ll accept what you’re gracious enough to give him — your cum, and the sight of you when you pull back: your pretty pussy in front of him, dripping wet with his spit and your slick arousal.

Desire and tears hang in his fluttering eyelashes, weigh his eyes down; they’re sleepy, heavy, but they’re still fixed between your legs. Your skirt is still hiked up around your waist, your pussy is still bare, and his gaze is still hazy as he watches you drop down.

Down, until you’re crouching over his lap with your weight resting on your heels and your pussy hovering just a few inches above the tent in his slacks. You’re dripping onto the fabric, but it’s already wet, soaked through with his precum.

He doesn’t think his heart can race faster until he looks up at your face. You’re right here, right in front of him, so close to him. You belong so far up, but you deign to stoop to the level of a dog like him. Put yourself on his level, and he’ll worship every detail up close: the perfume lingering on your throat, the pleasure lingering in your voice, the condescension that takes its place.

“Sweetheart,” you say, “you’re crying.”

Your voice is as cloying as your touch — fingers coming up to cradle his face, soft eyes on you when you swipe your thumbs under his eyelashes, wiping the tears away. But you balance the tenderness with cruelty right after; you suck his tears from your fingertips — you consume.

You feed on Ginoza, you eat him alive — you chew him up and spit out cruelty in return. But when it’s your cruelty, he enjoys it. He’s grateful for it, groaning through gritted teeth when you finally grip his cock through the fabric.

“Do you really need to cum so badly it makes you cry?”

He shakes his head, panting. With each breath in, he can taste you lingering in his mouth.

“It’s not that,” he murmurs.

“What is it, then?”

“It’s that—” he says breathlessly, “—you taste so good.”

“Really?”

He nods, watching you settle onto his lap. He feels your pussy on him, pressing down on his cock through the fabric. The warmth bleeds through first, the wetness a moment later, and he throbs under you.

“Then let me taste it,” you say.

Your mouth on his, your tongue parting his lips; you’re too good for him, he’ll ruin you, he’ll cloud you — this intimacy is selfish, like plucking the petals of a flower only for the fleeting beauty before they wilt. But he can’t say no to you, not when you’re kissing him so deeply, licking the taste of yourself from his lips.

He’s so desperate that he thinks he could cry when you pull away.

“Did you like servicing me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, “so much.”

His voice goes breathy when you grind your hips down on his lap. Your pussy is so close to him, separated from him just by a few layers of fabric. He can feel it. The heat, the wetness. And the tension in his stomach is still so high.

“But you didn’t cum?”

“No, ma’am.”

“It sounded like you were going to. So why didn’t you? You weren’t enjoying yourself enough?”

His heart drops, his cheeks burn — he’s displeased you, he’s ruined his chance.

“I wanted to cum,” he stammers. “I wanted to. But I was waiting… for you to cum. For permission.”

“Permission?” you laugh. “How obedient of you.”

He winces. But you’re smiling, fingers brushing over his chest, slipping under his tie to play with it lazily. He’s woozy, too aware of your weight on his cock, nestled tight between your body and his. It’s throbbing, aching, especially when you start to rock on it — moving your hips forward on his lap, then back, giving him friction.

Obedient dogs get treats, you say.

He’s so sensitive from holding out for long that it’s unbearable.

“But how am I supposed to give you permission to cum,” you smile expectantly, nimble fingers undoing his tie, “if you don’t ask me for it?”

It’s good that you’re loosening his tie, he thinks; it’s good that you’re pulling the ends apart, that it’s not so tight around his neck anymore, because he’s suffocating. The prospect of you letting him cum while you’re rubbing your pussy over his cock makes his breath come ragged. If you give him permission, he’ll shoot his cum all over his thigh as soon as you say the word.

“Can I,” he chokes through hitching breaths, “can I please cum?”

He feels selfish for it.

But you shake your head. And in some strange, twisted way, he feels relieved.

“No,” you smile, “I don’t think so.”

Tears fill his eyes again, his vision going foggy as you continue to move your hips in his lap. He won’t cum without permission, but your denial makes his own agonizing — your cruelty makes his cock throb.

And when you pull his tie loose from around his shoulders, when you hold it up in front of his face length-wise, and say —

“I want to fuck you blind, Ginoza,”

— he can barely keep himself from spilling his cum in his slacks.

Please, he says, please fuck me.

Good dogs don’t beg, but he just can’t help it — he’ll whine for the smallest scraps you have to give.

You pull his head forward and knot his own tie around his head, blinding him. The last thing he sees before the fabric obscures his vision is the smile on your mouth.

And then all he can do is feel. Out of control — his vision black, his head resting back against the wall, his hands bound behind his back. Everything in your hands. And it feels so good that way, it feels right that way, with everything in your hands. With his zipper in your fingers, pulled down until his cock is finally free from the tension of his slacks.

He groans a little, feels a little relief now that it’s free. It’s still constricted by the damp fabric of his boxers, but now that you’re pulling his slacks down his thighs, he’s so much more sensitive.

So when you wrap your hand around his cock and squeeze him through his boxers, a blind man sees god in white flashes behind the blindfold, like fireworks. He inhales, sharp, bites into his lip so hard that his teeth tear through the skin. A little blood spreads on his tongue. The rest rushes between his thighs.

Ginoza whimpers. You rub his cock through the fabric, move your hand up and down the pulsing length of it, and he aches for you in many more ways than one.

I’m so wet, baby. I need you to make me cum again. Can you do that?

Ginoza’s barely hanging on — but he aches to do whatever you ask.

“Anything,” he pants. “Anything you want to do to me.” Anything to make you cum again.

“I told you I’d ride you if you got me wet enough,” you tease, grazing your thumb over the leaking tip of his dick. “Should I?”

“Please,” he begs.

“Let me be clear. I’m gonna use you to cum. I’m gonna use this—” you pause, and there’s a hard squeeze to his cock that makes him whimper, “—to cum. Understand?”

His head spins. He wants to be of use to you; he could cum in your palm at the thought, spurt sticky liquid out all over his boxers, but he has to stay hard for you.

“Yes, Inspector,” he chokes.

“You can hold off, can’t you?”

Ginoza’s never been a liar. He’s not one to promise things he can’t follow through on. But he’s not thinking when he says, Yes, yes, ma’am, I can.

He’s blind. To himself — to his own needs. Blindfolded and bound, he can’t see you, can’t touch you. But every remaining sense is fixed on you. Heightened.

He can hear your grin. He can smell your pussy getting wetter. He can feel the little pattern on your fingertips as you pull his boxers down around his thighs, freeing his pulsing cock to jump up against his stomach. That little swirl on your fingertips. Unique to you, yours and yours only — just like him. Minuscule to most, insignificant. But to him, the pattern against his skin is a blessing. The touch of a deity.

A big glob of precum seeps from the tip of his bare cock and runs down the underside of the shaft. Your touch meets the trail of slick liquid starting at the base of his cock, fingers running upward to swipe it up.

You’re so wet for me, sweetheart.

He twitches at the touch. At the praise.

And it’s a quiet sound, but his senses are sharp; he hears it — the little pop of you sucking his precum off your fingers. And then a louder sound, the jingle of his belt as you pull it free from the loops of his slacks. Your hand on the back of his head, gently pushing it forward, so you can slip the leather of the belt around the back of his neck.

“Can I choke you, Ginoza?”

He could cry. His words come out like a sob — Please, ma’am.

The belt wraps around his throat: center flat on the back of his neck, two ends pulled tight around the front and held closed — held tightly together — in your fist.

Pulse hammering against the leather, he whimpers, quiet and needy.

“Do you like being choked?”

“Yes,” he says hazily.

“Does it make you wet, baby?”

Breathlessly — yes, yes, more, please, tighter, please.

The pounding of his pulse is everywhere: in between his legs, in the crook of his wrist against the metal of the cuff, at his throat against the leather of the belt. More pressure on his neck — his master is so good to him, he thinks — and more precum dribbles down his cock.

Everything’s lubricated, wet; where you’re straddling his lap, your pussy is dripping onto his thighs. And when you wrap your fingers around his bare cock and squeeze the tip, everything gets wetter.

You slide your fist down the shaft, your palm tight and slippery with precum — a quick jerk downward.

That’s all it takes to make his eyes roll back under the blindfold. He strains against the handcuffs and bucks his hips up desperately, fucking once into your fist. He’s whimpering, panting, begging, but his voice sounds strained in his own ears. It sounds small, strangled by the belt around his throat.

“Did I say you could move?”

Scorn in your voice; his cheeks burn. “No, ma’am.”

“I guess I should stop. Since you’re being so selfish.”

Tears bead on his lashes behind the blindfold; you’re right here, right in his lap — you’re so close to fucking him.

“No, please,” he stammers. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please fuck me. Use me.”

“Are you going to be a good boy?”

“I promise. I promise.”

Suspended in anticipation, in darkness, he waits. He doesn’t know if the promise is enough until he feels you adjust on his lap, lifting your pussy from his thighs — leaving them wet. And even then, he doesn’t know if it’s enough until he feels you wrap your pretty fingers around the base of his cock.

He pulses in your palm, waiting. You hold him in place.

A second of blackness, painfully empty — occupied just by his shaky breaths, the tingling of his fingers behind his back, and the warmth of your fingers on his leaking cock.

A dog waiting for its owner to drop a treat.

And then, he feels it.

He feels your pussy. Your hot, wet, tight little slit on the oozing head of his cock. His eyelashes flutter behind the blindfold; a breathy moan spills from his mouth just from the contact. He moans more, louder, as you give him more of your pussy — walls expanding just enough to fit him and then hugging him tight as you slide down the length. You’re gripping him tight, squeezing all the precum out of him, but it’s already so wet inside of you.

All for him, he thinks, before correcting himself — he’s all for you. Made to be swallowed up by you, encompassed, owned. You own every moan that’s choked out, every inch of him you sink down on.

Every inch is sensitive, hugged tight by soft walls, and he can feel all the ridges in your pussy leaking around him as you swallow him up. His head lolls back on his shoulders, but you tighten the belt, tug it toward yourself — forcing his head forward as you sink down past the halfway point.

Ginoza groans, gritting his teeth. His head is floating; it’s so foggy that he can’t think. But he doesn’t need to think. He just needs you. You, and the feeling of your pussy on him. But even as you give him more of yourself, you withhold. You deprive him of air, take more and more away from him.

But the more you take, the better it feels.

Ginoza’s a good boy; he doesn’t want to do anything to displease you. But the instinct in his trembling body is strong. It’s overwhelming and desperate; heels digging into the floor, he pants through gritted teeth, and jerks his hips up. It’s just a tiny movement to bury himself just a little deeper inside of you. It’s barely anything, but the fast friction on his aching cock brings him so much relief.

It feels good, he mumbles. It feels so good.

And then, immediately, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

But you’re already stopping, fingers pinching his cheeks together, and he’s whimpering a garbled, distorted apology.

A slap to his mouth, not hard — but it makes him jump, makes his lip sting, makes him moan. The belt tightens around his throat; he chokes out another pleasured sob with you hovering a little more than halfway down his cock.

“What makes you think you can fuck me, Ginoza?”

“I’m sorry,” he stammers, “I don’t. I don’t. It just feels so —”

Your hand on his pelvis, forcing him down, back into place. He yields under your touch, thighs trembling.

“I don’t care how it feels,” you say. “Stay down and sit.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I promise I will.”

“I’m going to use you to cum, and you’re going to stay right there while I fuck you.”

He sniffles, babbling in agreement, desperate to service you. To him, nothing sounds better — nothing could make his dick harder — than you using him to cum.

“That’s my good boy.”

Yours. The praise feels good; the ownership feels better. But nothing can compare to the feeling of your pussy, especially now that you’re sinking down all the way, sitting on the full length of his cock. Wrapped all the way around him, hot and slippery, gripping him tight.

Being buried inside of you, being yours — it’s unreal, it’s too sweet. It’s too tight in your pussy, it feels too good; pleasure swirls, heavily, in his lower stomach, in his upper thighs. The tension is high; he’s desperate.

He pants, open-mouthed, like a dog.

He’s tense everywhere — muscles clenched, tremors running through them. If he’s not careful, the tension might snap. If he’s not careful, he might cum inside of you.

And the thought of that — of you draining him of all his cum until your tight hole is pumped full of it — is too much. The way you’re slurring to him is too much.

Does it feel good, Ginoza? Do you like it when I give you my pussy? Do you like being fucked by your boss?

Your voice thick and sweet in his ears; he’s drunk on a nectar full of toxins. He’s drunk on your pussy, cock twitching inside of you with every lilting word.

Yes, ma’am, yes, ma’am, thank you.

A little laugh in response. Delight in your voice, in your fingers, the belt tightening around his throat. With enthusiasm, this time. And that enthusiasm feels euphoric, sends his eyes rolling back under the blindfold. His face knits up: brows furrowing, mouth dropping open.

You’re so pretty, Ginoza.

Pretty — his cheeks go hot.

You look so pretty when your cock’s getting fucked. I could cum just from looking at all the little faces you make.

He gasps, but there’s barely any oxygen to take in; the belt’s too tight around his throat. The lack of oxygen dulls all the sensations in his body except for the spot between his thighs, where the sensitivity keeps growing, especially now that you’re grinding your hips with him buried deep inside.

He’s trying to focus on any other feeling — the sweat dripping down his chest, the ache of his arm behind his back, his fingernails digging into his palm — but it’s too intense. He’s so deep; he can feel the head of his cock pressing up against your cervix, and he can feel you squeezing your pussy around him, walls wrapped tight all the way around him.

“Does it feel good when I take you this deep?”

“Yes, ma’am. So good. It feels so good.”

“Does it make you want to cum inside me?”

Ginoza sniffles, gritting his teeth. He knows he can’t. It’s taking all the willpower and self-restraint he has, but he’ll hold off; he’ll do anything you ask. He’ll do anything to stay hard for you so he can be your toy.

“Answer me,” you press. “I want to know. Does being inside of me make you want to cum?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he chokes. “So much.”

“Do you want to fill me up? Do you want to pump my pussy nice and full of your cum?”

Ginoza groans; tears wet the fabric of the tie over his eyes. He wishes he could see you, see those filthy words leaving your pretty mouth. But maybe it’s good that he can’t. Because if he could —

You tighten the belt around his throat. “What, baby? Yes? Or no?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” he stammers finally; the words spill out with desperation, the only release he’s allowed. “I want to fill your pussy up so much, I need to give you all my cum, I need to fuck it deep, I need to —”

He cuts himself off. He’s getting too close — toes curling in his dress shoes, cock throbbing against your snug walls. He has to dig his heels into the floor again; he has to tense his trembling body, because every desperate fiber is telling him to move, to pump his hips up and fill you. But he can’t.

“You need to what?”

He can see it in his mind — what he needs: his cum spilling out, deep inside of your pussy, each spurt coating your cervix in white. The thought makes his head spin; strong instincts are overwhelming him, he needs to —

“I need to get you pregnant,” he stammers without thinking, regretting the words as soon as they leave his mouth.

“Oh.” He can hear the grin in your voice — cold amusement that makes him whimper. “But good boys don’t get their bosses pregnant, do they, Ginoza?”

“I know,” he pants, “I know. I’m sorry. I wasn’t — I didn’t mean it.”

You laugh. “Yes, you did. Would you really jeopardize my job to dump your cum in me? Are you that much of a filthy dog?”

His cheeks burn. “No, ma’am, I’d never—”

He’d never dream of jeopardizing something for you. Especially not this job. Not this position you hold over him.

“Do you like working under me?”

With gratitude in his voice — “Yes, ma’am.”

“Then you won’t cum inside me when I move, will you? You’ll sit there and take it like a good boy, won’t you?”

“I’ll take it,” he whimpers. “I promise.”

Then your lips are on his — a tender kiss that tastes like strawberries. His heart pounds against the leather of the belt like it could escape, but he would never dream of escaping you. He loves it right here: bound, choked, blind. Buried deep in your pussy, with your tongue deep in his mouth.

Suffocating on you feels better than anything.

“Are you ready for me to fuck you?” you ask with your mouth against his.

One hand squeezing his shoulder, one holding the belt tight on his throat.

“Please, please, I…”

He’d beg some more, but the words catch in his throat; he feels you lift yourself up on his cock, your pussy tight and wet on the shaft as you glide upward. Friction, finally, that makes him groan. You drop back down on it, taking it all the way to the base — one deep, slow stroke before you start to bounce in his lap.

His breathing is ragged; he’s out of control, he’s used, owned, all in your hands. And he’s so hard because of that, because of you, and the way you ride him — fucking him hard, choking him so hard he can barely even hear his own desperate moans through the fog in his head.

It feels so good, please. It feels so good when you fuck me like that. Keep fucking me. Harder, please, harder.

“Like this?” you tease, bouncing harder, taking him deeper, pulling the leather even more taut. “Does this pussy feel good on your cock, baby? Does this belt feel good on your throat?”

“Yes, ma’am, yes.” And Ginoza knows this isn’t about him, but he can’t help but beg at your table like a selfish dog whining for its master’s food. “Can you choke me harder? Please, please.”

Somewhere in his hazy mind, he knows he’s being selfish — that he shouldn’t be feeling this good. But you’re being so good to him, so obliging, giving him more than he deserves even though this is all supposed to be about you.

You’re cooing to him so sweetly, even though he doesn’t deserve it — Anything for my good boy. You ask so nicely. Choking him harder, fucking him harder, squeezing around his cock until his thighs tremble with the effort of holding his orgasm back. You glide up, drop back down, take it deep every time — pussy swallowing him up, getting the entire shaft wet until you’re clenching on the base. It feels best when he’s nudged up against your cervix, a pressure on the sensitive head of his cock that makes the tension in his stomach knot up.

Oh, god, please.

He doesn’t even know what he’s begging for; he knows he’s not allowed a release, knows that no matter how much he wants to he’s not allowed to buck his hips up. He’s not allowed to fuck you, to fill your pussy with his cum, but the urge is so heavy. His moans heighten, needy, breaths hitching as you ride him. He wants to be obedient, he wants to be a good boy, he wants to be your favorite — but it’s all too much; his senses are overwhelmed with you.

Your fingers leave his shoulder, and he can hear you start to rub your clit, the wet sounds of you sliding your fingers around your pussy. He can hear it getting sloppier, messier, and he can feel you getting wetter around his cock, your walls dripping wet and fluttering on the shaft. It’s unbearable: the sounds of your breathless moans, the feeling of you pleasuring yourself while you’re fucking him.

Liquid drips down his cock to the base, a mixture of your wetness and his precum resting there, warm, until your fingers swipe over it and collect it.

Then your fingertips are on his lips again, forcing their way into his mouth. He accepts them like he does everything else from you, obligingly — sucking the fluids from them while you bounce on his cock, your pussy getting wetter each time it parts around him, greedy.

His mouth is greedy too, ravenous for the taste of your fingers. A mixture, your fluids and his; desperately, he wants to be mixed with you.

His head is clouded by thoughts of giving himself to you — of pumping all his fluids deep inside of you until the two of you are combined. There’s no thought more enticing in this moment, no instinct stronger, than to give you all of his cum. He wants to fill you, over and over and over, until he’s sure that it takes.

His seed in your womb, you pregnant with his kids — he groans around your fingers, spit dripping down his chin. If he keeps thinking about it, he doesn’t know if he’ll last.

But he has to, so he resorts to begging around your fingers, words garbled and small — Please cum on me. Please. I need you to cum.

He’s losing his composure, panting with his mouth full, trembling as he tries to stay still. It works for a little; he thinks he has himself under control, that he can hold off, until he feels you adjust. You reach behind your body, snake a hand downward, cupping his balls while you bounce on his lap.

They’re sensitive, heavy. They’re tight, and when you squeeze them, he whimpers.

“Do you need my cum, baby?” you tease. “Do you want me to cum all over your cock? Do you want me to get it all wet? You’re so needy, just look at you.”

He’s trying to hold off, but it feels so good — the way you ride him, the way your hand squeezes with just the right amount of pressure. He chokes out a groan around your fingers, loses his composure for a fraction of a second — just long enough to buck his hips up again. A quick, shallow thrust into your pussy, immediately followed by a shudder and a helpless sob.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to, I promise.”

You’re stern; you’re cold, unforgiving. “What did I say, Ginoza? I told you to sit down and take it, but you keep disappointing me, over and over.”

He hates to disappoint you, and he knows it’s wrong, but the scolding leaves him in even worse shape. And when you squeeze his balls again, he can’t help but jerk his hips up a second time. He’s throbbing, panting, trying to stop the feeling from building.

“Please, please, no,” he babbles around your fingers, “I can’t, I think I’m — I’m going to —”

You lift off his cock right before the coil snaps, leaving him panting as you remove the belt from his throat and your fingers from his mouth. The same fingers come to the back of his head, nimble, to pull the knot of his tie free.

He’s still murmuring apologies and blinking tears from his eyes as you remove the blindfold.

A tender touch first; your fingers brushing the hair away from his flushed, tearful face. And then a cruel one — your hand tightening in his hair, pulling his face back. He looks up at you through lashes still wet and heavy with tears, sniffling.

He’s still throbbing, still close. But some of his desperation is quelled, at least, by the sight of you on his lap. After being deprived of you for so long, it’s the first glimpse of the sun after a long winter.

But your voice is still frigid.

“Listen. You’re servicing me. What don’t you understand about that?”

His lips tremble. “I’ll be good. I’ll be good. I just want you to cum.”

“Good.”

A little softness in your voice — more mercy than he expected, more than he deserves. You really are so good to him, he really is glad to be your hound; he wouldn’t trade this position for anything in the world.

His eyes on you, his attentive gaze coming to your fingers, looking for cues. Your hands tug at the loose collar of your drab gray blouse, stretching it until it’s pulled under your tits. Underneath the blouse, your chest is framed by a skimpy pink bra — the same warm color as your skimpy pink panties. You tug the cups of your bra down too, and put your pretty tits on display for him.

His eyes linger on your tits even as you grip his dick and adjust on his lap. He doesn’t look away from them until you’re starting to sink down on the length of him again.

He bites his lip, moans through it, soft. Watching. Now that he can see — now that he can watch as your pussy takes him in — it’s so much harder for him to hold back. He can see how much you want him now, how wet and puffy your pussy is as you slide down his aching cock. The length glistens when you glide up, coated in more slick with each bounce.

Weight on the balls of your feet, heels on the ground while you fuck him. If his hands weren’t bound, he’d run his fingers up the patent leather of your stilettos, up the thin heel. Classy, he thinks — even when you’re fucking him raw there’s something about you that makes him feel so dirty in comparison.

He’s something that belongs under your heels. Maybe, if he were a little braver, he’d ask you to put the point of your stiletto on his chest.

But, for now, he’ll be a good boy and take it. You ride him deep, fingers laced around the back of his neck. He’s never seen something prettier, eyes drawn everywhere — your contorting face, your bouncing tits, your dripping wet pussy. Slippery juices smear all over his thighs and collect, thick and gooey, around the base of his cock.

He can see how good you’re feeling, but you’re vocal anyway.

You’re making me feel so good. This dick is just what I needed, baby, it’s gonna make me cum so hard.

It’s too much; he feels it building up again — balls tightening, thighs trembling, toes flexing. Nothing in his mind except for your soft, sweet moans and the little wet smacks of your skin on his. You fuck him harder, and harder, and harder, until he can hear the desperation in his own hitching breaths.

He has to take it, but he doesn’t know if he can. He thought he could endure it for you, last long enough to make you cum — he thought he could be a good boy. It’s a simple task. But it’s not an easy one. And if you keep moaning filth to him, if you keep looking at him like that while you ride him — mouth open, pretty face knit up, he’ll —

“Please,” he whimpers, “please, no, I’m trying — it’s too fast — it feels too good —”

His eyes roll back; his head lolls forward, sweat snaking down his temples. His hands are balled up into fists behind his back, and he groans, but you keep torturing him, keep moaning as you drop down on his aching cock.

The words blur together. Filthy, tempting.

Oh, you’re gonna make me cum, right there, this cock feels so good, it’s so good when you let me fuck you, baby, I need to cum again, baby.

He can’t last like this; he doesn’t want to do anything without your permission, but if you don’t stop —

“Please,” he begs, tremors in his voice, “I can’t take it, please, I can’t hold it, if you don’t stop I’m gonna…”

“Gonna what?”

Another tease as you fuck him, and he sobs.

“I’m gonna cum,” he chokes, “I’m gonna fill your pussy if you don’t stop.”

The release hangs heavy, ready to burst in his lower stomach.

“Did I give you permission? Be a good boy, Ginoza. You’ll be good, won’t you?”

He squeezes his teary eyes shut, panting, Mhm. Mhm. Every ounce of willpower, but it’s not enough. He’s doing his best for you, but it’s not enough.

And you’re doing your worst to him — you’re being so cruel, making him feel so good. You keep fucking him with your fingers laced behind his neck, bringing your thumbs to the front of his throat. You press them into his pulse, suffocate him.

He groans, feels his cock pulsing, feels more precum oozing from the tip. It’s so wet inside of you, so soft and so tight — you’ll milk him dry, if he’s not careful.

“Don’t close your eyes,” you coo to him, “look at me, baby. I want you to look at me while I fuck you. Let me see your pretty face.”

His eyes flutter open and then, confronted with your euphoric face, watching the pleasure mounting in your expression, it feels like torture.

“Please stop,” he chokes, “please, I’m so close, you have to stop before —”

He lets out a needy whine, and right before he crashes over, you lift off of him, leaving his cock flushed and twitching. As soon as you’re off of him, he jerks his hips up desperately, thrusting into nothing.

“God,” he groans, vision swimming with tears, sweat dripping down his temples, “thank you, thank you.”

“You can take it, can’t you, baby?” you tease, squeezing the base. “You can take it until I cum. I’m so close. You’re doing so well.”

He nods hazily, but he doesn’t even have the chance to catch his breath before you level yourself over him and sink down again. More than anything, he wants to take it until he gives you what you need. He can see you getting close. The pleasure is right there in front of him; it’s everywhere — in your moans, written all over your face. You keep getting wetter and wetter around him, keep clenching, keep dripping all over his thighs.

And it’s all for him. All that relief, all that pleasure — face knit up, insides tensing around his cock — is because of him. Because he’s servicing you.

And in return for that he gets to hear your pretty moans lilt and get more urgent as you approach the edge. He gets to hear you moan, You’re gonna make me cum, you’re gonna make me feel so good, baby.

A few more desperate bounces, a few more lewd moans, and then you’re dropping over, moaning for him — I’m cumming, I’m cumming. It’s his privilege to feel you take what you need — fingers digging into his throat, walls spasming and dripping on his cock while you glide up and down.

It’s too much, it feels too good, it looks too good. He chokes on a sob, stomach knotted, pressure building up between his thighs, higher and higher with each bounce. You fuck him through your orgasm, and he wants to hold it, but it’s just too much.

“Please, please, please,” he murmurs, “I can’t—”

But you’re wrapped up, moaning while you use him, and he can’t take it — can’t be good for you anymore, no matter how much he wants to. One more attempt to snuff out the pleasure, but it doesn’t work; his cock is twitching, and each spasm of your pussy feels like you want to suck the cum out of him.

So he murmurs one more desperate plea — please, please, oh god, I’m sorry, it feels too good, I’m gonna cum — and lets it go.

It feels so good — an instant high to let it go after holding off for so long. He thinks the sudden burst of pleasure is more intense than anything he’s felt before; the tension in his muscles releases, and deep inside of you, his cock throbs. He feels the cum spurting out, shooting up into your contracting insides and coating your pulsing walls.

He knows he shouldn’t be doing this; he’s babbling incoherent, breathy apologies, but he just has so much cum for you, so much to give you. And it feels so strong, so good to cum inside of you, where everything’s so hot and wet. He gives you so much cum that it drips out of your pussy, coating the shaft of his dick, collecting around the base.

And you’re letting him cum inside of you — you’re still fucking him, still cooing to him. You look him in the eyes, with your fingers pressing into his throat, while you take him deep. Over and over and over, until your tensing insides milk every last drop out of him.

You collapse onto his lap with a heavy sigh.

Face on his shoulder, breathing against his neck. It takes him a few moments to catch his breath. His arms are aching behind him, but the pleasure persists. He’s still inside of you, feeling your walls spasm every few seconds — velvety, warm around him, full of his cum.

“I’m sorry, Inspector,” he stammers, “I really didn’t mean to—”

There’s a disappointed sigh against his throat, and his heart drops.

“Did I say you could cum inside me?”

Ginoza feels his cheeks burn. Embarrassment, regret. He had you for a moment, and now he’s ruined it.

“No, ma’am,” he sniffles, “I promise I didn’t mean to.”

The silence is heavy. He thinks you must hate him, that you must be disgusted with him, that he’s not good enough to even be your dog. He’s sick to his stomach.

But when you pull back, your face is soft. Your hands are soft when they move his hair out of his face. They’re warm. You’re warm. The only warm thing in the middle of this cold, gray office is you.

Your pretty hands cradle his face gently, tilting it upward; he feels your thumbs on his cheeks, brushing his tears away. With tenderness. With the warmth of summertime. Summertime sweat lingering on your skin, in the dead of winter — you’re a flower blooming at the very end of fall, after all the others have withered.

“I’m sorry,” he stammers. “I’m really sorry.”

Ginoza wonders if animals can comprehend the concept of deities. He thinks that dogs might view their owners in the same way humans might view a god. As something inexplicable but perfect. As something to be revered without comprehension.

“Will you make it up to me?” you ask. Sweet, soft.

Maybe you’re not the lethal oleander flower, he thinks, but something harmless blooming in an identical shade. A lookalike without the same poison.

He supposes there’s only one way to find out.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says. “I’ll do anything.”

#dom reader cw #the panel is official art btw from the sinners case 1 manga #writey cherub (pp)

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twdsunshine · 2 years

Text

Home: Pt. 1

Summary: The group are trying to find their place in the Commonwealth, but the reader and Daryl, in particular, are struggling. The only thing they can do, it seems, is draw strength from each other.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of violence, language, mild smut

Word Count: 2,484

Check out my bio for a link to my Masterlist!

Author’s Note: **SPOILER WARNING FOR SEASON 11, EPISODE 10, ‘NEW HAUNTS’.** Another one-shot inspired by 11B, because we are getting so much quality Daryl and I am loving it! I wasn’t really sure where this was going when I started it - I just wanted it to be the reader that came across him when he was wearing the Commonwealth armour for the first time, and it descended into mild smutty goodness. I always find it hard to, like, leap into sex scenes with Daryl without having a looooong build up beforehand (see pretty much every series I’ve ever written for him), but it kinda felt right in this moment, with them both feeling lost and needing comfort and familiarity and... Well, you’ll see. I really hope you enjoy!

Author’s Note 2: This was initially intended to be a one-shot, but, after multiple requests, I have written a second part. It will post on Wednesday 6th April 2022, and will then be found on my Mini-Series Masterlist.

*****

You missed your home. Alexandria. Of course, you’d known that it had been a special place, somewhere to be treasured, somewhere worth fighting for, but you weren’t sure you’d appreciated it enough until it had been destroyed in a storm, forcing you to evacuate whilst it was fixed up and made habitable once more. Hilltop was in just as poor a state, if not worse, and, really, the discovery of the Commonwealth should have been a blessing; just what you needed at just the right time. But it didn’t often feel that way.

The workers’ block smelled like neglect, musty and stale, and you wrinkled your nose, heading for the exit that would lead you outside into the fresh air and pouring rain. Ducking your head against the downpour, you were soaked instantly as you jogged down one set of rusting steps and immediately climbed another that stood opposite, hurrying in through the entrance to the first-floor corridor and squinting in the sudden gloom. From the apartments on either side of you, you could hear the low rumble of conversation, occasional bursts of laughter and the heavy beat of music, a song that you were sure you recognised from the time before. The internal walls were paper-thin, and, you thought, if these quarters were anything like your own on the other side of the building, they would be damp, the plaster mottled with sickening grey. It was an unwelcome return to a class divide that you’d thought no longer existed, and it filled you with fury if you let your thoughts linger on the injustice of it for too long.

Reaching the end of the hallway, you rapped on the door you sought, not bothering to wait for a response before pushing it open and stepping inside. It was eerily quiet, the only noise filtering in from the neighbouring tenants.

“Anybody home?”

“In here.” You crossed the main living area, stepping carefully over the bedrolls that were laid out on the thin carpet, and propped yourself in the doorway to the bedroom, casting your eyes over the narrow bunk before your gaze fell to the scowling figure standing in front of the mirror, his broad frame clad in boxy white armour. You couldn’t help the smirk that twisted your lips, though it quickly disappeared when Daryl looked to you in despair. You stepped towards him, reaching up to adjust the uniform where it sat on his shoulders and brushing away an imaginary fleck of dust from the smooth plate that covered his chest.

“Well, don’t you look official.”

“I feel ridiculous.”

You bit back a laugh, knowing that there really wasn’t anything about this situation that was remotely funny, and instead asked, “What do the kids think?”

“Ain’t seen it yet. Nabila’s got ‘em.”

His posture was stiff and unnatural, and he looked more uncomfortable in his own skin than you thought you’d ever seen him, without his usual leather vest and patched-up jeans. “You know it’s not forever, right?”

“Might be. They wanna stay, Jude an' RJ, even when Alexandria’s fixed up.”

“And you’d stay for them?” He shrugged, though you knew the casual gesture belied the lengths he’d go to to make the Grimes children happy. With Rick missing, presumed dead, and Michonne gone, it had fallen on him to keep them safe, watch out for them, and he’d stepped up. You thought there were others in the group that had been surprised by just how easily he’d taken to the role of guardian, but you’d known he’d had it in him all along. You still remembered the look on his face when he’d taken Judith into his arms as a newborn and given her her first bottle. He’d been wrapped around her little finger ever since, and his affection for RJ ran just as deep. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you look good, Dixon. Kinda sexy, actually,” you teased, desperate to coax a smile from him, even if it was one of embarrassment, but the attempt fell flat.

“Don’t feel it.” He began to tug at the armour, rushing to get it off, and you moved to help him, undoing the straps that secured it so that he could cast it aside, tossing it into the corner and rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “S’like playin’ dress up; make-believe or somethin’.”

“Kill house seemed real enough,” you muttered, and his jaw tensed, fists clenching at his sides. Unlike Daryl and Rosita, who had been recruited into the Commonwealth’s military, it had been decided that you didn’t quite have what it took to make the cut, something that still irritated you. You were sure that you could have taken down any one of their existing soldiers, given a chance, but, instead, you were allocated cleaning duty, and that afternoon you’d been assigned to clear up the blood and gore that remained after the exercise. “If you guys could try and leave less of a mess behind next time, I sure would appreciate it.”

“S’what ya get trainin’ with real walkers. Half’a them guys don’t even know how to fight hand to hand. Damn useless ‘less they got a weapon they can use.”

“Which is why they’re lucky to have you.” You arched a brow, as if it really went without saying. “We always have been. I guess it’s about time we share the wealth.”

He scoffed, and his fingers went to the hem of his shirt, tugging at it uncomfortably. “It just feels wrong, s’all. It all feels wrong. That job, this house, these clothes… It ain’t me, none of it.”

“Hey.” You stepped into his line of sight, forcing him to look at you and really hear you, unable to take his distress anymore as his pain made your heart ache. “Listen to me, okay? I know you, Daryl; pretty well, by now, I think. And I’m telling you the clothes look good; the armour looks good; the house is less than you deserve, sure, but it’s a roof over the kids’ heads, and the job… Yeah, it sucks, but you could do it in your sleep. You are stronger and more resilient than any one of those assholes, but you’re not gonna prove that if you skulk about with your head down the whole time. You’re Daryl fucking Dixon, man. You’re one of the main reasons most of us are even still alive. You were built for this world. Own it. Show them what you’re made of.”

“S’that what yer doin’? By moppin’ floors an’ takin’ out the trash?”

“We all have our parts to play.”

“Yer better than that.” He reached up to tuck a strand of your rain-soaked hair behind your ear, his touch lingering against your cheek for a beat too long before he pulled away, his gaze raking over you as you shivered at the contact. “An’, for what it’s worth, ya make the clothes look pretty good, too.”

You swallowed hard at the unexpected compliment, glancing down to where your damp shirt clung to your skin, highlighting the steady rise and fall of your chest. In all honesty, what you were wearing wasn’t a million miles away from the outfits you’d worn to fight at his side over the years, except that it was clean and well-fitted, and, you supposed, maybe it was that same novelty that had you marvelling at the way the sleeves of his black sweater hugged the muscles in his arms, showcasing every slight shift and flex as he moved, the material stretching over the broad expanse of his torso. Your mouth went dry, and you found yourself staring at the toes of your boots as you shuffled awkwardly on the spot, unaccustomed to being the sole focus of the archer’s attention.

“Hey,” he rasped, and, when you glanced up, he’d inched closer, crowding you back against the door, which closed with a soft click behind you. “Y’alright?”

“Mmhmm.” You couldn’t form words with him towering over you like that, the blood rushing from your brain in a way that had your heart racing, your pulse pounding in your ears.

“Ya never said why ya stopped by.”

“Oh, I…” You tailed off, trying to think back to what had brought you there in the first place, but, when you glanced up, his piercing blue eyes were burning into you, driving away everything but the here and now. “I don’t remember.”

He nudged his nose up at you, a small smirk playing at the corners of his lips, and you were transfixed, unable to tear your gaze away, lost in the intensity of the moment as he hovered there, the heat of his skin warming you to your core. There’d been a time when you’d thought there might be something between you and the archer, a fervour that seemed to flare up whenever you got close. You’d shared a drunken kiss at the CDC, a tequila-tainted clash of teeth and tongues in the corridor, after which he’d snarled at you - “The hell d’ya think yer doin’?” - before stalking away. You’d never spoken of it again, and, over the years, you’d forced your feelings down, flames fading to ash as he became your friend, your family, someone you knew you could depend on. Now though, it was as if the uncertainty of your current situation had stoked the embers, forcing you towards something safe and familiar that you could grasp hold of, and your hands moved of their own accord, sliding over his chest to cup his cheeks, his scruff coarse against your palms.

“Ya remember that night, back at the beginnin’?” he asked, his mind obviously wandering down the same path as yours. You nodded. “Y’ever think we’d still be here after all this time?”

“I knew you would.”

“Wouldn’t wanna be without ya.”

“You’d be just fine.”

“Nah.” He dipped his head to bring his face level with yours, giving you no option but to take note of the sincerity written over his features. “I wouldn’t.”

You crashed into him; that’s what it felt like. One minute you were standing there, just centimetres apart, tension thrumming in the air, building and simmering, and the next you collided, without any conscious thought, your chest crushed to his as your lips met. The kiss was hot and frantic, borne of neediness - the need to shed the expectations of those around you, to shrug off your own sense of disappointment and regret, to not feel so damn alone for just a little while. You could taste the lingering tang of tobacco on his tongue, combined with the sugar-sweetness of Carol’s cookies, and you drank it in, savouring the feeling of his mouth moving on yours, devouring you with a hunger that rivalled your own. Strong hands slipped to your thighs, hitching you up and pressing you into the wood, and you clung to him, wrapping yourself around him like a vine, pushing away from the surface behind you to propel him backwards until the backs of his knees hit the bed. He turned then, dropping you onto the slab-like mattress before immediately covering your body with his own.

Your awareness of anything but Daryl melted away as you lost yourself in the urgency of his touch, fingertips biting into your flesh as your nails drew patterns over his back, raised red ridges criss-crossing with ageing scars. He was so solid, so reassuringly there, the weight of him grounding you as you felt yourself beginning to come apart at the seams, your clothing long since discarded as he mapped every inch of you, experimenting, seeing what gasps and moans he could draw from your lips as he played havoc with your senses. You were completely at his mercy, pinned beneath him, and, when he finally sank into you with a low growl, your vision seemed to dim so that all you could see was his face: tanned skin slick with sweat, cheeks flushed, thin lips kiss-swollen.

So much had changed since you’d first met in that tiny camp outside of Atlanta, and yet the one thing that hadn’t was the relief that washed over you whenever you saw him, alive and okay; the way he made you feel like everything was going to work out because he would make sure it did, would protect you no matter what. And this, you knew, was his way of trying to make it okay for both of you, to give you an escape from this way of life that was so foreign and really not designed for people like you and him. So, when you felt his movements begin to stutter and stall as he lost control and tumbled over the precipice, you fell with him, the two of you soaring and spiralling into ecstasy together, it seemed, caught in the current of heady sensation that carried you. You were both trembling, gasping for air as you clutched at each other, trying to put off the moment when you knew reality would come rushing back in.

The slam of the door, followed by a shout from the living room - “Uncle Daryl, we’re home!” - was what did it in the end, cutting through the peace you’d discovered and bringing you down to earth with a painful jolt. Daryl jerked away from you, leaving you feeling cold and bereft at the loss as he stumbled to his feet and began to tug on his clothes.

“I’ll be right there,” he called, fastening his belt and running his hands through his wild tangle of hair before turning back to you, where you sat on the bunk, still a little fuzzy and vague as your high ebbed away. “Y’alright?”

“Yeah.” You forced yourself to nod, tugging the blanket around you, self-conscious now that he was fully-dressed. “Yeah, I- You should… go, be with the kids.”

“Ya sure?”

“Of course.” You stooped to grab your shirt from the floor, pulling it over your head and fixing him with a tight smile. “I’m okay, I swear.”

He made to leave the room, pausing when a sigh escaped you and retracing his steps to bend over you and press brush his lips against yours in a soft whisper of a kiss. “We’ll talk. When they ain’t here, we’ll… we’ll figure this out.”

“This?” you asked as he straightened up.

“Mmm, us.”

“Right, yeah… Us.”

You dressed quickly once he’d disappeared, not wanting to linger too long and have your sudden appearance seem strange to Judith and RJ, but, when you caught sight of yourself in the mirror, you couldn’t help but laugh at your dreamy expression. In so many ways you felt out of place at the Commonwealth, as if you didn’t fit in and most likely never would, and yet, by coming here, it seemed, you’d found out exactly where you belonged. Wherever Daryl Dixon was, that was home.

*****

Drop me an ask if you’d like to be added to my Daryl Dixon or TWD tag lists!

Feedback is appreciated and reblogs make me feel at home 🖤 Thank you for reading x

#the walking dead #twd #the walking dead fanfiction #twd fanfiction #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #home

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whirlybirbs · 3 years

Text

FEVER-DREAM ; echo/reader

summary: echo is fine-tuning his new prosthesis. you have experience, you help. unspoken feelings are acted on. adoration blooms. you learn what mesh’la means.

word count: 3k

pairing: echo / f!reader

tags: mutual pining, lots of tender looks, victorian-era hand-touching sluttiness, echo is a gentle soul, reader is head over heels, a touch of ptsd mention, set on ord mantell, mention of our boy fives, in this house we love assistive devices, enough sexual tension to power the death star

a/n: this is me round-house kicking the bad batch writers in the throat because they made echo cosplay a droid — but, also because this man deserves to be treated as more than a means to a mission’s end. majority of you know i am ~bitter~ (understatement of the century) of tbb’s plot/design/writing. but echo has been a favorite from the original days... so have some very soft fic.

i reference character redesigns by @nibeul in this piece — please go peep them here, and some updated character spreads here! they’re really beautiful and add a phenomenal layer of storytelling to the existing designs that’s lacking. nibuel’s art and writing is lovely. please give them a follow — i can’t rec their work enough.

“How does it feel?”

The words are nearly whispered; it’s clear you didn’t want to startle him, and Echo can feel the pinch in his brow soften at your sudden appearence in the doorway.

His bunk, at the back of the Havoc Marauder, is small — the space itself even more so. There’s a makeshift partition, hooked together with spare parts and meant to offer a bit of privacy on the cramped vessel. Its slate grey color has faded, and the edges have become tattered in the cycles of use.

When Echo pulls his dark eyes up from his work, you’re leaning against the frame — your expression is earnest.

For a moment, the once-ARC Trooper is quiet.

He wonders if he’ll ever get used to your attention. Each and every time, it sends him into a spiral; his heart catches as he inhales and tries to push down the warm stir in his gut. The sight of you is enough, nowadays, to melt Echo’s well-maintained irritability. His attention is stolen from his ever-present pain, if only for a bit.

There are plenty of days where he misses the old him — the wide-eyed, eager ARC Trooper who had his brothers by his side. His real brothers. Hevy, Cutup, Droidbait... Fives.

Fuckin’ hell, Fives was probably staring down at him now laughing.

No matter what changes, you’re still shit with the ladies, vod’ika.

In a way he hasn’t fully admitted to himself, you make him feel like himself again. Like... Like some shiny cadet, on leave and distracted by the promises of pretty smiles passing-by. It’s good.

This makes him feel... good.

He flexes, and his right hand — the new, gunmetal durasteel cyberized-prosthesis — closes into a tight fist. It’s taken him a bit, but the feeling isn’t so foreign now. It’s still... slow. Slower than he’s used to, but you’d mentioned it may take some time. The phantom feelings get better, too. All in all, it’s a good thing.

Your own hand, your left, glimmers back in the same gunmetal color.

(Echo had never pressed you about the missing limb — not until one day, in Cid’s, you’d joined him in a quiet corner. You’d spilled your drink and a complaint about getting the star-cherry syrup out of the joints had slipped out. Echo had laughed; a real laugh, the sort that was so rare coming from him, it had you staring at him as if he’d hung ever star in the sky.

Can I ask how it happened? he’d said, breaking the heavy silence when your eyes never left his.

The Pykes, you’d said, and that was enough.)

“I haven’t, uh... Haven’t gotten the sensory calibration right yet.”

Then, his prosthesis cramps. His fingers go rigid, and Echo curses sharply as he reaches around his forearm to quickly reboot the appendage. It goes slack, then hums alive once more.

You wince.

You’re slow to move into the room — and you settle atop one of the crates Echo had stolen from the belly of the ship, an old Mantell Mix shipping container. You’re mindful to set his datapad aside, to not disturb his space too much. Before you reach for his hand, however, you lift your chin and open your hands in your lap.

“May I?” you ask, just as soft as before.

Echo feels small under your gaze.

Truth be told, you’re doing more than just... asking. You’re taking him in — appreciating him. It’s a habit that’s grown more and more apparent to not only himself, but the others.

In recent rotations, Echo has let his hair grow out — not long, but the once close buzz he’d kept has begun to curl at the top. Not entirely dissimilair to how it was before the Citadel. The dermal implants, the ones the Techno Union installed in order to parse the nuerological data in his head, stand out against his warm-colored skin.

His usual AJ^6-inspired headpiece is resting on his bunk.

That damn thing.

A neccesary tool. One that, given the amount of user data Tech had procured when working on modifying the implant, Echo found himself immediately distrusting. It wasn’t as if the AJ^6 cyborg construct had a beautiful track record, and frankly, Echo would like to keep his personality in tact, thank you very much. There were plenty of days he felt machine enough.

It wasn’t often you saw him without the headset; you knew it made linking in via his scomp easier to handle, it made the visualization of data transfers as easy as breathing. For Echo, it was a part of his vast kit, an important tool. For you, seeing him without it bubbles up a bit of a smile.

Echo catches it.

His eyes narrow playfully.

He looks... well. You — hell, are there words for it? For the way the sight of him makes you feel? It’s like there’s a world full of potential there, a thousand words unsaid, and feelings that have steeped in the warmth of longing gazes and half-there touches.

You’re still looking up at him, knees bent on the crate.

You blink, realizing you’ve been caught staring — not for the first time and certainly not for the last. In the beginning, it had left a sour taste in Echo’s mouth. But, now... Well, it stokes a sort of pride in his chest that he hangs onto.

It never gets easier to recover from — certainly not when Echo smirks. He moves to allow you to take his prosthesis into your lap. The gesture is gentle; your fingers cradle the firm yet pliable metal.

“What?” he asks. His voice, low and rough and warm, is tinted with amusement.

“Nothing,” you say vaguely with a shrug — as if that’s supposed to explain any part of your enamored stare. Your attention moves to the prosthesis.

“Nothing?” he asks, moving to thumb his left ear with his free hand with a dash of nervousness. A habit. Echo tilts his head as his fingers brush the cochlear implant there. The panel rests neatly against the side of his head, a small rounded-off square. The bite of self-consciousness has dwindled around you — but still, it creeps back up every now and again.

The Corporal’s brows knot playfully as you turn his new hand over in your lap; you’re admiring the upgraded feel, the more seamless panelling in comparison to your own. Echo watches your lashes flutter in silent thought.

Then:

“You’re a terrible liar, you know.”

You blink slowly at the hand, swallow down your sudden sheepishness and ignore his gaze. You bite back the smile digging into your cheeks. “Maybe.”

“Do I have something on my face?” he asks suddenly, and you look up.

A baited trick. He’s smiling.

The warm sort — the sort reserved for you and for Omega. The two souls that hold a piece of his heart, with all its ticking valves and electric timed pulses. There are machinisms that keep him alive, and then there is you. Your wide-eyed expression melts, giving way to the sort of smile he’s tried to memorize over and over. It’s the same smile that has warded off that reoccuring nightmare of the night on the tarmac at the Citadel, the same smile that has pulled him through the grit of phantom pains.

“What—” a sudden laugh bursts from your chest, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You were staring, mesh’la,” he rumbles out as a reminder, enjoying the fact he’s suddenly become the center of your attention. Echo leans back, his boot toeing yours. You nudge it back. Your face feels hot. You ignore his pointedly teasing look with a roll of your eyes.

The nickname started a few weeks ago. You haven’t asked what it means — no, for now it’s meaning hangs in the balance. Untouched but there. The affection the word carries makes your heart feel heavier and unbelievably full.

“Bad habit,” you chirp back, looking up at him through your lashes.

His laugh is warm.

“Maybe not.”

“No,” you say quietly; your voice is soft as your eyes bounce across his face, tracing the lines of his face with your gaze, “I don’t think it is.”

There’s a silence that slips between you — a comfortable one. It’s heavier than before. That has begun to happen recently, especially with the petal-soft utterance of mesh’la becoming more and more frequent. You hold his gaze. Echo lets out a soft, contented sigh.

Then, you remember the task at hand.

You clear your throat.

“Uh... The access panel I’m looking for,” you say slowly as your raise your finger to point to your own arm, “It’s on your bicep.”

Echo blinks. He clears his own throat before looking down — he hadn’t even noticed that access panel. That could explain the jarring miscommunication stalling the limb. This model had more bells and whistles than he initally realized.

Better than a fuckin’ scomp link, that’s for sure.

Wordlessly, Echo makes room on his bunk. You move to settle beside him, your bent leg resting aginst his hip as you half-straddle the bed; your other knee brushes his thigh — and Echo tries to sit still. You’re close, now.

“Is it okay if...?” you trail off, fingers tugging on the short sleeve of his blacks; you pause until Echo offers a curt nod. You catch him swallow. You push onward, fingers nimbly rolling the fabric up over his broad bicep.

Echo steals a glance your way as your fingers pass across a slip of his bare skin.

In his lap, both his hands twitch.

He’s no small man. Lean and athletic, Echo is built like a soldier. Omega had said once that Echo was an ARC Trooper, one of the best of the best. You believed every bit of it, and you’d hung on her words when she’d rambled on about ARC training, about Kamino, and about who Echo was before you knew him. It was all in the past, though. That Echo is a part of this Echo but... They’re different men. He’s been changed by the things that have happened.

You don’t press him on the details.

In time, they’re slipped into conversation here and there — between the here and now.

In the beginning, when you’d found yourself amongst the crew of the Havoc Marauder — be it for a simple job on Cid’s behalf — Echo had hardly paid you a moment of attention, though you admit you’d been curious from the start. It had taken three jobs for you to finally see his face. Then began the slow and gradual bonding over catching joints, grating plates, and hardware updates. His legs, your arm. Two pieces of a pair.

Now, he has this. A beautiful new upgrade — something he’s wanted for a long time. A part of his old self is back, in a way.

You liked that it was more than just a tool. That, in having this piece of his body back, he felt like more than a tool. More than a scomp link.

After all, he is a man — a... a very handsome man. One whose proximity is sort of distracting you, again, from the task at hand.

“The panel here,” you say as you slowly press on the seam that enables the settings panel to be revealed; you’re mindful to explain, “It controls sensory outputs, as well as synchonized synaptic commands. The panel on my forearm does the same to my hand, yours is just... well, you’ve got the new and improve version.”

Echo ducks his head as you work, watching you from the corner of his eye. “Feeling a bit jealous, mesh’la?”

“Maybe,” you breathe out with a smile.

Then, you lift your eyes. You intended to see that he was still comfortable, but instead you come face to face with the Corporal. His nose nearly brushes yours when you lift you chin, completely dragged in by the closeness shared.

There’s a beat of tension. Echo’s mouth goes dry.

You fingers pause. You swallow hard. “How... uh, how does it feel?”

Echo tightens his grip, then releases. His breath tickles your cheeks. His eyes, a deep, warm brown, flit from your eyes to your mouth, and then back. His voice is a croak.

“...Same as before.”

You tinker with a dial, eyes never leaving his; your voice is above a whisper. “And now?”

It’s immediate. Like a rush of cold air up his arm — and on instinct, Echo’s hand twitches. His fingers grip the fabric of his blacks, along his thigh, and... he feels it. The smooth, stretch of the material. It’s... it feels like a lot. His fingertips, metallic and cyberized, tingle. It’s distracting.

He can feel.

His hand is slow. It moves across to bridge the space between you. His pointer finger settles on the curve of your knee; the feeling of your tactical pants beneath his fingertip is ignored, instead he chases the heat of your body.

Your breath catches at the touch.

Echo’s face is turned to you, but... his attention has settled on his hand. His palm then sweeps across your thigh. He follows the curve, soaks in the feeling. You’re frozen in place, beating back the desperate sound of appreciation that threatens to be pulled from your throat. The touch is... more than welcomed.

The closeness itself is making you dizzy.

Then, Echo turns — and the warm, durasteel-plated palm finds your cheek.

Your skin is hot.

“Is this okay, mesh’la?” he whispers, words riding on a quiet exhale — the sort that make you feel... well, you don’t even have words for the way he makes you feel. Echo is... kind, honest, and loyal. Above all else, he’s gentle. Despite it all, despite every bit of horror he’d been put through, he’d never lost sight of the importance of a gentle hand. Especially now in a moment as intimate as this. It coaxes you closer.

You lean into the cybernetic attachment, cheek resting in his palm. You nod, then, with eyes eager to take in every bit of this moment.

He chuckles at the enthusiasm. Echo’s thumb, deft and smooth, then traces the line of your lower lip.

The feeling is... the gnawing pain that he’s felt for nearly a year has melted. Finally, the itch has been scratched in his brain and the hollow ache of his bones is gone. It’s relief, and comfort, and excitement and all these beautiful things — and you.

You’re stuck — you don’t want to move, you won’t move. He’s rooted you completely, and when his other hand — the calloused and warm one of flesh and blood — finds it’s spot along your thigh, you swallow a lovesick sigh that would only exaserbate your desperation.

Your mouth is moving before you realize it.

“What does it mean?”

Echo’s eyes narrow, only a bit, and he runs his thumb up your cheekbone.

“What does what mean?”

“Mesh’la,” it sounds foreign on your tongue. It’s not Hutteese or Twi’leki, not like any language you know, “Will you tell me what it means, Echo?”

The corner of his lips quirk. Your eyes jump to it.

You feel like someone’s reached right into your chest and given your heart a squeeze — and it only worsens when he laughs. He laughs, deep and quiet and warm, like a thunderstorm on a summer night. It feels cruel, to string you along like this when you’re here, lips parted, hanging off his every touch and his every word.

“Beautiful,” he says quietly as his other hand touches your jaw — it’s so damn reverent, this little moment in time, that you almost don’t believe it’s real.

It feels like a dream — like someone has come in and stolen your thoughts from you; like the unrequited yearning has finally stoked a fire large enough to burn you up entirely, a fever you never knew you wanted.

His nose brushes yours.

Your fingers wind into the fabric of his chest. You’re clinging, lost to the moment — and you can’t help wonder if this is how it feels when he catches you adoring him. He’s admiring you so tenderly that you nearly break.

You want to kiss him.

He’s thought about nothing but kissing you for the last five days at least. Longer in his dreams. Nowadays, it’s a constant pull, a constant want.

And now, it’s here — a present and current moment where it can happen. Where he can stop being a shiny cadet and he can make a move...

Enter Omega.

“Echo, we’re back—!”

The telltale hammer of a girl’s boots on the floor signals that the party is back from their supply run — but you’re so far off, spinning in a different universe, you don’t even hear her until its too late... Until Echo is yanking himself away and clearing his throat and rolling his wrist to test the prosthesis in a different way, a less intimate way.

You blink, then rattle yourself back to the present. Omega is in the doorway staring with a quizzical look. Clearly, your state does little to dissuade the assumptions she’s already making and you can see the gears turning in her head. The dark-haired girl then slowly grins.

“Hi.”

You swallow. “Hi, Omega.”

“...Whatcha guys doin’?”

Echo coughs. “Uh, just fine-tuning the new upgrade.”

“...Riiiiiight.”

You rub your cheeks and laugh — clearly forced and incredibly pained — as you stand up and nearly ram your head right into the top of Echo’s bunk. It’s met with a hiss of warning from the trooper as he jumps up to try and protect you from the impact.

“Well! Uh, thanks for letting me help, Echo,” you clap, rocking back and forth on your boots, “I, uh... Oh, Cid called. I should... I should get back—”

“Yea,” he says, straining a bit to find the words, “Yea, I’ll... I’ll comm you if it starts to, uh... If it starts to act up?”

Omega watches the exchange, big brown eyes moving from left to right.

“Good, great — yea, that’s,” you inhale as you rub your thighs and move towards the door, “Perfect. Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Bye!” Omega calls, waving.

You wave back, smiling. “Bye, Omega.”

Then, once it’s only Echo and Omega in the bunk, the tween speaks.

“...What the kriff was that?”

#HE IS A CORPORAL!!!!!#let echo say fuck #and omega #echo x reader #echo imagine #arc trooper echo x reader #echo/reader #echo/you #echo x you #tcw imagine #tbb imagine #sw imagine #the bad batch imagine #THANK YOU ANON WHO SENT ME THE UPDATED SPREADS #LOVE U ANGEL

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satuguro · 4 years

Text

damsel in distress

IN WHICH: desperate times call for desperate measures.

PAIRING: zuko x reader

INSPIRED BY: moment’s silence (common tongue) — hozier

WARNING: suggestive themes, making out ;)

NOTES: i got distracted while writing the next part of stars. i hope you all enjoy!

you could feel someone following you.

you had been taught to be aware of your surroundings and follow your gut— your grandfather, a retired fire nation general, had taught you well. he had raised you as his own ever since your parents died in battle, and taught you the truth about the fire nation from the very start. he was a careless old man, one who didn’t fear being caught by the firelord or being killed; he claimed that he was old enough.

his advice was simple; follow your gut, and be aware.

he expected you to accomplish great things. you were trained to be prince zuko’s personal body guard, and while he was proud of that alone, the fact that you had chosen to go off with zuko during his banishment was what he was truly proud of.

“you and iroh will be the only voices of reason on that ship,” your grandpa had explained as he packed multiple tea bags into your bag (when you weren’t looking, of course). he watched you fondly, observing the way you were sharpening your sword. you looked so much like your parents.

“be aware, y/n. a big storm is brewing.”

on the ship, your job soon blossomed into an advisor and body guard. you became iroh’s pai sho partner and looked up to him as a role model. you had joined the old man in trying to explain to zuko that his honor wasn’t worth it, but at the same time, you helped zuko train. you were a nonbender, but that only meant that you were strong in combat— especially hand-to-hand.

fast forward a few months, you were sure that your grandfather would be glad to hear that you were living a somewhat normal life in ba sing se alongside iroh and zuko. setting up a tea shop under new names was certainly a spontaneous decision, but you weren’t complaining at all. to you, it felt like a vacation; you could finally let out a breath you had held in for years. a small prt of you missed the adrenaline that came along with fighting, but you knew that this life was the life you all deserved.

you all deserved peace.

but as you walked down the dark alleyway of ba sing se, your hands holding a woven basket that you used to hold your belongings, you knew that your peace was disrupted. something was wrong. someone was watching.

you kept up a cool front, but listened to the little sounds around you. you could hear the faint swoosh of air coming from someone, and the small puffs of breath being taken by someone who wasn’t you.

you heard them land quietly behind you. you could tell they were experienced— you almost didn’t hear them. almost. you heard their feet come closer, each step making you slow your walk.

you turned around abruptly, basket still in your right hand as you shoved them up against the nearby wall. your right arm went up to their throat, eyes glaring into the blue mask the other person wore. if looks could kill, the stranger would certainly burst into flames.

your arm was hard against their neck, almost cutting off their air supply. you were both breathing heavily, chests heaving against each other before your free hand went up to pull the mask up.

your eyes met familiar amber ones, your scowl faltering at the sight of the fire prince. your arm fell from his neck, a scoff leaving your lips as you pushed yourself off of him. the warmth he radiated was gone, now replaced by the cold night air. “you were following me?” you asked, already knowing the answer as you crossed your arms over your chest.

“you were gone longer than usual!” zuko protested, thankful for the darkness around him as his face burned red. he huffed grumpily, copying your actions and crossing his arms. “you told uncle that you’d be back before 12! you were late!”

“i wasn’t late!” you argued, foot tapping against the cobblestone. “but because of this stupid stunt, i might be!” your angry look faltered at the soft sound of gruff talking, your head turning towards the sound while zuko only groaned.

“don’t be mad at me because i got worried!” zuko fired back, throwing his hands up in exasperation as he paced. “spirits, it’s so hard to be good,” he grumbled under his breath before he stopped his pacing, pointing an accusatory finger towards you.

“i’m not some damsel in distress, zuko.” you replied, eyes still staring into the darkness. you could feel people coming.

zuko was blind to your strange behavior, instead choosing to tell you off further. “i know you aren’t! you’ve kicked my ass more than i could count. anyway— know how dangerous it is to be out so late especially when we—“

you suddenly moved closer to him, shoving him up against the wall once again. zuko’s words died in his throat as he looked down at you, but your mind was elsewhere. you were looking down the dark alley, your brows furrowed.

“i’m not done,” zuko forced out, making you shush him harshly. your legs were practically tangled together, and your arm was up against his body, practically trapping him under your body. his body was against the wall behind him, and zuko didn’t move as you narrowed your eyes. that’s when he heard it: deep voices.

“kiss me,” you stated, not even looking at him. you dropped your basket on the ground.

“what? you can’t be serious,” zuko hissed, his body temperature rising. but that didn’t seem to bother you as you looked back at him.

“do you trust me?” you asked sternly, making him nod before you came forward.

your hands reached to his neck, your touch gentle as you brought him down to meet your lips. his eyes fluttered shut, the voices from before disappearing into the background and being replaced by you. his senses were flooded by you. you tasted like sugar cane and smelled like moon flowers. you were intoxicating, and zuko found one of his hands going up to hold your neck, his thumb gently caressing the skin under his fingertips.

he tasted like tea and smelled like jasmines. the mere taste of him made you crave more, and your leg was instinctively placed between his legs.

you pulled away from him briefly, breathing slightly labored. your eyes met his, and you came in the middle again, lips slotting over each other. you slipped your tongue into his mouth, reveling in the low moan he gave out. your fingers ran through his hair, making his blue mask drop onto the ground as the kiss became more passionate. you tugged at the black strands, listening to him groan deeply.

you pressed him harder against the wall, yet zuko didn’t care as he bit down on your bottom lip and pulled, making you let out a whine that he wanted to hear more of. the voices were nearer now, and he could hear them jog down their alleyway.

his lips trailed down to your neck, making you close your eyes tighter and tilt your head to the side to give him more room. zuko opened his eyes briefly to see who the voices belonged to.

dai li. three of them came to a sudden stop at the sight of you both, and one immediately got your attention.

“hey! what’re you two doing here?” he yelled, ignoring the exasperated looks of the others as his voice echoed in the alley.

zuko opened his mouth to answer, but you beat him to it. you looked back at them, feigning indifference as you cocked a brow. “what do you think?” you responded, the corner of your lips curling up into a confident smirk. you glanced back at him, giving him a small wink.

zuko died right then and there.

“go home,” the dai li soldier stated sternly, making you let out a deep sigh. you were a good actor.

“c’mon lee,” you pulled away from zuko, grabbing your basket and his mask, hiding it from the dai li as you tucked it into your basket. you took zuko’s hand in yours, your act breaking for a second when he intertwined your fingers. “let’s have more fun at home,” you said, reverting back to your lie as you gave the dai li an innocent smile. with that, you ran off with zuko, letting out a loud laugh when you reached the entrance of the jasmine dragon.

“holy shit!” you let out, unable to hold back your laughs as you looked up at the sky. “i can’t believe we got away with it!” you looked at zuko, face flushing when you felt his warm hand tangled with yours. he was looking at you intently, amber eyes gleaming with something you’ve never seen before.

you leaned forward, gently planting your lips onto his for a quick peck. you opened up the door to the jasmine dragon, sending him a suggestive look that he read immediately. as the door shut behind you both, your basket dropped to the ground as this time zuko pushed you against the wall, lips meeting yours once again.

┈┈ 𑁍༅ཾ༚ ┈┈

NOTES: the sub jumped out of zuko real fast in this one. lmal this was so self indulgent, but once again, thank you for reading and sorry for any typos!

TAGSLIST: @beifongsss

#zuko x reader #zuko imagines #zuko smut #zuko #zuko imagine #atla imagine #atla #avatar: the last airbender #sokka x reader #sokka imagines #sokka smut

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void-inked-pen · 3 years

Text

The Mandolin

ROTTMNT Fantasy Fic Collab Between: Me and @undercoverwizardfanfiction

Above art by: @imaginashon

Inspired by: @thehandleisjammed

Characters: Mikey and Donnie

Pairings: holds charmy back if you know what’s good for you, you’ll know the answer is never (or do you want this one at your throat?)

Summary: in so many ways they are still strangers to one another but if they keep a open heart to one another they might someday call each other brothers

---

He is the master of focus.

Were words no one had ever spoken about Mikey ever. But right now, his eyes were focused (well, cross eyed) on a large red beetle situation on an even larger flower. He is only vaguely aware of Raph calling after him before he leaps out from his hiding spot like a chimera pouncing on its prey. His hands are only about to close around the bug when the beetle takes off in surprise (Mikey is only mildly sure he heard the bug ‘meep’ as it went) before he landed in the flower bush. After a few moments, and after a few of Infinity’s concerned coos, he pops his head back out of the bushes.

“I almost got him that time!” Mikey says with a wide grin. Raph and Leo both give him a look that’s between two degrees of confusion but Donnie, under his hood, shakes his head with a tremble to his shoulders in what was probably suppressed laughter.

“Mikey” Raph calls tiredly, “we’re almost to town, can you please keep up?”

“Yeah on it!” He jumps out of the bushes and hurries over with a skip to his step.

Donnie watched his younger brother skip up to them with mild amusement. He had only known his youngest brother for a few months now and his upbeat attitude and absolutely innocent curiosity was both endearing and only slightly envious. When was the last time I was like that? The thought came out of nowhere and almost completely wiped his decent mood. But the answer that came bothered him more than the initial question; he couldn’t remember.

Trying to return to the present and not follow that train of thought any further, Donnie rubbed his tired eyes and continued following his brothers into town. Leo and Mikey were chatting away about the differences between some sort of bird, while Raph remained vigilant like some sort of escort.

“You know,” he said walking up beside the oldest. His sudden appearance startling the larger turtle. “This trip would be more enjoyable if you relaxed a bit, big guy.” Don smirked as Raph just huffed in response.

Mikey tries his best not to to smile at Raph’s tired expression that clearly says ‘how the hell can I relax with three loose hyperactive hooligans to look after’ but is grateful when Raph doesn’t say anything (except for sighing with the exhaustion of someone three times his age and on their deathbed).

Donnie and Raph walked in comfortable silence for a while before they both realized they couldn’t hear chattering behind them anymore and turned around to see the two youngest entranced by an expensive stall of goods.

Mikey turns back to is conversation partner after watching the oldest pair ahead of them settle into a calm stride. What had he been talking about again? “The Waxing Owl!” Mikey exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air suddenly returning to his train of thought, “the Waxing Owl is totally cool! You have no idea!”

“And….it’s different from a Full Moon Owl?” Leo asks. Though his expression is confused and only borderline condescending it’s a massive improvement to just a few days ago, “I mean i just wanted to know the difference between a african swallow and a european swallow-“

“Yeah yeah! Cause Moon Owls can tell the future! And if you see one during a certain moon phase that’s the kind of luck you’re supposed to get! I’ve heard entire groups of people scouring the Mist Forest trying to see one during a Waxing Moon! Its so cool and- and if you see a Waxing Owl AND a Sun Burst flower in the same month then-“ and just as it was a moment ago, Mikey loses his train of thought as his mouth drops open. Normally it would be a weird dessert he had never seen before or an extra snuggly puppy that would get his attention. But what has him now is a large storefront, he barely notices the elaborate lettering or the shopkeeper out front shining up his new door. Mikey is already standing in front of the glass with both hands pressed against it. Through the now misting up glass he can see a wooden box with a long neck and strings , “Woooooooooooow” He says “What’s that thing?”

“Hey!” the store keeper snaps hard enough at Mikey he flinched away “Off my window cretin, I just had those refinished. “

Mikey stumbles back and bumps Donnie, who nearly loses his balance as he tries to use his bad leg to keep from falling, “So-sorry Dee.” He says quietly, shoulders hunched and sad. But he looks back towards the window , “I-I've never seen anything like that before.”

Donnie steadied himself before looking up at the store window.

“You… Mean the mandolin?” He looked back at his brother for confirmation and could have sworn he saw twinkles in his eyes. “It’s an instrument you strum with your fingers and part of the lute family. I heard a famous musician used one to serenade a rich maiden into marrying him.” Donnie left out the part about how the musician was actually the family's hired fool, mainly because the story also didn't end well.

Mikey appeared to practically be vibrating in excitement as he stared at the string instrument. “I’ve always wanted to play something like that, Todd used to tell me stories about a caravan that performed music as they traveled but he didn't have an instrument of his own to teach me.”

Donnie looked at him thoughtfully before glancing back up at the mandolin again and almost balking at the base price. He subtly looked back at the store owner who appeared to be getting more and more annoyed with the four yokai’s presence. Ever so gently, Donnie grabbed the smaller turtle by the shoulders and shifted him away from the storefront.

“I think... we’re gonna have to pass on this one Mike.” He said, observing the store with a critical eye.

The younger turtle gave off a disappointed whimper and looked away sadly before hopping back into a conversation with Leo. Don could have sworn when they were leaving the storefront, the blue turtle also seemed unhappy with the price of such a simple instrument. With one more glance back at the snooty storekeeper, Donnie made a decision.

After some discussion, they (Raph) decided that staying in town was far too expensive on their already limited funds. Mikey wasn’t entirely sure why Raph was suddenly so eager to leave, especially since they hadn't visited the library yet. But it probably had to do with the wary look that the large turtle was giving Donnie, who had stayed silent after their run in with the shopkeep.

What Raph DID allow, however, was for Mikey to pick out some sweets at a baking booth that they could enjoy after dinner. It wasn’t long after that that the four of them left the town behind them. Not far enough to be gone from its sight but far enough for Raph to give a sigh of relief.

“Ok boys, let's get camp set up and dinner ready.”

“You know, if I was in proper attire, I probably could have talked that man into giving us his entire store and thanking us for it.” Said Leo with a stiff upper lip as he gathered the smallest branches humanly possible.

“yes, and attract every bounty hunter and well meaning lawman in town.” Donnie made a show of reaching over and pulling up Leos’ hood. The red slider pouts at him before readjusting his hood to allow him to see better. “Rude.” He scoffs.

Don smirks in turn before going over to where Mikey was pouring over a pot of vegetables.

“Here,” he hands over the herbs he had gotten earlier, “Keep it up. I’m going to go see if I can find any more in the forest.” Donnie says. He’s grateful when Mikey only gives him a beam in response before going back to his cooking.

Donnie makes sure to glance and ensure he hadn’t gotten Leo and Raph’s attention (Raph was too busy brushing Buddy to babysit him) as he stepped back in the direction of the town they had come from, and in a blink, disappeared…

-----

“Hey, has anyone seen Donnie?” Mikey looked up from his ministrations after hearing the slight panic from the blue turtle. Leo was looking around with a worried look, one he’d been expressing a lot more lately after they had met back up after the ‘missing ring’ incident.

“OH! He just went to gather some more herbs for me in the forest. Don’t worry, he said he’d be right back~” He said in order to calm down Leo, but somehow agitated his other brother instead.

“Wait, he said what?” Raph looked up from brushing Buddy with alarm. “Son of a- okay, here’s the deal. Leo, you stay here an watch Mikey and I’ll go after Donnie before he does something stupid!” Raph stood up quickly, dropping the brush as he spoke his orders.

“I’m sorry, but whomst are you calling stupid?” Everyone jumped as the purple turtle in question, hopped down from a tree.

“Seriously Dee, you gotta stop doing that.” Leo breathed in relief. Donnie only raised an eyebrow in confusion before walking over to Mikey.

“Okay, then explain. Where were you?” Raph crossed his arms with a knowing look.

“Gathering these,” Donnie turned around and held up a small cluster of herbs, “like I said I was.”

The two oldest glared at each other for a few seconds in silence before Raph grumbled away in defeat. Donnie, feeling victorious, turned back towards his younger brother only to see something he wasn't expecting. Mikey was looking at him with a blank expression.

“...What?” “... Why did you lie?” Mikey asked in concern. Donnie tensed up.

“I...” Don paused, looking back to where Raph had returned to his chore before putting the herbs down in Mikey's hand, “I didn’t-”

“Yes you did.” In a way, Donnie hates that Mikey can usually see right through him. And he happens to be looking through him with those eyes that still held the softness of a child far younger than Mikey. Somehow it feels harder and harder to lie to him by the day.

Donnie manages a sigh, before sitting down by the fire to give his leg, and the new stinging wound on his side, a break. “For the record, I technically didn’t lie. I did get more herbs.” Again those eyes bore into him like a truth telling light, “But, I didn’t like the way that shopkeep talked to you earlier.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out the mandolin that Mikey had been admiring.

The youngest lets out a soft gasp, hands over his mouth for a moment before he reaches out as though to take it before drawing his hands back, “W-why did you steal it thought?” Mikey asked quietly.

“I just told you, you wanted it and that shopkeep was a–”

“No-I...” Mikey pauses again, “I mean why do you steal? At all?”

Donnie felt something in his chest tighten. He had to look away in order to calm his breathing and stop the dust around him from shifting. Why do you steal? The question rang in his head so loudly it was beginning to get harder and harder to hear the crackling of the fire.

A hand gently placed itself onto his shoulder and he couldn’t stop himself from flinching and tensing up hard at the touch. But the hand didn’t move away.

“...I… I’m sorry I didn’t mean to upset you I just… I wanted to know” Mikey said softly.

It took a few more calming breaths for him to finally look back into those kind eyes.

“... You could say… it was the family business that helped me become the thief I am now,” Don sniffled, “but truthfully… It's how I managed to survive so long. Mike, not everyone has the option to follow a path of honest work. If I had tried to follow any number of opportunities towards something I was passionate about… I wouldn’t last long.” Donnie said that last line almost too quietly to hear.

“What do you mean?” Mikey’s face scrunched up in confusion.

With another deep breath Donnie prepared himself. “If i tried to follow a path academically, like I had always wanted… She would find me.” He shivered as he continued, “If I had tried to make ends meet as a crafter, I would have failed due to my magic limitations… Mike, I never had the option for much else.”

“B-but.” Mikey tries to start back up again even as he interlocks his fingers and lowers his head, “That’s not fair.”

When he looks up again he’s surprised to see Donnie giving him a soft smile. His eyes could easily be mistaken for either pity or some other emotion that Mikey doesn’t understand. But the thief reaches out and places a rough but soft hand on Mikey’s scalp, rubbing it in the same way one might ruffle someone’s hair.

“Just please enjoy it? If Raph asks where it came from you can blame me. He blames me for everything else.” Which wasn’t entirely true, but often days he felt Jupiter James’s words spoke through Raph more then Raph’s own sense of morals. And, considering Raph was one of the kindest people Donnie had ever met, made his heart ache. But as he does with everything else, Don smiles.

For a moment Mikey feels the hand on his scalp twitch like he’s considering tapping their foreheads together but instead he hands over the earned prize that Mikey takes, unable to hide the excited smile on his face, already strumming the strings with giggles in his throat. Testing them to see what noises it’ll make. It won't be long before Mikey teaches himself how to play.

Donnie has to wait until the middle of the night before he finally sees the arrow wound in his side (It was a cheap, extremely lucky shot). But as he tends to the wound, he still smiles.

To steal for himself was just for survival.

But to steal for his brother, to make him smile was an act he’d never regret.

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

Thanks for reading!

also thank you Ash for the beautiful art for this fic~ all of this was kinda spur of the moment and im glad this turned out so fun!

we had fun writing this together~ The fantasy AU is one of my personal all time fav au’s and I highly recommend reading more in the ao3 collection

- Pen

#rottmnt #riseofthetmnt #tmnt mikey #tmnt donnie #fanfic #collab #rottmnt fantasy au #the messenger the hunter the prince and the thief #fantasy au #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt mikey

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kohakuarisaka · 3 years

Text

Trial By Fire (chapter 1 of 2)

Takami Keigo x (fem!)Reader

[ SUMMARY ] Hawks stopped by your apartment, asking for a patch up, and then asked for so much more.

[ WARNINGS ] R18+ for graphic sexual content and language. Role reversal: Keigo is a villain and Touya is a hero. Liberties were taken with Hawks’ quirk and is non-canon compliant. This fic is not nice to Touya. Reader and Hawks smoke. Reader has a quirk. Reader is a female with descriptive female genitalia. This fic contains graphic sexual content, including penis in vagina sex, oral sex, spanking, dirty talk, biting, degradation, and knotting. Consensual ♥

Keigo’s appearance in this fic was inspired by this lovely art piece!

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

[ My BNHA Fanfic Masterlist ] ~ [ Also on my AO3 ]

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You hadn't heard him approach, not his footsteps, nor the flutter of his wings. It was a little windy tonight; but, that wasn't why you hadn't heard him. He was just that good at sneaking around, or maybe you were just that lost in thought.

Suddenly, the cigarette in your hand was plucked out of your grasp. You followed the burning bud and watched a calloused hand bring it to a pair of soft lips that weren't yours.

He took a drag, looking at you innocently, before huffing the smoke out through his nostrils.

Sometimes, you really hated how weak you were for him. Even when he deserved it, you couldn't bring yourself to get mad at him. Maybe, it was his stupid beautiful face, or his mismatched eyes, or those wondrous crimson feathers.

"What are you doing, pretty bird?" you scolded him softly, reaching out to take your cigarette back.

Hawks let you, and some deluded part of your mind told you it tasted better after his mouth had touched it. Still, you turned away from him, finding it difficult to think properly when he was staring at you like that, his gaze soft and his lips quirked into a faint smirk.

In the distance, a car was honking obnoxiously. You peered down at the streets below and watched the traffic lights change colors.

"Was hoping you'd patch me up?" he asked, perhaps a little too sweetly. "Or is Touya gonna find out and arrest my ass?"

You sighed and gave him a dirty look in the corner of your eye. "No. It's over between us. He isn't gonna be comin' around," you retorted, a little venomously.

"Ohh," he whistled. "What happened? Must'a been bad. You were always so far up his ass."

"Get stuffed," you spat back at him.

He laughed in response to that. It was a little louder than expected, and you could see his shoulders trembling in the corner of your eye. Hawks leaned against the railing next you, matching your posture.

Before he could take it again, you remove your cigarette from your lips and brought it to his. He snatched it from your grasp with his mouth and took a careful drag before lifting his hand to pull it away. You watched the smoke drain from his mouth before looking away again.

"You wanna talk about it?" Hawks offered. Strangely, he sounded sincere.

"As much as I wanna get fisted by sandpaper," you replied hoarsely.

"Shit," he grumbled.

You let out a loud sigh. "There's nothing to talk about. I just couldn't take it anymore," you explained.

In the corner of your eye, you could see Hawks staring at you as if he was trying to decrypt your words or decipher your expression. You avoided his stare for just a little bit longer before finally giving in and turning to face him.

When you looked at him, he returned your cigarette to your lips, or tried to anyway, but you took it with your hand. It was almost burnt out, but had enough left for one more drag, which you took slowly.

"You're hurt?" you asked him softly before turning around to burry your burnt up cigarette in the nearby ash tray.

"Not too bad. I'll fuck right off if you want me to," Hawks replied.

Sometimes, you didn't really think his superpower was his feathers, but just how he managed to always show up at the perfect time. Maybe, someone to talk to was what you needed, even if you told yourself you didn't.

Ending things with Touya was exactly what had to be done to try to get back on track with your pitiful life; but, that didn't mean that everything would be magically okay again, that wounds would just heal and every trace of him would be gone forever.

But, you weren't childish enough to think that anyone could save you from that. No, you had to save yourself.

"Come on, pretty bird," you tossed over your shoulder.

Hawks hated when anyone called him that, except you. Maybe because anyone who called him that did so to put him down, to emasculate him. But, you called him that because you actually meant it. He was so, so pretty. Or, maybe, he just had a soft spot for the girl he used to bum cigarettes off of.

The winged villain followed you down the stairwell to your room. He made a grumbly cooing sound, like a hum in chest, when he stepped inside.

"Place looks great."

It had been quite a shithole the last time he was here. You scrubbed the walls and floors, replaced most of the furniture, gutted out the shitty kitchen cabinets and replaced them. It did look great.

"Thanks," you hummed, pushing at his shoulders until he obeyed and plopped down on the couch.

You sat down next to him and didn't bother asking what was wrong, but just began sliding your hands down the arm of his leather jacket, pushing it up to his elbow to expose his forearm.

You worked your hands over his skin, using your quirk to navigate his nervous system. Your eyes went glossy and distant as you did so, staring at him without actually looking at him. Hawks was patient, watching you work.

"You broke some ribs," you observed quietly. "The gash on your back isn't infected, but your blood cell count is low. You have a cavity forming, too, you manchild."

Hawks burst out laughing. "Do I need to call a dentist?"

"No," you laughed softly. "I'll take care of it." You let go of his arm and looked up at him, head tilting slightly. "Mind if I go by your neck? It's easier closer to the spine."

"Sure. I like choking," he teased.

"Tch," you grimaced at him. "Shut up."

He laughed softly in response to that. Despite his teasing, you still shimmied in closer and reached up, sliding your hands one either side of his neck. His skin was soft. Even the healed burn marks were soft.

Your eyes went glossy again as you focused on the task at hand. Hawks made a low, grumbling hiss as you pulled the injuries from his body, focusing first on his broken ribs.

It hurt like a fucking bitch, feeling each one crack back into proper place. Where your hands touched him was cold as ice; but, it was just an illusion, a side effect of your quirk, a sensation without the actual stimulation.

The wound on his back followed, muscles and skin tissue forming back over into proper place. That didn't hurt as bad, and felt more like a dull ache in comparison. You took care of his cavity, too, which he noticed like a stab in the mouth.

You were done, and Hawks knew you were done. The icy cold touch of your hands had subsided, and the warmth of your skin returned. Still, you didn't let go right away. Your vision returned and you peered up at him, and he looked down at you just the same.

The left side of Hawks face was covered in a scar, a healed burn. It started at the center of his forehead, traveled across the bridge of his nose, took most of his cheek, but just barely missed his lips.

The burn continued down his jaw, onto his shoulder. You had seen him shirtless before, and knew it extended down his chest, ending somewhere at his waist.

Along with that burn, his left eye had been blanched, now pale white instead of the golden, sunlight hue of the one on right. He could still see out of it, just not as well as the undamaged one.

Still, despite all that, he was so, so-

-beautiful.

"All done," you sighed, letting go of him and standing up, turning away from him maybe a little quickly.

"Thanks," he grunted, watching you rise to your feet.

He reached for you; but, you had already stepped too far away and eluded his touch. It wasn't intentional. Your back was turned and you didn't even see it. Yet, your sudden retreat made him feel an unpleasant ache in his chest, and another, very different sort of ache somewhere else.

"It's gettin' kind'a late, so-" you started, heading for the hallway that connected to your bedroom.

Hawks was fast, dangerously so, and was suddenly right beside you. His wing jutted out and smacked into the wall, blocking your path. Your eyes shifted to his, not entirely surprised by his actions. Maybe you should have been. But, he was the kind who liked attention, especially from you.

"Are you alright?" he asked, crossing his arms loosely over his chest.

"No," you deadpanned. "There's a birdman loitering in my house."

That seemed to calm him a little, for he pulled his wing back, lips twitching into a faint smile. However, he replaced his wing with his body, blocking you from continuing down the hall.

"I'm sorry I haven't been around lately," he began, surprising you a little with the sincerity in his tone.

"I get it," you answered immediately, with just a bit of bite.

Life led people down different paths. Touya was following in the footsteps of his dear father to become a great hero. Hawks ended up joining a league of supervillains and was wanted for murder, amongst other things.

-and you worked a 9 to 5.

Maybe, facing down one of Japan's most wanted villains should have been frightening. Being trapped with him in your apartment probably also should have been frightening.

He was a dangerous criminal and on a power level than most could never even dream of. But, you trusted Hawks more than you trusted most people... most heroes.

By the look on his face, there was something he wanted to say; but, it didn't come out.

"What's with the constipated look?" you blurted.

The compressed look on his face softened and Hawks threw his head back, letting out rolling laughter. His hands clutched his tummy and his shoulders trembled. Maybe, that was your real power: making him laugh like that, to the point tears gathered in the corners of his eyes.

"I missed you," he stated plainly when he finally stopped laughing.

"Y-yeah, me too, pretty bird," you replied softly, tearing your gaze away from him.

"I hate when you call me that," he murmured.

Hawks stepped towards you and you reeled back. His wings came up on either side of you, forcing you to duck back and hit the wall to avoid him. The bright red plumes towered on either side, caging you in, trapping you with him.

Yet, you weren't scared or perturbed. Hawks liked to play, after all. Even when you were kids, he would fly after you and tackle you to the ground, laughing about what terrible prey you were, always so easily caught.

"No, you don't," you retorted gently.

There was still some distance between you, just enough that you'd have to extend your arm to reach him. His wingspan was massive and the soft, red quills were like curtains caging you in, absolutely gorgeous.

"I'm not good at this sort'a thing," Hawks began, murmuring softly into the darkness of the hallway. His face was cast in shadows, but his eyes were bright, pale white and sun kissed gold.

"Formalities and playin' nice," he added on, a little hoarsely.

You knew where this was going.

"You want Touya's sloppy seconds?" you asked him lowly.

Immediately, it was clear that he didn't like what you said. His eyes narrowed and he stepped in closer.

Hawks might have only been a couple inches taller than you and while he certainly was muscular, he wasn't a hulking beast. Still, he managed to make you feel so small.

His hand landed on the wall behind you with a smack, and it startled you a little.

"Don't fucking say things like that," he snarled.

You gawked up at him, surprised that something like that would upset him.

"You're more than that - a lot fucking more," he added on lowly.

It was only then that you realized he wasn't just mad, he was hurt. He had been your closest friend since you were 13, back when you were stealing cigarettes from upper classmen and sneaking into R-rated movies.

-and he had to watch Touya have you.

"What do you want from me?" you asked him, voice low, a harsh whisper, and it shuddered out of you.

"Everything," Hawks replied in a harsh whisper.

You couldn't help but lick your lips at that proposition.

He stepped in closer, sliding his forearms against the wall on either side of your head. The closeness forced you to crane your head back to look up at him.

"You want me, too," he commented lowly, peering down at you like a hawk circling above an unsuspecting prey.

"I let you in here because I care about you. Don't be so arrogant," you scolded him softly, lacking any real authority to your tone.

"Then, tell me to fuck off," Hawks challenged you.

You stared up at him, lips unmoving. His feathers picked up the faint change in your breathing pattern, just the slightest bit of acceleration. Even if you didn't say it, your body gave it away: this was exciting you.

He was one of the most powerful villains in Japan; but, you were his greatest weakness. He'd do anything you asked, deliver the world to you if it was what you wanted.

"You want this," Hawks murmured darkly, as if he had just made some grand discovery.

His eyes flickered down from your face to below, signaling what he was talking about.

He was hovering with just enough space between you that you could tilt your head down to investigate his claim and take a glance at the tent he was pitching, pressing against the zipper on his black cargo pants.

When your eyes moved up and caught his gaze, you felt hypnotized by the dark stare he had focused on you.

Hawks didn't look expectant or desperate. He looked hungry, yes, but there was some hope to that stare, maybe even the faintest bit of sorrow in those mismatched eyes.

He didn't want to be rejected by you. But, he didn't want you if you didn't want him back.

There probably should have been a little voice in the back of your head telling you not to do this. There had to be some sort of negative repercussion, right?

But, all you could hear was the rattle of the heater in the other room and the shuffling of your neighbors in the room above.

Normally, your thoughts ran rampant with worries, negativities and fears. All had been silent since Hawks arrived. He just had that sort of effect on you, clearing your thoughts with nothing but his presence.

Expectantly, you tilted your head back and parted your lips slightly. Hawks leaned in, following the temptation you presented him with.

Maybe, it would have been wisest to remain as just friends. Even if you tried to tell yourself otherwise, this would change that forever: a door would open that could never be closed.

But, you weren't kids anymore.

"If I kiss you, I won't be able to stop," he promised, or threatened, warm breath fanning over your cheeks.

He smelt like the cigarette he stole from you earlier. It made you all the more eager to taste him.

"Last chance," he added, voice low and hoarse.

"What happens if I say yes?" you dared to ask, eyes peering up at him almost innocently.

You watched Hawks' throat bob. "What happens if you say yes..." he parroted lowly.

The predatory gaze he gave you reminded you that he was a bird of prey and you might as well have been a mouse.

"I'm gonna fuck you like no one ever has before," he began, the words falling from his mouth in a sultry whisper. "Stuff you stupid with my cock, cum so deep inside you that you feel me for days. My name will be the only god-damned thing you remember when I'm done with you."

Oh.

"Promise?" you whispered hoarsely, leaning up a little to try and reach his lips.

You must have been making quite the lewd expression, for Hawks' eyes pinched with amusement.

Hawks tilted his head down. "Promise," he agreed in a whisper, breathed against your lips.

This must have been what it felt like for a spark to meet gunpowder.

Something as simple as a kiss had sent a powerful shockwave down your spine. Your skin prickled all over, flushed with a sudden need to be touched. Your heart began thundering away in your chest and you unconsciously released a very pathetic little sound.

His feathers picked up the rage of your heartbeat and he couldn't resist a shudder, aroused at the excitement he had give you with just the press of his lips.

In a split second, he had his body pressing against yours, flush from shoulder to thigh, pinning you to the wall. Your hands weaved through his hair, pulling him down to crush your mouths together.

It was probably the sloppiest kiss you ever had: a little violent, crushing, and wet. But, nothing could even compare to what this felt like, the taste of him mingled with tobacco, to the way it made you feel like you could melt.

His hands grabbed at your thighs and hoisted you up off the ground. He slammed your back roughly against the wall, cores pinned tightly together, and perched your legs on either side of his waist.

"You feel that?" Hawks breathed, lips touching the shell of your ear.

It was clear what he was referring to: his clothed erection rutting shamelessly against your clothed cunt.

"Every time I see you take a drag, I get fucking hard," he confessed, pulling back to chuckle a little. "Maybe that's why I always stole 'em: fucking jealous."

Before you could get a word out, his head dipped down and took your mouth again. Your hands dragged down his back, clawing at his jacket, threatening to venture further.

Hawks pulled back violently, bumping his forehead against yours to force your gaze to meet his.

"You touch my wings and you're gonna get something you can't fucking handle," he threatened, the words rumbling out of his chest like gravel in a cement mixer.

You looked back with a drunk expression, partially frightened by his threat and partially curious to what that entailed. It resulted in a ridiculously lewd expression on your face.

"All I've done is kiss you, and you already look like that," he observed with intrigue, chuckling softly.

"All I've done is smoke, and you're hard," you retorted sharply, leaning in to bite at his bottom lip.

He hummed, amused at your teasing; that sound, however, died out when you dipped your hands down into his shoulder blades and slid up, brushing the baby feathers that jutted out of his skin.

Hawks let out an almost inhuman sound, head tilting back and moaning, eyes fluttering shut, as his entire body vibrated against you. You stopped, hands shifting away from his feathers, surprised by his reaction.

Immediately, his head fell forward and he settled a frightening glare on you. The growl that emanated from within his chest sent a violent tremor down your spine.

"Oooohhh," he cooed hoarsely, the sound rumbling through his throat. "You don't want me to be nice, do ya'?"

The question went unanswered, for Hawks rolled his hips, pressing your clothed sexes together. Your hands flew up, grabbing at his wings again, fingers tangling in the feathers for purchase.

The friction was nice; but, it wasn't good enough, and Hawks seemed to have that same thought process, for he removed you from the wall and carried you to the bedroom.

He tossed you down on the bed like you were a toy and watched your body bounce a little with an amused look on his face.

You shrieked when red plumes departed his wingspan and swarmed your body. They surrounded you in a wispy tornado before descending, tracing your skin softly and pushing under the hem of your clothes with purpose.

The brief moment of fear washed away when they carefully, albeit swiftly, worked your clothes off. Your arms were forced above your head so your shirt could be discarded while other feathers peeled your pants and underwear down your legs.

Hawks watched, standing at the bedside with a starving expression as his crimson feathers exposed you for him. You didn't take yourself for the shy type, but something about the whole thing had your skin prickled with embarrassment.

Once they were done, his feathers retreated, returning to his wingspan like good little soldiers. Hawks approached, sliding his knees onto the edge of the bed.

Before he could arch over you, your foot flung up and you flattened it against his chest, pushing in protest.

"You, too," you tried to demand. Unfortunately, it came out breathless and desperate.

Hawks eyes shifted from your heated gaze, trailing down to shamelessly take in the sight of your sex, now exposed due to the position of your leg. Instinctively, you wanted to close your legs at that predatory stare. But, somehow, you found the strength to resist.

He hummed and stood back, returning to his feet. You leaned up to watch him work his jacket and shirt off, wings shuddering to peel the fabric away before dropping the materials carelessly to the floor.

He seemed caught off guard by your sudden advance as you got up on your knees at the bedside to reach for him. Your hands landed on his pectorals, shamelessly squeezing at his muscles before drifting down, fingers gently digging into his abs as you traced the outlines.

"Are you having fun?" he laughed.

You were about to answer, but he suddenly grabbed your wrists and brought your hands down to his belt. He didn't have to demand anything, you started working at the buckle, eagerly working the clasp open and undoing his pants.

His mouth opened, likely to spew teasing words. Whatever was going to come out failed him when you suddenly palmed his erection over the fabric of his boxers.

"F-fuck," he groaned, leaning into you suddenly as if he was going to fall over. "Damn brat," he added on in a snarl.

"Are you touch starved, pretty bird?" you murmured, tilting your head to nibble at his jawline.

The red that tinted his the tops of his ears failed to hide the truth from you. It had been a little while, just long enough to make him hungry for it.

Suddenly, he pushed you down on the bed. You flung over with a startled yelp and felt his hands pry your legs apart, fingers digging into the meat of your thighs.

He flung your legs up over his shoulders, careless that your feet knocked against his wings, and buried his face between your thighs.

"AH!" you cried out, startled by the sudden sensation of his textured tongue lapping along your slit.

Normally, when someone ate you out, there was some finesse to it, tongue tracing delicately, some soft kisses, just barely lapping at your slit as if you were a dainty little flower.

Not with Hawks. He was smearing his tongue all over the place, lapping at your slippery folds as if he was starving and this was the only meal he'd had in weeks.

You didn't mean to, but in the process of grounding your heels against his back, your toes curled and touched his feathers. You felt his wings flap once and his back muscles tremble.

He leaned back and peered down your body, taking in the look of your aroused expression with a pleased sigh. You felt delirious, wearing a lost look on your face, and he looked damn proud with your wetness smeared across his cheeks.

"Hawks-" you squeaked.

"A meal fit for a king," he praised you in a hoarse voice, tilting his head back down to continue where he left off.

Trying to get on some equal grounds, you twisted your foot and poked at his feathers with your toes. His shoulders twitched, so you continued, digging in as best you could considering the awkward positioning.

Hawks moaned at the touch, the sound vibrating against the folds of your sex. He probably would have scolded you if his mouth wasn't preoccupied. Instead, he pushed back on your thighs, forcing your legs a little higher, until you couldn't reach his wings anymore.

He fucked you with his tongue, mouth suctioned around your opening and slurping lewdly. It was a strange sensation you weren't quite used to, but it felt amazing.

It was clear that he wasn't doing it out of obligation. He did it because he fucking wanted to, and he was thoroughly enjoying himself. When he needed a break from your core, he lapped his tongue up your folds, smearing wetness all over the place.

He purposely avoided your pearl until he was confident it was throbbing, the tiny bud forced on display with lewd the way he held your legs apart.

You practically screamed when his tongue finally touched it, hands pulling at the bedsheets beneath you and making a mess, pillows and blankets going askew.

Hawks groaned, mainly because the sound made his cock throb painfully in his pants. He ignored that ache and focused on lapping at your little button, not relenting, even when you were trembling and sobbing.

At the risk of your feet getting touchy again, Hawks dropped one of your legs, needing a free hand to bring you to peak ecstasy. He hardly had to force the calloused digits inside. Your squishy walls took him in eagerly.

"Fuck, Hawks," you sobbed, struggling to remain still.

He leaned back, just enough to get some words out. "Come for me," he uttered hoarsely.

You whimpered at the command, head falling back into the sheets. He had been getting you there before he even said anything, even when it was just his tongue. But, now, with his thick fingers drilling into you and voice making such demands, you felt it approaching like a speeding truck.

"I said fucking come," he added on with a demanding, low growl. "Come on my fucking face. I wanna taste it."

He growled into your sex, loud and rumbling like thunder while his wings flapped once, knocking some things off your walls. The loud noise was a little startling, but didn't break the spell.

He kept up the pace with his fingers, even when the slippery mess of your slick dribbled down his knuckles, and his tongue returned to your pearl, lapping at it roughly.

Your orgasm started in a small wave, rolling over you once, twice, before crashing down and forcing a bizarre concoction of moans, sobs, and whimpers to pour from your lips.

Hawks was unwavering, tongue and fingers working you over expertly through the whole thing, until you sagged on the sheets and stopped whining.

He pulled back and stood up, setting your legs down on the bed. You looked up at him dizzily, and watched him lick his fingers and knuckles clean as if he had spilt some treat on them.

It was such a shamelessly erotic display and left you trembling.

When he was done, he dragged his palm down his chin, wiping your essence away. He caught you staring, of course, and quirked his lips into a prideful smirk.

"Nothing smart to say?" he uttered teasingly. "'Thank you, Hawks'?" he suggested with a warm chuckle.

He had pulled his wings back in; but, there was no way to miss that he was holding them up just a little bit higher than normal. If you weren't so blissed out and eager for more, you probably would have laughed at such a blatant display of dominance.

He was still in the state you had left him in, pants hanging limply around his waist, erection pressing eagerly against his boxers, belt undone and dangling at his thigh.

Hawks lifted his dominant hand and wagged his index and middle finger, beckoning for you to approach. After that mind numbing orgasm, you didn't dare refuse and shimmied over to the edge of the bed.

"I deserve a reward for that, don't you think?" he suggested, that predatory expression taking over his face again as he looked down at you.

"Say 'please'," you challenged him softly, looking up through your eyelashes.

"Hmmm," rumbled out of his throat. He sounded amused, maybe even a little impressed.

You expected something snarky when he opened his mouth. Surprisingly, he uttered a sultry, "please."

You didn't plan on denying him even if he disobeyed; but, after hearing that, there was no way in hell you would dare refuse.

Your hands pushed his pants down his thighs, simultaneously leaning in to mouth at his clothed erection.

Hawks drew in air sharply, like a low hiss, before drawling out, "fuckin' tease."

In all fairness, he hadn't held out on his services for very long; so, you pushed at him, until he relented and let you turn him around. His butt hit the edge of the bed as you settled on your knees on the floor, between his thighs.

You were supposed to be ridding him of his clothes. However, in the desperation to see what he was hiding, you simply pulled his boxers down, until his cock sprang free.

Staring at it like an idiot would have probably pleased his ego; but, you opted to wrap your lips around the tip and take him in your mouth promptly. You went down just a little too eagerly, and nearly choked; but, it was worth it to hear the strangled sound he made.

"F-" he hissed through clenched fangs, "-uuuck."

You stroked what your mouth couldn't fit, starting off sloppily to get him slicked up well enough to make the glide easier. Your eyes fluttered shut, concentrating on the task at hand, and to make every little noise he made just a little clearer.

He was breathing harshly through his nose, groaning out the occasional curse, before he opted to just blurt what was on his mind.

"Daydreamed about this all the fucking time," Hawks grunted.

Maybe, that sort of thing should have been concerning; but, if you were being honest with yourself, your thoughts of him weren't always so pure, either. Sometimes, laying in bed alone at night, masturbating, it was easy to start thinking about his long, calloused fingers, and wonder what kind of things he would say.

Hawks had one hand gripped at the edge of the bed, while his other weaved carefully through your hair. You expected a painful, demanding grip; but, he was surprisingly gentle, touching you with a sort of adoration.

"Yeeahhh," he groaned, the word undulating as it exited his chest.

"Fuck, you look so cute like that," he praised, pushing your hair out of your face so he could admire the lewd expression you were wearing, lips spread wide over his girth.

"I bet you were curious, huh?" he uttered arrogantly. "Bet you wondered how big it w-" He cut off, moaning lowly when your tongue flattened along the underside and lapped at the thick vein there.

"Does it - aghn - taste better than a heroes?" he taunted in an amused, gravely voice. He even laughed a little at his own crudeness, albeit briefly.

As you drew back, you suctioned tightly, maybe to punish him, or because you were spurred on by such vulgar words. You weren't sure which. His hips lifted off the bed, chasing the sensation, and he moaned shamelessly loud into your dimly lit bedroom.

It startled you a little when you suddenly felt something staring to swell at the base of his cock, fingers smoothing it over curiously.

Just as quickly as you felt it, Hawks hand rotated from the top of your head to the underside of your jaw, pulling you back and forcing you off his cock. The fleshy sound your mouth made echoed around the room.

When you peered up at him, it seemed he was as caught off guard as you were. His mouth was hanging open, cheeks tinted pink, fangs bared while labored breaths wisped through them.

Did he want an answer? You were ready to tell him that he did taste good, when he suddenly leaned down. His arms wove beneath yours, and he hoisted you off the floor, spinning you around and tossing you onto the bed, almost carelessly.

He quickly rid himself of his clothes as you bounced atop the sheets, and climbed on top of you, forcing your legs up and onto his hips.

Just a little dizzy, you were surprised when he suddenly slotted over you, his mouth colliding with yours. He barely gave you a single kiss before shoving his tongue inside.

Your tongue joined his, sliding together in a pointless dance. You felt him lean down, the warmth of his body caressing yours. Hawks weaved one arm around your head possessively, while his other slid up your side, fingers dancing along your ribs.

You expected him to just ram into you. That was usually how this went. But, he was proving to be unlike any other man you had been with before. You could feel his cock jabbing into your thigh, throbbing with need; but, he seemed more concentrated with another task at the moment.

The kiss went on, and on, and on, as if he hadn't already kissed you senseless earlier. He seemed enraptured by the taste.

One of your hands fell onto his shoulder, while the other slid up to cup his face. You weren't really thinking about the where, until your fingertips touched leathery skin. Hawks flinched as if you had hurt him, and you realized you were touching the burnt half of his face.

He pulled back harshly from the kiss with a wet smack and stared down at you. He looked like he was trying to be mad, like a retort was hot on the tip of his tongue. But, instead, he just looked lost.

You stared up at him, unable to hold back just the slightest tinge of fear, afraid that the moment was ruined, that the spell had been broken, that you had crossed a line that Hawks didn't want you to cross.

But, then, he leaned into your palm, surrendering something that went unspoken. Your thumb smoothed over his cheekbone and you let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding.

"Hawks?" you hummed, wondering how long it had been since someone touched him there, touched skin tinged red and scarred over, forever a reminder of the past.

His eyes fluttered shut as your hand explored, down his jaw, down the side of his neck, over his shoulder, touching places he had once been burned. He dipped his head down, brushing his cheek against yours. You trembled at the sensation of his soft, short beard hairs tickling your skin.

It seemed he had grown impatient, for he tilted his hips up and slid forward, until the tip of his member brushed your folds. Your head fell back with a sigh and you tightened your legs around his waist expectedly, eagerly awaiting him to finally take you.

But, Hawks was unmoving, hovering. His lips nibbled at the shell of your ear before you felt his warm breath as he uttered lowly, drawling out the words, "beg for it."

He was so close, you could feel his chest vibrate with each syllable. You gazed over his shoulder, down his back, where his wings fanned out beautifully behind him. The appendages were tense, fingers bristled tensely.

When you didn't answer fast enough, Hawks reeled his hand away from your side. His palm collided with your ass and a smacking sound echoed around the room, immediately followed by your pained yelp.

"I said," he snarled, "beg for this cock."

It was far more arousing than it was menacing, and it was clear, despite the anger he was displaying, that he was pleased by your refusal to immediately obey. It meant he got to punish you, to drag this out a little longer, to play with you some more.

You bit your lip and delayed giving him the answer he wanted, skin prickled with excitement at the thought of what would follow.

"Are you tryin' to piss me off?" he asked lowly, tilting his head back to look at your face.

He didn't look mad. He looked painfully aroused, cheeks tinted pink, eyes taking in your lewd expression hungrily, fangs bared through slightly parted lips, where he drew in sharp breaths.

"I-" you began.

He either guessed you were going to sass him, or just decided he didn't care what the response was going to be. His hand collided with your backside again, just a tiny bit rougher than last time.

Your eyes pinched shut and you cried out again, body jerking slightly from the touch. Even with your eyes closed, you could picture the smirk he wore at witnessing your response.

Hawks leaned down, nose nudging at the soft spot behind your ear.

"Last chance," he whispered, almost tauntingly. "Beg. For. This. Cock," he added on lowly, almost snarling into the skin of your neck.

You probably couldn't have suppressed that shudder if you were dead, and Hawks felt it. His wings twitched behind him and he groaned softly, pleased by your reaction.

To taunt you further, his hips nudged forward, just until his tip breached your entrance. At the sound of a sweet moan leaving your mouth, he pulled back, then pushed back in, again and again, not breaching you past the tip.

It was sweet, delicious torture.

"Okay," you hissed out, unable to take it anymore.

You tilted your head, lips trailing along his jaw, kissing at the soft, short hairs there, until you found his ear.

"Keigo," you growled.

Immediately, you felt the way he stiffened above you, muscles going tight beneath your hands. A barely audible gasp escaped him.

It had been a while since someone said his name. He was the villain Hawks, now. Keigo was dead, according to him... but not to you. The blonde haired boy with crimson wings and big smile would never die as long as you were alive to remember him.

"Please give me your cock," you uttered softly, lips moving against the shell of his ear as you spoke.

Surprisingly, you didn't hate how desperate you sounded. If it sounded sweet in your ears, then you could only imagine how it sounded to him.

You had barely finished your sentence before he was shoving his hips forward, filling you to the brim in a split second. Your voice was caught in your throat, but Hawks let out a startlingly loud sound, bellowing out a roar into the darkness of your bedroom.

You trembled beneath him, shaken by his roar and by his girth filling your insides. His wings twitched fiercely, lifting up into the air for a brief second before fluttering back down to a relaxed position.

"Oohh, fuck," Hawks wheezed.

He gave you, or maybe it was for himself, a second to breathe before he started moving, pistoning in and out of your heat fiercely: halfway out, back to the brim, the skin of your hips smacking together noisily.

One of his hands had purchase on your thigh, holding on for dear life, while his other hand was fisted in the bedsheets by your head, the grip looking tight enough to rip the fabric.

Your legs were hoisted high on his waist, heels digging into the backs of his thighs. Your nails dragged down the backs of his shoulders, leaving behind pale impressions, and nearing his wings.

No one said it, but you both felt it: finally.

Destiny, soulmates, and all that nonsense was bullshit to you. Hawks made it clear he never believed in fate; whatever happened was because of choices, your own or someone else's, that shaped each and every outcome.

But, in that moment, your unity felt like destiny. His weight above you, his warmth, the smell of his skin, felt familiar, felt like home. His breath fanning out in hot wisps across the skin of your neck, his manhood nuzzled deep in your core, felt like harmony, like it was meant to be.

Maybe, you were just stupidly aroused, to the point that sense and reason was lost. Maybe, Hawks was just so good at this, that he already had you drunk on the sensation, drunk on him.

But, you decided that you didn't care what the answer was, just as long as he didn't stop.

"Fuck. You feel so good," Hawks praised, leaning up to look down at you.

"You like that? 'm I making you feel good, baby?" he slurred, huffing out breaths between each thrust.

"Keigo," you whined affirmingly, or maybe scoldingly, maybe somewhere in-between. His words were embarrassing; but, you didn't want him to ever stop talking.

He leaned down, nuzzling his forehead affectionately against your temple. It seemed to contrast the vulgar words he spewed.

"Fuck, yeah. Say my fucking name," he grunted.

The hand gripping your thigh tugged you down a little, putting you a bit further beneath him. It changed the angle slightly. The fact that he even considered that was enough to knock the wind out of you. But, now, with him reaching all the best places, his hips were doing that quite well.

He laughed darkly at the way you cried out sharply, legs trembling on either side of his hips.

"Right there?" he hummed. "Right fucking there?" he added on immediately with a particularly harsh thrust, clearly demanding an answer.

"Yes!" you almost screamed, barely recognizing the sound of your own voice.

Every time he plunged back inside, bringing your hips impossibly tight together, a smacking sound echoed around the room. He buried his face in the divot between your neck and shoulder, alternating between slurs and nibbling on the soft, sweaty skin.

"Feels so fucking good," Hawks groaned. "So fucking warm 'n soft. Ya' feel that - feel your juices dripping all over the fucking place? Yeahhh - all over my fucking cock."

He lapped a wet tongue up the side of your neck, teeth biting gently at your jaw and cheek before rising to hover against your lips.

"Look at me," he demanded softly. The skin of his lips touched yours as he spoke.

You almost didn't realize that you had closed your eyes. The pleasure was overwhelming, making it near impossible to force your eyes open.

You could picture him perfectly in your head. Still, you weren't prepared for the sight of him when your eyes fluttered open: Hawk's handsome face, looming over you, cheeks flushed red, fangs peaking out between parted lips, messy blonde locks flopped over his sweaty forehead.

"Don't look away," he demanded in a low growl.

It likely wasn't intentional, but he sounded more pleading and less demanding. Still, you were eager to comply. Even if he hadn't requested it, it would have been difficult to look away when he was wearing an expression like that.

Your hands clawed down his back, venturing lower and lower until they reached his shoulder blades, where beautiful, heavenly plumes grew. Hawks cried out, eyes squeezing shut, when you dipped your hands down and slid one along each wing, tangling digits in the feathers.

"Ohhh, fuck," he snarled.

You whimpered when he dipped his head down and bit at your lips before forcing his tongue inside. His command for you to look at him was briefly forgotten as he kissed you, if the harsh motions of his tongue could even be called a kiss.

The swift pace he had set became brutal suddenly, and he was smacking his hips against yours almost violently. Something slithered between your bodies, and you realized faintly that it was a feather.

The soft little quill curled between your bodies and found purchase against your clit, rubbing at the bud almost like a fingertip. That touch got your grip on his wings to loosen as the pleasure became almost blinding.

Hawks pulled back from the kiss with a wet smack, looking down at you almost angrily. You had gotten used to that look, and recognized it as pure lust. Maybe, he was a little mad at you, in his own way.

"Grabbing my wings? You fucking brat," he snarled. There was no venom, however, just animalistic lust.

You wanted to bite back at him; but, the sensations between your legs made it near impossible to think properly, let alone speak. His feather was flicking at your pearl, sparking white hot pleasure, while his cock pummeled your insides, burning aching pleasure at your core.

Somehow, you found the strength to return your hands to his wings, curling fingers and palms beneath the lower end where the appendages jutted out from his back. You grabbed on, felt the feathers fold and twitch between your fingers, making room for you to settle in, almost as if they were working against him.

Hawks cried out, head falling back; but, his pace didn't falter once.

"Fuck, oh fuck," he whined, head nearly smacking into yours when he came back down.

"Holding on like that, gonna make me-" Hawks cut off, moaning shamelessly, breath fluttering out across your cheeks.

Gods, he looked beautiful like that: eyes clouded with lust, cheeks and the tops of his ears tinted red, mouth hanging open. You didn't look much better, laying there and just taking everything he gave you, and loving every fucking second of it.

Normally, his hair was blown out and brushed free from his face. It was cute seeing long strands clinging to his forehead and brow. You could see short, fluffy strands clinging to his neck, skin shiny with a thin layer of sweat.

He could easily jostle his wings or use a strong hand to push you away, to free himself from your grasp; but, he didn't. It felt good, too fucking good, to possibly do that. But, that didn't stop him from bitching about it.

"-touching my fucking wings," he snarled, sounding almost unlike himself, breathless and senselessly aroused, as he growled into the shell of your ear.

"-knot you as punishment," he threatened, words slurred and growling. "Yeah - make you take all of it."

It became clear to you, then, what you had felt earlier, while sucking him off. Perhaps, it shouldn't been so surprising that he could do that. Still, the promise was enough to make you cry out.

Hawks laughed darkly. "That's not a punishment, is it? No, nooo - you would like that."

You weren't sure if it was his words, or the thought of what he intended to do. Maybe it was the way he growled at the end of his sentences, or the feeling of his feathers shuddering in your grasp. But, before you knew it, your orgasm was creeping up on you.

"You want my knot? Hm? Fucking say it - hgnnn," he demanded, words drawling out into a low growl that rumbled through his chest.

"Keigo, please," you sobbed.

"'Please' what?" he snarled.

You barely heard his response. Your orgasm was suddenly overtaking you, so strongly that you could only hear your heart thundering in your ears. Your eyes fluttered shut and you trembled helplessly beneath him, fingers releasing his wings to claw down the skin of his back, trying to find purchase in his skin.

His feather never ceased pinching at your clit; Hawks hips, however, began to falter, feeling you come undone beneath him, tightening and gushing. You failed to feel him swelling at the base, his own orgasm approaching rapidly.

"Oh fuck - oh fuck," Hawks chanted, panting above you like a wild dog.

Without separating, he hiked your leg up and turned you over onto your side, nuzzling into the space behind you. There was barely a second where his pace faltered, and suddenly he was pressed up tight against your back, snarling into your neck while he continued jackhammering into you.

"I need to hear it," he uttered harshly.

Weakly, you reached down between your sopping wet thighs and pushed at the feather that never stopped fluttering against you. It felt good, so, so good. But, it was bordering on painful. The little plume refused to obey your weak protest, and continued flicking expertly at your bud, sending shockwaves across your body.

"-need to hear it," he added on again, insistently.

As your orgasm started to wane, you remembered his request.

Hawks' legs were tangled with yours, resting on his side behind you, sweaty chest slotted against your back while his hips fucked into you feverishly. He had one hand curled over your hip for leverage while his other arm was tucked under your head.

He was panting wildly, nearing completion, fucking into you so fast and hard that it almost hurt. You could hear his wings flap once, stirring the air around you.

"Baby - fuck - please," he sobbed, so fucking close that it was starting to claw away at his insides. He buried his face in the back of your neck, wheezing harshly between sharp moans.

You felt deliriously high, insides still churning in mind-numbing pleasure, skin silky with sweat. You could feel his harsh breaths fluttering out against your neck, felt his hair tickle your skin, felt what he was begging for, prodding at your entrance.

"Y-yes," you stammered, arching your back to try and meet him. "Knot me, Keigo, pleas-"

He pushed it in just in time for his orgasm to take him. The gland at the base of his cock swelled, locking you two together, and Hawks let out a harsh cry that rattled your bones.

The sob you made at the sudden fullness was drowned out by the sounds Hawks was making behind you.

Hawks' sharp cry faded into low moans that stuttered past his lips, one right after the other, as if he was helpless to stop them. The hand that had been holding your hip lowered until his arm locked around your waist, holding you close. His cock throbbed against your walls, gushing his seed in hot spurts.

Even when his orgasm seemed to wane, Hawks couldn't stop shuddering behind you, low wisps of pleasured sounds leaking from his mouth and fluttering across your skin.

It was only when his cock stopped throbbing that he finally went quiet and the feather fluttering at your pearl ceased. The blinding pleasure slowly faded into blissful tranquility, leaving you in the soft ambiance of the ceiling fan, Hawks' breathing, and the bustling streets outside.

In awe, you stared ahead as some of his feathers fluttered free from his wingspan and floated around the room, caught in the breeze from the ceiling fan.

Hawks held you close, panting into your neck, barely an inch of your sweat soaked skin not touching.

Most of the time, guys pulled away as quickly as they could when they were done. Feeling him linger felt nice, warm, comforting, especially when he finally started to calm down, and you felt his lips trail up your neck before nuzzling behind your ear.

"You okay?" he uttered lowly.

"Yeah," you replied softly. "Are you?"

"Still feels good," he answered hoarsely.

"Mmm," you agreed.

You wanted to close your eyes and sink into the sheets; but, you didn't want to look away from the sight of his feathers floating around the room. He must not have realized yet, for he surely would have pulled them back by now.

His arm left your waist so he could free his hand to wander, smoothing over your belly before rising up your sternum. He palmed your neck softly before smoothing over your shoulder, down your arm, then over the curve of your side, briefly squeezing the meat of your behind.

That hand then lifted to brush the hair out of your face and away from your neck, freeing up more skin within reach of his lips, which he promptly peppered with kisses.

Sensitive from such powerful orgasms, your sensitive skin prickled at the feeling of his short beard hairs, and you couldn't hold back some giggling and twitching, which did nothing to deter him.

When he was satisfied, his arm returned to your waist, bringing you in closer as if such a thing was possible.

"Is this... your first time?" you asked him softly, hesitantly.

"What? Having sex?" he blurted, laughing a little.

"No," you sharply retorted, snorting at him.

"Knotting?" he answered with a chuckle. "Yeah. Never wanted to be like this with someone before."

You slid one of your hands over his forearm, the one curled over your waist, until your fingers touched his knuckles. He opened his fingers, letting you intertwine the digits to caress his hand.

"Good," you hummed. "I'm special."

Hawks laughed breathlessly, his chest trembling softly against your back. "Yeah... Yeah, you fucking are," he agreed in a quiet whisper.

Everything was quiet for a little while. Hawks eventually realized he lost some plumes and drew them back into his wingspan. You could hear the feathery appendages shudder softly as he stretched them out, wiggling the masses, before drawing them back in.

He relaxed behind you, pliant and lazy atop the sheets, occasionally blessing your skin with a kiss: a rough one on your shoulder, a soft one on your cheek, a wet one against the shell of your ear. His other arm was still beneath you, making for a decent, albeit hard, pillow.

It was possible that his knot had already gone down by now; but, if it had, you hadn't noticed, and didn't care to move or to tell him to move. You didn't want the moment to be over quite yet.

"Soooo," Hawks uttered suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence.

He carefully drew his arm out from beneath your head and propped an elbow up so he could lean elevate his hand against his palm and look down at you.

"How was that?" he asked, and you, of course, noticed his cheeky tone.

You groaned in response, highly suspicious of where this was going.

"Better than-"

"Don't you fucking say it," you interrupted him sharply, turning your head a little to look back at him, just in time to watch the wicked smirk on his face turn into a pout, an annoyingly adorable pout at that.

You sighed and turned your head back, away from him, uttering quietly, "yeah, it was better."

Hawks hummed happily. "Better than-?" he cooed, cutting himself off intentionally to tease you.

Testing the waters, you gently pulled away from him, confirming that he had softened and slipped out with ease. You lifted up into a seated position and shimmied to the edge of the bed. Hawks hadn't moved an inch, you realized, when you paused to look back at him.

"The best I've ever had," you sighed at him. "Happy?"

He closed his eyes, beaming a smile at you. "Yep!" he chirped, wings twitching subtly behind him.

"Are you staying, pretty bird?" you dared to ask, just a little fearful that he would take that opportunity to see himself out.

"I sure hope so," he replied. "Or are you the kind to throw men out to the cold when you're done with them?"

You leaned over the bed to give him a playful, harmless smack on the top of the head. He let you, smile not faltering and not flinching in the slightest.

"I might start tonight," you teased.

Still, you gently pushed his hair out of his face, preening him until you were satisfied, and stood up. You couldn't help but stare at him for a moment, spread out on his side, beautifully naked and looking happier than you'd seen him in ages.

"Gonna clean up. Keep the bed warm," you gently commanded him.

Just as you turned away from him, you felt his hand wrap around your arm, stopping you from retreating. You jerked back just a little, not expecting that sudden touch.

"Be mine," he requested.

It was possible that Hawks intended for it to come out demanding. It was, just a little bit; but, there was no missing the plea there, the fear that you were going to tell him that you belonged to no one, or that you didn't want what he was asking for.

You looked at him over your shoulder. The stern face he was making startled you a little. He was always joking about something, making dumb faces so people would underestimate him. It was rare to see him look like this, and you realized-

He was serious.

You gently peeled his hand off your arm. "I was yours when you stole my cigarettes, asshole," you beamed at him, a little bit more venomously than you intended.

That didn't stop Hawks from grinning like a madman.

"Fuck, babe. I love that dirty talk. Let's go again."

For some reason, that got you laughing. "Fuck off."

"Fuck me?" he teased.

You laughed again. "No."

#takami keigo x reader #takami keigo x you #takami keigo smut #takami keigo fanfiction #hawks x reader #villain hawks x reader #villain hawks fanfiction #villain hawks smut

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blackbat05 · 3 years

Text

Day by Day

Shangqi x Reader

A/N: My love for this man has hit an all time high so let me capitalize on it while I still can! If you read everything, I sincerely thank you for doing so!!! And holy cow 2 fics in 2 days have I gone back into my prime days?

Genre: PG-13

Notes: As the title mentioned, I’ll probably set it some time after endgame. You could see it as a prequel to my first post! Reader is a social worker and she’s just dealing with all the mess that the snap bought back. The reader’s name as Jen Lee. I also apologize in advance for the potentially long fic.

***

‘Excuse me, I’m looking for my child? Her name’s Wang Yiman and she’s seven.’ Another frazzled-looking parent fought her way to the front of the receptionist, approaching the helpless intern who looked like she was going to be on the verge of tears if another request came in.

‘I got this,’ a hand calmly reassured the young intern as she beckoned the relief parent. ‘Mrs Wang? My name is Jen Lee and I’m the social worker here.’ I offered my hand for the anxious mother. ‘Oh thank god! Is Yiman ok? She must have been so scared!’ I slowed to a stop outside the room at the end of the corridor, gently sitting her down.

‘Yiman has been a very brave girl Mrs Wang, but I will not lie to you. The sudden disappearance of their parents has traumatized a lot of kids. We’ve managed to explain to them what was going on but they will need a lot of support.’ I gave a glance over Mrs Wang’s shoulder, nodding to my colleague, Tammy who was holding the hand of a little girl in pigtails and a floral dress.

妈妈! mā ma (mommy!)

The young girl ran into her mother’s open arms, allowing the floodgates to open from both ends. I turn to Tammy as we shared a silent agreement to leave the area. ‘That’s the last one for the day,’ Tammy unceremoniously plops herself onto the chair, letting out a groan. ‘Thanks for your hard work Jen.’

‘Right back at you.’ I entered the last bit of paperwork before uploading Yiman’s case file onto the portal. Yiman’s reunion with her parents meant the Children and Youth Centre were halfway in getting every displaced child back to their parents. Looking at the dingy television that was hung on the walls at the waiting room, despite not being able to hear anything, it didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on. S.W.O.R.D was apparently in a stand-off against Wanda Maximoff? Reported rumors that Sam Wilson didn’t want anything to do with the shield? It’s been a crazy few weeks but that was utter-

‘Bullshit! If anything it’s the government. They must have psyched him into giving up the shield.’ My chair swiveled to face Tammy who returned a nonchalant shrug. ‘What? You know I’m right. Doesn’t matter if half the world’s gone or our universe gets split into two - they’re the true evil here. I’m still struggling to find a place after I found a couple making out in my apartment! And you know what the global repatriation council told me? We’re only dealing with urgent cases right now. Well I say f-’

The incessant ringing of the bell interrupted our conversation, replacing Tammy’s tirade into a cheeky grin. ‘Look who’s here!’

Shangqi stands behind the counter, dressed in his usual red varsity jacket and jeans, holding bags of what I could only make out as takeout from the Chinese restaurant that was run by a friendly Singaporean couple. ‘Did I interrupt something?’ He scratches his head nervously. ‘Nope, in fact you just saved me from Tammy’s monologue, any further and she’ll explicitly tell me what she saw in her apartment when she got dusted back that day,’ I shivered in mock fear. ‘Still haunts me up till today.’ Tammy meets us by the door, bag in her hand.

‘I thought you were staying? We got fried dumplings and 泡饭 pào fàn (poached rice).’

‘Last minute duty - A parent called, gotta run! Enjoy your dinner date.’ She waggles her eyebrows suggestively, much to our embarrassment. ‘What? It’s not...’ Shangqi stutters, trying to form intelligible sentences. ‘Get out before I throw a fried dumpling at your face Tammy!’ She winks at me, before darting out of the door. Once my nosy colleague was out, I turn towards a red-faced Shangqi. ‘I’m so sorry... just don’t mind her.’

‘Huh?’ The man was knocked out of his stupor. ‘Oh yeah... sure,’ in an attempt to forget everything that had just happened, he opened the packets of fried dumplings. ‘Ready for war?’

‘I was born ready.’

Thirty-five minutes later, all that was left were the remnants of fried dumplings and three empty containers.

‘This should be illegal,’ I patted my stomach in satisfaction to his amusement. ‘Laugh at yourself! You lost track of how many dumplings you had and ended up taking my share!’

Raising his hands in defeat, Shangqi starts to clear the table up. ‘So how’s the center? Everything alright?’ I nodded numbly.

The past five years had been a blur. Hazy, even. All I remembered was a kid running into the office telling me that half of the staff disappeared during a school holiday program that we were running with a dozen other kids. Parents who survived the snap rushed to our center, demanding to see their children. We couldn’t give them any answer as we too, were equally perplexed. Maybe the only thing that made sense was Shangqi and Katy bursting into the center to help us with the chaos.

Coming back from what could be the 1000th phone call, I got a glimpse in the children’s playroom where the five years old kids were at, treating myself to an amusing sight. They all had red cloths draped around their neck, each holding a stick that was from the abandoned prop box. Katy wasn’t spared to as she was wearing her own red cloth that seemed a few sizes to small for her. Not that she didn’t seem to mind.

‘Alright my warriors! Chargeeeeee!!!!!!’

In unison, little pairs of feet pattered across the room towards their ‘enemy’, a cardboard cutout of a monstrous creature who was really just Shangqi in disguise.

‘RAWR! I’ll eat anyone who stands in my way!’ He stands up, mimicking a dinosaur that was about to trample an entire city. I decided that the paperwork could wait, standing near the door to watch an Oscar-worthy performance. With great effort and bravery from the kids, they finally managed to take down 5 foot 10 worth of muscle.

‘Again! Again!’

I chuckled upon seeing Shangqi on the floor, about to drift off into wonderland. It was time for me to step in. ‘Alright kids that’s enough for today! Dinner’s here.’ As the kids dispersed with the help of Katy, it was just the two of us left to clear up the mess. ‘Thank you so much, both of you. I honestly can’t think of what would happen if you guys didn’t come to help.’

Perhaps my body language was screaming ‘I’m dead tired, please just knock me out’ as Shangqi takes a cloth from me, folding it back into the box. ‘It’s what we would have done, this place, it means a lot to us - to me.’

A small knock on the door diverts our attention away from the trash. Little Yiman stands at the door, as she stares at the both of us with big round eyes.

‘Yiman, it’s late, what are you doing here?’ I squat down to her eye level. The little girl beams, ‘ 妈妈 said that I could give this to you!’ She passes me a juice box together with a handmade card with colorful scribbles. Maybe I was carrying too much on my shoulders, as I suddenly felt a boulder lifted off me. ‘Thank you,’ I smile at her sweetly, ‘I love apple juice.’ Happy with the response, she runs to Shangqi. ‘Shangqi 哥哥 gē ge (brother)!’

He breaks out into a smile, opening his arms wide. Yiman nuzzles her head into his shoulder before breaking out into uncontrollable giggles from his sudden attack of tickles. ‘Are you hear to help Miss Jen?’ I took the trash from his hands, giving him some time with the girl.

‘Yes I am. Miss Jen needs some help so I’m here today!’

‘Are you her boyfriend?’

Shangqi freezes on the spot. He had undergone what could be the toughest training by his father, fought the greatest assassins in the world and here he was - stumped by a question from a seven year old. ‘Well... I’m her close friend since when we were very young,’ Yiman looks at him expectantly. ‘She helped me when I was in trouble so I had to be a good friend when she was in trouble too.’

‘Like how Ningning helped me when I injured my knee?’

‘Yeah... something like that.’ He breathes a sigh of relief, thankful to escape his first crisis. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure if he was telling himself the truth.

‘Yiman! Your mother’s here!’ The little girl gives him one last hug before running to the waiting room. Shangqi takes a moment to recollect himself. ‘Here I am thinking that you finally managed to have some stamina while interacting with young children, maybe I was wrong.’ I teased as I sat beside him.

‘Har har, hilarious.’ He tosses me a straw for our peach teas, as we were greeted by the amazing night view of San Francisco. ‘Enough about me, you good though?’ Looks like he didn’t forget the conversation that was cut off earlier. My mind goes back to a few minutes earlier, eavesdropping on the conversation.

‘I had to be a good friend when she was in trouble too.’

Life has been so unpredictable, I don’t even want to think too far into the future. With appearances from more superpowered beings, I don’t know what’s real anymore.

‘Yeah. To be honest, it’s been so crazy and overwhelming but I’ll get through it. I have you don’t I?’ Giving him a wink, I slowly sipped on the sweetness of the tea, savoring the pearls. He pauses for a moment, nodding thoughtfully.

Life isn’t the same as it was before. But maybe, just maybe... if I had Shangqi, I’ll take each day on one at a time. Day by day.

[END]

A/N: Hoho! I literally spent the whole afternoon writing because I just had to get this idea out and also because work was pretty slow today. I have no idea what is up with my first two fics hinting at unrequited love? I guess I got inspired by Shangqi’s and Katy’s platonic relationship because I thought it was so well written but I also love Shangqi so I guess is a compromise kinda thing. Again, do like and comment if you wish! Really thankful that y’all have been so kind to me so far!

Perhaps I’ll try my hand at shorter ones like headcannons before this girl exhausts herself out and I don’t want to do that because I believe I have more to show!

#xu shangqi #shangqi imagine #shangqi x reader #katy shang chi #shang chi #shang chi x reader

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emmies-archives · 3 years

Text

Heads and Tails

Genre: Fluff, Angst, College AU

Warnings: Aged up, smut, drinking, blowjobs, good old fashion drunk hookup, self degrading at one point, ahhh non descriptive smut....

Wordcount: 6.8k (my bad)

Summary: You slowly become best friends with Noya. One night you get drunk with him and Tanaka and it leads to drunk confessions. You two start dating afterward, you try to surprise him one day by at practice but his old feelings for Kiyoko bring out your insecurities when you see him talking to her.

A/N: This took wayyy to long to write, and it’s a lot longer than I expected. First piece for Haikyuu and I was drinking wine while writing most of it so please forgive typos. The ending is ehh because I just wanted to get it finished.

Inspired by a rp with @astrid-thirsts (....... Its not as much angst as I said)

You couldn’t remember the last time you were excited for a volleyball game. They weren’t something new you went to. You had always watched Karasuno’s boys team play, ever since you were little. Fond memories filled your thoughts whenever you thought about going to the matches. For a while though, there was something missing. The excited cheers from fans started to dwindle and you found less and less seats being filled. There were no longer group hugs when the team won. Replaced with hung heads and silent tears. But you kept going. Even as the boy’s losses stacked against them so high it cast a shadow big enough to drown them. Things started to change this year.

Rumors floated around the school pretty quickly. Apparently, there were knew recruits on the team and they had pretty good potential. It piqued your interest. If there was a chance that the team could start building back the foundation it once had, you wanted to be there to see it.

You decided to take the long way back to your dorm one day. It gave you a chance to walk by the gym where volleyball practice was held. You walked for a while, a tinge of excitement pooling in your stomach at the thought of maybe getting to see the team up close. For years you had watched them from high up in the bleachers. The only constant as the members came and went.

As the gym came into view, you slowed your pace. A part of you wanted to peek through the doors. With a sudden burst of courage, you went up to the doors. The few steps seemed like forever. Reaching a hand out to push one side open, your heart jumped when it slide open right when you touched it. The first thing you saw was a pair of bright brown eyes. The boy tilted his head a bit and you noticed a towel wrapped around his neck.

“Y/n? What are you doing here?”

That was one of the first times you had actually spoken to him, you weren’t even sure if he had known your name before. You weren’t a stranger to Nishinoya. He was in a few of your classes; you had just never really talked to him all that much. You didn’t know if it was the fact he was on the volleyball team, or that you had a huge crush on him but, it even thinking of talking to him made you nervous. I wasn’t like you didn’t want to talk to him, he was just overwhelming. Constantly full of energy, lighting up whatever room he walked into. The idea of just walking up to him and striking a conversation was intimidating. So, when one day you got paired together for a project you didn’t know if you were excited or scared.

It was easy to talk to him. A lot easier than you expected. Something about him always drew you in, even if he was going on and on about the volleyball team for the fifteenth time in the hour. The playful energy that exuded from him held a welcoming arm out to you. Like it was offering everything you’d ever wanted, even if he didn’t realize it. But you took it. Grabbed its hand and ran.

Its grasp eventually led to more nights spent with him, even after the work necessary for the project was finished. It sort of became the new norm for you. After his evening practice, you would either go to his dorm or he’d come to yours. The conversations came easier, shifting from class and volleyball to shared hobbies. You learned more about him than you ever thought you would. Every time you left his dorm, your head swarmed with the memories of the night. The entire walk home felt like you were floating, and you kind of felt ridiculous for it. The way your heartbeat sped up when he was close, or how your eyes lingered on him when he wasn’t looking shouldn’t happen. Especially because you weren’t sure if you’d ever get the courage to tell him your feelings. Little did you know, Nishinoya felt the same way.

He started to rush through the end of practice just so he could see you after. Just spending time with you was the best part of his day. He didn’t realize what his feelings were, just that he was happy when he was with you. It wasn’t until he brought you up to Tanaka at practice for the fifth day in a row did he slowly start to think different about you. Tanaka didn’t help either, teasing him about if that’s the reason he left practice early. If you knew about that, Nishinoya was sure you’d chew him out.

Your love for volleyball was only one of the things that drew him in. It was the way you always found the good in something, even if it felt like the world was ending at the time. One time he came texted you about a test in one of his classes, his grade ended up being a lot lower than expected and he was a little annoyed. You just offered to help him study for the next one, wanting to make him feel better. To him it felt like the entire weight was lifted off his shoulders just with that one response. There were other things too, of course. You were incredibly beautiful, catching his eye before you even became friends.

Months went by and the two of you fell in routine. He would meet you halfway between his dorm and yours before classes, walking you to yours which barely left him any time to make it to his. You told him you were fine when he mentioned it to you on accident one morning, but each day he stood under the same lamppost waiting for you. Slowly, without meaning to, you fell in love with him. But it didn’t feel like falling. It was more like stepping into a warm embrace.

“Yuu?” Your voice was quiet as you called his name for the second time in the past few minutes. Slightly amused you nudged him with your foot under the table, trying to get his attention. “Nishinoya?!”

“Oh, sorry!” He set his phone on the table, a goofy grin on his face when he looked up at you. “Did you need something?”

“I was helping you with your Algebra homework. Don’t tell me you forgot.”

“You’re going to be pretty disappointed then, because I haven’t done a problem in at least a half hour.” You couldn’t even be mad at him; all you could do was shake your head. He promised he’d work on his homework for the next hour. He lasted maybe ten minutes before groaning and pushing the paper away from him. “This is too boring. It’s a Friday, we should go out and have some fun!”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Wanna get drunk?”

Three hours later, after an embarrassing little bit of Nishinoya watching you get ready as he laid on your bed, you ended up in Tanaka’s dorm room. Drink in hand you sat in his desk chair as Nishinoya and him sit on the ground in front of you.

This wasn’t what you thought when he mentioned getting drunk, but it was fun, nonetheless. You preferred this. Nishinoya was a popular guy so you figured he’d bring you to one of the clubs near campus, but this felt different. Maybe even special. Just you two and his best friend. Something about it was heartwarming. Until Tanaka brought up their manager again. It had been so many times the night already that you were tired of hearing about it.

“I’m telling you, y/n. It is better when she ignores me!” Tanaka yelled emphasizing his words by throwing his arm out, causing his drink to slosh over the edge of the cup.

“Really? I would’ve thought that being ignored would hurt.” You say, trying not to glance at Nishinoya when you do. Your feelings completely opposite your words.

“No, no it doesn’t. I don’t know how to explain it. Noya! You try for me; I can’t think straight.”

“Ahh, I don’t know man.” You didn’t notice the slight discomfort lining Nishinoya’s words or the way he looked to you as he responded. Already on your fifth drink of the night, you started to feel your head swim past tipsy. You caught his glance smiling into your cup as you drank more of whatever concoction he had made you.

“How’s your drink, y/n?” Nishinoya asked standing to make himself another one.

“Really good actually!” Your voice was louder than you anticipated, making you cringe slightly. “How are you so good at making drinks?”

“I learned my secret from those old Italian grandmas on youtube. I just don’t measure anything, letting my heart decide what to put in it.” All you could do was stare at him as he demonstrated. Tossing random things into his cup, trying not to make a disgusted face at the amount of alcohol you watched him pour.

“Did you… put that much into all my other drinks?” His toothy grin was enough of an answer and you stared into your cup. You hadn’t even tasted the liquor.

Several rounds and a few shots later, it was your turn again. You had brought up the idea to play truth or drink. It was a game you had always played with your girl friends back home, so you decided why not. The amount of alcohol in your system didn’t help either.

“So, y/n.” Tanaka started, you could already see the evil look in his eyes. “Out of everyone on the volleyball team, which one of use would you want to hook up with?”

The question should’ve startled you, it probably would’ve if you hadn’t had the boost of vodka running through your veins and the newfound courage that came with it. Your answer came with no hesitation, you even looked into his eyes as you said it.

“Noya.” Your eyes flicked from his wide eyes to the growing smile on his lips. Not at all aware to the blush that flooded his cheeks.

“Oh, dayum. I thought for sure you’d drink to that one.” Tanaka said but you didn’t really pay attention to his words. Your eyes focused on Nishinoya, feeling like if you ripped them from him. You’d never be able to look him in the eyes again.

“You’re turn, y/n.” Nishinoya’s voice was quiet, almost a whisper. Not able to tear his eyes away from yours.

Caught up in the moment, you direct your question towards him. “Yu-“

Your words are cut off as Tanaka lets out a loud groan, drawing your attention to him.

“Grossss, you guys can take that shit elsewhere. I’m gonna text Kiyoko again.”

That’s how you found yourself sitting on one of the campus’s benches, your side nearly pressed against Nishinoya.

“Y/n, you look so beautiful under the light from the lamppost.” In your drunken state, you found his normally constant flirting cute. Your cheeks burn lightly from the deep blush resting on them. The two of you sit in silence after that. Neither of your quite ready to go back to your dorms.

“You know, I never got to ask you my question.” You say as you lean your head against his shoulder.

“You’re right, I forgot.” His response was short, but you could hear the hopeful tone swimming in it. “You can ask me now if you still want to.”

“Yuu, will you kiss me?”

“I don’t think that would’ve worked as a question, y/n.” He answered.

“God, just shut up and kiss me.” You quipped back, moving to face him. He didn’t even respond. Cupping your cheek, you both leaned in, you were too impatient to wait for him. The kiss was soft and sweet, ending too soon. You wanted more.

Ten minutes later after dragging him to your dorm you pushed the door open. Thankful you didn’t share it with anyone as you pulled him into the room. You gently pushed him to sit on the bed, sitting on his lap arms wrapped around his neck loosely.

“I wasn’t kidding. He spoke. “You really do look amazing tonight.”

You hummed in response, not trusting your voice. Staring into his warm brown eyes, the fairy lights that light up your room danced in the reflection of them.

“You’re so handsome, Yuu.” Your voice is quiet and uneven as you talk. “You always are, I know I’ve never told you that before.”

“You’re drunk, y/n.” His voice matched yours as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

“It’s your fault, dummy.” You shook your head, laughing at the amount of alcohol he probably put into your drinks, not realizing how fast you would drink them. “I meant what I said you know.”

“Really? I thought that was just for the game, you wouldn’t prefer someone else?” You could see the hope swirling in his eyes.

“Absolutely not. I don’t like anyone else.” You answered while your hands gingerly played with the ends of his hair.

“You like me?” His eyes widened at your statement and you couldn’t help but laugh a little.

“You didn’t realize?” You asked and he shook his head as his answer. “I thought I made it a little obvious, but yes I do.”

Your voice was nearly a whisper as you leaned in close to him. Breath ghosting over his lips, you could feel him shiver a bit and it put a smile on your face. He didn’t have to respond with words to make you know he felt the same way. Your lips connected again, this time different than before. Rough and passionate. Like he was pouring everything he was holding in into your lips. You did the same, every pent-up emotion you felt for him, every lingering gaze you spent trying to make yourself confess, every single thing.

The kiss became rougher, teeth clashing and noses bumping as you pulled closer to him. Unknowingly grinding your hips down into him at the way his tongue slipped into your mouth. A soft whimper slipping from your lips.

“Yuu..” You breathed out when he pulled away, panting himself.

“Fuck, y/n. Your lips are so soft.” He leaned in again, pulling you into another kiss. You could taste the lingering vodka on his tongue as it danced with yours. Both of you fighting for dominance. He groaned as you pushed your fingers into his hair, tugging gently at it. He jerked his hips up and you could feel him against your core. “Sorry, I couldn’t help it. You’re just….”

“No, it’s okay.” You said, smiling as you slipped off his lap. Hands sliding down his torso, stopping at his waistband. The tent in his pants already obvious. You looked back up to him, waiting for him to give you some sort of confirmation you could keep going.

He grabbed your hands gently, leaning in to press another short kiss against your lips. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to. Just, let me take care of you.” Confidence flooded your voice in your drunken stupor. He could only nod at your words and you moved your hands lower, palming his hardness through his pants. Enjoying the quiet groans that fall from his lips at the sudden friction. You tug on his waistband and he shifts his hips up, helping you pull his pants down. You move up pressing your lips against his again as you slip your hand into his boxers. Feeling him hiss lightly against your lips at your hand against him.

“Ah, shit-“ You could barely hear his groans as you focused wrapping your hand around his cock, loosely stroking it.

“You’re already so hard, Yuu. Did my answer affect you that much?” He bit his lip nodding again at your words as you worked your hand. A smile tugged at your lips.

You moved down further, placing soft kisses against his abs. Feeling him shudder as you trailed down, stopping at his boxers before pulling them down all the way. His member springing free, slapping against his stomach

“You’re so pretty.” You ran your tongue up the underside of his cock lightly, admiring the way it twitched lightly in your hold before swirling your tongue around the tip as you pumped the rest of his length. Hearing his quiet groans pushed you forward, and you looked up to him, meeting his gaze and you slowly brought more of him into your mouth. Watching as his head fell back through your blurry vision.

“I should be the one saying that, y/n.” He said, his voice unsteady.

You pulled back with a pop, smirking up at him. “Don’t hold back, let me hear you.”

You wait for him to respond before dipping your head back down, taking him into your mouth again. A loud moan fell from his lips as you did, and you had to press your hands into his thighs to keep him from bucking up into your mouth. Once he stilled himself, you started wrapping your fingers around what you couldn’t fit into your mouth. Swiping your tongue over the slit that leaked precum already.

You could feel his thighs twitching under you as you worked your mouth on him. Breathing through your nose and relaxing your throat you pushed your face down until your nose brush against his pelvis. The loud moan that ripped from his throat made you hum approvingly, and you moved your hand to play with his balls. When you pulled away just enough to breathe, he moved his hand to your jaw pulling you up to him.

“Want to cum with you.” Was the only thing he said before pushing up your shirt, helping you take it off. Biting his lip to concentrate on the clasp of your bra that for some reason he just couldn’t figure out. You grabbed his hands gently stopping him before unhooking it yourself throwing it across the room. His heated gaze fell to your chest as he wasted no time in touching you. Squeezing, sucking, nipping. Every time his tongue danced around your sensitive nipples he grew more confident at the soft breathy moans you let out.

He backed up onto the bed, pulling you with him before crawling over you catching your already swollen lips in another rough kiss. You couldn’t stop the whimper the fell from your lips when he ground down into your core. It put a cocky smile on his face, something you weren’t used too.

“Noya, please.”

“What do you want me to do, baby?” His voice was low, and his words were muffled as he kissed down your neck. It was becoming too much, you wanted him. Needed him.

“Fuck me! Pleas-“

You didn’t get to finish your sentence as he pushed your legs open. Swiping the tip up and down your folds a few times before slowly pushing in. Your mouth fell open at the sudden fullness. He didn’t stop until he was bottomed out inside you. You looked up at him once started moving his hips, trying to paint the look on his face into your memory. His eyes blown out in lust as he fucked into you, the way he gritted his teeth trying to quiet the loud moans. It was the last clear image before the night completely blurred.

The next morning you tried recalling the events that occurred, and it only came in slivers. Like an old movie with holes burnt into the film. The pieces that you could interpret left you with memories of giving yourself to Nishinoya, and him to you. Maybe it was a good thing you couldn’t remember clearly. The way your head ached would’ve only been amplified by the weight of what you did last night. You tried not to think it was a mistake, but it was hard not to. Everyone has a drunken hook up once in a while. You’ve had your share, so why would this one be so different?

It was only when Nishinoya shifted beside you were you pulled from your intruding thoughts. You felt your body tense as he slid his arm over your side and bury his face into your shoulder. He mumbled something incoherent. There was a small voice in your head hoping he was still asleep. But it was nothing compared to the way you felt your heart speed up at the simple action. You closed your eyes telling yourself it was to stop your head from hurting, but you really just wanted to stay in this moment as long as you can. The soft, quiet calm before the shit storm you felt was coming. But, he proved you wrong.

Whispering your name softly as if not to wake you. You found yourself unable to answer him. Waiting to see what would happen, what your reaction to this should be. No matter how badly you wanted to be happy that this happened, you would take whatever came. You didn’t expect him to hum softly and feel his soft lips against your bare shoulder as he gently kissed it. Tangling his legs with yours, you felt him gently rubbing your arm. You couldn’t handle it anymore. His sweetness was too much, and you needed to look at him. Shifting in his hold you turned to face him. A small smile pulled at his lips when you did.

“Morning, y/n.” His voice was a bit raspy, and you found your heart speeding up again at the sight of his tussled hair. The memory of tangling your hands in it flashing across your mind and you couldn’t help the blush. “You okay?”

“Mhm. You’re just really hot.” The words spilled from your lips before you could stop them, and you groaned a little. “Fuck, ignore that. I’m still asleep.”

Nishinoya “When did we fall asleep?” Your voice was quiet, trying to ignore the way his eyes were lighting up at your touch.

laughed at your plea and shook his head, which made you reach up to push the hair that fell in his eyes.

“Honestly, I’m not sure. Was it we fucked for the sec-“

“Yuu!” Your hand covered his mouth, eyes wide at the way he could casually say it. It wasn’t like you didn’t want to talk about it. Just that you didn’t know where to even start. There were so many things you wanted to talk or ask him about now that you were sober. You just weren’t sure if you had the courage anymore. You dropped your hand and shifted your gaze from him, a little nervous.

“Something wrong? Oh no. You regret last night. I’m so sorry, I knew I should’ve waited to make a move when we were sober. I-“ His face pulled into a panicked stare and he started rambling before you cut him off again.

“No, Yuu. I don’t regret it at all. Not one bit.” You sighed looking back to him, trying to reassure his worry. “You were… really good. I just didn’t know how to talk about it.”

“Oh thank god. I was scared I fucked up.” He relaxed a bit, slipping his hand into yours. It warmed your heart how sweet he was being. “I don’t want to ruin this… whatever this is.”

“Do you remember what I said last night?” You asked meekly, hoping he did so you wouldn’t have to repeat it.

“Which part? You said a lot, most of it sounded like my name actually now that I think.” He laughed when you shoved his arm a little, glaring at him. “I know what you said. About liking me, and I feel the same way for you.”

“Then, what is this?” Your heart was pounding in your chest as you asked, and you hoped he couldn’t hear it. The next part you forced out, not wanting to hear the answer. Fearing it would be something that would hurt. “Is this just a one time thing?”

Nishinoya stared at your for a few seconds, completely silent. It felt like forever and the nervousness that pooled in your stomach started creeping up your body. The worst responses flashed through your head.

“No, I don’t want this to be a one time thing. Or anything casual either.” His voice was steady, and serious. You could tell he meant everything he said. “Do you want to go out with me?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Nishi. I want to go out with you.”

“Fuck yeah! Does this mean I can take you out on a date? I’ve been wanting to for a really long time just never thought I could.” He rambled a little and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“A date sounds perfect. If its anywhere other than our dorms, we spend too much time in them.”

“Yes!! I’ve been wanting to for so long, I just never thought you liked me back!” His arm slid around your side again and your felt the urge to bury your face into his chest. He squeezed you tighter when you did. “Can I tell Tanaka? I feel like we owe this to him!”

“Sure. But don’t mention what we did?”

“I cant promise you that.”

You two spent most of the morning and afternoon laying in your bed. There was something about him that made you let your guard down. You could talk to him for hours about random stuff and never get bored. It was a lot nicer in his arms too. You always imagined the way it would feel to be wrapped in his arms. Even when you thought you’d never tell him how you felt. It was nice to imagine though, but it was nothing compared to now.

His usual rough wildness on the court was replaced with a softness you didn’t know his arms had. They were always covered in scratches and bruises from practice. You found yourself tracing the dark marks on his biceps, admiring the contrast against his skin. He had a story for each one. Telling it to you as your finger ran over it, and you could picture each one. You’ve seen him on the court before, he was a fury to reckon with but you didn’t realize how aware he was.

The lazy cuddling only ended when both of your stomachs growled for the third time in thirty minutes. He reached over to your nightstand for his phone, asking if you wanted him to order food in. You were thankful for that, the headache from the lingering hangover still pulsated at the back of your neck.

When the food came, you put on a movie and the two of you ate in silence. It wasn’t an awkward silence. You knew there were things you could talk about if you really wanted to, but you found no need to. There was something about just sitting with Nishinoya that made a sort of warm feeling hold in your chest. It was relaxing, and almost familiar.

The next two weeks flew by. Your old routine with Nishinoya quickly turning into a new one. Instead of him asking you to study as an excuse to see you, he was already at your dorm when you got back from your last class. Each time you entered your dorm and found him sitting on your bed waiting for you made your heart soar.

What you felt for him before anything happened only amplified now. Lingering gazes turned into lustful ones, soft brushes became loving embraces. It was amazing. Everything you had dreamed of and more. It wasn’t until you came by one of his practices early to surprise him did the doubt slip into your thoughts.

You pushed open the gym door entering quietly, not wanting to interrupt anything. Your eyes scanned the gym looking for him and once you did, your excitement dropped a little. Him and Tanaka were standing next to their manager, the one Tanaka always went on and on about. It looked completely innocent, they were just talking. But you didn’t miss the way Nishinoya laughed or the bright look on his face as she said something.

You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but you didn’t even have to. He looked so excited, the way his face was flushed as he swayed on his feet. It was a simple action, they were only talking so why did it have to feel like this?

He had told you about his crush on her before, but explained it was long gone. That it had been nothing but a simple unrequited crush. But it stung seeing him so happy talking to her. Confliction twisted in your stomach. You didn’t want to be the type of girlfriend to get jealous over other girls, but this somehow felt different.

You went up to the first person next to you and quietly asked them to give the bento box in your hands to Nishinoya. It was their captain. You were a little familiar with him from watching all of their games, you just never talked to him before.

“Don’t tell him I came in. Just if you could say I dropped it off?” Your voice was unsteady and you could feel your hands shaking a little.

“Sure thing. Are you, y/n?” You could only nod as your eyes flicked back to Nishinoya still standing by their manager. “So you’re Noya’s girlfriend! I was wondering when we were going to meet you. I was beginning to think you didn’t exist, but he talks about you so much.”

“Yeah, I am. I didn’t realize he talked about me that much. I’m surprised you’re not sick of it.” You laughed nervously a little, trying not to look at them.

“No, he means no harm. He obviously really cares about you, I’m glad he has someone like you. From what I’ve heard, you seem like an amazing person.”

That hurt. You don’t know why it did, but it pulled at your chest heavily. You tried so badly to fight against the way seeing him over there picked at your brain but it didn’t work. Tanaka’s signature laugh echoed in the gym and your eyes moved to them again. Their manager was gone now, but you saw the way Nishinoya looked after her.

You could feel tears start welling in your eyes and you quickly excused yourself. Moving back toward the doors hoping to whatever gods were out there that Nishinoya didn’t see you leave. But, he did. Just as you slipped out of the door he saw you. You caught his gaze when you looked back one last time and it almost felt like the wind was knocked out of your chest.

Fighting everything inside you screaming to turn around and go to him, you ran the other way. You didn’t know what to even say if you were to go up to him.

“Y/n! Wait up!” Nishinoya yelled behind you and you gritted your teeth. Of course, he’d follow you, that’s just who he was. You slowed your pace knowing he’d catch up any moment. Facing away from him you felt his arms slip around your waist as he hugged you from behind. “Hey, sweetheart. I wasn’t expecting you here.”

You couldn’t say anything. It was like your voice was stuck in your throat even though you desperately wanted to speak. Eyes fixed on something in the distance you tried to wipe the upset expression from your face. Wanting nothing more than to turn and bury your face into him, you felt the frustration building in you.

“Y/n? Are you okay?”

The concern in his voice hurt. More than anything else so far. You were being stupid, there was no reason to worry. You knew that so why did you feel so shitty? When you didn’t respond he moved around to face you. The panic was evident on his face when he saw how upset you were.

“Baby, what happened?” His voice was soft, welcoming. You flicked your gaze to his eyes and felt a pang of guilt in your when you saw the worry flooding them. You couldn’t help but look away again.

“Nothing. I just forgot something.” Your voice was quiet, much quieter than you thought it’d be. It wasn’t very convincing, and you knew it.

“You don’t have to lie to me. Did something happen today? Is that why you came to practice?” You had to clench your jaw at his caring words. His hands cupped your face gently and you felt your lip quiver at the touch. Without meaning to, you leaned into his touch. Closing your eyes which made a tear slip from your welling eyes. “Baby, talk to me.”

You shook your head trying to shake his worry. “It’s stupid.”

You knew that wouldn’t work, but you tried. The feeling in your chest, frustration over yourself and the lingering hurt from seeing him in there became too much and you couldn’t hold it in anymore. Pushing his hands from your face and burying yourself into his arms. The warmth of them didn’t do much to soothe you this time. It almost had the opposite effect. When he hugged you tightly a sob was ripped from your throat.

Crying was something you never wanted to do in front of him. You knew it would just make him worry, and yet here you were wrapped in his arms as your tears stained his shirt. Guilt tore at you again at that thought. He was supposed to be at practice. This was completely your fault. You shouldn’t have even come here to begin with.

Maybe this was meant to happen. The universes way of showing you that you weren’t meant to be together. You could go back to your old ways, watching silently from the stands while she was down there with him. That thought tore through you hard.

Kiyoko was mesmerizing, there was a softness in everything she did. She was so much better than you in every way. What were you even compared to her? You kept replaying the way he looked at her in your head. He looked so happy. Did he ever look that happy with you? You began questioning everything your thought you had known about your relationship.

“Y/n!” Nishinoya’s voice ripped through your intrusive thoughts and you couldn’t help but gasp. You hadn’t even noticed when you knelt on the ground, completely focused inside your own head.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, Yuu. Go back to practice. I know I’m being annoying. I-I’ll go to my dorm, its okay.”

“What? No way, I’m not letting you leave.” He shook his head brows furrowing at your statements and apologies. “Let me help you…”

The way his eyes softened as you looked into them made a fresh wave of tears slip down your face. You found yourself spilling everything you were holding in with them. All your worries and fears, the reason you were crying. The way you felt you weren’t good enough for him.

“I saw you and your manager; I can’t help but think I’m not enough for you.” He didn’t say anything to interrupt your tear-filled rambling. “ You’re so amazing, and kind. You’re the best person I’ve ever met and I just…. Maybe you should be with Kiyoko. She’s so much better than me-“

“Stop.” He suddenly spoke out, “Stop it right now. You don’t get to say that about yourself.”

“But I-“

“No! I can’t believe you would even think like that.” His voice was raised a little causing you to snap your attention to his face. He looked so angry. The concern from before gone from his features. You couldn’t take your eyes off of his.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I just, I don’t think I make you as happy as you should be.”

“Stop apologizing, y/n. This is not your fault its mine.” That made you a little confused despite how upset you still were. This wasn’t his fault; he didn’t do anything.

“It’s not your faul-“

“It is though! I know I’m not that good at showing how I feel. That’s why I waited so long to do anything.” He shook his head as he talked, and you couldn’t pick apart the look in his eyes. “Should I have not asked you out? Would this have been better as a one-time thing?”

“What? No, Yuu. Don’t say that.” You felt your voice shake when you responded, it was so quiet you weren’t even sure if he heard you.

“I knew I’d hurt you. Do something to fuck this up. I couldn’t even keep this one perfect thing, could I? God I’m so stupid! This would’ve been so much easier if I wasn’t in love with you. Maybe we shouldn’t even have started dating, I’ve only been an ass to you.” His voice got louder as he berated himself. You knew he had a bit of a temper, but you never thought it would be toward himself.

“Yuu, stop.” He didn’t hear you as he continued beating himself up, “Yuu!”

You shoved his chest lightly to get his attention, panic coursing through your body. His eyes flashed to yours and the tears that spilled from them matched your stained cheeks.

“I’m sorry.. Fuck, I’m so sorry!” He scrambles toward you, diving into your embrace. You’ve never seen him angry like that and it scared you. He could tell, the look on your face when you pushed him made his heart drop. He pulled you to him again, this time he was crying. You felt the tears against your neck as he shoved his face into your shoulder. “Baby, I didn’t mean any of that. I promise. Please, please forget it. I’m not leaving you. Just don’t- don’t leave me.”

Hearing his desperate cries into you made your heart break, forgetting everything that happened before. You sat and held him like he did to you. Giving him a place to let all his fears out in the safety of your embrace.

“It’s okay, I’m not going anywhere.” You voice was basically a whisper as you ran your fingers down his hair, trying not to let the tears spill from your eyes again at they sadness in his voice and the way he clutched onto the back of your shirt.

“I’ve never loved someone before. I don’t know what I’m doing.” He spoke after a moment, he felt more relaxed in your arms and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Until you registered what he said for the second time.

“You love me?”

“Fuck. Did I say that?” He pulled away to look at you, eyes wide. All you could do was nod at his question, still processing it. “Shit, y/n. I, uh, ignore that.”

You shook your head rapidly, opening your mouth to say something. Anything. When nothing came out you leaned forward pressing your lips to his. His eyes flew open for a second but then he melted into your lips as his hands moved to bury themselves in your hair.

“I love you too.” You whispered into his lips, but he didn’t hear you. Too focused on your lips against his. You pulled back breaking the kiss to say it again, if you didn’t say it now you knew you’d regret it. He needed to hear how much he meant to you. “Yuu, I’m in love with you. I think I was before anything happened.”

“Really?”

“Let me finish!” You couldn’t help but laugh a little at his eager tone. “You’re so good to me, more than I think I deserve. Hearing you beat yourself up like that. I just…. Don’t ever, ever think I regret being with you for one second. The things you said…… Yuu, they’re not true. You need to know how much you deserve.”

“I’m sorry.” Was all he said. He knew he had a temper, and it usually was directed toward himself. Starting off as a simple thought and snowballing into full on degrading himself. You tilted his chin up making him look at you again, wanting to make him feel better. Pressing your lips to his again, this time less sweet. Deepening it by tugging on his shirt.

“If you don’t believe me… Let me show you just how much I love you, Nishi.” It took one look into your dark gaze for him to understand what you meant. His face flushed and you almost giggle at the sight. “I was heading back to my dorm, why don’t you come with me?”

“But, Daichi….” Nishinoya glanced back at the gym quickly before looking back to you.

“It’s okay, I can wait. Alone. In my dorm. Who knows what I’d do while you’re at practice…..”

“No fucking way, I’m coming with you” That was the first practice he missed on purpose.

#hq nishinoya #nishinoya angst #nishinoya smut #hq fluff #nishinoya x y/n #nishinoya imagine #nishinoya yu x reader #nishinoya yu #pls forgive me #I wanted to add more angst but it was too long already #Haikyuu #haikyuu nishinoya #Nishinoya x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu smut

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peggyrose19 · 3 years

Text

What Happens in Vegas Doesn’t Always Stay There

i was gonna do homework but i got inspired and wrote this instead. i also took a 90 minute nap at 6pm so now i’m bouncing off the walls and can’t actually make myself focus for longer than 30 seconds.....what was i saying? anyways this really got away from me wow. i have no regrets.

characters by @lumosinlove

@im-oknutzy-trash, @wonder-womans-ex

cw: mentions of characters being drunk, swearing, idiot gays

Alex wasn’t sure how on earth they’d gotten on the topic of marriage. But conversations were always chaotic between the three of them so really he shouldn’t have been so surprised. Besides, if he was being honest with himself, he’d been thinking about it far more than he cared to admit.

He enjoyed the idea, the three of them being married. Making the commitment to each other. It wasn’t legal, but that didn’t matter. They could still be married in spirit. Maybe one day it would even happen.

“Y’know, Alex and I are married,” Kasey said casually, raising the bottle to his lips. Natalie gaped at him.

“You what?”

Alex laughed. “I forgot about that.”

Natalie glanced between the two of them quickly. “Please explain.”

With a laugh, Alex just shook his head. “We were playing Vegas in 2015, right after they legalized gay marriage, right? Both of us got shit-faced drunk and, in our drunken state, decided that getting married was an obviously very sound plan.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Well, after we had sobered up, we had kind of....forgotten it happened.”

“Then a few days later I was going through some pictures on my phone for whatever reason, and found one from that night, of the two of us holding a marriage certificate. Alex found it in his suitcase when we got home.”

Alex and Kasey both watched Natalie expectantly. For a long moment, she just stared at them in disbelief, mouth open almost comically wide. Then she burst out laughing.

“Oh my god,” she cackled. “I cannot believe you two.”

Kasey shrugged. “We never got around to getting it annulled. I suppose neither of us particularly wanted to. We could now, I guess. If you wanted us to.”

Nat’s laughter faded. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Well what about you?” Alex asked before Kasey could, as synced with him as he always had been.

“What about me? I don’t need a piece of paper to say I’m in love with you two, not to mention it’s impossible anyways. One day we can have a ceremony with our family and friends and it’ll be dramatic and over-the-top, but for right now? I don’t need anything else.”

Alex very nearly melted at that. He glanced over at Kasey, unreadable to most everyone else, who was smiling that half smile Alex loved so much.

“You wanna get married someday?” he asked quietly.

“Hell yeah, I do.”

Alex had never spent a whole lot of time with Sirius Black. He was a bit of an enigma to him, someone so well-known in the media but so secretive in real life. These days, everyone knew Sirius as the first gay NHL player, and the first player to be married to his own teammate. Alex had gotten to know him as Kasey’s teammate, as a good player and captain. So when he found himself beside Sirius and Remus in a crowded bar, he wasn’t entirely sure what to say to the two of them. He could have gone and joined Kasey and Natalie, somewhere on the dance floor together, but he had never been one for public dancing.

“So. How does it feel to be married?” he asked the pair, who immediately glanced at each other and grinned sappily.

“Really good, man,” Sirius replied, not-so-subtly grabbing Remus’ hand. Alex smiled at the gesture. “And being on the same team is great, I mean we get to see each other so much more now.”

“Yeah, it’s cool,” Alex replied unthinkingly, remembering playing with Kasey even before they were together and relishing in the closeness it brought, the long hours they spent together both on and off the ice. He’d missed having that recently.

“What?”

Alex burst out laughing before he could stop himself, receiving a confused look from Remus and a glare from Sirius.

“You good?” Remus asked warily.

“Fine, fine.”

“What d’you mean ‘it’s cool’?” Sirius asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Ah jeez.” Alex shook his head at himself. “Well, might as well get this over with.”

“Get what over with? Alex what the hell are you talking about?” Sirius looked bewildered, watching him with equal parts suspicion and confusion. Remus too was frowning, but there was a knowing look in his eye, as if he was starting to catch on.

He sighed heavily. “It’s possible Kasey and I got married like, six years ago.”

“What.”

“Yeah. Back when we were on the Rangers together, we were playing Vegas when gay marriage was legalized. And the two of us got shit-faced drunk and decided getting married was a good idea. Then we promptly forgot about it in the morning and once we finally remembered, never actually bothered to annul it. So. We’re still married. Technically. According to the state of Nevada.”

Sirius and Remus both stared at him, expressions strikingly similar to Natalie’s. Alex eyed them warily, unsure what was going to happen now.

“You mean we’re not the first NHL players to marry each other?” Sirius asked, and he seemed so genuinely disappointed Alex had to fight back a laugh.

“Uh, I guess not?”

“Merde,” Sirius swore. Remus just looked at him.

“Does that really matter?” he asked amusedly.

“Of course it matters! We’re the first, Remus! This is a very important development.”

“Okay,” Remus laughed, nodding along. “Whatever you say.”

Sirius just grumbled under his breath.

“Hey Harz, how attached are you to your brother exactly?” Sirius asked at practice the next day, and Kasey glanced over at him. Alex had filled him and Natalie on their conversation the night before, and Sirius’ newfound knowledge was not likely to lead to anything good.

Finn frowned. “He’s alright. Why, what’d he do?“

“Got married, the little fucker.”

Finn dropped the jersey he’d been holding. “What, he’s married? Since when?!”

“Did Nat finally propose?” James piped up.

“He’s not married to Nat,” Sirius said.

If possible, Finn looked even more confused. “He’s not married to Nat?”

“No he’s fucking married to Winters.”

Finn just gaped at Sirius. James looked positively delighted. “What- our Winter?” he asked. “Like, Kasey Winters... the Lions goalie?”

“Standing right here,” Kasey added. He fought a smile.

Finn glared at him. “Explain yourself right now.”

Kasey squirmed a little under the sudden attention, but he couldn’t fight a laugh. Of course this was how they were all going to find out.

He sighed. “Long story short, Alex and I got ridiculously drunk one night in Vegas and decided to get married for shits and giggles, and then we never did anything about it.”

“What the fuck.” Finn was the first to break the silence. “What the fuck what the fuck.” He grabbed his phone from his stall and opened it, aggressively tapping at the screen. “Alex!” he very nearly shouted into his phone. Kasey could hear his bright laughter through the phone. “What the fuck?”

“Don’t bug him, Finn,” Kasey tried, but the red-head would hear nothing of it.

“Alex O’Hara, you get your ass down here now,” Finn demanded into the phone, and then promptly hung up. Kasey just shook his head and went back to getting dressed. A few moments later, the locker room door squeaked open and Alex stood before the team, wearing his Winters jersey and fighting a smirk.

“Something wrong Finn?” he asked with feigned innocence.

“Yes, you little shit. Sirius said you’re married? To Kasey?”

Alex’s eyes danced. “It’s possible.”

Finn’s eyes narrowed. “Prove it.”

“Finn how the fuck do you propose I do that?”

He jerked his head towards Kasey. “Kiss him.”

Alex frowned. “Dude, we’re literally together, you know this.”

But Finn’s jaw was set stubbornly, and Kasey knew that look never meant anything good. So Alex sighed good-naturedly and crossed the room to Kasey, stopping in front of him.

“Okay?” he asked quietly, meant only for Kasey’s ears. He nodded minutely.

Alex smiled softly, then leaned forward and captured his lips in a gentle kiss, one hand coming to rest on the small of Kasey’s back, the other cupping his cheek. After a moment he pulled away and looked expectantly back at Finn, staring at the two of them with a mixture of shock and approval.

“Satisfied?” Alex asked smugly, staying tucked against Kasey’s side. Kasey would never admit it, and certainly not in front of the team, but he rather enjoyed having Alex here, feeling his warmth even through the pads, knowing he’d later be watching the game and cheering him on.

“Fine,” Finn grumbled. “But I still can’t believe you kept that a secret.”

Conflicting emotions crossed Alex’s face, there and then gone, invisible unless one knew to look. Kasey knew the unintentional pain Finn’s words had on his brother, and knew Alex was far too polite to get into it with Finn right then.

“Talk to him later, baby,” Kasey whispered to Alex, hiding it by pressing a kiss to his cheek. “It’ll be okay.”

Alex nodded, hiding the pain with a good-natured smile. But he stayed pressed against Kasey, and that told him all he needed to know.

“Hey Finn!” Alex called out, jogging down the hallway to catch his brother, leaving with Leo and Logan.

“Yeah, what’s up?” he asked distractedly, still glancing down at his phone.

“I need to borrow you for a moment.” Finn looked up at him, eyes narrowing, before murmuring something to his boys. They both nodded and kissed him before continuing on towards the exit.

“What’s up?” Finn asked, clicking his phone off and sliding it into his pocket.

“I um...” Alex trailed off, finding himself suddenly without words, despite thinking over what he wanted to say earlier. “Just wanted to talk.”

“If this is about before, you don’t have to worry about it,” Finn interrupted gently before Alex could continue. “It’s okay. I get why you kept it a secret.”

Alex released a breath and stared at his little brother. He felt like he was just now seeing him for the first time, and seeing the man he had become in the past few years. He’d never noticed before, the understanding and kindness behind Finn’s lighthearted gaze.

“How did you know?”

Finn shrugged. “You’re easy to read.”

When Alex got home, he found Natalie watching television on the couch, Kasey seemingly asleep on her lap. She smiled when he appeared in the doorway, beckoning him over silently.

“You talk to Finn?” she asked silently as he slid in on her other side. She let him lean into her, tossing the blanket over him as well.

“Yeah.”

“And?”

Alex shrugged. “He was... surprisingly understanding about the whole thing. I didn’t even have to say anything. He just seemed to know.”

“Yeah, he’s like that sometimes,” Kasey mumbled, and Alex jumped a little.

“Hey, you’re awake.” Kasey didn’t bother sitting up, but he opened his eyes and looked blearily up at the two of them.

“Yeah. Was just resting.”

The three of them fell silent then, letting the comfortable silence settle over them.

“Hey Nat?” Alex broke the silence after a while.

“What’s up?”

“Were you serious about the whole marriage thing? Do you really want to get married at some point? Like, not married married. But, you know.”

“Yeah, I do,” she replied sincerely. “Maybe not yet. I don’t think we’re ready for that yet. But at some point.”

“I’d really like that,” Kasey said quietly.

“Me too.”

She smiled. “We should go to Vegas. Bring the whole thing full circle, y’know?”

Kasey huffed a laugh, “Whatever you want.”

#o'darwin #alex o'hara #finn o'hara #alex and finn being brothers #idiots in love #natalie being the amazing being she is #sirius being dramatic #marriage talk #kasey and alex being drunk fools #sweater weather #coast to coast #lumosinlove

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boxofbadaddiction · 4 years

Text

Nothing's More Important Than Quidditch

Fred Weasley x Reader

Warnings: Some Swearing. Highly Suggestive. Someone gets hurt.

This story is inspired from a request of my F.R.I.E.N.D.S Themed Prompt List.

Using Prompts two and three: "OH...MY...GOOOOD!"/"MY EYES! MY EEYEES!"

Fred and George Weasley were men of simple tastes. They liked pranks, food and Quidditch. Though if you were to ask Fred he would argue that there were nothing more important than Quidditch.

He'd never missed a game. Never missed a practice, and had been able to afford it he'd never miss a Cup. So that being said, you can imagine how shocked his team were when he told them he wasn't feeling well enough to train tonight.

"You're dying aren't you?"

"What? No, Lee. I'm not dying!"

"Then I'm sorry I mustn't have heard right when, the Fredrick Gideon Weasley, just said he wasn't well enough to play Quidditch?"

"Piss off."

It was Sunday lunch in the Great Hall and Angelina had the whole Gryffindor team huddled together. She was discussing her newest game strategies when Fred spoke abruptly, all eyes bulging at his words. Expressions a mixture of confusion and concern. Fred never. Missed. A. Game.

"Hey!" [Y/N] had arrived and happily sat her self amongst her close group of friends. "What's with the faces?" Her brows furrowed as she filled a Goblet with her favourite drink.

"Fred says he's not training Tonight." Angelina answered, still gawking at the Redhead in question.

[Y/N] choked on her drink. "He's what!?" She coughed, hand on her chest in shock.

"It's not a big deal!" Fred groaned. "I've just got one cracker of a headache. Need to sleep it off and I'll be right as rain." He forced a smile, though to the group it appeared more as a painful grimace.

"Well, I do hope you feel better." [Y/N] leant over the table, placing her hand atop of his to offer some comfort with a reassuring smile. "What about the rest of you?" She straightened herself, taking a pastry from the bowl infront of them as she did so.

"We're still training" George replied, "Not all of us roll over because of a wittle headache" he pouted at his brother, trying to stir him up. Fred retaliated, through the light laughter of his friends, by throwing a bread roll at his brother.

"Coming to watch, [Y/N]?" George spoke, still laughing as he brushed crumbs from his clothes.

"Afraid I can't, tonight."

"What!?" Lee groaned, "come on! I'm going!"

"Yes, well as tempting as it may be to spend more time by your side Lee", she leant into him with doey eyes batting her eyelashes flirtatiously, hands cupping his bicep. Returning to her previous position she continued, "I have so much Homework to do it's not funny. I'll find myself joining the next Headless Hunt if I don't hand Snape his Most Potent Poisons Assessment tomorrow."

"Barrell of fun you two are, today" George rolled his eyes.

"Right, well the rest of you. We've got training to do!" Angelina stood, gesturing for the Quidditch team to follow. Somewhat begrudgingly, with various disapproving moans escaping their lips, they made for the Pitch.

"Positive you'll be okay, Freddie?" George lagged behind in a final ditch effort to convince his brother to join them. "You could always just watch from the stands."

"I'm positive, Georgie. I'm just not right at the moment."

"Do you want me to stay? I will if that's what you'd prefer..."

"Who are you? Mum now?" Fred joked "Get out of here you sap!" He waved his arm as if trying to shoo him from the hall.

"Don't worry, George. I'll look after him" [Y/N] assured.

"Such a faithful little bestie you are." He said while ruffling her hair. "Alright then, see you two in a couple hours" he waved to them as he ran to catch up with his team.

"Come on you. Let's get you to bed." [Y/N] spoke to Fred and they made their way to the common room.

---

So much for a couple hours. Mere forty minutes later saw the same team arriving back through the Fat Lady.

"How was I supposed to know she was right behind me!?" George complained loudly, followed closely into the room by the light giggles of Lee and Harry. No such laughter, however, could be heard from the mouth of the Gryffindor Captain.

"A concussion George! You gave Katie a concussion!" She was near shouting at the boy.

"I SAID I WAS SORRY! I didn't see her!" He threw his arms up in defence. "Pomfrey says she'll be right in a few days, what's the fuss?"

"The fuss, George, is that we just lost a whole night's training! You're just lucky our next game isn't for another fortnight, Weasley. I have to take Katie some things for her stay in the Hospital Wing, YOU! had better think fast about how to make this up to her." With a final menacing point of her finger Angelina stormed off towards the dormitory she shared with Katie.

"Should we check on Fred?" Lee spoke to break the guilty silence.

"Yeah, hey - don't forget to tell him how his Golden Boy brother sent our best chaser to the infirmary!" Harry goaded making his way over to Hermione and Ron by the fire.

"Little prat" George grumbled as he and Lee made their way to the dormitory. Lee was laughing hard at his friends remark."He doesn't watch it he won't be 'The Boy who lived' for much longer. Might pick up where You-Know-Who left off." George went on as he leant his back against the door, pushing it open as his hand twisted the door knob. Lee's laughter only increased.

"I'd like to see you- OH...MY...GOOOOD!!" laughter and smiles faded instantly as his eyes fell on the tangled mess of sheets and the bodies of his two close friends in place of where Fred should have been resting.

The sudden exclamations catching the attention of [Y/N] and Fred, their eyes shooting directly across the, should have been empty, bedroom.

"SHIT!" Fred yelled as he pulled off of [Y/N] and covered her with his blanket. "YOU WEREN'T MEANT TO BE BACK FOR A COUPLE HOURS!"

"MY EYES! MY EEYYEES!!" George screamed dramatically. Turning away from the scene he covered his face by his hands, desperately trying to lose the imagine of his brothers and best friends mostly naked bodies.

"It's not what you think!" [Y/N] began, throwing Fred's jumper on over her head which could very well have been a dress on her. She stood, tugging at the material willing it to stay in place before fixing her hair.

"It doesn't look like you were napping!" Lee snapped sarcastically, "nor does it look much like a POTIONS ASSIGNMENT!"

"[Y/N]" George began, not turning to face the two - rather speaking to the ceiling as his back faced them. "I know you said you'd look after my brother but MERLIN I should have laid out some guidelines, that is not how you handle a headache."

Fred had put on a pair of trousers and a singlet and quickly made his way to stand infront of the two boys, arms out pleadingly, "I know you're both a little shocked right now and this is going to take some time to process but for the love of GODRICK!" He clenched his teeth and spoke in a low growl, "would you keep your voices down before the entire bloody common room hears yo-"

"WHAT'S GOING ON!?" Ron had burst through the door. "Oh God" Fred groaned throwing his head back walking away from the door.

"We heard shouting, is everything okay?" Hermione asked frantic, as Harry followed her in.

"Yes, Hermione everything's fine -" [Y/N] went to explain.

"NO!" Lee interrupted "NO! THEY'RE DOING IT!" He screamed pointing his finger accusingly at the two red-faced teens. Harrys eyes were wide with shock.

"It's not what you all think! Please just listen to me..." Fred begged as [Y/N] stood beside him. Looking to one another defeatedly.

Everyone, aside from George, turned to face them. Awaiting the explanation as to why these two had been...doing what they were.

"Uhmmm..." seeing the group stare before him suddenly ran Freds mind blank. "This isn't the first time this has happened. Actually it happens a lot." Not the best opener. The group grimaced, looking very uncomfortable at their friends confession. [Y/N] dropped her head into her hand. "What I mean is" he tried to recover, "this isn't a one time deal. We're not just fooling around, we're..." the words caught in his throat.

What were they? A couple? Was he wrong and they were just friends with benefits? What was this?

They looked at one another, Fred's eyes searching [Y/N]'s face for the answer. She smiled, grabbing his hand gently.

"We're together" she spoke. Eyes not leaving Fred.

"That's great and all. But this is still traumatising." Lee deadpanned as he gestured between the couple and Fred's bed.

George cleared his throat, "umm, yeah. I'm really happy for you two."

"That'd be more convincing, had you actually said it to us rather than the wall." [Y/N] laughed. Fred threw his arm over her shoulders, pulling her into his chest. Georges head turned slightly, eyeing the two in his peripheral before shutting his eyes tightly. Trying to muster the courage. "Yeah, sorry bout that just...it may be difficult to look at you the same for a while. I saw a lot more than I'd had like to." Everyone laughed at the comment. The light atmosphere helping him to relax a bit he turned to face them. Even if his eyes fixed to anything but them.

"Wait a minute." Harrys laughter had stopped completely. "Did you two plan this whole thing?"

"I guarantee we never planned on getting caught" Fred replied.

Rolling his eyes Harry continued "ditching practice I mean."

Lee and George both looked at each other before slowly turning to glare at the couple.

"Well. Yeah" [Y/N] answered.

A slow clap started to sound throughout the room as Lee and George mockingly applauded the two. "Well done. Truly you two that was quite the convincing performance." George smirked. "Honestly, [Y/N], that spit take really sold the whole thing. Couldn't have done better myself." Lee nodded as she playfully curtsied with her hand on the seam of Fred's jumper.

"WELL!" Lee clapped once loudly, rubbing his hands together. "This calls for a celebration. Shall we?" He bowed to the door, ushering everyone from the room.

"Ummm Lee. Mind if I put some pants on first?"

"If you-OH! right. Yeah. Meet you two down there!" He was the last to leave, closing the door with a quick wink.

Fred and [Y/N] looked shyly back to one another before breaking into fits of side splitting laughter. Fred wrapping his arms around her waist as they calmed down.

"So...we're together, huh?" He grinned resting their foreheads against one another.

"Only if that's what you want." [Y/N] placed her hands on his chest, eyes nervously searching his.

"That's all I've ever wanted" he moved a hand to the back of her neck, pulling her lips into his. Kissing her like he never had before.

Fred and George Weasley were simple men. They liked pranks, food and Quidditch. Though if you were to ask Fred, he would argue there were nothing more important than Quidditch. Well...maybe one thing.

#prompt list fics #prompt list #writing prompts #hp imagine #harry potter fanfiction #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley smut #George weasley #fred weasley one shot #fred weasley imagine

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juniorgman187 · 3 years

Text

Serpent of Eden (Part 1 - Reid Series)

Maybe he stole her innocence. Maybe she never had any . . .

Summary: Reader’s one night stand with Spencer turns into a year-long semester. (yes, for all you PLL fans, this is largely based off of Ezra and Aria don’t @ me)

A/N: Strongly suggest listening to “From Eden” by Hozier while reading 😌 Couple: Fem!Reader x Professer Spencer Reid Category: Fluff, Angst, Series Content Warning: allusions to teacher/student relationship, age-gap, allusions to penetrative, public sex Word Count: 3k

BIG BIG BIG THANK YOU TO @andiebeaword @inkstainedwritergirl @thelovelyrose and @imagining-in-the-margins for their help with the title!!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Babe

There's something tragic about you

I’d been absentmindedly humming the song as soon as I heard the opening tune, giving the song more attention than the impatient bartender in front of me who had to wave her hand in my face to bring me back to earth.

“Hello?” She set her weight on one hip, clearly annoyed with me. “What do you want to drink?”

“Oh, right, sorry. Just a water please.”

Mild humiliation manifested on my face, earning the concern of the stranger beside me.

“You okay down there?”

I laughed softly to mask my shame. “I’m a bit jet-lagged. I just got back from Europe.”

I hadn’t noticed him sitting there before, probably because I practically slept-walked into this place by happenstance, but once I answered him, my eyes naturally drifted in his direction. Consequently, I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

Something so magic about you

Don't you agree?

He was charming in the most peculiar way. His hair was a mess of curls, that I positively adored for a reason I couldn’t quite figure out; a stark contrast to his clean suit that targeted my insatiable desire for sharply dressed men.

“Where in Europe?” He asked with genuine curiosity, sipping from a mug with steam floating out of it.

“Iceland.”

He raised his eyebrows in earnest surprise. “I heard it’s beautiful there.”

“It really is. The waterfall we visited was insane. Here, lemme show you a picture,” Pulling out my phone, I leaned over the seat between us to show him a photo I’d taken of the waterfall, not even realizing how close he was until I smelled his cologne. It was such a unique scent that I knew I could only ever associate it with him, even if I were to never smell it again.

There's something lonesome about you

Something so wholesome about you

Get closer to me

I brushed aside the nervousness I felt from his close proximity and slid back into my rightful spot a seat away. “You should definitely go if you’re considering it. I’m planning on going back this summer.”

“Yeah, I’m, um, I’m definitely considering it.” He grinned, displaying a pair of dimples that made me weak. I let myself wonder if I was the reason he was considering going.

Unconsciously, I turned my bar seat fully towards him, showing that he had my undivided attention, and asked, “So do you go to Hollis?” Referring to the college just nearby that I attended.

“No, no. I graduated ages ago, but um, I work at Quantico.”

“Quantico? Like FBI Quantico?”

“That’s right. I’m, uh, I’m a profiler for the Behavioral Analysis Unit. We specialize -”

“In building profiles for unidentified criminals. No, yeah, I totally know what you do! At the law firm I work at, the prosecutors use profiles all the time. That’s so cool that you do that.”

He wasn’t even mad that I’d interrupted him, no, he was glad. He smiled, looking almost proud of me.

No tired sigh, no rolling eyes

No irony

“So you work at a law firm?” His mouth hidden behind the rim of his cup.

Doing my best not to look at the way he licked the taste of coffee from his lips, I had to consciously keep my eyes steady on his as I answered. “Yeah, I do. There are like generations and generations of lawyers in my family, so I’m just continuing that tradition, I guess.”

The conversation paused for a moment again, while his stare lingering on me too long for comfort that I had to look away.

No "Who cares?", no vacant stare

No time for me

“I love this song.” I muttered under my breath, simply bringing it up to find a reprieve from his overwhelming gaze. From my peripheral, I caught him smirking, still staring.

“From Eden. B-32.”

Him simply knowing the jukebox number for the song felt like a sign.

Honey, you're familiar, like my mirror years ago

Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on his sword

“Hozier wrote it in a tongue-in-cheek way from the point of view of the devil looking at something innocent and seeing it as a missing part. The song tries to woo a woman while admitting that the relationship would be deeply flawed.” He informed me.

“Wow, that’s beautiful. Almost makes me want a forbidden kind of love.”

Oh, had I only known the irony of my sentiment.

“He’s so good with his prose and poetry. It’s actually what inspired me to go to Iceland. I thought a change of scenery might be good for writing. Not much here in Virginia that’s quite like the beauty of Iceland,” I rambled, catching myself and consciously slowing down the rate of my words. “But um, I don’t write anything really good, just stuff that’s for me mostly.”

“I’m impressed.”

“Why?”

With the utmost nonchalance, he stood from his chair, sliding his drink down the bar with him as he took the empty seat closest to me. I tried not to let my vision drift from his face to his actions, in the same way that he kept his gaze firm on him while he spoke.

“Well, I tried writing, but I didn’t get very far. You’re lucky. If you’re writing for yourself, it’s true passion,” He paused to glance at his empty glass, like he was debilitating whether or not to say this next part. “Maybe you’d let me read some of it?”

"Yeah. Sure. If you really want to.”

“Yeah, I’d love to,” He chuckled. “You’re smart, you’re well-traveled - great taste in music. I’d like to know more about you.”

Innocence died screaming; honey, ask me, I should know

I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door

Maybe the flattery got to my head, but I couldn’t help the sudden surge of confidence bursting through my veins.

“I’d like to know more about you, too.” I confessed.

Needless to say, we didn’t waste another second getting to know each other.

Well, as much as you can get to know someone after you fuck them in the bathroom of a bar.

Babe

There's something wretched about this

Something so precious about this

Where to begin?

. . .

“And where have you been, young lady?” Holly asked, acting more like my mother than my roommate upon my return to the dorm.

“The Hollis Bar and Grill.”

“Doing what exactly?”

I would be remiss not to take up the opportunity for witty banter.

“Spencer.”

She rose from her seat at an ungodly speed to chase me down and force me to explain everything.

“Who is he?”

“Some guy.” I blankly answered, not finding it in my jet-lagged heart to recount every last detail.

“So is it just Spencer? No last name?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, do you usually ask your one night stands for their last name?” I shot her an accusatory stare.

“Oh, is that what we’re calling this? A one night stand?”

My agreeing nod was interrupted with the ear-splitting squeal of joy that erupted from Holly.

“You had your first one-night stand!”

“Say it any louder, would you?”

“Sorry, I’m just so proud of you! My baby’s growing up.” Pretending to wipe tears from her eyes, Holly pulled me in for a hug. The only way I could manage to get out of it was if I promised to tell her every little thing in the morning when I was well-rested, and fingers crossed, less jet-lagged.

As promised, in the morning, I revealed to Holly all the details of the night before, including, but not limited to our thought-provoking discourse, his appearance, and his performance.

“At the end, he told me, ‘I will never forget you.’” I gushed to Holly.

And he definitely meant it, because after tomorrow, he most certainly would not.

. . .

The first day back from Spring Break is typically the hottest day of the year, and today was no exception. It was breaching the three-digit-degree mark, which is how you know it’s hot, but we were still forced to endure the cruel and unusual punishment of wearing a uniform anyway. One that consisted of a white button-up, a plaid pleated skirt, and some type of University cardigan over it.

Usually, this didn’t pose a problem, and I would comply, but we’d recently been hit by an ongoing heatwave that didn’t look like it was stopping anytime soon.

Even as I got ready in the morning, with my windows shut and the air conditioning blasting, I was sweating like a pig. I had a paranoid feeling that my makeup would melt and run down my face by the end of the day, so I sat in front of the fan to cool myself off. I struggled with my hair - not that I didn’t normally struggle to style my hair every day because my kinky curls weren’t exactly manageable. But I had no interest in straightening it because I knew the humidity would just return it to its naturally curly state anyway, so I settled for letting it run wild. I’d probably work up a sweat trying to style it at all, honestly.

As I packed the last of my things into my backpack, I finally slipped on my Uni cardigan over the rest of my uniform to complete it. I’d been delaying this part for the better part of an hour because I knew exactly what would happen the second I put it on. And just as I anticipated - I felt faint. My cheeks grew pink the minute I stepped out of my dorm; exposing myself to the sun that was visibly beating down on everyone in the courtyard.

“Y/N!”

Behind me was Christina, who was jogging to catch up with me. To be considerate, I stopped walking, giving me the opportunity to look at her wholly. She was only wearing the skirt and the button up, with her cardigan wrapped around her waist.

“Are you allowed to wear your cardigan like that?” I asked after she finally caught up to me.

“No, but I’m going to do it anyway. Stick it to the man!” She threw up her fist into the air with a proud grin plastered on her face.

Ah, yes - stick it to the man. One of Christina’s favorite five-word mantras that she stuck by. The other being - we do what we want.

But, see, it was easy for her to say that because she never once faced repercussions for her actions. Take her hemmed skirt, for example. She shortened it by an inch - not allowed, by the way - but here she was, donning her hemmed skirt and receiving no punishment for it, not even earning a second glance from the campus security we just passed.

How she managed to get away with as much as she did was beyond me. The only way I could describe it was that she had this magical gift of invincibility - she could never get in trouble for breaking the rules, completely untouchable. But for me, I knew the second I acted out, I’d be sitting in front of the whole school board, begging them not to expel me. My luck was just that bad.

“You don’t always have to do what they say, you know?” Her words were tempting fate.

“Yes, I do.”

“Why do you always have to be such a goody-two-shoes? Why can’t you just let loose? You’ll have so much more fun.”

“But that’s just it - I’m not here to have fun, Christina! I can’t afford to mess around every day and break the rules. I’m not like you, okay? I actually had to work to get here.” My voice had taken on much more anger than the situation warranted, which I instantly regretted.

Her head cocked to the side in shock. “You don’t think I had to work hard?” Christina’s voice now matched my previous level of rage.

“I’m sor-”

“It’s fine. I’ll see you after class.”

Great.

I watched in lamentation as she briskly walked away from me, clearly upset.

As if today wasn’t bad enough.

Though I knew she wanted me to chase after her and beg for her forgiveness, I had much more important things to attend to. Plus, I trusted her word - she’d see me after class and I could apologize after then, but as for right now, I was going to keep my priorities in order.

As per usual, I was the first to arrive, and the following class, I was, too, and so on and so forth. Christina would’ve rolled her eyes at my timeliness, but I preferred being early than being late.

By lunch time, I hadn’t seen Christina since our minor altercation in the morning, but to my delight, when I reached our lunch spot in the grass, she was right there waiting for me, just like she always did.

“Hey, Chris. About earlier -”

“No need to apologize. I shouldn’t have pushed you to break the rules. Come sit.” She patted a spot on the grass under the shady tree for me to sit on, but not even the voluminous leaves above could mask us from the sun.

It was noon now, probably the peak of heat, and I felt like I was being baked alive. Even the wind that passed through was a hot breeze, merely amplifying the humidity.

And perhaps I was compensating because I had a suspicion that Christina hadn’t truly forgiven me, but I started to peel my sweater off my body with the guise that I was doing it because I was burning up, and not because I was trying to get back on her good side.

She was speechless at first, but then she hit me with a cheerful, “Yeah!” While she clapped in approval, I took off my cardigan and unbuttoned the top few buttons.

I was almost enjoying myself and how rebellious I was being. It was very unlike me, but it felt nice not to care so much, but then I heard a voice too distinct to misplace.

“Ms. Y/L/N!”

Mine and Christina’s head both whipped around hastily to see Mrs. Whitman, who looked furious.

“That is against the dress code. You will report to room R-412 after school for detention. Do not be late.”

Lest I forget to mention, Christina was breaking the dress code, too, but again - her power of invincibility protected her - a power which I did not possess.

My jaw hung low in shock.

“Oh my god,” I turned to Christina, with my hand covering my mouth.

“I am so sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”

I shot up from the grass, replacing my cardigan where it should be on my shoulders and buttoning the top few buttons of my shirt to regain some dignity.

“Where are you going?” Christina called out after I abandoned her at the table.

I didn’t answer, out of pure rage, not that it was Christina’s fault, but that I’d actually foolishly broken the rules - and enjoyed it.

The rest of the day was spoiled after that thanks to the impending doom of heading straight to detention after school was over.

Christina texted and called repeatedly to apologize, but it would be no use. I wasn’t necessarily mad at her, although it wouldn’t have been completely untrue to say that I was, but I was madder at the situation.

My humiliation was reinforced when after the final bell rang, I had to go against the grain of students, who were desperately filing out of the classes to return to their dorms, while I was headed for yet another “class.” I normally would’ve been one of those students, briskly shuffling out of a classroom with a million other people, trying to cram through a tiny door to leave, but now I was an outlaw, and I wasn’t sure that I liked it.

I found the room in no time, having studied the campus map until I knew it as well as the back of my hand. I even recognized the room number from when I asked my counselor for an application to audit Dr. Reid’s Criminology class, but I was declined acceptance, giving me all the more reason to hesitate to enter. I clutched onto the doorknob and lingered in the doorway, trying to find the nerve to walk in and commence my punishment.

With one exasperated exhale, I swung the door open and marched in with my head down and my tail between my legs. Taking a cursory glance, I didn’t see a teacher anywhere.

“Hello? Dr. Reid?”

My small voice ricocheted off the high ceilings and reverberated back to me, instilling me with the chills of being alone in this large, empty classroom.

I hadn’t yet taken a seat, mainly in case I needed to run for my life, I’d just need to pick up my feet instead of get up from a seat, but more so because I expected someone to be in here to instruct me on where to sit. I was more surprised that it was just me here and not anyone else, which made me reflect even harder on the idea that maybe I was the only one here because everyone else in this school had more discipline than me. But I also had to consider that the kids that were troublesome enough to land themselves in detention probably had no intention of suddenly abiding by the rules and showing up to detainment as they should.

Out of nowhere, I heard the clunk and thump of shuffling footsteps.

"Dr. Reid?”

From the stage I saw a figure emerge, briskly walking with a satchel crossed over their body and a coffee cup raised to their lips.

Those lips.

I’ve seen them before.

Flashbacks of the night before began replaying in my head at a million miles per hour.

“You okay down there?”

“Iceland.”

“Quantico? Like FBI Quantico?”

“B-32.”

“I’m impressed.”

“Maybe you’d let me read some of it?”

“I’d like to know more about you.”

I felt the ground sway beneath me when the source of his familiarity became glaringly apparent.

We simply stood there, gaping at each other like we couldn’t believe this was actually happening, totally, and completely speechless.

“Spencer?”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

PART 2 HERE!

comment to be added to taglist!

#Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic

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rareficsnstuff · 3 years

Text

Happy Halloween!! [Akaashi, Tendou, Bokuto]

AN: Okay, Anon, I hope the wait was worth it. I was suddenly inspired by the recent holiday so I combined your request with that element and I thought it made sense to place it in the Kuroo, Bokuto, Tendou post high-school roommates AU that I accidentally started here. Enjoy!!

Summary: Akaashi is invited to a costume party at Bokuto, Kuroo, and Tendou’s apartment, but everyone is less than pleased about his costume. And where’s Tendou?

Words: 3,878

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

The doorbell’s tone mixed with the cacophony of chatter that buzzed endlessly throughout the apartment. It caught the attention of Kuroo, who had been conversing with some friends on the couch.

“Bo, that’s your turn!” he shouted over his shoulder to the kitchen.

“Yeah!” came Bokuto’s boisterous, garbled reply before he quickly threw the last bit of candy bar into his mouth and made his way over to the door. He swung the door open jarringly and it collided with the wall behind, leaving a nick in the paint.

“You shouldn’t slam doors. Be more careful, Bokuto,” the new guest scolded calmly.

“AKAASHIII! Hey, hey, hey!! You showed up ~.” Akaashi stood there looking bored, hands clasped behind his back, but as soon as the elder was finished with his verbal greeting, the younger found himself being pulled into a suffocating bear-like hug and lifted off the ground by his overjoyed friend.

“B-Bokuto… I can’t breathe… P-please put me down,” he choked out as he awkwardly hung in Bokuto’s grasp.

“Oh, sorry!” he all but dropped Akaashi on the ground, rubbing his neck and smiling sheepishly while Akaashi removed his coat and hung it with the rest of the guests’. “So… a ghost, yeah?” he asked.

“Yeah. It’s all I had. Sorry…” Akaashi’s ‘costume’ consisted of a white thermal top, a pair of old ripped jeans, sneakers of no particular sort, and the classic white triangle strapped to his head.

“No, no! I like it! It’s like… modern ghost,” Bokuto punctuated with a grand, theatrical wave of his hands. “You look cool!”

“You’re wearing the same costume you’ve worn every year since I met you. Why don’t you ever try something different?”

“Why would I try something different?! This is the perfect costume! Owls are so cool, Why wouldn’t I be one every year?!” Bokuto shouted proudly. Akaashi’s response was to simply stare blankly.

“Right, stupid question. Sorry…” he added dryly. Bokuto shrugged, throwing a hearty slap to Akaashi’s back, knocking the wind out of the younger and making him stumble forward.

“Okay, okay, come in, Akaashi!! You have to see what Tendou and Kuroo did with the decorations! They’re awesome!!” Bokuto cheered, closing the door and pushing Akaashi further inside by his shoulders. “Oh, and their costumes are cool, too! But I bet you can’t guess what Tendou is ~,” he sang in a challenging tone. Akaashi sighed.

At that moment, Kuroo looked over his shoulder at the commotion by the front door. “Heeey, Akaashi! Good ta see ya!” He stood, moving towards them to clap Akaashi on the shoulder. Akaashi’s jaw fell.

“What the-- “

“Whoa, wait a minute, where’s your costume?!” Kuroo fussed, pointing a disappointed finger at Akaashi’s chest. The shorter made a lame gesture of presenting himself with a lazy wave of his hand over his body before he let his hand fall back limply to his side.

“… That’s it…” less of a question, and more of a disappointed statement. Akaashi additionally pointed to the white triangle on his forehead. “Oh, yeah. That’s- that’s much better. Your costume’s pretty wimpy there, Akaashi…” Kuroo finished, dropping the sarcasm.

“It’s all I had,” Akaashi blandly repeated from his earlier conversation with Bokuto.

“Really…” Kuroo’s tone irritated Akaashi. Was he trying to pick a fight or something? The shorter’s eyes narrowed ever-so slightly, but Kuroo still picked up on it. Kuroo reached out, grabbing Akaashi’s headpiece and pulling it away only to let it snap back into place. Akaashi winced, lifting a hand to swat Kuroo’s away.

“Speaking of costumes, what the hell is yours supposed to be?!” Damn… provocation expert for a reason, huh? Akaashi didn’t care right now, though – he just felt like glaring at pain-in-the-ass Kuroo just at the moment. Kuroo smirked with a chuckle.

“What, you can’t tell?” he stopped, waiting for Akaashi to try and guess. Akaashi only continued scowling. “Mad scientist, dud! C’mon!” Sure enough, Kuroo was wearing a white lab coat spattered in fake blood and green faux chemicals over a worn out, grey t-shirt. He had an old pair of torn up corduroys that didn’t quite reach his ankles, long, neon green socks and some old brown loafers that were about a size-and-a-half too large. His hair though, was the real eye catcher: people who knew him would immediately be drawn to the fact that you could see both eyes!! Gone was his usual style of rooster-esque bedhead. He must have spent a lot of time and product to get all his unruly, wiry locks to stand strait up like that. The final details – Akaashi felt were a bit over the top – were a bit of dark eye makeup beneath his eyes – to make him look sleep-deprived, Akaashi supposed – and a pair of large and broken, circular-framed glasses hanging from his t-shirt collar.

“Not much different from how you usually look, is it?” Akaashi snarked. Kuroo’s haughty smirk fell.

“Someone’s in a bad mood tonight,” Bokuto interjected, looking awkwardly between the two.

“Hey, Akaashi, you seen Tendou tonight yet?” Kuroo asked. There was an odd, baiting tone to the question, but Akaashi couldn’t begin to guess where this was going.

“No. I just got here.”

“Well, unlike yours ~, his costume is superb! And I bet you can’t guess what it is?” Kuroo almost growled. There was no question that was a challenge. Now Akaashi just needed to decide if he cared.

Perplexed, Akaashi asked, “What are you getting at?” Kuroo only grinned, eyes glinting mischievously and Akaashi’s brows furrowed untrustingly in response.

“Oh hey, Bo, it’s almost 8 o’clock! I gotta get going!”

“Yeah, yeah, no worries, man! Say hi to Kenma for me, okay?” Bokuto replied sweetly.

“Sure thing!” One final swig from a cup of apple cider nearby, a clap on Bokuto’s back and an elbow nudge at Akaashi before a quick stop at the entryway closet to grab his coat and Kuroo was out the door.

“Kuroo tried to get Kenma to come, but I guess the shrimp wanted to stay in this year. So he’s gonna go spend the rest of the night over there and watch horror movies n’ stuff…” Bokuto explained.

Suddenly, from somewhere in the apartment, there was a shout followed by a string of giggles. Akaashi figured it was coming from one of the bedrooms, but he didn’t really care too much; probably some idiots on a sugar high from all the candy and sweets. He rolled his eyes, but Bokuto looked towards the commotion and chuckled.

“Hey, hey, Akaashi! Look at this!” Bokuto exclaimed, suddenly jumping to one side only to stand in front of a black light that was set up against a wall. He crouched into a kneel on one leg with is arms wrapped around him like a vampire, the feathered sleeves and horned (and beaked) hood of the owl onesie providing more cover to his face. Pausing there a moment – to build suspense? – he suddenly looked up dramatically whilst simultaneously throwing his arms open in a ‘menacing’ way, his face dramatized into a bold, sneering grin. The light from behind caught his form, lighting up the white in his costume and face, making him look like a gargoyle from a children’s television program. Though that probably wasn’t quite the affect Bokuto had been going for. Akaashi stared, trying to process what he was looking at and contain the urge to press his palm across his face.

“Very spooky, Bokuto…” he finally said, to which the ‘gargoyle’ stood to his full height, fists on his hips, and laughed triumphantly – obnoxiously, in Akaashi’s opinion. But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss this at all and he found one corner of his mouth lifting. Only a little.

“Didn’t my roomies do a great job on the decorations?!” Bokuto asked proudly. Akaashi looked around, fully observing the décor for the first time.

“Yeah, they really did. The place looks great,” he said truthfully. Again, there was a sudden burst of laughter from somewhere in the apartment. Two voices this time, one more desperate than the other. Akaashi’s head snapped in that direction for a second before glancing back at Bokuto who was, again, grinning in that direction before he turned to meet Akaashi’s eyes with another chuckle.

“Anyways, there’s lots of food and drinks n’ stuff in the kitchen, so help yourself. And you have to try the apple cider; that’s my grandma’s recipe! It’s awesome!” he finished, pumping a fist into the air as he turned and went to mingle with his other guests.

Akaashi stood there awkwardly for half a minute before he decided to fix himself a plate of food. The evening was pleasant enough; he caught up with several old friends and acquaintances and even met some great new people. These were all friends and teammates from Bokuto, Kuroo, and Tendou’s high school years. All pleasant people in their own ways and Akaashi was almost fully enjoying himself after the whole Kuroo dispute. He hadn’t seen much of Bokuto since he left him to his own devices but the elder seemed to be getting around. He was in his element after all – one of them anyways. Every so often, however, there were those random bouts of laughter coming from somewhere in the apartment. He was never in the same room when it happened though; anytime he moved to another room, whatever was going on had suddenly moved to the room he had just left. And he had yet to spot the elusive Tendou...

By about 11 o’clock, the majority of the guests had gone home and more were trickling out by the minute. He and Washio were the only two left in the living room, comfortably chatting on the couch. Even then, with all the rest of the non-residential people left in that apartment, laughter once again sounded through the apartment. Bokuto’s laughter. Loud and boisterous intermingled with (apparently) Tendou’s own laughter. Akaashi thought about asking Washio if he knew anything about this, but decided against it, and all too soon, Washio was excusing himself to go home, going to find the other two for a quick goodbye before he grabbed his coat and walked out the door. Akaashi found himself alone, slowly nursing the last of his eighth glass of apple cider.

“Yooo ~, Akaashi ~! Haven’t seen you all night!” Akaashi turned to see, finally, Tendou emerging from the darkened hallway. Akaashi froze. What the hell was he looking at?!

Bokuto trailed in behind him looking like he’d just run a ten minuet mile; panting and cheeks glowing red, a sheen of sweat coating his forehead.

“Yeah, I guess… I guess we just kept missing each other… I’ve been here since eight,” Akaashi stammered, almost in a daze as his expression became something like concerned confusion. He was so distracted by-- what in god’s name was Tendou wearing?!

“Alright! Hang on! Wait! Full stop! Is that your costume?!” Tendou accused pointing a disgusted finger at Akaashi as his face twisted into abhorred imploration. The younger had to close his eyes, taking a minute to inhale deeply through his nose and release it in a heavy, frustrated sigh.

“Yes. It’s all. I had,” Akaashi bit out.

“Whoa, whoa, no need to get huffy, Kaashi, just making an observation,” Tendou attempted to sooth.

“You were making a criticism…”

“And what the hell are you supposed to be, Tendou!” Akaashi shouted, suddenly jumping to his feet.

“Yeah, you’re right, I was- but you gotta admit… your costume’s shit-“

“Akaashiii ~,” Bokuto sang, finally speaking up. “You’re supposed to guess ~.” The two residents both smiled at their guest, Bokuto’s expression was affectionate and playful while Tendou’s was smug.

Fuzzy. Red. Neck to ankles. Like he had taken part of an Elmo costume from a thrift store. There was a pair of matching red yeti slippers to complete the coverage while his fingernails had been painted black and a pair of black horns peeking out amidst his mess of spiky, red hair. The finishing touch, a bright green, feather boa lei necklace.

“How the hell am I supposed to guess?! You look like you just grabbed the first handful of things you could find at a second hand store!”

“Well, at least we know I put in more effort than you,” Tendou sassed to which Akaashi huffed. There went his good mood. “Anyways, you seem a little grumpy today, don’t you ~?”

“Yeah he’s kinda been that way tonight,” Bokuto confirmed, much to Akaashi’s growing irritation.

“I wonder why…” Akaashi mumbled under his breath.

“So… You really can’t guess what I am, Kaashi?” Tendou purred, creeping towards their grumpy ‘ghost’ guest.

“No. I have no idea. Wha- what are you-- ”

“You really need to guess what he is, Akaashi. But don’t worry, we can help you out with that ~,”

“Guys… What’s going on? You’re kinda freaking me out- please stop inching towards me.”

“I’ll inch wherever I want,” Tendou snipped playfully, looming ever closer to Akaashi and his growing unease of the situation. The red-head had him so distracted – and, frankly, terrified – that he entirely forgot Bokuto had been creeping up behind him.

“AH! BOKUTO! Put me down!” His old Captain had grabbed him from behind, scooping him up by hooking his arms under his Kohai’s. Now Akaashi’s heels were lifted off the ground and he could just barely manage to stand on tip toe. His arms dangled out to the side as he waved them around uselessly and his white thermal rose up to reveal a sliver of skin at his stomach.

“Still no ideas ~?” Tendou’s voice was oozing with mischief, giving Akaashi one final chance.

“… Wanna feel how hard I can kick?” Akaashi bit, snidely, making Tendou chuckle. And that was the last straw.

“Grmph!” Akaashi choked on a grunt, eyes widening into saucers and lips pressing together into a tight line. Every muscle in his body locked up in panic, but when Tendou’s thumbs on his sides continued in those unbearable kneading circles, he could feel himself starting to twitch and his diaphragm beginning to flutter with oncoming laughter. The laughter itself started as exhaled huffs of air and sharp inhales through his nose as his eyes closed and lips curled up more and more as the maddening sensation built. When Tendou switched his touch to a claw-like kneading up and down his quivering sides, Akaashi couldn’t help the light chuckles that slipped from his throat as he turned his face into his shoulder and bit his lip to try and contain some of his more ridiculous reactions. Bokuto and Tendou grinned at each other.

“Oh, Kaashi… I think you can do better ~,” Tendou cooed, traveling his torturous claws upwards just to nibble at his lowest ribs. This had him spasming and trying to back away from the silly touch, but Bokuto easily prevented that sort of escape. The thing about Akaashi, though…, he didn’t hate his laugh, but… he had always been embarrassed to laugh fully in front of people. He didn’t even know why but, in this situation, he couldn’t really help it.

“Ppphht-hehe-- nooohohohahaaa!” Akaashi’s laughter picked up along with his struggling. He gave a few valiant attempts to pull his arms down, but ultimately realized that, with Bokuto being the one holding him in place, there was no chance of that… So, in a desperate attempt to protect himself, he reflexively brought his knees up as a flimsy barrier against Tendou’s searching hands.

“Oh, no, sorry, Akaashi. That isn’t gonna help you, bud,” Bokuto teased, feigning pity as he turned his hands to flutter his fingers at Akaashi’s ears, making him squeak and shake his head. Tendou cackled at this.

“You would know, wouldn’t you, Bo-Bo!” he said, grinning. Keeping one hand at Akaashi’s ribs, he moved the other to one of the now presented knees, making him kick out in reflex. Tendou must have been expecting this response, because he stepped aside just in time to not be kicked in the gut. All hilarity aside, he did not actually want to know how hard Akaashi could kick. “Easy there, Kaashi…”

“Naho! S-stohop thahaaaat!” Stupid Bokuto! Why did he have to be so strong?! With all Akaashi’s flailing, his former Captain wouldn’t budge!

“You’re sooo wiggly ~!” the red-head teased, moving to loop an arm around Akaashi’s kicking leg so he could hold it in place while he scribbled black painted nails at the inside of his knee through a hole in his jeans while still keeping one hand free to explore elsewhere. “Soooo? What am I, Kaashi ~? Any ideas yet?”

“Drohop dead!” Akaashi giggled, quite unthreateningly.

“Alright, now that wasn’t even an attempt at a guess… And it was kinda mean…” Bokuto said from behind, still occasionally ghosting against his ears just to get that squeak again.

“Yeeeah! It was kinda mean!” Tendou agreed, ominously. The tickling stopped and Tendou dropped Akaashi’s captive leg. The ‘ghost’ took this chance to catch his breath, finally letting his feet reunite with the ground and attempting to regain some composure – but with his pink face, glossy eyes, and twitching lips, there was little hope for that. It was a couple seconds later that Akaashi realized that it was quiet and the other two had yet to do anything. Bashfully, he looked up, meeting Tendou’s predatory gaze and impish smirk. The sight made Akaashi’s blood run cold.

“You’ve really done it now,” Tendou started, dangerously. “You’ve disrespected me. You’d better tell me who I am… Or I’ll never stop.” With that, at lightning speed, one hand latched itself to Akaashi’s hip while the other fused with his ribs, fingers kneading, digging, worming, and spidering any way they could, looking for the best reactions. Akaashi careened when Tendou vibrated his fingers into his hip, wheezing around his laughter. To be honest, Akaashi hadn’t even really been thinking about what Tendou’s horrendous costume could be; caught off guard by the sudden tickling and then being too busy laughing… he didn’t have the time or focus.

“Wait a minute, Tendou, hang on…” Bokuto said, sounding way too excited for Akaashi’s liking. To his horror, Akaashi suddenly felt Bokuto slipping his arms out from under his only to readjust his hold to have both his Kohai’s wrists held above his head in one hand. He couldn’t have resisted that if he tried.

“OOooo!” Tendou sang, fingers wiggling excitedly. “Thanks Bo-Bo!”

“Oh no, noho, no, no, no- guys, please! Pleahese dohahaaaahahaha!” With his torso fully vulnerable, Tendou dove right in once more, switching between scribbling, massaging, and vibrating. Akaashi was screeching. He seriously couldn’t remember giggling so hard in his life, with his wrists tugging desperately (but uselessly) at Bokuto’s restraining grip and his face getting redder by the minute-- god was he crying? “GAAA! B-Bokuhuhuhehee! Bohokutoho, DON’Ttthehehe!” And it was getting worse. Bokuto had started running his fingers along his spine, digging his finger into the backs of his ribs, and scratching at his shoulder blades and neck.

“Awww ~ Look at you all ticklish, Akaashi ~. I can’t believe I never knew about this ~,” Bokuto cooed, grinning at the way Akaashi arched away from his touch.

“Yeah, you’re really losing it here, Kaashi ~. Is it that bad ~? Is this just completely unbearable ~?” Tendou’s baby talk had him burying his face in his arm once again, stomping a foot on the wood floor – a vain attempt to alleviate the hilarious, buzzing sensations coursing through him. “Well, it’s gonna get worse, boyo. Who. Am. I?” The way Tendou’s voice shifted so quickly and drastically from baby talk to that ominously, teasing tone… If Akaashi wasn’t laughing so hard, he’d probably be cowering in fear right now.

“WHOAHAHA! HEHEY! NoaaAAA, NOHAAO!” Oops… there was a squeal in there… Yeah, he was never living this down. But Tendou had started running one hand from one of Akaashi’s underarms, down to his hip, while his other hand did the opposite: from his hip, up to his underarm. Akaashi’s brain couldn’t keep up. His knees buckled and he sank to the floor as much as Bokuto’s grip would allow.

“C’mon, Akaashi, you gotta have an idea by now, don’t you?” Bokuto asked, fingers nibbling at the base of his neck. The poor guy didn’t know which way to squirm. Akaashi nodded weakly, tears definitely falling now.

“Oh do you?! Aaand ~?” Tendou inquired, now concentrating solely on his victim’s hips. Akaashi stumbled forward, neck too weak to lift his head to protect against Bokuto’s ongoing attack and only allowing his head to hang down pathetically as he cackled like no one had ever heard him do before.

“AAAAHAha! PleaHA-- YOU-HA-- YOUHA’RE THE T-t-heehehehe! T-t-tTIHICKLE MOHONSTEHEHER! STAHA--! PLEAHEEESE- STAHAHAAAP!!” Wow… Now he had resorted to begging. They were never, ever going to let him live this down.

“Sorry, what was that, ghosty boy ~? I couldn’t quite catch it ~.” And of course Tendou was going to drag this out. He is the tickle monster after all…

Tendou went from massaging Akaashi’s poor hips to vibrating claws into them while Bokuto also switched to poke around under his arms.

“TIHICKLE MONSTER! YOHOU’RE THE T-TICKLE MOHONSTEHEHAHAAAA!”

“rrrRRRIGHT YOU ARE, BOYO!” And finally, the tickling stopped. For good this time and Bokuto released his wrists to gently lower him to the ground where he crumpled into a giggling lump as the other two grinned down at him fondly. “I gotta say, Kaashi, I’m pretty disappointed… It took you waaaay longer to figure it out than anyone else.

“Well, how was I supposed to know?” Akaashi panted lightly. “You look like you just grabbed a bunch of stuff from a second hand store and threw ‘em together into that disaster…” He opened one eye to glance playfully at Tendou.

“You want me to tickle you some more ~? Bo-Bo, get-- ”

“NO! No, okay, I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” The younger pleaded, making his two Sempai snicker.

“Well, actually, you’re not far off. That’s just about what I did do. I’d had the idea planned out for months, but I still needed the pieces, so I thought the easiest way to find them was second hand stores at stuff…” Tendou replied, a pondering expression on his face as he recalled the experience. Akaashi chuckled, throwing a palm over his eyes when Bokuto joined in heartily and Tendou followed soon after in his own string of wild giggles. When they had all calmed down, Tendou extended a hand to help Akaashi up who graciously accepted.

“Okay, be honest, Kaashi… is that really all you had ~?” the red-head prodded, cocking an eyebrow incredulously at the younger. Akaashi grinned.

“No. Heh… I just didn’t want to deal with it. I grabbed the first thing out of my closet and made the headpiece out of an old napkin!” he finished just before breaking out into giggles again and sending the other two over the edge as well.

“Hey, I still think it looks great!” Bokuto chirped, clapping Akaashi on the back.

“Thanks, Bokuto,” Akaashi said, grinning at his former Captain.

“Happy Halloween, everybody!!” Tendou exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air jubilantly, making the other two laugh again. Akaashi shook his head.

“Weirdest Halloween ever…”

#tickle fic #haikyuu!!#ask #anonymous #answered #Akaashi Keiji #Tendou Satori #Bokuto Koutarou

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