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babyybitchhh · 3 years

Text

Shigaraki x Reader 18+

Title: Crybaby

Rating: Explicit/R-18+

Words: 12,290

Warnings: I'll be honest and say I'm not entirely sure how to tag some of this so proceed with caution. Infantilization, forced age regression, mental age regression, non consensual regression, ageplay, mentions of baby bottles and pacifiers, coercion, general noncon and dubcon, diddling, vaginal fingering, involuntary urination, wetting, mention of forced third party bathing, diapers, penis in vagina sex, unprotected sex, creampie, excessive use of 'Tomu-nii', mention of sex slaves, a brief but explicitly violent death mention towards the start, overall very questionable decisions from both me and Shigaraki

A/N: I will not be taking any questions at this time, thank you.

( @tomurasprincess)

♥♥♥♥

There was a fine line between a gift and a burden.

A new video game, for example, is something people were generally happy to receive and there was no obligation to slave over it at all hours of the day, unless you wanted to. A puppy, on the other hand, came with a certain amount of responsibility that couldn’t be side lined until Tomura decided to deal with it. There was no save button, no coming back to it later. He had to be vigilant to some degree, mindful of the life that was now in his hands, and that wasn’t something he was accustomed to by any stretch of the imagination. He couldn’t stand it. Didn’t even really possess the vernacular needed to describe exactly how much it pissed him off that he was suddenly expected to take care of someone - something else.

It was bullshit.

Standing over your prone form sprawled out on the cluttered floor he thinks, not for the first time, about ending it right here and now. It would be easy, surely. One touch of his hand and you’d be gone. Disintegrated to mere dust and nothing more than a vague, unpleasant memory in the back of his mind. You deserved it by simple virtue of being such a damn inconvenience but, just as every other time, he hesitates.

Not because you don’t even realize the danger you’re in as you innocently kick your legs back and forth in the air, all your wide eyed, dopey attention locked on the tv screen. Tomura is not so soft as to consider a sneak attack you don’t even see coming an insult to his pride. He would’ve been showing you mercy, actually, because if he didn’t fear upsetting All for One so much he’d have preferred to wrap his hands around your scrawny little neck instead. Give you a good throttle or two. Squeeze until his knuckles were a stark white against your purpling blue skin. He could almost envision what you would look like, all bloated and full of blood from burst capillaries and reddened eyes rolling into the back of your skull.

His cock stirs in his pants and his hatred for you grows with it. He couldn’t stand you or what you represented, a sudden addition to his life that he never asked for but couldn’t get rid of, and the fact he was getting stiff from his morbid fantasies was certainly your fault too. Everything was your fault. Right down to the most minor of inconveniences, you were to blame - even if it happened before you were dropped into his lap with all the to-do of a posh, overly indulgent birthday present. It was you. You, you, you, you you you youyouyouyouyou -

“Tomu-nii?”

With a jolt, he snaps out of it. The haze lifts and his blown out eyes focus in on your tubby little face, now turned over your shoulder to glance back at him. Tomura isn’t sure when you realized he was looming over you like some horrible, sickly wraith and he knows even less how it is that you show no fear towards him. Were you really so stupid that you couldn’t sense his desire to not only kill you but make you suffer? So blind that you didn’t see the way his bony hands fisted at his sides with a purpose and not in idle reflex?

No. It wasn’t that you were as unintelligent as a brain dead sheep happily trotting off to slaughter. Rather, it’s because that was what All for One had designed you to be.

Tomura wouldn’t claim to understand how, exactly, his mentor had gotten these results but he knows enough to recognize the signs. You’d been stripped of everything in a way that far exceeded mere surface level nudity. All for One had gone even deeper than that, past flesh and bone and right into the heart of what made you you. The brain.

He had no doubt that a quirk had been used, the specifics of which he couldn’t even begin to fathom, but the tinkering and rewiring had done its job exceedingly well, in fact. While your body was that of a young adult woman, early to mid 20’s if he had to wager a guess, your mind was something like that of a toddlers. You could speak just fine but the enunciation was sloppy, your words childish and limited to small, easily communicable sentences. You picked up on things surprisingly fast, perhaps even a little too well if the way he’d heard you let out a soft, half hearted ‘fuck’ earlier was anything to go by. But you slipped up just as easily and he was getting real tired of making sure you went and sat on the toilet instead of pissing all over his (no doubt already smelly) carpet. Living in his own mess was one thing. Living in someone else’s was another matter entirely.

Nothing about this was in error, though. You were exactly what All for One intended for you to be - little more than an animal for him to look after but with arguably higher stakes involved - and he’d had enough. It’d only been a single day, a full 24 hours since you were dropped into his room, and he was already at the end of his patience.

“What’s wrong? Don’t like that stupid cartoon I put on for you?”

You actually had the audacity to pout at him, jutting your lower lip out and puffing your cheeks as if that was supposed to make him feel anything other than an even stronger urge to take you out of this world. “S’not that. Mm’ just bored. You’re no fun.”

Tomura very nearly lunges at you with outstretched hands, All for One be damned, but your next words stop him in his tracks.

“I thought maybe you were coming to play with me.”

Play with you? He would’ve laughed if only he could find even a sliver of real humor in this situation. This was a joke, if not because of the absurdity of it all then at least because he wanted to play with you alright. He wanted to play a game that started with you screaming in shrill terror and ended with a chilly body laid out on his bedroom floor. That sounded like more fun than a barrel of kittens.

He stills himself, though, and snobbishly peers at you down the length of his nose. “I don’t play games with brats. Sorry.”

That only makes you pout even more. “Meanie.”

“Watch your fucking cartoon,” Tomura grits out through gnashing, angry teeth, unreasonably irritated by your persistent refusal to cooperate. “Before I make you.”

He isn’t even really sure if that threat makes any sense at this point, so thrown off by your mere presence in what should’ve been his space that he can barely make heads or tails of his own thoughts anymore. But the dramatic way you squawk in displeasure and throw yourself out flat on the floor placates him somewhat. You were easy to rile up, and he would have been a boldfaced liar if he’d said he didn’t get a kick out of that. Tomura had never felt quite so cruel, so much like an adolescent bully looking to make his problems someone else’s as when he was working you up into a proper fit.

It was easily the most enjoyable aspect of this arrangement so far, and he watches with nothing short of smug satisfaction as you pound your hands on the floor in pent up frustration. It was laughably easy to picture what they’d look like, well groomed after a manicure and with a fresh coat of polish on the nails. You looked like you’d probably been the sort of woman who would go with reds. Fierce and bold, as much a statement as your pretty face, which was currently scrunched up and pressed tight against the carpet in front of his tv. Those same hands were plain and unadorned now, squeezed into tight little fists that were about as harmless as they could get. Tomura probably would’ve considered a turtle more of a pressing threat than you right now.

“Crybaby.” He spits the word out like it’s poison. “Does that make you feel better? Huh? Throwing a tantrum just because you’re not getting your way?”

“Mm’ not a crybaby!” You scream into the carpet. The contrast between your plushy figure and your behavior is disturbing on some very real, intrinsic level and that only seems to add fuel to his fire.

“Hah! That’s funny. You certainly look like one, you know that? What would you even think of yourself if you were in your right mind, I wonder.”

“Mm’ not!” Your incessant screeching rises in pitch and Tomura is almost positive you aren’t even really hearing him anymore, but he decides he doesn’t care.

“Embarrassing. Maybe I should have Kurogiri bring me a bottle since you want to act like a baby so much. Or would you like a pacifier instead? Hmm? Would that make you feel better, princess?”

“Nooooo!”

Your feet start kicking the air again, violently rather than in placid distraction, and the motion draws Tomura’s gaze to the seat of your onesie. Pink and humiliatingly infantile for a grown woman to be wearing, he’d looked at it with nothing short of contempt up until now. But the (no doubt exhausting) flex of your legs bunches the loose cotton, making it gather around your upturned ass and in turn emphasizes the convenient button flap across the back. Now that he’s actually looking at it, he’s almost positive it was wide enough to expose your entire rear to the world with little more than a quick snap of his fingers. Maybe even wide enough to expose other things too …

Tomura jolts with all the force of a sudden electric shock when you cry out his name or, rather, the ridiculous moniker you’d given him. He’d like to know who’d planted that particular seed in your head - if it was All for One’s idea of a twisted joke or if Kurogiri had really thought being called niichan by a woman who may or may not actually be older than him would make Tomura feel all warm and fuzzy inside. It doesn’t exactly matter now, though, because the wet quality of your voice makes his cock spring up in his pants. He’s mildly horrified with himself, far more comfortable with his earlier fantasies of killing you, but there’s no helping it anymore. Not when you say his name like that. Not when the tears he’d initially thought were crocodilian at best were so thick and heavy in your throat that the syllables come out garbled and almost incomprehensible.

He’s not sure what he intends to do, but he shuffles closer.

You’ve started to tire out now and the kicking slows before stopping all together. He watches your ankles cross over one another in the air, as if you were trying to self soothe on some level by physically keeping yourself together, but it doesn’t seem to do much in the way of good. Your shoulders were still trembling with the lingering traces of your fit, and he can hear you mewling into the abrasive carpet like a wounded animal. It was clear that you were hurting because of him - and not just as a result of his teasing. After the complete and utter deconstruction of your mind, you were probably scared without even really knowing why. Confused, but too lost in the quirk induced stupor that had left you in this sorry state to seek out answers.

He hadn’t bothered to test this theory yet, but Tomura would have been willing to bet good money that All for One left you with very little inside that thick skull of yours. It just made sense, after all. For what good was a doll with memories of her past life? What would he have possibly gotten out of playing house with someone who fought him every step of the way, either out of embarrassment or repulsion towards him as a person?

No. You were a blank slate in the strictest sense. His to mold however he deemed fit and with no recollection of who you were, who you’d been or even who you’d wanted to be, he was free to do whatever he damn well pleased.

There was still raging contempt for you burning within his chest, certainly. You were an annoying, unnecessary burden on him and there was no getting around the fact that he still wanted you gone. But the spark igniting his gut is even stronger and, for better or worse, it momentarily overrides his better judgement.

So he sinks down onto his knees, directly behind you, and reaches out to tentatively palm the swell of your ass. Pinky held away, so as not to disintegrate you, which surprises him somewhat given how vivid his fantasies of killing you had been. He doesn’t get to linger on that for very long though, because you grow still at his touch and your pathetic sniveling quiets to a soft, almost hopeful sniffle. Tomura bites back a crude snort, just barely managing to catch himself before he backpedals and hisses another insult at you. He could probably take what he wanted with any given method, he didn’t have to be nice about it, but somehow the alternative just felt wrong. Physically you were an adult, but with the mental state of a child it felt a bit like taking advantage of an innocent and he wasn’t a complete monster.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, the word foreign on his tongue. “I shouldn’t have been so mean. Will you forgive me?”

You squirm and push your face further into the carpet. “Mhm.”

He doesn’t smile. But he does take that as an incentive to push forward, and he starts caressing your backside with slow, cautious circles. “Do you really want me to play with you that bad?”

“Mhm.”

Hesitating, Tomura considers his next words very carefully. “Fine. I’ll play with you. But I get to choose the game.”

You don’t immediately respond and he starts to wonder if he’d made a mistake. Overestimated his ability to be diplomatic and conscientious - which wouldn’t exactly have come as a surprise. But then you shift on the floor, tension draining from your body as you turn your head so you aren’t suffocating in the carpet anymore. “Okay.”

His brows lift in surprise only to then knit together. It was that easy? He’s not so sure he trusts it but, dropping his gaze back down to your ass, he gives the doughy soft flesh an experimental squeeze. Your only response is a soft, faltering sigh that seems to help you relax more. This, too, seems a little too good to be true but he keeps going anyway.

When a few minutes of kneading your defenseless backside does nothing to upset you, Tomura starts to get bolder. He slowly brings his opposite hand forward and latches onto the other cheek with four fingers, massaging both sides in tandem. He’d had the unfortunate luck of seeing your bare ass late the previous evening, after you’d emptied your bladder all over the blanket he’d tossed you to sleep on which had resulted in an aggressively administered bath for you and a frustrated headache for him. He hadn’t paid too much attention at the time, far too angry to be horny, but he knew enough to realize that you were unexpectedly voluptuous under that onesie.

The garment itself was so oversized it hid even the smallest hint of the womanly figure underneath. He probably would’ve forgotten all about it, pushed to the back of his mind in favor of more pressing matters (like getting rid of you) but now that he’s got his hands on your butt it’s all he can think about. The way your full tits jiggled when he’d non too gently manhandled you into the tub. The frustratingly cute lower belly pouch that bulged when you sat down, crying, on the porcelain surface. The way your thighs molded to whatever position he’d yanked them in so he could hose you off like a filthy stray. He’d actively avoided looking at what was between your legs, in fear of what he’d see as much as stubborn refusal, but looking back on it now he isn’t sure how he hadn’t given in to temptation.

Now, however, he was suddenly more interested than ever in finding out what your pussy looked like and, hooking his long index fingers into the flap, he starts to unlatch it one button at a time.

You make no move to stop him. Don’t even protest or question what he’s doing. It’s almost as if just having his attention on you is enough, and Tomura’s mouth pulls back in a sneer at the mere thought. You were so damn stupid for trusting him like this, completely oblivious or uncaring about what his intentions were. He could be as violent with you as he wanted. He could erase you from this existence with the briefest touch. But you just lay there, your shoulders slowly rising and falling with each even breath you draw, and he can’t decide if that feeling clawing at the back of his throat is hatred or guilt.

But there’s no real reason to stop now, so he carefully peels back the flap of fabric once he’s got it completely unfastened. Bare skin greets him, a perfectly exposed strip of swelling flesh that seems all the more enticing with pink cotton framing it so nicely. He pauses long enough to lick his dry, cracked lips. The weight of his stiff cock strains against the inside of his zipper, twitching eagerly when he reaches out to hesitantly touch your back side again.

The sensation of a real, living person under his fingertips makes his breath come a little faster. Still, you don’t move though and he picks up right where he left off, roughly groping your ass cheeks with barely contained excitement until he gets so vigorous that you whimper.

“Shh. I’ll try not to be so rough.” Tomura shushes you, throaty and barely more than a murmur.

You settle back into place, thankfully, and he takes that chance to spread your cheeks open. He gets a brief glimpse of the puckered hole hidden inside, white hot static racing straight to his groin, and he lets out a rumbling groan. His fingers squeeze into flesh again and he pulls, baring you entirely to his voracious eyes. The tight muscle twitches, winking at him, and his attention drops to the smallest satiny peak of your slit. He can just barely see it, mostly hidden behind the pooling fabric bunched under the swell of your ass, but it’s more than enough to make him feel dizzy.

“Shit,” he sounds winded even to his own ears. “You’ve got such a nice body.”

To his surprise, you actually perk up at that. “Really?”

Tomura almost snaps at you on impulse, so irritated by the sound of your voice that he nearly forgets what he’s trying to do. Quelling himself, though, he tugs at the bottom half of your onesie until he can see the plushy soft lips of your pussy. You look so inviting, so warm and real he can hardly even stand it.

“Really.” He croaks. “How old are you again?”

You seem to think about that. “Mm, I dunno’!”

He frowns. Contemplates that for a long beat. But the coarse hair curling around your slit seems answer enough, for him at least. You weren’t actually a child. You just sounded like one, acted like one, dressed like one. That wasn’t what was getting him so painfully hard though. It was the fact you were a woman, physically, and he’d never gotten to see one up close and personal like this before. Why hadn’t All for One just given him a proper sex slave instead of one that threw tantrums and cried at the drop of a dime? Was this really what his mentor had intended for him to do with you?

“Tomu-nii?”

Drawing a sharp breath, he brings his attention up to bark at you to be quiet but the words catch when he finds you looking at him over your shoulder. He can feel his cheeks starting to warm, suddenly embarrassed.

“What?”

“Why’re you looking at me like that?”

He flounders for a moment. Then, awkwardly clearing his throat, he decides to fall back on his original excuse. “This is the game I mentioned earlier. You wanted to play, right?”

You nod your head, but you don’t look entirely certain about that. “I do but … aren’t games s’posed to be fun? This is boring!”

His mouth presses into a thin line. It hadn’t occurred to him that you might not be content to just idly sit by while he molested your slutty little body, but if it was fun you wanted then he could certainly give you that. “This was just the warm up. Roll over and I’ll show you how to play.”

The way your eyes light up almost makes him regret this decision. It’s too late though, you’re already twisting over on to your back with your elbows braced on the carpet so you can stare up at him. Stupid and expectant.

He clicks his tongue.

Reaching out to grab your wide set hips with only eight of his fingers, he inelegantly drags you closer so that you were nicely slotted between his knees. Your legs curl up as you regard him with nothing short of intense curiosity, lips parting in a silent ‘o’ that very nearly sends him over the edge. You were too pretty for your own good. Much too beautiful to be wearing a pink onesie and acting like a baby. This was such a waste, and he almost feels bad for what All for One did to you.

But he shrugs it off, forcefully, and his delicately poised hands descend on your zipper. Zrrrrrt, straight down the length of your body. It stops directly above your crotch and he reaches up to reverently push the cotton out to the sides and expose the rest of you.

Your tits were even better than he’d initially thought. They were full and heavy, dotted with the most perfect little buds for nipples. Soft and smooth. Tomura’s mouth waters in anticipation and he doesn’t realize how roughly he’s jerking your arms out of the sleeves until you wail dramatically that it hurts.

He’d like to tell you what really hurts is his cock, unbearably hard and trapped inside his pants, but he refrains. Instead, he huffs out an insincere apology and keeps on yanking. He can’t get you undressed fast enough, mesmerized by the way your breasts jiggle and bounce every time he pulls on you. There’s something inherently wrong about this, he knows. It’s so damn obvious you’re not right in the head, that you aren’t of sound enough mind to even understand what he’s doing to you, but he can’t bring himself to stop. Not when you were so willing and pliant under his shaking hands.

Finally managing to wrest the blasted onesie off your kicking feet, Tomura tosses it off to the side and he eagerly sets his sights on your naked body. You should have looked seductive and coy, spread out in front of him with a devious smile curling artfully painted lips as you invite him to have his way with you. Instead, you fitfully squirm, neither seductive nor shy. It’s clear that you have no sense of shame, your artificially infantile brain completely void of the concept and even less aware of how inappropriate any of this was. You just keep looking at him, waiting for the explanation he’d promised to give you.

Oh. That’s right. The game he kept talking about. Perhaps he could still salvage this after all.

“The rules are simple,” he says slowly, scrambling to put together a decent excuse to keep going. “I’ll touch you for a little bit and if I can make you feel good then I win. After that, it’ll be your turn. If you make me feel good, you’ll win. Understand?”

Your expression pinches in confusion. “So we both win?”

“Only if we make each other feel good. What’s wrong? You don’t want to play with me anymore?”

Much to his relief, you quickly bob your head. “I do! Please play with me, Tomu-nii!”

The way his cock jolts at that makes his entire body ache. It’s much too late to turn back now, he was well past the point of salvation, and he haltingly drags his attention down to your chest. Your petite nipples had stiffened in the cool air but it’s as if you don’t even notice. Wasn’t that something a grown woman would be conscious of? He thinks so, or at least he’s pretty sure it is. Apparently it isn’t the sort of thing a dumb baby brain even registers, though, and he reaches out to curiously flick at one.

You gasp, eyes widening slightly. Misplaced hope sears his veins and he watches you intently, holding his breath, but you don’t seem to understand what it is you’re feeling. Your brows furrow as you glance down at yourself and bring a hand up to cover your nipple.

“Oww …”

That certainly wasn’t the reaction he’d expected. Or at least it wasn’t the sort of reaction Pornhub had taught him to expect, but it was still something.

“Baby.” He grumbles, reaching for the opposite tit.

“Mm’not!”

“Are too. Didn’t that feel good?”

“No!”

“Then you’re winning, aren’t you?”

Confusion marches across your face for a moment before understanding dawns. You look quite pleased now as you track the movement of his hand as he carefully pinches your puckered nipple between thumb and forefinger, gently rolling it between the pads. He doesn’t get an immediate reaction out of you but the longer he does it the more your lips start to purse. It’s as if you were holding back, determined not to show him that you might be enjoying it and risk losing the game, but it’s enough to embolden him.

His ministrations pick up and he gives your delicate little teat a mild twist. There’s no malice or cruelty behind the action. He just wants to see what you’ll do. And you don’t disappoint, the way you jump and your mouth flies open as if to squawk making his stomach clench with something perverse. You catch yourself at the last second though, teeth clacking together as your gaze flits up at him to see if he’s looking.

He is, of course, and you forcibly swallow the sound you’d almost let out. Tomura is a bit disappointed, sure. He’d wanted to hear how pretty you’d moan for him but there were still plenty of other chances for him to coerce at least one out of you.

Hunching over your prone body, he brings his other hand up to latch onto the opposite nipple, the one he’d previously flicked. You wince at the contact but make no move to stop him, biting down on your lower lip to keep quiet as you watch him play with your fat tits in petulant silence. It was ass backwards in so many ways. He’d thought, despite everything, his first time with a girl would be somewhat normal. Maybe not picture perfect or all that good when everything was said and done, but at least relatively mundane. This was the farthest thing from that though. He couldn’t conceive of a more wildly abnormal scenario even if he’d tried, nor did he recall ever seeing any porn with this hyper specific set up. But there was still some sick, twisted part of him that was deriving pleasure from this decidedly unorthodox encounter with the opposite sex, and that feeling only grows exponentially the more he keeps going.

Kneading, pinching, squeezing, tugging. He doesn’t let up until your nipples are flushed dark and straining hard, the glistening hint of tears at the corners of your eyes telling him beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was getting somewhere. The urge to call you a crybaby swells in his chest again but he doesn’t want to risk another tantrum. He wasn’t so sure his cock could handle it, particularly not when he’d positioned himself over you in such a way that one solid kick would put him out of commission for the foreseeable future. No, this was a delicate situation that required the utmost care on his part and, gathering his nerves, he swoops down to cover one of the stiff buds with his mouth.

The heated gasp that bursts out of you in a great woosh has him groaning into the meaty swell of your tit. You shudder underneath him, involuntarily twitching as he traces your areola with the tip of his tongue and laves it in warm, wet attention. He can tell that you’re not sure what to do so he waits with bated breath, reveling in the fleshy nub pinched between his lips. There was no reason for him not to squeeze every last drop of enjoyment he could get out of this while he could, after all - but then your hands find his hair, threading into wavy locks, and he throbs for you.

“Tomu-nii …”

He practically sinks into you, damn near suffocating himself in the plushy swell of your breast. His mouth opens wide and sucks more of you past his lips, suckling enthusiastically just like the infant you were programmed to be. This particular role reversal doesn’t even seem to register in your mind though and he seethes when you tug at his hair, trying to pull him off.

“St-aaahp …. I don’t like it!”

Tomura comes up off you with a wet gasp. “Bullshit.” He practically growls, narrowing his eyes at your dopey, flustered expression.

“It’s true! I don’t!”

“Oh? Should we check then?”

Your face scrunches and you draw a breath to question him, but he doesn’t give you the chance. Going back up on his knees, he plants one hand against the meat of your inner thigh and shoves it wide. His other darts between your legs before you can react, spindly digits finding your bare cunt and prodding at your folds with rough fingertips. You jolt at the contact but it’s too late. He barely has to touch you to feel the slick oozing out of you and he lets loose a harsh bark of laughter.

“My ass. You’re fucking soaked. You shouldn’t lie, you know.”

“I didn’t!” You gasp, clearly offended by the insinuation. “You’re just a fucking meanie!”

That gives him pause.

Glancing up at your face, Tomura regards you carefully as he tries to figure out his next move. On one hand it was his own fault for saying that word around you so much and it’s not like it was any of his business what you did or didn’t say, but on the other … there was something uncomfortable about hearing that come out of your mouth with such a childish inflection. It lacked any and all bite, not even a hint of impotent aggression to be found. You were just parroting him, that’s all, but for whatever reason he didn’t really appreciate it.

“Don’t say that.” He huffs, turning his attention back to your pussy.

Tomura had wanted to leave it at that, but of course you have to fight him every step of the way.

“Why not?” You ask rather flippantly.

“Because i said so. If you want to get smart, be my guest. I know how to handle bratty little girls like you.”

He’s a bit surprised when that actually shuts you up. Apparently, he was starting to get the hang of this but he still has to sneak a quick peek at you just to make sure. The fact you actually look contemplative, as if you were turning that over in your empty head, almost makes him laugh.

“Do you still want to play?” God, he sorely hoped you did.

You hesitate though, unwilling to give your acquiescence just like that. “When is it my turn?” You ask warily.

“Soon. I’ve got one more chance to make you feel good and then you can try.”

“Mmm … okay. But I’m not gonna’ lose!”

He’s almost certain you would have already lost if you weren’t such a petulant little thing, but he keeps that to himself. Instead, he once again turns his attention to the spot between your legs. Your puffy slit was noticeably wet, the faint sheen of fluid glistening slightly in the overhead light, and he takes a moment to gently part the curls there. Just as he’d thought. Damp to the touch and only getting wetter. He really was going to have to talk to you about lying especially since, in this particular context, you were cheating. This was a far cry from his video games but that didn’t make it any less annoying.

Swallowing his reprimand for the time being, though, Tomura carefully presses two fingers into the doughy softness of your labia and spreads them apart. He can see now that you were practically drenched in slick arousal, thin threads of discharge stretching across your petal soft folds before snapping. He gulps down his nerves. You really did have the prettiest pussy he’d ever seen and the fact it was all his for the taking very nearly had him creaming in his pants right then and there. It was almost obscene how bad he wanted to fuck your tampered brains out but he didn’t want to scare you into noncompliance. He wasn’t going to fight for this if he didn’t have to.

Slowly, so as not to startle you, he brings his other hand close and prods at where he thinks your clit should be. He’d certainly seen them in enough triple X videos to have some idea of where to look, but when all you do is let out a soft sigh he knows he’s mistaken.

His teeth gnash in high strung irritation as he walks his finger lower and then higher, feeling a bit like a blind fool searching for buried treasure. There were so many fleshy ridges and folds that he couldn’t pinpoint the right spot from memory alone, so he has to take his time feeling around instead. He thinks he’s found it for a split second when you shift underneath him, but then he realizes you were simply getting fussy - no doubt bored with all his incessant pawing - and that only angers him further. It shouldn’t have been this damn hard to find!

Impatient now, Tomura roughly swipes his finger up the length of your slit and surprise washes over him when you jolt as if he’d electrocuted you. Your head comes up off the rug and you stare at him, wide eyed, but it was much too late. He’d finally gotten the reaction out of you that he’d been hoping for, and he leans into it with nothing short of devilish delight.

Knowing precisely where to look helps a great deal and it immediately occurs to him that the reason he’d struggled so much is because your clit was still hidden behind its protective hood. But he’s got the advantage now, and he ever so carefully pinches at satiny soft skin until he can ease it back and expose the sensitive little bud nestled inside. You whimper slightly as he does it, squirming awkwardly on your back as if you could instinctively sense that you might be in a bit of trouble now. It was kind of cute, if he was being totally honest.

“I don’t think I like this game …”

“You will. Trust me.”

Clearly not believing him, you start to open your mouth to complain but he stops you cold with a quick flick of his finger. Your engorged clit jostles against the indelicate contact and you blurt out such a startled sound that he actually glances up to make sure you’re okay. Unsurprisingly, you look a little more flustered now and the panic edging your expression is almost enough to make him reconsider this.

Almost, but not quite.

“What’s the matter?” He goads, dropping his gaze back down to your pussy again. “I thought you didn’t like it.”

“I … I don’t …”

“Really? I’m not sure I believe that.”

He does it again, gentler this time. Just a brief tap against the meaty little nub, but it’s enough to make you twitch and try to close your legs from him. Tomura won’t let you back out so easily though and he shifts even closer so he can wedge himself between your thighs to keep them spread. You issue a frustrated, huffy sound that he could only describe as babyish as you try to push up on your elbows, no doubt intending to scuttle away from him. He had to give you credit for being so hard headed even in this infantile state but he was far too invested to quit now.

Letting up his hold on your labia, Tomura directs his fingers lower and wedges three of them into your slit. You freeze, momentarily stunned, and he takes that split second opportunity to feel around for your entrance. It’s not hard to find. Much easier than your clit, at any rate, and he wastes no time wriggling a long digit up inside your body. The penetration is smooth, your guts such a slippery mess that it almost startles him.

You really were a liar.

He suddenly realizes he’s panting. At the same time, he realizes that you don’t appear to be breathing at all. Your expression is about as dumbfounded as it could be, and he dully watches the way you sway in your half upright position. Shellshocked would probably be an appropriate descriptor, and he wets his lips in anticipation.

“Well? Do you like it?”

Your legs flex around his arms and you shake your head. “Nuh … no …”

“If you don’t stop lying to me,” he grumbles. “I’m going to get mad.”

You stiffen, clearly drawing yourself up to challenge that statement just like he’d known you would. It was embarrassing how predictable you could be.

He’s had just about enough of this back and forth though, and he roughly curls his finger upward in search of the spot that would finally shut you up for good. But his efforts only make you more fussy and his patience quickly unravels when you try to twist away from him, wailing in displeasure. He hated that sound and, if you weren’t careful, he’d go right back to hating you too

Grunting, Tomura abandons your clit in favor of latching his hand onto the swell of your thigh and he digs his blunt nails in to keep you still. You actually have the audacity to kick out at him but he puts a stop to that quickly enough by shoving a second finger into your sticky cunt. Just like the first time, it makes you hesitate and he watches your warbling mouth drop open in what he thinks might be pleasure. It’s frustratingly hard to tell with you but, having no other choice, he decides to take it at face value.

Your pussy clicks loudly when he starts pumping into you straight down to the knuckle, the wet squelch almost deafening in his ears. It’s unreasonably hot though, his mind running a mile a minute as he tries to commit every little detail to memory. The way your face screws up with a stuttering gasp, the way you squeeze your eyes shut and try to brace against the pressure of his digits driving into you again and again. The way you moan, even when you try not to, is particularly enticing, especially since it’s just as pretty as he’d hoped it would be. The way your legs shake and you threaten to double over, the way he can see you clutching the carpet in a death grip, the way you just seem to get even wetter for him. There was too much to take in all at once but it was also far too erotic to look away from. He really was going to cream his pants at this rate.

Somehow, your honest reaction appears to make up for all the trouble you’d given him up until now and Tomura can feel the wet spot bleeding through his boxer briefs start to grow. He was positive he’d never been harder in all his life. Animalistic and practically slobbering like a rabid dog, he hunches further over your quaking body and pistons into your cunt so vigorously his arm starts to ache. You were wailing for him to stop, crying out for Tomu-nii, Tomu-nii, Tomu-nii, but he doesn’t even slow down. He can’t.

Your cunt just keeps sucking him in deeper on every plunge, gummy walls pulsating around his no doubt pruning fingers so enthusiastically that he’s sure you’re going to cum. He can practically taste it. Tomura wasn't going to stop until you did and, realizing he doesn’t have to hold onto you any longer, he reaches out to roughly shove you down on your back again.

“Are you going to cream for me, princess? Huh?” He grits out through savagely bared teeth. “Is that what you’re going to do?”

“No! Please, Tomu-nii … it hurts!”

Even in the heat of the moment he can’t stop himself from clicking his tongue in irritation. “No it doesn’t, you big baby. You love this. I know you do. I can see it written all over your stupid, pretty face. Go on. Tell me exactly how good you feel. Do it!”

Wailing, you peer up at him through heavy lashes with a look so imploring it very nearly gives him pause. “I - I can’t! I’m … Tomu-nii, I’m gonna’ … I’m gonna’ pee!”

“No you aren’t. That just means your clo - -“

Tomura cuts himself off when you do exactly that. He’s almost too stunned to react and all he can do is watch as the steady stream of urine bursts out of you before dribbling down his wrist to soak into the carpet underneath. It’s only now, when you’re pissing all over yourself as well as him, that he finally has the decency to slow his pumping to a staggered halt. For a fleeting moment he actually considers the notion of keeping at it. There wasn’t much else you could do to ruin this for him, after all, but one look at your expression immediately quashes that idea.

He’d be lucky if all he could manage was to stop you from dissolving into ugly, heaving sobs, let alone worry about getting himself off. Dammit. You really were nothing but a pain in his ass.

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.” He deadpans, slowly withdrawing his fingers from your cunt now that he was thoroughly coated in warm, smelly piss. “To be honest I was kind of tired of that rug anyway. And these clothes, too.”

You hiccup so sadly that what little bit of anger had sparked inside him immediately dies out. He couldn’t even be mad at you for this no matter how much he may have wanted to blame you for everything. You’d tried to warn him.

“T- Tomu-nii … mm’sorry …”

Tomura sighs through his nose, hard enough to make the split end tips of his hair shift. “Don't be. That was my fault. Just - let me find something to clean us up with.”

“Do I have to take another bath?” You ask so meekly he almost misses it.

Pausing halfway through the motion of rising to his feet, he glances down at you again. It occurs to him quickly enough that it wasn’t the accident you were so upset about but, rather, the looming possibility of another aggressively meted out trip to the bathroom. Interesting. He’d almost think he was mistaken, it had only happened once, after all, but the way your lower lip wobbles tells him everything he needs to know. Apparently you were more scared of him than you’d let on.

“No, not right now. I think I can get you clean enough with a wet rag or something. You’ll have to take one later but,” Tomura scoffs, hating that he was actually trying to be nice after you’d peed all over him. “I’ll try not to be so rough next time. You just made me mad last night, that’s all.”

You nod slowly, looking like you don’t quite believe that, but still too naively trusting to press the matter. “Okay.”

Nodding once, Tomura climbs to his feet. The inner seam of his pants from the knee down is absolutely soaked and he makes it only three steps before deciding he didn’t like them all that much to begin with. Dropping his hand to the rough denim, he brushes all five fingers across the thigh and they dissolve into nothing without a second thought to the matter. He can faintly hear you ooohing behind him but there were much more important things to worry about than how easily impressed you were.

His half flagged cock throbs hopefully inside his boxer briefs and he reaches down to delicately adjust himself. God, he’d be aching for the next week thanks to your uncontrollable bladder.

An idea pops into his head with that thought. You weren’t the only thing he’d been saddled with yesterday, and he turns to regard the thick gym bag he’d previously thrown against the far wall in anger. It’s where he’d gotten your pink onesie after you’d similarly soiled the first pair of clothes you’d been wearing. He hadn’t bothered to look through all of its contents just yet, but he felt relatively confident he’d find what he wanted in there.

Circling back around, Tomura squats in front of the bag and yanks it open. He can feel your eyes watching him from your spot on the floor but he pays it no mind. Digging inside, he pulls out a few more articles of clothing, far too cutesy for his tastes, and then a book on child care that he knows for certain was put there in jest. Over his shoulder it gets chucked, and he digs deeper. Down at the very bottom he finds exactly what he’d been looking for.

But in addition to the baby wipes there are two other items that catch his attention. He outright balks at the very notion - however, realistically speaking, it could very well be the answer to his problems. At least the most pressing one, anyway.

The idea that All for One knew he’d likely run into this issue but still decided to dump you on him anyway bothers Tomura a great deal and he frowns even as he looks over the packaging. Diapers and pull ups. What was the difference? He’s not so sure there is one, and he feels almost certain that they serve the same purpose. But further inspection proves him wrong. One was for a total lack of control and the other was for the potty training stage, so not as thick or absorbent. That’s what the packing said but, at any rate, they definitely weren't the plain adult brands he was looking at here.

These were bright and colorful, and he can’t help but cringe at the thought of putting you in either of them. But he was still left with a very real concern that he simply couldn’t overlook. The fact he even had to make this decision at all was ridiculous but he couldn’t very well have you pissing on every available surface in his room. And given your track record of absolutely drenching whatever you happened to be sitting on at the time …

Hesitantly, Tomura takes out the diapers and shuffles towards his unkempt bed. The print on the back wasn't particularly clear about what to do with them. He’d probably have to look up a tutorial later, when he wasn’t feeling quite so downtrodden and his balls weren’t aching, though that would certainly put him on a few watch lists. Not that it really mattered.

He sighs and tosses the package on top of his sheets before tearing into the baby wipes. Taking his time, he methodically scrubs his wrist and his legs clean while he contemplates his next move. It wasn’t going to be pretty. It certainly wasn’t going to be sexy. It was still probably the lesser of two evils, though. Far be it that he wanted to go this route but did he really even have any other choice at this point?

“Tomu-nii …”

Your soft whining draws him back to reality and, abruptly realizing you’ve been sitting in your own piss this entire time, he turns to look back at you. For a split second, he seriously considers just killing you right then and there. It would save him a lot of trouble and you wouldn’t even realize what was coming. You were so stupid you’d probably think he was going in for a hug or something asinine like that. He’d be doing you a favor, really, because as far as he was concerned, death was certainly preferable to wearing diapers but … the urge fizzles out almost as quickly as it had appeared. He wasn’t going to let you slip out of his hold until after he’d gotten to bury himself in that tight, pretty little pussy of yours.

Decision made, Tomura makes his way over to the carpet again. You look cold, which doesn’t exactly come as a surprise, and he bends down to grab the meat of your upper arms so he can drag you up to your feet. “Come on. I think I’ve got a solution.”

Your brows furrow slightly. “Salution?”

“Close enough.”

Steering you over to the bed, he makes you bend over the mattress so he can take a baby wipe to the backs of your thighs and ass. Luckily, depending on how you looked at it, the urine had run down rather than going every which direction so it was pretty easy to clean up. The way you tremble and shift your weight back and forth makes it a bit more difficult than it needed to be but he manages, somehow.

Tomura straightens after a long moment, finally deeming the back of you good to go. He’s not so sure he can get through this next part when you were fidgeting so much, though, and he briefly considers the clothes in the gym bag. The thought of putting you in another girly, saccharine sweet garment repulses him almost as much as the thought of putting you in a diaper. But he was going to have to pick and choose his battles here and, reaching back, he delicately tugs off his t-shirt.

“Turn around.”

You slowly comply, teeth chattering the whole time.

“Arms up.”

At this, you hesitate. But at his expectantly bland look, you do as you're told and raise your arms up in the air. The lift of your heavy tits almost successfully distracts him and it is with a great deal of self control on his part that he pulls his shirt down over your head, yanking it a little too forcefully into place.

“There.” He practically hisses, watching you clumsily work your arms through the sleeves. “Is that better?”

You think about that for a moment, eyes scanning across the front of his shirt, and he briefly wonders if you’re going to say something derisive about the worn video game logo stretched across your chest. But then you smile, nodding your head a little too enthusiastically.

“Mm! It smells like Tomu-nii!”

He really couldn’t stand you.

“Good. In return, I’ll need you to cooperate with me here. I’ve never done this before, you know?”

You blink at him quizzically. “Done what?”

Tomura rolls his eyes, feeling grumpier by the second. He couldn’t wait to get this over with and have you situated so he could run off to the bathroom for what probably wouldn’t even amount to five minutes of desperate jerking. “Never mind. Just do what I tell you, okay?”

You nod your head again, but he has some very real doubts about that. Even when you were pretending to go along with whatever it was he wanted you still found some way to fuck everything up for him. If this scheme somehow backfired because your brain was so scrambled you couldn’t even follow simple directions, he was not going to be happy.

Mentally bracing himself for the worst possible outcome, he reaches for the diapers. He rips the bag open almost violently and pulls one out, but it feels even more wrong in his hands than he’d thought it would. A strange sense of scandalized affront warms his chest, making him reconsider this choice for the upteenth time. If Tomura was being completely honest, he felt embarrassed for you but a quick glance in your direction proves that you don’t share quite the same sentiment. You really couldn’t have cared less, huh?

Right. Baby brain.

He grumbles under his breath as he non too gently snaps the diaper open with a loud crinkle of plastic and lays it out close to the edge of his bed. Motioning you closer, Tomura awkwardly helps you get seated on the damn thing and then instructs you to lay down. You genuinely don’t seem to have a problem with this as you recline back, just placidly peering up at him with your little fists balled in the hem of his shirt, but now that he’s gotten this far he’s not sure how to proceed.

At a loss, he takes another baby wipe out of the package and inserts himself between your bent legs. “I’m going to clean you some more, okay?” He's not sure why he’s telling you that, especially when all you do is nod your dopey head in understanding. Just buying time. That’s all he was doing.

But it gives him a chance to think and for that he’s grateful. Try as he might, he couldn’t seem to figure out what All for One’s intention with all this had been. ‘A splendid birthday present for my favorite pupil’, he’d said, as if there were any others. But what was the reason? Surely you weren’t actually supposed to be a sex slave for him. Not in this sorry state. His battered onahole did a much better job on that front and it wasn’t prone to tantrums or crying, and it certainly didn’t pee on his stuff. It also didn’t require more than a perfunctory cleaning every few months. He couldn’t very well shove you into his nightstand and forget about it until the next time he was in the mood to rut into something.

All that was true, yes, but … his onahole also wasn’t warm to the touch, and it didn’t have soft, curly hair framing its abused slit (he really should buy a new one) nor did it self lubricate. It didn’t squeeze him quite the same way your pussy had squeezed his fingers, and it didn’t even really feel like an actual vagina now that he had something to compare it to. You were soft and squishy, pliable in the way only flesh and blood could be, and although he had no way of knowing if this had been All for One’s plan or not, he was certainly self aware enough to recognize that he’d screwed up somewhere along the line.

Tomura absolutely should have turned you to dust while he still had the chance.

Licking his lips, he drags the wipe through the seam of your cunt much more slowly than he needed to. You don’t even stir on the bed, and he thinks you must be starting to doze after … all of that. He’s not quite ready to leave well enough alone yet though, and he gently presses down on the spot where he now knows your clit is hiding. Still using the moist towelette as a pretense to keep touching you like this, he circles the sensitive little bud with it and genuine surprise washes over him when you let out a soft, pleasant sigh.

He glances up at your face but you aren’t even looking at him, lashes fanned out against the apples of your cheeks. It’s hard to tell if you were actually asleep or just pretending so you could lull him into a false sense of security, yet he doesn’t particularly care one way or another. You were his so he could do whatever he wanted to you, right? Besides. You kind of owed him after pissing all over his hand like that.

Discarding the baby wipe, Tomura bends closer and carefully spreads your labia again. He could see your little hole weakly palpitating, beckoning him to pick back up where he’d left off, but he drags his gaze a bit higher instead. You were so velvety soft and smooth it bordered on insane, so much more inviting than he ever would have thought possible.

He briefly hesitates before throwing caution aside and sealing his lips around your clit, gently mouthing at it. Your plushy thighs twitch around his head as you shift on top of the mattress, letting out another breathy sound that rushes straight to his cock. It almost hurts, the way it so eagerly springs back to life after being denied something as simple as release, but he can’t find it in himself to complain. You were giving him another chance, knowingly or not, and he wasn’t the type to squander such an opportunity.

Tomura takes his time lapping at you over the next few minutes until you’re almost as wet as when he’d started. You taste heavenly even with the artificial flavor of the wipes clinging to your folds and he entertains the notion of eating you out until you cum all over his face. There’s something he wants even more than that, though, and he sighs in relief when he finally straightens up so he can fish his cock out. It was almost painfully sensitive to the touch, and he could feel it throbbing potently in his hand. He knew this probably wasn’t going to last long but he didn’t care.

Guiding himself to your waiting entrance, he slowly pushes in one fraction at a time, damn near blowing his load the second his glans disappears into your body. He holds back though, struggling to maintain his composure as he seethes through gritted teeth. You finally seemed to realize that something was going on and your pretty eyes flutter open, immediately searching out his face.

“Tomu-nii …?”

“Be quiet. I’ve got you.”

You accept that in lieu of an explanation surprisingly fast, at least by his standards, and without another word you sleepily glance down at the juncture where your bodies were connected. A slow inhale makes your chest rise, mouth falling open as if to groan. He couldn’t take it anymore.

“Fuck,” the sound rattles out of Tomura’s chest as he slides in right down to the base, toes flexing against the floor. “I’m not even gonna’ get to enjoy this.”

Brows knitting together, you let out the softest mewling sound he’s ever heard and it makes him dig his carefully poised fingers deeper into the meat of your hips. He can’t even bring himself to move, so overwhelmed by how soft and wet your guts are. It felt like you were massaging his length, involuntarily or not, as your pussy suckles at the tip like he’s almost positive your mouth would.

Softly wheezing, Tomura drops his chin to look at where the two of you were stuck together. His pelvis was so flush against yours that your pudgy cunt was molded to the front of him, squishing under the pressure, and his silvery pubes were tangled with your darker ones. He hadn’t expected such a sight to be so damn erotic and it has him twitching, fighting back the orgasm he’d gone through hell and back for.

He’s almost scared to do it but, slowly, he eases back. The way his cock gradually reappears, glistening obscenely now, very nearly sends him over the edge. He isn’t sure how he hasn’t ruptured yet, his ballsac drawn so tight and throbbing that it leaves him feeling lightheaded, but through sheer force of will alone he manages to sink back into the inviting heat of your body without spraying your insides white. His self control was tentative as best, hanging on by a mere thread, but you felt far too good to waste on a quick nut.

“Goddamn … you’re so tight, baby. So fucking tight.”

You fidget underneath him, fussily tugging at the hem of his shirt. “Mm’ not a baby …”

Your pouty little response is enough to make him bark out a clipped laugh, more breathless than amused. You could insist you weren’t a baby all you wanted but, even putting aside the cruel, infantile reprogramming of your brain, it was hard to think otherwise when you were spread out on top of a diaper. It’s stark white, cottony lining was an almost unsettling backdrop to the perfect view he had of his cock stuttering in and out of your slick cunt. Even when he was barely moving, it crinkled softly underneath you with each rocking motion of his hips and he couldn’t quite forget it was there no matter how hard he tried.

Tomura wasn’t sure what he would ultimately do with you and he knew even less why he was even entertaining this wildly absurd situation to begin with, but there was no denying that you did have some use. The clinging grip of your pussy, for starters, and if he could get that bratty mouth of yours under control he might even some day find your company bearable. He still didn’t particularly like you but it wasn’t so farfetched to think that he might be able to tolerate you, with enough effort.

Hissing through his teeth, he drags one of his hands down to spread your puffy lips apart and get a good look at the way your petal soft folds clutch to his cock. It was a mesmerizing visual in the worst possible way, especially when accompanied by the soft, wet clicking he pulls from your body. He could have watched this for hours on end but, realistically, he knew he wasn’t going to last much longer, and he gives his wrist a brief twist to bring the middle finger down on your clit.

You twitch at the contact but Tomura takes a much more gentle approach this time, sedately drawing circles around the swollen bud. He doesn’t get much in the way of a reaction for his trouble so he just keeps at it, rubbing you in tandem with his staggered thrusts. The thought of making you cum around his cock is almost disturbingly enticing, but he isn’t so sure he can accomplish that. Not when so much of his focus was devoted to simply biting back his orgasm - but then, to his throbbing surprise, you draw a faltering breath.

“Tomu-nii … feels good …”

It’s as if the air had been punched right out of him. He isn't so sure he even believes his own ears, the blood suddenly pounding inside of them making it hard to hear much of anything. He groans though, thick and heavy as he slides his other hand up across your stomach to push at the bottom of his shirt. Your grip on the soft cotton momentarily tightens, still fighting him at every turn, but you give in almost immediately and allow him to shove it over the swell of your tits.

They’re moving, jiggling ever so slightly with the push and pull of his narrow hips as they quietly slap against the backs of your thighs. Tomura heaves, practically doubling over you with another throaty moan that rises in pitch at the tail end. His palm descends on one of your breasts, squeezing hard enough that the pliable flesh bulges and spills out between four of his fingers. You just stare up at him the entire time, face pinched and flushed while your glistening eyes dreamily watch him with a far off sort of quality that he’s sure must be - has to be pleasure.

He’d never seen anything sexier in his whole life, and that thought alone is far more terrifying than he could have ever guessed it would be. There was something wrong with you, yes, by All for One’s design. But there was something even more inherently wrong with him for getting off on this so much and without the added bonus of quirk tampering to excuse his behavior. You were so sweet and unfairly innocent despite your seductive figure, the sight of you naked save his bunched up t-shirt driving him absolutely wild. It was like you belonged here, with him, in his bed. It wasn’t that he no longer wanted to kill you but that he couldn’t.

What little bit of self control he’d still been clinging to up until now shatters, and Tomura snaps his hips into your upturned ass: once, twice, three times. The sticky squelching between your bodies increases in volume, echoing inside his skull like a ricocheting bullet as he watches your face screw up at the sudden force. It doesn’t even matter though. He’s long since reached his limit and, with a wounded grunt, he slams into you one final time, lurching over your prone body.

The sound that comes out of his mouth as he shudders and violently paints your pink guts is, frankly, embarrassing. But he’s riding a high too great to care, clinging to you hard enough to make his joints ache and you whimper in discomfort. He can’t stop though. He’s cumming so hard, pulse after pulse, that it feels like his soul actually slips out of his body for a worryingly long beat before returning in fragmented pieces. The same, but also somehow different. Like he’d experienced rebirth in the warm, comforting clutch of your drenched cunt.

He wheezes as if he’d been stabbed in the chest when he finally eases his softening cock out of you some time later.

Tomura was completely spent, both physically and mentally. His wobbly legs could hardly support his weight anymore but, with a strength of mind he hadn’t even realized he possessed, he directs a shaky finger to your clit again. You squirm in response, huffing after that rough treatment, but he soothes you with hushed words and a gentle touch to the delicate little pearl he barely even needs to brush against to have you shaking for him.

“Relax. You feel good, don’t you? Let me hear those pretty sounds again, baby.”

Obstinately, you purse your lips together to deny him even that one simple request. Tomura heaves a tired sigh, wishing you weren’t such a brat, but he doesn’t let up. The gentle circles he rubs into your clit with the pad of his finger slowly brings you around though, grudgingly, and he can’t quite deny the satisfaction that sparks in his throat when your mouth warbles open to let loose the sweetest, tiny moan he’s ever heard.

“Nngh … Tomu-nii …!”

“Don't fight it. I want you to feel good too, yknow.” He pauses, tongue glancing over his dry lips. “Will you cum for me, sweetheart?”

You shake your head, eyes screwing shut, but the way your body continues to tense up seems to suggest otherwise. He could tell you were practically thrumming with it, burning from the inside out even as his milky white discharge slowly oozes down your slit to pool in the seat of the diaper. It was unexpectedly exciting to watch, disproportionately naughty given how utterly unappealing the crinkly plastic was at first glance, and he picks up the pace of his rubbing.

“I think you’re lying again. You liked how it felt when I was inside you, right? This will be even better, I promise. You’ll love it. I know you will.”

Weakly writhing on top of his bed, you crack your eyes open to peer up at him again. “T - Tomu-nii … I can’t … ahh. Ahh. Ahh! I … I’m … ahh! Tomu-niiiii!”

You suddenly jerk, tossing your head back against the sheets, and he watches in rapt fascination as you quake so hard it nearly catches him off guard. It wasn’t the seductive, rolling tremors he was used to seeing in porn videos but, rather, a full bodied spasm that had you twisting as if to get away. Your thighs try to clamp shut around his hand but he elbows them apart, refusing to let up until he’d milked your orgasm as thoroughly as you’d milked his.

And you looked so pretty, too. Caught up in mind numbing pleasure so intense he couldn’t even begin to fathom what you were feeling. Even his own earth shattering release seemed to pale in comparison to this, and it takes you much longer to start coming down from it than it did him.

Your hair is a mess by the time you’re done, matted in some places and sticking to your damp forehead in others. For a fleeting moment, Tomura can almost see the adult woman you should have been when your face goes slack in ecstasy and your flushed lips were parted to suck in as much oxygen as you could get. He imagines you were probably no stranger to pleasures of the flesh, not with that body and those looks, so the thought that he could make you feel this good was a bit like a pat on the back for him. It was probably just beginners luck, but that didn’t stop him from feeling any less proud of himself.

Slowly, he takes his hands off you and steps back. The spot between your legs was absolutely covered in fluid, your sticky, copious slick mixing with his spunk to make a truly viscous concoction that clung to your damp curls. He thinks that he should probably clean you up again and reaches for the baby wipes, but stops himself short.

The idea that crosses his mind is very likely foul, perhaps even more offensive than anything else he’d done til now, but … a quick glance at your sloppy pussy proves too great a temptation. There was something inherently erotic about making you walk around with his semen dripping out of you, even if it was only going to be absorbed by the diaper, and he shuffles close again with his heart in his throat.

Tomura hasn’t the slightest clue what he’s doing and it takes him a long moment to figure out the tape tabs on the sides. He gets frustrated halfway through the process, struggling to make sure the crinkly plastic was secure enough around your waist, but by some miracle you stay relatively still through all of his fumbling. He isn’t quite sure how he got so lucky but he doesn’t stop to question it, hawkishly focusing all of his attention on the task at hand.

At length, he straightens to admire his work. It’s not perfect by any means but he’s pretty sure the damned thing wasn’t going to fall off as soon as you stood up so there was that. The diaper itself was just as obnoxiously girly as everything else in the gym bag; a soft, lilac purple with a flowery, cartoon bunny design on them. He didn’t mind the rabbits so much, and it was certainly preferable to the onesie, but he still thought you’d look nice in something a bit cooler.

The realization that he was thinking about this in such quaint, fuzzy terms chills Tomura to the bone, and his gaze flicks to your face so he can ask what you think of them. Even if only to distract himself from his own uncomfortably perverse change of heart.

But you were already asleep. He probably should have expected as much, and he could tell you were actually snoozing this time by the shallow, even rise and fall of your chest. A strange sense of embarrassment washes over him and he reaches out to delicately take the hem of his shirt between thumb and finger so he can tug it back down into place. You only snuggle further into the mattress though, getting comfortable, and further cementing the notion that he had, indeed, fucked up.

He’d never be able to get rid of you now.

Grumbling under his breath, Tomura leans over you with one hand braced on the mattress. The other slips between your legs, unable to squeeze shut now with the bulk of the diaper between them, and ever so carefully cups his palm over your crotch. It was cool to the touch, but if he pushed down hard enough he could feel the warmth of your body bleeding through. You let out a quiet huff in response, petulant towards him even in your sleep, and he can’t quite stop himself from laughing. It was absurd. It was strange. It was strikingly, unequivocally weird, but he was almost glad he hadn’t disintegrated you or strangled you to death.

This wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind when he’d wished for a woman he could do with as he pleased and not have to worry about her running away, but … it was close enough, he supposed.

#shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki #self insert bullshit #my writing #I'll tag the series later #I don't know if I want this to show at the top of the main tags seems a bit like inviting trouble #I've wanted to write something like this for a very very long time and I just took advantage of Shigaraki's birthday to finally do it #blah #I make him cry bout' the pussy #prolly why my shit so wet #ahh 👅

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comfortwriting · 3 years

Text

Ashtray - D.M part 1

Masterlist, Posting Schedule, Requesting Rules, Writing Prompts

Draco Malfoy x Fem Gryffindor Smoker Reader

Part 2 , Part 3

About: After years of bullying the reader, Draco catches her smoking, at first he doesn’t care and doesn’t think much of it. Draco suddenly finds himself crushing on the reader, realising how bad smoking is and freaks out.

Warnings: mention of cancer, heart disease, lung disease, the word mudblood.

“He’s staring at you again” Harry muttered.

You, Ron and Harry were standing in the court yard, Hermione with her head stuck in a book. You looked across to see the platinum blonde haired boy that hated your guts, sitting in a tree, Crabbe and Goyle making him laugh.

“Just ignore it Harry” you said softly, “you’ve got enough on your plate this year”

Harry didn’t answer and continued to stare down Draco, squinting at him through his glasses.

Sighing you turned around and checked sneakily in your bag for your cigarette packet, unfortunately you had left it behind the in dorm room. Your fingers were itching for a smoke, you hated not being able to sneak off for one between classes, especially on sunny days like these when everyone was outside.

“It’s a bit odd that he has it in for you” Ron spoke up, shoving a jelly slug in his mouth “I mean - you haven’t given him a reason to.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and shook her head, pulling herself out of her book “it’s because she’s with us, you idiot”

“no” you replied “even before I joined you lot, Draco’s been unpleasant.”

Speaking of the devil, Draco and his two stocky sheep strutted over to you, each of them smirking and laughing at you.

Your heart pained for a moment, Draco had to be the most gorgeous lad you ever laid eyes on during your time at Hogwarts, but unfortunately he was also the rudest and most arrogant of the lot.

You couldn’t explain why you were so into him, you only know the bad parts of him - yet baffling enough, you wanted to see the good parts of him more than anything and funnily enough, Draco only knew the good parts of you, yet he yearned for the bad in you.

“Look what we’ve found here boys” Draco smirked, stopping in his tracks “a peasant, a mud blood, an orphan and..” he paused, his eyes searching you.

“a tosspot?” you answered for him, smirking back “you’ve got to do better than that, Malfoy.”

Draco’s face dropped and the same old frustrated look splashed across his face.

This was the first time he couldn’t think of something on his feet, you had caught him out in front of both his friends and yours, you would relish making him look stupid for the rest of the school year.

Draco stepped out in front of you, Crabbe and Goyle waiting behind him. You stepped out from your shield of friends and stared the blonde down, Ron could barely contain himself.

Draco didn’t know why he hated you, well, part of him did - you’re a Gryffindor, you’re best-friends with the people he hates most and worst of all, you could outsmart him. But the other part of him didn’t feel that hate or maliciousness towards you, he didn’t like you or dislike you - he was only forcing himself to hate you.

He had to think of something, the longer he stayed silent the more stupid he looked.

“You’re ugly and you smell like a filthy ashtray” he spat at you, turning around he walked away with Crabbe and Goyle pretending to laugh to make him feel better.

You burst out laughing and flipped him off.

“Ugly, wow.” you breathed.

Ron couldn’t help but laugh “it’s alright for you isn't it? ashtray - some insult that, you sure you don’t fancy him or something?.”

You slapped his shoulder playfully “don’t talk crap, Ron.”

‘He isn’t entirely wrong though’

You glanced at Harry and Hermione “Are you two okay?” you asked, feeling bad about what Draco said and for not defending them.

The two of them looked at one another and back at you, nodding.

“We’ve got an important exam to prepare for, you coming with?” Hermione asked.

You shook your head, your fingers now unbearably itchy and your head desperately pleading for a smoke.

“nah, I’ve got some homework to do, see you later?”

Waving and walking away, you went to your dorm, your head filling with thoughts of the blonde.

“so stupid” Draco cursed under his breath, pacing around the empty Slytherin common room.

No matter how many times he tried, he couldn’t rid the pictures of you flashing in his head: the sound of your laugh, your voice answering questions in potions, the scent of your hair, your smile, the way you walked across the Quidditch pitch - Draco found himself drowning in a sea of confusion.

‘I can’t fancy her, father will see rage’

He shook his head and pushed his soft blonde hair back, he couldn’t be developing feelings for you, no way - you must have put a spell on him, hexed him even.

Finally lighting your cigarette, you inhaled, pulling it away from between your lips, holding it between your index and middle finger, the inside of your mouth warming up. Looking out at the great lake, you admired the beautiful reflection of the sky and beaming sun waving in the water.

Draco left the common room and searched the entire school grounds for you, he finally approached the great lake and felt satisfied when he saw you.

Getting ready to scold you and disarm you, he stopped in his tracks, your beauty stunning him. Although you were smoking, this didn’t bother Draco, it made sense for the nickname he gave you, but even when breathing in toxic chemicals, nothing could stop his heart from racing.

He wanted to pull you into him for a long and loving embrace, to share an intense kiss flowing with the pent up feelings the two of you were hiding, he wanted to make you his - he wanted to protect you.

Managing to pull himself out of his trance, he continued to approach you.

Exhaling, you heard a familiar sharp voice pop out from behind you.

“Tell me what you’ve done, ashtray!”

Turning around, Draco stormed over to you like he did earlier on, his hair and robes blowing in the wind.

Noticing the cigarette resting between your fingers, you started to choke on the smoke out of panic, instantly dropping your cigarette onto the floor and stamping on it in a hurry - but he had already caught you.

“Done what?” you breathed out, coughing even more into your fist.

“You know exactly what you’ve done, trying to mess with my head!” he hissed.

You stared at him like he had two heads.

“Malfoy, sort yourself out, will you? I’ve got no bloody idea what you’re talking about. Get lost off if you’ve got nothing better to do!”

Draco scoffed and pointed at you “if you don’t give me an explanation by tonight I’ll do you in for smoking.”

the sun beams outlined Draco as if he were an angel, he turned around and strutted off, you watched him leave and searched your packet for another cigarette, cursing yourself for putting a full one out without needing to.

Feeding your bad habit, you pondered around trying to figure out what Draco was talking about.

‘Messing with his head?’

“Where have you been?” Pansy asked, relieved to see Draco entering the common room.

Draco stared at Pansy for a moment, Crabbe and Goyle sitting down.

He couldn’t allow them to figure him out, his undying crush on you, he had to keep this act up, he needed to protect himself.

“If that ashtray doesn’t confess by tonight, she’ll be out of this school.”

Pansy grunted “let her continue to smoke, Draco. She’s killing herself by doing so.”

Draco got a sinking feeling in his stomach, he didn’t really want you gone from Hogwarts and he sure as hell didn’t want you dead.

Draco pondered whether or not it would be worth addressing and accepting his feelings so he can confess and move forward, he hated keeping the truth to himself and lying about it.

“What?” He stared at Pansy.

Pansy yawned “cancer, heart disease, lung disease, let her put herself at risk to all that.”

Draco didn’t know much about cigarettes, they never appealed to him but he now hated them within seconds. The beautiful images of you were replaced with sickly ones, the sound of your laughter replaced with your wheezing and croaky voice.

The platinum blonde haired boy couldn’t sleep that night, he tossed and turned, his head screaming at him to approach you, to stop you from damaging yourself, even if nothing happened between the two of you.

Creeping around the school in your pyjamas, you silently tip toed past the great hall, praying to get outside for your last smoke of the night.

Feeling a hand grab you, you clamped your hand over you mouth, silencing your screams.

The taller person who had taken hold of you had his finger against his lips, his eyes burning into you with not hate.. but love and a slight hint of concern.

Your hand fell beside you “What are you doing?” You hissed lowly at him.

Draco noticed the cigarette packet in your other hand, he snatched them from you and stuffed them into his pockets.

“Draco, I didn’t do anything I for Merlins sake!—“

Draco couldn’t take his brain screaming anymore, his heart pining, he couldn’t ignore the images of you, the sound of your laughter - he wanted you, he wanted it all.

You didn’t call him Malfoy.

Smashing his lips against yours, he silenced you with a long, meaningful kiss.

Draco felt relieved, the heaviness coming from the bricks sitting on his shoulders had tumbled off, his thoughts finally silenced, his heart finally lighter and the best thing of all - he got reassurance; you were kissing back.

The taste of green apples filled your mouth, instantly making you nervous if all he got in return was more ashtray.

Your heart skipped beats, the butterflies in your stomach flapping their wings and taking flight, fireworks exploded between your lips.

Draco pulled away and his soft expression turned hard, you stared at him trying to figure out what the hell had just happened.

“You’re stopping smoking” Draco ordered quietly.

Looking around for Mr Filch and Mrs Norris, you turned your attention back on Draco.

“Why do you care? I’ve given you an answer and you’re going to do me in anyway—“

Draco sighed, his words coming up like vomit.

“Wait, why did you kiss me?” you asked, your fingers running over your lips.

“I don’t want you to put your health at stake, Y/N!” Draco took your hands in his.

“I don’t even know why I’m doing this, I don’t know why I’m so attracted to you but for as long as I do have feelings for you - you’re not doing this to yourself.”

You looked into his beautiful gleaming ice grey eyes, chewing on your lip nervously “You have feelings for me?” you began to smirk.

Draco put his head in his hands “I just kissed you didn’t I?”

You nodded and pursed your lips, this whole encounter going from awkward to cringe, yet so sweet and innocent.

“Well I kissed back”

Draco gave you the ‘no shit sherlock’ look “I had no idea, ashtray mouth”

You slapped him playfully like you did Ron this morning, the two of you starting to laugh quietly, your heart fluttering at his smile, his perfectly pearly white teeth.

“I have feelings for you too, Draco”

“No..” Ron squealed under the invisibility cloak.

Trying to step out and batter Draco, Harry grabbed Ron by the back of his jumper, holding him back.

“shut it, will you!” Harry hissed.

Ron gave him a look “she’s sleeping with the enemy!”

Harry wanted to slap his best friend around the head “they’ve just kissed, look I’m not happy about it either—“

“I thought Hermione was bad enough with Krum-” Ron whined.

#draco malfoy #draco x you #draco x reader #draco imagine #draco oneshot #draco fanfic #draco fanfiction #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #Harry Potter fanfic #imagines #x reader #oneshots #fanfic #fan fiction

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solomonish · 3 years

Text

Growing Pains (Lucifer & Mammon)

At first, Lucifer thought that to fall with those he loved more dearly than anyone was the final blessing the Celestial Realm would bestow upon him.

But Father did not intend to stop after taking Lilith from them. He just took her first - the brothers still had themselves and each other to lose.

ao3 link: here!

---

The office in the manor was slowly becoming more and more cluttered as Lucifer continued to drag stacks of paperwork and countless manuals on Devildom culture into the house when he returned from his meetings with Diavolo. The business he had been tasked to sort out for the rest of his existence needed to be started on right away, leaving Lucifer tied up with an amount of work fitting for the place he now had to learn to call home. Instead of navigating the new life with his brothers, he had to spend his time navigating the halls of the palace or bent over an old wooden desk. The impressive castle doors now instinctively sent a pit into his stomach and finding the Royal Butler Barbatos waiting for him to lead him so he wouldn't lose himself in the halls hurt Lucifer in a weird, bruising way he had never felt before.

By the time he got home, the house was normally quiet. It scared him, at first: after spending so long in battle, silence could only mean something bad. During the first days, he found his brothers huddled up in the same spot, unwilling to be alone. Beel and Belphie would be curled around each other in some way, inseparable as they had always been. Mammon could be found sprawled over the carpet,, one hand gripping Satan's ankle or wrist as if that'd be enough to stop one of his rampages. Perhaps it was; from what Lucifer heard, every day he was getting better, learning more. Mammon wasn't the only one gripping him; Asmodeus was often cuddled next to Satan, clinging tightly to his arm or sometimes even to him. He was getting awfully affectionate lately, but maybe it was doing Satan some good. Only Levi wasn't directly touching anyone, but even though his back was turned, his new tail would occasionally twitch and brush against one of his brothers.

These scenes gave Lucifer pause, the feeling he was learning to be pride swelling in his chest. Everything was alright. Mammon had kept things under control.

He left them alone, not wanting to disturb their peace, and continued his work, the task distracting his mind and the affection distracting his heart from the crippling grief that loomed above them all.

Eventually, though, the brothers disbanded. The quirks he had noticed growing in them soon became hallmarks of their new beings: Asmodeus' affections were becoming increasingly licentious, Belphegor could hardly be found awake regardless of the time, items turned up missing and wound up in Mammon’s possession...each of his brothers seemed to spiral further and further towards degeneracy, save for Satan, who was as sinful as it got and instead retreated into himself and forming a grudge against everyone for his status as what seemed like a half-baked replacement.

Ever the dependable brother - a thought that was now strangely accompanied by a twinge of something unpleasant instead of the warm, affectionate delight Lucifer was used to - Mammon still tried to keep everyone together.

At first, it seemed to work. Nobody seemed entirely willing or even purposely trying to avoid the others. However, it seemed that the sin they began to embody were too great an obstacle none of them knew how to hurdle. Any interruption infuriated Satan, and Asmo seemed offended at the concept of taking his own time away from himself to check in on his brothers. Beel and Belphie could never be taken away from easing the effects of their sins for long enough to hold a meaningful conversation, and Levi had already dug himself so deep in a self-deprecating hole he seemed convinced any efforts to connect were the beginning of an elaborate prank to make fun of him. When items turned up missing immediately after Mammon’s visits, doors started slamming if they even opened.

Still, his attempts to keep the camaraderie alive meant Lucifer had more time to spend on the paperwork. It was a good system - at least, that’s how he felt. Evidently, Mammon didn’t feel the same.

Normally, on the days where Mammon made a futile attempt at his rounds (days that were becoming more and more scarce throughout the week), Mammon passed by Lucifer’s door. This time, there was an angry knock on the door, more of an alert to Mammon’s presence than a request for permission. The door didn’t bang against the wall, but Mammon had twisted the doorknob rather ferociously and Lucifer almost flinched at the noise it made. Taken aback by his brother’s stormy entrance, he nearly watched him approach impassively. There hadn’t been any opportunity to discuss the proper, respectful way to enter his workspace - clearly, this needed to be remedied soon.

“What’re ya even doing in here?” Mammon bellowed, looking around. The shelves that had books in them were put together nicely, the sturdy wood packed with old books about a life they both used to find reprehensible. How cruel of their father to force them to live what He made them fear most.

“You can lower your voice,” Lucifer answered, dropping his pen on the desk. When he leaned back, ignoring the way his upper back twinged at the change from his previous slumped posture, he met Mammon’s eyes and was surprised to see genuine frustration behind them. “I’ve been working.”

A scoff had never sounded more irritating to Lucifer’s ears. “Is that what it is? Because to me, it seems like you’re avoiding us.”

Lucifer scrunched his eyebrows. “Where did you-”

“Is that it? What, we all lost so now we’re losers and you can’t stand to look at us?”

“I never-”

“Or you couldn’t fill the void left when you were thrown out as the world’s best lapdog, so you became Diavolo’s instead?”

“Stop right there, Mammon,” Lucifer commanded, standing from his seat. His voice had a steely chill to it that it never had before, one to match the resentment burning inside of him. Instinctively, Mammon backed off. They didn’t know much about their new predicament, but they knew how the seven of them ranked in power, and Lucifer would always come out on top. “I’m won’t concern myself with where you got these foolish thoughts from. Perhaps it would benefit you to spend less time with Levi-”

“Levi? How could you know if he even had anything to do with this? When’s the last time you saw him?” Mammon shot back. “Spending less time with anybody isn’t the answer to anything, though of course it’d be your answer to things.”

Lucifer sighed. “I’m working out the details of this situation so you don’t have to worry yourselves with it.”

Mammon didn’t have an immediate response to that, instead watching Lucifer with betrayed eyes. He seemed to deflate over time, a resignation falling over him that forced his fire out with a sigh. "We were a team, Lucifer. What the hell happened?"

There were obvious answers to that, and there were not so obvious answers. Faced with so many options, Lucifer found himself unable to choose between them, and instead stared blankly at Mammon. Slowly, Lucifer sat back in his seat without breaking eye contact.

We've been ripped away from everything and left to become scabs over the wounds we've been given. All I'm trying to do is give you the freedom to heal however you need to, to keep you from the chains that could have just as easily awaited us as this fate did.

I'm hiding from you a burden that is too heavy to pass on - if I move it from my shoulders, I fear my arms would be too weak to carry it to you.

There were so many ways to tell Mammon that Lucifer had to lock himself away, the door a heavy shield against his own grief and the ever-growing work that buried him and the secret he carried. Even if Lucifer didn’t trust his own mouth to only say what was necessary, he could just thank Mammon for his efforts, tell him that he trusted Mammon more than anybody to keep together the one thing that ought to stay intact after the holy hell they’d created. But something inside him bristled, swelling uncomfortably until he felt like a balloon ready to burst. Gulping down his thoughts, Lucifer resumed his writing, the pen scratching against the paper more ferociously than the claws of any creature by which they now found themselves surrounded.

"I don't need your help," Lucifer answered simply, with finality. Though the words rang true in his mind, they were leaden with the way they pulled on his heart and tasted like iron on his tongue.

Mammon scoffed again, narrowing his eyes so Lucifer wouldn't be able to notice the tears that began to gather within them. "Fine, then. I-I didn't wanna help ya out anymore anyway."

As Mammon stomped out the door of his office with a huff, Lucifer felt something snap inside him. It wasn't in the way pent up rage unleashed itself, apparently, somehow in the form of a sixth brother, but more in the way one holds on desperately to a branch too thin for the weight. Once it snaps, the plummet is rough, with stronger branches breaking up the fall and taunting tossing them around in a cruel ricochet. Outside of the thick wooden door, it was startlingly quiet, as if the house itself was forcing Lucifer to grapple with the final thread holding them together being cut with his own words.

The pain started in his chest, the way it always did, wrapping around his heart and lungs like thorny vines. The spot on his lower back, occasionally tickled by phantom feathers, throbbed as his entire brain seemed to weigh heavier in his head. After a near eternity surrounded by laughter and the beautiful, enchanting hum of Celestial life and a thundering of battle that would ring in his head for the rest of his existence, the silence seemed like a stifling blanket, the final lock on the cage they had been forced into.

When one opposed Father and lost, he truly did lose everything.

#MMMMMMMMMMM brothers #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me sw #swd obey me #lucifer #mammon #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #lucifer angst #mammon angst #mine #swd lucifer #swd mammon #obey me fanfic

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awritingtree · 4 years

Text

Promises

Draco Malfoy x sister!reader

@kashishwrites 300 writing challenge: Hurt/comfort prompt 12. “Why didn't you tell me?” and angst prompt 6. “Is this how little you think of me?” The prompts have been bolded.

Summary: Draco witnesses his sister get bullied and finds out that she’s been keeping it from him all these years. Draco finally steps up and owns up to his role as her older brother, the one whose supposed to protect her and be her shoulder to lean on.

Words: 2.8k

Warnings: ANGST, bullying, depression, fluff, blood and house discrimination. If bullying or depression talk will trigger you, please don’t read.

A/N: this took so much longer to write than expected. Uni is really kicking my butt with the amount of work each professor is deciding to assign. I wanted to do this more justice but I just couldn’t write this any better. It could’ve been way better but oh well, it’s decent at least. Hope you guys like it xx

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

“Draco!” a voice cut called out, through the Slytherin common room. Draco, who was sitting with Parkinson, Crabbe and Goyle, near the fireplace looked up to see Blaise Zabini, another one of the Slytherins.

“You need to come with me,” he said while trying to catch his breath, “It’s Y/N.”

Draco shot up from his seat instantly and followed Zabini out of the common room, past the Great Hall and towards the Ravenclaw Tower. Draco could see a small crowd up ahead of the corridor as they turned a corner. He could hear laughs coming from a few of the students. When they were close enough Draco realized what was going on.

There in the centre of the circle were three Gryffindor 7th year boys, making fun of someone, throwing their bag’s contents onto the floor. Draco slipped his wand out as soon as he saw the bag, gripping it so tightly he was surprised it didn’t snap in half. His shoulders tensed from an anger so intense, it could have obliterated everything around him for miles.

“Oh, look here. Malfoy’s got a muggle book. Going to use it to help Mummy and Daddy find new ways to torture, are you?”

“Give it back,” spoke Draco, his voice so low from the rage brewing inside, everyone flinched due to its ferocity. He glared at the three boys in front of him. ‘Filthy, disgusting excuses of wizards. How dare they pick on a Malfoy!?’ thought Draco.

Y/N’s tear-filled eyes widened at the sight in front of her. Her back was pressed against the wall, hoping it would swallow her whole taking her far away from everyone.

“Leave,” threatened Draco, raising his wand slightly. Zabini came and stood beside Draco; wand raised too.

The three red-and-gold-clad boys looked at each other. They threw Y/N’s bag onto the floor before turning around and walking away, deciding the fight was not worth it. The crowd cleared off, now that the drama was over.

Y/N slid down the wall and buried her face in her knees. She could hear Zabini and her brother conversing, but she didn’t dare to look up. How could she? How could she face her brother after what had just happened? He would surely hate her. She was a Malfoy, she couldn’t afford to look weak in front of anyone, much less be bullied in front of an audience.

Y/N continued to cry into her knees even as she heard someone slide down the wall next to her. Draco wrapped his arm around Y/N, pulling her into his side. His other hand went up to stroke her hair in a soothing manner. He couldn’t bear to hear her cry, he wanted to take all her pain away, but alas he couldn’t. The least he thought he could do is provide her some comfort and so that he did.

“How long has this been going on?” Draco asked, once Y/N calmed down a bit.

“Since first year,” Y/N admitted quietly, looking down at her fidgeting hands.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t think you’d care.”

“I’m your brother,” countered Draco.

“Yes but you’re a git too, no offense, and you know it. You go around being unpleasant to other people; muggleborns, half-bloods, ‘blood-traitors’ as you say. You bully others for being who they are, something they have no choice over. I didn’t think you’d care because you act the same way as those boys do. What makes you different from those boys? Why would you care enough to help me when I am so weak?”

“Is this how little you think of me? I’m your brother, Y/N. Of course, I’m going to care,” said Draco, hurt by what his sister was telling him.

“You certainly haven’t acted like you do for quite some time now,” Y/N couldn’t help but scoff.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Draco, puzzled. He thought they were fine, on good terms; they talked occasionally given that he was a Slytherin and she was sorted into Ravenclaw in his second year. Draco remembered how furious his father had been; he sent a Howler the very next day. Though, he calmed down a bit soon after because (apparently) Ravenclaw was better than Hufflepuff or Gryffindor.

Something snapped inside of Y/N when she heard those words pour out from Draco’s mouth. Years of pent-up feelings, trying to pretend everything was alright, bubbled over; years of not letting the tears fall - the dam finally broke.

“You haven’t been around, Draco. Yes, we still talk but it isn’t the same as before. I tried making friends, finding a life without someone who's always been there, right by my side. But in the end, everyone left. It was my fault they left too; I am too much deal with, I know that. I wouldn’t put up with me either,” she cried, “I feel so alone, even in a castle filled with students at every corner. Everyone says Hogwarts feels like home, but it doesn’t to me, it never has. But then again, I don’t know what home feels like anymore, not since I got sorted into Ravenclaw. I really thought we could get through anything, but that was false. I just keep hoping that things will get better but instead I set myself up for more and more disappointment. I’m tired, Draco. I’m so very tired. I’m tired of feeling nothing but this constant emptiness instead of me. I want to feel something other than this constant loneliness and sadness. I- I don’t think I’m okay. I don’t think I have been for a while. But does it really even matter? Nobody’s noticed,” she let out a hollow laugh, one that shook Draco to the core.

"Nobody ever notices anything except Malfoy’s weak little sister; weird and a loner," she said weakly.

Draco could feel his heart clench at his baby sister’s words. The same baby sister that he promised to always protect, the same baby sister that he promised he would never leave her side, the baby sister who he promised he would love unconditionally. But it seemed that Draco was a master at breaking promises.

“I- um,” he stuttered at a loss of words.

Draco took a deep breath, trying to pull himself together. This was not the time to break down, his little sister needed him.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything,” Y/N whispered out, shaking her head making a move to stand up.

“What are you sorry for? Why shouldn’t you have said anything?” Draco asked. He put a hand on her forearm, stopping her movements to stand up.

“I shouldn’t. It doesn’t matter, Draco. It’ll all be fine soon. I’ll get over it,” she smiled weakly, though Draco could see through it all.

“No you’re not. You’re not fine. I-,” Draco said softly, shaking his head slightly, “Talk to me Y/N, please.”

“I said I’m fine, Draco. Just, leave me alone!” Y/N exclaimed, ripping her arm out of his grip and getting up. Draco quickly stood up, reaching out to her as she walked towards her bag thrown across the floor.

“Y/N/N, please. I just want to help,” Draco tried reasoning calmly. He couldn’t get mad at her. He wasn’t. He knew she was only doing this because she was tired of letting people in who only turned their backs on her when she needed them the most. He had been one of these people, he knew he was. He failed to realize how bad things had gotten for her. Y/N had always been a bit more emotional than others ever since she was young, taking things to heart. Whenever their father, Lucius Malfoy, got furious she would be off for days; wallowing in sadness, guilt, and a dislike towards herself for being the way that she was - for not being better. She cried a lot too. Things affected her more deeply, the smallest of words setting her off. She felt too deeply.

“I want to understand,” he said.

Y/N scoffed.

“Understand? You want to understand? I don’t even understand what this is, Draco! Sometimes I wake up and I feel like I’m on top of the world, but then suddenly the will to do anything but lay in bed disappears. All I want then is to crawl back to bed and never wake up again. I feel like crying, but with no reason as to why. I’ll be fine one second then crying my eyes out the next. I want to understand why I feel this way. My thoughts always go back to everything those three boys tell me every single day without fail. Why do they pick on me? Is it me? But of course it’s me, what else could it be?”

Draco was stunned into silence. He didn’t know what to say; what could he say? Y/N took a deep breath, looking down at the floor, her shoulders slumped forwards.

“It hurts, it hurts so much,” she choked out, trying to keep herself together.

Draco frowned, “What hurts?”

“I don’t know, everywhere.”

Draco grew even more confused. He approached her hesitantly, stopping a few feet away in case she lashed out again.

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, looking up at her brother. Her eyes were filled with tears she was trying to keep at bay.

“It- It feels like this ache in my chest, spreading. And it just makes me want to cry more. It’s more of an internal pain, one that I can’t seem to get rid of, no matter how hard I try. I try to. I do. I try to be happy, to still go on about my day hoping it’ll get better. But it doesn’t. I just feel like an outsider in this world full of happy, living people. And I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Draco stepped towards her; his arms outstretched. Y/N fell into them, clinging to her older brother. Draco wrapped his arm around her while his other arm stroked her hair, soothing and comforting her.

‘How long had she felt this way?’ he wondered.

He then remembered all the times he’s seen her throughout the past few years; always alone, barely laughing or smiling, days where she looked exhausted, days where she looked like she wanted nothing more than to go back to bed. Throughout all this, there was the dull look in her eyes, one that was still there at this moment.

He felt his heart clench in his chest. How could he have not noticed? Everything was right there in front of his eyes, but he had been too selfish; too far up his own arse to notice that the only person in the world he could love more than himself (even though he hadn’t been showing that the best for a few years now) was losing love for herself and life.

He felt horrible. He failed to protect her from the horrors of the world, and he hated himself for it. He brought her closer to hold her tighter against him as her body shook with every sob she let out. Holding her so tightly, hoping to make up for the fact that he wasn’t there to hold her all the previous times she’d broken down like this, all alone in her dorm, with a silencing charm and the curtains drawn. A few of his own tears streamed down his face onto her head but neither Draco nor Y/N she took any notice.

“I’m here. I’m here now and I’m not going anywhere. I promise,” whispered Draco over and over again, trying to make up for all the times he broke his previous promises.

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

It’d been a few months since Draco made those promises to Y/N, never failing to fulfill them each and every day. He invited her to sit at the Slytherin table while other times he’d sit at the Ravenclaw table during meals. He spent time with her after class, in the library or down by the Black Lake when the weather allowed it; talking, doing their homework, or just sitting in silence. They became attached to the hip, even more than the infamous Weasley twins.

Today was one of those days where nothing seemed to be going right for Y/N. Starting with waking up late causing her to skip breakfast, to failing one of her major Potions tests. It didn’t help that those three Gryffindor boys caught her on the way to the Transfiguration, taunting her and leaving after burning her journal that was filled with ideas of new stories she’d wanted to write to ashes. All Y/N wanted to do was go to bed and cry, cuddling with her bunny stuffed toy. But of course, she never got what she wanted.

“Y/N/N!” Draco’s voice called after her.

Y/N stopped and turned around to wait for Draco to catch up with her.

“Where are you going? I thought we were-” he stopped once he took in her appearance, “Is everything okay?”

Y/N shook her head, clutching to her bag’s shoulder straps.

“What is it? What happened?” Draco asked, concerned.

“I just want to go to bed, Dray.”

“What, why? It’s only 4 o’clock, Y/N.”

“I know. I- I’m just tired,” Y/N replied weakly. She was truly exhausted due to the day she had.

“Oh. Well, come on,” Draco said grabbing her hand and pulling her along with him.

“Where are we going?”

“To my dorms. You can sleep there. I’ll bring you some hot chocolate later too. I’m not leaving you alone.”

Y/N felt her heart warm up, a small smile making its way onto her face. Maybe, he really was going to keep his promises this time. Maybe, someone did notice, someone did care.

Draco was becoming a better person after spending so much time with his little sister. His care and love for her seemed to outshine any of the prejudice and hatred instilled in him by their father. This was witnessed by many a few days ago.

Y/N was making her way towards the Great Hall from the greenhouses when she heard a voice.

“Watch where you’re going mudblood,” the voice spit.

Y/N turned a corner to see Pansy Parkinson, the girl that obsessively pined over her brother, glaring at Hermione Granger, Harry Potter’s best friend.

“Watch your mouth,” said the redhead.

‘Ron Weasley’ realized Y/N.

“Draco, did you hear what this Weasel just said to me!?” Parkinson shrieked. Y/N winced at the tone of her voice, noticing Draco do the same thing which brought a tiny smile to her face.

“Let it go,” drawled Draco, rolling his eyes.

“What do you mean ‘let it go’? She bumped into me! She did it purposely just because she’s a filthy little mudblood.”

Draco sighed irritated, “That makes no sense. No one is going to bump into someone just because they’re a muggleborn. Now let’s go Pansy.”

Everyone gaped at Draco. He didn’t seem to realize he’d just said, grabbing Pansy by her arm and dragging her away towards the Great Hall.

Y/N shot a sweet smile towards Granger, Potter and Weasley whom she passed by as she headed towards the Great Hall. However, the trio seemed to be too shocked by Draco’s actions and words to return the kind gesture.

‘He called her a muggleborn without thinking twice about it,’ Y/N thought, smiling to herself as she walked with a small skip in her steps.

“Here. It’s your favourite jumper of mine. Change and get comfy. I’ll grab the blanket you really like from my trunk.”

Y/N took the jumper and sweatpants from Draco, heading towards the bathroom to get changed. She walked out to see Draco waiting for her with the blanket spread on his bed. She sat down beside him, leaning her head on his shoulder as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he whispered.

Y/N shook her head.

“You can cry if you want. I’m not going to judge you for it,” Draco spoke softly.

Y/N didn’t reply. Draco sighed and turned his head to the side, pressing a kiss to her temple. Soon after Draco felt cold wet tears hit his neck. He held Y/N more tightly, trying to convey that she was never alone, not as long as he was in this world.

After a few minutes, Y/N quieted down. “Get in bed,” Draco spoke softly to her.

“No,” she said, “I have work to do. I can’t-”

“It’s okay. I’ll do it for you. Just sleep, okay?”

Y/N hesitated before nodding. She moved under the blanket and curled up in Draco’s bed.

Draco got up and tucked her in properly.

“Sleep, Y/N/N. I’ll be right here,” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Draco got his books, along with Y/N’s from their bags. He sat down on the floor resting against his bed getting ready to do her, and some of his, work as Y/N fell asleep, a content look on her face.

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

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harryswatermelonsegment · 4 years

Text

Pool Party

Pairing: Reader/Harry Styles

Rating: R, text book smut

Word Count: 5k 😳

Warnings: Slight sub/dom tones I guess? & alcohol consumption

A/N: Sorry this is late, life somewhat resuming here in the UK so it means I’m back at my job. I managed to fall asleep mid edit folks 😳, this is my entry for the @helladirections Summer Feeling Fic Challenge, with the prompt “pool party” click the link for the masterlist. I’m still writing two more, one for @berrynarrybanana ‘s Sex Bucketlist Challenge but it’s turning out to be a 20k slow burn I wasn’t expecting 😬.Oops. But enjoy this one, I’m proud of her. My one other blatant thirst fic can be found here. Reblogs get free gratitude for the next 5 years 🍉💕

You'd been friends with Jeff since your teens, when his parents (despite their wealth), wanted him to get a job at the restaurant you worked at. In their rightful thinking, they wanted him to learn you had to work from the ground up.

Despite your clearly different class background you found a ton of common interests making the whole thing immaterial. He was a caring, down to earth guy and you were both people who really enjoyed sarcastically taunting each other every shift. You'd got used to visiting his house in the hills even though you'd been scared to get lost at first around his parents large house. Becoming solid friends quickly, you'd managed to keep in touch, as much as adult life would now allow anyway.

You knew his main role was managing a pop star but you'd not caught up in a minute and when you did, you kept your job chat out of the conversation where you could. This is why, as you barge through the kitchen, to the pool outside, you're shocked to nearly knock a stunned Harry Styles onto his behind.

"Fuck, shit I'm so sorry" you clutch your chest looking at the red wine on his tank top and his now empty glass. The soiled garment was tucked into some dressy shorts and partly covered by a loud hawaiian patterned shirt. Oh god what had you done?

You were quite honestly mortified. You'd never actually met the man himself, usually meeting Jeff at his for a few drinks or at a restaurant. You'd heard him mentioned in stories about travelling or how his campaigns were running Jeff into the ground with meetings. So, although you weren't a massive fan of his per se, in the way you didn't ask Jeff for updates or info, the way you'd hope you'd meet the attractive pop star was definitely not this.

He looked down at the offending stain then back up into your eyes, keeping his head angled down and blinking through his lashes. You couldn't read his blank expression and it put you on edge.

Maybe it was the heat trapped in the doorway, but as your eyes stayed locked you suddenly felt a fire spread from your navel up to your cheeks, and then from your center down to your toes. Your lower stomach clenched as you stared back at the guy covered in a good 2007 French rouge.

Fuck me he's pretty, you thought.

A rapid film reel of moments; sweaty bodies, those large biceps holding you against the nearest wall, smacking of lips against skin and moans of release flashed in your brain.

It had definitely been a while since you had got laid in your defense, your mood and pent up sexual frustration getting worse by the day as you tried and failed at the L. A. dating scene. Maybe you were picky, but horny and picky was an awful place to be.

However, the reality of the embarrassing scene you were currently a star of, flipped you back into the present.

Seemingly over the initial incident and hopefully not a mind reader to your thirsty brain, he takes you in and smirks.

Harry knew from the way your breathing hitched looking at his torso that you were at least a bit interested. He had clocked you the second you walked in through the big glass doors. A shirt of a band he liked and a natural beauty he wanted to spend some times with you he pondered. Ideally naked.

Zig zagging across the world promoting the album and had left little time to enjoy another person. Status and obligation to his job making it hard to just go out and meet someone. But here you were, dressed unlike anyone else, looking absolutely adorable in your embarrassment. You must be trustworthy if you're in Jeff's home,he wasn't a "bring your friends too" kind of host with his clients usually around.

This could be a fun evening for you both, he thought. Something unspoken, almost magnetic, drawing you both to one another. Surely that wasn't all his side right?

"I was told it was a good year, but I wasn't planning on consuming it quite this way?" inwardly he rolled his eyes at the barely there quip. But you laughed anyway.

"I am so, so awfully sorry, look, let's see if there's some dish liquid or something, possibly some of my next months rent in there too if I have to replace it" you let out a nervous laugh as you walked towards the kitchen. But in all honesty you weren't kidding.

Harry laughed at your sarcastic remark, impressed by your confidence in owning the situation and getting on with things. He casually watched your hips sway past a few people in to the open plan kitchen with as much subtlety as he could, you were confidentially locating all the parts needed to try and remove the offending stain.

"You seem to know your way around 'ere. I'm er…I'm Harry by the way" awkwardly waving as you mixed some solution in the sink drenching a sponge in it.

"Yeah" you smiled turning from the sink with the damp rag "known Jeff a good while, have definitely spilt red wine here before. I'm Y/N" you giggle. The beam from his own mouth matching.

"Ah! Y/N, of course, I've heard him mention you, didn't you once hide rotting mackerel in a unpleasant guys blazer?" he chuckled

"Heyyyy. Only after he spanked my ass getting him the check. Deserved a hot plate to the crotch too" you shot back.

You weren't sure where to go from here the thought of wetting down the white tank yourself definitely appealed but also seemed far too forward.

"Um…" you began gesturing with the sponge in your hand. You expected him to take it from you to sort himself out but..

"Oh yeah sorry" he replied shimmying his shirt off, dumping it on the back of a bar stool, then, crossing his arms across his stomach and lifting the tank top over his head you were slack jawed and frozen taking in the lean muscles and tattoos littered intermittently across his abdomen. He spread the top across the islands worktop flat, then grabbing the sponge with a simple "thanks" and knitting his eyebrows together in concentration as he tried to rid the dull red mark from it's center.

You still hadn't moved. A pink twinge to your cheeks as you watched his shoulder blades and back muscles scrubbing. Dirty thoughts circling your brain still.

"I would have helped you but I didn't want to start a wet tshirt contest in such a high end establishment yknow?" you thought out loud.

"Oh yeah, good call. I'm fiercely competitive Y/N so would probably be under that fancy waterfall thing by now showing off m'moves in my pants" he wiggles his hips trying to suggestively show you his "moves" but you can't help but smirk at just how endearing this man is. Dammit.

When he's finished with his shirt he drapes it over another barstool before handing you the sponge back.

If anyone asks him if he blatantly and deliberately got naked to gauge if you were into him he'd definitely deny it. But the truth is, he definitely did. Luckily for him, with the way you bite your lip and drag your eyes down his flesh as he brushes past your side to get back to the sink, he's right.

"Speaking of getting in the water in your" you use air quotes "'pants' I'm off to get out of mine" you declare, pushing yourself from the counter and keeping eye contact a second as you stroll back to the sliding doors leading to the pool.

"I… What??"

" The pool Harry?.... What did you think I meant?" you narrow your eyes and press your lips together before shutting the glass door again and turning once more to smirk at the opened mouthed man still by the sink.

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

You'd been schmoozing in the water for a few hours now. There were probably only 20 or so people still here and the 3rd frozen marg had got you buzzed. You were in the small hot tub type pool, attached at the top of the main one on a slightly higher level. You hadn't seen Harry for a while but the last few times you caught his eye he'd been surrounded by at least 3 other people fighting for his attention, so you banked your flirtations to soothe your own ego, grabbed another marg and tried to forget about how he had started a tornado inside you, yearning for his hands on your thighs and head peering up at you from where they met in the middle. The strong pull of lust was clearly in your head then. What a shame.

You put it to the back of your mind as you finished catching up with Glenne. Both flushed and giggly as usual, she was the perfect match for Jeff and their chemistry unmatchable. You always enjoyed hanging out with the both of them, if anything, they gave you hope your own match may be out there. She left you in the tub alone, as she went to grab herself another drink and check on her host duties boyfriend.

"Don't you find drinking whilst already in water the weirdest thing?" you look up to find Harry standing over your right shoulder as you sit with your back against the pool wall and your elbows propping you up behind you, drink in one hand. His eyes unsubtley slip down to where your breasts lay pushed together in your halter neck bikini. You definitely weren't imagining it then. Fucking fantastic, you think.

"I mean drowning yourself on the inside from the alcohol and being in more than 4 inches of water really adds a danger element to my life if I'm honest" you reply sipping your drink.

And there goes those dimples again.

He's just in a pair of yellow swimming shorts now which doesn't help the alcohol flush at all. Sitting by your right side, putting his short glass full of amber liquid and ice, on the side of the pool and sliding in to join you. He leaves a small gap, as to not appear a total letch but your smart mouth has him hooked.

Taking a sip of his drink with the water up to his collar bones he hums.

"I do feel incredibly dangerous now, you've got a point"

"I mean if you think that's danger" you edge closer, not drunk but buzzed enough to take your chances you whisper into the shell of his ear. "You should see what thrills are in the guest bathroom. 1st floor on the right? " he chokes on his drink as your suggestive whispers make his dick twitch. He definitely couldn't get out of the pool for a while.

You're gone before you get a verbal reaction. If this all goes badly then you can just hide in there and slip out to an Uber and never see Jeff again right? Right. Cool.

With a soft white towel around you and your heart rate high as you reach the main guest bedroom you enter the room, you notice a large weekend bag in there and freeze. Shit. Someone's staying over, you hadn't factored that in, but a glance to the tag and the embossed H. E. S tells you you're good. Well, if not you'll just be a creep hiding in someone's bathroom but let's not think about it too much. Your faux confidence was working well so far and what other chance was going to arise like this one? Hot celebrities need fun with strangers too right?

Entering the bathroom you rub the towel over you, leaving mostly dry skin. You'd peel away your bikini if you were definite you wouldn't need to peel it back up your limbs should this plan backfire. You move to the mirror to adjust the black flecks from your minimal makeup dispersing under your eye and just as you're about to smooth down the stray baby hairs that humidity has got to around your face, you see Harry appear in the mirror behind you. Your belly flipping over and over with the thrill he'd took the bait.

Wasting no time he smirks and holds your gaze, wrapping his hands around your waist whilst his lips attach to the junction of your neck and collarbone. His tongue drags over your soft skin and he licks and softly sucks swirls onto it with his plush lips.

"Hm. You're right. This is a more fun type of danger" he says between kisses but before he's even finished his sentence you've spun around in his arms.

The bottom of your spine cold against the marble countertop, arms around his neck as you smash your lips into one another's with urgency. Tongues and wet noises as you get to know one another through your bodies alone.

He runs his hands down your back and presses his hard length against your thigh. He's definitely packing you think as you lift up a little rub your pubic bone against his front, panting out a little moan as the sweet friction of your bodies colliding sends you into overdrive. Catching the noise through your parted lips he gently tugs on the bottom one, teeth grazing the supple flesh. This combined with his large palms kneading your ass and pulling you further, tighter, into the roll of his hips. Only two layers of damp clothing separate you,forcing your lips to break from his mouth and fully moan, not caring who may be around. You could not remember the last time a perfect stranger knew your body quite this well.

His own grunts were speeding up when he suddenly grabs the back of your thighs and hoists you up beside the sink, you gasp in shock but it was more the way the lean man thrusted you up there like it was nothing. What else could he do? You expect him to go back to kissing you but instead he pulls back with his rock hard erection outlined in the wet shorts he still has on. Looking at you dead in the eyes both raging with lust and concern. Whilst you try not to worry how you were going to accommodate him inside your tight walls.

"Is this…? I mean, you want this too right?" his hands are resting at either side of your parted thighs. You nod. "Need you to say it Y/N" he steps forward, lips wet and brushes the pad of his thumb across your bottom lip that was now puffy and pink from the earlier biting. He knew you were down to fuck, but now he wanted to test your preferences. What kind of fun you were about to have shall we say. So when you lick his thumb tip, holding his fist still and grazing your wet tongue up and down from knuckle to tip before closing your eyes and humming around the entire digit, he knew you were both in for a good time.

Removing the thumb he whispers a barely audible "fuck me" before smashing your lips back together, tongues massaging together as he peels your underwear to the side with his hand swiftly and presses digit you'd lubricated with your mouth against your clit, moving it fast from side to side with just the right amount of pressure to make your head spin. Gasping, you throw your head back, hands clasped around his neck as you lean back and feel yourself start to leak a little with arousal. The few spots dripping down on to the counter.

You could say it had been a while but really this guy was moving his way round your body in the same way you tune a guitar in key. Calloused fingers applying the right amount of pressure as you felt yourself start to get to the edge already. He was kissing down the front if your chest, between your breasts, not missing a beat when he pushed both triangles of your bikini aside and you moaned loudly as he kissed and sucked hard around your nipple, tentatively pulling it between his teeth firmly, the sound you let out made him clamp a little harder before sucking in the whole nipple again, soothing the skin his tongue. Most likely leaving a mark behind, but you kind of liked the idea of proof he'd been devouring you in all honesty.

You were becoming blissed out from all the stimulation. Clenching and moving your hips around nothing but this magical thumb working your clit up and down hard. You were overcome with this whole situation playing out the way it had. You broke away from his mouth again.

"Oh fuck.. Harry, I'm… FuckFuck I'm going to come, I'm gonna fucking… Ahhh" he pulled back one arm steadying you as your head hit the mirror behind you in your release. He just watched you and slowed his thumb down watching as the liquid cascaded onto the counter.

After you'd come down you open your eyes and shyly smiled before kissing him passionately, his hands moving around your waist tightly. You moved your hand to his shorts, teasingly grazing the outline of his cock between your fingers in hopes of repaying the favour. He does a single throaty laugh and removes your hand, holding himself against his thigh. You look at him in confusion when he splutters,

"Sorry, sorry its just I'm going t'blow my load if you touch me." then he's back on your lips "Too. Fucking. Sexy" he says between wet kisses to your jaw, neck and clavicle. "Wanted to do this since I first set eyes on you" one hand is on the back of his neck twisting nape curls between your fist whilst the other rests behind you, stopping you from hitting your head on the mirror again.

"Oh yeah? Before or after I ruined your clothes?" you laugh teasingly as he slides his hands around your back to finally remove the bikini top properly, lifting it up over your head and tossing it aside somewhere on the floor. He let's a laugh out himself completely entranced still by how natural you are around him, it was often hard to connect with strangers in his position.

"I'd spotted you walking in, was trying to open the door for you m'love" he says before sucking a red mark into your breast and massaging and pulling the other nipple slightly with his hand.

You struggle through sharp intakes of breath for a reply.

"Well….ah...that's what chivalry.. Oh.. Get's you these days I guess" and you're both laughing a little.

"Hmm. Have to try harder with my manners then won't I? I mean, I've got to clear up the mess I've made here" he cups his hand against your pussy rubbing it up and down a little with his palm. You let out a guttural noise at the friction. "Ladies first and all'tha too right?" he giggles again at himself.

You're practically cumming right then, you couldn't remember the last time someone actually went down on you. Your previous boyfriend not particularly into offering you foreplay. A main point of why he didn't stick around too long.

Harry kisses down your abdomen now, soft sloppy, sensual pecks, humming into your skin every so often in appreciation as he works at removing your soaked bikini bottoms with his hands, pushing them down to your knees before you help, letting them fall from the remaining ankle to the ground.

Harry is moving far too slow for you, kissing across each hip down to the top of your slit, breathing over where you desperately need him before paying the other side the same attention. Then he's licking up each crease where your thigh meets your pelvis.

"Y/N, just.. Just turn, that's it and lean back as far as you can there, shuffle forward until can't balance anymore" you shift your ass as forward as possible on the lip of the sink and prop yourself up on your elbows trying to be as flat as possible on the cold counter as you could, your toes behind the sink with one foot the other dangling over the edge. You keep you thighs open as Harry hunches over the counter where you now lay diagonal. He places his arms under your thighs and bends your legs flat out as he can stretch you, you're expecting some more teasing but he just looks down at your pussy licking over his lips and almost whining before burying his tongue inside you immediately. The force of his tongue lapping up your previous climax causes you once again to knock the side of your head against the mirrored wall. You turn and watch the scene almost as a spectator, witnessing yourself bare to this beautiful man, curly brown hair between your fists and making sounds like he's savouring every taste. He catches you watching before taking his mouth off you, immediately, you're whining in protest.

"Watch my eyes not my reflection baby, I'm right here"

His authoritative tone eclipsing every thought you had about the casual nickname, you stared down at the wonderful site of him lapping and suckling on your clit. Pointed tongue and firm laps against the swollen button. He then starts lapping up at your glistening hole,unhooking an arm to spread your lips open between his fingers and licking right from the bottom to the top with all the sloppy wet noises involved. He was feeling you contract as he locked faster and faster over you. His tongue deserved an award never mind his music. You couldn't believe you were on the brink of a second orgasm so quickly but when he sunk his middle finger into you at the same pace his tongue was working at, you were screaming his name into the extractor fan above before you knew it. You felt waves of liquid cascade from your pussy as he gently lapped up the produce of his work from you. You flinched in overstimulation but he cleaned up every last drop tenderly before carefully closing your legs and pivoting you round to your previous sitting up position on the counter. Neither of you had spoken a word since you came but as he leads your arms to drape over your shoulders, holding your fucked out body against his chest whilst peppering your temple with soft pecks . Then he kisses you intensely, letting you taste the sweet juices of yourself on his lips. You hummed in approval of the sweet taste as you came round.

A few minutes of carnal making out and things were heating up again. Your hands cupping his jaw then sliding to graze fingernails up and down his back, digging them in a little harder now and again and causing goosebumps to pierce through the skin rapidly under your touch.

You could feel him swallowing down grunts from the friction he was getting from his shorts covered cock brushing up and down between your slick folds.

He'd made you cum twice. Hard. He always got off of making his partners cum of course, so he was feeling beyond turned on and the slight heat of your glistening folds against his length was almostvsending him over the edge.

"I want you inside me" you whispered against his lips desperately.

No sooner had you said the words, his left hand was frantically searching through the vanities top drawer in hope. Finding a packet, checking the date quickly then tearing it between his teeth, spitting the seal onto the floor and pushing his shorts to his ankles, stepping out of them at speed before kicking them away.

He smirked when he caught your eyes bulge at his cock. He knew it was above average but the reaction was always a further compliment he thought.

Stepping forward he put on a show of putting the condom on, first rubbing the drops of sticky pre cum at the head and down his length keeping his eyes locked to yours as you wriggled on the counter with anticipation. He whined a little as it squeezed him rolling it on, so red and over sensitive from turning you on. So that's why, when you grabbed for it, he stilled your hand. Dimples appearing back in his cheeks as you looked again in confusion. He kisses you, languishing the moment before grabbing you forward from the countertop to the floor again, still keeping your lips attached. He lightly grips at your hips and turns you round to face the mirror once more.

Harry lightly grabs your throat, and the way you whimper and push your ass back against him, makes him mentally bank that idea for later perhaps. He runs his left hand up the column of your neck lightly holding your jaw between his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to look at him with his hand on your face and the other already working up and down your folds.

"I want you to watch us. Want you to watch yourself come apart. Want to watch you cum around my cock yeah? " he whispers in your ear. You noticeably shiver with excitement of what's to come.

"Please Harry, please, need it, need you."

You watch yourself babble and beg for his cock. The pathetic whimper from yourself as you try and circle your ass into his crotch again to encourage it happening. You were never patient and he's driving you insane here.

Bringing two fingers infront of your lips as you watch yourself in the mirror he looks you dead in the eye through the reflection.

"Spit" so you do, "good girl" he says kissing your cheek. His saliva lubed fingers are back rubbing your clit quickly whilst his knee nudges the back of yours to spread your feet wider as he kisses the back of your neck and shoulders. When he pauses next you're not expecting the hard thrust of him entering you entirely, sure you were dripping wet with the result of two orgasms but you cry out in a mix of stretch and pleasure as he pounds into you at a furious pace. His spare hand not on your clit is holding the bottom of your spine down as he keeps up his rhythm. His pace was that of a man desperate for release after watching you fall apart on his fingers and tongue. The build up meant he was already close as you tight walls fluttered around him. He pleads with you to stop tightening your walls around him or he's not going to last he whimpers.

You were already close again, you'd never cum this many times or this quickly in your life but you were ready for another round and by the sounds of him and the stutter his pace kept slipping you knew he was close too.

You quickly removed his hand, sucking your own fingers into your mouth to replace his own at your clit.

"M'gonna cum, but… OhOh fuck.. But need you harder. Deeper" you manage to get out.

He grunts a curse before squeezing your hips at a pressure that will leave marks tomorrow but the delight in the speed he was now able to snap his hips against the swells of your ass, was well worth it. It only took a few more seconds with the fingers that knew you best, for you to gush against his cock. Feeling absolutely exhausted you slump your sweaty chest onto the cold counter.

His orgasm taking him by surprise when you clenched up to milk him dry. He all but shouts your name as his hips stutter and you feel the warmth of his cum fill the one barrier between you.

His lips were back on your sweaty neck for a second whilst he disposed of the used condom. He ran the walk in shower and wordlessly you took his offered hand to join him under the hot spray. You'd never had an encounter end like this before not that you were a seasoned professional but after 3 orgasms the way his hands moved round your body under the water, washing away your antics with sweet strawberry-banana smelling suds on the flannel, left you with a warm floaty feeling the worn off alcohol never had.

He gently wipes your makeup from under your eyes then, smiling at the cute way your nose wrinkles slightly as he rubs at each eyebrow.

"I don't even have words" you finally laugh out blushing, not able to stand his gauge as you say it.

"Oh. So that's how to make that smart mouth o'yours stop is it? " he grins, you gasp in mock offense and go to say something but going under your chin with his thumb with his forefinger to connect your lips under the warm water spray he kisses you when you pull away you can't help but ask.

"So does this make us even on one ruined fancy vest then?"

"Hmmmm" he ponders with both hands on your face looking at the ceiling out if the falling water. " I'm not sure, I mean it was a custom, pretty high going rate those yeah"

"Yeahhhh you're right, you're right. Better factor in the cost of the custom job then hadn't I huh?"

You hurriedly sink to your knees on the tiled floor.

#harry styles #1d #harries #one direction #harry styles fic rec #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #harry styles fandom #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #summer feeling fic challenge

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boys-wonder · 3 years

Text

make me feel something

Pairing: Tim Drake/Jason Todd

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dominant Jason Todd, Top Jason Todd, Submissive Tim Drake, Bottom Tim Drake, D/s undertones, Anal Fingering, Oral Fixation, Frotting, Anal Sex, Emotional Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, I think?, Biting

Desc: "Everything is just so.. empty. I can't feel anything anymore, Jay, not since.." he trails off, but resists the urge to look away. Jason's eyes are dark and unreadable, boring into his and he couldn't look away if he tried. But he doesn't want to, he wants, no, needs Jason to know. Jason doesn't flinch at the mention of his death, just keeps staring expectantly. Tim looks up at him from under those thick lashes, parting his mouth further to let Jason map his tongue with a gloved finger. It's intimate and erotic and controlling in a way that Tim knows he needs, he knows that only Jason can give him this. "Make me feel something, Jay."

Word Count: 4138

Ao3 Link: Here

- - -

The cold night air whips around him, the chill cutting into his skin with the sharpness of a knife, tousling his hair forcefully as he drives. But he couldn’t bring himself to care. By all points, Tim should be buzzing with anxiety right now. He hasn't seen Jason since… that night. He grits his teeth at the memory and revs the engine, hoping to leave the morbid thoughts on the empty highway behind him. Of course, it doesn't work; Tim still has nightmares about it. He's never spoken about that night to anyone. In fact, he's actually not sure that the others even know he was there. But everyone knows how Tim feels about Jason.

It was after an unfortunate series of long, difficult missions that Tim finally decided to see Jason for the first time since the newly-declared outlaw made his way back to Gotham after his resurrection. Tim had been waiting, hoping that Jason would come see him, or even Bruce. Just some sort of arrival, anything to let them know he's alive. But it's still been nearly a year - 10 months and two weeks, not that Tim's counting - and this week has been so fucking hard.

So he changes into civvies, not even bothering to wash off the grime and blood from the mission he just got back from, and tells Alfred he's going out. The butler nods knowingly, but the sympathy in his eyes makes Tim's face burn hot with - anger? shame? He's not sure. But he avoids Alfred's gaze, dipping past him to get his bike from the garage and make his way into Gotham.

Jason met Tim many years ago, when he was still working under Bruce's tutelage as Robin. The two had connected instantly; Tim's inappropriate fascination (or maybe a more fitting word would be devotion) with Jason (and Dick, and Bruce) which manifested in a bit of stalking, along with Jason's need to have something stable in his life. To have something normal and just his to ground him, and having someone look at him like that- look at him, not Dick, not Bruce, but him. They collided with explosive force, orbiting one another like twin stars, pulling each other along by sheer force of gravity.

Until Jay’s star blinked out.

Tim takes a hand off the handlebar and hits himself in the thigh a few times. The dull ache brought him back to focus on reality and clearing out the unpleasant memories.

It takes no time at all to break into Jay's flat - seriously, was he even trying? - and he flips the lights on, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. There's really no need to be stealthy; he wants Jay to know he's here.

He pads into the living room, looking around. Tim was expecting… he's not sure, maybe more like his safehouse when he was on the streets? But no, Jay had got himself a pretty decent place. There's a simple brown sofa, resting against the wall, and on either side are expensive looking speakers, which Tim now sees are plugged into an old record player. Tim smiles faintly; it's good to see something about Jason was still the same.

Tim sets the needle down on the record with familiar ease, relaxing visibly as the record begins to play.

With the music thrumming through him, he lets himself explore more of Jason's apartment, though he's not quite brave enough to go into the bedroom. He admires the few pieces of artwork that are strewn around the place, their presence in Jay's life bringing him a comfort he didn't realize he needed.

The lock in the door clicks, and it swings open slowly. Tim doesn't turn around, just rubs the petals of a baby succulent that he found sitting on the windowsill. His heart should be pounding in his chest, but it's not. He feels a complete calm wash over him. He feels Jason's eyes on him, but he's not in any hurry to break the silence. Jay waited almost a year to say anything to any of them. Tim may be in love, but he's also stubborn. He's not going to give Jason an easy out.

Jason takes his time to acknowledge Tim - that is to say he doesn't - he just walks past him to pull a bottle out of the liquor cabinet - which he keeps well stocked, Tim notes - and pours himself a glass. Tim makes a soft noise of surprise when he sees Jay set out a second glass, and pours a fifth of whiskey into that as well. Tim thinks maybe he imagines the way Jason's fingers tighten around the glass before picking it up, but it makes his pulse kick up anyway.

Now it's Jason's turn to be observed. Tim doesn't bother hiding the way he looks over every inch of the man in front of him, from the scuffed combat boots to the knife holstered at his hip to the way his jacket is bunched up around his elbows, exposing well built forearms. They're riddled with scars, Tim notices, and he looks each one over carefully, trying to map each one like pages in a book he hasn't been able to read in decades.

If Jason is bothered by Tim's discerning stare, he doesn't say anything, but then considering how they met… it's not something Tim expects Jason is ever going to complain about. He roves his eyes over those broad shoulders, making note of how they got even broader in their time apart, how it makes his jacket cling to him in ways it didn't before.

Tim's eyes lift to the back of Jay's neck now, and if he wants to let himself think he sees Jay stand up a little straighter, then well, he thinks he's entitled to that. The nape of his neck is scarred too, and his hair is buzzed short at the bottom, fading into a shaggy mop of black hair that manages somehow to also look so inviting it's unfair.

Jason keeps his back to Tim as he downs his shot of whiskey, and god, Tim can't help the scramble of heat that unfurls in his gut when he hears Jay rumble out a low, satisfied noise that seemed to charge the very air around them. Tim's been hard since the older man walked in the room, if he's being honest, and he has a suspicion it's the same for Jason.

Jay grabs the second glass, agile, scarred fingers rubbing around the lip of it like a caress and, oh - he's turning around and before Tim even knows it, their eyes are locked. Jason's eyes are dark, appraising him and Tim just can't breathe, god - there's a tinge of bright green around the pupils, that wasn't there before. But even further than that, Tim sees the heat in them, and it has him snatching the glass out of Jason's hand and tossing it back, the warmth chasing down his throat all the way to his core, where it ignites the already smoldering embers there, creating a quickly spreading wildfire.

Tim swallows, pinned in place with the intensity of Jason's gaze, and then those dark eyes dip down and back up, a smirk playing on the outlaw's lips as he clocks the motion. The younger man almost forgets himself, opening his mouth to speak, but he shuts it and just stares. He's drinking in every inch of Jason's face, the small lump on his nose from where it was recently broken in a fight, the J that still looks fresh as the day it was given to him, some scars across his cheeks and another that cut into the corner of his mouth. Years of pent up devotion, of adoration, of fierce and unyielding love covered Tim's entire expression, his entire being, and for a minute, Tim could convince himself that everything was perfectly normal, like Jay had never left.

But then something shifts, the tension between them driving up again as Jason takes a single gloved finger and uses it to tilt Tim's chin up. His eyes are still dark, the heat still there, but tenderness too and Tim inhales sharply, allowing himself to be moved. Jay looks at him intently for several long moments, and Tim's heart is thudding in his chest.

"You look tired, Timmy," Jason says, his voice soft and low and just a little bit sensual, and that has Tim's stomach twisting in knots.

"I am tired, Jay," Tim replies, leaning his cheek ever so slightly into Jason's grip, and his breath catches again when the finger on his chin is replaced with a hand framing his jaw, thumb brushing against his lower lip. It's intimate and tender in a way that Tim isn't sure Jason had learned how to be, before, and it makes his cheeks warm despite himself.

"What are you doing here, Tim?"

If anyone else had asked him that, in this situation, he'd punch them. But he knows Jay. He's asking what happened to bring him here tonight, when he's been back for 10 months and their paths haven't crossed yet.

He parts his lips to speak, and Jason brushes the pad of his gloved thumb over the tip of Tim's tongue, and well, sue him if he makes a soft, needy noise at that.

"Everything is just so.. empty. I can't feel anything anymore, Jay, not since.." he trails off, but resists the urge to look away. Jason's eyes are dark and unreadable, boring into his and he couldn't look away if he tried. But he doesn't want to, he wants, no, needs Jason to know. Jason doesn't flinch at the mention of his death, just keeps staring expectantly. Tim looks up at him from under those thick lashes, parting his mouth further to let Jason map his tongue with a gloved finger. It's intimate and erotic and controlling in a way that Tim knows he needs, he knows that only Jason can give him this. "Make me feel something, Jay."

"I'm not the same as I was before, Tim," Jason says, still rubbing his thumb over Tim's tongue. If Tim didn't know Jason the way he does, he would have taken that as a rejection, but he can tell Jason is mulling it over.

"I know, Jay. Neither am I."

Jason grips Tim's chin firmly at that, searching intensely for something in Tim's eyes. Tim isn't sure what, but after several long seconds, he nods. Tim's heart leaps into his throat, but before he has time to even think, Jay's fingers are in his mouth, mapping his tongue, his teeth, and god, Tim just groans.

Jason makes an appreciative noise and presses further, pressing his fingers down into Tim's throat, and the younger man's cock throbs as he gags around them. There's something unspeakably intimate about sucking Jason's fingers through the gloves, Tim thinks as he wraps his lips around leather-clad fingers, eyes never wavering from Jason's dark gaze. He can taste the sweat and dirt and just a little bit of blood and the thrill of it rushes through him with force, causing him to shudder as Jason's fingers brush against the back of his throat and his cock throbs painfully, leaking steadily into his underwear.

"Good boy," Jason purrs, and it's everything Tim has been waiting to hear again since that night, and somehow Jason knows and god, Tim's head is just spinning as Jason presses a third finger into his mouth alongside the other two, stretching his throat in a way that would be uncomfortable if Tim didn't need it so fucking bad.

A whine rattles out of Tim's chest as Jason grips him by the throat, fingers still stuffed in his mouth, and pulls him down with him to settle on the sofa, with Tim perched in his lap like a prize.

They don't talk for long minutes that seem to drag into hours, Jason's fingers fucking slowly into Tim's mouth while he uses his free hand to rock their hips together slowly.

"That's right, babybird, just let me take care of you," Jason murmurs into Tim's ear, and he isn't sure how the older man can make something like that sound dangerous, but fuck, he does, and Tim whines again, hips jerking up roughly against Jason's. It earns him a quiet groan, and his whole body feels like it's on fire just from that, but then - oh, god - Jason's fingers aren't in his mouth anymore, they're pressing against his entrance and - oh shit - he's not even sure how Jay got his hand into his pants, but he doesn't bother contemplating because then Jay slides two fingers in and holy fuck.

It burns, fuck, but it's exactly what Tim needs and he sags into Jason, whining in his ear while those fingers press slowly deeper, stretching him open and oh my god it's good. Jason's fingers are so fucking deep inside him, thrusting slowly but still not gently, and the friction and the burn is making Tim more than a little incoherent.

Jason mouths at his neck, and Tim keens, baring his throat in a gesture of submission that comes so naturally it would be startling if it wasn't Jay. He's rewarded with a deep groan pulled from somewhere deep in Jason's chest, and then Tim is crying out sharply, jerking his hips back into the older man's fingers as his teeth sink into Tim's slender neck.

"Oh god, Jay," Tim whines, clenching around the fingers inside him as Jason's teeth meet briefly between the flesh in his mouth, and Tim knows he hasn't broken the skin but god he needs him to, he needs it. Almost like Jay can sense his thoughts, he growls around the mouthful of Tim's neck and bites down harder, teeth penetrating skin as he fucks his fingers into the younger boy at a faster, rougher pace that has Tim screaming.

"Fuck, baby," Jason groans, dragging his tongue around the circumference of the bite, and oh god it aches in exactly the right way, and the combination of the filthiness of the action with the endearment on Jay's lips, the one Tim never thought he would be able to hear again, sends him hurtling over the edge so alarmingly fast he forgets how to breathe.

His spine goes taut, he's arched into Jason like a bow and his thighs are quivering so badly that Jay puts a hand on one to steady him as he spills into his pants, screaming Jason's name. Jason coaxes him through that orgasm and right into another one, fingers pressing hard and fast into that spot deep inside him that makes every nerve in his body light up like a forest fire. This time Tim comes so hard he can't even scream, he just gasps wetly into Jason's chest as he digs his fingers into the supple leather of the older man's jacket and yanks, just trying to steady himself.

Tim lays like that on Jason's chest for a long time, muscles trembling as Jay rubs his back with the most gentleness he's shown Tim that night. Jay presses soft kisses into Tim's hair, and the younger man nuzzles back into the affection.

When he finally feels capable of speech, he pulls back and gives Jay his signature troublemaker smirk and says, "What, is that all?"

Jason laughs and shakes his head, carefully pulling his fingers free and he strips his gloves before picking Tim up, carrying him bridal-style into the bedroom.

"Not by a long shot, princess, don't you worry."

Tim could literally care less about checking out Jay's bedroom, because the second he's placed on the bed Jason is on him, pinning his delicate little wrists over his head with one hand while he slots himself between Tim's legs and grinds. It's absolutely filthy, and even though he just came, Tim can feel himself getting hard again. His head falls back onto the mattress and he whines, trying to tug his arms free to wrap them around Jay's neck before he realizes, and - oh - white hot need has him arching off the bed and pressing into Jason's body.

"Fuck, baby, look at you," Jason breathes, voice rough and Tim's eyes flutter open to meet his gaze, his mouth falling open in a soft 'o' as he sees that piercing blue and green have been completely obliterated by black lust. "You look so fucking beautiful like this, Timmy."

Tim whines again and Jason's there, licking into his mouth and it's everything he needs and not nearly enough all at once, and god somehow Jason knows that too because his hand is around Tim's throat, squeezing as he sucks on the younger man's tongue. It's their first kiss since before, and it's fucking filthy and it's fucking perfect.

Jason's hips are grinding roughly into Tim's and it almost hurts because he's oversensitive from coming but he thinks he might actually die if Jason stops. Just then, Jason does stop, and Tim lets out a pitiful keen.

"Hey hey, patience babybird, I gotta get you undressed," Jason laughs as he climbs to his knees, pulling Tim roughly down the bed with him with a hand on each ankle. The sudden movement makes Tim yelp in surprise, and he would have laughed if Jason hadn't already removed his sweatpants and wasn't already digging his teeth into Tim's ankle.

"Oh, fuck, Jay," Tim pants out, looking up with heavy-lidded eyes as Jason sucks a dark bruise onto the inner divot of his ankle. "Jay please, fuck, I need you inside me right now."

Jason swears, movements stilling for just a heartbeat before he reaches down and pulls Tim's boxers off. There's no time for Tim to get embarrassed about being so exposed, not that he's ever really been shy about nudity, because Jason is slinging Tim's legs over his shoulders and pushing in - when did he even get his dick out of his pants? - and Tim loses the ability to breathe.

The last time they did this, they were both still awkward teenagers, not quite fitting into their bodies, still having growing to do. Now, Jason's cock is so thick as it presses its way inside him that tears start to form at the corners of Tim's eyes.

"Holy shit, baby," Jason grunts, kissing Tim's other ankle and Tim whines in response, not able to think about anything else except for the way he can feel Jason's cock stretching him out with each centimeter as it buries itself inside him. By the time Jay is fully seated, they're both trembling, and Jay's forehead is wrinkled with effort - presumably from holding back.

"Jay," Tim whines, rolling his hips up, and oh fuck it burns so much that he chokes out a gasp.

"Timmy, baby," Jason says in response, and starts moving.

"Oh," Tim says, his mouth falling open, and Jason brushes his thumb across the younger man's lower lip.

"Yeah, princess, just like that, open up for me baby," Jay groans, thrusting his hips a little harder and Tim whines so loudly that Jason wraps a hand around his throat. "Shh, baby, it's okay. Just let me take care of you like you need."

Jason sets a rough but slow rhythm, leaving open mouthed kisses across Tim's ankles as he fucks Tim open with almost brutal precision. Each thrust hits the same spot, going further and deeper, and it's driving Tim crazy in all the right ways. Every time Jason slams into him, he screams, the sound muffled by the hand wrapped around his throat and squeezing. Tim's head is fuzzy, and he feels like he's both less and more aware of the rough stretch of Jason's cock inside him around the heavy press of Jason's fingers pinching his arteries.

Tim is staring up slack-jawed at Jason, just watching him in awe. He takes the time now to memorize every expression, every sound, because now he knows that any time might be the last time, and he doesn't know what this means for them but he knows that Jason wouldn't do this without meaning it, not with him.

Jason's eyes flick up to his from where they were fixated on his cock disappearing inside of Tim, and he smirks at him. Tim is just about to try and slap his arm when Jason changes the angle again and holy shit -

"Oh yeah, babybird? Right there?"

Tim makes a strangled noise that's somewhere between a sob and a scream as Jason starts drilling into him, right into that spot over and over and he's not sure when he started crying but the tears won't stop streaming down his face and he really can't find it in him to care because he needs it, he needs Jason to see him bare like this, to know all of the pain and hurt and loss and to see how much he still needs him.

Jason is between his thighs pounding into him like he's never needed to do anything else more in his life, and still it's not enough. He's still got his fucking mask on - not the red one, no - he's still keeping a part of himself secret from Tim.

"Jason," Tim croaks out, and those dark eyes are boring into his again and it's closer, but not enough, not nearly enough. "Let me see you," he says, twining their fingers together. "Please."

Jason freezes for a moment, realizing he's been caught, and Tim can see the internal struggle play over his face like a teleprompter. He licks his lips and waits, and then he sees it. The shift is almost imperceptible at first but then it's more and more clear as Jason lets the mask fall away, stops pretending.

He can see now, why Jason was keeping the mask up. And god, he loves him. He sees into the heart of Jason now, and it's ugly and terrifying and it's the most beautiful thing Tim's ever seen, and he chokes out a pleading, "Jason," needing everything Jay had been holding back.

"Tim," Jay groans, only it's almost a growl, and he puts his full weight on Tim's body and starts rutting into him like it's the last time he's ever going to get to do this, - or maybe it's the first - and his thrusts are so rough that they occasionally scoot Tim up the bed a couple of inches, but neither of them care. Tim is clinging to him, crying and rambling and Jason has his face buried in Tim's neck, growling and grunting and murmuring sweet nothings right in between angry ramblings, and finally - oh god - it's finally exactly what Tim needed, what they both needed all along and Tim is coming, his toes curling as his heels dig into the bed.

He tightens around Jason's cock and comes between them, making Jason's shirt sticky but who fucking cares, who cares because Jason is drilling into him and oh, my god, he's coming inside. Jason groans low and deep, riding out the orgasm as he humps between Tim's legs and Tim just whines and stutters out his name over and over, so high on Jason that his eyes are glassy, his whole world narrowed to this, to him.

Jason finally slows to a stop and buries his face in Tim's neck, pressing soft open mouthed kisses there that Tim would try to return if he could move.

"I'm sorry," Jason says, his voice quiet with grief and regret, and Tim knows he's not talking about what just happened, but about that night. He kisses the shell of Tim's ear and whispers, "I'm sorry," and this one Tim knows is for ten months and two weeks. But he doesn't need an apology. He knows now, he understands why Jason stayed away so long.

"I'll never stop loving you, no matter how ugly or twisted you get. You're still Jason. You're my Jason."

Tim feels Jason relax at that, sagging into him with such fierce relief that tears prick the corners of his eyes again.

"Love you so much, Timmy," Jason mumbles into Tim's hair, and rolls them onto their sides, half-heartedly covering them with a bedsheet before wrapping an arm - when did his arms get so big? - around Tim's middle, pulling the younger man firmly into his chest. "So much," he mumbles, and Tim laughs quietly as he realizes that Jason is falling asleep around him. But, he's not much better off; between the mission just hours before, the tension between them, and the emotional catharsis of.. well, everything that just happened, his eyes were getting too heavy to keep open.

He nuzzles into Jason's arm and lets himself be dragged into sleep, knowing that finally, finally he wouldn't have to wake up without Jason again.

- - -

Thanks so much for reading! If you liked this work, please reblog, and if you’re feeling generous, please go to ao3 and leave a comment, or drop one off in my inbox here!

#jaytim #nsft #dc fanfic #boys-wonder

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

Text

HASO, “Into Dust.”

I have been working little hints into the story for a very long time, and now I am going a bit more obvious with it. Super exciting and I hope you enjoy :)

GA physicians and psychologists sat across from the human as he stared at them. Neither of them moved, and neither of them spoke. Outside the pop-up medical tent mist swirled in great undulations around them thicker than it had been yesterday.

All down the tent,, separated by curtains, other doctors were examining the other human, none of which moved, beside those that were ordered to guard the entrances and exits. The tent held its own atmosphere inside, so no one was wearing helmets, though they were resting very close by just in case.

“What is wrong with them?” Ramirez whispered from somewhere in the darkness.

Krill stood next to him from where he could see both Maverick and Adam at the same time, “Physically they are both just fine, but neural scans are showing…. Strange brain waves.”

“And that…. writing … what was that, do you think they can actually read it?”

There was a sharp hiss from behind them as the Tent’s airlock popped open.

Another Vrul stepped inside and pulled off their helmet. They gave krill a quick once over, and began to speak despite the look of destain, “I have examined the writings on the stone, we found some more of the markings and have arranged them according to their break pattern. Using what I know of this strange language from the first lines of text the humans translated, I believe…..”

The two of them stared at the Vrul pent up with questions.

“I believe that they CAN, in fact, read it.”

Ramirez blinked and stared at the little alien, “but…. That doesn’t make sense, why can some humans read it and other humans can’t”

That is what they had learned through the course of the last few days. There were some humans that could read it and other humans that could not, but no aliens could read it. Those who could read it, didn’t exactly read it, or so they said, but understood it inherently. They looked at the word and knew it’s meaning, but they wouldn’t have been able to give you a lesson on proper grammar.

The linguist walked past them, “A few other things of interest.” Krill and Ramirez moved to walk after the Vrul, “I have done a preliminary analysis of the linguistic structure of the language itself. Though I am not entirely sure about some words, I have nailed down the structure, and have seen that it does not seem representative of any alien language yet known-”

“How is that interesting. It seems like that is just a dead end-”

The Vrul glared at him, “If you would let me finish, you might have heard me say that, while it does not match any KNOWN alien language, it DOES have structural similarities to common human languages that can be found in the Lower middle east and upper Africa.”

Ramirez blinked, “And what exactly does that mean?”

The Vrul’s antenna twitched, “I have no clue, it could be a simple coincidence of language, but that is what my analysis has found, what is done with that information, I do not know.” He glanced towards the table, “Has there been any change with the humans behavior.”

“No they are just…. Like this…. In some sort of trance or something. They haven’t spoken since putting the pieces together.”

“Don’t let them hear that we found more.” Krill ordered.

THe other vrul looked at him askance but didn’t say anything.

Krill ignored it, an exchange that Ramirez would have found curious if it wasn’t for his concern for his friends

Ramirez huffed in frustration, he didn’t want to say that he was “jealous” the others could read the strange spooky rock language because he definitely didn’t want to be put into catatonia, but there was still a part of him that worried it had something to do with something being wrong with him. If this was supposed to work on humans, than why didn’t it work on him. Was there something inherently wrong with him?

He tried to shake off those thoughts. Thoughts like that were like….. Well they were like getting angry when the person you rejected finds someone else to date. You didn’t want them to begin with, you just wanted to be special enough for them to notice you.

And Ramirez, well he didn’t get jealous of other people.

Other people got jealous of him.

There was another slight pop from the airlock behind him, and he turned just as a couple of officers stepped into the room. They were all the way down from the UNSC, and they didn’t look particularly pleased to be there.

Admiral Kelly was at their front, and she stopped just next to them as she entered, turning to look at Ramirez.

She knew Ramirez from back in the day when he had done his first tour on the Enterprise. He had been on the Team with captain Kelly when Adam discovered the existence of alien life. It was kind of crazy to think back on those times. It seemed so strange that in his lifetime, no one had thought aliens existed, now to be surrounded by them without batting an eye.

“What do we know?”

“Not much Ma’am.” he began, “We know that there is some sort of…. Strange writing that only humans can read, and in that case, only certain humans. After reading it they sort of just locked up like this and we haven’t gotten them to talk since.”

Admiral kelly grunted, “ALright, put orders out that no one is to go near that writing, at least no one human, until we can determine what it is. Get some linguists on it, and see if we can’t identify authenticity.” She glanced over to where Admiral Vir was sitting, “I want to take a closer look.”

No one stopped her as she stepped across the room.

Krill followed her and Ramiez hung just back from where she stood as she walked over and traded seats with the scientist who was sitting across from Adam. She sat down, and Adam did not move.

Krill stood with her and stared at him.

From the outside, nothing seemed so different about him. IT was the same skin and the same eyes and the same mouth that sat there, but there was… something off about it. He couldn’t really understand until he noted the expression on the man’s face.

It was almost as if he was holding his jaw differently than usual, not in an abnormal way just not in a way that Adam ever did. It didn’t lend itself so much to a smile as it did to a frown of serious contemplation. His eyes, while glassy seemed intense, as if he was staring off into something they could not see.

When he stared into his eyes Krill got the…. Uncomfortable feeling that he was looking through a window staring inward….. As something tried to break it’s way out.

He shivered and threw away his strange musings.

Admiral Kelly leaned forward, “Adam…. Adam Vir.”

She reached a hand across the table and placed her hand over his.

Krill jolted in surprise as the man slowly lifted his head to look at them.

Admiral Kelly sat back.

“It was not for us to see.” he said, and when he spoke his voice…. Seemed to echo strangely in a space that shouldn't have supported that kind of acoustic phenomena.

“What wasn’t for us?” She wondered

He tilted his head, “The writing was not for us. We are prying into things we shouldn’t pry into, admiral kelly.”

“I see…. We couldn’t have known that it wasn’t for us. We were just doing our jobs.” Krill didn’t know where this was going, but the way Adam spoke made him nervous.

Adam tilted his head, and the way he did it was just so… wrong somehow.

“That is true.”

“Adam…. What is that language…. Do you know.”

He turned his head back to look at her, and when he did the glassiness in his eyes vanished leaving him shrewd and sharp, though there was still something about him that struck Kril as odd, the way he held his body as if…. As if it was not his…. Or perhaps the inflection of his voice making him sound much much older than he was. Or perhaps not older, but….. Timeless? No that was just ridiculous

Admiral Kelly slid back in her seat surprised.

“Am I…. speaking with Adam?”

He had no idea what caused her to ask that question, but the human smiled, and when he smiled it was also…. Off somehow. It wasn’t an unpleasant smile or even all that sinister, it was just…. Different.

“Yes, and no.”

He wouldn’t speak more after that, and no matter what they tried to get out of him, he would not speak.

They did not get any words out of the other humans. For days and nights the humans sat there in the darkness of the tent. They did not eat and they did not sleep. Despite attempted medical intervention, it appeared as if they needed none, as if their bodies had frozen in time. Their hearts still beat, their lungs still breathed, but there was no deterioration. They simply sat there unmoving.

Despite the secret nature of the military operation, someone somewhere got hold of some information until rumors were spreading around the galaxy like wildfire. Ships landed planetside only to be turned away as nosey reporters and stubborn scientists tried to get a peek at the humans.

That was until one ship landed.

WHen the door opened a tall shape came stepping out from inside. The marines in their space suits moved forward to stop them, but were stopped in their place as the tip of a sharp metal spear was pointed towards them and their suits.

“Corporal, its good to see you again.”

***

Ramirez stared down the shaft of the spear, “Sunny, That your spear or are you just happy to see me.”

The Drev huffed humming with laughter, “I’, glad to see you haven’t changed much.”

“What are you doing here! I thought you were supposed to be back on Anin…. Bringing light and truth to the people like some sort of space Moses.”

“Again with that comparison.”

“Sorry, but seriously. How did you get here, and how did you know we were here.”

She tilted her head, “It's hardly difficult to find out where Adam Vir is. He has this habit of being the center of the universe without trying.”

“So I assume you heard.”

“I heard… something…. Something about strange writing, and humans behaving strangely. There was only one person that it could be.”

Ramirez sighed, “I suppose that is true.” he waved the other marines down and motioned her to follow him. Together they stepped onto the hovercade and drove themselves through the swirling red mist, “They haven’t eaten, and they haven’t slept for over a week, but Dr Krill says that…. Nothing seems to be medically wrong with them. There is no dehydration or deterioration. They don’t sleep, but they don’t seem to need to. Whatever is going on with them…. Well we can’t be sure.”

“Have they spoken?” Sunny wondered.

“I mean yeah, once to tell us that the writing wasn’t for us.”

“Who spoke?”

“It was Adam, but he was, weird….”

Sunny went very quiet just then, and he couldn’t get her to speak the rest of the trip over.

***

Krill stood next to Adam, who still sat in the same spot as before. He checked his pulse and his breathing which were regular and unlabored. He was worried about him remaining in one position so long afraid that he would develop blood clots in his legs. They had tried moving the humans for their safety in this matter, but they had refused to be moved. All signs should have pointed to their slow and eventual demise from dehydration. Based on the timetable, they should have been critical about two days ago, but still they sat there without being bothered to move or even die.

Their brain waves were, just odd, it wasn’t that something was wrong, but almost as if there was some sort of interference in the way.

He was just Examining Adam’s good eye, which seemed reactive when the airlock popped open.

He turned surprised to watch as Ramirez pulled off his helmet, followed by another familiar face, bright blue with yellow eyes.

“Sunny!” His exclamation was lost as she dropped her helmet into Ramirez’s arms and walked across the intervening space, her eyes locked on Adam. She ignored everyone else in the room as she pulled the seat back and sat down resting her upper elbows on the table as she leaned forward.

“Hello, Deus.”

The room stared.

And watched as Adam cracked a smile, “It's good to see you again, Sunny. I missed you.”

“What are you doing here.”

Adam shook his head and sighed, “You….. understand so little about what is going on here…”

“What do you mean?”

“Deus for one. I think you have confused that as my name.”

“Then what is your name.”

“I already told you, it's me, Adam.”

“You don’t act much like him.”

He turned his head to look up, “That's because I AM Adam but MORE or perhaps, Adam but disconnected, not the whole Adam.”

“Stop speaking cryptically, and just tell me who and what you are.”

He watched her his single eye wide and green, “I am human.”

“Bullshit.”

“I am Human.”

“Now your just being difficult.”

He laughed, and for a moment she DID see a bit of Adam in there. He reached out a hand placing it over hers, “Assume for now that I am…. Perhaps a piece of Adam, it does not accurately describe me, but it will work for now.” he looked at her, and the expression on his face was so soft….. And familiar, “We did miss you…. I suppose we can actually thank you for all this. If it wasn’t for you he would not have been able to read those words.”

“What are you talking about.”

“Nothing you will understand.” “What are you doing?”

“We are waiting.”

“For what?”

“It hardly matters now, our waiting has been in vain, and I must finish this.”

“This…. What is THIS, you aren’t making any sense.”

Adam stood legs unbothered by days of sitting in the same spot. The other humans turned to look at him. Maverick even smiled, but did not move further. He began to walk forward, and Sunny reached out a hand to grab him, but as soon as her hand came in contact with his skin, she yelped and had to draw her hand back as his skin…. Burned.

He looked down at her, “Please…. For your own safety do not try to stop me. For the safety of this body…. Bring a medical team.”

She stared in confusion as Adam made his way towards the airlock door.

Others tried to stop him, but their reactions were similar. Sunny raced after him as he stepped into the airlock, without a suit.

The door shut and before she could do anything, and airlock door hissed open. She expected Adam to fall to the ground as noxious fumes permeated his lungs and began to suffocate him, but he seemed to ignore it, stepping into the mist which swirled around him in great waves of red billowing and undulating at his feet.

As he walked he seemed to…. Slow slightly, as if the heat of his skin was letting off heat.

Scientists in suits stepped back in shock and horror as he walked, unprotected between them though his breathing was even and unbroken.

Mist swallowed him, and Sunny had to run to catch up.

Noxious gas rippled against his skin.

Krill ran after, and Dr. Katie and ramirez were close behind.

“He should be on the ground by now.” She heard someone say.

Her own breath was making the inside of her suit a bit muggy.

They had reached the site now, and sunny looked down to see large blocks of metal or stone on the ground, carved with strange symbols. Scientists stood around having been examining the rocks, but when they looked up they stepped back in shock and awe, and horror as the human stepped into the middle of their work.

He turned to look at Sunny, “They are not ready?” He said

And then he held out his hands.

As he did, the ground around them began to vibrate. It wasn’t a large vibration, like an earthquake, but a small vibration, a small vibration so powerful, Sunny found herself staggering to her knees as her very bones went numb. All around them scientists and aliens alike keeled over onto the ground.

The vibrations grew stronger until the rocks danced and wobbled with fury.

Adam raised his hands and the vibrations grew more powerful. Sunny couldn’t feel anything below her midriff.

His hands were raised high and wide, red mist swirl around him, though his skin seemed to glow white

He lifted his head underside of his chin and neck exposed, and then he clenched his hands violently.

All around them it seemed like the vibrations hyper focused, and the rocks around them crumbled to dust.

Sunny collapsed onto her chest and arms as a billowing wave of black ash roared up around them.

When the ash settled, he was still standing there.

Groggily she watched as he lowered his hands and the subtle glow faded from his skin.

He lowered his head, and as she watched, a look of confusion crossed his face, confusion that was replaced suddenly by fear. He took a step forward hand outstretched, and then collapsed to the ground body violently seizing.

Limbs still numb, barely able to walk, Sunny struggled to her feet and over to where he lay. A few others had raced forward.

An emergency shroud was deployed, similar to a vacuum sealed bag you could pull over someone and then close shut while pulling out bad air and putting good air in.

Little was she to know what back in the tent, the other humans had come out of their seeming trance.

And below her feet dust was kicked up into the air as the last remnants of the words faded into ash.

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radiantroope · 4 years

Text

Lonely Heart || Rafe Cameron

Chapter Four - Tainted Love

chapter summary: Janelle comes over to talk and starts to show her true colors. You and John B. go surfing where he gets you to open up to him about your mom. An unlikely friend saves you from falling into what seems like a trap.

warnings: angst, swearing, mentions of familial death, a beer is mentioned

word count: 4.3k+

author’s note: yeah uhhh don’t hate me for this lol. i wanna fight her too. as always, please leave me some feedback and let me know if you’re enjoying this series <3

read chapter three here!

series playlist | series masterlist | main masterlist

You didn’t leave the house much. You didn’t want to risk running into Rafe or Janelle anywhere. Topper had dropped by a couple of times just to check on you and see how your mother was doing. Sarah was over the most, refusing to let you waste away in your room by yourself. She was going back to school at Chapel Hill, splitting her time between the mainland and the island. You’d tried to insist she didn’t have to come over every other day, but she wasn’t taking no for an answer. ‘You’re my best friend. You can try and shut everyone else out, but not me.’ she’d said.

Your mother had an appointment that day to have a brain MRI. They wanted to check the tumor and make sure the chemotherapy was helping slow the growth or at least keep the tumor at bay for the time being. Her form of cancer was aggressive and there was a chance the chemo would only work for so long. Eventually the tumor would stop reacting to it and continue growing rapidly. Your parents told you the visit was boring and you’d be in the waiting room the whole time so they made you stay home.

You stared at the fresh cup of tea in front of you, robotically dipping the tea bag in and out of the scalding water. Your mind was consumed with thoughts of Rafe, as much as you tried not to think about him. You couldn’t comprehend why he’d ghosted you and started dating your best friend. Was he ashamed of loving her and feared you’d think you were replaced? Truthfully, it is how you felt. He pushed you out and made more room for Janelle in his life, letting her fill a place you thought would always be yours.

Your whole perspective on your life was forced to change. The dreams and goals you’d had when you were younger, picturing Rafe by your side, you’d instead achieved and chased by yourself. You went to college parties and drowned yourself in booze to ignore how wrong it felt being there. You had mindlessly hooked up with fraternity douchebags, hoping it would fill the void in your chest. It never did. You had tried to go on dates with guys who were so sweet and nothing short of gentlemen, but none of them managed to wow you. They weren’t rough around the edges with just enough attitude to keep you in check. They were soft, men you could walk all over and they’d let you. They weren’t Rafe. You hated yourself for comparing them all to him, but he was all you’d ever known. He was all you ever wanted.

Guilt started eating away at you for focusing so much on the boy who unknowingly broke your heart. Your mother was dying for God’s sake. You should be putting all of your attention on her and making sure she was happy in what was going to be the last year of her life. You were upset with yourself for being so angry with her for not telling you about the engagement. It wasn’t their fault your closest friends were a couple of backstabbers.

The shrill ring of the doorbell ripped you from your thoughts. You abandoned the now cold cup of tea at the coffee table, sock clad feet sliding across the hardwood as you moved through the house. You glanced down at the oversized shirt you were wearing, biker shorts poking out underneath. You had a feeling your unruly hair was sticking out in all directions from the bun it was in but couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

The moment you ripped the front door open, you tried to slam it right back closed. Bile rose in your throat as you pushed against their body, growling, “Get the fuck off my porch.”

“I’m here to talk, Y/N, please!” Janelle protested, trying to look at you through the crack in the white painted door without having it crushed. “Just give me ten minutes.”

You hesitated, pausing against the door. Words couldn’t describe how hurt you were that she’d kept this from you for years. She had been one of your best friends. She knew things about you that your own parents didn’t know — that Rafe himself didn’t know. Could it hurt to at least try and hear her out?

You finally pulled the door open, avoiding her striking green eyes and waving your arm out to let her in. You shut the door loudly behind her and moved to the couch. “Ten minutes,” you stated, sitting at one end while she took a spot on the other.

“How’s your mom?” she started, giving you a sad smile.

You shrugged once, responding monotonously with, “Fine.”

“Y/N, I’m sorry,” Janelle said softly, seemingly sincere as she stared at her lap. You kept quiet and didn’t show any change in emotion on your face, so she continued, “I should have told you. The second things changed with Rafe and I, I should have come to you about it.”

You closed your eyes for a moment and breathed in deeply as to collect your thoughts. There were a million things you could say to her right now, most more unpleasant than others. You sighed, “You knew how much I loved him, Janelle. You were the only person I told. Do you understand how much of a slap to the face this is?”

“I know. I broke, like, the first rule in girl code. I suck,” she replied, shaking her head a bit. She had been avoiding your eyes but looked back over, “We didn’t expect it, you know. It just kind of… happened. Things were really rough for both of us for a while and I guess it made us closer. We were able to connect on a deeper level.”

You stared at her, unable to read the expression on her face. You couldn’t pinpoint one sort of emotion swimming in her eyes. A weight settled on your shoulders, something within you feeling unnerved.

“Do you love him?”

There it was, a smile. The first real emotion the dark haired girl had shown you since she stepped foot in the house. Did she even care about you at all? Did she care that this was ripping you apart inside? “Of course I do. I wouldn’t have said yes to marrying him if I didn’t,” her response lit a fire within your chest, spreading through every nerve ending in your body.

“Then why did you never seem interested in him before?” you questioned, watching the creases form between her eyebrows. “You chased after Kelce for two years without giving up. You never once gave any indication that you were remotely interested in Rafe until I left, apparently.”

You were simmering in pent up anger and betrayal, jealousy sitting just below the surface. Though, you kept yourself calm, refusing to let those emotions through. You knew Janelle like the back of your hand and you knew there was more to this. You wanted to push her until she said exactly what she was thinking. The slow contort of her face into an angry scowl proved to you that it was working.

“You don’t just wake up one day and decide, hm, I’m in love with this person now, Janelle. How do you even know if what you have is real?”

“Well maybe if you weren’t so conceited and wrapped up in yourself you would have noticed,” Janelle spit, the olive toned tan to her face turning a light shade of pink. “Everyday I had to listen to you bitch and moan about how he’d never love you back. All you did was cry because you were too scared to tell him how you felt. I always loved him but you always made everything about you.”

You blood boiled under your skin. Your face became hot and you clenched your hands in your lap to keep them from shaking. Your bottom lip was sure to start bleeding soon with how tightly you bit it between your teeth.

“You weren’t there for the fights with Ward, when he called him names and made him feel less than. You weren’t there for the nights he got black out drunk because he wanted to forget. You weren’t there for the fucking cocain addiction that almost ruined his whole life,” Janelle seethed, leaning closer to you with every word she spoke.

Your jaw clenched painfully as you grit out, “How was I supposed to be there when he’s the one who cut me out of his life?”

“He cut you out of his life to send you a message, Y/N!” Janelle shouted through a laugh, a condescending smile settling on her lips. “He was so happy when you moved to California because he was finally free! He wasn’t being suffocated by you anymore!”

“That’s not true,” you whispered, shaking your head quickly. Your mind flashed back to your going away party. The soft voices and gentle touches. The way he looked at you like you were the only person he had eyes for — at least that’s what you thought.

“It is, and the sooner you accept that, the better. Rafe doesn’t love you,” the raven haired girl stated. Your glossy eyes flickered to hers. The bright green in them was gone and replaced with a cold, mossy color. “He never loved you. He never will love you the way you’re so desperate for him to. You moving was the best thing that ever happened to him — to us.”

You stayed seated on the couch as she got up and slung her entirely too large of a purse over her shoulder. Your eyes were full to brim with tears that you refused to let fall in front of her. You wouldn’t let her see how much this was ruining you. This wasn’t the girl you’d met back when you were ten years old, it was a completely different person. Or maybe she had been this person the whole time, and you had just been a pawn in some sick game. Only did you look at her when she opened the front door.

“And Y/N,” the sweet tone replaced the venomous one she used only moments ago. “Stay away from him. I don’t need you messing with his head before the wedding.”

The door slammed and you sat there, allowing the tears to flow down your flushed cheeks. You didn’t sob, you didn’t scream and throw things around like most would have thought. It was just a silent flow of saltiness that felt never ending. A numbing feeling came over you as you let Janelle’s words absorb into your head. Had you really been so blind by your own love for Rafe you never saw hers? Had you been so stupid to think the Kook Prince would fall for someone as ordinary as you?

You don’t know if it was only minutes or maybe hours that you sat on the couch, blankly staring at the wall. Eventually, you finally pulled yourself up and located your phone. There was one thing you knew would help you escape the depression spiral you were heading down. And there was one person you could call who would be willing to do it with you — despite hardly knowing you at all.

“Hello?” John B. sounded utterly confused as to why you were calling him.

“H-Hey, I uh, I know this is weird,” your voice was dry and you cleared your throat, “Do you, i dunno, maybe wanna go surfing with me?”

—

You sat on top of your board out where the water was calmer, watching John B. pull off an intricate trick with his own surfboard. You hummed in thought, wishing you could pull off some of the moves he did. You tended to just catch the biggest wave you could and ride it out for as long as possible. You’d picked up some things over the years, but just riding out a long wave was your favorite feeling. You loved the rush, like you were flying.

“You’re really good,” you complimented the brunette as he made his way back out to you.

“Thanks,” John B. chuckled, moving to straddle his board just as you were, “You’re pretty good at riding out the big ones. I bet I could get JJ to teach you some things. He’s better than I am.”

You laughed softly and shook your head, brushing your wet hair behind your back, “JJ would rather scrub Heyward’s boat to the bone than hang out with me.”

“He’s not that bad,” the Routledge boy tried to defend his friend. “Well, not anymore. He’s more… tolerant.”

You hummed in response, staring out into the open water where the edges curved at the horizon. The sun was beginning to go down, casting an orange glow over everything around you. John B. watched you, seeing the gears turning in your head. He’d barely seen you smile all day and from what Sarah had told him, surfing always made you happiest.

“You wanna talk about it?”

You turned to look at him, his soft hazel eyes saying It’s okay, you can trust me. You sighed heavily and averted your gaze to the purple and white board below you. You could feel that you wanted to cry again but your eyes remained dry, like you had nothing left in you. The hollow feeling in your chest felt like it was going to swallow you whole.

“You sure you want my demons weighing on your conscience?” you asked playfully, the corners of your mouth upturning slightly.

John B. smiled softly, shrugging a bit, “We all have our demons, Y/N. Some worse than others.”

You nodded and eyed him for a moment longer before asking, “What was it like.. to lose your dad?”

The curly haired boy sucked in a breath. It had been four years but it never got easier. His dad was all he had and then he was alone, still a child having to grow up entirely too fast. He let out a soft breath, “It was hard. I didn’t know what happened to him for nine months, and then to find out he was dead? It was like a part of me died with him.”

You nodded, silently listening along as he opened up to you.

“It was painful and ugly. I lashed out at my friends… It’s still painful sometimes. I try to think about the good things though. The fishing trips on his boat, going to work with him.. His horrendous endeavour to find The Royal Merchant,” he paused to laugh at the memory, and you did too. You’d heard enough stories about him and his friends searching for the lost gold as well. “I know he’s still with me. He watches over me. Your mom will too.”

You nodded again, bottom lip quivering slightly. Your voice was strained as you spoke, “It fucking sucks seeing her like this. Everyday I feel like I can tell she’s getting worse.”

“I regret not being around more the last couple of years. If I had known this was going to happen I would have done so many things differently.”

John B. waded his board closer to you, resting his hand on yours that was gripping your knee. His eyes were remorseful, lips turned down in a frown. His father’s death was sudden and unexpected. He understood your pain but he also had no idea how to handle knowing the inevitable was coming. He couldn’t imagine watching someone you love slowly slip away.

“Don��t think about that. Don’t beat yourself up for what you didn’t do or wish you did. Spend this time reminding your mom how much you love her and helping make these last moments she has some of the best. Make more memories with her that you’ll look back on and smile at,” he told you, squeezing your fingers softly.

You met John B.’s eyes again and nodded, giving him a soft smile. It was nice to talk to someone who didn’t exactly know you on that personal level but could also relate to you. He had experienced a loss like you were about to and it was refreshing to hear how he coped with it and get some advice. You wondered exactly how much Sarah had told him but it was nice that he was judging you. Maybe years ago, he would have thrown it back in your face, called you a snob and any other insult he could think of. Maybe it was dating Kook that changed his outlook, or he’d grown up and matured and realized the stupid rivalry wasn’t worth being a complete dick all the time.

John B. drifted away from you again when he saw you seemed more relaxed, he looked out where the sun was starting to dip below the horizon. He offered, “Why don’t you come back to the Chateau with me? Sarah’s coming over and I know she’s dying to get you to hang with us.”

You contemplated for a moment, unsure how inviting the other Pogues would be to another Kook in their company. But for once, getting out and being around other people sounded a lot better than going home and burying yourself in Ben and Jerry’s while binge watching a show you’d already seen. So you nodded and smiled, “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

—

Rafe didn’t listen to Topper’s advice of leaving you alone. He couldn’t pretend like seeing after all of these years wasn’t a sucker punch to the gut. He kept replaying everything over the course of five years in his head. He couldn’t stop thinking about what he could’ve done differently. The different outcomes of his actions replayed in his head like a broken record. What could have happened if he hadn’t cut you out of his life? Would you have ended up together in the end, despite the distance? Should he have told you how he felt that day, when it felt like your gentle touch was the only thing holding him together?

He traveled out onto the South side and watched from his truck as you and John B. left the beach. He thought about getting out and speaking to you there but instead he watched from the shadows as you strapped your surfboard to the top of your mother’s car and drove away behind the Volkswagen.

Against his better judgement, Rafe followed you. He stayed far enough behind that you wouldn’t recognize his truck. He knew his way to the Routledge boy’s house anyway. Many a night’s he had gone there when he was younger and looking for trouble, or when he got older, to pick up his sister when she didn’t have a ride. He knew that’s where you were heading. He would pretend it didn’t bother him slightly that you were hanging out with the Pogues. He’d grown more accustomed to seeing them around but the roots of the rivalry were still deeply embedded within him. He still thought they were at the bottom of the food chain.

You didn’t think much of the headlights that pulled up behind your car, thinking Sarah had just arrived. You dug around in the backseat, trying to gather the things that had spilled from your bag. The headlights shut off and it was quiet for a moment. You heard John B. curse softly and your heart nearly stopped when you heard the voice.

“Sup, John B.?” Rafe’s gruff voice filled the air, nodding his head at his sister’s boyfriend.

“Rafe,” the Routledge boy greeted back, an edge to his tone.

You slowly removed yourself from the car, turning to face the last person you wanted to see, next to Janelle. You hated the way your heart skipped a beat when his azure irises met yours. He swallowed thickly, waiting for you to make the first move, which you did.

“What are you doing here?”

“I- I uh,” Rafe’s hand came up to rub the back of his neck, eyes leaving yours to stare at the ground. “I don’t know. I wanted to see you.”

You scoffed and shook your head, reaching back into the car to get your bag. He hesitantly moved closer and continued, “I’m worried about you, Y/N. I know things are weird right now and I’m sorry about your mom but I-”

“Don’t,” you snapped, standing upright and slamming the car door, “Don’t pretend like you fucking care.”

“I do care. I just want to talk.”

“You had five years to talk, Rafe!” you shouted, voice shaking as you did so. You bit the inside of your lip and begged your body not to betray you. You didn’t need him seeing you cry. “I waited and waited for you to talk to me. I asked myself ‘why’ for years! You’ve moved on with your life, that’s fine, I can accept that. But don’t expect me to be a part of it anymore. Just go back to pretending I don’t exist.”

Even from a distance Rafe could see the glaze to your eyes. He could see your body shaking as you tried to keep yourself composed. It looked like you were about to fall apart in front of him and it made his chest ache. You always were the one to pretend to be strong for as long as you could until it crushed you. He shook his head and tried again, “Y/N, please, you don’t understa-”

“Yo, Rafe! Didn’t know you were stopping by!” you turned to see JJ Maybank bouncing down the porch steps, an arrogant smirk painted on his chapped lips. His unruly hair stuck out from the edges of his backwards baseball cap. He was shirtless, flaunting his physique in only a pair of grey cargo shorts. He’d heard you yelling and figured he may as well come investigate.

“Maybank,” Rafe greeted the Pogue stiffly, a lot more tense than he’d been around John B.

The younger blonde boy threw his arm around your shoulders as he came to your side, catching you by surprise. You glanced up at him, but his eyes never left Rafe, his smirk widening. You didn’t see the look of anger that flashed across your former best friend’s face, a fire igniting in his eyes — JJ caught it though, and he was going to run with it.

“I heard about the engagement, man, congrats!” JJ spoke enthusiastically and you had to resist rolling your eyes. You suddenly had the urge to throw up like on the Druthers, but you swallowed the feeling down. Your eyes met Rafe’s again as JJ kept going, “Don’t you have, like, a cake tasting to get to or something?”

Rafe’s hands curled into fists, knuckles cracking as he squeezed. If anyone knew how to get under his skin in just the right way, it was the Maybank boy. He breathed out slowly through his nose, choosing to ignore the comments from the Pogue. He pleaded with you, “Can we just talk, real quick? Please?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, bro. Y/N’s really busy right now,” JJ answered for you, tilting his head to look down at you, “Aren’t you, bubs?”

You stared up into the tan blonde’s indigo eyes that were screaming at you not to go to him. You knew he was trying to help you, but you weren’t friends. You didn’t understand why he came to your defense so quick. He could have just let you stand out there and allow Rafe to rope you back in like you knew he could.

“She can speak for herself,” Rafe snapped at JJ who looked back at him with a raised eyebrow. You hadn’t moved out from under his arm so clearly you had no interest in going to the Kook.

“Go home, Rafe,” you said, turning with JJ to walk up to the Chateau. “Wouldn’t want to suffocate you anymore,” you took a dig, repeating what Janelle had said to you earlier in the day.

Rafe stood there, watching as you walked to the porch, wrapped in someone else’s arms — someone he despised. His heart pounded harder in his chest the further you got away from him, like you were taking it with you. He silently got back in his truck and backed out, tires squealing as he peeled off down the road. He gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, breathing raggedly. Wouldn’t want to suffocate you anymore. Those words bothered him, knowing he’d heard something like that before but he couldn’t recall when, where or more importantly, who.

“Well that couldn’t have been anymore awkward,” John B. stated as he led you into the house.

You’d expected JJ to drop his arm the second Rafe was gone, but he didn’t, guiding you into the kitchen for you to put down your bag. You sighed heavily and rubbed your face with the hand not pinned to your side, “I’m sorry about that. And thank you, JJ, you didn’t have to do all that.”

The boy hummed and waved his hand, finally stepping away from you and moving to the fridge, “The guy’s an asshole and needs to learn he can’t always get what he wants. Especially after what happened on daddy dearest’s boat.”

You felt your face flush, looking over at John B. who held his hands up as if he was surrendering, “I didn’t say anything, swear.”

“Word travels fast ‘round these parts,” JJ clarified, walking back over and handing you a beer. He sat down in one of the chairs at the kitchen table, patting the one beside him for you. “C’mon, tell your good pal JJ what the Prince fucked up this time.”

tag list (if you want to be added, shoot me an ask or a message!): @pink-meringues @k-k0129 @solllaris @taiter-tots @kindahavefeelingskindaheartless @fttayla @ilovejjmaybank @jjmaybcnks @sortagaysortahigh @queenk00k @drewswannabegirl @diverdcwn @royalmerchant @girlsru1eboysdroo1 @obxmermaid @anxietyspacetart-15 @butgilinsky @teenwaywardasgardian @bricksatanakinswindow @fangirlvoice @juliarose21 @skiesofthesketchy @daughterofaphrodite @dontjinx-it @outerbanksbro @sportygal55 @nqbmf @xenagzb @sweetlysilent @loverofmineluke @aaleksmorozova @meltame17 @summerkaulitz @stupidpendeja @rafej-cambanks @popcrone818 @slutforjjmaybank @madschalamet if you’d like to be removed, please let me know!

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rohirric-hunter · 3 years

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The Léonys of Rohan Cutting Room Floor: The Battle of Helm’s Deep

There were four different versions of Part 6 of Léonys of Rohan: this one, that takes place during the Battle of Helm’s Deep, one that took place immediately after the battle, one that took place at Isengard, and the final version that took place at Dunharrow. It was probably the hardest part of the story to write, on account of it being a transitory phase for Léonys, after she’s lost that bright gem of a fantasy of what she thought Rohan would be, suddenly hit with a wave of unpleasant realities that she has to deal with somehow, with no real idea of what her goals and plans are anymore. Portraying that was tricky. It’s one of the main reasons I opted to bring Boromir into the scene: another individual going through a Crisis™ turned out to be an essential foil to bounce off of. I experimented with Golodir and Éowyn but it wasn’t all I needed with Golodir and getting Léonys involved with Éowyn’s issues opened up a whole can of worms I had no interest in.

Another tricky issue was what to do with Lheu Brenin: for a very long time the only thing I knew for certain was that my reaction of gleeful rage and creative insults was not right for Léonys. In the final version as published, she kills him herself and then has a breakdown when revenge doesn’t solve all of her problems immediately. In this version, she tracks him into the Glittering Caves just in time to see someone else strike the killing blow and has a breakdown over all her pent-up anger that now has no outlet. Also Golodir isn’t present, and that detail was, I think, what carried the final version regardless of who ended things.

There are other reasons I scrapped this: a big one is that without it Part 8 becomes the only part to contain an actual battle/action sequence, which sets it apart as the true climax of the story, as well as the only part to have an extended proper conversation with Aragorn, who hovers in the background of the entire story as a sort of nebulous phantom motivation for Léonys. I think there are a lot of elements of this scene that I recycled for Part 8, and I think they did better for themselves there.

I wanted to share the scene though, because I do think it’s a good example of some of my best writing. There was also some discussion going around about using skills and attributes in writing and most of this sequence is pretty much just exclusively that, with a little flair to make it flow as a story. This breakdown is almost as long as the scene itself now, so I’ll shut up.

***

Hathellang could have retreated into the shadows beneath the walls of Helm’s Deep, practically vanishing from before the eyes of his enemies, and slipped unseen from the Glittering Caves to the gate to the Hornburg. But the stair up to the gate offers precious little cover from the eyes of the enemies crawling in the Deep, and it takes someone with your speed and agility to dodge half a dozen arrows as you spring up the steps two at a time and duck through the shattered gates into their shadow.

A Dunlending warrior follows you around the corner and you step out of the darkness and bury one of your knives in his body before he can make a strike at you. For a moment, you stare into his shocked eyes, and everything wells up, straining against the inside of your mind and seeking out cracks like brandy in an old wineskin. But you have never seen this man before, and he looks at you with fear and confusion for a long, silent moment before you withdraw your knife and drop him, and then you are bounding away, down the steps and across the courtyard, following Gimli’s hurried directions to the walltop and north along the wall. More arrows fly toward you; one scrapes across the hardened leather pauldron on your left shoulder and you run on, raising one hand to pull back your hood. Your enemies will see you better, you know, with your flaxen hair and pale skin catching any light it can and reflecting it back, but it would not do to be taken for an orc, or a Dunlending.

Nonetheless when you round the corner on the steps the first thing you see is the shadowy figure of an archer crouched at the top of the stair, an arrow on his string, and as you come into view he pulls it back with inhuman speed, speed you could only dream of drawing your own bow with, and then, almost in the same moment, he calls, “Rohirrim, quickly!” The arrow flies past your head and you hear the death-rattle of an Uruk behind you, and, clutching your still-bloodied knife you stumble up the last flight of stairs and onto the parapet top behind him. Footsteps echo behind you on the stairs and you slide your own bow off your back and notch an arrow, but even as you turn to fire Legolas, for it is he, releases another arrow. A very tall man in a white cloak over armor of Rohan climbs into view and pauses at the top of the stairs, a naked sword held ready in his hand.

You recognize the sword before you recognize the man, for you have never seen him in proper battle-garb before, but it is enough; before he speaks you know that this is Strider the Ranger. “Léonys?” he says as he takes in your breathless appearance, unkempt, desperate, blood smeared across your hands and, though you do not know it, across your face about your eyes, bow held ready in shaking hands, knife lying before you on the ground where you dropped it. “I did not know you were here.”

“I am but lately arrived,” you say, choking the words out almost. “I followed a Dunlending chieftain through caves in the mountains. He thought to come into the Deep from the caves behind and do some evil to the people sheltering there. The lord Éomer sent me here with a message; there may be no escape for the people there, for he has set out to block off the tunnels that lead through the mountains.”

Strider’s eyes are obscured behind his helmet, but you know he is studying you closely. “Did you see Gimli there?” Legolas asks. “I wished to tell him my count is thirty-nine.”

“Gimli is there,” you say. “He is -- alive. It was he who told me how to come here.” The words stick in your throat and it seems you have failed to hide the truth of the matter from the elf.

“He has been wounded?” Legolas cries, and you simply nod. You cannot even summon the will to say that the bleeding was easily staunched and when you left him he was on his feet, axe in hand.

“This Dunlending chieftain?” Strider begins.

“He is dead,” you say shortly, and you cannot keep your hands from shaking harder, and your arrow rattles against the hard wood of your bow. He will never harm another person and that ought to be enough. The Rohirrim and the Dúnedain will never suffer at the hands of Lheu Brenin again. It all swells up inside again, grief, and pain, and fear, and anger like red-hot coals, and you feel you are not enough to contain it all. He is dead. He is dead! Why is it not enough?

“Léonys. Léonys.” It is Legolas. You dash the tears from your eyes and look to the elf. He stares at you with piercing blue eyes and then simply says, “My arrows are spent. Have you any to spare?”

You wordlessly undo the straps keeping your quiver on your back and hand it to Legolas, stepping up behind him to re-notch your arrow and let it fly. A harsh scream follows a moment later, though whether Dunlending or Orc you cannot say. It is the first arrow you have let fly tonight.

#lotro #leonys of rohan #the leonys of rohan cinematic universe #long post #also hathellang is bouncing around the battle as well and id have had to deal with that eventually and thats #hmmmmmm thats work #so instead i just attempted the same scene four different times #in wildly different locations #i had some idea of having leonys join the sortie at the end of the battle #but yknow that just #thematically i could have made it work #logistically it didnt work #this writing is pretty early too i got trace remnants of that weird name subplot hanging about #but its pretty developed because i thought for a really long time this was what part 6 was gonna be #as im going through everything cleaning it up and editing it there are a few cut scenes that i kinda want to throw out there #instead of just letting them rot in a doc forever #just because they werent right for this story doesnt make them bad

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jotarosbelt · 4 years

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La Squadra Kink Headcanons!

to that one comment thread on wattpad talking about la squadra’s kinks on my christmas fic,

this is for y’all.

p.s. there’s no sorbet & gelato :// sorry, i don’t know enough about them to write for them confidently

18+ content ahead!

Risotto Nero

Honestly, I feel like Risotto is a fairly simple guy. But, if you were trying to experiment, he’d definitely be down. He’s a softy at heart— he just wants to make you feel good although what he’s into may not be for you. 😗 He’s okay with that, though! He drinks Respect Women (and Men) Juice.

Kinks include:

Size: We all know Risotto is a big guy in more ways than one. Standing at 6’9”, he can’t help but love the sight of his significantly smaller partner (‘cause let’s be real, you could be 6’0” and still be considered tiny compared to him) struggling to fit his cock inside of themselves. It’s mesmerizing.

Blood Play: Kind of close knit with his stand. He uses the iron found in one’s body to create metal objects ranging from scissors to razor blades (although he wouldn’t do this to you), so it’s only natural he has a fixation with blood.

Knife Play: This is also tied closely to the nature of his stand. He can create weapons, so why not use them? He’d never want to hurt you (at least too badly— especially not if you didn’t want it), so he’d use his gift to bring you pleasure instead.

Sensory Deprivation: Risotto likes the idea of one’s senses being enhanced when one is taken away. Blindfolding you while running the smooth, blunt edge of a blade lightly down your soft skin is a dream of his.

Orgasm Control: Risotto is a very good capo. With his natural leadership skills and the ability to rule over any situation with an iron fist, he can’t help but bring that to the bedroom. You‘ll cum when he says, got it? Good.

Melone

I truly believe Melone is the wild card of the group— he’s really down for ANYTHING. However, here are a few honorable mentions.

Kinks include:

Breeding/Impregnation: The nature of his stand is literally to create “offspring” and track down his targets. Melone is a FREAK, and you’d be VERY wrong to think that he doesn’t get off to filling you to the brim more times than you can count and then having you to walk around with his seed inside you to up the risk of it all.

Hair-Pulling: With hair as nice as Melone’s, I can really see him being into the idea of it getting tugged and pulled while he went down on you, or fucked into you. He likes pulling his partner’s hair, too, but just a bit more on himself.

Exhibitionism: I totally see Melone being a greedy little bastard, seeking his s/o’s attention using unscrupulous means. He’s all for it if his partner pulls this act on him, instead. If you want something, don’t beat around the bush, okay? Melone’s very good at telling his s/o what they want to hear.

Voyeurism: Melone is TOTALLY into the idea of someone watching him fuck his partner or vice versa. He likes watching himself, to be honest. He’s shameless and unabashed. 🤷🏽‍♀️

Bondage: I really do see Melone being really skilled at tying intricate knots and such just to tie up his partner in the bedroom. Bonus points if you can do the same. My man loves himself a good ol’ hogtie every once and a while.

Ghiaccio

Ah, the feral goblin. We all know Ghiaccio is angry— he’s stressed. He also likes control. So, he tends to channel his frustration into sex. 🤷🏽‍♀️

Kinks include:

Dirty Talk: God DAMN, Ghiaccio is such a good dirty talker. He has no filter and says what he’s thinking— even if it’s a bit crude at times. He’s straightforward and doesn’t cut corners, and he’s a man of his word (which makes it all the better). He will do exactly what he says he’ll do to you. Promise.

Angry/Hate Sex: This should be pretty self-explanatory. He’s angry, pent up, and he needs and outlet for his frustration. Good thing he has you, because he can just pound it out into you while muttering all sorts of filthy things into your ear to blow off steam. Even better if you two despise each other, despite all the sexual tension that lingers in the air between you two. Guarantee you won’t be able to walk for days afterwards or wipe that smug look off of his face while seeing you struggle— friend or foe.

Humiliation: Oh ho ho ho, nothing gets him off more than seeing your red and embarrassed face when he happens to say a little too much in front of the team. Oh? You didn’t want him to talk about how you were begging for his cock last night? Oops, too late. And besides, they probably already knew. Should’ve kept it down. 🤷🏽‍♀️

Pet Play: This is all about control here. Putting a collar around your neck, ordering you around— maybe pulling you by a leash— he lives for it. His obedient, little kitten (he’s a cat person). Though it may be hard, it’s possible you can convince him to be your pet for a day instead. Don’t expect it to become a common occurrence, though. His pride won’t stand for it.

Impact Play: Another kink that’s control based. Misbehave or frustrate him? Don’t be surprised to find yourself bent over his lap and receiving a couple smacks to your ass as punishment.

Formaggio

Cheese man Formaggio is spontaneous. In my eyes, he likes living life on edge and to the fullest, to be honest. He’s also kind of down for anything as long as it’s in his comfort area (which is pretty large).

Kinks include:

(Semi-)Public Sex: Like I stated in my ahegao headcanons, this man would not hesitate to fuck you on the hood of his car in some abandoned part of town. He likes the risk, and you can bet your ass he wouldn’t stop even if he got caught. Unless it was by the feds.

Barebacking: PLEASE DON’T DO THIS, LOL. Formaggio is honestly the type who SWEARS it feels better without a condom, but he’s cautious. He’s clean and he’ll only do this or ask for it if his partner is clean, too (preferably on birth control or something, too). Safe sex, kids.

Edging: It’s like a guilty pleasure of his. The power he has— to be able to bring you to the brink of an orgasm and then pull away to kiss or squeeze the skin of your thighs, just to continue it in a seemingly endless cycle. It’s beautiful.

Face-Sitting/Queening: Though he might not say it outright, Formaggio has a thing for getting pushed around by his s/o. Push him down and straddle his face— he’s GONE. If he’s feeling a bit restless, he might grab your thighs and make you do it instead. Who knows? It depends on how he’s feeling.

Stockings: Formaggio will DIE if his s/o wears stocking in the bedroom. I firmly believe he has a thing for legs, and the quickest way to rile him up is with some shorts/panties and some high socks/stockings.

Illuso

I’m gonna be honest, chief. Illuso is probably the most vanilla and calm of all of the La Squadra members. Though he may be unpleasant at times (especially while on duty,) I think he’d totally whipped for his s/o.

Kinks include:

Mirror Sex: His stand is literally called Man in the Mirror, for fuck sake. But, being able to watch himself pleasure you or get pleasured really gets him off.

Food Play: I honestly feel like Illuso would come into the bedroom one day with a bowl of strawberries and a can of whipped cream. He’s game if you are. Messy? Sure. Hot and romantic? Totally. He’s a softy, and he’d kill to lick some whipped cream off your body any day of the week.

Somnophilia: I couldn’t tell you why, but I think Illuso would love pleasuring you while you slept. I’m talking “waking you up with head then fucking all day” type shit. All consensual of course, he wouldn’t touch you unless you gave him your blessing. He’s good like that.

Body-Painting: I really need to do some random La Squadra headcanons at some point, but I think Illuso is a painter/likes painting. So, if you’re willing to let him paint on you, whether it be with food or actual paint, and have a good time, he’s more than game.

Dry Humping: Illuso likes the desperation and sense of urgency dry humping gives. In his eyes, nothing’s more perfect that two people in love wanting each other that badly.

Prosciutto

ham daddy

Prosci likes being in control. He likes being in charge and telling his s/o what to do, how to do it, and when to do it. My man is busy, stressed, and a control freak.

Kinks include:

Daddy: I feel like this is obvious. Prosciutto likes being in a position of authority and likes to be seen as such, so what better way to channel than then by calling him daddy? He deserves and commands respect, and he will get it.

Cockwarming: Prosci is a busy guy. He’s serious, stressed, and has responsibilities. A way he deals with stress and pent up frustration is, well, through sex! Sit on his lap with his cock inside you like a good girl (or boy) and he’ll be sure to reward you when he’s done with all his work. Misbehave? Get punished, what can I say?

Dirty Talk: Prosci has a filthy mouth in the bedroom. His vocabulary ranges from him calling you filthy names such as troia and puttana, to whispering in your ear exactly what he’s going to do to you and how as you squirm in his grasp.

Breath Play: Prosciutto, in my opinion, has a bit of a god complex and this plays into that perfectly. His large hand wrapped around your throat as he strains your breathing, your moans becoming wry and raspy. It’s music to his ears.

Impact Play: This is probably Prosciutto’s favorite way of establishing dominance over his partner if they’ve misbehaved. Have you defied him? Once he’s done with what he’s doing, he will have you bent over in his lap as he makes you count out loud how many times he’s smacked your ass by now.

Pesci

I fully headcanon Pesci as a sub/bottom. You’re gonna have to at least be a switch or a full top/dom to be with this boy. He CANNOT fuck you into the mattress without some insane levels of encouragement.

Kinks include:

Masochism: Pesci is a sucker for pain, honestly. Manhandle him, pull his hair, slap him— whatever the fuck you want, really. There’s a safe word for a reason.

Overstimulation: This one is definitely on the receiving end. He may seem soft, but he’s into the kinkiest shit. Stroke him into oblivion, attach a vibrator to his cock— something, just as along as you don’t stop after one orgasm.

Face-Sitting/Queening: 100% related to the sub aspect. Sit on his face, ride it, make him pleasure you— he’s yours to order around, so please use him as you see fit.

Praise: Also 100% related to the sub aspect. He wants to be told he’s a good boy and that he’s doing a good job. It gives him butterflies when he knows he’s making you feel good.

Strap-On: Now, this is related to the bottom aspect of his personality. As much as he likes having you ride him, he likes getting fucked just as much as you. Be gentle though, okay?

#jjba #writing #jojo’s bizarre adventure #la squadra #la squadra di esecuzione #risotto nero #prosciutto jojo #ghiaccio jojo #melone jojo #illuso jojo #pesci jojo #formaggio jojo #not sfw #headcanons

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sleepless-in-starbucks · 4 years

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You Keep Saying You’re Broken (I’m Telling You We’re Beautiful)

Ao3

Summary: Logan loved someone. That wasn’t important. What was important was that he didn’t love them enough. Remy seems to think he’s got the two backwards. Content: Magic AU, nonbinary!Remy, aroace!Logan + aroace!Remy, internalized aphobia, tiny bit of swearing, h/c, happy ending Pairing: Friends-to-qpps losleep

It didn’t work.

It didn’t work, again, didn’t do what it was supposed to, and he had been so careful this time, he knew it was right, knew he hadn’t messed up, and yet nothing was happening and it had failed so he had failed and-

Someone was knocking on his door.

Logan ignored them in favor of the pounding in his head that was quickly taking over all his hearing facilities. The vial he had been holding dropped limply to the ground, rolling away from him; the photo fell too and drifted away from him as well. He pressed his now free hands against the desk in front of him, trying to brace himself, to steady himself before he fell over and joined everything else on the floor.

“Logan?” A much too familiar voice called out. “You in there?”

No. No no no- not them, anyone else but them-

The door pushed open, the cause of all his problems but not the source of them peeking their head into the room, looking around. “Hey, I know you’re big on privacy, babe, but I- Lo?”

He couldn’t hide. They were right there and he was right here, out in the open, and Remy’s expression was starting to become one of concern and despite the fact that he was looking at them- actually looking at them, not just a photo now- Logan still didn’t feel different, didn’t feel changed, didn’t feel his heart soar or his chest burn or anything of the like, didn’t feel anything everyone always said they felt like when they were in-

“Lo, is something wrong?” Remy asked, breaking him out of his thoughts, bringing him back to Remy, who had taken a few steps into his room and cocked their head in confusion. “You’re looking a little… off.”

Logan cleared his throat. He could do this. All he had to do was convince Remy he was fine and get them to leave so that he could try again and maybe actually get it right this time.

“I am adequate.” Logan started, and he was proud of himself for how level his voice sounded. “Apologies for worrying you, however- is there something I can assist you with?”

“You’ve been in your room a while. I just wanted to check in.” Remy said, still looking mildly concerned. “You sure you good, hun? You’re a little pale.”

“Simply a side effect of lots of hard working.” Logan answered. “But I assure you, I am doing just fine.”

Remy frowned. “If you say so… still, you shouldn’t be working that much. Come take a walk with me, yeah, clear your head a bit?”

Logan shook his head in negation before Remy had even finished their sentence. “While that sounds very pleasant, Remy, I really am quite busy- can’t be distracted while my work’s at such a crucial juncture-”

As Logan spoke, Remy’s frown quickly morphed into a smile. “I knew it.”

“Hm?”

“I knew it!” Remy repeated, moving past Logan to get a better look around his room. “You’re experimenting again. Something real dangerous if you don’t want me to know about it- have you finally tried your hand at artificial dragon fire? For all you mock my version of it I’m sure you’ve quickly realized it’s not nearly as easy to make as the books say it is-”

“I’m not experimenting!” Logan cut them off, trying to sound indignant and not panicked. If Remy went looking too long they might find his supplies. “And I really do have work to do, so if you could kindly-”

“Sorry, babes, but you can’t fool me.” Remy said, still looking. “You were always a terrible liar- you know that?- absolutely horrible, never could keep your… work a secret… Logan, what’s this?”

Logan turned from where he had been glaring at his desk to look at Remy. The moment he saw what they were holding, his breath caught in his throat and he froze.

The vial.

The vial he had been using for his experiment.

The vial that still had traces of his latest attempt staining the inside of it.

Remy pushed their sunglasses up on top of their head, honey-brown eyes full of worry and the beginnings of fear now on display. “Logan.” They repeated, voice sounding slightly shaky. “Why is the vial empty?”

Logan didn’t answer them, instead remaining stock still in place, hands still planted on the desk behind him to make sure his now much more wobbly legs didn’t give out on him.

“You drank it.” Remy guessed, the conclusion they had likely come to first only confirmed by Logan’s refusal to explain the vial’s emptiness. “And you’re hiding it so it must be bad- Logan, what did you drink?!”

Still no response.

Remy nodded. “Alright, you’re not going to tell me, either because you’re stubborn or it’s a side effect- damnit Logan you’re so pale- sit down, please, before you fall down.”

Logan didn’t react to what Remy said, still trying to get past the mental shock that was ‘Remy’s going to find out and they’re going to stop you and your experiments and you will have failed them and yourself and it’s all over now just because you couldn’t hide your supplies-’

He was dragged out of his thoughts by the sudden, but not unpleasant, feeling of hands gently grabbing his arms, tugging him away from where he was leaning against the desk and moving him to sit in his chair instead.

“There we go.” Remy was murmuring, voice still sounding worried and afraid, but gentler now, likely an attempt to keep Logan from falling completely into a panic attack. “Now come on, hey, it’s okay, don’t look away, let me see those pretty eyes.”

Logan’s attempt to keep his eyes downcast and focused on his lap was thwarted by Remy gently taking his chin and lifting it up, looking carefully at not only his eyes but his whole face. They were mumbling under their breath, and after a moment, Logan realized what they were doing- trying to categorize Logan’s symptoms to figure out what he had taken.

That conclusion was enough to make Logan at least try to stand up, to move, get away until the symptoms were gone and his experiment hidden, but Remy just moved one of their hands to rest at Logan’s hip and hold him steady.

“I know you probably think I’m babying you, Lo, but I need to figure out what stupid thing you took.” Remy chastised lightly, the hand on Logan’s chin moving to take his wrist instead, counting the pulse. “I know I don’t exactly set the best example for this sort of thing, but you really can’t just go around drinking potions- especially if you’re not an actual alchemist. What were you thinking?”

“Nothing.” Logan managed to mumble. “I wasn’t thinking anything because it’s nothing- really, Remy, I’m fine, this is unnecessary-”

“Mhmm. No offense, sweetheart, but I call bullshit on that.” Remy responded. “If it was nothing, you wouldn’t have tried to hide it from me. And you definitely have symptoms- your pulse is racing, your pale and shaking but your cheeks are still a bright red, your eyes are normally blue but right now they’re brown…”

Remy trailed off, their eyes widening in understanding, and Logan pretended there was a chance they had come to a wrong conclusion. “What is it?”

“Logan… why the hell were you drinking love potion?” Remy asked instead, frowning in confusion. In response, Logan looked away.

Of course they had figured it out. Logan knew they would, knew Remy was too smart to miss it, to mix it up for something else, but that didn’t change the fact that he wished they hadn’t, hadn’t figured it out and put it down to Logan’s nerves and left him alone for the day to try again and this time get it right.

Remy didn’t force Logan to face them, instead just quietly sighing. “Don’t move.” They ordered lightly. “I’m going to get my bag.”

They sprinted out of the room after that, and Logan once more looked forward, looking at the door they had left open. He had half a mind to get up and close it, jam his chair beneath the knob and get back to his work, but he doubted that would last long before Remy broke the door down. He also doubted if he had enough strength- physical and mental- to get up and block Remy out.

The choice was made for him quickly enough anyways, Remy returning before Logan could even test if his legs would support him enough to stand. They were ruffling through their brown satchel, soon enough throwing it aside as they pulled out a roll of chalky white discs.

They offered one of the discs to Logan. “Eat this.” They instructed, pressing it into Logan’s hand when he didn’t immediately take it. Logan just held it for a moment, squeezing it pointlessly between his fingers, but Remy’s waiting stare was unrelenting and he gave into it soon enough. The taste of the disc was abysmal, but it dissolved quickly enough, and he swallowed it down as soon as he could.

“Give that about five minutes and the majority of your symptoms should be gone.” Remy said quietly. “And while we wait for those minutes to pass, you can tell me why you were making and self-administering love potion.”

Logan half-shrugged and looked at his lap. “I am my own person, I can make and self-administer whatever potions I should please at my own will.”

“When it makes sense, maybe.” Remy responded. “But love potion? People use that to trick their crushes into liking them. Or to prepare themselves for a disastrous but necessary arranged marriage. Now, unless you have a future spouse I hadn’t been informed of-”

“I don’t.”

“-I don’t see any reason for you to have been taking this stuff.” Remy finished. “Care to enlighten me?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Logan answered instead, shaking his head. “The potion didn’t work. I made it wrong. It doesn’t matter.”

Remy raised a disbelieving eyebrow at that. “Uh. Yeah. Sure. Great stalling tactic but-”

“I’m not stalling.” Logan snapped, the result of pent of stress and the desire for Remy to leave so he could get back to his work. He felt bad about his tone immediately, though, sighing as he softened it. “It really didn’t work, Rem.”

At this, Remy frowned, looking between Logan and the vial. After a moment, they (to Logan’s shock and mild horror) put the vial to their lips and managed to convince a few spare drops to slide down into their mouth.

“What are you doing?” Logan hissed, watching as Remy closed their eyes and swished the few drops around in their mouth. Remy didn’t respond for a moment, busy tasting the love potion. Finally, they swallowed.

“Don’t worry about it, hun, I’m immune to most potions by now.” Remy told him, looking into the vial in bewilderment. “Though this one is really throwing its hat into the ring to try and disprove that- I don’t know how you got the idea that this thing is ineffective considering it’s a few more drops of hollybreath strain away from stopping your heart instead of exciting it. No wonder you’re shaking so badly.”

“So… you’re saying it should’ve worked?”

“To be frank, I’m not sure how it couldn’t have.” Remy answered, gingerly setting the vial down on Logan’s desk. “I’m a little surprised I don’t have to pin you down to stop you from running off to your new boo… what were you looking at when you drank this, anyways?”

Though Logan heard Remy’s question, he didn’t answer it, instead once more turning his attention to his lap as his thoughts ran wild. The potion had worked. Hell, Remy said it was too strong, which meant at least some of the potions before must have worked too… but they didn’t. None of them had done what they said on the tin, none of them had made him fall in love. Not really, anyways, since there was no burning heart or sudden desire- there was just the same soft, impossibly warm sort of feeling in his gut that let him know he felt something, but not love, not really, just-

Logan jerked out of his thoughts when Remy snapped their fingers in front of his face, Remy frowning, worry laced in their entire expression. “Earth to Logan? Darling, you know I love seeing your big brain in action, but I’d be lying if it wasn’t putting me a bit on edge right now. What’re you thinking about in there?”

Barely a thought as to how to respond had crossed Logan’s mind before he was blurting out, “I’m broken.”

Remy blinked. “Nope. Don’t like that. Your brain rights are being revoked. No thinking for you if you’re going to think wrong.” Remy said, light words contrasted by a distressed tone. “Honey, darling, sweetheart, why do you think you’re broken?”

“Because the potions didn’t work.” Logan said miserably, too tired to try and backtrack or explain it away as anything other than what it was. “I thought I had been making them wrong, not adding enough of something, so I kept remaking them and trying again but none of them worked and I just thought the potions were wrong but it was me, I was wrong, the only same variable of course it was me-”

“Logan, sweetie, please slow down.” Remy cut him off, placing their hands on Logan’s shoulders and running them lightly over his arms. “You’re not making sense. How many of these potions have you been taking?”

“Three or four, I don’t know.” Logan said indifferently. “But it doesn’t matter, because they didn’t work-”

“That’s not possible.” Remy said with a frown. “That love potion was strong, sugar, there’s no way you could’ve resisted it unless you had some sort of personal mutation against it- and your eyes changed colour, so I know you don’t. And if you’re telling me you drank more than one... the love potions had to have worked, Lo.”

Logan shook his head. “No, they didn’t; I know they didn’t, I don’t feel any different, nothing’s changed-”

“That means you’re already in love, darling.” Remy said gently. “Whoever you’ve been trying to fall in love with- you already love them. The potion can’t give you feelings you already have- no wonder you feel the same, you are the same. Not broken. Just already in love.”

“That’s the problem!” Logan exclaimed, frustrated, curling his fists together and digging the nails into the skin, closing his eyes as well. “I’m- I love but I- but not enough, not right- the potion was supposed to fix that and- and it didn’t because I’m so fucking broken nothing can fix it-”

“Please don’t say that.” Remy pleaded, one hand moving from Logan’s arm to cup his cheek. “You’re not broken at all, honey, but I don’t know why you think you are, and that’s worrying me. You’re worrying me. What’s gotten into your head?”

Logan didn’t respond immediately, opening his eyes only to look unseeingly at his pants, trying to ignore Remy’s searching, troubled expression. “I love someone.” He admitted quietly.

“...Okay. That’s okay.”

“But I don’t-” Logan paused, struggling with his words, “I don’t want to kiss them. Or- or make-out with them, or have sex with them, or anything like that-”

“That’s okay.” Remy repeated. “I don’t want to kiss anyone or have sex with anyone either. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“No, I-” Logan froze, processing what Remy had said, looking up at them in confusion. “What?”

Remy smiled just a little. “Kissing’s weird. Sex is yucky. They’re not really my scene. Does that mean there’s something wrong with me?”

“I- wha- of course not.” Logan said, stumbling over his words but still sure of them.

“Then- surprise!” Remy said, their smile growing a bit bigger. “You’re not broken either.”

“But the potions-”

“-make you fall in love as fully as you can.” Remy finished for him. “If you don’t like sex or kissing or romance or any of that, you won’t suddenly start feeling those feelings because you drank the potion. You’re not broken for not feeling those things. Just human. Why would you try to force yourself to feel like that?”

“Y- the person I love, they… they deserve all my love.” Logan said, hoping Remy would ignore his obvious slip of tongue. “Before I told them I- I wanted them to have all my love; they deserve to have all my love.”

Remy’s smile turned sympathetic. “Whoever this person you love is… you love them a lot, don’t you? Want them to be happy?”

“Of course.”

“Then you love them enough. Hell, you probably love them more than enough.” Remy told him. “Love isn’t parts- it isn’t one third sex and one third romance or anything like that. If you love them, you love them completely. No if’s, and’s, or but’s about it.”

Logan didn’t respond to that, choosing to just look up instead, finding Remy’s eyes watching him closely and warmly.

“Hun.” Remy said, tone lightly teasing. “Do you want to tell me who you were trying to ‘fall more in love with’ or should I guess?”

Logan remained quiet, meeting Remy’s gaze evenly, not sure if he’d prefer for them to guess or just drop the matter entirely. Remy just kept smiling, looking much too amused.

“Guessing it is, then.” Remy said delightedly. They moved, pushing Logan a bit to the side as they sunk down into the chair next to them, the hand that had been cupping his cheek slipping around his shoulder.

“You don’t have to do this-”

“I bet they’re really pretty.” Remy began, ignoring Logan. “Not as pretty as you, of course, but no one’s that pretty so it’s an unfair comparison. And I’mma say they have to be at least a little smart to get your attention given how absolutely brilliant you are-”

“Remy!”

“-and I know they have brown eyes because of the love potion, and I have a random suspicion that they’re an alchemist- though that one’s just a hunch- and I really have the feeling that for your cheeks to be as bright red as they are right now they must be very close to you indeed.”

Logan didn’t need to touch his cheek to know it was, in fact, burning, but he still did, glaring at Remy when their words were only confirmed. “I hate you.”

“Doubtful.” Remy responded cheerily. “In fact, cutie, I think you looooove me.”

Logan groaned. “This. This is why I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“Wrong again.” Remy said, leaning in to rub their nose against Logan’s before leaning their forehead against his. “I think you didn’t tell me because you were harboring under the horribly false idea that you having a brain and realizing that kissing and sex were overrated made you an unsuitable partner. But that’s okay. I’m going to prove you wrong about all of that.”

Logan smiled at that, reaching over to take Remy’s free hand and run his thumb over the back of it. “How’d you guess?”

Remy grinned. “My photo was next to the vial.”

“...Oh.”

“Thought you had just dropped it or something. Once I realized what you had been chugging I realized why it was really there.” Remy told him. “I didn’t mention it straight away because I didn’t want you to distract me from why you were trying to fall in love with me.”

Logan nodded. “Yeah… I’m sorry, again, for that Remy, I just-” “You loved me?”

“I loved you.” Logan echoed. “Love you. And you deserve so much love, more than I felt I was offering-”

“Hey-hey-hey, enough of that, now.” Remy said, cutting Logan off gently. “You don’t need to apologize to me, love. I know what you were trying to do, and I appreciate the effort- in theory. But I also need you to know that I love you. You and your big brain and cute face and geeky personality.” Remy freed their hand from Logan’s so that they could brush back some of Logan’s hair, tucking it behind his ear. They smiled as they looked at him, expression sappy in a way Logan really felt should be illegal. “You are magnificent to me, Lo. If I’m lucky enough to get any of your love, in whatever form it may take, I promise you, it’s plenty more than enough.”

Logan blushed even harder than he had been, which was impressive given up until that moment he didn’t think he could do that. “I- I… I think you’re magnificent too.”

Remy grinned. “See? That’s what I’m talking about. You look so cute when you’re flustered- and calling me magnificent back, oh, my dear darling starshine, you really are too sweet to be real.”

Logan squeaked. Remy just laughed.

“See, this?” Remy asked, leaning in and pressing a quick little kiss to the tip of Logan’s nose before pulling back and watching him turn redder. “This is why I love you.”

“...I love you too.” Logan said, trying to act annoyed and be sullen but failing miserably in the sense that so long as Remy was looking at him like that- like he had hung the moon and painted the sunrise- he really couldn’t be anything other than a blushing, smiling, giddy mess. A love-stricken mess.

“There you go.” Remy said happily, shifting so that their arms were wrapped loosely over Logan’s shoulders and around his back in an odd, yet comforting, sort of hug. Once more their forehead leaned against Logan’s, their eyes close and bright with excitement and joy and love as they looked at him. “That sounds like enough love to me, don’tcha think?”

And with Remy’s eyes still on him, their expression so open and their smile so earnest as they held him close and made him feel warm both inside and out, Logan didn’t have any choice but to smile back, just as lovingly, and answer, “Yeah. I think it’s enough.”

#losleep #queerplatonic losleep #ts logan #ts sleep #ts remy #qpr losleep #write losleep cowards #fanfic #fanfiction #sanders sides #ts sides #nb!remy #aroace!logan #aroace!remy #aspec!sides #this was meant to have a more serious general ending #but then remy #they grabbed the reigns; said no; and ran away #and I just had to let them do it

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rvmmm21 · 4 years

Text

. unpleasant reminders 2.5 .

summary : how the nasties work in yandere omegaverse.

small note : this chapter is air-dried play-doh : soft if you really fucking try. i just wanted some smut without the smut. so here’s a five-course power-play and an entrée of nsfw. cockwarming, but not? smut but not really? smut doesn't like me ok. oh. and i now know that it's called a fleshlight, thank you. joohyun has an... amazing sense of self-control.

this chapter was uh... originally something very different but, big ups, to [w], without whom i would've literally described cockwarming as 'they chilled in each other'.

tw : toxic relationship, implied abuse, semi cock-warming.

...

The restraints gave her freedom. With a wrist cuffed to the headboard she could pull and yank at it till it bled, till her arms went numb from exertion. With her ankles tied down, keeping her legs pulled taut, she could kick and jerk as hard as Joohyun forced her to. The restraints gave her the liberty to twist and thrash to her hearts content without having to worry too much about potentially hurting her ever so patient girlfriend.

So this is torture.

She isn’t tied down; no handcuffs, no shackles, no chains. Not even her collar. Save for the fingers tracing horribly feather-light patterns on her forearm where she’s hunched over, shakily supporting herself with hands splayed on either side of a dreadfully irresistible smirk, there’s nothing really even touching her, let alone holding her back. Joohyun surely isn’t. Not physically, anyway. Which means there’s nothing stopping her from just going for it, thrusting up and in with the force she so desperately craves – deserves, actually, for being this patient – or even just… slipping out and bolting for the door.

Not that running has ever saved her before. Trying to escape has never done her the slightest bit of good; the fading marks on her body prove that quite clearly. Her begging and pleading has never saved her from being caught and pinned down and choked out. She’ll have hell to pay if she tries to do anything other than what Joohyun has told her to; which is to be still and look pretty.

Here she is, buried to the hilt in her omega, with nothing to do.

This is torture.

It doesn't help that she aches so badly either, with the only lubricant making this experience somewhat bearable being her over-sensitivity left over from their prior session. But she can feel her heart beating through her ribcage, the uncomfortable tremble caused by an alpha fighting her natural instinct to breed her softer, weaker mate.

Joohyun, on the other hand, can’t pretend she isn’t enjoying this feeling. Not just the feeling of being on her back with Seungwan’s length all the way inside her, but the fact that she remains in power despite it all simply inflates that air of superiority ten times more. She absentmindedly hums under her visibly tense alpha, tangling her fingers in caramel locks and tugging down. “Uh, uh, uh. Where are your manners, puppy? That’s not very polite, is it?”

The girl doesn’t know where to look, shifting uncomfortably before she lets out a shaky plea. “I’m sorry Hyun, I didn’t… I-I didn’t – wasn’t – ”

Seungwan’s gasp cuts off into a pained whine when her hair is given an extra sharp jerk.

Joohyun revels in the fearful glint in her alpha’s eyes when she studies them intently. “Oh, really? That’s not what it looked like five minutes ago when you were fucking me like an animal. You were just using me like this to get off, weren’t you? Treating me like your own human fleshlight.”

Only half of what she’s saying is getting through, they’re just random words that mix in with the lust haze and the throbbing between her legs in amongst everything else. The maddening silence... the distance, god, they’re so close it is unbearable. Seungwan tries her best to strain a little further forward, praying her omega will just crane her neck up to kiss her, touch her, bruise her… anything. But all that ends up escaping her lips is an unsatiated, needy little whimper when Joohyun loosens her grip and lets her fall back.

Joohyun makes the rules, Seungwan obeys. It’s as simple as that.

She thinks her alpha looks so docile like this, submissively trembling with need but doing such a good job at restraining herself. Seungwan sounds so painful and needy at the same time that it flitters Joohyun away from her own thoughts. A stifled moan draws the omega’s eyes up from between her own legs for the first time in minutes to take in the full picture. She suddenly notices how much that blush has spread, how the tears just keep coming, how poor Seungwan is pressed up against her thighs far, far harder than Joohyun is making her.

And Seungwan must be an idiot to think the subtle movement of her hips is slipping under her radar. Joohyun’s eyes flare up. She’s furious for a moment, and then that anger fizzles into a pretentious smugness when Seungwan finally catches on with a frightened little squeak, instantly stilling like her life depends on it.

The resounding crack from a prompt smack on the side of her face is enough to remind her that rules are rules. That Joohyun’s rules were made to be adhered to, to never be broken. She catches Seungwan’s jaw when it snaps to the side, jerking her back and squeezing, letting her nails dig into such fragile, bruisable skin as she leans in to snarl at her.

“Careful, Wannie. Behave now. I only reward good puppies.”

…

“Who – de – cides – baby?”

Even as she’s being fucked out of breath, Joohyun sounds as composed and intimidating as ever.

“Y-you!... you!... decide… when I – ” Seungwan pants in reply. She’s trying her hardest; it’s so hard to hold back when it’s hard and fast like this. The desperation is building to a height she knows she won’t be able to handle for long. She has to contain it, she has to –

– but she really can’t.

“Don’t you dare until I say.”

Joohyun tells her when she can cum. It’s true. But between how deliciously smoothly she’s sheathing in and out and the weeks she’s gone without anywhere to release all that pent-up frustration, it’s not fair to expect her to not immediately combust as soon as she’s inside something as warm and inviting as Joohyun.

The last thing she wants to do is disobey, but it’s getting to be too much stimulation for one little alpha to handle, so Seungwan resorts to slowing down little, just for the chance to anchor herself. But one, simple oh-so collected glare is all it takes for her to pick up the pace again, agonising as it is.

“… oh gosh… H-Hyun!... p-please…” Within seconds, Seungwan is choking, begging. It’s too late, though. Her body betrays her before she has the change to apologise, making her tremor and convulse, – cheeks flushed crimson and bottom lip caught between her teeth hard enough to draw blood, she’s sure – as her second climax shatters her even harder than the first. “… mm, s-sorry, I’m sorry, I’m – I’m sorry!” She tries maintaining her composure as it courses through her system, but it’s virtually impossible to. Her arms give out, and with a pathetic shudder, she collapses into Joohyun, who’s already catching her in her arms with an unreadable smile. She’s always ready.

The air is no longer thick and heavy. It tastes so much sweeter than it did before, and all a tuckered out Seungwan wants to do is take deep breaths of it to calm hers. It’s a good five minutes before she regains enough control to be able to lift her head to meet Joohyun’s gaze, eyelids already weighed down with fatigue. Her voice is wobbly from exertion, meek and subdued. “… did… did you…?”

Instead of answering, Joohyun just reaches up to cup her cheek and run a thumb over the drying tear stains – of course she didn’t.

Oh fuck. No, fuck sleep. Joohyun hasn’t cum once… and she’s gotten off twice.

Serves her right for not even having that much control over herself.

Try as she might to keep them at bay, a nervous heat pricks at the corners of her eyes – for the… fourth time? God she’s given up keeping track – and they begin to water. She bites her sore lip again, shivering lightly from the cool draft against sweaty skin. Still too overwhelmed with exhaustion, she can only breathlessly stutter into the crook of Joohyun’s neck.

“… I’m sor – I’m sorry Hyunnie, I’ll… do it now, I’ll do better – ”

But before she finds the strength to push herself up, Joohyun’s arms are around her back, locking her in place. “You’re were so good,” she coos into her ear, gently carding fingers through hair and planting tiny kisses on the top of her head. “You know I love you no matter what, right? Who’s a good girl, hm? Who’s my good puppy?”

Seungwan should be used to hearing that pet name, seeing as she’s been called it almost every second of every day. Something is different about it this time, though… the way it sounded off her lips when she said it last. Her suspicions are only confirmed when she tries to flinch away, when she tries to shift or lift herself so she can pull out, whatever. Because Joohyun simply huffs in annoyance and holds her tighter, keeping her down with an arm wrapped around her waist and a firm grip on the base of her neck. Then the omega is humming gently, stroking the back of her hair and nosing into her cheek to get a whiff of her scent. Gosh Seungwan could fall asleep right now, the aftermath is always her favourite, when they’re pressed so closely against one another, breathing fanning over the nape of each of their necks whenever they exhale. Seungwan is unaware she’s practically purring and she definitely doesn’t see Joohyun’s half grin in response.

The intimacy is so genuine. Even after particularly difficult training sessions, Seungwan will be the first to admit that her omega’s hugs feel slightly... manufactured. On certain occasions, it could sometimes feel like a sort of mechanical obligation to assist with the pain. But not this. The silence isn’t awkward in the slightest.

Not until Joohyun decides it needs to be filled.

Not until Seungwan tries to move.

“Stay. Puppy.” She warns her. No, it’s not even a warning, it’s a command. Like one you give to actual animals. Seungwan ignores the way her stomach has just dropped. And just like a well-trained puppy, she freezes, allowing the fingers now under her chin to tilt her face towards her so they can wipe the tear tracks down her face.

Wait. That lovely thought is completely demolished and Seungwan’s eyes widen without Joohyun’s knowledge. The session is over, she’s spent. Joohyun seems happy enough, and she’s being so affectionate… it should be ‘Seungwan’. But it’s still puppy. Not her name.

Just puppy.

She gulps, breathing suddenly feeling so much more restricted when she realises –

She’s on a much, much tighter leash than she’d thought.

And were Joohyun’s fingers always this cold?

#red velvet #red velvet smut #yandere omegaverse #wenrene #red velvet scenarios #red velvet imagines #omegaverse #kpop scenarios #girl group scenarios #wendy #irene #yandere scenarios

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lockefanfic · 4 years

Text

Business Trip - Pt 35: Itaewon

NOTICE: this is the newest chapter of Business Trip (I’ve been crossposting the earlier chapters on here from AFF). If you want to get caught up, read the rest of the chapters here before reading this. Otherwise, spoiler warning!

---

“I’m not gonna whip out my dick in public for no reason, ladies.”

“Right, of course,” Seulgi answers, “not without some motivation.”

Seulgi’s left arm, still wrapped around Yeri’s back, drifts down to the younger girl’s chest. Her right hand joins it, and together she pulls down her friend’s low-cut pink top, revealing more and more of her chest until her breasts, round and full, bounce free - leaving her chest exposed.

Yeri, for her part, looks up at you and licks her lips, her face written now with lust. Gone is the cheerful, bright girl you’d only known briefly - this was another girl altogether, one that didn’t mind in the slightest that she had her breasts out in public.

She’d done a good job of hiding her assets, that was for sure. Her breasts were perfectly shaped, large for her frame, tipped with enticing looking nipples that were clearly already stiff with arousal. Her pink top, bunched up beneath them, did a good job of pushing them up and together, creating a delicious looking cleavage.

Seulgi’s hands leave her friend’s top and dance slowly towards her nipples, where she begins to fondle the stiff buds, circling them and pinching them with the tips of her index finger and thumb.

Yeri’s eyes close, a soft, wordless sound of desire leaving her lips.

“What about now?” Seulgi asks.

Seoul’s Itaewon neighborhood was probably your favorite, with the hip bar scene and plentiful foreigners from all over the world helping you feel a little more comfortable than you were in the other neighborhoods of Korea’s sprawling capital. You’d spent more time in Korea over the past few months than you had your own home, and while you quickly found yourself falling in love with the country’s charms, the imported beer on your table and the occasional sound of familiar language in the air made Itaewon feel, just a little, like you were back at home.

It was a bit of a struggle to leave Nayeon’s hotel room - the girl seemed to have a boundless supply of energy, combined with a self-admitted reserve of pent-up sexual frustration that she wanted to release on you. Her tight, perfect little body and the history you shared with her made it all too easy for you to oblige her whims and desires, and you spent the following day and much of the morning after happily entangled in those perfect arms and legs of hers.

But you had an appointment to keep with Momo, and although Nayeon followed you all the way to the hotel’s entrance and tried to entice you with one more quickie in the lobby’s bathroom, you had to tear yourself away from her and hop into a waiting car.

Momo had sent Chaeyoung to pick you up, and despite the way she’d left you tied up and unfulfilled during your impromptu session in their van the last time you’d seen her, she still made for fun, relaxed conversation on your way to Itaewon. It was refreshing to speak with someone who had little stake in what was going on, even if she was directly involved in it - she was so detached, so relaxed and easy going that you were more than happy to chat with her about her favorite craft beers and her growing collection of tattoos, if for no other reason than that it took your mind off of what was probably going to be an intense meeting.

She dropped you off at the bar with a wink and a finger gun, telling you Momo was already waiting for you inside. It didn’t take you long to find her, although she wasn’t alone; Seulgi and Yeri were there as well, the former with her trademark resting bitch face plastered all over what would otherwise be beautiful features - you found yourself wondering if you’d ever seen her wear anything other than a constant frown. Seulgi had a cold aloofness to her that reminded you somewhat of Mina; but whereas Mina possessed a warm, princess-like quality beneath her prim and proper exterior, Seulgi was more like an ice queen, always icy and unsympathetic, always seeming to look down on you.

She was well balanced by Yeri, who greeted you warmly with a bright smile, in stark contrast to her friend.

Almost as soon as you reach their table a waiter approaches with a bottle of your favorite beer from back home - Momo must have ordered it in advance for you. You instinctively give her a smile in appreciation, but it quickly fades when you see the serious look she has on her face.

It pained you, somewhat, to see her lacking the brightness that was such a trademark of her personality. She was so serious these days, so focused on bringing Irene down that she almost seemed like a different person. Her hair was blonde now, parted near the middle and without bangs; her physical transformation mirrored her internal one, and while she was even more stunning now than she’d ever been, you found yourself missing the old, clumsy, ditzy Momo you’d shared so many easy days and passionate nights with.

“Well?” she asks, forgoing any sort of formal greeting, her tone so different from the one she used to use with you, “What do you want to talk about?”

“We’ve had the chance to look over the data Nayeon retrieved from SM,” you answer, doing your best to overlook her cold welcome, “and it’s more than enough to put Irene away for a while.”

“But you don’t know here she is, and your partners in the police are just as clueless,” Seulgi chirps. She sighs and looks away dismissively.

“Yes,” you admit reluctantly, “Which is why I’m here. I’m hoping we can work together to find her. Once we do, Seoul PD can arrest her and we’ll be done with all this.”

“So you want to do the cops’ job for them, is that it?” Momo says disdainfully.

“No, I want to help them. We can bring her down together.”

Momo lets out a huff and crosses her arms. “A lot of good that’s done so far,” she says under her breath.

You are a little taken aback by Momo’s attitude, but you decide to let it pass for now. There were more important things at stake.

“Regardless of how you feel about working with the cops, the fact is we need them to arrest Irene at some point if we’re going to finally get rid of her. We can’t go arrest her ourselves. We’re not cops.”

“Why do we need to arrest her at all?” Seulgi says.

Her question stuns you, mostly because you had no idea what she meant by it. What was her goal, if not to arrest Irene? It takes you a few long moments to digest her words and formulate a follow up question.

“What exactly do you mean by that?”

“You know what I mean. When we capture her, who says we need to turn her over to the cops, or let them arrest her?”

Seulgi’s words seem to surprise even Momo, who is looking at her team member with a look of surprise, her mouth slightly agape.

“Irene deserves to pay for what she’s done,” Seulgi continues, “and sitting in a nice cushy jail cell for the rest of her life doesn’t begin to make up for what she’s guilty of.”

“She’s ruined lives,” Yeri begins, “including ours.” The youngest girl at the table suddenly looks sad and sullen, as if she were reliving unpleasant memories behind eyes that had become forlorn.

It takes both you and Momo a few moments to digest Seulgi and Yeri’s words; it surprised you somewhat that this was probably the first time Momo had fully realized their intentions when it came to Irene’s ultimate fate. You weren’t sure just what Seulgi was getting at, but you were sure you didn’t like it.

“I don’t know what you’re implying, Seulgi, but-”

“You must’ve seen the tape,” she interrupts, her voice straight and stern, her face lacking any sort of sympathy or warmth. Her eyes, piercing and direct, are locked to yours.

“...Yes,” you admit, knowing she was referring to the tape of Red Velvet’s escape from YG, and how she and Yeri were left behind, seemingly on Irene’s orders.

“Then you know she left us behind.”

“Yes.”

“We worked with her for a decade. We bled and sweat and cried together. We on YG and Blackpink for years. And when it came down to it, once she had what she needed from us, she left us behind like we were broken tools. Maybe she decided we were liabilities, that we knew too much and wouldn’t blindly follow her like Wendy and Joy did. The SM mission was a perfect opportunity to get rid of us.”

“The YG guards-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Yeri snaps, her cold tone now matching Seulgi’s. Her face was deadly serious now, all semblance of the cheeriness you’d usually associated with her completely absent. “She could have still stayed and fought with us, even if it meant we all got caught. Even Wendy and Joy wanted to stay. I heard them shouting at Irene, asking her for permission to stay and fight. But now that she had the Blackpink girls, she had what she needed. They would replace us. She ordered them to leave us behind, and what happened after-”

The girl’s voice wavers, and Seulgi reaches over and grasps her hands on the table in a rare show of affection.

“We would have all been captured, all five of us, if she’d stayed. The mission would’ve been a complete failure and SM wouldn’t have the Blackpink girls. But at least we’d know we were really the sisters we thought we were, and not just unneeded tools she’d cast aside.”

“We managed to escape three months later. But those three months were hell. They hurt us,” Yeri says, her voice wavering as she relives painful memories. On the table her hands clench into fists, and Seulgi covers them with her own, stroking the younger girl’s knuckles with calming fingertips.

“Now you understand why putting her in jail isn’t enough,” Seulgi states, not looking up from where she is cradling Yeri’s hands in her own.

There is silence at the table for a few long moments as you and Momo digest Seulgi and Yeri’s story. You are both speechless, dumbfounded by the girls’ story and the depth of their desire for revenge.

You found yourself thinking of the getaway with Nayeon and Jeongyeon - the situation was so similar. And Jeongyeon stayed, while-

“I need a smoke,” Seulgi declares, and Yeri nods as they both leave the booth and make their way out of the bar.

“Jesus,” you swear once the girls are out of earshot, “that was heavy.”

“Yeah,” Momo agrees, her expression one of concern for her team members, “I had no idea about any of that stuff. Irene really left them behind? Is that what it looked like on the tape?”

“It sure looked that way,” you answer, “I don’t even want to think about what YG put them through.”

“God,” Momo sighs, rubbing her forehead with a hand, “this is going to get complicated. My assumption was that they wanted to get Irene arrested, like we did. What the hell do they want to do with her? Torture her? What if they want to k-”

“No, don’t assume that,” you say quickly, “that’s something I don’t even want to think about.”

Momo sighs again, rubbing her face now with both hands. She seemed genuinely surprised - she was definitely hearing all of this for the first time and seemed a bit overwhelmed by it.

“I wanted to take the gloves off when it came to capturing her, but I was operating under the assumption that the goal was just to put her behind bars,” she admits.

“So you agree, the endgame here is to have her arrested.”

“Well, yes. But Seulgi and Yeri-”

“We’ll deal with them once we have Irene. I think we should focus on that first.”

---

When a half hour passed without Seulgi or Yeri returning to the table, you and Momo decided to settle the bill and head outside in search of them. Momo had tried without luck to contact them on their phones, and so the two of you had decided to split up in search of the two ex-Red Velvet members.

It being a Friday night, Itaewon was bustling with bar hoppers and partygoers. You tried your best to find the two girls amidst the rowdy crowd of youth in various states of intoxication, and were about to give up and turn around to regroup with Momo when you caught, by chance, a glimpse of Seulgi through the window of a slightly quieter cafe off the main streets.

The small coffee shop was only half-filled with half a dozen patrons - a couple of students cramming for an exam and a few partygoers seeking some slight reprieve from the constant party going on a block or two away. Seulgi and Yeri had snagged a corner booth that provided a modicum of privacy from the other patrons, divided from the rest of the seating area by a vintage bookshelf filled with old toys and knick knacks. Seulgi has her arm wrapped protectively around the younger girl’s shoulder as she takes a few sips from the oversized mug of coffee she has on the table.

“There you both are,” you say as you approach.

“Tell Momo she’s draining our phone batteries with all her calls and texts,” Yeri says, her eyes red with recent tears even as she smiles softly at you. Her tone, at least, had regained a little of the bright cheeriness you’d associated with her.

You return her smile as you take a seat in the booth opposite the two.

“I’m sorry about making you relive those memories,” you say, “that wasn’t my intention.”

“It’s not your fault,” Seulgi answers in between sips of coffee, “It’s no one’s fault but YG and Irene’s. And since Irene’s done us the courtesy of taking YG down, I guess she’s the only one left to blame.”

The three of you spend a few moments in silence, eyes unwilling or unable to meet each others’ gaze. You play idly with a napkin on the table, not quite wanting or even knowing how to broach the topic of what would happen to Irene once you’d captured her. When the waitress approaches, you order a coffee - thankfully, she saw that you were a foreigner and took your order in only slightly accented English.

Before the waitress leaves, Seulgi reaches into her jacket and retrieves a few bills. She slides them across the table to the waitress, a serious look on her face.

“For privacy,” she says softly but sternly, and the waitress gives her a small nod of understanding before turning and leaving.

You are left only a few moments to process her request before Yeri speaks up again.

“Enough about us and our shitty past,” Yeri says, her voice slowly regaining more and more of her brightness, “tell us about you and Momo. You two have plenty of history, it looks like.”

You are a little surprised at Yeri’s request, but there is an underlying desire to change the subject in her young face that convinces you a swap in topic was probably the right thing to do.

“Um, where to begin? We’ve worked together for years now. She’s a good friend of mine.”

“That’s it?” Seulgi quips.

“Well, to be perfectly honest we were fuck buddies for a bit. Then we dated for awhile - seriously - before all this started. But shit hit the fan and things got complicated… now we’re back to being friends. Once this is all over, we’ll see where we stand.”

“Just friends? Because I’m pretty sure she’s still carrying a torch for you,” Yeri says with all the enthusiasm of a schoolgirl engaging in locker room gossip, leaning forward with a smile.

“Yeah, she still loves you,” Seulgi states, “God, men are so stupid.”

“And blind,” Yeri adds with a smile. “She’s been pretty tense lately, especially ever since we rescued you and your friend - what was her name, Jeongyeon? Anyway, when she saw you and how close you were to her, I think it freaked her out a little. She’s been on edge ever since. She probably thinks you two are together.”

“I bet you’ve got a nice dick,” Seulgi states bluntly to Yeri’s shy giggles, “Otherwise why else would a ten like her fuck a guy like you?”

“Why does everyone say that?” you say, a little exasperated, “Everyone thinks the only reason I get girls is because I can fuck. I’m not just a dick on legs. I have a great personality, too. I’m also really a humble guy.”

Yeri lets out a healthy laugh, and even Seulgi cracks a rare smile. You were happy to lighten the mood, even if it meant a joke at your own expense.

“So,” Seulgi says, her eyes locked on yours now, her face suddenly a little more serious. She takes another sip of her coffee before placing it off to the side of the table.

“Let’s see it,” she says.

“Uh, what?”

“Your dick. Let’s see it.”

“What-”

“That thing between your legs,” Yeri says, a mischievous look appearing on her face, “let’s see it.”

You take a glance around - while the cafe was relatively quiet and the bookcase kept most of its patrons from having a direct line of sight to your booth, it wasn’t exactly empty. Just anyone, including the waitress, could still walk by your booth and see what was going on.

“I’m not gonna whip out my dick in public for no reason, ladies.”

“Right, of course,” Seulgi answers, “not without some motivation.”

Seulgi’s hands leave her friend’s top and dance slowly towards her nipples, where she begins to fondle the stiff buds, circling them and pinching them with the tips of her index finger and thumb. Yeri’s eyes close, a soft, wordless sound of desire leaving her lips.

“What about now?” Seulgi asks.

The audacity of what was happening in front of you drives you insane - you were in a public, half full coffee shop, and here you were in front of two girls, watching as one of them played with the others’ breasts. You quickly feel yourself hardening beneath your shorts.

You reach down and unbutton and then unzip the cotton shorts you were wearing, revealing the quickly growing bulge beneath your boxers.

“That’s… not enough,” Yeri says, her words a half-sigh as Seulgi continues to fondle her chest, “Let’s see all of it.”

Another quick glance around confirmed there was no one within direct eyesight, and no trace of the waitress either - Seulgi’s request for privacy appeared to have kept her on the other side of the cafe. Most of the other patrons of the cafe were either some distance away or too absorbed in their phones or textbooks to notice.

You reach down and pull your shorts halfway down your thighs, dragging your boxers along with them. Your cock, almost fully erect, springs free from its cotton prison, immediately catching the eyes of both girls in front of you.

“Mmm, I guess I was right. She loves you for your dick, after all,” Seulgi states with a smirk after she leans over the table and gives your cock an appraisal.

You return her smirk with one of your own.

“It’s not very fair that you’re the only one enjoying those tits, Seulgi,” you state, gaining some aggression now that you had committed to exposing yourself. If you were taking the risk, you wanted to get something out of it, and Seulgi seemed all too willing to indulge you.

“I suppose he’s right. How about you let him see what these can do, Yeri?”

The younger girl, already reduced to putty by Seulgi’s ministrations on her sensitive breasts, wastes no time in following the orders she is given. Leaving Seulgi’s embrace, she slides under the table, crawls over to you, kneels between your spread legs, and takes your cock into her wet, warm mouth.

The very idea of it - getting a surprise blowjob from a gorgeous young girl under the table at a coffee shop - drove you utterly insane; and the feel of Yeri’s wet, slick tongue lathering your shaft from base to tip with her saliva before beginning her blowjob in earnest quickly drove away all of the tension that had been building in your mind.

You look down and watch as Yeri’s blonde head slowly begins to bob up and down on your stiff shaft, her lips pursed tightly around it, leaving it glistening in the low light of the coffee shop. She lets it pop out from her mouth before poking out her tongue and swirling it around your head, tracing the tip and underside of it with the very tip of her tongue.

It’s your turn now to let a soft, wordless sigh escape your lips. You reach down and stroke the young blonde girl’s hair as she makes eye contact with you, her innocent features in stark contrast to the actions of her altogether sinful pink tongue. You let your fingers comb her hair, cupping the back of her skull, ostensibly to keep her from banging her head against the table, but also to push her slightly further down your cock with each entry into that succulent, wet mouth of hers. Her tongue wreaks delicious havoc on your sensitive head, swirling it around the tip before dipping under it, pressing against the underside of your dock everytime she takes your shaft into her mouth.

“Now now, Yeri,” Seulgi begins, eyes locked on yours as she watches the pleasure worming its way throughout your brain, “I did say you should show him what you can do with those tits.” Seulgi pulls the table towards her, leaving Yeri a little more room to poke her head and most of her chest out from beneath the table.

“Right,” Yeri answers as she straightens up in front of you, eyes locked on yours, “I was just getting his dick ready.”

Yeri takes a moment to spit on your cock, a long rope of her glistening saliva landing squarely on your head. She pumps your shaft a few times with a small hand, ensuring it was wet from base to tip.

When she leans forward and captures your shaft between her soft, warm breasts, your breath catches in your throat - and at that moment you couldn’t have cared less that you were just a few metres away from half a dozen people.

Yeri was just a little less endowed than Jihyo, who was the only other girl large enough to give you a titjob - but Yeri’s breasts were softer than the detective’s, and Yeri was better able to wrap them around your glistening dick, trapping it in a tunnel of warmth and wetness as she begins to bounce her mounds up along on your length, thrusting the shaft between her breasts, up and down, up and down.

You are left powerless to do anything but watch the scene play out in front of you as you enjoy the pleasure radiating from your shaft, travelling up your spine and intoxicating your brain. Yeri’s hands travel towards the front of her breasts as she captures her own nipples with her index finger and thumb, pinching the stiff peaks even as she bounces her mounds up and down on your dick.

“Does that feel good?” Seulgi asks, and you tear your gaze away from the young girl between your legs to lock eyes with the older girl.

“Fuck yeah it does,” you hiss, reaching down with your right hand to stroke Yeri’s cheek. She nuzzles her face in your palm like an obedient pet, not breaking her rhythm, pushing your stiff shaft into her cleavage over and over again.

“I… I want to touch myself,” Yeri hisses, her face flushed, her features lustful.

“Her tits are sensitive as fuck - look at her get off on giving you a titjob. Pinch her fucking nipples,” Seulgi orders, and you are happy to oblige, reaching down with both hands to the front of Yeri’s breasts, capturing her brown tips in each hand before pinching both peaks, eliciting a sharp gasp from the young girl. Her hands freed, she reaches down and slips a hand beneath her skirt, and the soft moan that leaves her mouth tells you all you need to know about what she is doing to herself.

You squeeze her large breasts together around your shaft, thrusting up as best you could between her delicious cleavage given your sitting position. The friction is delicious, and you savor each thrust between the girl’s tits.

You are so lost in enjoying Yeri’s breasts, watching the expression on the girls’ face glaze over into full pleasure as she fingers herself - that you almost don’t realize Seulgi is leaning over the table, watching intently.

“Enough, Yeri - we don’t have all day. Make him cum.”

It embarasses you, somewhere in the back of your mind, that it only took a few minutes of a blowjob and titjob to get you to cum. But you weren’t one to fight the pleasure coursing throughout your body, not when it was so delicious, and not when it was given to you under such dangerous circumstances - right out in public.

Yeri’s hands pull yours away from her tits, and you have only a split second to lament the loss of her large, warm mounds around your cock before she replaces them with her mouth. Grasping the base of your cock and pumping it with one hand while she gently cups and squeezes your balls with the other, Yeri quickly launches into a hard and fast blowjob, taking the top half of your cock in and out of her wet mouth with a rapid pace.

It all becomes too much, and it hits you all at once - getting a blowjob from a beautiful young girl, in a public coffee shop, while another equally hot woman watches - and you quickly find yourself nearing that inevitable peak.

“Fuck, Yeri-” is all you manage to say before your orgasm overtakes your world.

Yeri releases your cock from her mouth a split second before you erupt, shooting long, thick strands of hot semen all over her pretty little face. Yeri’s face glazes over in pleasure and you are all too happy to watch as strand after strand of cum lands on her cheeks, her pretty little nose, and finally her open mouth and jaw. You watch, through half-lidded eyes drunk with pleasure, as the thick streams of cum flow down her face, dripping onto her upper chest and those perfect breasts of hers. Her face is flushed and her mouth open, as though she herself was on the verge of orgasm.

The next few seconds pass by in a blur, your mind still trying to make sense of what just happened. But when you manage to pull yourself together you realize that Yeri is sitting next to Seulgi again - and that the two are making out passionately, Yeri’s cum covered face pressed against Seulgi’s even as their tongues duel between their locked mouths.

Seulgi breaks the kiss to lick strands of your semen from her friend’s face, which elicits a look of pleasure to wash over Yeri’s features. It takes you another moment to notice that the older girl’s hand is working busily between Yeri’s legs, and it only takes another moment or two before Yeri is reduced to a quivering, shaking mess, cumming hard on Seulgi’s fingers even as your fresh, hot cum is licked from her face. She buries her face in the crook of Seulgi’s neck and lets out a sharp, wordless cry - one that temporarily worries you with its volume.

It is a scene that would have been utterly spellbinding in the privacy of a bedroom. But the audacity of the two girls to do so out in public - in an open, half-filled coffee shop, no less - completely overwhelms you, and you can do nothing but watch as Seulgi finishes her work between Yeri’s legs and licks the last large strand of semen from her face.

Seulgi gives her friend one last soft kiss on the lips before turning once more to face you, using a finger to capture a stray strand of semen from the corner of her lips. She licks it and Yeri’s juices from her glistening fingertips, the same way a cat would lick milk from its paw, her eyes locked on you the whole time, filled with a sly lustiness that you found utterly captivating.

Yeri is a disheveled mess, her face still flushed and pink, but she finally manages to gather herself enough to stuff her breasts back into her top. She gingerly takes a napkin off the table and wipes the last remnants of your cum from her face and upper chest, still breathing heavily, still quivering occasionally as her orgasm finally winds down.

It’s at that moment that the waitress finally arrives with your coffee order, placing the large mug on the table. You couldn’t help but notice that her face was flushed and red as well - was she watching the whole thing?

The waitress catches Seulgi’s eyes for a moment, and the ex-Red Velvet member winks at her, before taking one last sip of her now-room temperature coffee, a sly, devilish smile on her lips that you found both arousing and frightening all at the same time.

---

It didn’t take Momo long to arrive after you’d texted her with the location of the coffee shop. She’d called Chaeyoung for a ride back to their safehouse and the four of you were waiting outside the coffee shop for her to show up in the van. Jeongyeon, who happened to be in the same neighborhood, had texted you an invitation to shoot some pool and she was likewise on her way.

“I trust the three of you got to know each other better,” Momo says, and you are heartened to find no malice on her tone - it was more of a tease than anything else, which led you to hope that perhaps the common ground you’d found regarding Irene’s arrest had warmed up her attitude towards you.

“He got to know Yeri pretty well,” Seulgi replies as she casually lights up a cigarette and takes a drag, “He still owes me one, though.”

“I get why you kept him around for so long,” Yeri adds, blushing.

Momo rolls her eyes and gives you a look, to which you can only shrug. You remembered how much she loved hearing about your sexual adventures with other women when you were together, and you wondered whether those feelings remained.

“So, boss,” Seulgi begins as she taps the ashes off her cigarette, “are you gonna tell him about our big operation next week?”

There is a moment of hesitation from Momo as she weighs Seulgi’s question, but she eventually relents.

“We have a plan in motion to catch Irene. We have a confirmed time and location where she’ll be.”

“What?” you blurt, more than a little surprised that she had taken this long to tell you, “When exactly were you going to tell me?”

“I wanted to see what you wanted to meet about first,” Momo explains. “Now that I know you have the evidence we need to arrest her, I can tell you about it.”

Seulgi lets a hiss of smoke leave the corner of her mouth. She gives you a sharp look at the use of the word ‘arrest.’

“We’ve decided to use Seulgi’s old Red Velvet email address to send Irene a meeting invitation,” Momo continues. “We told her to show up at an old Red Velvet safehouse next week. Alone.”

“She’s not going to show up alone. She’s going to have that place bugged and under surveillance way before we get there,” you state.

“Not this one,” Yeri says, “This is a special place. Irene may be a scheming traitor of a bitch but even she wouldn’t bring other people here. She doesn’t know what happened to us after YG, and she probably doesn’t know we’ve escaped. She would want to know who sent this email. There’s no way she would just ignore an invitation like that.”

“What if she thinks it’s a trap? What if she thinks YG broke you, or got into your email accounts, and someone is setting her up?”

“She wouldn’t. There’s few things that are sacred in that girl’s life, but this place is one of them.”

“Where is it?” you ask, curious.

“Our old dorm,” Seulgi answers, “From when we were just lowly little paper pushers at SM. We all started there at the same time and were poor as fuck, so we decided to room together in company housing. It’s where the five of us became friends and decided to form Red Velvet. It became our base of operations and even after we moved out we kept it as a safehouse - the one we treasured the most, where we went when we needed to feel secure.”

“When we were in that apartment, we were just friends,” Yeri adds, “just young girls. We spent so many happy nights in that place. We felt like sisters there.”

There is a sudden sad wistfulness in her eyes and in Yeri’s that spoke of better days long past.

“She’ll show up alone,” Seulgi continues, “I guarantee it.”

“My team will help out,” you say, convinced, “we’ll do whatever you need.”

“Good,” Momo agrees, “we’ll be in touch. Get ready.”

At that moment Chaeyoung arrived in her van, shooting you a smile and a finger gun. The girls pile into the vehicle, although Seulgi lingers at the sliding door with one leg inside the van. When she turns to speak to you, the coldness in her eyes matches the iciness in her tone.

“When we get Irene, don’t get in my way.”

Even when the sliding door slams shut and van peels away, you are left with a chill at her words. Jeongyeon appears at your side a few moments later, breathing heavily after evidently having jogged there.

“Was that Momo and her team? Damn, I would’ve liked to thank them for saving our asses last week,” she says, oblivious to the weight of the evening’s previous events.

You smile at her and change the subject. She hooks her arm in yours and you both begin to stroll down Itaewon’s still-busy streets towards a local pool hall - but even her warm smile and bright aura do little to dismiss the impending sense of dread looming over you.

---

Author’s Note: Sorry for the delay!

Hope you’re all staying well in these times. Be safe :)

#kpop fanfiction #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #pov smut #Smut #male reader #red velvet #red velvet yeri #kim yeri #yeri

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steppedoffaflight · 4 years

Text

Summer’s a Knife - Chapter 9

Catch up on Chapter 8 here

You grin, your heart light. “So, why are you calling me today, Van McCann?” You tease. “Are you looking to get off, or pressure me to run away with you again?”

Van chuckles. “You said your hometown was in Michigan?”

“It is,” You confirm.

“Is Detroit somewhere close to it?”

You sit very still. “Um. Really close, actually.” Your brain knows where this is headed but you can’t get your hopes up. Especially after how harshly you’d scolded yourself for your impulsive Phoenix trip. “Why?”

“We have a show there on Wednesday. So I’m calling about the latter.”

You’re going home.

Word count: ~12.3k

Chapter Nine June 2019

The rush of realizing you’re in love with someone felt so foreign yet so achingly familiar all at once. It completely consumed you. You watched the rest of the show in complete euphoria, eager for that moment when Van would finally be off stage.

And when he finally burst through the door, high on post-show adrenaline and dripping with sweat you leap up from your seat, so happy to see him. If he thinks your excitement is out of place he doesn’t mention it, glowing with the satisfaction of putting on a great show.

“Let’s get back to the hotel,” He pants, grabbing for one of the provided towels and vigorously rubbing at his hair.

“Don’t you shower here?”

“Didn’t bring my stuff. Figured you wouldn’t wanna sit here and wait for traffic to die down anyway.”

He’s gathering his things up quickly, stuffing them into the backpack he’d brought with him. He grins over his shoulder. “Think you can stand the smell?”

It’s easy to hide your smile as you hunch over your bag, gathering your own things. “Might be hard, but I’ll try.”

The other boys flit in and out of the room, running around like chickens with their heads cut off, eager to return to the hotel. It’s not long before you find yourself crammed in an SUV with four extremely foul-smelling men as the driver attempts to navigate the short drive to the hotel, eventually pulling up to the back entrance so the boys can avoid the small crowd of fans milling around in front.

It’s a relief to return to your hotel room after a long day, to finally be alone with Van.

He seems surprised that you ask to shower with him. It is completely out of character for you, but you’re too happy tonight to care.

The shower is all business, but afterwards you’re laid out on the bed, hair dripping all over the sheets as Van fucks you, hard. Sex is the only time you get the opportunity to kiss him, and you don’t let it go to waste. Even as his thrusts jar your body and creak the bedframe, you try your hardest to keep your lips connected. Maybe you go overboard, but Van’s noises suggest it’s a good thing.

You’re so pent up that when you come you practically scream, muffling your noises with one of the hotel pillows. The sexual tension in the room is so suffocating that coming feels like it amplifies it rather than releases it. Rather than tense up with oversensitivity your body relaxes, pliant for Van as he continues to break a sweat, grunting with each movement. Instead of dissolving into his usual sloppy thrusts he stays painstakingly consistent, beads of sweat forming on his hairline. When he comes he doesn’t moan so much as gulp for air.

Even when he’s finished he keeps fucking you, gritting his teeth against his own tenderness. You don’t understand what he’s going for until you feel his calloused fingertips return between your legs, stimulating your clit roughly. This orgasm comes easier, floods over you with more intensity, and leaves you helplessly whimpering, scratching up his back in the process.

He’s barely gotten the condom off before he’s climbing off of the bed and stuffing his legs into a pair of boxers. “Smoke with me.”

You scramble after him, tossing a shirt over your head and slinging on the pair of pajama shorts you’d packed before stumbling out onto the balcony.

He’s slumped over in one of the chairs, cigarette already lit.

Your cheeks burn against the cool night air, and you know your hair’s a mess. Van looks as wrecked as you. Without a shirt on you can see the scarlet flush on his chest.

You shift around in your seat as the nicotine relaxes you, trying to get comfortable. No matter how you sit, the throbbing between your legs is prominent.

“You sore?” Van asks.

When you widen your eyes, confused at how he’d know that, he laughs. He rests his elbows on the arms of his chair, imitating your position. “You look like you’re trying to hold yourself up,” He explains.

“Oh. Yeah. It’ll fade, though.”

“Sorry if it was too much.”

You shake your head vigorously as you suck in a hit. “Don’t be.”

“So much adrenaline from the show,” He runs his fingers through his hair. “And looking at you in the shower afterwards, I was just like… Holy shit.” He shakes his head like he can’t believe he’s telling you this.

You shake your head at his compliment to hide the way your cheeks burn hotter and your heartbeat skips.

“I felt the same,” You tell him. If he’s worried he fucked you too hard he must not have seen the way you were sneaking glances at him any chance you had. “Sorry I tore your back up.”

Van laughs. “You can do whatever you want to me, woman.”

“Oh my god. Shut up,” You giggle.

Van throws his hands up. “I’m being honest!”

He’s finished his cigarette, dropping the butt on the ground. “I gotta have another. You?”

For once, you take him up on it.

The next day consists of a terrible emotional hangover. Nothing brings you down from cloud nine faster than time away with the person you love coming to an end. Even worse, tour was kicking off with a bang, and Van didn’t know when he could expect to be back in town again. He was jetting off tomorrow to the next city, and from there the band would finally have a bus and be traveling by road.

Knowing your time was limited should make you appreciate it more, but it has an opposite effect. You’re in a bitter mood the entire drive home. Van notices but keeps pretending not to, a fact that irks you more. You brush it off as dread at returning to work, just to throw him off your scent. As much as your new feelings demanded to be declared to the world, you knew nothing would scare Van away faster than you ruining this casual arrangement.

He drives himself home so that you can drive the Range Rover back to your place. You help him get his bags inside, your chest aching at this time coming to an end.

“Alright,” Van sighs when he’s sure he hasn’t forgotten anything, clapping his hands together. “I’ll see you when I’m back, yeah?”

You try not to flinch at the uncertainty in that sentence and try your best to seem cheerful. You know you fall flat. “Of course, duh.”

Before you know it Van’s wrapped you up in a warm hug, holding you tight.

“Keep your head up, alright?” He says quietly into your hair, rocking you back and forth. “Don’t let work get you down.”

You nod into his chest, and he lets you go. He presses the car keys into your palm.

“And take a nap when you get home,” He tells you, his eyes still locked with yours. You wish you could kiss him goodbye so bad it makes your throat ache. “You’ll feel so much better.”

“I will,” You croak. He gives you a nod, and with that you turn away, your feet feeling like lead as you force yourself down the porch steps and into the car. He gives you a wave as you head for the gates, and you return it with a grimace and one of your own.

And when you get home, you keep your promise to Van. You don’t even bother to unload the car before marching inside, diving into your bed, and bawling your eyes out into your pillow until your heart feels empty and you fall asleep.

It takes every ounce of strength you have in every bone in your body to drag yourself into work the next morning. And the morning after that. And then the weekend arrives, two days of pure emptiness.

You hated being alone but you also couldn’t think of anything more unpleasant than being around other people right now. You spend the weekend consuming vodka at an alarming rate and scrubbing any surface you can spot in your house before falling into bed at night physically exhausted.

By Monday, you’ve decided you’re angry. First it’s at Mary. She knows how you are with relationships. You two have always joked that you dated to marry. As soon as you realize you can’t envision a future with someone your desire for them fizzles out, inevitably souring your connection. Why did she force something between you and Van knowing that it would be temporary? She’s out of line meddling in your love life, and now there’s a price to pay. When she asks about Arizona you practically one-word her, seething about what she’s done.

And then it’s yourself. What Mary did was unforgivable, but you’re the one who went along with it. You’re just as much to blame. You had your fun in San Diego, but of course that wasn’t enough. You kept going back for more. How stupid of you! You knew there was no way things could work out with Van, so you’re an absolute idiot for sleeping with him again, and again, and again. You were playing with fire this entire time. Like, really, taking time off work for a six hour road trip to hang around your ‘friend’? It was so childish. You needed to save your vacation hours for the holidays to spend time with your family.

And Van. He had to be some sort of sociopath, texting you months after your first meeting to take you out to dinner. Why would he take someone out if he wasn’t planning to date them? It had clearly been a ploy to get in your pants, and you’d been so gullible. Now he was off having the time of his life and you were the one suffering in silence.

But as mad as you want to be at Van, you miss him so much it hurts. Having no sure future to look forward to means every day without him is agony. And while you might get angry, it never sticks. How could he have predicted you’d be stupid enough to fall in love? Surely he couldn’t have known you’d do this to yourself. He was too sweet to do something so malicious.

You flip flop between these moods. In the back of your mind you know you’re not being the slightest bit rational, but the hurricane ripping through your heart is not to be reasoned with.

You find a pack of Van’s cigarettes at the bottom of your purse on Wednesday. You’d thrown them in your bag at the venue in Phoenix so he didn’t forget them, but apparently you’d forgotten about them too. For the first time in years you smoke alone. It calms the ache in your heart while you do it, recalling all the conversations you two have shared during your smoke breaks. In that small moment of clarity you know that no matter how much you’re hurting, every moment you spend with Van is worth it all. And when you’re done with the first cigarette you light another, just like he does.

By Saturday you’ve leveled out, embarrassed about your week-long tantrum. You start texting Mary again, spinning a lie about getting over a nasty cold. Everything in your house is spotless, so you’ve started on those untouched books. They help keep you distracted, even if you picture every romantic lead as Van in your mind.

You’re curled up in one of the chairs on your porch, smoking a cigarette and reading when your phone buzzes with a call in your pocket.

Seeing Van’s name on the caller ID pumps pure joy through your veins. Swiping to accept feels like you’re swiping away the awful heartache that’s been plaguing you all week.

“Where are you?” You ask excitedly as your greeting. You enjoy living vicariously though Van’s travels, even if it stings that you can’t be there with him.

“The lovely city of Chicago,” Van replies. You can hear the smile in his voice. “Where are you?”

“On the porch.” You fold the corner of your book, setting it aside and taking a hit of your cigarette.

“Are you having a smoke?”

“I am.”

“Me too,” Van says. “We’re in sync.”

You grin, your heart light. “So, why are you calling me today, Van McCann?” You tease. “Are you looking to get off, or pressure me to run away with you again?”

Van chuckles. “You said your hometown was in Michigan?”

“It is,” You confirm.

“Is Detroit somewhere close to it?”

“We have a show there on Wednesday. So I’m calling about the latter.”

You make a noise into the phone. It’s overjoyed and exasperated all at once. “Ugh, Van! Why do you always put me on the spot like this? I hate you!”

Van’s laughing. “Let’s save the argument, then. See you Wednesday.”

“No, no, no,” You chant, but you’re already grinning. He’s already won. “I can’t fucking roadtrip to Michigan!”

“You’re not gonna. You’re gonna fly. I’ll get you a ticket.”

Of course you’re going. The one loophole in your vacation time was that you’d promised yourself you’d use it for family time, and if Van’s offering to pay for the flight there’s no way you could turn down the chance to surprise everyone at home. It’s a win-win, family time and Van time. Your heart is already bursting with excitement.

You don’t know what to say. Van’s right, you might as well save the argument.

“You don’t have to do that, Van,” You still insist out of guilt.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m being selfish, actually. I’m glad you’ll get to see your parents, but promise you’ll save some time for me.”

“I promise.” It’s the easiest promise you’ve ever made. “Where are you playing?”

“Saint Andrew’s Hall. Seen anyone there?”

“I have!” You exclaim, thinking back to your teenaged days. “But always with my ex-boyfriend,” You confess.

“Christ. So I’ve got competition, then.”

“Guess so,” You taunt.

“I’ll have to make it extra memorable, then.” He doesn’t lose an ounce of smugness through the phone.

“Can’t wait,” You gush.

“Me either.” There’s a happy silence as you two have sealed your plans. Then: “What have you been watching lately?”

“I’m burned out of everything,” You sigh. “I’ve been reading, actually.”

“Reading what?”

“Um.” You pluck the book up from the seat next to you, reading out the title. “It’s some mushy romance thing I bought forever ago, I dunno.”

“What’s it about?”

You hesitate. “Um… I mean… romance?”

“I get that,” Van laughs. “I mean, I’m going mental with nothing to do. Tell me about the book. What happens in it?”

“Oh, um.” His interest shocks you. “Well…”

Without fail, summers had always been a dreadful time for your workload. It was when most of your coworkers wanted to take advantage of their company-provided vacation days, days that you preferred to save for the fall and winter holidays when you could fly home. That meant that their projects had to be distributed among the handful of employees that were in the office reliably, and you knew that your boss directed more of the burden to you than your coworkers. Not as punishment, but simply because she felt she could trust you with the more important work.

The boss in question, Denise, had been who you’d worked under since you’d been hired at the company fresh out of college. She’d even been who you’d conducted your interviews with, save the final one where she’d been joined by a few other directors. And although coworkers had come and gone over the last couple of years, you two had remained a staple in your department, leading to a pretty solid professional relationship between you. That’s how every summer Denise managed to treat each extra project like praise until you’d accepted too many and were drowning in paperwork and emails.

But for the first time ever you were reaping the rewards of your hard work. There had been no raises (considering you were still pretty young and inexperienced), no promotions, only good comments on your performance reviews (which meant very little, really). Instead, your rewards came in the form of emails approving your time-off requests, even on the ridiculously short notice that Van was forcing on you. There was hardly any uncertainty hanging in the air; you’d send the request first thing in the morning, and usually by the time you got back from lunch you’d have the approval sitting in your inbox. And because now you were one of the employees sporadically missing from the office during these summer months, the requests to take on more work were dwindling.

You made Van wait until you’d gotten your approval email before he booked the your flight, and he’d been texting you most of Monday morning pestering you about it. Once you let him know you’ve gotten the green light, there’s only a short half hour of silence from him before he’s sending over screenshots with ticket information and departure times. He’s booked you a flight bright and early, departing at 7 am tomorrow morning. Considering his eagerness, you’re surprised he doesn’t have you taking a red-eye after work.

What surprises you even more is that on Tuesday afternoon, stumbling off of your five hour flight into the familiar airport of your hometown, Van is standing at the gate waiting for you.

As soon as he catches your eye he grins, rushing towards you while you blink at him in shock.

“What are you doing here?” Are your first words to him. He pries the handle of your rolling carry-on suitcase from your fingers, wrapping his own palm around it as he tucks you under his arm, giving you a squeeze as he starts to direct you towards the doors that lead outside.

“Picking you up!” He responds, as chipper as ever.

“I thought I was gonna take an Uber!” That had been the plan, according to the numerous texts you two had exchanged over the weekend.

“I ended up having some free time,” He shrugs. He’s in the same dark jacket he’d been wearing the night you met him, unbuttoned to expose his usual dark button up. You notice this one isn’t black, though.

“A navy button up?” You gasp in faux dramatics, giving the fabric a playful tug. Van’s arm has fallen from your back, you two walking side by side.

He grins as he peeks down at his shirt. “Look at that. All dressed up for you.”

“You are,” You agree. “How are you even in this jacket?” You hadn’t stepped outdoors yet, but you knew without a doubt it was sweltering outside.

“It’s cold in here.”

His words make you realize the crisp, air-conditioned breeze blowing over your arms, and you shiver, clutching the hoodie you’d taken off on the plane tighter to your chest.

You still can’t wrap your head around the experience of Van pacing around the airport, waiting for you. “How did you even get here?” You ask as he directs you towards a set of doors. You can see the waves of summer heat radiating off of all the cars parked on the pavement through the glass.

“Dave drove,” He explains, pressing his palm into the metal push bar to swing the door open for you. A scorching burst of heat instantly greets your body, and it’s so humid it’s hard to breathe as you step out. “He lemme borrow his car.”

You’re quiet for the rest of the walk to the car, trying to process everything through your jet-lag. You’d boarded the plane at seven, been in the air for almost six hours after the delays, and yet when you glance at your phone it’s minutes away from 4 pm here, hours evaporated with the time difference. Van leads the way, dutifully rolling your suitcase to the parking spot where he had parked Dave’s car before popping your carry-on into the trunk and helping you into the passenger seat. The interior of the car has you sweating in the short time it takes Van to round the vehicle to the driver’s side, and you realize he’s been waiting inside for you longer than you’d thought.

There’s not much catching up necessary during the drive, considering you and Van had been texting consistently. You tell him about the toddler that threw a tantrum on the plane, and a woman in the row in front of you that spilled her drink all over the person sitting next to her during turbulence.

Although evening was descending upon Michigan, in typical June fashion the sun was refusing to go down, and therefore the heat simmered just as violently as it did during the early afternoon. That’s why when Van maneuvers the car to the parking lot behind the hotel, you’re shocked to see all of the boys lounging about in the heat, the only slight shade provided by the towering tour bus that was parked back here as well.

As Van pulls Dave’s car into a parking spot, everyone perks up.

“Look who it is!” Bondy calls from where he’s shading his eyes from the sun as he smokes.

You think he’s talking about Van, but Bob stops kicking the soccer ball against the building and gives you a polite wave. Benji gives you a nod in greeting, pacing around with his phone pressed to his ear. You return the wave and the nod, lagging behind Van as he makes his way towards the side of the bus.

“How are you?” Bondy asks, reaching one of his arms out for his usual half hug. He always treats you like you’re one of his own friends, and your heart swells in gratitude.

“I’m good,” You tell him. “Excited to be home.”

“That’s what Van said. We’re in your territory, huh?”

Van was distracted for a moment by Benji, but before you can respond he claps Bondy on the shoulder. “Bondy’s just been to L.A. pride,” He announces before promptly turning back to Benji, pleading to speak on the phone. His sudden interruption leaves Bondy clearly confused.

“Were you also at pride?” He asks, head tilted.

“No,” You laugh. “I think he’s saying that because I’m bi.”

Bondy laughs, the confusion clearing. “Right. Well, cheers.”

You shake your head in amusement, watching Van stalk Benji over the blacktop. Benji is dedicated to keeping the phone for himself, walking backwards away from him, but Van is undeterred.

“Who’s he trying to talk to?”

“Benji’s mum. She adores Van.”

That doesn’t come as any surprise to you.

“He’s already in a better mood.” Bondy speaks so quietly it sounds like he’s musing to himself.

You turn to look at him instead of watching Van’s antics. “I couldn’t imagine Van in a bad mood.”

“Yeah,” Bondy snickers. “Because he’s always in a good one around you.”

You blink at him, unable to think of a response. As you open your mouth to change the topic, Van flounces back towards you two.

“Let’s get your bags,” He chirps. “I’ll show you the room.”

You’re still contemplating what Bondy’s said as Van unlocks the car, helping you take your things up to the hotel room. It’s the same as any other, but it doesn’t have a balcony like the one in Phoenix.

“Where have you been smoking?” You ask, grinning when Van rolls his eyes in frustration.

“Outside. I’ve already gotten locked out of the side door on accident.”

“Aw. That sucks.”

“It does, actually,” Van scoffs at your giggle.

You get your phone plugged in, checking any notifications that have come in since you landed.

Van plops down on the bed. “What are your plans?”

“Um…” You’re distracted while you respond to your mom’s multiple messages. “I’m going to spend today at home, and then my parents can drop me off back here for the night, and tomorrow I’m all yours.”

Van seems pleased with that arrangement. “How are you getting over there?”

You shrug. “I can Uber.”

“I can drive you, if you want.”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever works.” You bite down on the inside of your cheek to suppress a smile.

“Turn where?”

“There!” You try to gesture to the intersection Van has clearly passed through.

“Fuck,” Van sighs, immediately having to reroute.

It’s always trippy being back home. As Van struggles to navigate you gaze out the window, looking wistfully at the homes, businesses, and parks that have shaped your childhood.

“This is my old elementary school,” You tell Van when he pulls into the parking lot as part of redirecting.

“Yeah?” He squints at the playground in the distance. It seems like it snaps him out of his frustration as he absorbs that information.

“Could you imagine living in the same area you grew up in?” You ponder aloud as you think about it. “Like, most people at least move a city over, you know what I mean? But imagine being in the exact same place. Like, if I sent my kids to that exact school.”

You watch the school become a blur as Van drives away from it.

“That’s what Llandudno is like, actually. We’ve got, like, one of everything nearby. So if you stay there, then yeah, you’re going to that same school and shopping at that same shop all your life. Which is fucking weird, like you said. You have kids and they live an exact repeat of your life.”

You go silent as you’re lost in thoughts about creating a family of your own, interjecting only to direct Van.

When he’s pulled up to your house you feel your heart start pounding.

“Did you want to come in and say hi?” You ask him as you gather your things.

Van is quiet for a moment. You hope he’s considering it. “Oh, that’s alright,” He says. “This is your time with them.”

Your heart sinks, but you press on with the rest of your pitch that you’d been mentally rehearsing. “Are you sure? They’re gonna ask about you anyway. You can stay for dinner if you’re hungry.”

Van’s expression is unreadable, but then he shakes his head. “I’m okay. Go catch up with them!”

“Okay,” You try to shrug it off. “See you later.”

“Text me when you’re ready!” Van says cheerfully as you exit the car and close the door. You give him a small wave as a final goodbye before turning to head up to your house.

Your family has already been alerted of your arrival, standing in the doorway excitedly. They wave eagerly to Van, who you catch out of your peripheral vision waving back as he pulls away.

You have less than a minute to try and swallow down the lump in your throat before you make it to the porch. The embarrassment over his rejection burns at your cheeks and makes it hard to breathe. You were stupid to even ask. Why would he want to meet your family? That’s not something you do with casual friends.

It’s easy to push it out of your mind once you’re in the front door, surrounded by people who loved you and were overjoyed to see you.

“Y/N, my God,” Your mom immediately pulls you into a hug. “Who was that who just dropped you off?”

“That’s Van.” When your mom releases you you’re immediately pulled into a hug from your dad. “He’s the friend in the band.”

“He’s good looking!” Your mom exclaims, eliciting a laugh from you. Your older brother had cleared his schedule to see you, and you hug him as well. It’s weird how much closer you’ve become to him as you two have aged. You were always at each other’s throats as children.

“He’s the lead singer,” You explain when you’re finally not in the middle of a hug. “So he’s the one everyone goes crazy for, yeah.”

“You should have invited him inside!” Your dad chimes in.

The lump in your throat is back with a vengeance, and you have to swallow it down quickly to speak. “I did. He’s got something to do with the band,” You lie.

“Probably made him nervous with mom and dad standing there,” Your brother laughs.

You laugh weakly. “Yeah… So, dinner?”

The food’s not quite ready yet, so you spend the first part of your time with everyone helping to prepare it. It’s always chaotic trying to cook with your mom watching you like a hawk making sure you’re doing everything exactly right, but with your dad and brother also crowded into the kitchen so as not to miss a second of catching up you feel suffocated almost immediately upon arriving.

For once, you notice you’ve got things to talk about. You’ve usually got very little to say no matter how many questions your family asks; There’s only so many ways to tell them that work is going good, you’re still single, and disperse an entertaining story about a night out here or there before the conversation runs dry. But tonight you find yourself suddenly remembering so many moments you’ve had with Van that you excitedly relay to everyone. Your mom asks what’s good on Netflix, and you find yourself talking about the show you and Van have watched. Your brother asks about a photo you’d posted on Instagram of a desert landscape and you tell them about road tripping to Arizona and hanging out backstage.

When dinner is done and everyone has migrated to the living room, your brother’s shoes resting at the door suddenly remind you of Sam Fender’s. You introduce your family to his music and describe how funny he was when you met him at the party.

“His album is coming out in the fall,” You gush to everyone when they seem impressed with his voice playing through your phone speakers.

“Jesus, sis, you sound like you’re living it up,” Your brother laughs. “Going to celebrity birthday parties? Backstage at shows? Who are you?”

“I thought the same thing!” Your mom agrees, gesturing wildly with her hands. “What have you done with my daughter?”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” You sigh, exasperated. “You guys act like I was the most boring person in the world!”

“Oh stop,” Your mom scoffs. “We’re only kidding, honey. We don’t think you’re boring. I just think you seem really happy! I’m glad to hear you’re having a lot of fun!”

“You are absolutely the most boring person in the world,” Your brother assures you solemnly. “But at this rate I would encourage you to keep doing whatever drugs you’re on.”

Your mom’s face goes serious. “Are you on drugs, Y/N?”

You give your mom an expression that you hope conveys how crazy she sounds. “No, I’m not on drugs! He’s making a joke!”

“You do smell like cigarettes,” Your dad interjects. “Don’t tell me you’re smoking.”

“That’s from Van.” It’s only a half lie, really.

“Is Van an addict?” Your mom sounds alarmed.

You roll your eyes. “He is about the farthest thing from an addict, mom.”

“Okay, okay,” She throws her hands up in surrender. “I only worry with the whole rockstar thing. I don’t want you dating some junkie.”

You cringe at the word rockstar. “He’s not a rockstar, ew, he’s in a band,” You correct her. “And we’re not dating. Not even close.”

Your mom doesn’t look like she believes it. “Right. Well, if he makes you this happy and he’s as nice a boy as you say he is, maybe you should think about it.”

“We like being friends,” You insist, and it’s the truth. If being friends with Van was the closest you could get to him, you’ll take it in a heartbeat.

By the time Van arrives to pick you up, you’re all talked out. Time had slipped by unnoticed, and it’s past midnight by the time everyone is dispersing with goodbye hugs and promises to be together for the holidays.

You slump into the front passenger seat, exhausted from your long day.

“How was it?”

“It was nice. Dinner was good. Lots and lots and lots of catching up.”

“Yeah? Did they say anything about me?”

You grin. “Of course they did. My mom said you were good-looking, for starters.”

“She couldn’t see me properly,” Van grins. “She didn’t know what she was saying.”

You filter through your mind for anything else you can tell him. You choose to keep talk of how he should’ve joined you and how you two should date to yourself. “She also asked if you were an addict.”

“Christ. What’d you say?”

“I said no. But then I told them about all the weed and your cocaine benders and the molly and actually, I think they’re right.”

There’s a terse moment of silence in the car. You watch Van grip the steering wheel tighter. “You’re taking the piss.”

“Uh, yeah!” You scoff, watching him relax. “Holy fuck, you really think I’d tell them all of that? What the fuck?”

“I dunno what you talk about with your family!” He argues, accidentally turning a corner too fast.

“Not your personal business,” You mumble, crossing your arms. It started out as a joke, but his apparent lack of faith in your ability to keep his secrets actually made you angry. “Nice to know you trust me.”

“I do trust you!” Van insists. “I wouldn’t tell you things in the first place if I didn’t trust you, so stop. Don’t be like that.”

“Like what?”

“Mad. Don’t be mad at me.”

The atmosphere in the car relaxes, but you’re still tense. Between your flight, the long conversations, Van’s refusal to have dinner with you and now his lack of trust in you, your muscles were aching from the stress and you were ready for bed. You stay quiet the rest of the way to the hotel.

Van sighs as he puts the car in park. “C’mon,” he urges you quietly.

“I’m not mad,” You tell him, your voice strained. “It’s not a big deal. It’s whatever. I had a really long flight, and a really long day. I’m just really overwhelmed.” You can feel the tears prickling behind your eyes.

Van turns the car off, the space cloaked in silence. You’re both quiet while all of the lights fade until you’re in darkness.

Van looks at you. “I’m sorry.”

Your eyes water. “I said I’m not mad. It was a stupid joke to make.”

“It was pretty fucking good, actually,” Van snorts. “You got me. But I should’ve known better, you’re right.”

His attempts to calm the situation only make everything worse. Of course he’s being sweet after a disagreement. As if you couldn’t love him any more than you already thought you did. And you’re full blown crying now, probably having the opposite effect on him.

“Sorry,” You sniffle pathetically.

“Don’t be. I get it. Jet lag really fucks you up.”

You nod into your hands, wiping your tears away.

“I’m gonna smoke before we head up,” Van starts the car in order to crack the window.

“Crack mine,” You tell him, and he does before he shuts the car off.

It’s only after the first hit of your borrowed cigarette that you break out into a watery laugh.

“My mom and dad said I smell like cigarettes,” You explain to Van, who’s looking at you curiously. “They asked me if I smoked and I lied and said no.”

Van thinks that’s hilarious judging by his fit of laughter. “Your parents don’t know you smoke?”

“Fuck, no! All my life they warned me about cigarettes. They weren’t a big fan of the few times they caught me with weed, but the thought of me smoking sends them through the roof. They’d fucking kill me.”

“So how’d you explain the smell?”

“I blamed it on you,” You admit sheepishly. “And that’s not a lie. I’m sorry.” You try to give Van your best puppy dog face in hopes he’ll take pity on you.

Thankfully, he finds the situation funny. “You’re spineless,” He teases. “I’m kidding. That’s fine. I’ll be your scapegoat.”

You’re getting to the point where waking up in hotel rooms doesn’t confuse your brain. What does confuse you is the position you wake up in, much different from how you’d fallen asleep on Van’s chest last night. He’d offered the cuddle as a consolation for your jet-lagged tears, and you’d never been so happy to accept a consolation prize in your life. But somehow you two must have untangled in your sleep, because now you’re on your side facing away from him.

The whole room is still dark and you can hear Van snoring. For once you’ve woken up before him.

As you stretch out to grab your phone off of the nightstand your body brushes Van’s, who you’re suddenly aware is right next to you. Without meaning to you stop breathing, nervous to wake him up. You retract your arm slowly, momentarily forgetting about your phone.

You crane your neck carefully, trying to see exactly how you two were laying. He was on his stomach, the curve of his ass and legs the only thing you can make out beneath the comforter. You flip over to face him as carefully as you can.

His head is resting against the edge of your pillow, and whatever isn’t supported by the pillow is resting in the crook of his bent arm. His mouth is ajar but he’s breathing out of his nose, evident by the snoring that’s intensified by the way the fabric of the pillow is blocking one of his nostrils.

You’ve been as physically close to him as two human bodies can get, but the opportunity to gaze at him can not be wasted. You’re studying the features of his face carefully, your eyes tracing over the contours of his lips when suddenly his phone alarm goes off, startling you.

It doesn’t disturb Van, who only shifts slightly before dozing back off. The phone is too far away for you to do anything about it. You sigh.

“Van?” You’re hesitant when you speak.

“Hmph?”

“Your alarm is going off.”

At that Van starts to shuffle underneath the blankets. One of his arms unfolds so that he can wipe the hair out of his face before he uses his other elbow to support his weight, grasping for his phone.

In his stretch to grab his phone he causes the blankets to slip down, leaving you both mostly uncovered. Instantly your skin protests at the cold hotel room air, and you grasp for the edge of the comforter to haul it back up. It’s slipped just below Van’s thighs, exposing the boxers he’d slept in. As you grip the fabric Van’s finished shutting the alarm off, putting his phone back on the bedside table and flopping onto his back. His readjustment means that you clearly see the way he’s tenting in his boxers.

You tug the blankets up quickly, eyes wide. Van looks like he’s already in the process of drifting back off, eyes closed where he’s laying, oblivious to what you’ve seen. You rest your head back down on the pillow.

“Are you falling back asleep?” You ask after he’s been still for a bit.

“No,” He croaks, but you’re not convinced. He only further proves your point when he gets back on his stomach, curling up into the position he had been in minutes before.

One moment you’re admiring the way his t-shirt stretches across his back, the next your hand has moved of its own accord, your fingers gently scratching him through the fabric. You truly hadn’t meant to do it. But he’s in a white shirt instead of his usual black, and his skin is visible against the cotton, and you’ve been yearning to touch him any chance you get. The fact he was hard only made you crave it more, knowing that he wanted you to touch him as bad as you wanted to touch him.

At the first graze of your fingertips against his shirt you freeze, realizing what you’re doing. You pull your hand away.

Van makes a noise of distaste against the pillow. It sounds like he says something, but you can’t make his words out.

“What?”

“Tease,” He huffs.

You frown. “How?”

“Because,” He mumbles sleepily, shifting against the pillow so that he’s looking at you. “Scratch my back.”

“We gotta get up.”

“After you scratch my back.”

You reach out and run your nails over his shirt as if you’d done it a million times. He smiles, closing his eyes in bliss as you humor him, loosely guiding your hand up and down his spine and over his shoulders.

“Ready to get up yet?” You ask in amusement when Van relaxes into the mattress even more.

“No,” He groans. “I’m so fucking tired.”

Without thinking about it your fingers slide under the hem of Van’s shirt, so that now you’re scratching his skin. You can feel his muscles twitching beneath your fingertips.

“You’re never tired,” You point out.

“I am when I’ve been jet-lagged for a week straight. Fuck.”

Even while he’s huffing about waking up he’s preening under your touch, clearly enjoying himself.

“I’ll get coffee going,” You tell him before slipping your hand out of his shirt, earning yourself a dirty look.

When you head for the coffee machine is when Van realizes you’re not coming back, finally yawning and forcing himself to sit up.

“I gotta get in the shower.”

He’s rubbing his eyes as he finally emerges from bed, stumbling to grab his toiletries from his luggage. You chance a peek at him when he stands up straight, but he’s strategically carrying a pouch with stuff for his morning shave so that his hard on’s concealed.

You busy yourself preparing both of your coffees, filling two disposable cups. He finally makes it into the bathroom, flicking the lights on and getting the water running before shutting the door, the knob clicking as he locks it. You’d been hoping he’d invite you to shower with him, but apparently he was serious about being exhausted.

You start to go through your own things, getting yourself ready. Jet lag had caused you both to sleep well into the afternoon, and it wouldn’t be long before the ride to the venue was here. As long as you try to avoid it, eventually you need to use the bathroom sink, tapping nervously at the locked door.

“Are you knocking?” Van’s voice echoes from the shower.

“Yeah!” You yell against the heavy wooden door. “I need to use the sink!”

There’s the wet slap of footsteps before the knob rattles and the door opens.

Van’s already disappeared behind the curtain by the time you’re in the bathroom. You focus on getting ready through the steam that’s forming on the glass. In perfect timing, once you’re about to complain that it’s too hard to see the spray cuts off, Van stepping out.

He’s dripping water all over the floor, his skin pink from the heat. He doesn’t have a towel immediately in reach, causing him to meander around looking for one, leaving the room for a moment. The steam escapes through the door, helping to clear the mirror.

When he comes back in he’s got one towel wrapped around his waist, another slung over his shoulders, and a hairbrush in hand. When he turns to brush his hair you can tell that he’s soft now.

You suppress a smile at what that implies.

The whole route to the venue you’re engrossed in the familiar sights. The landmarks, the major streets, a restaurant here or there that you’d eaten at after concerts at the very venue you were headed to.

Saint Andrew’s hasn’t changed much, although you can tell there’s been some renovations. The walkthrough with the band feels like deja vu, your body familiar with the layout of the building even though you haven’t been there since high school. Bondy asks where a restroom is, and before one of the staff can answer you point him towards the door without thinking about it. Only once you’re actually backstage, where your brain doesn’t have any material to push memories to the forefront of your mind, do you feel more normal.

You’re good about staying away from the public areas until soundcheck, which you don’t intend to miss. Watching everyone perform as friends rather than professionals in such a laid-back atmosphere has become one of your favorite perks of being a guest. You’re comfortable enough to stray from the wings this time around, instead choosing to venture on stage with the boys. You sit down in the corner, your legs dangling off of the edge, as out of the way and as far from the amps as you can get.

“Eh, didn’t sound right to me,” Bondy jokes after they’ve checked Sidetrack. “Felt a bit flat.”

“Aw, fuck you,” Van tells him, his footsteps vibrating the stage as he makes it back to his microphone. “Focus on yourself. Pretty sure I heard you play the chorus wrong.”

“That was you, actually.”

They do this all rehearsal, all of them poking at each other with no real malice. But you can tell the boys are having an extra dose of fun today with you around.

“Did that sound right to you, Y/N?” Bondy asks. “Maybe it’s just me, I dunno.”

“Yeah, let’s ask Y/N, our true impartial listener,” Van says into the microphone. It reverberates around the empty hall.

“Stop asking me!” You whine, looking over at them. “Everyone sounds great. Grow up.”

Everyone seems to find your irritation funnier than picking on Van.

“What about the drums?” Bondy continues. “I think Bob missed a beat there.”

You shake your head, not justifying him with a reply. Everyone snickers.

They go through their next song in fits and starts as adjustments are made, and your mind drifts away as they talk quietly amongst themselves. You gaze at the polished wooden floor the audience will be standing on later tonight, and your eyes travel up to the high, detailed ceilings of the room. It’s impossible not to remember all the times you’ve been under this ceiling, standing atop this exact floor, watching a band perform on this very stage with your then-boyfriend. You were always here with him because these had been his favorite bands, his group of friends that you two met up with. Looking around the room now feels like being somewhere haunted, like if you close your eyes you can see your life exactly the way it used to be. The way it was when you thought you were content where you were, when you felt your whole future was laid out in front of you and you didn’t have a problem following that path. When you didn’t know what else was out there for you.

You’re startled out of your thoughts by Van plopping down next to you, chugging a waterbottle. You realize they’ve finished soundcheck, everyone starting to quietly disperse.

“You okay?” He asks, gazing out into the space with you.

“Yeah,” You say, distracted.

“We’re only teasing, you know that, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” You brush his concern off. “I know that.”

“You seem upset.”

You shake your head. “I’m not upset. It feels weird being here.”

“Wanna smoke?”

You nod, hopping up to go follow him outside.

Once you’re out of the back door, greeted by a stifling wave of heat and humidity, Van meanders away from the venue. You follow along, looking at what’s changed on the block since the last time you’ve been. The building directly next to the hall is clearly abandoned now, and there’s a lone tree growing in a patch of grass in the narrow strip between that building and the store next to it. Van gravitates toward it, and you’re happy to be in the shade.

“What used to be here?” Van asks, nodding towards the abandoned lot. It’s evident that concert goers seem to know about this little space, considering there’s graffiti etched into the bricks. People’s names, random dates, mysterious phone numbers. There’s some actual tags spraypainted in various spots on the wall, but you’re more interested in the smaller messages.

“A bar. It was cool. Right after the concert everyone would go directly here. I wonder why they closed down. No doubt they made a ton of money.”

“You went?”

“Eh, occasionally. They’d be so packed right after a show you could weasel your way past the person checking IDs sometimes.” Your brain provides you with more memories of your past from the seemingly endless supply it has today.

“Why’d you break up with your last ex?” You blurt out. It’s so nosey and off topic you immediately want to kick yourself, but Van is unfazed, finishing his hit of his cigarette.

“I thought you hated talking about exes,” He points out.

“I do. Guess I’m just feeling really… reflective today.”

Once you were outside Van had slipped on the pair of sunglasses he’s kept dangling from the collar of his button up, so his expression is unreadable. His lenses just reflect you smoking back at yourself, so you look away.

“We were a bad match,” He says. “Always at each other’s throats. I didn’t see as much of a problem with it as the boys did. She did not like them and they did not fucking like her. They had to talk some real sense into me. But I’m glad they did.”

“Why were you with her? If she didn’t get along with anyone?”

“You know, this is gonna sound like such bullshit, but I really think I just forgot what love felt like. When you’re younger, and going to school and what have you, you know who you’re into, you know? Does that makes sense? If you’re in a class with thirty people, it’s easy to pick out who you’ve got a thing for.”

You nod, following along.

“So I met my first love in school. The thing is, though, nothing feels like your first love. Right? So when that’s said and done, you’re trying to find that feeling again, but it’s never the same, whatever. So for a while I would date girls and we would either be intensely in love or have no spark whatsoever. But then you’re an adult, and you’re working, and I’m not in one place very long. If I meet someone I like they’re not someone I see regularly because I’m always doing band stuff. So before you know it you’ve been single forever. Then it’s kinda… alright, our connection isn’t crazy, but it works. I started settling, I guess.”

You nod enthusiastically, his dating history resonating with your own.

“Anyway, when I met her, we had a lot of passion. So to me, I’m like, fuck, okay, I’m in love again. And when we got along, things were-” He gestures smoothly with his hand. “But we never got along. I swear we actually fucking hated each other most of the time. But at least I was feeling something for someone, so I figured we could work things out. Um, but we didn’t. And the fighting was unbearable. Interrupting rehearsals, nights out. We were always leaving early and always screaming in front of people. Bondy and Bob and Benji just got sick of it. Told me to cut it out. So, eventually I did.”

“That was pretty deep,” You remark, and Van laughs. “When’d you break up?”

“Right before Christmas,” Van tells you. “She absolutely freaked. But I got home and my mum and dad were so fucking relieved she wasn’t with me. That’s when I knew everyone had been right.”

“She met your parents?”

“They actually came to see us at a show while she was with me. She was starting shit with me all day, holy shit. They met her that one time and then avoided anything having to do with her like the plague.”

“That sounds genuinely awful.”

Van shrugs. “It is what it is. Learned a valuable lesson. Got some good songs out of it.”

You suppose relationships gone bad do probably hurt less when you make your living off of them.

“Let’s hear yours.”

“My last ex?” You ask, and Van nods.

“Eh. He was cheating on me.”

Van winces. “That’s shit.”

You shrug. “It wasn’t a big deal, honestly. I know that sounds crazy. I didn’t have any real spark with him, I didn’t really care. What I hated the most was how he thought he was so fucking clever and I knew the entire time.”

Van snorts. “How’d you figure it out?”

“Ugh,” You roll your eyes, “It was so easy! He was so stupid! First, when we became official his profile was still up on Tinder. Mine was still up too, okay, whatever-” You hold your hands up in joking guilt, “-But I would catch him actually on the app. And he had previews turned on for his notifications! I would literally catch girls texting him!”

Van chuckles along at your animated storytelling.

“And that’s it, really. I let it go on for a little bit because I was lonely at the time, but then it wasn’t funny anymore and it was over.”

“And when was this?”

“Psh. Long, long time ago. A year ago, at least. Year and a half, maybe.”

Both of your cigarettes are long burnt out. You add them to the collection of the other butts lying in the dirt around the tree.

“Have you ever cheated?” You decide to ask Van. Maybe if he has, you can convince yourself not to be in love with him. You’d have a sensible reason why it’d never work.

“Christ. I have, don’t judge me.”

At his words you perk up, eager to find a flaw.

“I was fifteen,” Van groans when he sees how intently you’re watching him. “It was nothing. I was technically dating a girl in my maths class but I kissed another girl under the bleachers after football practice.”

You laugh so hard your stomach hurts because of course, of course that’s Van McCann’s story of cheating. He tries to keep a straight face, looking rather remorseful, but eventually he cracks too, laughing along.

When you’re here with Van, sweating to death and laughing about innocent heartbreak, you forget all about the ghosts that follow you around this place. It occurs to you then that what’s most important is now. It’s nice to know about Van’s crazy ex, but it’s even nicer that he’s here with you instead of arguing with her. And it’s nice to remember times when you were younger, when things were simpler, but you realize that during your friendship with Van you’re probably happier than you ever were in the past. And it’s wishful thinking, but you can’t help but hope that maybe he feels the same way.

“So, do you actually ever use the bus?” You call to Van in the bathroom. He’s got the door open, fresh out of his post-show shower. You’re kicked back on the bed, texting about the show with Mary.

“Uh, we do,” Van laughs like it was a stupid question. “We’re practically on it twenty-four seven. We’d usually be on it tonight heading to the next place.”

“Why aren’t you?”

“I asked to stay the extra night because I was meeting up with you.”

At this your eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean? We can’t get driving to the next place when you need to be at the airport in the morning. I said I had a friend coming in and could we stay an extra night because she has to fly. And they said that was fine with the schedule.”

You immediately shoot a text to Mary relaying your conversation. Just found out Van asked to adjust the schedule for me???

Mary’s reply pings back immediately: EXPLAIN?!?!

You’re typing a summary of what Van’s just said when you hear him speak from the bathroom. You don’t catch what he said.

“I can’t hear you!” You call to him.

“I said,” Van appears in the doorway, shirtless with a pair of sweats slung low on his hips. “Have you ever seen a tour bus?”

“No. Aren’t they like an RV?”

“A what?”

“An RV?”

“What the fuck is an RV?”

You look up at him in exasperation. “You know-” You gesture with your hands, “Giant things, you drive them, you take them camping. They have a kitchen and a bed and stuff? Like a house on wheels?”

Van cocks his head. “A motorhome?”

“Yes! A motorhome, sure.”

“Right. No, they’re nothing like that.”

“Okay, then I have no clue what they’re like.”

Van speaks again while he’s tugging on his t-shirt, successfully muffling his words. Yet when he pops his head through the collar, he’s looking at you for a response.

“I did not hear a word you just said,” You tell him with raised eyebrows.

Van rolls his eyes. “I said, do you wanna see ours?”

You do, but you hesitate. “Are we going to be bugging anyone?”

“Nah. Everyone’s in rooms tonight.”

“Then yeah, I do wanna see.”

Van stuffs his feet into a pair of slippers. “Then c’mon, get some shoes on.”

You hadn’t realized he’d meant right this second, but you get up from the bed, tucking your phone in your pocket and slipping on the flip-flops you’d brought for the shower. He pockets one of the room keys as you follow him out of the suite and down to the parking lot.

There’s nobody around considering the late hour of the night.

“Do you have a key?” You ask curiously when Van approaches the bus empty handed.

“No. You use a code.” He hits a combination of numbers on a small keypad, and with a beep he’s able to slide the door aside, letting you head up the stairs before him.

It looks like a regular coach bus when you look around, like the ones schools rent for long field trips. There’s two pairs of leather seats that face each other, and a small table dividing them.

Van appears behind you, stepping around so that he can lead the tour.

You couldn’t see it from where you were standing, but once you follow Van you see a narrow countertop nestled on one side. There’s a minifridge, a coffee pot, and a microwave nearby in the small space, and a small restaurant-booth seat where you presume people eat.

“Here’s the little kitchen,” Van says, gesturing to the countertop and booth.

Although it’s clear that the space is lived in, given the various foods lined up on the surfaces, there’s no trash or mess to be seen. “It’s really clean.”

Van snorts. “We’re slobs. It’s all thanks to the team.”

“They clean up after you?”

“They take care of the trash. Throw out the old food, get us some new stuff, that kind of thing.”

Van clicks open a door, showing you the inside of a new room. “Bathroom,” He explains, and you peek your head in, surprised to see a sink. You didn’t really consider there was running water in these things.

You’re almost at the end of the bus, and you haven’t seen any bunks. “So, do you, like, recline those seats to sleep? Like a plane?”

Van glances over his shoulder at you. “No. The bunks are upstairs.”

“How do you-” You start to ask, but before you can finish your sentence Van has started climbing up to the second level using a staircase in the corner.

You struggle to keep up with him, amazed as you climb up the steps to a whole new area. Lined against the walls are the actual bunks.

This area hasn’t been cleaned, considering each mattress is piled with rumpled bedding and various belongings. Some bunks were clearly being used as storage instead of a place to sleep, suitcases resting on them instead of blankets.

Van leads you to one of the top beds on the left side. It’s been messily made.

Van pats the colorful quilt resting on top of his sheets. “Here’s mine.”

“It’s made,” You remark, also reaching out to feel his blanket. “This quilt is really nice.”

“I try to at least throw it together in the morning.” He shrugs. “And my mum made me this, actually.”

“What?” You lean in closer to try and examine his quilt. Van messes with something before a light in the bunk comes on, illuminating the small space. “This looks amazing! Like it’s from a store.”

“Yeah. She’s handy with a sewing machine. She made it for me when I was leaving for New York. Now it’s my official touring blanket.”

His story makes your heart swell. You’re quiet as you continue to admire Mary’s work.

“Wanna hop in?” Van interrupts your thoughts.

It takes some maneuvering, but you managed to wriggle your body onto Van’s mattress. It’s about the same size as a twin bed, but the walls on three sides of you mean there’s no luxury of sprawling out.

“How do you fit in here?” You ask him. When you stretch out all the way, your toes bump the opposite end of the bed. You can’t imagine Van fits in here comfortably considering how tall he is.

“Eh, bend your knees a little. I’m used to it.”

You were already short on space, but things start to feel a bit claustrophobic when Van hops into bed with you. You’re stuffed between him and the wall.

“This is a squeeze,” You point out. Van’s pressed so close to you that when he exhales you can smell the toothpaste on his breath.

“You’re telling me.” You can feel his voice rumble through his chest.

There’s a moment of quiet when a thought suddenly pops into your head. “Oh my God, have you ever had sex in here?”

Van exhales a quiet laugh, and you feel his fingertips fussing with the hem of your shirt. “What, hoping to be the first?”

It’s hard to keep your train of thought straight when you feel his fingertips brush over your hipbone. “I’m only asking!” You manage to say.

“Ha. Yes I’ve had sex on a bunk,” He admits. “But, like, a long time ago. This might surprise you, but it’s not the most comfortable experience.”

In retaliation for his sarcasm you slip your own fingers underneath his shirt, pinching his side.

“Oi!” Van cries out in surprise. The space is so small that it sounds like he just shouted at full volume. You cringe.

“Don’t be so fucking loud,” You complain, pinching him again for good measure. “Right in my ear!”

“Well don’t pinch me!” Van scoffs.

“Fine, I won’t,” You hiss before tickling him.

“Cut it out,” Van pleads, twitching helplessly under your fingers. Before you know it he’s pushed your shirt up, tickling you roughly in retaliation.

One second you’re both squirming around, commanding each other to stop, and the next second Van’s lips are on yours. You freeze in surprise.

When he catches you by surprise he kisses you harder, his body shifting so that he’s hovering over you. When your brain catches up you relent on your attack, your arms wrapping around his shoulders instead.

“What are you doing?” You ask when he pulls back.

He grins. “Getting you to stop.”

He’s got a satisfied smirk like he’s won. If only he knew that losing felt like winning first prize to you.

“Well you better keep going,” You taunt him, teasingly tickling at the back of his neck. “Or else.”

You feel his smile as he kisses you again, pressing your lips open with his own so he can deepen it.

When it’s your turn to smile through the kiss he slowly pulls away, eyebrows raised. “What?”

You don’t answer him for a second, happily taking in the features of his face. You move one of your hands away from his shoulder to cup his jaw, running your thumb along the prominent line of it. His morning shave means his skin is silky smooth, no scratch of stubble against your skin. He’s still waiting for a response.

“I missed you,” You tell him. It’s the closest words to ‘I love you’ that you two exchange. “I missed you, like, a lot.”

Van grins, his body shifting so his face is inches away from yours. The feeling of his stomach rubbing against yours, even through your layers of clothes, sends a spark up your spine.

“Miss me?” He chuckles quietly. “I’m right here.”

“Now,” You argue, running your fingers through his hair. It’s still wet from the shower, making your knuckles damp.

Van laughs, kissing you again. This one is lacking heat, just a sweet, quick press of his mouth to yours. “Aw. I missed you too.”

“I’m right here,” You mock him, playfully poking one of the darker freckles on his cheek.

“Oh, I’m aware,” Van teases, leaning forward for another kiss. “And if you don’t mind, I’m prepared to take full advantage of that fact.”

You hate to crack the mood, but at his line you let out a laugh that’s too loud considering your proximity. “Oh, that was smooth, that was smooth,” You praise him, ruffling his hair.

Van looks proud of himself, lowering his chin to your chest and beaming up at you.

“But yeah,” You tell him, sliding your hands over his back, “It’d be a shame if you didn’t.”

With your approval Van starts to heave himself out of the bunk, a tangle of limbs too long to be confined into this space.

“Are we going back to the room?” You ask as Van helps you down.

“No. Somewhere where there’s more space.”

His fingertips are cold as he loosely tangles them with yours, gently tugging you away from the bunks, in the opposite direction of the staircase. It’s not quite hand-holding, but it’s close enough to stun you, gazing down at your entwined hands as Van leads you the short distance to a door. He releases you so that he can swing it open, and by now you’re used to being ushered in first.

He’s led you to a tiny room that only contains a couch, a television in the wall, and a PlayStation surrounded in a tangle of wires on the floor.

“Of course,” Van sighs under his breath as you two take in the couch. It’s covered in clutter, mostly dirty clothes and the PlayStation remotes. Within the blink of an eye he’s crossed the room, starting to toss whatever clothes have been abandoned here onto the floor. You help too, taking care of the remotes, beer bottles, and cigarette boxes. The end result is a clean couch and a messy floor.

“Yeah,” You say to nobody in particular as you relax into the couch, which is long enough to stretch out on. “There’s a lot more space.”

Van tugs his t-shirt off, tossing it onto the floor with the mess. You follow suit.

Only once your shirt is off do you notice the lighting. The small lamp in the bunk had been cozy, but this room is shrouded in the sort of lighting public bathrooms had; it was fluorescent yet dim, casting a yellow glow, and doing everything in its power to illuminate any flaws. Immediately after looking down at your exposed body you wish you could pull your shirt back on.

“I hate these lights,” You declare to Van.

“Hold on,” Van grunts, wriggling around as he searches for something. “We’ve got something better.”

After some commotion the wall the couch is pressed against is suddenly illuminated with a soft glow. It looks as if there’s lighting installed into the back of the couch, but when Van crosses the room and flicks the lightswitch off you realize that the boys have a string of fairy lights resting against the edge of the seats. The atmosphere of the room is suddenly much more welcoming.

You hadn’t realized your shoulders were tense until you feel them sag in relief. At the sight of Van approaching the couch again, however, you tense up again.

“Condom?” You check, terrified of an Arizona repeat.

“Right, right,” Van clicks his tongue, heading for the door again. “I’ll be right back.”

With nobody else on the bus, you can clearly hear the shuffle of Van looking around. Thankfully he returns with a foil packet in hand, locking the door behind him.

When he sits down on the couch, he holds the packet close to the string of fairy lights, squinting at it.

“What?” You ask as Van struggles to read the text on it. You notice it’s an orange color, not the blue of Van’s usual trojans.

“It’s ribbed. Will that work?”

“Sure,” You nod. Truthfully, you’ve never tried them, but you will tonight if it means getting the show on the road. “Whose is that?”

“Bondy’s.” Van sets the condom aside on the floor, proceeding to strip away his sweatpants. “I’ll have to remember I owe him one.”

He says this so casually, as if they borrow condoms from each other regularly. You shake your head at how odd men are as you finish stripping your clothes away.

Once the clothes are off and you two gravitate into the same position you were in on the bunk, the mood starts to come back. It hadn’t gone far, considering Van was still hard. He busies himself with your foreplay, his fingertips gingerly searching for a good spot against your clit.

“There,” You say quickly, when he’s gotten it right. But he’s already moved, the sensation lost.

“Where?” Van tries to move back into his previous place. He’s almost got it right, but it’s slightly off. “Here?”

You reach down between your legs, Van’s fingers going pliant as he allows you to readjust him. “There.”

He adds pressure, moving in his usual wide circle. Your nerves light up with it, your hips twitching up instinctually. He knows he’s gotten it right by your reaction.

In reward you reach down to work on him. The back of your hand brushes his dick. It’s swollen and radiating heat, and a smear of precome brushes over your skin. Van practically jumps out of his skin. You don’t want to bring him any closer to the edge than he already is, so you decide to slide your hand lower instead, gently cupping his balls.

“Shit,” Van hisses, flinching.

You freeze. “Do you hate it?”

“No, no,” He breathes, and you feel him relax.

“How do you like it?”

Van shakes his head. “Never had it. Go easy on ‘em.”

You don’t have the mental space to process what he’s said, too consumed by the way he’s touching you. With his request you keep your touch gentle. You’re both hypnotized, the foreplay going on for longer than usual, and you’re almost tempted to call off the sex and come only from his fingers. You can tell he’s becoming more familiar with your body, his hand keeping the right rhythm as he kisses the spot on your neck that always makes you moan. But he’s not the only one that’s been studying, and instead of your usual breathy moan you let his name slip just to rile him up more.

That seems to snap him out of his daze, and with a playful nip to that spot on your neck he pulls away, stretching down to grab for the condom. You let your hand fall away from his balls, rubbing his inner thigh instead while he slides his foreskin back and gets the condom over himself.

“Any special requests?” He asks as his way of checking in, and you feel the gentle pressure of him nestling into position.

“Yeah,” You reply as you shuffle to make sure your hips are at the right angle. “You better not pretend I’m the girlfriend you fucked in the bunk once.”

Van gives a loud scoff, his eyebrows furrowing. He looks down at you like you’ve just grown a second head.

“Are you kidding?” He asks, cocking his head. “Have you looked at yourself? Why would I fucking want to?”

It had mostly been a joke, but there was always a small part of you that wondered if Van used your arrangement to relive past experiences. It always hurt to consider, especially since he was the clear winner out of everyone you’d ever physically been with. At his sincerity you gulp, giving a small nod.

He shakes his head at you in exasperation. “Christ, Y/N. You know, I’ve never met anyone like you.”

You eye him wearily. “Okay, that sounds like an insult, but to be fair, I’ve never met anyone like you, either!”

Van chuckles as he starts his first slow thrust inside of you, effectively shutting you up. “Deffo not an insult.”

Something about his response makes you unexpectedly emotional. You chalk it up to a heady mix of love hormones and the relaxation that sweeps over you at your anxieties being assuaged. It was in the way he responded enthusiastically, rather than brushing you off. As you two get started it still takes you a minute to shake off the memory of his face peering down at you like you were absolutely insane for even insinuating such a thing. Even then, his words linger.

You know, I’ve never met anyone like you.

#summer's a knife #catfish and the bottlemen #catb #van mccann #van mccann fic #van mccann fanfiction #vanfic #catb fic #please enjoy me waxing poetic about saint andrew's hall

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