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dreamcatcherrs · 3 years

Text

toxic - sapnap x reader

+ this is an entry for the writing competition hosted by @salinesoot! go and show them some love<3

++ DISCLAIMER; in no way do I claim that sapnap is addicted to any form of drugs. this is all just fiction! with that I hope you enjoy this longer story :)

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: drug addict/ex-lovers au! addict!sapnap x addict!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: months after your break-up, nick reaches out to you to put a peaceful ending to the disastrous fall of your relationship. the meet-up is rough; you're not willing to comply with anything he’s saying, and he just can't seem to get over the state he sees you in once he arrives.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 5.952

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: !ADDICTION! drugs, alcohol, smoking, break-ups, swearing, manipulation (?), abandonment.

I want to put a very big emphasis on addiction, as I don't want to trigger anyone! if you feel in any way uncomfortable with the things listed above, please don't continue reading :) thank you.

playlist:

save your tears - the weeknd

so high - doja cat

apocalypse - cigarettes after sex

high - sivik

habits - tove lo

champagne problems - taylor swift

the silence in the room was violent - it lay like a thick fog between you; hard to breathe in, hard to see through. not to mention the rays of sunshine hitting your back through the windows behind you, glowing into his clear eyes and burning you up inside. but not in a nice way - not in the same way that the first intake of the tip of a cigarette would once set to a flame; not in the same way the almost glowing row of white would once going up your nose and through your system. no, this kind of burn felt claustrophobic, not freeing or euphoric at all. it felt awful - but not as awful as his sorry eyes staring over your body like you were the entrance to a pity party.

a quiet flicker sprung from the lighter in your hand, a small flame glowing under the shade of your frame. your brows furrowed slightly as you lifted the lighter to the death stick sat between your lips, silently lighting it and immediately sucking the sweet smoke right into your tired body like it was oxygen to you. removing the cigarette from your lips and letting it hang from your index and middle finger, you blew out the smoke in one big puff, eyes meeting his.

“so... what do you want?” you snarled at your ex-lover, leaning back on your seat on the counter to lean your weight on your right hand - the one without the cigarette -, watching as he inhaled through his mouth slightly, only to quickly close it again once catching some of the smoke in his mouth. he waited till the cloud was gone to speak up;

“can you... not do that in here?” was the first thing he could say to you. one year after leaving you, and that’s the first thing he has to say? it made you scoff, but you chose to put out the cigarette in the ash tray beside you anyways. funny how times can change so quickly.

he cleared his throat before adding; “I don't smoke anymore - I’ve been clean for nine months now.”

the way he said it with such pride, such happiness - it angered you. was it because you were the one sitting in the dust and ashes of addiction, and not him? well, you both knew it wasn't. or at least he would if he had a sense of memory, which you guessed he had.

all you could do was raise your eyebrows at his words, arms crossing over your chest after bouncing off the kitchen counter. “I asked you a question nick - not for an update of your wonderful life,” you spat, squinting your eyes at him. his eyes somehow softened, and you just hated to see it. because you knew it made your heart beat just a little bit faster. you knew it brung back memories that you both despised and at the same time absolutely loved to have.

he moved away from the fridge he had been leaning his back against, scratching the back of his neck as he looked at the ground instead of your eyes.

“I came to apologise.”

“for what?”

“for… everything.”

it was at the biggest college party of the year for newcomers that he met you.

he was high. he’d spotted you in the crowd, looking like a lost puppy. was that what made him come to you? no, but he couldn’t deny the fact that your innocent complex caught his attention. throughout the night, his eyes would gaze away from the conversation he had with his friends and over to you, and after a nice two rows of heroin through his nostrils, bubbling his blood and dilating his pupils, was when he noticed the guy approaching you. grabbing you, twirling your hair around his finger when you were clearly uncomfortable with it. and as if he hadn't already had about 3 already, he chugged a whole can of beer all in one go, before pushing himself out of the chair he was sat in. clay and george mumbled something in drunk behind him that his ears blocked out anyway as he moved towards the douche in front of you, combing a had through his hair.

he made it to you just as the guy grabbed your thigh with his rough, dirty fingers that god knows where had been, and with complete fury and the world spinning around him, nick grabbed the guy by his shoulder, turning him around to be met with his fist. when the realisation hit you, you visibly gasped (not that he could hear it over the loud music or the ringing in his ears), watching in shock as the guy stumbled back into the cupboard behind him, hand reaching up to grab his eye. the people around you seemed to notice as well, some stepping back a little in shock, some taking photos, some laughing and wooing for more. when nick noticed that the guy was about to get up again, and to his knowledge about to throw some punches back at him, he quickly grabbed you by the waist, pulling you to his side.

“get your filthy hands off my s/o,” he snarled, drunkenly and not very intimidating, but still made for a good effort. he didn't notice the way you'd tried to hide your disgust when smelling his alcoholic breath and his scent of weed - everything was hard to pay close detail to when in a drunken state like his.

to nick’s surprise, the guy, who by the was was way bigger than him and could probably easily take him down in one hit, backs away with a bleeding nose, and everyone else returns to partying as normal.

he turns to you, and you’re blushing. either that or you’ve just taken 10 shots in a row, but that was clearly not the case. your lips moved, but he would have to have the most powerful ears to be able to hear you over the loud music pumping through his body. so instead he leans down, lips hovering by your ear.

“what?” he slurred, loud enough for you to hear, and as if your cheeks weren’t already burning, his close proximity to you sure didn’t help. from behind, a couple of giggling girls shoved into him to get over to the counter filled with alcohol, causing him to push you further against the cupboard. his hand landed on your hip in reflex, preventing him from literally falling into you.

quickly you uttered out into his ear, louder this time; “I- I said thank you,” and closed your eyes tightly in embarrassment, because why did you have to stutter? and why did this drunk mess of a guy have to be so goddamn attractive?

he took a step back, letting his hands fall with him. he looked back at his friends - clay glancing over at him, laughing confusedly, while george was busy downing a shot with karl. he ignored clay’s signal to come back to the table, and instead leaned over to your ear again.

“you wanna get out of here?”

your eyes widened. why did this complete stranger want to leave one of the biggest parties with you? it would be stupid to say yes, yet something in you strived to know what the night could turn out like if you did. it’s not like you had much fun anyway, and what the hell, your life isn’t one filled with surprises, so what was one night filled with them gonna change?

“so... you’re a first year’er?” nick inhaled deeply, the smoke from the blunt of weed between his lips going straight to his head. you nervously scratched your elbow, kicking a harmless rock that was in the way of your path as you nodded. the smell from the stick of weed in his hand went through your nostrils, tickling your nose in a not-so-pleasant way. you chose to ignore this though, not wanting to seem fussy.

“yeah. but parties are not really my forte, in case you hadn’t noticed,” you laughed quietly, folding your arms over your chest when a cold breeze fanned your body. he turned to look at you with slightly squinted eyes, taking in your sober self.

“well, have you ever tried weed? cause I’ll tell you; everything can be a party with this shit.” he laughed at himself, sucking in smoke once again from the blunt, before turning to see you shake your head. he suddenly passed it in your direction. you stared down at it, a trail of smoke rising from the tip of it, before looking at him again. “wanna try?”

he didn't look too bothered wether you said yes or no - just high and drunk out of his mind, which actually made him look kinda peaceful and… cute? what the fuck. you shrugged your shoulders, grabbing the stick of weed from between his fingers. it was the start of college - everyone does this, right?

“do I just… inhale?” you asked, clearly a rookie and non-professional weed-smoker. he chuckled, stopping in his tracks, making you stop as well, as he fished out something from the pocket of his jacket; a lighter.

“yeah, you just gotta light it again cause of the wind. just treat it like a cig.” you raised your eyebrow at him, watching as he stepped closer to you with the lighter, waiting for you to put the blunt between your lips, and when you didn't was when he noticed your confusion and raised eyebrow. he looked shocked. “you've never smoked a cigarette before?” you shook your head, swinging your arms along with their place inside the pockets of your jacket, a lopsided smile forming on your face. his eyes widened further. “drugs? alcohol? nothing?” you gave an innocent smile, flashing your teeth at him as you shook your head. he raised his eyebrows. “damn. well, it’s no shocker to me that you don't like parties then. you've never tried real partying.”

he softly took the blunt from your hand, gesturing for you to open your mouth, before tucking it between your parted lips. he moved closer to you, close enough so he could focus on protecting the flame from the wind using his hand, and holding the lighter up to the tip of the weed stick. “this’ll be fun,” he mumbled to himself, igniting the lighter. “now you just inhale and then eventually blow out the smoke. it might burn to start with, but fuck does it feel good afterwards.”

you did as he said, squinting your eyes as you inhaled the smoke, feeling your throat burn with every passing second you of inhaling, and before you had the chance to blow it into a cloud casually, you coughed out all of the smoke, choking on the pure taste and burn of weed. he chuckled lightly, patting your back gently as he watched you gasp for fresh air.

“alright alright, not too bad.” he took the blunt once you handed it over to him again, easily inhaling the smoke like it was nothing to him, before blowing it out into the fresh september air in different sizes of ‘o’s. you watched in amazement as he did so, wondering how long you’d have to smoke for, for a person to be able to do that. your guess was quite a while.

he handed it over to you again, encouraging you to take it. you did. “here, keep it.” he sent you a dopey smile, watching as you took it. you placed it in your mouth just as the wind passed through you again, making your body shiver very obviously. you were stupid to not bring a jacket. in your defense, you thought that you wouldn’t have stayed long at that party anyway; not that you’d be here, walking through an empty playground with a stranger. well, not a stranger anymore - nick was his name, as you’d come to learn.

he noticed your freezing self as you inhaled again, the smoke making you cough again even when you tried your hardest not to. busy getting your oxygen under control, you didn’t notice him taking off his leather jacket before it hung heavy on your shoulders, immediately giving warming you up from the body warmth it had consumed from him.

you moved the stick out of your mouth, looking at him with a raised eyebrow, trying to play his gesture off cool. “what are you doing? you’ll freeze.”

he scoffed playfully, inhaling the fresh smell of the cool air. “I’m drunk out of my mind right now. you think I even think about what temperature it is right now?” you giggled at that. it was crazy how your cheeks were able to grow so warm despite the cold breeze flushing over you constantly, hands tugging the jacket tighter to yourself.

“thank you,” you quietly said, a small smile spreading across your face. your head started feeling empty - a good kind of empty, causing you to smile even more without even noticing. the sudden release of dopamine in your brain was causing you to feel lighter - that’s what it was, you thought.

without realising, your eyes had been closed and you’d stopped walking anymore, just taking in the feeling and the nice, fresh air hitting your skin in small waves. you felt a hand on your back, and then heard a quiet laugh from beside you. you turned in the direction, opening your eyes and smiled up at the handsome creature of a male in front of you. he smiled along with you, looking into your clouded eyes with his reddened ones, placing his hands on your neck softly.

he started laughing. and you started laughing. you placed your hands on top of his, leaning in closer to get a better look at his eyes. they looked like a cave filled with shiny crystals if you looked close enough. and you’d still be looking into them when he kissed you if he hadn’t closed them.

it was mainly a very toothy kiss, your white pearls clanging together as your smiles stayed on your faces throughout the kiss. when he pushed his tongue in between them though, they slightly faltered, and your hands flew up to hold his face in your hands as he started kissing you harder and with additional sloppiness.

you pulled away to catch your breath, and before he had the chance to lean in for a second kiss, you placed the marijuana between your lips, spending him a playful smile as you sucked in the burning smoke.

were you high or were you just crazy about this guy that you barely even knew? at that very moment you felt that the answer was both.

your brows furrowed. he actually looked… sorry? you weren't sure if you were willing to hear what he had to say - after all he’d put you through. but… something made you listen. something made you wanna give him the chance to speak up. maybe it was the soft spot you had for him in you heart, that you so badly wanted to deny yourself was there.

“look… I know I’m the reason you've ended up like this. I’m the reason you can't even let go of that pack of cigarettes in your hand. and I can't stop thinking about that every single day. I- I ruined you, y/n. and I realise- well, I’ve realised this a long time ago - I just left you here to rot. all alone. I fucked you up, and left you to deal with it all alone. and I’m really fucking sorry about that. I treated you so badly and got you into things you probably wouldn't have gotten into if you'd never met me...” he trailed off, a solemn look in his eyes, almost glowing as they stared compassionately into yours.

you broke away from them, a soft frown on your face as they trailed off to the wine shelf stacked with bottles of alcohol behind him. he was right. you knew he was. but it didn’t explain why he came here. to seek your sympathy? for you to accept his apology? to give him that form of closure? you weren’t really sure if he deserved that.

he saw the look on your face, and figured he’d continue; “I don’t expect you to accept my apology or... stop being mad at me. I just wanted to come here to finish things the right way instead of the way we left it. well, the way I left it.” all of a sudden he stopped in his tracks, eyes focused on your arm. his eyes widened once noticing the bruise on the inside of your elbow, clearly from some type of syringe or needle. he would know what that looked like.

he took swift steps towards you, grabbing your arm in shock. you were worse than he had thought. you looked down in shame when his eyes tried meeting yours.

“y/n,” he said seriously, very carefully rubbing his thumb across the mark. “you need help. like, serious help. you can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

with that, you tore your arm away from him, staring into his eyes with your eyebrows furrowed and teary-eyed. “why do you care? since when did you ever care, nick? I don’t understand why you’re here - you don’t really want to help me.” you stepped away from him, heading over to the pile of ashes from the previously smoked cigarettes to get another one, but were stopped by his hand grabbing your arm.

he hugged you.

you sobbed into his shoulder,

and hugged him back.

you swallowed a big gulp of air, craning your neck as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. a pleasurable smile appeared on your face, the sweet feeling of cocaine rushing through your system being the cause of it. you lay down on the flat rooftop of the college gym, inhaling the smoke from the already ignited cigarette between your two fingers. you blew the smoke out into the air in small rings, like nick had showed you, happily succeeding in it. needless to say, you'd done it for what felt like a million times before.

nick grabbed your hand from his place on the roof beside you. you turned your head to look at him, squeezing his hand in the process. he moved closer to you, lifting your hand to his lips before placing a wet kiss onto the back of it. he gestured for you to place the cigarette between his lips, and you did so, holding it in place as he inhaled the smoke like you had. when you moved the cigarette away from him though, he pushed you closer to him by the back of your neck, placing this lips on yours in time for him to blow the smoke from his mouth into yours, catching you by surprise.

you waited till he’d moved away again to blow the smoke out, turning your head as you did so so that he wouldn’t get it in his face. he laughed at the way your eyes had widened, leaning over you to place a kiss on your flush cheek.

“did you like that?” he asked with a raspy voice, followed by a giggle and still holding your hand in his as he clung it to his chest. you looked up at him with a pouty smile, watching as his eyes crinkled at your soundless response.

“you know… we’re probably not allowed up here,” you muttered, tracing figures onto his palm

“yeah, we’re not allowed many things. including all of this cocaine, but I don't plan on stopping,” he replied nonchalantly, clawing up some of the white, illuminating powder onto his finger, sniffing it up his nose with one large inhale, before exhaling deeply in satisfaction. you watched as he did so, and it made your chest turn. something about this felt wrong all of a sudden. you felt bad, ashamed to even be sat on a roof at 2 am, doing drugs and smoking weed, when you really came here to study and make friends.

your thoughts did not just swim away once he started leaving small little pecks onto your neck, hair tickling your jawline with bubbly giggles flying past his lips. you gently pushed him off, letting go of his hand and standing up from the rooftop. your sudden distress did not go unnoticed by nick, though, and he stood up with you, stumbling, but standing, watching as you threw the remains of the cigarette onto the ground, and looked off onto your campus with a clenched jaw and stern look on your face.

nick was confused, and a little uncertain with what he should do. you'd never acted like something was wrong before, so he didn’t exactly know what to do in this type of situation. all he could do was walk over to you, standing by your side as he looked off into the same direction as you. his eyes glanced over to you every now and then, chewing on what to say exactly. he tried saying something, but stopped himself before he had the chance to even let out a squeak.

“is.. what- argh. did I do something wrong?” he finally spoke, frustrated with his own form of speech. you turned your head to him, your small smile causing relief to rush through his body. when you responded with a ‘no’, he felt a little better, but that still didn’t stop him from seeing right through that smile and into your worried self. “well, what's wrong then?”

what's wrong? you almost wanted to ask yourself that question. why would you want to ruin such a nice moment with him just because of some doubt? maybe it was because you thought that all good things wouldn't last, and that whatever this was between you was too good to be true. or maybe it was the fact that you could feel your lungs set on fire just thinking of every bad thing you’d consumed into your previously healthy body, head feeling empty, but at the same time heavy enough to keep all of the bad things inside of it to weigh down on you. maybe it was because you'd never felt so unlike yourself before as you do now, and you weren't so sure if that was a good thing anymore.

when you told him this (well, the parts about the drugs, not your feelings), he sighed heavily, placing a hand on your shoulder to fully turn you to face him. “y/n,” he started, moving his hand up to your cheek and brushing his thumb over your cheekbone, sending you a lopsided grin. “you're overthinking too much.” you raised your eyebrows slightly, looking at him with a mix of confusion and hope in your eyes. he continued; “we’re just having fun. there’s noting wrong with that! isn’t that what college is all about?”

he did his best to assure you that nothing was wrong, and it seemed to be working. you eased up - he could feel it -, yet you still had that worried expression stuck on your face, and he knew he had to do something to change that. he kissed you softly, cold nose touching yours in the process. you couldn’t help but to kiss him back, placing your hands on the sides of his neck as you closed your eyes tightly, wanting nothing more than to get lost in his lips.

when he pulled away, the tip of his index finger lightly bopped your nose, causing the very least of a smile to form on your face. that made him smile. “don’t worry, baby,” he assured you, kissing your forehead before fishing the metallic circle-shaped box out of his pocket, offering you some of the addicting white powder by handing it to you. “we’re in this together.”

his phone buzzed on the coffee table, the waves of vibrations feeling as if they filled up the entire room. someone was calling him, and you only just managed to see that the caller ID was someone named “rose” before he dismissed the call. as far as you could remember, he’d never even met someone by that name.

he put his phone in his pocket, doing up the zipper before staring across the table and over to you again. his brushing off didn’t help your curiosity from spilling out. “aren’t you gonna get that?” you questioned, wiping the wetness on your cheeks away fully from your previous outburst of tears. you could still see the tear stains on his shirt.

he shook his head. “I have more important matters right now.” your heart warmed at his words and you hated to feel that. of course you’d been on his social media since your break-up - you knew very well that the girl calling was his new girlfriend. and as much as you hated yourself for feeling it, you couldn’t help the jealousy from flaming up inside of you. you decided to hold back from saying more about it, though, knowing that it would just be your hurt and anger talking.

he stared at you for a while with droopy puppy eyes, and it made you hate this moment even more, moving around in your seat to distract yourself from the situation. but then his hand was on yours, squeezing gently like he’d done so many times before. you tried not looking into his eyes, cause you knew it’d make you weaker, but it was so damn hard when all you could feel was his eyes burning into your skin, the pity from him seeping right into you. it made you feel awful.

“I want to help you, y/n. get you out of this shithole I put you in in the first place,” he explained lowly, rubbing his thumb across the back of your hand. tingles trickled up your arm and down your spine, a knot forming in your stomach. you looked down at the table, away from him. “I still care for you, you know?” he gave your hand a squeeze, wanting you to look at him again.

you didn’t.

he sighed.

letting go of your hand, he stood up from the chair. your eyes followed him as he walked over to your side of the table, pulling out the chair that was right beside you and taking a seat on it. he looked at you for a while, taking in the way you looked.

your eyes were bloodshot, red streaks coming out from the beautiful crystal in the middle of your eye. those deep and dark bags under your eyes weren’t there before, the cause of them being so very obvious. you were thinner, frail, weak. you looked as if you would break if he as much as lay a finger on you - like you’d turn to dust if he tried reaching out to you. if he tried to save you. it was soul-crushing to see you in this state. he couldn’t believe he’d done this to you.

you noticed his staring. he didn’t care. you needed to know this had gone too far, even if he was the cause of it.

he pulled his phone out of his pocket, pulling up a list of names and numbers on his phone from his contacts. he gave you his phone.

“these are the places I went to when I tried getting clean. it’d be no problem getting you in there. you just have to try. have to want the help. that’s all I ask from you.” you scrolled through the contacts slowly, like it’d make a difference to the foreign names on the screen.

“nick, I-,” you sighed and shook your head. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“of course you can,” he assured you, grabbing your hand once again. you turned your head to him, heart pumping louder in your chest as you stared at him. you missed him, you realised. “you won’t be alone.”

it all happened so fast.

you pulled him to you by his hand, yours coming up to grab his cheek softly to simultaneously pull his face to yours, closing your pained eyes tightly and-

“what are you doing?”

your voice boomed through the dark room. you stood with crossed arms and a tired look on your face, having just woken up by the rustling coming from the living room, only to find your boyfriend packing his stuff with tear-stained cheeks. worry shot through your tired body as you watched him halt, staring back at you with a startled expression on his face.

“y/n? wh-why are you awake?” he quickly shoved a shirt of his into the duffel bag in his hands, running a hand through his hair as he looked at you with baggy eyes.

your eyebrows furrowed. you knew what this looked like, and you realised exactly what was happening. he was leaving you. he’d been distant for the past few weeks, but you never thought it was because of you. you thought that, maybe, it was just a phase. because, he would never really leave you. would he?

you took a step towards him. “nick are you… leaving me?” you could feel the tears well up in your eyes when you heard yourself say it out loud. you felt like you’d just been hit by a truck, lungs failing and body crashing down. you didn’t understand. you didn’t understand at all.

he didnt answer, just looked down in shame? sorrow? you didn’t care. how could he leave you? how could he? you wanted to pinch yourself to wake up from this horrible dream- no. from this nightmare. but this wasn’t just a nightmare - it was reality. this was really happening.

“I-I don't understand, nick. don't you l-love me?” you sobbed, feeling your wet tears trickle down your face. here they came. the tears you hadn’t cried for so long now.

he softened up at the sight of you crying, wanting so badly to hug you, comfort you, but knowing that he couldn’t let himself. he had to leave somehow. leave this town, this drug-filled life. he had to escape it, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to with you.

“I can't stay here, y/n. I have to go,” he muttered lowly, grabbing his headphones from the coffee table and stuffing them into the bag as well. he started packing again.

“wh-why? I thought things were good between us?”

“they're not, y/n!” he yelled suddenly, causing you to step back slightly. he turned to you, a wild look on his face as his arms flailed around in the air. “I’m sick of only being able to feel good because I’m drugged up or drunk. I’m getting clean.”

he packed the last couple of things into the bag, scanning the room quickly to make sure he got most of it with him, before taking haste steps over to grab his jacket from the coat hanger. you followed after him with just as fast steps, heart beating out of your chest. was this the last time you were gonna see him? no. you refused to believe that.

“b-but you can't just leave me!” you pulled at his arm, tugging him over in your direction as he struggled to slide his leather jacket on. he looked at you for a moment, chest heaving slightly from the bad feeling he had inside of him.

“if you're not gonna let me leave, then you have to.”

you looked at him with pure shock and anger- the audacity. he sighed, calming himself down before continuing; “if you still love me you’d leave.”

you shook your head, angrily shoving a finger at his chest. “you got me into this mess in the first place! you’re the reason I’ve ended up like this! and you want me to leave?” you scoffed at his words, yelling out yours in rage as tears of frustration kept falling from your eyes.

he sighed, brows furrowed and a sad expression stuck on his face as he looked at the ground. “I’m sorry, y/n. I can't do this anymore.” he turned to grab the doorknob, and your eyes widened with the movement.

“you can't do this to me nick!,” you clawed at his arm, dragging him backwards, away from the door. but he was stronger than your weak body and easily pushed you away from him to get access to the door. you hit his back with your fists, crying out in anger as you did so.

“you bastard! you can't just leave me here!” he stayed quiet as he rushed out of the door, not even looking back as he made it out of the door, escaping your grasp on him. you sobbed even louder, walking out of the door to follow his body with your eyes as you collapsed to the ground. “I hate you! I fucking hate you, you hear me?”

nick silently cried as his back hit the elevator wall, the doors closing in front of him as he made his way downwards to the entrance of the apartment complex. what had he just done? he placed a hand over his mouth, wide eyes staring into thin air in shock. nick’s only ever done what he was raised to think was right. it’s not his fault, right?

it’s not.

for a moment, you kissed.

did he not pull away because his feelings for you were still there somewhere in the depts of him? or because he was so shocked that he was unable to think straight enough to pull away? honestly, he couldn’t tell.

but alas, he pushed you off. and all he could do was look at you, baffled, confused and feeling more lost than ever. “y/n…” he trailed off, watching as you stared back at him with wide eyes and red lips from the kiss, almost looking as if you were just as shocked as him.

“I’m… I’m happy now. without the drugs, without the alcohol, without the cigarettes. I’m with someone else now, y/n,” he mumbled quietly, hands still pressed against your shoulders as he stared at your plump lips in a flustered state. he sighed. “we can't be together, y/n. not like this.” he didn’t specify “like what”, but his eyes staring up and down your form clearly showed what he meant. you knew that already, but it still hurt you. it still hurt you that he’d moved on and you hadn't - that he was away from all of the things you now lived off of. it hurt you that he was able to find happiness without you.

he lifted your head up by your chin, and you hadn't even noticed that you were looking at the ground, and got to eye-level with you. his eyes were soft (when weren't they?) and this time, he looked like he was pleading, begging for you to hear him instead of denying him. “I want you to be happy, too. that’s why I’m trying to help you. if only you’d let me?”

your eyes dropped to the ground again, brows furrowing in thought. should you? should you let him into your heart again? into your shitty life? what if he just ended up leaving you again like he’d done before? breaking your heart into a million pieces this time instead of just two? you looked up at him again, biting down on your bottom as you made your final choice.

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seeyalaterinnovator · 3 years

Text

One For The Road - Alex Turner Imagine (NSFW)

Word count: 5.2K (part two to come...)

Rating: NSFW 18+!!!

Synopsis: You and Alex have been friends, but could tonight push that over the edge?

You peered into the mirror, swiping on the shiny gloss over the lipstick you had just put on, giving the subtle appearance of a pout before tossing the tube back into your purse. Nervously your hands tousled your hair which had been slightly messy from moving around throughout the night. As you analyzed your appearance you wondered what Alex thought of you tonight, and whether or not he was actually going to kiss you or if the night would get away from the two of you.

It had been two years of fighting feelings and biting your tongue each time he’d say something cheeky to you. Sure you had kissed a couple of times, but most of them were borne of whiskey fueled bravery. Tonight you weren’t sure which Alex was in your presence, respectful or brave, though you were praying for the latter. With one final adjustment of your shirt you left the sanctity of the bathroom and back out into the bar to rejoin your cohort.

“There she is.” Someone spoke as you managed to push your way back through various groups of people, claiming your place along the wall.

Your gaze wandered over to Alex who was sitting over at the table, hand wrapped around a glass of something that you hoped would be the liquid courage he needed tonight. He looked so handsome sitting there, lost in conversation with one of the others. “Here I am.” You chimed.

“This place is getting really crowded, anyone wanna pick somewhere else?” Someone asked.

You were inclined to agree. There were far too many people in this bar, you could hardly even hear what your friends were saying. Plus there wasn’t an open seat to Alex, which was the exact spot you wanted to be in. Sometimes you have to take matters into your own hands if you want something done. “We could go back to my place?” you suggested, knowing you had a fair amount of booze at your house to tide everyone over for the evening.

By this point Alex had invested himself into whatever you were saying, intently looking over at you. For a brief moment you locked eyes and for the first time that night you actually felt a flutter in your stomach. His gaze was so intent, a sly smile pulling at his lips. He clearly liked your idea.

“Y/n has a new place, don’t yeh?” Alex asked despite well knowing that you had moved into a new apartment a few weeks ago.

“Yeah, bit bigger. We can go back there and hang. At least we won’t be bothered..” You trailed off, everyone quickly began to close out their tabs.

The night had cooled off significantly. As you exited the bar you caught a gust of wind, sending a shiver through your body. A small, deep chuckle could be heard behind you, one from that all familiar voice. “Cold?” Alex asked, stepping closer behind you and running his hands over your arms to warm them.

“A bit chilly yeah.” You nodded. Before you knew it, Alex was pressing himself all the way to you, wrapping his strong arms around your body, sharing his body heat. His lips incredibly close to your neck, he turned his head so he could speak.

“Who’d yeh come ‘ere with?” He inquired, a calm yet suggestive tone carried his voice.

“Mallory, who looks like she is currently otherwise occupied.” Pointing toward your friend who was happily kissing her boyfriend just a few feet ahead of the two of you.

“Good,” He mused to you, “I’m takin’ y/n!” His voice got much louder as he announced to the group who were spread about over the sidewalk.

Alex led the two of you over to his car, opening the passenger door for you to slide in easily. He lingered for a moment as you stood there, impossibly close, his eyes followed your form as you slipped into the seat. He rounded the front and slipped in himself, turning the key in the ignition.

The ride had started off quiet save for some soft music that was playing in the background. Your head lolled to the side and you watched Alex as he drove, admiring the man beside you. This was the first time the two of you had truly been alone together tonight, but would it be the last?

At one point he lifted his hand from the steering wheel and you watched as he flicked through a few of the radio stations until settling on something a little more rock based. His hand paused and hovered for a moment before he casually reached over and allowed it to settle along your knee. Body slightly tense, you dared not move or flinch of fear that he’d move away. Instead you stared at his hand so gently caressing the top of your leg - it would remain there the rest of the drive. When Alex parked on your street he turned to you as if wanting to say something, but the words dried up in his mouth and instead opted to smile over at you.

“What?” You asked, curious of his sudden lack of words.

“Jus’ enjoyin the view.” He shrugged, his hand squeezing just a bit before releasing altogether.

“Cmon, let’s go inside.”

You let out a steady exhale to rid yourself of the nerves you had built up once you stood up out of the car. Not that you didn’t enjoy it immensely, but you clearly hadn’t psyched yourself up for the possibility of the brave Alex tonight. Once you rounded the corner, you began to rummage through your purse looking for your keys as you walked. That same warm presence filled the space next to you once again, this time with a steady hand to your lower back as you walked.

The gesture was small yet protective, almost possessive without being too aggressive. You swallowed thickly, telling yourself that you were only a few moments away from being able to down another drink to calm your nerves. The remainder of the walk his hand would stay glued to your lower back, and would go unnoticed by the rest of your friends.

Once upstairs you were met by a few friends who were lingering around in the hallway. Someone mumbled something about you and Alex, but you opted to ignore the comment in favor of focusing on opening the door to let everyone in.

“Sorry if it’s messy… wasn’t really planning on having company tonight.” You apologized as you swung the door open, allowing your friends to all hoard in.

Lingering around, you watched as all your friends began to settle around the living room, coats being shucked off and dumped on your spare bed. You took note of Alex’s leather jacket sitting on the bed off to the side, causing you to half wonder if he had planned on leaving earlier than the others. Everything seemed to be going well so far, at least you thought.

With a promise of drinks, you made your way off into the kitchen and rummaged around your cabinets and began to grab various bottles to set out on the counter. This moment alone allowed you to reflect on tonight thus far, and to worry about how the rest of it would go. He was here, so that was something. Alex could have easily gone home but he opted to follow you back to your place.

“Need any help?” Alex’s voice popped back into the room. He was smoothing back his hair when you looked back toward him.

“You could grab some glasses.” You suggested, pointing toward the cabinet the glasses were located. A smile had crept it’s way up to your lips, Alex had gone out of his way to seek out where you were. You had to silently scold yourself though, to stop acting like a giddy school girl and to play it cool.

The two of you met at the island in the middle, laying out different things here and there. His hand wrapped around the bottle of cinnamon whiskey as he eyed it, a devilish smirk evident in his features. “I know that look Turner, what are you up to?”

“Let’s do a shot, just us.” He said, already pouring the golden liquid into two shot glasses with a wink.

He pushed the glass toward you, a small bit spilling over the edge and onto the counter. Despite your better judgement, you took hold of the glass and clinked with his before downing the liquid down your throat. It burned on the way down and settled into your stomach, and soon that warm cozy feeling would start to take over your senses. You both chuckled as your glasses came back down onto the counter with an echoing clunk.

“Alreyh, I’m goin’ to go out for a smoke.” He announced

“I have a balcony off of my room, upstairs, second door on the right, you can go there.” You nonchalantly mentioned, though the thought of him in your bedroom made your stomach flip. “Door should be unlocked.”

“Thanks.”

Alex disappeared off and you busied yourself in making a few different drinks to bring out. You took your time, hoping that by the time you were done Alex would be back and hopefully you’d manage to plop yourself next to him again and savor whatever time you had left with him tonight. With a tray full of drinks, you made your way back into the living room and started to hand them out - quickly noticing that Alex was not back.

“I’ll be right back.” You excused yourself to make your way up the stairs quietly, heading straight for your room. You found Alex exactly where you thought, leaning over the balcony as puffs of smoke rose over his head.

He turned around once he heard shuffling behind him. To play it cool you headed over to your closet to grab a sweater, as if the whole reason you came up here wasn’t to see him. Large brown eyes blinked over at you as he settled against the balcony, this time facing you. “How’s it going?” You ask, looking over to him as you pull the cardigan over your arms.

“Good, wanna join meh?”

Without a response you shuffle over out onto the balcony next to him. He flicked his cigarette, ashes falling over the edge and flitted down to the ground slowly. You weren’t much of a smoker, at least not as much as he was, but you did partake occasionally, especially if he was offering.

“Want one?”

“Nah, I’ll just take a puff of yours.” You shook your head, taking the cigarette between your fingers and wrapped your lips around the end. Alex’s gaze fixed as you inhaled and watched the residual smoke waft around your face. Carefully you handed him back the cigarette as you exhaled, blowing to the side so that you did blow it all over him. Between this and the shot you downed earlier, you were feeling much more relaxed.

…..

When the two of you returned, all of your friends had managed to pair off with each other around your apartment. There were a few in the kitchen, some sitting along the couch, leaving you and Alex to yourselves once again. Was this fate or divine intervention?

The couch already occupied, you chose to just sit along the wall in the back and rather than finding someone else to chat with, Alex chose to follow suit and sit next to you - not that you minded one bit.

“So, working on any new music lately?” You made light conversation, though you were genuinely interested.

“Got a few things in the works. Miles and I wrote somefin’ just the other day actually.” He answered.

“Anything good?” You teased, praying he’d know it was a joke.

“It’s alreyt.” He shook his head, ever amused at your wit. “Wha’ bout yeh? Wha’s new?”

“Nothing overly exciting,” You shrugged, “Just been settling in here, work, the usual. Not all of us get to be fancy rock stars with exciting lives.”

“ ‘S not always as excitin’ as it seems, always bein’ gone. Don’t get meh wrong, I love it, jus’ wish to ‘ave a little normal sometimes.” He revealed and for the first time that night you wished you weren’t here with all these people.

“I bet, probably can’t be easy always, but nothing is.”

The conversation continued well into the night. Occasionally someone would join in the conversation and sit with the two of you before wandering off again. Gradually people would also leave, the crowd and chatter diminishing by the hour. Soon it would be just the two of you again.

At around 1am you peered over at the clock, surprised to see how late it had gotten. It was crazy how fast time flies by when you were occupied with Alex’s presence. By now there were only three people left including yourself. The last person had disappeared into the spare bedroom to grab their coat and said their quick goodbyes, stumbling out of your apartment while grumbling about having to work the next morning, leaving you and Alex officially alone together for good.

“God when did it get so late?” You groaned, looking around at the mess you still needed to clean up.

“ Not that late y/n..” He laughed, recalling nights where it wouldn’t be until 4am before he would return back to the safety of his hotel room while on tour. “How ‘bout another drink?”

You were hesitant, knowing that you probably had enough as it was, but the way his eyes pleaded made it near impossible to say no. You had half a mind to say no though, because you weren’t entirely sure that you would behave yourself given the opportunity. But there he was, standing there with that stupid sly smile and you simply couldn’t turn him away. “Alright, one more.” You sighed, motioning for him to sit on the couch while you went to pour one last round.

There was an anxious tremor that was present as you gripped onto the bottle, pouring two glasses of whiskey neat. Your stomach was in knots, but the kind that were of anticipation rather than being scared of something. Tonight had gone so well, well enough in fact that you wanted to finally share your feelings. “Here goes nothing.” you mumbled under your breath, making your way back to the living room.

When you emerged from the kitchen you found Alex lounging on the couch, seated back comfortably while he scrolled on his phone. He quickly tucked it back into his pocket though when he heard you return, happy to give you his undivided attention. You sat down, handing him the drink, fingertips brushing up against each other as you passed the glass.

You settled yourself alongside him on the couch, nestled carefully, deliberately close. You brought the glass to your lips and took a drink, knowing that it was going to be your final push over into dangerous territory. What drew your attention was the warm contact that brushed against your leg as you settled comfortably.

“I had a really good time tonight.” You mentioned, your tone happy and bright.

“Yeah me too. Been awhile since I got to spend the evenin’ with me friends.”

Friends. The word almost seemed wrong in this context. You seemed to be stuck in this zone of friends and friendlier, and you didn’t know how to get past that barrier. He wasn’t like this with all of his other female friends, and while he had a flirty streak in him, his actions tonight were far beyond flirty. Inhaling deeply, you grabbed your glass again and took a drink as your body stiffened, unsure if you had read all of his signals wrong tonight. The last thing you wanted was to make a fool of yourself.

Alex noticed the subtle change in your demeanor, and while small, he wasn’t quite sure what had happened. He stared at you for a moment, examining your eyes because he knew you all too well. “Wha’s the matter?” He asked cautiously, eyes narrowing while extending his hand out once again only this time it rested higher up on your thigh, gripping with a bruising pressure.

“You know Alex, I just can’t get a read on you. One minute you are being real handsy and cheeky, and the next you call us friends. Which is it? Because I’m not sure how much longer I can wait.” You blurt out, shocked at your own bravery. You stared at him, wide eyed, mouth slightly parted.

When he didn’t say anything right away, you knew you had blew it. Maybe you had thought all of it up in your head after all, and now you sat before him looking like a complete fool. The anxious bubble crept up your throat and in a desperate attempt to quell it, you quickly stood and began to take a few steps away from the couch. “God I’m crazy!” You sighed, rubbing your temple.

“You aren’t crazy.” He murmured, having stood himself and for the third time that night found himself pressed up against your back. Your eyes screwed shut, feeling his hand lift to push away the hair that rested along your cheek to tuck behind your ear. The tip of his finger trailed along the curve of your jaw and down your neck in a hot line, this touch burning and leaving a tingling feeling in its wake.

There was a pause before the warmth of his lips ghosted over the tender skin of your neck, finally planting firmly to press a hot - open mouthed kiss over your pulse point. Deep within your chest, your breath hitched and instinctively you tilted to the side to allow him better access. His other hand had snaked to the curve of your waist, gripping at your flesh to keep you in place. “I’ve thought ‘bout doin’ this since I met yeh.” He hummed lowly, the curve of his lip just barely brushing along the outer shell of your ear.

“Alex..” You breathed out, voice shaking.

With great ease, he spun you around in his embrace, now faces inches away from each other. His chocolate brown eyes were half lidded and glossy as they peered back down at you, something between lust and love lingering in his gaze. In order to steady yourself you placed one hand carefully on the center of his chest as you swayed in front of him, leaning into his touch.

Alex treaded lightly in his new territory. His hands were gentle as they explored around your body, places he’s touched a million times before but this time in a whole new light. One hand landed along the side of your neck and jaw, thumb grazing along the crest of your bottom lip. The other hand hung low on your hip, and as you moved, the tips of his fingers lingered dangerously along the exposed flesh as your shirt rose slightly. With the hand that was along your jaw, he tilted your head upward so that he had the perfect view of your soft features.

He leaned in, closing the gap and locked your lips together, kissing you with enough force to almost knock you off your feet. It was a deep kiss, one that you felt with a stiff ache in the knees and for a moment you weren’t sure if you were going to be able to stand anymore. Your chest pressed up against his, you wondered if he could feel how fast your heart was racing.

Once comfortable and sure that you weren’t dreaming, you began to kiss him back, bunching some of his shirt in your fist. He hummed contently against your chest, the tone vibrating against you. And for the first time ever, the two of you got lost in each other completely, forgetting about the world around you.

“Y/n.” He spoke between kisses, repeating himself until both of you were able to get a grasp on to reality. “y/n.”

“What…” You whispered.

“Should I go?” He asked, not wanting to get too carried away too fast. You dismissed the thought quickly, bringing your lips back to his, only to have him pause again. “Y/n, are yeh sure?”

“Alex I’ve waited two years for this.” you answered firmly, taking a step back so that he would really listen to you. “I’m sure.”

To solidify your statement, you reach out to grab his hand, lacing your fingers amongst his. Your palm felt clammy but your grip was sure and steady. Without another word you turned on the balls of your feet and began to lead him back toward the staircase, and he followed now sure of his position.

About hallway up the stairs he stopped in his tracks, pulling on your grip. Confused, you turn around to look back at him to see what was the matter. Nothing was wrong though, as he leaned in again to kiss you, this time with ….

“ “ave I told yeh how pretteh you are?” He drawled, taking in the sight before him.

When the two of you finally reached your bedroom you pulled him in across the threshold, not bothering to kick the door shut. It was just the two of you anyways. “I can’t believe this is happening.” You divulged, in awe that this scenario you had played in your head millions of times was actually happening this time.

“Well believe it, love.”

The gap closed once more for another kiss, bodies pressed together, fitting so nicely. Your hands wound their way into his hair, his gripping along the bottom of your blouse. He let out a muffled moan as if to ask if he could rid you of the fabric, deeming it unnecessary. A fervent nod allowed him to lift the material up and over your head to reveal a black lace bra that cradled your breasts perfectly.

The heat rose to your cheeks and down your newly exposed chest once his eyes scanned over your form. He shook his head in disbelief that he had someone so beautiful sprawled out before him. He felt incredibly lucky, and he was going to show you just how lucky he felt. The bed dipped as he hovered over you, his knee resting between your thighs, one hand on either side of your head. You stared up at him, lost in thought, noticing the bits of hair that had fallen in front of his forehead.

It wasn’t long before Alex was leaning in again, peppering kisses along your jaw in one languid motion. Lips gilded along delicate flesh carefully, giving full attention to the spots that elicited a soft moan or breathy gasp. He’d smile against you each time a little noise would slip past your lips, fully aware of the blissful state he was putting you in. There was one particular spot, the junction between jaw and neck right under your ear that you particularly enjoyed, and when he suckled at the tender flesh your hands reached out to grab at his shoulders.

You breathed in heavily, inhaling the scent that seemed more intoxicating than the liquor you had downed but an hour earlier. He smelled rich, notes of sandalwood and something along the lines of cinnamon, likely from the whiskey you took, and the remains of the cigarette you had shared. Alex soon found himself lost in the moment as he made his way down your throat, planting a hot kiss to the hollow dip in your neck before moving along to your collarbone. Swiftly, his tongue jutted out to lick a small stripe along the length of the bone before suckling at the skin once again.

Meanwhile one of his hands had crept up along to the curve of your exposed waist, gliding up to caress your ribcage, feeling the speed at which you breathed, speeding up and slowing down with the pace of his ministrations. The thrill of it all was exciting and new, but he wanted to savor this moment for as long as he possibly could - needing to make up for lost time.

“Alex...” You pleaded.

“I know.” He whispered like a vow against your skin, a hushed promise that he would care for you.

As you squirmed underneath his body, he continued at his leisured pace, this time nosing at your sternum. He loved to take his time, building anticipation as he worked you over lovingly. Occasionally his hand would slip along your thigh, kneading the muscle and grabbing, inching ever higher until his fingers lingered around the waistband of your jeans. Pausing to peer up at you through thick eyelashes, he waited for a green light.

Your nod wasn’t enough, he wanted to hear your voice, strained and needy, breaking as you begged for him.

“Are yeh sure?” He asked, his voice husky yet sure as he looked for any hint of hesitation on your face.

“Please..” The single word dripped from your mouth like honey, thick and golden, desperate and ready, and it was more than enough to reassure him that you were ready.

His fingers made quick work of the button of your jeans before starting to pull the fabric down your legs. To help, you lifted your hips to allow the fabric to slide down your thighs, revealing more expansive flesh for him to grab and admire. A low groan echoed in his chest as he looked you over, pulling back so that he could pull the fabric all the way off and discard to the floor. “Look at yeh.” He breathed out.

Your giggle echoed through the room when he wrapped a hand around your ankle, bringing his lips to the inside and made his way in a line of kisses all the way up to the inside of your thigh. You watched intently, finding it increasingly hard to remain still as he worked his way closer and closer to where you craved his touch. He stopped a few inches away from your hip to move back to your tummy, kissing the flesh just above the hem of your underwear.

A curved knuckle brushed down along your clothed core with just enough pressure to cause you to jump at the friction. He noted how wet the fabric was as his finger stroked back up and down, only fueling his desire to make you feel good. “All this for meh?”

You nodded fervently, wiggling your hips to try and get the slightest bit of pressure to satiate the burning feeling growing between your legs. “Yes all for you Alex. Only you.”

Leaning down once again, he slipped two fingers inside the fabric of your underwear and pressed them against your core. You let a breathy gasp slip, your hips adjusting to the new friction. “Relax for meh, princess.” He spoke in a low tone, staring up at you from between your legs.

It seemed a near impossible task, ‘relaxing’, when Alex was happily making a home nestled between your thighs. This was something you had played over and over, thinking about, dreaming about, not that you’d ever thought it would become a reality. You blinked up at the ceiling, half dazed the other half of you on edge from the way his fingers would brush over you with just enough pressure to electrify your skin.

You craved more. More pressure, more touching, more friction, more of him. “Al…” You whined, words drawn out long as you fought the urge to scoot your hips down against his hand. He noticed the small twitches, the slight tilt of your hips and retracted his hand away from your core, leaving you a whining mess. “Now, now… wha’ did I say?” He tutted, hand lightly tapping around the outside of your thigh twice.

“Relax.” You huffed in response, making it a point to take a deep breath in and out, willing your muscles to relax a bit. As you did this, his fingers curled around the fabric of your underwear, dragging the fabric down your legs and dropping them on the floor, leaving you open and exposed.

“Good girl.” His head dipped down, first pressing a light kiss to the divet where your hip met your tummy, then moving to hover over your core. His tongue licks languidly over your entrance, lapping over you. The warmth his mouth provided, along with the newfound pressure had your hands clutching at the sheets desperately.

This went on, the back and forth of tongues and fingers until you started to squirm more underneath him, wiggling around on the sheets as your muscles began to tremble and quake. The pit of your stomach burned and fluttered at the same time, tensing with each stroke against your clit.

“I,” You panted, chest rising up and down quickly, “Alex I’m close…” You tried to focus your breathing. Your whole body felt warm, a warmth that radiated from deep within you.

“Go on then, let go for meh.” He continued to rub his thumb in tight circles while his two fingers pumped in and out of you, curling and pushing to try and coax you over the edge.

A tight feeling deep in your stomach finally gave way, like a dam had finally let loose and the floodgates were the shockwave of your orgasm. You felt like you were floating through the air, warmth spreading through your veins as you rode out the euphoria. The edges of your vision blurred until your eyes screwed shut in pleasure. He continued to place a steady pressure against you, helping you through the height of it and safely back down into the present moment.

“Good girl.” He marveled, almost at a loss for words at how perfect it all was.

Your mind grew less fuzzy, but your body was still charged with an electric buzz. His hand connected with your thigh again, rubbing gentle lines up and down as you grew more aware of your surroundings, a sappy smile beaming up at Alex.

“Wow.” You said, rolling over slightly to face him better. You bit on the inside of your cheek as you propped yourself up on your elbows, eyeing his belt before reaching out to tug on it. He made no effort to stop you, watching as you began to undo his pants as he had done for you before, standing so that he could step out of them.

Adjusting yourself, there was a deep burning in the muscle of your inner thighs as you positioned yourself to sit along the edge of the bed. You brought your lips to his abdomen, kissing along the crease of his hip. “Are you going to fuck me?” You asked, feigning an innocent glint in your eyes as you looked up at him.

Tenderly his hand came to smoothing back the hair that had fallen in front of your face, revealing rosy cheeks and a longing look. He stopped only to cradle the back of your head, looking down at you with a loving gaze. “Only if tha’s wha yeh want.”

“I want nothing more.” You blinked up at him, leaning in to press your own lips to his hip.

(to be continued)

Author’s note: LORD this got long... thus the need to put it in two parts... Make yall wait for more smut muahahah! I kinda feel like this jumped around a lot, so I”M SORRY! BUt please enjoy my loves. I know I did.

#alex turner #alex turner imagine #alex turner one shot #alex turner x reader #alex turner smut #fandom #smut #am period #am #arctic monkeys imagine #alex turner fan fic #smutty

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missymurphy1985 · 3 years

Text

The Extra (part 3)

Warnings - not yet 😉

Taglist @queenshelby @margoo0 @being-worthy @peakyscillian @peakyciills @janelongxox @elenavampire21 @noctvrnalmoth @ysmmsy @cloudofdisney @lauren-raines-x @namelesslosers @misscarolineshelby @screemqueen @cilleveryone @peaky-cillian @misselsbells06 @datewithgianni @heidimoreton

You'd accepted the role - it was only for a week, and you were there anyway. Clara would be killed off at the end of this week, sending Tommy into a crazy spiral that would last the whole series. Your class were so excited to see you in costume performing alongside the rest of the cast, they were thrilled for you. You kept playing it down, it was no more than a glorified 'extra' role, just there to set the story for the rest of the series - your actual screen time would be no more than two episodes.

You were catching up with Liane on Wednesday lunchtime over a sandwich and latte, she was grilling you about how your scenes with Cillian.

"You know, he's not at all what I expected. He's so down to earth and lovely. Really sweet. Patient too - thankfully. Hard not to forget your lines when you've got those eyes staring at you!"

"Is it not as awkward as you thought then?"

"Well he got rid of any awkwardness on Monday morning! His trick worked - we've been great ever since."

Your phone buzzed on the table and Liane couldn't help but notice.

"You exchanged numbers already?" She said, eyebrow raised.

"It's not like that - he used my phone to find his yesterday, left it in his trailer."

"You are not that naive Y/n... That's the oldest trick in the book!"

"What is?"

"The old 'lost my phone, can I ring it from yours' trick! He just wanted your number!"

"What if I did?" Cillian's suddenly appeared seemingly out of nowhere, plonking himself down next to you making you jump.

"Jesus Cillian, don't do that..." You laughed, clutching your chest.

"Sorry, I did text to say I was behind you in line but you were too busy discussing my ulterior motives for getting your phone number," he grinned, winking at Liane who was redder than a tomato.

"I um... Yeah I have to go do that.. thing.. I'll see you later y/n," she made her exit, and you shook your head, trying not to laugh.

"Would it have been so bad if she was right?" He leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head.

"Was she?"

"No, I actually did lose my phone.. but quite a clever trick isn't it. And I do have your phone number now." His eyes were on yours again, you swore he knew the effect it had on you.

"You do indeed. What exactly do you intend to do with it?"

"Well I plan to call you later, some of the cast have arranged a drink in the hotel tonight. See if you wanted to join us?"

"Me? I'm hardly a cast member Cillian, I'm only here for a week?"

"You're as important to this show as I am y/n - without your character, Tommy's spiral into madness doesn't make sense. You're going to be a real focus for this series."

You pondered it for a few minutes. You didn't have plans that evening, just heading back to your own hotel and reading a book, nothing too exciting..

"Okay I'll come for one drink. Just one though, it's an early start tomorrow."

"Great! I'll text you later with the details?" You nodded and he headed back over to the canteen, collecting his coffee and out the door.

Your scenes done, you were in your hotel room getting ready. Liane was on her bed reading, giggling like a schoolgirl as you straightened your hair.

"Will you stop - it's a quiet drink with all the cast!"

"Mhmm. Yep. I'm sure you'll have a lovely time! I won't wait up, don't worry!" You threw a cushion at her, just making her laugh even more at you.

"Right, my taxi's outside. How do I look?" You stood up in your black jeans and flowing pale tan shirt, finished with black boots.

"Looking hot mama! His eyes are gonna be on stalks when you walk in!"

"Oh shut up, will you!" You laughed, rolling your eyes, heading out the door.

You walked into the hotel, and as promised Cillian was waiting in the lobby for you.

"You look amazing y/n," he kissed your cheek and offered you his arm to loop into. Nodding at the bouncer on the door, he led you through into the bar. The other cast and crew were already inside, smiling and laughing as they chatted about the first few days of filming.

"What's your poison?" He asked.

"Vodka and lemonade please." You got your drinks and made your way over to Anto, who was currently entertaining Sophie and Helen with dodgy Dad jokes. You were cringing before you'd even arrived. He saw you and instantly threw his arms around you.

"I thought you said you weren't coming!" He asked.

"She had a better offer, Anto!" Sophie giggled looking at Cillian, who's cheeks had flushed a little at her comment.

"Oh now, I see how it is, my eyes not blue enough for you?" Anto laughed.

"Well no.. they're brown?" You smirked, making Cillian laugh.

You spent an hour chatting with Sophie and Natasha, filling they were telling you how well your students were going and how much they enjoyed having them all onset. Natasha went to the bar to get a round in when Sophie nudged you.

"Don't look round, keep looking at me."

"Okay..."

"He hasn't taken his eyes off you. Not once y/n. Keeps glancing at you, he thinks I can't see him."

"Who?"

"Cillian! He's talking to Paul at the bar, but he's looking over at you."

"Come in, you're not serious?" She nodded. You blushed again, feeling a fluttery feeling in your stomach.

"He clearly fancies you y/n."

"Yeah, a multi millionaire Hollywood actor fancies some random university professor from Stafford? Come on Sophie, even I'm not that daft! I'm going outside for a smoke, you coming?" She shook her head, and you headed out the side door into the empty smoking area. Taking out your phone, you typed a quick text to Liane telling her you'd be back in an hour.

"You got a spare one of those?" Cillian's voice behind you startled you.

"I thought you were a non-smoker?" You handed him your packet and he took one, you lit it for him.

"Social smoker." He leaned against the wall next to you, blowing the smoke away. There was a silence between you. All you could think about was how the hell you'd ended up here in a smokers area with Cillian Murphy. The little fangirl inside you was having a hissy fit. The grown woman in you was telling you to stop being so damn stupid.

"You're a damn fine actress y/n." You turned to him and scoffed.

"Seriously. Too good for that dick of a director. Purely intimidated by you, that's why he didn't hire you."

"I'm intimidating, am I?"

"A little. In a good way. A very good way," he raised an eyebrow. Was he flirting?

"And what is it that's so intimidating, exactly?" He stubbed the cigarette out in the wall mounted ashtray and turned to face you properly.

"We've spent a lot of time together these last few days. You know your own mind. You're intelligent, confident, have just the right level of sass, attractive. It's a deadly combination y/n."

"Is that so?" Did he just get closer? You were rooted to the spot, you were sure he was closer than he was before...

"That is so. Qualities like that don't come around very often. He was mad to not hire you, and even more tapped to blacklist you. I'd star opposite you any day of the week."

"Would you really?"

"Yeah. The movies I could make with you..." he winked, before heading back inside leaving you to wonder what he meant. Was he flirting with you? You shook your head, finishing your own cigarette. If he was, clearly just after a quick fuck with a costar.. but he wasn't like that, was he?

#cillian fanfic #cillian x fem!reader #cillian x smut #cillian smut #cillian murphy x smut #cillian murphy #cillian murphy fanfiction

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

Text

Tell Me It’s Not Too Late

(Sequel to Switchblade)

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Heartbreak, Swearing

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Summary: When is it considered ‘too late’ when it comes to expressing feelings? Is there even a time limit? Is the chance only momentary - is it a second that passes you by with no possibility of returning? All Corpse can do is hope that’s not the case. Cause if it is.....he’d rather not think about that.

Requested - sort of, but not in a typical way. Thank you to all the readers of ‘Switchblade’ that wanted to see the story have an ending that’d lead to a new start. Here it is, guys! Hope it lives up to what you expected. Love you all to the moon and back. 💖💖💖

I end my stream after almost three hours of constant scares. I sigh, slipping the headset off my ears so it’s hanging around my neck. I don’t feel that fulfilling feeling that I’m always met with upon ending a stream. I look at the countless scratches and little holes on the surface of my desk - evidence of the fear and frustration I experience while playing certain games. Not all of them are caused by that, however - Coming home after possibly the most humiliating night of my life, that desk and a few other pieces of furniture suffered my wrath and are now decorated with stab wounds that were a result of uncontrollable rage, hurt, self-hatred and self-pity. It took me a while to put an end to my hazardous, switchblade wielding rampage throughout my house, but the tears didn’t stop until the early morning hours.

I didn’t care that my feelings weren’t reciprocated. That was and is the least of my troubles. The most amount of hurt comes from the fact that I ruined something wonderful for myself. Corpse is the only person I’ve felt this close to all my life and now, due to my own poor decision making, I no longer have him. He no longer wants to be a part of the shit-show that is my life. Especially not now that he knows how messy things get when I show my forever-hidden feelings. I can’t blame him. I know I’d be running for the hills if I were him. He deserves a person who knows what’s going on in their life. Who has themselves and their surroundings figured out. Not someone who has an irregular streaming schedule and catches feelings for her best friend, ruining the friendship altogether in the process.

As I stand up from my chair, accidentally hitting the handle of the switchblade on the edge of my desk. I look down at it and how tightly I’m holding it. I seem to not be able to let go of it. Almost like I see it as my last bit of link to Corpse. The remnants of the connection I felt between us.

Maybe I should return it.

No, that’d be weird. I’d either have to go over there and give it back or send it via mail which is worse. It just feels like a harsh gesture - mailing something so meaningful as though it’s as worthless as the bills people get in the mail. I can’t send it through others, I don’t want anyone else getting involved. The more people know, the more real it is.

I’m aware I’m being both overdramatic and irrational, but you have to understand how much pain I’m in. I can’t guarantee the pain will go away or even lessen if I let this switchblade go, but it’s the only thing I haven’t tried.

Only problem is - I can’t let it go. I can’t find it in me to destroy it or throw it away. A part of me is willing to take the suffering of keeping it just cause it wants to hold on to that little connection it resembles. It’s evidence it existed to begin with. I believe it’s worth the pain. The hurt will go away eventually, but the memories are forever. I’ll look back at the time I had an amazing person such as Corpse to call ‘best friend’ and I’ll have something to prove to myself that it wasn’t a fever dream.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.“ I mumble as I finally uncurl my fingers from around the damn thing and put in down on my desk.

I take the headset off and proceed to head out onto the balcony to light what I call a ‘stress cigarette’. I’m not a regular smoker, but when everything just caves, I prefer to resort to a quick puff rather than grabbing a drink. I can say no to a second cigarette but not to a second drink. That second will then turn into a third and so on. And I don’t trust myself when drunk. I don’t personally know, but I’ve been told I’m rather unpredictable.

For the first few seconds while I’m standing there I don’t notice the pouring rain by some strange miracle. I can only focus on the chill of the breeze and the fresh breath that’s finally entering my lungs. I take a moment to breathe in the cool air before I start mixing it with the cigarette smoke.

With my eyes closed, I hear more than I feel the rain on me. Storm noises always distract me from the actual storm, they calm me down. However, the sudden loud thunder causes me to open my eyes in a matter of milliseconds. I frown, slightly upset that I didn’t catch glimpse of the lightning that the thunder probably followed.

I’m not upset for too long, though. A lightning flashes right opposite me, creating the most mesmerizing of pattern you can see in the night sky during a storm. It’s so bright, it allows me to see my whole, usually unlit garden perfectly in that second or two it graces the sky.

Wait

My balcony has a clear view of my entire front yard and all it takes a glance to the left to be able to see the front doorstep.

Don’t freak yourself out, it’s just a trick of the light

I stay quiet and as still as a statue as I await another flash of lightning, my heart speeding past the point of a healthy pulse and into the realm of a near heart attack. The storm seems to be on my side because maybe a minute later another lightning bolt cuts through the black of the night.

Sure enough, there’s a person standing outside my front door.

Fuck, what do I do?!

The person doesn’t appear to be moving. They are standing just as still as I am, facing towards the house.

I thank the universe the lights inside the house are off. I turned them off cause I wanted the ultimate scary experience playing that game. The only light is the faint glow of my computer screen which is, thankfully, barely visible. I slowly start backing up towards the sliding glass door, never taking my eyes off the figure that I can just barely make out now that my surroundings have fallen into darkness again. If it weren’t for the lightning I would’ve never been able to see them.

I manage to get back inside, soaked as though I just got out of a pool, without making a single sound. Just to be safe, I shut my monitor off. I grab my phone to use as a flashlight in one hand and the switchblade just finds its way into the other, my fingers curling around it tightly, more on instinct than to use as a weapon. I know I probably won’t be able to stab whoever’s out there.

I tiptoe my way down the stairs where all the lights are also off. I flick the blade out as I hesitantly and shakily make my way to the door to look through the peephole. I let out an unsteady exhale as I look at the the figure who is now standing further away and seems to have one arm in the air, curled at the elbow.

Just as I’m about to pull away from the door to dial 911 another flash of lightning illuminates the yard, the figure along with it.

Can we go back to it being an intruder?

It’s no intruder, surprisingly - to my dismay.

I turn my phone’s flash off and reach for the switch next to the door, flicking the light on before opening the door and walking out.

“I NEARLY STABBED YOU WITH YOUR OWN BLADE!“ I yell in a desperate attempt to be heard over the waterfall of rain.

I can finally see him properly thanks to the light in my hallway. He looks like he hasn’t slept in years. He has his hood up but his black locks are sticking out in every direction from under the soaked material, not being protected from the droplets whatsoever. I read the shock in his eyes, almost like he didn’t know I lived there. He doesn’t make an attempt to approach or walk away from me so we just stand there, in the rain, staring at each other as though it’s the first time we’ve seen one another.

I snap out of the trance he has put me in, shaking my head at the ridiculousness of the situation as I step towards him, grabbing onto his wrist, “Come on, we look like drowned rats.” I don’t give him time to react as I drag him inside, closing the door once we enter. “OK, from the top now: Why were you embracing your inner serial killer on my front porch?” I keep blabbering, diverting my gaze to anything but him. “Fucking hell, I could’ve stabbed you! You could’ve gotten really badly hurt! I -...”

“You know, I wish you stabbed me.“ He finally puts an end to my sorry excuse for frustration, I’m aware I look and sound miserable. His voice drags my eyes straight to his, fixing them there. “I know you can’t kill a cockroach on your own, and I know you most definitely wouldn’t even scratch a person, but I wish you had hurt me. Inflict fifty stab wounds on me and you still won’t hurt me as much as I hurt you.“ His hand swiftly pushes the hood off his head, grabbing onto his drenched locks as an expression of pain paints itself on his face. He’s the one diverting his gaze now, “I know what you mistook my silence for and I want you to get that out of your head.“

I wince at the pang in my chest, barely restraining my hand from flying up to rest over my heart, “Don’t humor me, Corpse! I’m not a child and this is not a game!”

“I’m not humoring you. I’m telling you...“ he makes a step towards me, grabbing hold of my ice cold hands, “I’m telling you I’m an asshole that freezes up when it’s least acceptable. I’m telling you I’m the worst at expressing how I feel. I’m telling you I can’t open foil. But you already knew all that. And you still liked me.“ He breaths in, refilling his lungs before continuing his rant, “I know you can be very chaotic. A real handful. A fucking tornado. But I love you. I love you as every natural disaster you represent. And if you could humor me...“ One of his hands releases mine, coming up to push a strand of hair away from my face, resting his hand on my cheek. “...by giving me one more chance. You always let me try multiple times when I stumble over what I’m trying to say. Can you do that, for me? For us?“

I let out a dramatic sigh, rolling my eyes. “If I say yes will you stop showing up like that on my doorstep?“ Of course, my primal instinct is to act tough and cool when my heart rate is once again going at the speed from back at the balcony. The skin of face and neck is red and burning hot. My eyes are rimmed with tears, I hope he doesn’t notice.

“Yeah. I’ll start coming in through the chimney instead.“ He visibly relaxes, a smile dancing at the corner of his lips. He lifts the hand that’s still holding the switchblade, prying it out of my grasp. “No sharp objects, please.”

He drops it in the pocket of his hoodie, finally leaning down to erase any last bit of doubt I have left. This kiss teaches me a lot of things.

Love isn’t linear - nothing about it is linear. Not falling in nor falling out of it. Feelings aren’t digital or binary - it’s not always as black and white as we might want to believe. Feelings don’t just come and go. They are always present, but it depends on us weather they’re suppressed or expressed. We fear the latter cause we fear vulnerability and change. But we also crave the positive outcome we have a 50% chance of getting. It’s a fifty-fifty game, but here’s the thing: if you never express your feelings it’s a zero-a hundred chance that you won’t receive the outcome you’d like.

I took the fifty over the zero chance and regretted it for a day or two. It gave me closure if nothing more. It let me stand under the spotlight and carry my pride on my shoulders despite the tears in my eyes.

My feelings being reciprocated is just another benefit. But no longer being able to call Corpse ‘best friend’ cause he’s now got a bigger and better title is the positive outcome I have been dreaming of.

He makes it all worth it. He is worth all of it.

And if I had to go through all that again, you can bet your ass I would.

@susceptible-but-siriusexual @simonsbluee @save-the-sky @hacker-ghost @itsminniekat @bi-andready-tocry @imtiredaffff @jazzkaurtheglorious @hereforbeebo @fandomgirl17 @chrysanthykios @maehemscorpyus @loraleiix @letsloveimagines @annshit @i-cant-choose-a-username-help @enigmaticmaze @divine-artemis

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gojology · 3 years

Text

Jealousy. (3/3)

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆 | I WORKED SO HARD ON THIS AND I RLLY LOVED HOW THE ENDING WENT BUT IF U WANT ME TO WRITE A LITTLE EXTRA OF WHAT HAPPENS AFTERWARDS JUST SPAM MY INBOX K THX ENJOY!!!! 𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 | Teen! Gojo x Gender Neutral Reader 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 | 2286 𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 | Cursing. ALL CHARACTERS HERE ARE AGED DOWN FROM PRESENT ANIME/MANGA INTO WHEN THEY WERE TEENAGERS. 𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 | Your plan with Geto finally unfolds, and Geto thinks with the information he has gathered, that it’s a perfect time for you to confess to Gojo. Shoko answers your suspicions about her and Gojo before Geto crashes the scene, telling you last second that he had set you up with Gojo for a confession, you had almost no time to prepare. Before you could even hold a proper scolding, Gojo arrives, it’s time to confess. “Okay, here’s the plan.” Geto slapped his hand onto the table, handing you a fizzy drink. You watched the bubbles rapidly float upwards. Inside, there’s various fruits, strawberries, kiwis, some lemons for added fanciness. “(Y/N), the drink is not what we’re focusing on.” he snaps his fingers, you glance up, he’s shaking his head and smiling. “Sorry, uh, I’m not good with serious conversations.” you twiddle with your thumbs, studying the table. Your fingers itch for your something to fidget with, the whole reason why you two met up was awkward anyways. You had conspired with Geto to make Gojo jealous. Having already tried being subtle, you had eyed him across the room, flirted with him, and he still hadn’t realized. You had bought him free stuff whenever you went to the store, and once again, he never really realized. Geto did, though. He always raised his eyebrows when you handed Gojo a bag of kikufuku from his favorite shop, or if you got him a stupid cheap trinket from the night markets. The point being, you were much more affection with Gojo then anyone else. Even when you tried to conceal this jealousy, the cracking point was when you had found out that Gojo had gone out with Geto the night before and had sex with a few random girls. You had chewed Geto and Gojo both out, while Gojo was yawning and tousling his hair, boredom evident in his face, Geto examined every single little thing about your body language. How your face seemed to drop a little more when you talked about Gojo, and how you seemed so self conscious when you talked about the girls that he had had fun with. He had approached you, with no time for small talk. His arms crossed, he blew a strand of hair away from his face, looking at you. He had oh so casually asked you if you had a thing for Satoru, and here you were now. Just short of having a heart attack from sheer panic. “Hey. Don’t be scared.” placing one of his hands on your shoulder, he smiles. “I know Gojo, did I ever tell you how we compared dick sizes once? Wild, I’ve also had a few foursomes-” You retch, and Geto snickers. “Moving on, that guy gets jealous EASILY. He’s also as dumb as a rock, probably can’t define the word love.” he looks down, the easygoing expression on his face wiped off, replaced with a rather saddened one, “but I guess he hasn’t experienced the feeling a lot.” He looks back up at you, brushing his bangs behind his ear. “This brings me to Operation: Make Gojo Jealous Because That’s The Only Way I Know How To Get Him To Realize If He Likes You or Not!” He leans over the table, looking left and right before leaning into your ear. “What do we say if Gojo doesn’t like you back?” Your stomach twists as the words, “Gojo doesn’t like you back.” echoed in your mind, you sigh. “That’s okay Gojo, and whatever your opinion is, I will respect.” “Perfect, if you have any objections, tell me now.” A deafening silence settles between you two, he chuckles again. “Also, Shoko’s smart as shit. She can probably catch on, or maybe she already knows that you have a crush on him. Maybe she’ll play into this, fair warning. Alright, ready? Listen close.” He stops leaning over the table, sitting back down normally. “We start spending a lot more time with each other, as in, we spend more than half of our day with one another.” you open your mouth to complain, as Geto would be sure to annoy you knowing that you had to spend half the fucking day with you, but he shushes you up with his finger. “I’m a good stalker, so I’ll be watching Gojo. If he doesn’t have a crush on you, he’ll be just fine. Albeit, just a bit lonelier, because his best bud is ditching him for you, maybe talk to Shoko or some shit. If he DOES in fact have a crush on you, he’ll watch our every move. He doesn’t hide his anger very well, so I’ll be able to tell.” “You’re a good WHAT?” “Shut up, and I have everything planned out. We’ll probably have a celebration at this park after we get back from wiping out all the curses from this village, and by then I’ll have enough information to see if that’s a good day to confess to him. Understand?” You nod, shocked that he had literally planned this all out. He gets up, nodding at you and waving, giving you a playful wink before leaving the room. — Here you were now, sitting on the picnic blanket. Shoko digs her hand into her pocket, pulling out a few cigarettes. You eye them as she whips out a lighter, delicately placing the cigarette into her mouth and lighting it. Taking in a deep breath, you watch her exhale, a hazy cloud of gray swirled around into the air. You never took Shoko as a person to smoke, but your gut wrenches. Does Gojo like smokers? He seemed interested in Shoko, and maybe Shoko was trying to confess with him before you and Geto had crashed the party. Nervously shoving the marble in your ramune down, you stutter, Shoko glanced up. Her lukewarm eyes stared into yours. “Have a question, honey?” her cigarette between her pointer and index, she coughs before placing it back into her mouth. “Uh, yeah. A-actually.” A pleasantly surprised face covered her calm expression, looking at you with curiosity, she nods, telling you to continue. “...Do you have a crush on Gojo?” She looks at you, bewildered, before pulling the cigarette out of her mouth. Chortling turning into coughing, she spits into the grass. “Oh NO honey, I can’t even picture dating a guy, actually, especially not that monkey. What made you think that?” Waves of relief rushed over your body, and you realize how stiffly you were sitting up. Relaxing your shoulders, you take a swig out of your ramune. “Uh, I-I don’t know. I saw you two u-uh... Really close...” Shoko smiles, her eyes crinkle at the side as she did. Scoffing a little, she places the cigarette back between her lips, taking a deep inhale before exhaling. “We were talking about shit, no bother, oh hey, Geto’s back.” You stare at where she’s pointing, Geto’s hands were shoved deep into his pockets. He had a toothy grin on his face, and strands of hair strayed from his bun as the wind whipped against him. “(Y/N)! I have news~!” he screams, approaching the picnic with long strides. Your heart jumps out of your chest, did he talk for you instead, and got Gojo to confess? “I set you and Gojo up!” he sang, sitting down with a heavy thud and digging his hand into the picnic basket, sticking his tongue out as he searched for snacks. He looks at you sadistically, thoroughly enjoying the shocked expression on your face. “WHAT?” Shoko snickers a little, before changing it into a cough as you glare at her. “Yep, he’s coming back now, so you better prepare!” yanking out a snack, he peers down. “Fuck yeah! Dried squid!” “ARE YOU GOING TO FUCKING IGNORE HOW YOU JUST SET UP MY CONFESSION WITH GOJO SO CASUALLY?” He looks up at you, sharing a look with Shoko before both burst into laughter. “(Y/N) being angry is a fucking knee slapper, isn’t it Shoko?” ‘Who the fuck uses the phrase knee slapper, Geto?” Ignoring Shoko’s sarcastic comment, Geto stared up at your figure. “Anyways, go for it sweetheart.” Geto calmly responds, Shoko still laughing. You splutter, cursing Geto under your breath and everyone under his family tree for raising such a child. “Aw hey now (Y/N), no cursing me! I know you’re doing it, and hey look, here he comes! Shoo lovebirds!” he waves his hand. Shoko, in an attempt to calm down, pulled her knee into her chest and giggled into her arms. You match your line of sight with his, Gojo’s lanky build was quickly approaching. Instead of his usually scowling face, he seemed more relaxed. “Yo.” he scratched the back of his neck as he walked up to the group, studying the grass. “Sorry for blowing up.” Geto stood up, patting Gojo’s back. “There there, truthfully no one gives a fuck! Actually, I don’t know if you remember but (Y/N) over here requested your audience, bye bye now!” shoving Gojo in your direction, he stumbled a little, before scrambling and placing his hands on your shoulder. ‘Sorry.” he murmured, a light blush crept up to his cheeks. “had to try to grab onto something or else I fall flat on my face.” You found your cheeks also getting warm, you touched your skin, thankful that he was looking in another direction. “Yeah. No problem.” “Fuck off, you two! Flirt somewhere else!” hollered Geto. “OKAY, HOLY SHIT!” hollered Gojo back, rolling his eyes before he looked down at you. “Geto told me you wanted to talk to me about something.” Your breath hitched, and you nodded nervously, he cleared his throat, arm snaking around your waist. Shocked by the sudden realization that he had his arm wrapped around your fucking waist, your heart was now pounding out of your chest, eyes wide. “The plot thickens.” Shoko lazily laid her head down on Geto’s shoulder, he grinned. “That’s my fucking child right there.” — Gojo walked with you on a long, narrow path. Trees as a sort of canopy hung over your head, rustling with the wind. No people in sight. He cleared his throat again, looking down at you. “Uh, here looks really nice. Pretty peaceful, and there’s seating.” he gestured to a bench with his unoccupied hand. You nod as he pulled you a bit closer into him, before letting go. A whine almost leapt out of your throat before he slammed your hands over your mouth, for all you knew he wasn’t going to ask you out, and rather ask you directions to the nearest bathroom or some shit. “Hey, sit down.” Snapping out of your daze, you nodded, sitting down and staring at the opposite direction of wherever he faced. You wished you had the courage to stare at his face, to look at his sunglasses while he ruffled his snow white locks. His defined collarbones, and his chiseled jawline and... “So! What did you wanna talk about, (Y/N)?” you whipped your head to stare at him, jumping a little as you did so. “Um.” FUCK, what were you supposed to say? “...Lovely weather we’re having?” Gojo scoffed, leaning towards you. He really did know how to work a person. Breathing heavier then you were when he pulled you closer to him, you looked at him, anticipating whatever he would say. “I know that’s... Not what you were asking to talk to me for. Let me guess, you have a crush on Geto and you want to ask me how to get him to like you?” ‘What! No!” you responded exasperatedly, hiding your face with your hands. “I... Don’t have a thing for Geto!” “What was that?” Gojo paused, before pulling at your sleeve. “Hey, I couldn’t hear you.” joking teasingly, he fixed his askew sunglasses. “I DON’T HAVE A THING FOR GETO!” He jumped back, rubbing his temples and sighing before chuckling. “You didn’t have to be that fucking loud! Holy shit that hurt my ears.” rubbing them, he looked at you with a laugh. You noted that his friendly behavior was back in business, as opposed to the serious one he had adopted as soon as you started hanging out with Geto. Suddenly, the atmosphere changed as his laughter died out, both of you silent. “Then... Who do you have a thing for?” Gojo whispered breathily, crossing his legs. You opened your mouth, about to respond with every bit of power that you had left inside of your already frazzled body that he was the one that you had a thing for, and the one you had a thing for for multiple fucking months. You closed it before you could, taking a deep breath in. “Hey.” leaning closer into your face, you swore you could count every hair strand that he had. He breathed heavily as well, and his chest heaved, he placed a hand onto your shoulder. “It’s okay, you can tell me.” You shook your head, looking away once again. He cursed to himself, was he too straight forward? Or were you that stupid, did he have to confess himself? No, he didn’t want to damage his pride. He wanted you to confess, to tell him how much you loved him, and the things you wanted to do together. But what if you were going to tell him that you had a thing for Shoko or some shit? “Come on, (Y/N), I won’t judge you.” ‘No!” you shook your head furiously again, “you’re going to judge me!” “I wont, come on, spill!” You bit your lip, twisting yourself to look at him, tears dawning on your eyes. Diving headfirst into his chest, you whined. Fuck it all. “I like you, Gojo.” “...What?” he wrapped his arms around your head, looking down at you sniffling on his t-shirt. “I like you, I like you, I like you DAMN IT!” you whined, banging your fists against his chest weakly. “Woah, hey there little baby.” he pushed your head gently off of him, kissing your red, sweating forehead gently. “I like you too, (Y/N).

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Note

Forcibly stripped and/or hit in the head for Antoni?

-outofangband

One Two Three Four

CW: Cigarette burns, burnt skin, trauma response, dehumanizing language, cigarette smoking

The end of Quiet One's cigarette glows faintly red as he inhales, and Antoni can't look away. It's a circle of light in the darkness, a demonic eye, and the scent hangs heavy in the air around him. Quiet One blows smoke into his face just to watch him cough, one side of his mouth lifted in a smirk.

"What, you not used to it anymore?"

These weren't what Mr. Davies smoked, but he doesn't tell them that. There's a terror deep inside of him that if he mentions the cloves, one of them will pull out a pack of those, cloying and falsely sweet smell, and then Antoni will be lost.

Please, please, sir, Mr. Davies, please don't do this-

He just shakes his head at the question, and stares at the little red circle in the dark when Quiet One breathes in again, pulls deep. Deep Voice lights a cigarette, too, a little clumsy. Trying to look like he's a smoker more than he actually is one.

Kicks to the stomach keep him struggling to take a deep breath, to fight back. It's three on one and he never stood a chance.

They yank his sweater off, pull the thick cotton off his shoulders, discard it in a heap on the floor, the action sends him spinning to one side, disoriented and dizzy. When Deep Voice grabs at his t-shirt, Antoni jerks back and away, only to have the Quiet One shove him back.

He trips over Lookout's foot and goes back down hard on his back, the air knocked out of his lungs.

While he gasps, bitter smoke on his tongue, Deep Voice drops down to sit on his hips. He grins at the soft oof Antoni can't help but make. "Help me get his shirt off," Deep Voice says.

Lookout just stands there, staring. Antoni's head drops, looking at him upside down. He looks ready to run. Take me with you.

"We're not... really gonna burn him, right?"

The Quiet One is silent for a beat. Two beats. Three. "Well, him or you. I'm not picky."

Lookout's breath hitches. "Thomas-"

"Hey! No fucking names, numbnuts! Help us out or I'll make you fucking regret becoming a coward right when it gets fun, got it?"

They're distracted, and Antoni twists, managing to get onto his stomach, nearly throwing Deep Voice off of him, crawling away from them with his fingernails digging into rotting wood. He barely makes it a foot, not even two, before a hand clamps down on one ankle through his jeans and pulls him back. "Nyet, otpusti menya-"

"Oh, damn, we got a bilingual Box Boy, lucky fucking us!"

"Hey, pet. Do you speak this language? Fucking stay down, Box Boy."

"Ha, I know what to do." Quiet One grabs him by the hair, pulling until he groans in pain and feels strands pull free of his scalp. He leans over and whispers, nearly in Antoni's ear, "Respect, pet."

Antoni goes limp, every muscle responding to the call-and-response inherent in the command.

"Oh, good boy. Nicely done."

Antoni turns his head. "Please," He says, and he"s barely speaking. He's whimpering.

Begging.

"Please don't, please, please-"

"Oh, I like how that sounds." The red circle flashes in the corner of his vision. Quiet One's fingers twist in his thick dark hair and there is a sudden hellish heat in a narrow single spot against the nape of his neck.

Antoni goes rigid, eyes wide.

It takes him a second to realize he's screaming.

One of them claps a hand that smells like mud and cherry slushies over his mouth, he doesn't know who. He keeps screaming, muffled, but he can hear them laughing louder than he can cry out in pain.

After a beat, Lookout joins their cackling laughs with his own nervous chuckle.

"Shit, man, I get why they keep 'em. If I was rich I'd totally keep someone around to make yell like that." Quiet One pulls the cigarette back to his mouth, lights it again. The brief flare of light from the flame makes his face all shadows and bone.

Antoni is still groaning when they yank his shirt off, throw it with his sweater. He can feel the rough dirt and wood underneath his chest and stomach, a sharp stab that might be broken glass in one rib. Someone grinds his face into the floor. He chokes on his sobs.

Mr. Davies does not like loud noises, not from him. The woman is for screaming. The ashtray is meant to hold still and silent.

"Shit," Deep Voice whispers. "There's so fucking many." The ashtray feels a fingertip moving, drawing constellations from scar to scar along his back. His skin crawls, itches and he tries to push up only to be shoved back down again, forehead bouncing off the floor.

The ashtray sees stars, flashing bright behind his eyes.

"Stay, boy," Quiet One says, mocking laughter still edging his voice. "Stay down."

The next circle of flame is pressed next to his shoulder blade, and he forces down the scream. He makes no sound but a hiss through his teeth.

Tears run down his cheeks and dampen the dirty floor beneath him.

"Fuck, that's hot," Quiet One whispers. "I could get down to this."

"Hey, this is... this is too much, guys." Lookout's voice shakes. "I, I don't want to be around for this part-"

"Don't be a fucking asshole," Deep Voice says. It's his hand holding the next cigarette, this time pushing into the skin right in the center of the ashtray's spine. "Take a turn, man. Feels pretty badass."

"No, I-"

"Pozhaluysta, ne delay etogo-"

"Shut up, pet."

Quiet One"s hand tightens in his hair again, then loosens as soon as the ashtray stops begging. Then it runs almost gently through the strands, petting him, almost soothing. "Good boy."

"He's older than you," Lookout says. His voice sounds flat. "Dude. He's older than you, don't call him-"

"They like it. I saw Rhythm's Legacy last year, they said the Box Boys like it."

"That was a fucking movie."

"So? Look. Try it, it feels fucking amazing."

There's a pause. It goes on forever, the hand in his hair, his skin covered in slime from being touched, the floor beneath him warming to his skin. It lasts so, so long.

Just as he thinks Lookout will say no, he feels a shaking hand run over the curve of his shoulder, the pads of new fingertips feeling the roughness of his scars.

"Feels cool," Lookout whispers.

"Right? Feel him, just like trembling and shit. Just try it once," Quiet One says. "He can't even fight it. They make it so they can't fight. Come on, man. It's the closest you'll get to owning one, right? Live a little. See what we can make him do."

"Just one," Lookout says softly. "Just one time."

"Please," The ashtray's voice is a whine, barely human. He tries to push up again, and this time Quiet One uses the grip on his hair to jerk him backwards, back arches, chin forced to lift. Tears mark trails in the dirt smeared over his face.

"Okay, wait, I take it back, this is hot," Quiet One says. "Do it, man. Fucking do it to him."

"Please, please do not-"

Lookout presses someone else's cigarette into the ashtray's skin right on his throat where his collar used to be.

The ashtray whines, loud enough to carry, and they cover his mouth again.

He should have kept his collar. His collar would have kept him safe.

"... One more," Lookout says, and lights the cigarette back up again.

#whump #box boy #pet whump #box boy universe #antoni sings lullabies #sadistic whumper #multiple whumpers #burns tw #trauma response #manhandling #forced stripping #noncon touching (nonsexual)#beating tw #scars tw #captured #dehumanization tw #dehumanizing language

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bobathots · 3 years

Text

smokescreen

i wrote the first draft of this in a lust-fueled haze in less than 24 hours a few weeks ago and then i watched a movie where tem was just absolutely off the rails h word and my brain went “haha smoking kink go brrrrr again” so literally this is just an excuse for boba to smoke. @jon favreau give him a cigarette u coward mob boss! boba/female reader. smut 18+ ~10k tags: pwp, smoking, oral sex, shotgunning, at one point u give boba a blowjob while he smokes also on ao3

He wasn’t expecting anyone — or at least, he wasn’t expecting you , that much was clear from his body language. You weren’t even sure it was him until you got close enough to see the dim streetlamp cast a familiar shadow across his face, until you could make out his staple leather jacket wrapped around his form. The tip of his cigarette stood out cherry-red in the evening light, hanging loosely between his index and middle finger. He tensed and turned his head as you approached.

“Boba!” You kept your voice light and even; you didn’t know how to talk to the man at work, much less in a situation like this. You hadn’t exactly expected to come across him in the middle of the night, in a dark alley situated neighborhoods away from where you both worked. But, then again, it wasn’t as if this was part of your normal schedule.

He dipped his head toward you in greeting, then brought his hand up to his face to take a drag from his cigarette. Your gaze remained transfixed on the motion, how he rested his index finger on his tip lip while his hand remained splayed, as if he was trying to hide the action. You spoke before you could think, the words tumbling out of your mouth, “I didn’t know you smoked.”

His inhale sounded like a sigh. Dropping his hand back to his side, he courteously turned his head away from you and exhaled billows of ash-grey smoke from his mouth. “Meant to keep it that way, too.” Oh. You winced. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…”

He shook his head as if to waive away your concerns. “Don’t. I’m the one smoking outside in public.”

“At midnight,” you added, knowing that he probably chose this time and place specifically for privacy. Privacy that you were now infringing upon.

“...At midnight,” he echoed, the beginnings of a wry smirk on his lips.

The conversation died out there, but you remained standing next to him, casting your gaze out onto the buildings. Distantly, you could make out drunken conversations from the surrounding busy streets so filled with nightlife, mixed with the occasional prickle of Boba puffing his cigarette. A cool breeze swept through the leaves and across your skin, causing goosebumps to pimple out in response. You hugged yourself tightly, palms wrapped around your bare arms, as if you could chase away the evening chill.

“Speaking of midnight —” You glanced back at Boba; he pinched the end of his cigarette between thumb and forefinger and dropped it to the ground, crushing it underfoot with his heel, “— you shouldn’t be out alone this late.”

“It’s not so bad in this part of town.” It felt weird having your boss express concern for you, as subtle as it was, even if it was in his nature to take care of his own , as he put it. You figured you were more like a blimp on his radar; it wasn’t like you were a crucial employee. You hardly ever needed to interact with him at work. “The streets are always lit,” you continued, “and always crowded.”

“Right. Which is why you decided to go down a dark alley in the middle of the night.”

Heat rose to your face. “Because I thought I saw you!”

He let out a sound which might have been a chuckle — god, it was so hard to tell with him — and he pushed off the building he had been leaning against. “Let me walk you home, then. An apology for causing you to make a stupid decision.”

You can’t tell if he’s being mean on purpose, but regardless, you didn’t want to impose on him. “Boba, it’s okay, there’s no —”

“Start walking,” he ordered. His voice was stern, commanding; the tone he took when giving instructions at work, and that meant there was no room for argument, no wiggle room to barter or bargain. The words yes, sir sat on your tongue, burgeoning with desire, but you swallowed them down back to the pit of your stomach where they belonged.

Another breeze blew in. You shivered, both from the temperature and from Boba’s intense presence, but finally nodded in acquiescence. “It’s not far,” you assured him, turning to walk back the way you came. “Maybe like five minutes or so.” Then, something heavy and warm draped itself over your shoulders and you paused, turning back once more to look at Boba.

A now jacket-less Boba.

“I...oh. Um. Thanks?”

“Don’t mention it.” He kept walking the direction you set out, leaving you to play catch-up. You took a moment to slide your arms through the sleeves, and it thrilled you to find out just how much extra fabric hung past your hands. Even bunching it up at the wrists caused it to slide down from how loose the jacket sat on your body, so you simply clutched the hems in your palms to keep the fabric from slipping over your fingertips. The rest of it draped over you, his frame much larger than yours, and you felt weirdly protected in his jacket. It smelled like leather and faintly of cigarette smoke, but most importantly it smelled like him, a scent you had no other words for. It was the same smell that lingered in his office long after he’d left, something masculine and oddly comforting. Wearing your boss’ jacket was like being wrapped in a second-hand hug, and you were ashamed to admit how much you liked the idea.

You had to do a little jog to catch up to Boba. Maybe it was the night air, or maybe it was the fact that you had genuine one-on-one time with the man you’d been admiring for so long, but you were suddenly emboldened to nose into his personal life. “So...am I allowed to ask why you don’t smoke with the others?” The “others” you referred to were a sizable group of Boba’s underlings that you often noticed smoking together by the backdoor.

“Not a social smoker.”

You wouldn’t call Boba a social anything , to be honest. “Okay, so why not in your office? I mean, you spend a lot of time alone there anyway.” You would have remembered if he kept an ashtray or a pack of cigarettes anywhere visible, and his office never smelled like smoke.

Silence stretched out between you. You thought maybe he was done with your invasive line of questioning — after all, this was the first “real” conversation you had had with him that didn’t involve work-related topics — but he spoke up after an elongated pause.

“It’s a nasty habit I can’t kick. I try not to indulge if I can help it.” If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that Boba almost sounded embarrassed at having a vice. “My turn to ask a question.”

“Hm?”

“There a reason you’re leading me through back alleys instead of taking the main streets?” He cast a sidelong glance at you, and even with the glint from the streetlamps you couldn’t place whatever subtle emotion danced in his gaze.

“Oh, uhm. It’s just a faster shortcut,” you said, hesitating despite your honesty. “I...normally don’t feel safe enough to do this at night, but…” The implied since you’re here hung heavy in the air between you. You drew his jacket tighter around your body, relishing in the shield it provided against the chilly evening air.

Seemingly satisfied with your explanation, Boba lapsed into silence beside you. You lead him around a corner and stopped at the base of a sloping hill, turning to face him. “Um, the house I’m renting is just up the road from here,” you started, nerves sitting at the base of your chest. The thought of Boba — your boss , who you were crushing on hard — knowing where you lived? It was almost too much to bear, because you were certain you’d do something stupid like invite him in for a drink, which would naturally lead to you into shamelessly begging him to do unspeakable things to you. You couldn’t.

Instead, you shrugged off his jacket, internally mourning the loss of warmth and security it radiated. “Thanks again. And thanks for walking me home.”

Boba acknowledged you with a slight dip of his head as he pulled his jacket back around his own shoulders. You gave him what you hoped was a natural and normal smile that didn’t let your nervousness show, and turned to walk up the long sidewalk that led to your ramshackle house.

His gaze burned on your back the entire time, only letting up when you unlocked the door and stepped inside the safety of your home.

The second time had to have been a coincidence, an alignment of your schedules, because you found him at the exact same spot at the exact same time a week later. The only difference was that this time, he was grinding out a cigarette and raising a zippo to light another in the same moment.

You never took him for a chainsmoker.

“Boba —”

“What did I say about walking alone at night?” His tone wasn’t accusatory, necessarily, but neither was it condescending or patronizing. It was almost concerned, if you could call it that.

“I only have the same excuses as last time,” you admitted. He made that noise again, the little huff you’d taken to mean he’s amused, and your chest did a funny little skip in response.

“Means I’m responsible for walking you home again, then.”

“I - no! Not if it’s some sort of imposition. I’ll be fine on my own.”

“I’m sure of that, kid. But,” he paused to inhale, and deeply: his chest visibly expanded to fill out whatever room was left in his leather jacket, and he held it there for a beat, savoring the burn, before he breathed out in one fell swoop. “I’d like to see you safe with my own eyes.”

The white smoke obscured his gaze for just that moment, and all you could see was the bright burning end of his cigarette like a wine stain on a white tablecloth, like a gunshot wound through a white shirt.

You swallowed thickly. “Y-yeah, okay. Thanks, Boba.”

Something like gratitude settled over your shoulders, but there was also something else there, something you didn’t know how to describe. It meant enough to your lovesick heart to know that he cared , at least in some capacity, about your well-being. Enough to walk you home twice .

Even when Boba looked away, gaze on some distant point down the alley, you couldn’t keep your eyes from him. He looked so good , so imposing at all times, and the cigarette only helped add to his appeal. He was every bit like an intimidating mob boss, like he might decide to put his cigarette out on some thug’s eye for mouthing off — and you were only a little ashamed to say that the mental picture made you want to squirm.

At the same time, you could tell there was a different edge to him tonight. Something more coiled and tense, like he had a bundle of energy he needed to burn off and burning a cigarette was the closest he could come.

If he had been savoring it that first night, he was flat out devouring it now. It was aggressive, in a way; how he’d barely let his lungs take in a full breath of oxygen before he filled them with nicotine and tar again.

“You smoke?”

His voice startled you from your thoughts, bringing you clear back to the current moment. “N-no. Why?”

“You keep staring. Made me wonder if you wanted a puff.” He had caught you red-handed in your shameless oogling, and you supposed you should’ve felt embarrassed, but you were too enraptured with the way he spoke with his cigarette hanging from his lips, how the smoke leaked out in little wisps with every word. Deftly, he thumbed the filter to flick ash from the butt and immediately brought it back to his lips again. Your eyes followed every movement. “But it’s a good thing. Don’t start.”

“I hadn’t planned on it,” you said, which was the truth — the truth that existed before you knew Boba was a smoker, anyway. It wasn’t like you had a craving to smoke for smoking’s sake. Instead, you wanted to taste from the same filter that sat in Boba’s mouth, imagining it stained with the imprint of his lips; you wanted to inhale the same smoke that he exhaled and pretend that you were sharing breaths like lovers, or fuckbuddies; you wanted to kiss him and taste the nicotine on his tongue —

— but he was your boss, and a good deal older than you, and he’d never be interested in the first place. Instead, you had resigned yourself to watching him in the act with the hopes that you didn’t give off creepy vibes and that he’d fire you. It’d be best if you could turn your mind away from more unsavory thoughts, you decided. You would rather be a friend to him than someone he cast aside. You figured his stress came from the current negotiations between him and a potential business partner, but said partner was well-established in this area and, to the best of your knowledge, kept raising their “prices.” You didn’t know much about it because it simply wasn’t your job to know, but word did get around. “Are the talks not going well?”

He let out a derisive snort. “Hardly.” He exhaled and smoke escaped through his nostrils, giving him the momentary impression of a dragon. “It’s that obvious, huh?”

“It’s just…” You paused to search for the right words. “You seem very stressed. I thought it might be because of that.”

Boba grunted in response. He held his little nub of a cigarette between forefinger and thumb as the smoldering end continued to eat away at the filter. For a moment, it seemed like he was honestly considering trying to finish it off, but then he breathed out a quiet sigh and tossed the butt to the ground.

“....So it’s a stress thing, then, huh? The reason you smoke?”

Boba crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his full weight against the building behind him. “Supposed to be,” he answered. “But then I got addicted.”

“You picked up smoking to cope with stress?” You couldn’t keep the incredulity out of your voice if you tried. Your response to stress was just to cry, something arguably way healthier than what Boba was currently doing.

He breathed in deep, then out, and caught the tail-end of a worrisome cough as he exhaled. “Stress used to make me angry,” he explained, taking a moment to clear his throat. “When I was younger, I picked a lot of unnecessary fights, broke a lot of bones.”

“Yours?”

“And others’.” You didn’t miss the uneven slant of his mouth, the slight grin he wore at the admission, as if he was proud . “But it was a dangerous outlet, so I found something else.”

“Like smoking is any less dangerous,” you pointed out.

“A cigarette kills slower than a bullet, kid. And besides, you’re...what, half my age? Maybe more?” He lifted himself off the building and beckoned you to follow him with a jerk of his head. “I’ve been smoking longer than you’ve been alive. There weren’t many other options beside violence or drugs when I was younger.” “Oh. I’m...I’m sorry,” you said lamely, not really knowing how else to respond. “Don’t be.”

He was leading you home, you realized with a start, both amazed and terrified that he remembered the route you showed him exactly once. As you walked, you stayed close to his side; the evening was no less chilly, and even though you were wearing a thin windbreaker of your own, you were still cold. Boba radiated body heat, and you tried to soak up some of his without being in direct contact with him.

“You don’t look stressed,” you offered after a minute of companionable silence.

He turned to look at you fully, an obvious cue to continue, but his unwavering attention made you nervous, and you started to blabber. “I-I mean, like… just in case you were worried that you were projecting the wrong image. Whenever I see you on base I just think you look so cool and intimidating, so even if these talks are stressing you out, it doesn’t show, and you still look as powerful and scary as ever, and so —”

“Thanks.” His voice made you shut up instantly , though there was no harshness or anger behind his tone. You were glad that he stopped your rambling; you were certain that if you had continued, you would’ve said something you couldn’t come back from.

You stopped at the same place last time, at the base of the hill, and turned to Boba with a slight smile. “Well, thanks again —”

“No, kid.” His hand fell to the small of your back, so big and solid and warm , and for a moment your brain short circuited as you tried to process the contact. “I said I wanted to see you safe with my own eyes. I’ll walk you to your door.”

“Uhh, y-yeah, okay. Yeah. Good. Sounds good to me.” To your surprise, as you started walking again, Boba’s hand remained a constant on your back. Were he any closer, you could pretend he had his arm slung around your waist as if he were a lover, or your boyfriend, your partner — but, desperately, you attempted to put a stop to those thoughts. They were all fantasies, anyway, unreachable things that you were never meant to hope for.

You stopped in front of your house steps. They were shoddy and showed more tear than wear, and the building clearly needed some love and care. It was, however, home , for the foreseeable future.

“Um, this is me,” you said awkwardly. Boba’s hand finally fell from your back, unfortunately not stopping anywhere on the way down, and he glanced up to take in the state of the building. You couldn’t tell if he was impressed or not — his expression was virtually unreadable — and you didn’t want to imagine what he was thinking, or what information he could extrapolate about you based on your residence. “I wanted to say thanks for walking me home. Again.”

“You shouldn’t be walking alone in the first place,” he said in lieu of acceptance, his brows furrowing ever-so-slightly.

“I know, I know, just —” You shuffled awkwardly, half-wanting him to leave, half-wanting to invite him to stay. “Thanks.” You hoped it was obvious that you weren’t just thanking him for seeing you home, but for sharing pieces of himself with you, for allowing you to see the bits of himself he never showed at work.

For a moment, his eyes seemed to look you over, top-to-bottom. He dipped his chin slightly in response. “Get some rest, kid.”

And then he was gone, the phantom touch of his hand hot and heavy on your back.

You formed a ritual together after that.

You’d meet him at the same place every week, always around midnight, and he’d smoke while you had an easy conversation. He smoked depending on his mood: sometimes, it was just one cigarette, enjoyed slowly, the stick held between his fingers more often than his mouth. Other times, he’d smoke multiple in quick succession, never more than three, but always with a sense of quiet urgency, like he wanted to finish them as fast as possible. He’d usually smoke them down to nothing, too, leaving barely anything left to count as litter.

Consequently, you grew closer to him than your schedule at work would ever have allowed. Some nights, the conversation would stick to work or work-adjacent topics. Other nights, you’d talk about more personal things, like when Boba revealed how his father died and you stepped in to overshare about your own sob-story childhood — but no matter the topic, there was a general acknowledgement that your relationship had Shifted, with a capital s . The dynamic between you two was no longer strictly boss and employee, but neither was it just a friendship. It was something precarious, dangling over the edge, desperate for something to disrupt it.

And you were desperate to keep it there. Sure, Boba had gotten a little more physical with you in the sense that he always had a hand or an arm touching you as he took you home, and maybe he gave you his jacket more often than not these chilly evenings, but otherwise he was still...Boba. Still kind of hard to read, still a little emotionally closed off, and most definitely not into you. It sucked, but you had learned to be content with the crumbs you got, and it came with the added bonus of having a secret together that no one else at work knew about. It wasn’t scandalous, or taboo, but it definitely felt a little gratifying knowing that you got to see a side of the boss that most everyone else wouldn’t know existed.

Your weekly meeting was a ritual. A sacred thing.

Until it wasn’t.

One night, Boba simply wasn’t there .

His silhouette was missing . There was no figure leaning against the building, there was no cherry-red glow of cigarette embers, there was no one.

You checked your phone: just a little past midnight. Was he sick? Or busy? He had your number for work-related reasons, so surely he would have texted you if —

But why would he? It wasn’t like this was anything serious , right? It wasn’t a meeting he needed to cancel, or a failed date you could excuse your way out of. This was just… a thing . A repeated thing with a date and a time and a place, sure, but…

Nonetheless, you found yourself drawn to your phone, the screen casting a soft blue glow across your face as you waited for a notification to pop up over your messaging app. You wouldn’t call yourself a romantic, but surely expecting a courtesy message wasn’t beyond whatever little ritual you had going on, right? At least, as your employer, he could treat it like —

A hand grabbed your shoulder. On reflex, you twisted around and flailed your arm wildly, hoping to hit whatever would-be assailant in a place that would hurt.

He caught the fist you carelessly slung in one broad hand, his fingers wrapped around your wrist tight to hold it in place.

“ Boba! ” you gasped, both relieved and irritated at the same time. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

He let your hand slide from his grasp, and if you were in the right mind to pay attention, you would have noticed how he purposefully let his fingertips ghost longer on your skin, how they ran from your wrist to fingers instead of dropping away outright. “Don’t stand oblivious in an alley. At least keep moving if you’re alone.”

You slid your phone back into your front pocket. “I was waiting for you . I didn’t think you were coming.”

At that, he raised an eyebrow ever-so-slightly. “Wasn’t aware I could be late.”

And, well — he was right. This was his thing, after all, his late-night smoke break that he just happened to be so kind as to let you participate as a spectator. Of course he could change his mind, of course he wouldn’t think to let you know. It was your fault for getting attached and thinking it was something more —

“You should stop walking alone so late at night.” Boba was close , you realized. The brief panic earlier had drawn you two together and you hadn’t parted very far, your chests merely inches from each other. It was closer than you had ever been to him before, at least face-to-face, and as a consequence he spoke quieter, his voice coming out as more of a husky rumble than an actual vocalization.

“I’ll stop when you stop smoking,” you countered, your mind too focused on your proximity to Boba to filter your words properly. You were worried he might pick up the true meaning, that it was the act of Boba smoking that lured you to him each week, but instead he huffed out a chuckle.

“We’ll see about that, princess.”

Princess . That was... oh . It sounded like a proper pet name, and the realization made a rush of heat go to your face.

“P-princess?” you finally squeaked out. “Really?”

“You’re spoiled often enough,” Boba said plainly, though the hint of a grin pulling at his lips made you realize he was teasing you.

Something overwhelmingly warm and pleasant tugged at your heart, replacing practically every negative feeling you’d experienced in the past ten minutes. “I’m spoiled, huh? How am I spoiled?”

“You usually get what you want.”

You hummed at that, trying to think of something he might be referencing. He didn’t interact with you much at work, and typically it was usually the opposite in your experience. “I don’t think so,” you finally said, drawing up blanks.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

Oh.

You hadn’t considered that maybe he kept up with the ritual for your sake. Maybe he didn’t smoke at the same time and at the same place on a weekly basis, but instead decided to show up because you expected him there. Because that made sense.

Guilt ate at your heart, replaced quickly by a sense of affection.

It meant he enjoyed your talks, then, right? That he at least enjoyed your company? You couldn’t think of anyone he might just hang out with other than Fennec, and even then, you couldn’t picture him going through the trouble of all of this just to talk with her.

“Boba…” Tentatively, you reached out and placed your palms against his chest, looking up at him. He smelled like leather and smoke and himself , and you were so close that if you wanted, you could… you could….

Thunder crackled sharply overhead, and you jumped back in pure surprise. Boba’s hands came to settle around your elbows, keeping you from fully peeling away.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathed. Ozone filled your nose — the threat of rain.

“Didn’t think it was supposed to storm tonight,” Boba admitted, and the change in weather made disappointment surge through your veins. You doubted he was the type to enjoy smoking while soaking wet, meaning you’d likely have to call it quits for tonight.

Unless…

“You could…” Oh, god. You already knew that the offer would be a mistake, but you swallowed down the nervous lump in your throat. “You could smoke. In my house. If you wanna.”

He regarded you quietly. “If I want, huh?”

“I-if you want,” you repeated. “But would a ‘please’ help influence your decision?”

“No.” And oh, that made your heart drop in your chest — but then he curled a finger under your chin and applied enough pressure to keep you gazing up at him. “But I want to hear one anyway.”

You couldn’t look away if you wanted to. There was something in his eyes that had you absolutely mesmerized , something burning like the smoldering end of a cigarette. God , you wanted to fucking kiss him. “Will you please come to my house?”

His lips curled into a small, self-satisfied smirk that bordered on a grin. The way he allowed you to see a flash of teeth seemed almost predatory , and it made you want to run away, or run toward him. “I’m not in the mood to get soaked,” he finally said. “Let’s go.”

You thought he would pull away from you entirely, leave you wanting and waiting, but instead his arm curled itself around your waist to pull you against the warmth of his side. The gesture was so obviously possessive that it made your heart swoon . You tentatively leaned into him, a hand braced on his chest, but he took your weight easily, as if it were nothing.

The walk to your house was usually a quick affair, a five minute walk at most . Yet, now it felt like you were getting there at a snail’s pace, your body and brain hyperaware of your surroundings, dragging the walk out into one long punishment. Boba’s hand had slipped underneath the hem of your shirt to touch bare skin and it burned with promise. His body was so warm, and so solid, and he smelled so good that you just wanted to bury your face in his chest and just breathe.

To anyone else, you would’ve looked like a typical drunk couple enjoying the evening together. You were invisible, and that knowledge made you almost giddy . He was no longer your boss and you weren’t his employee. The circumstances of your relationship didn’t matter, and for a moment you could pretend that you two were just —

Well, that you two were something together. Something with a future.

Too held up in your thoughts, you didn’t notice the pebble in your path, and you caught your foot on it and stumbled. Boba’s arms wrapped around you before you could pitch forward and he dragged you up to hold you against his chest, one strong arm braced around your middle. “Easy.”

His lips were right by your ear, so close that his voice had come out as barely more than a low rumble. You instinctively tensed in his arms, one hand resting atop his own, and turned your head back to look at him.

Christ , you were impossibly close. The angle meant that there were scant few inches separating you from him, and that a small adjustment would be enough to allow your lips to brush his, to allow you to have a taste of him that you’ve craved these past few months —

Thunder boomed overhead and you startled in his arms, enough so that you jerked away from him. You gave a nervous laugh moreso to assure him that nothing was actually wrong than anything else. The first few fat drops of rain splattered your skin, shockingly cold, and you both looked up at the sky in unison.

“We’d better hurry,” you suggested, knowing how easily torrential rain began in storms like these.

You reached for his hand this time, settling your small hand in the palm of his own, but it was Boba that pulled you along to your house with a renewed sense of urgency as rain began to darken the concrete in small splotches. The clouds threatened to open up and drench you both, but there was something a little more primal in the way he handled you, like it wasn’t just the rain on his mind.

By the time you reached the steps leading up to your door, he was practically manhandling you up them, and instead of allowing you to stop and fish your keys from your pockets, he kept himself in your space, crowding into you, forcing you back against your door. He braced an arm over your head, the other settling on your hip, and when he pressed his knee between your thighs you parted your legs willingly for him.

Boba stared at you. Water droplets dusted the shoulders of his leather jacket, shining dimly in your porch light. The same light reflected warmly in his brown eyes, eyes normally so hard and closed off, but soft for you , like he was sharing a secret, like he was barring some hidden part of himself just for you. Only you.

His thumb skimmed your bare skin where your shirt had ridden up, drawing slow and smooth circles that didn’t match the intensity of his gaze or the way your heart pounded in your chest. When he swallowed, you watched how his adam’s apple bobbed and longed to put your mouth there, to feel the motion against your lips.

“You gonna invite me inside?”

You wanted to hit him. You wanted to give him a snarky reply for all but forcing you up your stairs, or call him something that involved the words cheeky and asshole — but his breath kept ghosting tantalizingly across your lips and his damned smirk was so attractive and you felt like you had been waiting for this for literal years, desire and want and longing all bound up fit to bursting in your chest. “Only if you kiss me,” you challenged breathlessly.

Boba surged forward, hands sliding to cup your face between his broad and calloused palms, and he kissed you with more teeth than lips, something ferocious and desperate . His knee slotted itself higher between your thighs, purposefully rubbing against your center, and you moaned into his mouth, clutching desperately at his wrists. Against the awning, the spattering of rain turned quickly into a flood and for a moment you couldn’t differentiate between it and the blood rushing in your ears.

You never thought you’d find the taste of cigarettes appealing, but you did — at least, you liked them combined with whatever it was Boba tasted like. Maybe it was your attraction to him warping your senses but you couldn’t get enough. You licked into his mouth, sucked lightly on his tongue, teased his lip with your teeth — literally anything to keep him pressed against you.

His hands left your face which made the chilly air feel all the more cold against your cheeks. Instead, they ran down the length of your torso, mapping out the curves and planes of your body. You arched willingly into his hands as they reached around to your backside, sliding into the pockets of your jeans —

— only to be met with disappointment when you heard the jangle of your keys as he pulled them from your pocket. “Could’ve — asked ,” you managed between breathless kisses. Boba hummed into your mouth as he reached for the doorknob to your side. Reluctantly, he pulled away just long enough to slot the key correctly into the lock, and you busied yourself with tasting the expanse of skin on his throat that the new angle provided.

One hand still remained cupping your ass, and you squeaked when he suddenly grabbed a handful and squeezed. As he turned the doorhandle, he used his hand to pull your weight forward against him so that you wouldn’t fall backward into your house, which had the added advantage of pressing your chest to his.

“C’mon,” he murmured lowly, playfully swatting your ass. “Inside.”

You barely registered the sound of your keys hitting your tiled floor as he ushered you indoors, because the moment you both were safely inside you fell on him again, lip-to-lip, hands trying to work off his leather jacket. He took the hint and shed it quickly, letting it fall to the floor, and immediately he urged off your own shirt, breaking away from you long enough to pull the fabric up over your head.

His hands felt so big against your body like they were everywhere, his rough palms a stark contrast against your smooth skin. He thumbed just under your breastband, one hand settled on your back to keep your pelvis pressed to him as his other hand groped your chest over your bra, rough and demanding, and you whined into his mouth. The pleasure threatened to sweep your thoughts away, to turn you mindless and dumb and completely receptive to his whims. You turned your head away from his lips, trying to find the words to speak as he continued to grab handfuls of your flesh. “Boba —” you started, cutting off abruptly with a whine as he teethed at the delicate skin of your neck, each nibble a promise of a later bruise. “W-wait, Boba, I thought you came here to smoke?”

In an instant, his hands fell to his sides, leaving you completely untouched. If you weren’t keyed up and desperate, you might’ve appreciated the gesture, but now it just left you feeling frustrated and unfulfilled. He looked down at you in concern, brows slightly furrowed, but all you could focus on were his lips . They were slick with saliva, kiss-swollen, and you felt a twinge of regret that you had pulled away at all.

“....Do you not want —”

“No! No, I do, I just thought that maybe, y’know…” You gave him a sheepish grin, aware of how hot your face felt. “I thought that maybe you could...do both?”

Concern gave way to slight confusion, then he chuckled in amusement. “I should have guessed.” Boba reached back into the pocket of his jeans. He pulled out his lighter and a carton of cigarettes and carefully shook one free. “You have a thing for smoking, huh?”

“No!” It was a gut-response to deny; smoking was gross . It was yucky . It did awful things to people’s bodies and it stained clothes and fingers and yet — “Or at least, I didn’t,” you amended, voice softening. “Not until I saw you that night.”

He paused, lighter halfway to his mouth. The cigarette dangled attractively from his lips. “You should have better taste.”

You choked on nothing. “Wh — you should have better stress relievers!” “Are you offering?”

That made you stop, heat rising to your face at the implication. Sure, you wanted him — but the thought of being his little toy , someone he came to when he needed a quick fuck to ease his frustrations — you liked the thought of it a little too much. Boba was smirking at you, but he seemed to understand to leave well enough alone, at least for now.

There was a flash of light, steel hitting flint, and then the familiar smell of smoke filled the air, more potent in your tiny house. He motioned his head toward your couch as he breathed out a mouthful of smoke. “Go sit.”

The command was almost unneeded; Boba practically steered you there himself, hot on your heels, his hand right back on your lower back like it belonged there. You settled yourself on the cushions, half expecting him to sit beside you, or maybe cover your body with his own — but when he sunk to his knees in front of you, nerves bubbled up in your stomach.

“Oh, Boba, I’ve never...No one has...gone down on me before.”

He grunted, deft fingertips already at the button of your jeans. “Don’t see how that impacts me.” You raised your hips to help as he tugged at the hem of one pantleg, and he slid your jeans off in one smooth movement. He placed your legs over his shoulders and jerked you forward so your ass was off the couch, hips suspended in midair by his arms hooked underneath your thighs. It left you trapped and pinned in place, your back slouched awkwardly against the back of the couch. He puffed on his cigarette before transferring it between his first two fingers, the burning tip pointed away from you as he gripped your thigh. Smoke escaped his mouth as he spoke, “Unless you want me to stop?”

You shook your head, and whatever nervous thoughts you had about tasting or smelling weird, or not looking the way he expected, or not being groomed the way he liked instantly left as Boba ran the flat of his tongue against your clothed cunt, so hot even through the fabric of your panties, and you jerked your hips both in surprise and want .

“Be still ,” he growled, so close that you felt his breath against your center. “I don’t want to burn you.”

“You won’t,” you breathed. You trusted him not to even accidentally harm you, like accident wasn’t a word in his vocabulary. Instead, you felt his arms clamp down on you harder, giving you even less potential wiggle room than before.

A moment later, his mouth was on you, his tongue licking broad stripes against your panties. It felt good even without direct contact; you had never had someone’s mouth on you before, and it had been a long time since you had anything but your hand to pleasure yourself with.

“You’re already so wet.” He turned his attention to your inner thighs, and pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses to your heated skin. His free hand rubbed you through your panties, spreading your slick into the fabric, and you moaned . “Is it because of me, or are you just excited?”

“You. It’s you.” He hooked his thumb under the edges of your panties and pulled the fabric away from your crotch, exposing your heated core. Your breath came in short puffs as he finally touched you, skin against skin, his thumb dipping into your folds to collect your slick on his fingertip. “I’ve — thought about this for so long.” “About me eating you out?” You were so wet; you could see how your juices glistened on his thumb as he brought it to his mouth, letting his tongue loll out lewdly as he licked your taste clean from his finger. You whined at that sight alone and imagined his tongue tasting you for real, imagined how wet and hot it would feel against your bare cunt. He brought that same hand down onto the meat of your thigh, slapping you light enough to get your attention but not enough to leave a lasting sting. “I asked you a question, princess.”

“About this,” you repeated, as if it clarified anything. “About you. About — Boba, please —” You tried arching your hips off the couch to tempt him, tried to explain without words what you wanted as your voice died off into a needy whine.

His hand returned to your cunt, fingertips grazing over your clit through your panties. They were so soaked with his spit and your slick that it was barely a barrier at all, made translucent by all the fluids. “Don’t make me guess what you want,” he said. “Tell me, and I’ll give it to you.”

Frustrated, you groaned and covered your face with your hands. “It’s embarrassing to say it.”

“It’s embarrassing, huh?” Boba teased the edge of your underwear, flicking it against your skin as a reminder that his fingers were right there , that you could have what you were desperate for if you only asked. “Is it embarrassing if I say that I love how you taste?”

“Boba….” you whined weakly.

“I want to taste more of you,” he murmured, voice growing husky. He nosed against your clothed mound, breath fanning hotly against your core. “I want to bury my tongue in your little cunt and take everything from you. I want you to come undone on my mouth, princess.” He pressed an oddly-sweet kiss to your thigh, his lips lingering on your skin. “But I can’t unless you tell me what you want.”

You felt hot and extremely bothered by the casual way he said those things, how he just uttered his desires as if they were nothing. It wasn’t embarrassing to ask him to eat you out, but you found it embarrassing that you wanted it. You swallowed thickly, and when you finally looked out from under your hands you found Boba looking up at you through hooded eyes, just waiting. Watching.

“Please,” you whispered. “Please eat me out.”

“ That ’s it." In a blatant show of strength he ripped your panties right from your hips, tearing the cloth with one strong pull. You didn’t even have time to articulate a response, because a second later his mouth was on your bare pussy, his tongue eagerly lapping up the liquid that glistened on your folds.

“ Boba! ” You jerked hard in his grasp but he pinned you down with his hands alone, his grip on your thighs so tight you knew that there would be ten marks in the shape of his fingers the next morning. He was relentless, lapping and slurping at your cunt like a man starved, and the sounds were so lewd and so pornographic that you’d have found them gross were you not so aroused.

You wanted to snap your thighs closed and rut against his mouth so bad , but his hold on you was unforgiving. He kept you spread and held in place, completely at his mercy as he licked and sucked and devoured you. Little gasps and moans kept escaping your lips, mixed in with mindless repetitions of Boba and please and yes, yes, like that. This was the loudest you had ever been; months of pent-up desire and sexual frustration had you quickly approaching an orgasm, vastly helped by Boba’s skillful tongue. The urge sat heavy in your gut and only grew with each passing second until you were frantically trying to grind into him, hips moving minutely in his iron grip.

And then he began to pull away. Your hand shot out to grab the back of his head to hold him in place, a desperate whine leaving your throat. “No! No, Boba, please, I’m so close, please —”

“Shhh.” He turned his head to place a soft kiss to your inner thigh. “Relax, princess. I’m not going anywhere.” His assurances were enough to cause you to let go, and he rewarded you by peppering more gentle kisses to your slicked skin. “You got an ashtray?”

You had to think through the haze of want that clouded your thoughts. “A... huh? Why?”

“Don’t want to burn you.” He motioned toward the cone of ash on his cigarette, which had been steadily burning the whole time his mouth was on you. Carefully, he unwound his arms from around you and you slumped, boneless, back into the couch. “Unless you want me to use the carpet?”

“N-no, god, my landlord would kill me.” You spotted an old mug sitting on the endtable right next to the couch and reached for it, almost spilling the scant liquid left inside as you haphazardly handed it to Boba. “Use this.”

Sitting back on his haunches, he flicked the excess into the mug and then brought the cigarette to his lips, inhaling deeply. You watched the fabric of his shirt stretch across his chest as he breathed in, how his shoulders seemed to broaden with the action. When he exhaled, he blew from the side of his mouth, keeping the smoke from reaching your face.

Which was considerate and all, but… “ Boba .” You stretched your lower half toward him in need, letting your thighs fall open. “Please?”

“You invited me here to smoke,” he reminded, even as his free hand slid up to brush tantalizingly close to your slit. “You gonna make me waste a cigarette?”

“N-no, but…” Tears pricked the back of your eyes; you had been so close , and the longer you went without his mouth on you the more you worried you wouldn’t get to come at all. “ Please .”

Boba flicked ash into the mug again and set it aside on the floor, out of reach of flailing arms and legs. “Spoiled little thing,” he said, so affectionate, and then he was upon you, his head back between your thighs. And, fuck, maybe you were spoiled, but it was his fault for indulging you and giving you an inch so you could take a mile. His tongue just felt so good, and without his arms pinning your legs open you rutted freely into his mouth, moans and pleas rolling off your lips anew.

Boba turned his head to the side as he took another drag from his cigarette, holding the little nub a safe ways away from your skin. He exhaled before he wrapped his mouth around you again, hotter than before, and his lips latched around your clit.

“Fuck!” Pleasure shot up through your spine and you moaned shamelessly, your eyes shutting tightly against the feelings that threatened to overwhelm you. “Fuck, fuck , Boba, please, oh my god —”

“Gonna come from my mouth alone?” His lips barely left your cunt as he spoke, his hot breath only serving to further tease you. “Wanna come for me, sweet thing?”

“ Yes ,” you hissed. “Yes, Boba, please , wanna come on your tongue —” You weren’t even wholly aware of what you were saying, just babbling mindlessly as he kept torturing your clit with attention. The urge you were chasing earlier came back full-force, leaving you teetering on the edge. “Please, please , Boba, Boba —”

“Then come,” he ordered. “Come for me.”

It might have been his voice, it might have been because his teeth skimmed your clit, but you came and you came hard . You think you screamed, or blacked out, or screamed and then blacked out — and when you finally relaxed, body no long tight and taut, you opened bleary eyes to find Boba’s face still buried between your legs, his tongue lapping at your sensitive pussy in slow, languid movements.

“Boba,” you whimpered, pushing at him weakly. “‘S’too much, please …”

He peppered hot, open-mouthed kisses on the heated skin of your inner thighs as he pulled away, settling back on his knees. To your embarrassment, his mouth and chin shined with your juices; he turned his head to wipe himself clean on the sleeve of his shoulder and replaced his cigarette back between his lips. It was evident he’d enjoyed himself, too, because there was a sizable bulge tenting the fabric of his jeans.

“Hey.” You stretched a leg out, brushing a toe across the top of a clothed thigh. “It’s not fair you’re still dressed. Take off your shirt.”

He exhaled slowly, smoke drifting lazily upward from his mouth. “Take off your bra if you want it to be fair.”

You had completely forgotten that you were still wearing it, and you realized how ridiculous you must look: stripped nude with your bare pussy on display, but still wearing your fucking bra. It wasn’t even cute .

Sitting up, you hesitantly reached behind yourself and unclipped your bra. You let the straps slide down your shoulders but left the cups covering your chest, suddenly very acutely aware of everything: the couch beneath your bare thighs, the drying slick on your skin, Boba’s warm eyes focused intensely on you .

“Don’t get shy on me, now.” Gentle and slow, he reached a hand up and helped ease your bra the rest of the way off your chest. He palmed your bare breast, pebbling your nipple underneath his thumb. “Beautiful.”

You flushed at the compliment but gently pushed his hand away. “Your turn. Fair’s fair.”

He extended his cigarette out to you as he stood up from his knees, and you didn’t miss the quiet noise of exertion he made at the effort. “Hold this.” It was burned down to almost nothing, wasted, but as you took it from his fingers you remembered how often you’d imagined holding the filter between your lips, how often you dreamed of tasting him second-hand.

“Want to try?” He must’ve caught you staring; when you glanced back at him, he was bare-chested, and you marveled at the power that flexed underneath his skin, at the tattoos that spanned his chest and upper arms. You’d have to ask about them later.

“I thought you didn’t want me to start?”

“You’re an adult. I’m saying the offer’s there, if you want.”

You considered it — you really did — but then you thought about how sweeter it would taste coming from his mouth, and you passed it back to him.

“I...can we try something?

The end of it burned red-hot as he inhaled. “What?”

Your earlier shyness came back, your nerves sitting heavy in your chest. “What if...you kissed me, right? But with your mouth full of smoke? And then...y’know….” You wrung your hands in your lap as your confidence died out.

But Boba merely chuckled and took a seat on the couch next to you, the cushions dipping under his weight. “You won’t like it,” he warned.

“I don’t care.” Half-surprised he agreed, and half-giddy with desire, you crawled loose-limbed into his space, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth as you settled into him. “If it’s from you, I don’t care.”

You had tucked yourself into his side, but Boba hauled you into his lap instead, swinging your legs across his own. His clothed erection pressed into your hip and you had half a mind to ask if he wanted his pants off, too — but then he grabbed your chin between one large hand and held you in place as he puffed from his cigarette. His lips ghosted across your own, soft and tentative, and then he kissed you for real.

Unlike before, this was gentle and sweet, the slow molding of his mouth to yours, until he urged your lips to part. On instinct, you inhaled, and the smoke that entered your lungs was hot and spicy . You coughed once against his mouth before you had the chance to turn away. Your lungs and throat burned and tears quickly filled your eyes as you coughed away the sensation.

“I told you,” came Boba’s smug reply, and you narrowed your leaking eyes in a glare even as small coughs wracked your body. Gently, he smoothed his hand up and down your spine. “Wanna try again?”

“So you can —” you stopped, coughing, “— laugh at me?”

“Not laughing.” He wiped away some spittle on the side of your mouth. “It’ll be easier if you just hold it in your mouth. Don’t breathe it in.”

You nodded. After he took another drag from his cigarette, well and truly burning it to the filter, he kissed you again. This time, when you felt smoke fill your mouth, you fought off the urge to inhale. It almost tasted sweet beneath the bitter burn. You forced yourself to breathe out, the smoke pouring from between your connected mouths, but despite your best efforts you ended up inhaling a little anyway. You pulled away and coughed to clear your throat.

“Better?

You shook your head. “Not really,” you said sheepishly. “At least I know there’s one fantasy I don’t want to try again.

Boba extinguished the nub of his cigarette between forefinger and thumb and tossed it to the mug he left on the floor. “You fantasized about this?”

“Well, duh.” You sunk down against his chest, resting your head on his shoulder as he drew you close. “What else am I supposed to think about at work?”

It was a tease, mostly, but Boba pinched the soft skin of your thigh. “Naughty thing,” he admonished. “I pay you to fantasize, huh?”

“You occupy my thoughts even when I’m off the clock,” you admitted. As you shifted a bit in his lap, his erection pressed into your side, and you remembered another worktime fantasy and spoke before Boba had a chance to reply to your honesty. “Hey, you brought a whole pack with you, right?”

He huffed out a chuckle. “You trying to give me lung cancer?”

“No! No, no, just —” You squirmed. “Do you maybe want a blowjob? While you smoke?”

He answered you by reaching into his back pocket to pull out his lighter and cigarette carton. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“W-well, I mean, I thought you might like it. It’s supposed to be every man’s fantasy, right? A good blowjob and a smoke?” You eased yourself onto your knees before him as he lit up another cigarette, smoothing your hand over his broad thighs.

“Never considered it before,” he said as he began to undo his belt, “but I won’t say no.”

Your deft fingers helped undo the button on his jeans, and you pulled the waistband down just far enough to free his aching cock. “Oh, fuck ,” you breathed. He was big . Bigger than anyone else you’d taken, and you felt a phantom twinge of pain in your jaw just imagining him in your mouth.

“Like what you see?” Boba grinned down at you, his freshly-lit cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth. Oh, he knew he was big. He knew it, and he knew you liked it.

You wrapped your hand around him and almost moaned when you realized you were barely able to touch your thumb to your middle finger around his girth. “Holy fuck , Boba.” You had never wanted to suck a dick as badly as you did now, even if you were questioning how any of it would fit in your mouth. Would he even fit in your cunt? If things escalated to that point, would you be able to take him, or would he just split you in half?

You subconsciously squeezed your thighs together and leaned in, pressing kisses up along his shaft. He smelled good , like musk, like Boba , the scent that you could never name. You parted your lips and dragged the tip of your tongue along his shaft, feather-light, stopping to take his leaking head into your mouth. He tasted salty on your tongue and you braced your hands on his thighs as you leaned in farther, relaxing your throat as his girth stretched you mouth impossibly wide. Already, it was almost too much, your jaw threatening to ache, and you worried you’d have to give him a handjob instead.

“‘Atta girl,” Boba praised, and oh if that didn’t make you feel like you could do anything . He ran a hand through your hair and settled a palm on the top of your head — not pulling, not pushing, but a comforting weight that held promise. Potential.

You pulled off his cock, tilting your head to look up at him through your lashes. “You can be mean,” you breathed, cognizant of how his hand tightened in your hair. “It’s okay.”

Boba hummed low in his throat, as if he were considering it. “Some other time,” he promised. “You have to learn to take me. I can’t break you on the first day.”

His words made you whimper automatically with want as your brain immediately filled in the gaps. Boba exhaled a mouthful of smoke around his cigarette and applied a little pressure to the top of your head, encouraging you to bend down again. “C’mon, princess. Take me into your mouth.”

You held his gaze for as long as you could manage as you wrapped your lips around his cock again, sinking down on his length. Despite his size, you wanted to take him deep in your throat and feel his jeans rub against your chin. You tried to relax as much as possible as you sunk lower but he was just too much , and you ended up gagging audibly.

He gave a sharp tug on your hair, pulling you off his cock. “Go easy ,” he stressed. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

Spit dribbled down your chin. “I want to take all of you,” you whined.

Boba’s hand cupped your jaw, his thumb smearing your saliva across your lips. “Be patient. I’m not a small man.”

“You make it sound like I’ll get another chance to do this.”

“You will. If you want.” Ash fell from the end of his cigarette and onto the cushion below, but in that moment you couldn’t care less about your stupid couch. “I’d like to have fun with you again.”

You hid your grin behind kisses as you peppered them along his shaft. “Okay,” you finally said. “Okay, I’ll go easy.” Boba made it sound like you’d have all the time in the world later to train your throat to take his cock — and hopefully there’d be time to train other things, as well.

No longer focused on deepthroating his entire cock, you worked on fitting as much as you could comfortably handle into his mouth and settled into a rhythm as you sucked and licked. You stroked the rest of his shaft with your hand, aided smoothly by your excessive saliva that drooled down his length.

You took a chance to look up at Boba, and found him with his eyes closed, an arm thrown over the back of your couch. The cigarette bobbled in his mouth as he inhaled around it. “ There you go,” he murmured, smoke trailing from his lips. “Just like that. Easy.”

You swallowed around him and his hand tightened in your hair. The taste in your mouth grew saltier with each passing second as his precum leaked from the tip of his cock and mingled with your spit. Boba groaned above you, something guttural and almost primal , and you felt the ache between your own legs grow in response.

“Want my cum, princess?”

Grateful for the chance to give your aching jaw a break, you lifted from his cock and licked a broad stripe up from where your hand had been. “ Yes ,” you plead. “Yes, please, will you come in my mouth?”

“Gonna swallow me, huh?” At your enthusiastic nod, he grinned. “Good girl. My good girl. Scoot back.”

He moved to stand up from the couch and you realized at once what he intended to do as you shifted backwards, sitting pretty on your knees. He towered over you in this position and you couldn’t take your gaze away from him; at this angle, he seemed larger than life, intimidating and scary and huge , and the cherry-red of his cigarette burned brighter than ever.

Boba cupped your jaw in his hand, tugging at your bottom lip. “Open your mouth.” You whined and clutched at the fabric of his pants as you obediently parted your lips, moving your head so that the tip of his cock was pointed at your mouth.

He fisted his cock in one hand, jerking himself hard and fast, and with the other he gripped the back of your hair and held you in place. “Gonna come, princess. Stick your tongue out for me.”

You stretched your tongue out of your mouth as far as it would go, lips parted wide, and stared longingly up at him. Each of his exhales contained a mouthful of smoke, and it gave him the impression of standing in a translucent cloud, the tip of his cigarette standing out amongst the white.

He grunted something unintelligible and you felt something warm and thick land on your cheek. The next one hit your upper lip, and Boba drew you forward so that the head of his cock sat on the tip of your tongue. The rest of his cum landed hot and salty on your tastebuds.

Boba jerked himself from base to tip, coaxing out whatever droplets he could give you. “You look so good,” he murmured, voice husky. “Good girl. Swallow.”

You obeyed, opening your mouth wide after to show him. His thumb came up and helped guide the mess he left on your face into your waiting mouth, where you sucked his tongue clean each time.

“You did so well,” he praised, and even though your jaw ached and there was a dull throb between your legs, you beamed . You pressed your face into his clothed thigh and sighed happily as he rested a hand in your hair, stroking down the strands he’d mussed earlier. He took his cigarette from his mouth and tapped the ashes off into what you hoped was the mug.

A sort of quiet peace settled over you, and even though you were completely nude and it was late and you kind of wanted to invite Boba to stay the night (or forever), you were content to just sit there on your knees as he ran his fingers through your hair.

Besides. He told you there would be a next time — there was no reason to rush.

#boba fett #boba fett x reader #star wars #writing #this is extremely vanilla #i am surprised at how vanilla it is #i mean. theres some other stuff i would have written that wouldve immediately made it not vanilla #but no one ele would be into it but me #and i want my stuff to be read <3 #also i did say its a modern mob au but u can disregard that if u want #theres not like. any actual backstory or plot i just needed a way to have boba smoke actual cigarettes instead of Space Cigarettes #wtf is a death stick. its a cigarette #also i personally dont smoke so if any of the desc seem off like abt taste let me know LMAO im going off of second hand knowledge

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piecksz · 3 years

Text

ignite | (m)

pairing: dabi x fem! reader

warnings: nsfw, mentions of abuse, smoking, drug use, car sex, rough, sex, shotgunning, penetrative sex, choking, degradation, explicit language

summary: after getting into a fight with your parents, you meet up with dabi for a smoke session as temporary distraction from your problems, but you find yourself becoming addicted to something else.

words: 2,626

a/n: this is just a cute/smutty idea i thought of while texting my friend, and i decided that sharing is caring so i had to turn it into a “one shot-esque” format. enjoy!

Beyond the steep incline of the cliff lookout, the city’s soft lights smoldered against the deep blue of the evening sky. The bustling streets were full of constant motion and a million faces that you’d never know, and yet amidst the clamor, everyone coexisted and operated like a hive. It was breathtaking the way the urban landscape encapsulated the very microcosm of life, something you were questioning the meaning of just moments ago.

It was the same customary procedure. Your father was the exemplar of stress when his ability to moderate his emotions became overrun. The conversation would always begin the same way, with him spouting obscenities about the financial hardship your family was in. He was the sole breadwinner of the household while your mother remained home and maintained the hearth. Her quirk wasn’t anything exceptional, and it was the reason why she was unable to find work. Only so many careers could make use of a germination quirk, the ability to manipulate seedlings, and floral shops in the area weren’t looking for any new hires. That was why you were training and studying especially hard at school. You figured if you were able to make it as a top pro hero, your parents would never find themselves arguing about money ever again. You could provide them with anything they’d ever wanted.

But of course those days were far off from your current reality. When your father would raise his voice at your mother, what else was she to do than raise her voice in retaliation? You always wanted to protect her, so you’d find yourself in the middle of it, and the three of you would erupt into an exasperated all-in-with-guns-blazing disarray. No matter how bad each argument got, you managed to make it out of each quarrel without any physical scars, which is why this time you, your mother, and your father were suddenly startled when he used his quirk on you. The empty vase on the dinner table was hurled in your direction without the culprit ever raising a finger, and you barely dodged it with the shallow cut on your cheek as proof. You didn’t even stick around long enough to hear your father’s rushed apologies as your mother attempted to discourage you from running out. You didn’t know where you were running to, all you knew was that you needed to put as much distance between you and your house as possible.

Your first instinct was to call Dabi up. You’d known him for years, and he was one of the only people you genuinely trusted other than your mother. He was the only other person you knew who could relate to your broken home, except he made his escape long ago. Faking his death as his final parting from his abusive father. As attractive as running away sounded, you knew that you’d never be able to abandon your mother. You had to keep your unspoken promise to your family, and it was your job to build the picturesque home that you always wanted.

“Stop thinking so hard.” Dabi’s languid voice drew you out of your reverie, and you glanced over at him in time to see him light the end of the joint with the tip of his finger. He took a deep inhale before exhaling the smoke out through his nose, and then he turned to you, offering up the neatly rolled paper.

You took it between your fingers and lifted it to your lips, echoing Dabi’s movements. It wasn’t long before your chest pushed out the smoke in strangled bursts as you erupted into a fit of coughs, and you hurriedly thrusted the joint back towards Dabi, which he welcomed gladly.

“I’m surprised you suggested this,” he teased. “You know you’re not a smoker.” He took another drag and let out a hazy cloud. “If you’re trying to impress me by proving something, throwing your lungs up isn’t really the way to go about it.”

“Anything to get rid of this feeling,” you responded. “Like my heart’s trying to claw itself out of my chest.” To say it felt like suffering was putting it too plainly. It was much more than that. The pain that nestled under your breast where your heart used to be was your silent killer. It was eroding you from the inside out.

Dabi grunted. “You’re an idiot.”

You turned your attention to him, confused at his choice of response.

“Maybe not an idiot. But you’re naive,” Dabi continued. “Take it from someone who’s been there.” He studied the joint in his hand as if it was an excuse not to look at you.

It was a sick cycle, even for someone like him. Dabi was born with all the fortunate ingredients for a comfortable life. He was attractive with a functional quirk and a pro hero father, yet his future turned out grim. If that was his luck, how much more could you say for yourself?

You mustered a quiet hum. You were already starting to feel the effects of the marijuana, and your limbs grew increasingly heavy as you did your best to sink further into the leather interior of Dabi’s car.

“Isn’t that the whole point of drugs? Temporary relief?” you asked.

Dabi snorted. “No. People do drugs because it’s fun getting fucked out of your mind.” He held the joint out to you, and you hesitated before shaking your head. If what he was saying was true then you figured it wouldn’t be the brightest option to get incomprehensibly high. That would only mean that when your emotions resurfaced after the sensation wore off, it would hit twice as hard.

Laughter erupted from the driver’s seat, but you didn’t bother looking.

“Come on, loosen up.” Dabi coaxed you. “You in the mood to see something cool?”

You weren’t, but you figured you could use the pick-me-up.

Dabi inhaled deeply with the joint to his lips, but this time instead of exhaling immediately you could see him gently swishing the smoke around in his mouth before setting his jaw. He rounded his mouth and pushed the fog out in a thick ring. He lifted his hand, snapping his fingers towards the top of the circle, causing the shape to cave in and form a delicate heart.

Smiling while you were sad was the emotional equivalent to getting a root canal, but your stiff frown melted into a small smile, and you looked down to hide your amusement.

“Stupid,” you grumbled idly, stifling a small laugh.

Dabi grinned, nudging you with his elbow. “You like that?”

You glanced off to the side before succumbing to your weed-induced laughter, which felt much better once you let it out.

“Let me show you something else. When I blow, just inhale. Okay?” He directed. Although they were half-lidded, his eyes were glazed, like blue glass.

You rolled your eyes but agreed regardless, only feeling pressured to back out once you slowly registered Dabi leaning over the armrest to close the space between you two.

Is he going to--?

Your train of thought came to a halt at the jarring feeling of marijuana smoke being blown into your face. What were you supposed to do? Fuck, you were supposed to open your mouth. You forgot to open your fucking mouth.

“You forgot to open your mouth,” Dabi said, repeating your thoughts.

You prayed that you didn’t look as frazzled as you felt. If Dabi knew you were frozen and flustered at the sheer thought of him kissing you, he would never let it go. The teasing would be endless, and you’d have to endure it to your grave.

“Right, sorry. I forgot,” you replied sheepishly.

“I literally gave you the easy part,” he teased.

Oh, fuck off, you thought. The voice in your head sounding louder than usual. You hoped that he couldn’t hear it. There is nothing easy about what you want me to do.

“Whatever. Try it again,” you said simply. Your tongue was now dry and felt heavy in your mouth. You could tell by the slick arch in Dabi’s eyebrow that he knew what he had done, and you refused to allow him to go the rest of the night luxuriating in his arrogance.

He went in a second time, mouth full of smoke, releasing it at the last minute when your lips barely collided. Pushing away the distraction of his hand on the back of your neck and his lips hardly brushing against yours, you did as he instructed, inhaling once the cloud left his lips.

Dabi sat back, enthused in the way your lips remained parted in surprise.

Sober, you would have hated the way he was looking at you, smug with satisfaction at the achievement of just having bewildered you, but with cannabis clouding your brain, your close proximity to Dabi was the only thing you could focus on. The feeling of his lips barely touching yours didn’t seem to phase him at all, like he was planning on it, but with the way your stare yo-yo’d urgently from his eyes to his lips, it became more obvious what you wanted.

You credited your fit of courage to the marijuana in your system because otherwise you would have never considered leaning forward to kiss Dabi, and you surely would have pulled away before the contact deepened into a filthy makeout session. The motion of your mouths were slow, like you were taking your time, but Dabi’s ravenous tongue in your mouth appeared way too eager to swap spit.

His hand found its way back to the nape of your neck just as you mirrored him and did the same in an attempt to push yourselves closer together although there was no more space left between you two.

You thought it was impossible to grow more hungry until Dabi released a throaty moan into your mouth, and your hunger evolved into an ache. Only breaking your kiss for a moment, still joined together by a string of saliva, you quickly climbed into his lap, aided by his strong hand on your lower back.

Was it control? Everything in your life had spiralled out of it, and yet in the moment control was all you had. Once you redirected Dabi’s hands from your hips to your chest, you knew you were drunk off of it. You placed your hands over his, reveling in the way his fingers flexed as he cradled your breasts in his palms, but it wasn’t long before he grew tired of the intolerable fabric between your skin and his.

“Up.” he demanded straightforwardly, his voice husky and low. He tugged your blouse off brusquely, still looking hot, bothered, and unamused until your bra, too, was strewn over the passenger seat along with your shirt.

The way in which Dabi exhaled labordly at the sight of your bare chest was enough to send heat racing to the tip of your ears. Naturally, you would have responded scornfully to his smutty remark about how “your tits were way better than what he imagined whenever he jerked off”, but in seconds his mouth was on your skin, his hot, wet tongue teasing your nipple as he used the tip to flick them tauntingly.

Sinking your teeth into your lower lip did nothing to stop an innocent whine from spilling, and you descended even further when it intensified into you crying out Dabi’s name.

So much for control.

But Dabi adored your lewd cheers while he experimented with different combinations, pinching, pulling, and sucking your delicate mounds to see what would elicit the loudest response.

The throbbing between your legs worsened, and you could tell, or rather feel by the firm tent against the inside of your thigh that Dabi needed relief too. You began rolling your hips, the tip of his erection prodding the top of your clit through irritating cloth.

“Stop doing that,” Dabi chewed out, looking mildly annoyed by you.

Each second that passed felt like an eternity. It was as though the cannabis exacerbated whatever sense of arousal you were feeling by tenfold. You felt insatiable.

“Fuck you,” you breathed. “If you don’t fuck me right now, I might strangle you.”

Your casual and brattish tone did nothing to quell Dabi’s displeasure, and you felt his hand close assertively around your neck, his thumb digging into the side of your throat.

“Bold of you to talk to me that way when you’re the one sitting in my lap.” He bit back. “And what if I decide not to fuck you? Then what?” His gaze was dangerous, yet you were fully cognizant of the fact that Dabi wouldn’t suffocate you, much less get physical with you, but with the current lack of air circulating to your head, you could only smile dumbly.

“Watch the way you talk to me, you dirty whore.”

Initially, Dabi planned on fucking you into oblivion for the pleasure, but now he figured it would be even more exciting fucking you as punishment, dominating the most vulnerable part of you so there was no question who was clearly in charge.

He forced you around in his lap, leaving you unsuspecting while he unbuckled his belt. You were incredibly irked that you weren’t allowed to see how hard you made him, and you feared Dabi’s temper if he caught you managing to steal a glimpse over your shoulder. The sight alone was obscene. His hand was wrapped around his thick cock, pulsating and raw from the lack of sexual contact.

You could only hear Dabi’s shallow breathing and grunts while he pumped himself slowly, but nothing could have prepared you for the pain that erupted across your pelvis once he thrust himself into you without notice. You doubled over in his lap, hands across the dashboard as he bucked his hips forward, burying himself even deeper inside of you.

Dabi guided your hips up and down, ramming himself into you quicker and then even quicker with each jolt. Eventually the sharp discomfort eased into a comfortable sting once you both fell into a sloppy rhythm, his car rocking along with your motion. Dabi dipped his slick fingers into his mouth, coating them generously with saliva before sliding them down to your clit where he opted to rub tantalizingly slow circles onto the sensitive bud.

Your vision melted into hot white light, and the way your body began to tremble violently under Dabi’s touch was a sign you were closer to your orgasm than you thought.

“Are you gonna cum?” Dabi entertained, subtly picking up the pace once your fingers enclosed around his wrist. His honeyed voice was damn near condescending, he knew you were on the brink by the way your moans became louder and more discordant.

When you came you collapsed over the steering wheel, and Dabi followed not even a moment later while your futile pleas were muffled by your bended posture.

“Motherfucking hell,” he groaned, head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut as he emptied himself inside of you. He pulled out his cock, wiping the crude mixture of both yours and his release on the inside of your thigh before his body went slack against the driver’s seat.

The car windows were now misty with condensation from heat, now obscuring the view you originally came to see.

You could feel Dabi’s hand on your back, rubbing tender circles into your skin in an effort to praise you since he was jaded and at a loss for words. He unenthusiastically shifted around in his seat, searching for a stray napkin to clean you up with, but you only grinned lazily, finding amusement in the new discoverance of your own personal drug.

#dabi #dabi smut #dabi fanfic #dabi fanfiction #dabi x reader #my hero x reader #my hero academia #my hero academia smut #my hero academia fanfic #boku no hero x reader #boku no hero fanfic #boku no hero academia fanfic #bnha #bnha smut #bnha angst #bnha x reader #bnha fanfic #this is filthy im sorry

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