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mysteria157 · 5 months ago

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Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

CW: Light Profanity, Light Alcohol Consumption, Explicit Sexual Content, Missionary, Fingering, Mentions of Cunnilingus, Public Sex (Sort of), Office Sex

WC: ~9.8k

Summary:

Nanami may be disconnected from social media trends, but he’s not oblivious. He’s overheard the crass innuendos and seen the tasteless memes on Yuji's phone. He knows the vulgar things some men say—about how excited they get when the summer begins.

It always seemed so stupid and dramatic to Nanami, who has never had a straying eye to actually see if the rumors were true. But now that you’ve come into his life…he gets it.

Oh, he gets it.

Sundress season.

Notes: Hello! Had a random thought this morning and decided to roll with it and practice writing Nanami some more. Anywho, I hope you all enjoy this one-shot.

This is a prime example of me writing smut when I feel like it. Please do not ask me for more related to this story and please do not ask me to write smut, the answer is no lol. This is just a one-shot of a random idea, please enjoy it for what it is lol. Thank you all for understanding!

Reblogs, likes, or comments are always appreciated! Happy reading!

Dividers: @cafekitsune @arminsumi | Header: made by myself

Masterlist | Ao3 | Twitter |

The city summers are a different kind of hell. The humid heat clings to Nanami, making his skin feel instantly tacky as if he hasn’t showered in days. It wreaks havoc on his usual crisp suit and tie, causing the fabric to stubbornly adhere in unflattering ways. He thinks back wistfully to his bachelor days when he could simply escape such misery by holing up inside with the AC blasting, and then wait until the evening for a walk or to run errands. But that was before you came into his life like a vivacious sunbeam, all warmth and carefree laughter.

Now, he wouldn’t dream of depriving you of simple joys like strolling hand-in-hand through the park, watching you bask in nature’s dazzling seasonal shifts. The fragrant flowers blooming, the fireflies flickering to life as dusk settles, the earthy pre-rain smell you adore—he lives for the ease of these tranquil moments.

Throughout your relationship, Nanami has cataloged your ever-changing looks to match the passing seasons. The oversized chunky sweaters and leggings you’d cuddle up in during fall’s crisp breezes. The sleek peacoats and woolen scarves wound around your neck when winter blanketed the city in soft stillness.

But summertime is when your vibrant spirit and personal style shines. And it’s Nanami’s first summer with you when everything changes.

It always seemed so stupid and dramatic to Nanami, who has never had a straying eye to actually see if the rumors were true. But now that you’ve come into his life…he gets it.

Oh, he gets it.

Sundress season.

And it’s a season that has awoken something primal within him. Something in his gut stirs, something in his mind shifts and the more he notices, the more he feels like a lecherous old man instead of the well-mannered one in his late twenties. While his clothes stick uncomfortably to his sweat-slicked skin you get to slip into breezy summer dresses that let every inch of your beautiful body breathe.

As an event planner constantly on the move, you seem to live in the wispy, colorful outfits at all hours of the day. Like the buttercup yellow and candy pink number currently floating around you as you stroll together to the bakery during your shared lunch hour. It’s modest—cotton fabric that doesn’t stick to you, with ruffle short sleeves and a V-neckline that highlights your collarbones and the delicate diamond necklace resting between.

Nanami risks a sidelong glance, instantly regretting it when his gaze gets trapped by the way the bright floral pattern sways and twists with each step you take. The hem brushes the brown skin of your knees and while he can’t see much, Nanami knows the soft curves hidden underneath the airy fabric intimately.

While the caveman part of him can understand the underlying meaning of sundress season, it’s everything else that flares his want for you. It’s the wild curls that brush your cheeks and neck, the diamond earrings that reflect in the sun, the curl of your long lashes that kiss your lower lids when you blink. And yes—the gorgeous dress that you have on enhances everything about you—but in the most basic sense, you are beautiful.

“You’re staring.” It’s a playful accusation that you direct at him even though your eyes are admiring the tulips that you both walk past.

He quickly averts his eyes, sharp cheeks blazing a fiery red. “My apologies I…” Nanami clears his throat, struggling to regain his usual unruffled demeanor. “That dress looks lovely on you.”

You hum in acknowledgment, pausing so he can open the bakery door for you. “You think so? I just picked it up last week. Perfect for this heat, isn’t it?”

Nanami swallows hard at the teasing tilt to your tone, the innocent question feeling anything but. From the very first day he met you—that very first day you knocked back a glass of expensive whiskey and smiled at him as if it was nothing—he’s come to accept that you have no reservations of flustering him. You thrive on it, and for as stiff as Nanami is, you are a breath of fresh air that he never imagined would slide into his lungs.

Umber eyes watch you walk ahead of him and into the welcoming AC of the bakery, tantalizing calves flexing with each step.

“Very much…” is all he can manage, hastily ripping his eyes away again as his equilibrium dangerously shifts.

You laugh lightly at his sudden silence, the warm, rich sound simultaneously soothing his thundering heart and making it trip up all over again. “You act like you’ve never seen me in a dress before.”

“You know that’s not true,” he mutters, switching his gaze to the menu to avoid your entirely too-innocent smile. “I simply…appreciate fine things.”

The rich ring of your answering chuckle sends molten desire licking traitorously down his spine. “Is that so? Then I’ll have to acquire more of these stunning ‘fine things’ for you to appreciate this summer…”

He should have known better than to egg you on. Had he kept his eyes to himself and brushed off your knowing glances, he could have enjoyed you without your playful watch. But for as smart as Nanami is, for as observant and vigilant in his work as he is in his life outside of it, he can never wrap his head around how devious you truly are.

One day, the weather calms down enough for lunch at the park. It’s the perfect day to eat outside. The sun is high in the sky but the canopy of trees gives you both the protection you need from harsh rays.

“Need any help setting up?” You call out, shrugging off the ice denim jacket from your shoulders to reveal this summer’s newest addition—an angelic white sundress adorned with delicate lace trim.

Nanami’s throat tightens and he shakes his head, unfurling a blue blanket onto the thick grass below you both. “I can do it, love. Please just relax.”

He carefully arranges the picnic blanket, spreading the wrinkles free before you plop down on one side. As you dig into the large lunchbox, he admires the crisp white cotton that seems to skim over your frame, covering you but still unable to touch. Thin straps leave your shoulders bare, your skin glowing in the sun from your shimmery sunscreen. No necklace this time, so the square neckline dips just enough to offer a subtle hint of cleavage. The stretchy ribbed material hugs and accentuates every lush curve before gently flaring into an effortless, free-flowing skirt.

You purse your lips and furrow your brow in concentration, leaning more over the lunchbox, your back straightening to steady yourself before he watches free of shame as you arch just so.

When you turn to flash him that achingly fond smile, your curls falling over one shoulder, all traces of decency flee from Nanami’s mind. In that moment, he’s transported back to those dizzying early days of your relationship—entirely captivated, yet utterly terrified of somehow shattering this dazzling, undeserved connection between you.

“Thirsty?” You hold out one of the banana milk boxes that he’s grown to love since your presence, an impish quirk of your brow, clearly aware of his slow descent into hell.

Nanami nods jerkily and takes the milk box, unable to find his voice for a beat. As you settle down gracefully beside him, the skirt drifts up in a gentle billow, shaping to and showcasing skin. He has to tear his eyes away from the wicked flashes of toned thigh with extreme willpower.

Like the devil you are, you toss him a coy smirk, shiny lip gloss clear even though he knows it tastes like strawberry. “We gonna eat or are you just gonna gawk at me like a weirdo?”

He can’t help the scoff that leaves him as he pulls out sandwiches for you both. “I thought you liked when I gawk at you.”

“Not when I’m hungry.”

He shakes his head, smirking softly as he removes the cling wrap before handing you your half, your fingers brushing against his. Warm pleasure blooms in his chest at the radiant sight you make contrasted against the swaying greenery. It’s as if you don’t belong but he couldn’t imagine you anywhere else. You take a generous bite of your sandwich, a smear of mustard in the crease of your lips as you offer him a gentle smile.

As the scorching summer rages, Nanami can’t help but chastise himself. A mundane and childish social meme has become the representation of the hardest test he’s ever taken. Maybe he should have asked for tips from Yuji on how to better prepare himself.

He’s always prided himself on admiring from afar, on controlling his emotions in public and savoring them later in private. He knows your beauty and the unintentional way you drain the air around him. But he’s always been able to offer that soft smile, place a hand on your shoulder or your waist and offer a compliment to whatever you’ve chosen to wear for the day. But recently, in the face of your summertime wardrobe choices, Nanami finds that steely discipline faltering at an alarming rate.

Sinking deeper into the plush living room sofa, Nanami exhales a deep sigh and allows the tension thrumming through his shoulders to bleed away. Here, surrounded by the apartment’s climate-controlled sanctuary, he can savor these increasingly rare moments of solitary peace sprawled out with a good book. It’s a well-deserved shared day off for you both—free of schedules, obligations, or anything more strenuous than lounging around with each other. And more importantly, at home, you’re nothing but comfortable clothes and soft pajamas.

He’s safe.

A wry smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as he imagines the look of feigned innocence you always sport whenever he gets too overt about appreciating your seasonal attire. As if you don’t know the absolutely devastating effect even the simplest hair toss or twirl has on what’s left of his challenging self-restraint these days.

It’s going to be a great day. He’s almost done with this book, just three more chapters and then he can start another in his pile that he wants to tackle this summer. That’s right, Nanami Kento is going to—

The soft pad of your bare feet against the hardwood floors has Nanami glancing up instinctively from behind the novel’s pages. And just like that, the world around him completely whites out as if he’s been hit over the head with a brick.

You’ve emerged from the hallway in a yellow sundress so vibrantly captivating, so deliciously clingy and effortlessly suggestive that he nearly swallows his tongue in surprise. The rich gold hue kisses the deep tone of your skin, as if you’re a sunflower blooming under the artificial lighting of the apartment. The dress accentuates your shape in the most brazenly tantalizing way—the thin ruffle straps on your shoulders, the sweetheart neckline hinting at full cleavage, the dress’ light hem hitting indecently high on your thighs in playful flirty wisps.

But it’s the stretchy knit fabric’s complete inability to disguise any curve or meaty swell that really has Nanami sitting up straighter on the cushions. It’s not layered well enough—almost transparent—and the snug material leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, from the outline of bright panties that cover the soft spread of your hips to the pert dusky points outlined beneath the bodice.

Absolutely devastating and on full, confident display and this isn’t fair because he has three chapters left.

He barely registers the “What are you reading?” you offer him over one shoulder as you stroll towards the kitchen area in that swaying, uninhibited saunter that never fails to ignite his senses. Nanami simply sits there transfixed—one hand gripping the spine of his book while the other claws restlessly against his own inner thigh. Each roll of your hips has that thin dress swishing and lifting in tiny torturous glimpses that have his imagination veering wildly into unrestrained territory. But he’s at home, that’s okay right?

That’s when you shift your weight onto the tips of your toes, your back turned to him, stretching up towards the top cabinets with one hand braced against the counter…and the entire world seems to judder to a halt all over again. Because from this new vantage point, Nanami can’t tear his eyes away from the call of your legs, the dimples on the backs of your thighs, up, up to the hem and—

A guttural sound wrenches free from low in his diaphragm, a mix of a groan and a growled curse. He looks back down to his book, searching aimlessly for where he left off, flickering back over to you just as quick.

He should look away, tear his eyes off of the gloriously indecent picture you’ve unwittingly created simply by existing. And yet…Nanami finds his stare burning an increasingly blazing trail down the bewitching ‘V’ between your shoulder blades, past the delicious dip of your arched lower back to the toned flare of your thighs and calves below.

At one point, you bend even deeper at the waist, hips tilting up as you struggle to reach a particularly elusive item on the high shelf. The filmy yellow skirt jumps and flirts up with the motion, granting Nanami a shameless eyeful of toned thighs and the flash of his favorite pair of panties—lilac with lace along the edges that squeeze the skin of your ass in the most inviting way. He very nearly drops the book from his suddenly slack fingers at the sight, hissing out a low curse between his teeth.

You huff out an adorable sound of frustration as you fail to reach whatever item you’re going for, and he knows he should step in to assist like the gentleman he is. But his stare remains rooted to spot, ogling and committing it all to memory so he can think about it later—alone.

“Let me get that,” he finally manages to scrape out, voice gone low and gritty with naked yearning despite his best efforts at nonchalance.

You shoot him one of those bright, beaming smiles over your shoulder in response—blissfully unaware of the effect your glowing, ethereal beauty has on him even without your intentional teasing. “Just grabbing the flour for dinner,” you explain sheepishly, leaning into his broad form as he comes up behind you and grabs the ingredient on the top shelf. “I always have trouble reaching.”

And isn’t that just symbolic as all hell? His curvy, tempting beloved constantly hovering just beyond his reach these past few weeks—unattainable without discarding every last vestige of control he has. It isn’t like you both don’t have sex. You do…often. There’s just always been a build up, never anything explosive.

Even in the privacy of your home, he’s never thrown caution to the wind. Nanami has always been one to savor every calculated build of pleasure in its precious sequence. You’ve expressed your satisfaction readily enough, reciprocating his passion with that same rapturous abandon you bring to all aspects of life. But in all the years of his tiring, overworked life, you are the first to show him what it feels like to never walk a predetermined line.

“This is…I’ve never seen you wear it inside,” Nanami manages, his throat feeling increasingly dry as his eyes trace the line of fabric on your shoulders.

You take the flour from him, shooting him a sly, knowing look from beneath your lashes as you turn to face him fully. “It’s a little stuffy in here, don’t you think?”

He can’t stop the reflexive glance that rakes over every inch of you. “It’s sixty-eight degrees.”

You lean in a fractional amount—just enough for the swell of your breasts to brush against his shirt as you crane up towards his face. “Well, I run hot,” you murmur, voice dropping into the pits of hell, a throaty register that bypasses Nanami’s higher cognitive functions entirely.

He’s beyond undone. Frozen in place with desperate, rapturous hunger raging through his very marrow. This close, he can make out the small raised moles on your exposed shoulders, the genetic blemishes that are common for your skin tone. He gets a better view of the rigid peaks of your nipples straining against the thin fabric, practically begging for the heated and dripping touch of his mouth that he’s always more than happy to bestow upon you.

His fingertips clench and relax at his sides, held back only by tremendous reserves of willpower from reaching out to map and relearn every soft, silken plane of feminine heat and temptation currently being dangled in front of him like a prize he still can’t win.

You take in the undisguised wanting and torment written large across his features with a look of utter satisfaction. Then, before he can formulate some slurred plea for relief, you spin on one heel and saunter out of his reach—hips undulating hypnotically beneath that flimsy gauze of material in an alluring farewell.

Only once you finally disappear around the corner does Nanami manage to sag forwards—palms braced on the counter as he attempts to draw steady lungfuls of air back into his oxygen-starved body.

By the time he plops back on the sofa, and opens the spine of his book, the desire to read is gone.

You take pity on him for a few weeks after that searing afternoon in the kitchen. Your outside adventures are marked by breathable athletic leggings paired with loose tank tops that drape and show you off…but in a far tamer, less flagrantly teasing way than before.

Even at home, the soft cotton shorts and tees you lounge around in provide Nanami some solace—the casual fabrics leaving just enough to the imagination rather than putting every mouth-watering curve on display.

Your usual playful flirtations also seem to be dialed back during this oasis period. As if you’re allowing the poor man a chance to realign his senses and regain some semblance of control. It allows him time to resettle back into some of his usual regimented routines. Without you on a mission at the periphery of his awareness constantly, stoking those primal fires, he finds himself able to slip back into the role of polished, tired professional and attentive partner with relative ease.

Perhaps a bit too easily, if he’s being honest with himself. Because before he can even register the transition, that fleeting grace period seems to dissolve back into the heady summer ether as quickly as it had begun.

The warm evening air smells of charcoal and citronella as Nanami moves through the crowd, trying yet failing to focus on anything but you. All around him, friends and coworkers intermingle while indulging in ice-cold drinks and delicious food fresh off the smoker. He loves food, especially Yuki's cooking when she hosts a barbecue.

But none of it registers tonight.

Because every sensory nerve-ending in his body is completely captivated and overwhelmed by the vision you make in that deep red sundress.

The rich crimson chiffon swirls and caresses over your body in sinuous waves of delicious color. You’re bathed in red, as if rose petals have unfurled and stitched themselves together to form the beautiful dress on your body. It’s a maxi dress that sweeps down to your ankles and kisses the straps of your block heels. Scorching flashes of full thighs are visible through the flowing slits on each side. The deep v-neck dips in a daring drop that leaves your sternum and the inner sides of your breasts achingly exposed.

Each step you take has the delicate material clinging and drifting in the most hypnotic dance around your heavenly form. Nanami tracks the rhythmic sway of your hips with a burning stare, his control splintering a little more with every toss of your head that allows the deep brown of your skin to wink at him from the column of your neck.

Yuki is already three wine coolers in—not a lot for most, but more than enough for her to throw decorum to the wind. From across the backyard, Choso watches with an indulgent smile as his partner bobs off-beat to the soft music flowing from the speakers.

Choso's expression of pure adoration mirrors the way Nanami looks at you when he thinks no one else is watching. They share that unspoken understanding, that bone-deep contentment of being completely enraptured by the women they love.

At one point, the music shifts, more alcohol disappears, and Yuki is hauling you to the makeshift dance floor of the backyard. Nanami tries, he really, really does. But everything about you makes him stand at attention. Breathing, walking, laughing, smiling at nothing, and now—with just one rock of your hips to the music—his eyes are locked in.

You’ve never been a good dancer. But you’ve also never cared of the expectation to be a good one either. And Yuki is an extroverted pull that makes you sway more, that makes your shoulders roll and laughter to bubble from your lips as you watch your friend make a fool of herself.

Nanami runs a hand through his thick blonde locks, disrupting the careful part he made before you both left the apartment earlier in the evening. The other hand clutches a glass of scotch a little tighter, the condensation sliding against his fingers before he takes a generous swig, his eyes not once leaving you.

You can feel him before you even look over, and when you do lock with Nanami’s deep brown gaze from across the yard, you throw him a soft look from beneath your lashes as you slowly roll your hips. It’s the same motion of your hips that he got to feel last night with you straddling him, panting against his lips in the middle of the night.

Outwardly sensual in only a way he can recognize amongst everyone around him. But it’s your rapturous, carefree expression of pure bliss that simultaneously enchants and undoes the last tattered remains of his composure. With every movement, you embody the very essence of feminine energy—raw, joyful, and utterly free. You are a vision of untamed beauty, a wild goddess of the summer night come to life in a swirling dreamscape of rich ruby chiffon.

The erotic, carnal urge to chase after your swaying, taunting form and haul you away to some shadowed corner where he can divest you of that sinful dress is overwhelming. Swallowing hard, Nanami averts his burning stare for fear of literally combusting on the spot.

“You alright there, buddy?” Yu's familiar voice cuts through the lusty fog, tinged with the warm charm of a couple beers down. “You look like you’re about to swallow your tongue or something.”

“I…excuse me,” is all Nanami can grate out, the remark feeling like fragments of glass as he speaks. He doesn’t wait for a response, simply stalking off through the open patio door and into the thankfully dim and cool interior of Yuki and Choso's home. Anything to escape your enticing presence for even a single moment.

The music and laughter from outside feels muffled as he sinks down onto the living room sofa in the shadows—rubbing distractedly at his thundering chest. But it does nothing to get rid of the vision of you dancing so wantonly and on unrestrained display in that gorgeous ruby sundress.

Where are you even getting them? Online? Or is there a store that he doesn’t know about? He hasn’t seen other women in the city wearing dresses like you do. But then again…Nanami doesn’t really pay attention unless it’s you.

His fingers grip the plush armrest of the sofa until the knuckles strain white, breath sawing harsh and ragged from his heaving lungs. Nanami squeezes his eyes shut, forcing himself to visualize anything other than the way that lightweight crimson had drifted and kissed over your thighs that peeked between side slits, the growing sheen of sweat between the generous canvas of your chest, the exposed slope of your neck free of curls—a spot of concealer on the side to hide the mark he gave you last night.

A harsh exhale escapes him as he forces his eyes open, only to instantly regret it. The muted sounds of the party filter in from outside—sweet laughter, the low thrum of bass, the periodic high-pitched squeal of your voice crying out at Yuki to get a hold of herself.

Nanami’s stomach clenches raggedly at that sound, arousal stroking down his spine in sweltering waves. Through the clear glass of the patio door, he can see the way your face lights up in pure rapturous joy as you give in to yourself. The subtle shifts and gyrations of your body in time with the beat, each swivel of your hips like a siren’s call.

Against his volition, imagination melds into memory, replaying the countless times he’s buried his face between your thighs and simply drank in the celestial sounds of your pleasure until his name was a breathless gasp on your lips. That shrieking cry at Yuki almost the same towards him when he licks at your sensitive nerves one too many times. He forces his gaze away, leans his head back against the sofa and stares up at the ceiling.

The music fluctuates once more, that instantly recognizable intro to the next funky summer hit you adore cuing up. Despite the walls between you, Nanami can still acutely pick up the subtle cadence of your movements in time with that danceable rhythm. He knows the exact choreography of hips and legs that song inspires in you…and his slacks suddenly feel far too confining.

That’s when your voice cuts through the relative quiet like a bolt of lightning, somehow even closer now as you call out—half-playful chiding, half siren’s promise.

“Oh Kentooo…” The singsong inflection has his eyes squeezing shut even as his cock shamefully twitches against it’s restrictive fabric prison. “Where has my favorite salaryman gone off to hide? You know I can’t dance without my partner watching me.”

Gritting his teeth against the dark, full-bodied groan that tries to escape, Nanami hunches forward until his elbows are digging into his thighs. There you stand framed in the patio door, backlit in a devastating silhouette by the lantern lights emanating through the loud yard behind you.

You walk closer in that torturous dress, the double layers trailing languidly behind in currents of fabric that have his throat struggling to swallow. Your stunning frame is practically dripping in sensual confidence and self-assured power. He knows the power you have over him and would sooner swallow his favorite tie than give that up.

The rich carmine floats around you in sinuous waves as you sashay closer to where Nanami sits transfixed on the sofa. And with each step, all manners and decorum that have been taught to him fizzle away with the increasing ache in his jeans.

“Like what you see?” you murmur huskily once you’ve prowled to stand between his legs, allowing Nanami an unfettered view of your neckline, the long gold necklace between your breasts winking at him with each shallow intake of breath. You lift one leg to press a knee onto his powerful thigh—close enough for your perfume to slide down his nostrils and cloud his mind. The slit over your bent knee flutters open in an obscene gap, granting his hooded gaze a glimpse of skin his teeth ache to bite into.

“I asked,” you breathe out in a seductive timbre, near enough for Nanami to actually taste the addictive warmth of your presence on his tongue. “If you like what you see…”

The inhale that rattles through his powerful frame is involuntary. So is the compulsive way his fingertips suddenly flex against the cushion with the overwhelming urge to finally reacquaint himself with the soft temptation of your skin. Others be damned, mannerisms of being a respectful guest falling to the wayside.

Somewhere through the rapidly thickening haze of pure liquid arousal, Nanami manages a jerky nod—unable to summon even the most basic of syllables in response. He swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing convulsively as you arch one delicious eyebrow in a silent challenge. With your beautiful curls pulled up into a high ponytail, he can see the slope of your ears that are adorned with the gold hoops he bought you last month.

Then, before he can gather enough of his scattered wits to chastise you for your behavior, you’re boldly reaching out and capturing one of his clenching fists in a firm grip. A soft grunt rattles up from deep in Nanami’s chest at the heated feel of your palm finally making purchase on his overheated skin.

But his breath hitches in a harsh inhale as you purposefully guide his splayed fingers towards your exposed leg—sliding his hand up excruciatingly slow to caress along the landscape of textures and planes laid out in offering. He expects the generous hem of panties he’s seen time and time again. He knows what they look like in his mind when he teases the edges before slipping inside to graze his fingers along your aching clit. But the calloused pads of his fingertips brush the thin string of a thong instead. And it’s just a single touch that has him wide-eyed, reeling—the edges of his vision dizzying into a hazy fog of aching, inexplicable need.

You should have come with a manual. Surely there’s a guide to get through the summer months with you? Some sort of text to explain the steps he needs to take to keep himself in control in public?

The rapturous throb of your saphenous vein leaps against his fingertips as you allow him to slant just a hairsbreadth further—close enough to feel the heat of the place he’s been countless times before—close enough to slide a thick finger along fabric he knows is wet.

Only for you to tear your hand away and drop your knee as the sound of Yuki's voice pierces the heavy sensual tension hanging between your bodies.

“There you are!” She calls out cheerfully from the sliding glass door. “My song is on, come dance with me!”

There’s a gentle tuft of laughter from you then—one tinged with dark satisfaction as you drink in the wrecked, wanton expression flaming across Nanami’s features. As if thoroughly enjoying reducing him to this strung-out state of desperation. You could rule the world if given the right resources.

“Yuki, let’s get you some water. You’ve had a little too much to drink…” your voice trails off as you disappear in a rustle of vermilion and sashaying hips with one last loaded look over your bare shoulder.

He manages a shuddering breath that feels more like sandpaper sliding down his abused lungs. The delicious scent of your perfume still clings to the charged air around him, the phantom-like caress of your dress along his knuckles, the sound of your throaty laugh disappearing back to the party outside. Each ragged exhale has his body subtly canting forward, giving silent chase to your retreating form as if by muscle memory alone.

This game…this deliciously maddening game you delight in playing has Nanami’s entire being teetering on the razor-thin edge of unraveling completely. Each new summer ensemble seems specifically designed to further tempt and destroy the decades of discipline he’s meticulously cultivated since he was a teenager.

Nanami would think after a relationship or two, he would have steeled himself against falling victim to seduction. And yet, not a single woman from his past could have prepared Nanami for the devastating combination of your radiant beauty and barely-restrained hedonism.

Your laughter calls out to him again, his eyes snapping up to see you smiling as Yuki chugs the glass of water Choso has pressed to her lips. Completely innocent and free of devilish qualities, the fact that Nanami knows that dark side of you makes him fold his arms across his chest, sagging against the sofa and glaring at your form as he wills his erection to go down.

It’s two days before summer’s end when Nanami feels the steadily fraying threads of his self-control finally unravel into oblivion. He’s tried every possible tactic these last few months to stave off the relentless fire of desire you’ve been stoking within him—going for runs, ice cold showers, avoiding you when possible. He’s even resorted to having you model your newest sundress purchases at home in a desperate attempt at desensitizing himself. It all seems incredibly dramatic, but Nanami has no idea what else to do. Nothing has worked against the intoxicating mix of your lively beauty and increasingly bold choices designed to torment him until he’s six feet under.

He had known from the moment he accidentally stumbled upon that fateful periwinkle dress sitting in your laptop’s shopping cart that it would be his undoing. He can still picture with perfect clarity the way the model seemed to shimmer and dance on the screen as he clicked through the product imagery—he pictured it with heart throbbing clarity how it would look on you.

And he still has so many more years left of his life to enjoy.

Without conscious thought, Nanami had swiftly removed the item from the cart—an invasion of privacy that left him nauseous, but a necessary decision if only to spare himself.

He was stupid to think it would actually work.

So it comes as little surprise to see you boldly flaunting that silken number tonight at the rooftop gala marking his company’s most prosperous quarter yet. The twinkling strings of lantern bulbs and hot summer breezes swirling all around you only heighten the flagging warning that this night won’t end the way he wants.

As you glide about the rooftop, the pale periwinkle seems to float effortlessly around your body. Like every dress before, this one is no exception, complimenting the deepness of your skin. The whisper-weight fabric lays against your hips and waist, simultaneously shaping and gracefully draping in all the right places.

The thin straps crisscross behind your neck, framing your graceful shoulders and collarbones. As you turn, the silk lifts and drifts around you in a mesmerizing swirl of decadence. It’s another plunging V-neckline, but this dress sits on your body and decolletage with an air of romantic grace. It’s not scandalous like that night at Yuki and Choso's.

But it’s the back—oh it’s the back that makes his gaze heavy, that makes the organ in his chest beat out of rhythm with every inch he uncovers. Try as he might, it’s absolutely impossible for him to look away from the delicate contours and valleys of your body put on full and enthralling display by this backless dress. From the elegant lines of your throat and shoulders left teasingly bare to the soft inward curve of your arched lower back—the dress is a cruel temptation showcasing every salivating inch of you that he’s spent countless nights worshiping.

It’s beautiful on you, truly and unimaginably beautiful, and it’s a terrible twist of fate that such a simple observation is destroying Nanami from the inside. All that discipline—the cold showers, the extra miles added to his runs, the attempts of desensitization—it’s useless. No matter how hard he tries, he will always notice something new each time he looks at you. And it will always wreck him and throw him off axis whether he likes it or not.

Because amidst all the warmth and sociability of this rooftop celebration, all Nanami’s rapidly sharpening focus can zero in on is the subtle glisten of perspiration trailing down the slope of your spine. Every imperceptible turn and cock of your hip amplified tenfold by the silk that gets to touch you while he watches. As if personally daring him to finally surrender every last shred of patience and simply take what he wants.

A soft chuckle escapes your full lips as Nanami’s boss leans in closer, undoubtedly regaling you with some far from amusing anecdote from the office. The charming sound has every thread of Nanami’s control taut like a bowstring. Because that sound means a lot for him nowadays—laughing at his dry humor, the movies you both watch together, the giggling stuttering into whimpers and moans of ecstasy when your back arches from his tongue.

Suddenly, the light summer breeze kicks up in and swirls around you, waving the hem of your dress and the two-day old twistout on your head. Instinctively, you reach up to tuck a lock of those dark silken twists behind one ear.

Time itself seems to slow as he watches those inky tendrils ghost across your bare shoulders and the exposed skin of your upper back. Nanami watches with visceral hunger as those wild strands make playful, meandering paths across the smoothly toned expanse of brown skin. His entire body instantaneously flushes with hot need and arousal at the simple, harmless image. The soft rise of your breasts shake as you offer a fake laugh to whatever drivel your boss has just said. And in that split second—the culmination of tonight, this dress, the entire summer of taunting and coy smiles— Nanami’s restraint finally shatters into so many useless slivers at his feet.

Before conscious thought can override anything else, he’s stalking across the rooftop with rigid, predatory intensity—adjusting the unique glasses on his nose, his mouth set in a grim line of single-minded focus. The gaggle of chattering coworkers and small-talk banter all fade away into muted static and white noise. All that exists in this heated vortex of Nanami’s rapidly narrowing universe is the coiling pull of you.

“Ah, Nanami!” His boss greets heartily, clearly surprised yet pleased to see the company’s best worker at last. “Your partner and I were just discussing a better way to spruce up the quarterly party for next year. Care to weigh in, my friend?”

The question lands on deaf ears. Because at the exact same instant his professional mentor is extending that olive branch of attempted small talk…your eyes are on his, a knowing, small smile pressed to the hem of your champagne glass as you take a sip. The sight of your jewelry, the fabric against your skin, the way you look at him…the desire that rips through his body is staggering.

“I apologize for interrupting, but I need to speak with you,” he grates out in a tone heavy with gravel and masculine focus. His palm finds the smoldering heat of your lower back without conscious thought, marking delirious patterns of desire against your naked skin. Your eyebrows furrow with a silent question at the rough timbre of his command…even though you see that undisguised storm of hunger and frustrated desire raging behind his tinted glasses.

“Of course,” you finally murmur and turn to his coworkers to wish them goodbye, setting down your glass on the table beside you.

He’s burning, raging with a fever that doesn’t even exist and each shallow inhale draws more of your achingly familiar perfume into his senses—only making things worse.

He guides you through the crowded rooftop party and towards the elevators with a molten intensity bordering on feral. Nanami’s palm maps possessive into the searing expanse of your back. Every step jostles his arm flush against the silk on your frame.

“Where exactly are we going in such a hurry?”

The rich, seductive rasp of your voice is designed to torture him further, but Nanami doesn’t rise to it, simply presses fingers more firm to your back, his other punches the elevator button with purpose.

“I said I need to speak with you,” he finally bites out. “That should be more than enough.”

You lean further into his touch and look up at him, your tongue darts out to toy with your plush bottom lip in a show of faux innocence.

“Is that so?” The melodic lilt coupled with the ghost of your warm breath fanning across Nanami’s jaw would have been enough to make a lesser man’s knees buckle entirely. Instead, it simply ratchets the tension coiling through his powerful frame into a downright maddening degree.

The soft chime of the arriving elevator makes you both turn in tandem, the mirror of the elevator doors casting your reflections—allowing Nanami to drink in the smoldering fire already blazing behind your heavy-lidded stare. There’s profound hunger glimmering there that matches his own. An unadulterated wildness reined in by the thinnest veneer of coy indifference. You’ve always been slick—but not tonight.

The mirrored doors slide open with a hushed mechanical shush, you both step inside, and the doors slide closed.

Nanami offers a silent apology for the violation of manners his parents instilled in him before he backs you into the far wall—the breath punching out of your lungs as your back makes shocking contact with the mirrored paneling. Now it’s you breathless, struggling to compose yourself as the masculine power of Nanami consumes you.

A subtle shudder ripples through Nanami’s abdomen as you wantonly tilt your head back, arching your throat in wordless invitation just as your fingertips rise to trail heated lines over his heaving chest. The lapels are black as midnight, the undershirt a crisp white, and he’s the handsome man that’s all yours even as he fights between what’s right and what he wants. One of his palms is cupping the slope of your jawline as the other maps out the silk of your dress. He bends slowly until the heat of his mouth is tracing the full curve of your parted lips—a heavy brush of sculpted male confidence against your teasing softness.

“You’ve pressed against my boundaries to a criminal degree, love,” Nanami warns in a dark rasp scorched with the first cinders of the firestorm yet to come. His palm slides up the bare inward curve of your back until his fingers are tunneling through the wild riot of your twistout at the nape of your neck. Tinted eyes slit in satisfaction as your head tips back farther on a shaky inhale—granting him access to the deliciously vulnerable length of your throat.

“Nothing to say?” he husks out in the open, admiring the flutter of your lashes as his voice hits you. Nanami’s mouth brands a hot trail from the sensitive juncture of your jaw up towards the shell of your ear. You whimper softly at the slow, torturous build—the same sound of rapture he has memorized and pulled from you countless times between the sheets. It’s enough to strip away any lingering reservations entirely.

With the strength he’s never ashamed to show you, hands slide under your thighs and he yanks you up. Your legs wrap around him on instinct, your arms winding around his neck, your head tilting back again to smack on the mirrored glass.

His tongue glides along the buttery curve of your throat, tasting the familiar tang of salt and vanilla on the tip and the smell of him, of pure Nanami clouds your mind enough to finally look down at him, your noses a hairsbreadth from each other. It’s a silent standoff, your eyes as teasing as they are filled with arousal, his eyes dark with something that makes you shiver against him.

And then he’s kissing you, deep and hungry, his hands roaming the bare expanse of your back, dipping lower, pulling you closer. You melt into Nanami’s kiss, your initial surprise giving way to a matching hunger. Your hands slip under his suit jacket, feeling the heat of his skin through his shirt. He groans against your mouth, the sound vibrating through you, igniting your nerves, thrumming in your veins.

You don’t even hear the elevator doors open but you feel him walking, lips hot and demanding groaning into you as you slide your fingers into his golden locks and pull. Nanami knows these floors like the back of his hand, and he’s familiar with the abandoned break room on the thirtieth floor, his hand yanking the door open and shutting it hard, lips never leaving yours.

You gasp into his mouth when your ass lands on the old buttons of a copier, the machine groaning under your weight, the plastic buttons beeping in protest. As Nanami presses you against the copier, he can’t help but marvel at the feel of you beneath his hands. The dress, this damn dress, is like water under his fingers, smooth and cool and entirely too thin. He can feel every curve, every contour, every shuddering breath you take.

He punctuates his actions with a roll of his hips, pressing his hardness that strains against his slacks against your core. You moan, your head falling back, and he takes advantage of your exposed neck, his lips and teeth worrying the sensitive skin, his tongue licking the marks he leaves.

“How many more dresses do you have?” he growls against your throat, his voice rough with need. “How many more ways are you going to torture me?”

You gasp as his teeth graze your pulse point, your fingers threading into his hair. “T-that depends,” you manage, your voice breathy. Nanami’s chuckle is dark, dangerous, his hands trailing higher, dipping into the seam of your panties, his fingers brushing over your clit. He savors the way your jerk against him, a whimper leaving your throat as you pant into the dusty air.

“Is this what you wanted? To reduce me to this? A man so desperate for you he’d take you in a public place?”

“Yes,” you hiss, arching into his touch, your breasts pressing against the thin silk that covers them. “Yesyesyes...”

Nanami’s groan is part frustration, part desire. “You have no idea what you do to me.” There’s a hint of wonder in his voice, a note of awe at the depth of his own need. His fingers press more insistently, circling, gathering your slick to make each stroke more messy and impactful, driving you towards the edge. The buttons of the copier dig into your skin, the machine whirring and beeping beneath you, adding to the crescendo of sensation. He can hear the mechanical shuffle of papers being chucked out from one end, slapping onto the floor.

“Do you like this?” Nanami pants, his breath hot against your ear. “Do you like teasing me, driving me crazy?”

“Yes,” you admit, free of shame, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Please, Kento.”

He slides two fingers into your wet heat, savoring your wanton gasp, increases the pressure, the speed of his fingers, pushing you closer to the precipice. “Have you done this before?” he asks, his voice raw with emotion. “Teased other men like this, made them want you so badly they’d forget themselves?”

“No,” you moan desperately, your head thrashing from side to side, deep locks brushing your cheeks. “Never. It’s only ever been you, Kento. Only you.”

“Say it again,” he demands, his teeth grazing your earlobe.

“Only you,” you pant. “I’m yours, Kento. Completely.”

It doesn’t take long—countless strokes inside of you, a curl of his fingers, a twist of his wrist, and you shatter. Your cry of pleasure mixes with the beeps and groans of the copier, your body shaking, your fingers digging harder into Nanami’s shoulders that he’s sure you’ve broken the barrier.

He holds you through it, his lips on your skin, his murmured praises in your ear, soft litanies of words that has made you fall deeper in love with him each passing day. You don’t get a chance to come down fully because he’s on you again, pressing closer, pushing your panties to the side and digging his fingers into the meat of your hips. But the angle is wrong, you’re too high and the copier digs into his thighs and impedes him from getting to you the way he wants.

With a grunt of frustration, Nanami lifts you off the machine. Your legs wrap around his waist as he carries you to the conference table. He sweeps aside the accumulated debris with one arm, sending sugar and tea packets scattering to the floor. Your back hits the table, the hard surface unyielding beneath you. Plastic cups crunches and snaps under your weight, sugar and coffee creamer powder puffing into the air, settling on your heated skin.

“Do you have any idea,” he murmurs, soaking in the radiance you beam up at him, “how many times I’ve imagined this? Pulling you away from everyone, getting my hands on you…not being able to do it because I’m better than that.”

You moan as he nips at your collarbone, your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer. “And yet here you are,” you tease, breathless with twinkling eyes that shine right through him.

He captures your lips again, the kiss deep and demanding. You arch into him, your hands throwing off his glasses—they smack against a wall—your fingers deftly undoing his tie, working on the buttons of his shirt. You need to feel his skin against yours, need to be closer, and he shudders at the feel of your warm hands breaching the open buttons, sliding up his bare chest.

As if reading your mind, Nanami reaches for the zipper of your dress, slowly pulling it down. The fabric parts, baring more of your skin to his heated gaze. He takes a moment to admire you, his eyes roaming your body like a physical caress.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, almost to himself. Then his hands are on you, tracing your curves, fingers brushing your nipples before he gives them a pinch. A whimper shakes from you, your fingers pressing into his bare chest.

Dimly, he’s aware that he should stop this, that he’s in a public place, at a work event. But the heat of your body, the insistence of your touch, the mounting pleasure coursing through his veins—it all conspires to drown out reason.

Your hands fumble with his belt, your fingers shaking with need. He helps you, impatiently pushing his pants and boxers down just enough. And then he’s touching you, his fingers digging into your hips, sliding you closer to him until the tip of him presses to the sopping wet heat of your center, wet from your orgasm and still ready.

“Please,” you whimper, hardly recognizing your own voice. “Please, Kento…”pushing your dress further up your hips, trailing over your ribs, cupping your breasts until the skin spills between the gaps. His eyes widen at the sight, the base of his spine heating up. So many times he’s seen you like this in the privacy of your home, and now it’s in an old break room at his workplace, the consequence of you finally taking things too far.

He’s free of any feral energy as he kisses you, sliding into your welcoming heat slowly to acquaint himself again. Your fingers dig into his skin, your chest pressing into him as you adjust, the table creaking under your joined weight as you wrap your legs around his waist and dig your silver heels into his back. Soon he’s moving above you, within you, each thrust pushing you higher, each thrust fanning the fire within himself.

“Please,” you whisper against his lips, begging again for the unspoken demand of more. And even though the roles are reversed right now—you the one being teased—he gives you whatever you ask.

He sets a pace that’s just shy of punishing, each snap of his hips brushing his zipper against the inside of your thighs. The room fills with the sounds of sex—the slap of skin on skin, your gasps and moans, his grunts into the air. He cannot believe he’s in this moment, doing something so scandalous.

“You reduce me to this,” he pants against your lips. “It’s not fair.”

“I know,” you gasp, your hands pulling at open lapels of his shirt, squeezing around the buttons, the fabric groaning. “I’m sorry.”

But you’re not, he can tell. There’s a hint of satisfaction in your voice, a touch of pride. And why shouldn’t there be? You’ve brought him, the ever-controlled Nanami Kento, to his knees. He loves you too much to ever want anything different.

“I’m a good man,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you, curving his next thrust that he knows will brush against that spot you like.

“You’re an amazing man, Ken,” you moan in surprise, your hips lifting to meet his to seek more. “The best. Only the best for me. Only you, Kento.”

The praise makes him shake, the fire in his body raging like an inferno, burning his skin, breaking him into a sweat. He presses a knee into the table, throws one of your legs over his shoulders and savors the ragged way your name leaves his lips as he gives you everything.

“You feel so good,” he pants, his tongue licking the skin of your neck. He tastes the saltiness of your sweat, the sanitizing taste of perfume, the powdered creamer and sugar that sticks to your skin from the table. “So perfect.”

“Come on, Kento” you keen, your nails raking down the suit on his back. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

He doesn’t. Couldn’t, even if he wanted to. He’s lost in you, in the feel of you, in the knowledge that he’s the only one who gets to see you like this. Wanton, needy, completely undone.

Nothing else matters—not the party going on just floors above, not the risk of discovery, not the propriety you’re both abandoning. In this moment, there’s only you and him and the heat that’s consumed you both all summer, finally finding release.

Nanami’s thrusts become erratic, his rhythm faltering as the base of his spine tightens in a delicious way to let him know that he’s close. His hand slips between your bodies, past the silk of your rumpled periwinkle dress, gliding over your clit in well-practiced strokes and the leg over his shoulder tenses up, your head digging into the table, neck arching for him to see the flecks of sugar sticking to your neck.

“Ohhh right there Kento. Right there. Please, please I’m gonna cum—I’m—“ you smack a hand over your mouth to quiet yourself, eyes shutting tight.

“Absolutely not.” Nanami hasn’t suffered for months just to be deprived of anything during this encounter. He yanks the hand from your mouth, pressing it hard into the table, and the shock on your face as you look up at him, the staccato of your breaths, the undeniable seriousness in his gaze even as he pistons into you, admiring the way your dress pools at your waist as he gives you more, harder, deeper until—

“Ohhhh fuck!” you cum with a long dragged out cry, your body clenching around him, walls locking around his cock to the point his orgasm is yanked from him as he falls over the edge with you, pulsing deep inside with a groan muffled against your neck.

He sags against you, both of your chests heaving against each other. He slips a hand behind you, trailing lightly up and down your glistening back as you lie beneath him, spent and satisfied.

As he slowly comes down, he presses a lingering kiss to your sweat-dampened hairline, the roots of your twistout beginning to frizz. There’s a hint of coconut from your leave-in as his nose brushes down to your cheek. So familiar, yet still so intoxicating after almost a year of smelling it. As if he could ever grow numb to the potent lure of your presence.

A ragged chuckle escapes him at that thought, the mirthful rumble making you pull up your head to look at him. Nanami drinks in the utterly debauched vision you make—beautiful brown sweaty skin, hair messy, lips swollen and smirking as per usual.

His arm tightens reflexively around the sensual curves of your waist, pulling you closer in a subconscious gesture of possession and longing. Because for all the delicious torture you’ve inflicted over the past few months with your endless parade of tempting summer dresses…he wouldn’t trade this hard-won moment for anything.

Nanami is many things—disciplined, regimented, a hardworking—albeit tired— professional. But he is also only human at his core. And you, his beautiful free-spirit of a partner, has a simply breathtaking talent for awaking the primal, unrestrained parts of him he usually keeps so rigorously leashed.

“You know,” you murmur in that velvety voice he loves so much. “The minute I realized the dress vanished from my cart was the minute I knew it would be the one.”

A sleepy chuckle breaks free from his lips at your words, the sound causing you to join in as well—a vibrant melody that coats his soul in pure contentment. Nosing closer, he peppers a line of feather light kisses along the line of your jaw. “You’ll never go easy on me, will you?”

“And rob myself of bringing down Nanami Kento piece by piece?” You snort, shooting him a look of pure, playful sin from beneath your lashes. “I might have to make sundress season a year-round thing.”

His answering groan is part growl, part disbelieving laughter as the palm behind your back glides along the elegant curve of your spine down to the bend of your hip. Ever the devilish temptress without even trying, even in the aftermath.

“You’ll be the death of me.”

“That’s a good way to go,” you tease, pulling him down for another kiss, sweet and sticky and full of promise.

His hands slide along the canvas of your body, fingers dipping into the ridges of the open zipper of your dress. He’ll make sure it’s dry cleaned so you can wear it next year. And hopefully he’ll be better prepared.

When you giggle against his lips and dig your heels into his back, he realizes that there will be no amount of preparation when it comes to you.

Thanks for reading!

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lxclerc · 1 year ago

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𝐢 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 ─ 𝐜𝐥𝟏𝟔

summary... a reunion between old lovers after five years and charles can't keep his eyes off of you. or his thoughts for that matter. faceclaim... christina nadin pairing… charles leclerc x reader warning… none so far. petty charles.

note... this is going to be part of a series that includes both one shots and smau but can be read as a stand alone

series masterlist

main masterlist

part two → current (part three) → part four

charles is a mess. truthfully this is to be expected but after five years, he thought he would be better than this but alas, you’re still as magnetic as he remembered you to be – even more so, if he’s being completely honest with himself.

you look different – older. where they used to be rounded, baby face is all sharp bones. your hair looks different, longer and styled. and you smell different too, no longer the floral scent you’ve been using since you turned fourteen.

you’re a stranger, he thought. he no longer knows your favorite color or your favorite meal or if you still like strawberry yogurt. he doesn’t know your favorite show or what perfume you use. he doesn’t know you. you’re a stranger and yet your eyes still do that thing where it creases to the point of being close when you smile and you still run your hand over your hair in an attempt to subtly fix it and your eyes still looks like pooled honey when the sun shines on it.

you’re so different, a practical stranger and yet so familiar, like going back to a childhood home finding everything in the wrong place yet still knowing your way around with your eyes closed.

he’s staring. he knew he is and he knew the amount of trouble he’d get from his team for it. he knew that everyone on twitter was probably already freaking out about it. he had clear instructions to act like nothing had happened and that the leaked pictures didn’t exist all. he’s supposed to act like you’re just another interviewer and this is just another media obligation he’s forced to do and you’re no one to him but he can’t help it. he can’t pretend like you’re a stranger when you left such a big imprint in his soul and he doesn’t have every freckle and skin tag and every inch of your skin memorized.

and so he stares. he stares at the way you shift in your seat in an attempt to get comfortable. he stares at the way the long sleeved white dress hugged your curves. he stares at the way you smile, the way you laugh. he stares and tries to remind his heart the way you’d left, the way he’d begged you stay. with you a few feet in front of him, closer than you’ve ever been in years, charles reminds himself the things he had to do to put himself back together after you broke him.

he tells himself that he hates you the same way he has been telling himself for five years now. he hates you and the way you walked away from him so easily. he hates you and the way you moved on so quickly. he hates you now for the way you’re not even affected. he hates you for loving him only to leave him.

“and that’s all for today, everyone,” you say with that dazzling smile that makes him dizzy. he needs to get away from you. you’re clouding his judgment and messing with his emotions.

after making sure the camera has stopped rolling, charles quickly removes the mic attached to him. the smile drops from your face as you see him so desperately hurried to get away from you. though you supposed you deserved that.

“mate, you good?” carlos asked him quietly as charles practically slams the mic on the table. he seems worried and charles hadn’t even realized how angry he looks right now. he glanced at you, watching as you discussed with the producer, the wind blowing at your hair and the careless smile on your face. he hates you but you’re also the most beautiful person he’s ever met. he hates you and he’s so fucking tired of wanting you.

he forced a smile on his face for carlos’ sake. “fine.”

he’s already walking away when you called his name, not like you had in the show – filled with fake friendliness. this time, his name rolled off your tongue effortlessly. you called his name like you had a thousand times before, like nothing has ever changed. the entire set was calling to him but he didn’t seem to hear.

“charles,” you called and immediately, he stopped in his tracks. he only heard your call and somehow that made him angrier at himself than he ever could be at you.

his face is empty and void of any emotions as he turns to you and you swallow down the lump in your throat as you force a smile at him. you hoped it doesn’t look as fake as it feels. “we need to take a picture. for social media.”

he may as well have spat at you with the look in his eyes. it made you feel small. he makes you feel small and suddenly you’re eighteen again, so small and insignificant next to him.

as you and the two ferrari drivers posed for the photo, both charles and carlos respectfully wrapped an arm around you. you can feel the heat of charles’ body next to you, seeping right through your dress and spreading across your skin. his cologne is different – more rich and expensive but somehow still so him but his aftershave is the same as it has been since he was fifteen, so familiar and comforting to you and you almost can’t help but lean into him.

he’s pulling away before you can gather your thoughts, already walking away from you.

—

charles should be celebrating. he finished on the podium which is pretty much a miracle nowadays. in fact, it’s a miracle to even be finishing the race with how his season is going but he’s been pretty distracted the whole weekend, seemingly only ever able to get you out of his head whenever he’s going two hundred miles per hour. he almost wants to laugh if he doesn't feel so pathetic. it’s somehow still exactly like before - with him needing to find some ways to risk his life just to be able to get you out of his mind.

drinking the night away as he wallowed in self pity due to the thought of you is also entirely too familiar.

“mon pote, comment peux-tu encore la laisser te faire ça ?” hugo asked, watching him. “cela fait des années” mate, how are you still letting her do this to you?... it’s been years.

charles only gave a sarcastic smile. he doesn’t entirely know the answer to do that either. apparently the years between the two of you didn’t matter because you still have the exact same reaction to him. you make him lose his fucking mind, unable to to think straight. he does things he says he never will when it comes to you. he becomes desperate and weak and unable to handle his own emotions. he doesn’t understand himself when you’re around.

maybe that’s why you left in the first place. the two of you affected each other far too much. it’s entirely too easy to get lost in each other and forget about everything else.

“elle a l'air différente. elle a aussi une odeur différente,” he says before taking another shot. you’re so different and he hated it. he hates that there are things in your life he doesn’t know anymore. he hates the fact that you changed your perfume and that you can so easily pretend like he’s no one to you. if you can act like he’s no one to you so easily then perhaps he didn’t mean as much to you as he thought he did. she looks different. she smells different too.

you were his lifeline, the air in his lungs. you were everything and he would have given up anything just to keep you. he would have given up racing and his dreams – everything so he didn’t have to lose you.

joris rolls his eyes. he knows this entirely too well unfortunately, he’s seen this exact scene before. “cela fait cinq ans, charles. bien sûr qu'elle a changé.” it's been five years, charles. of course she's changed.

that only makes him laugh bitterly.

—

on the other side of the city lies you, cocooned in your fleece blanket as you stare at the wall.

throughout the years that you and charles have bumped into each other, it had mostly been just surprise in his eyes – as though he could never quite believe that you’re in front of him. usually, you’ll be gone before it can change.

today was different. there’s no surprise in his eyes nor was there any of the familiar warmth you’re so used to. today, he was filled with anger and indifference. he looked at you as though he hated you. and the worst part is that he probably does. the entire time it was as though he couldn’t get away from you fast enough, like he couldn’t stand even being in the same room as you. your entire life, charles has only ever looked at you with adoring and devoted eyes and now he can’t even stand to look at you.

“il ne vous déteste pas,” arthur says over the phone with a roll of his eyes as though you’re being ridiculous for even suggesting such things. he doesn’t hate you.

but arthur wasn’t there. arthur didn’t see how charles practically ran away from you. still, you say nothing to the matter, far too upset to even bother trying to defend yourself.

“i’m going to go to sleep, art,” you say softly instead. “it’s pretty late here.”

you and arthur say your goodnights before you shut off the call. but just as you’re about to place your phone down for the tonight, it lights up with a text message. your eyebrows knit together in confusion. who’d be texting you this late anyways?

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ohnococo · 11 months ago

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Pining Hiromi Higuruma HCs

(Hiromi Higuruma, pining away for you, his coworker. Except he's kind of a pervert about it.)

Hiromi Higuruma who always listens to your professional opinion, and makes sure to credit you to coworkers and higher ups.

Hiromi Higuruma who becomes your lunchtime venting buddy early on. Sometimes you’ll catch each other's eyes and he’ll give you that look that lets you know he has some shit he needs to say RIGHT now so it’s time to take a break.

Hiromi Higuruma who is happy to help you out off the clock because at least you give him something to look forward to during his stressful days. He really does want to support you in your career growth (among other things).

Hiromi Higuruma who takes turns with you buying each other lunch, then dinner when you have to order takeout for overtime. He knows your go-to order from every place that delivers to your office.

Hiromi Higuruma who looks ten times more stressed when you get back from any time off. His jokes get increasingly more serious about how you “can’t just leave me on my own like that” even when you aren’t working on the same things so your presence makes no difference. Except it does. To him. He feels like his head is going to explode from dealing with work all day without those little moments of relief from being around you.

Hiromi Higuruma who glares at anyone making jokes about him being your “work husband” because it’s unprofessional and “two people can just get along without there being something to it.”

Hiromi Higuruma who knows there absolutely is something to it because he’s so, so bad at not thinking indecent things about you all day long. He doesn’t even know if you’re flirting with him or if it's all in his head. What he does know is he can't bring himself to show restraint over how much time he spends with you in the office.

NSFW/18+ ONLY UNDER THE CUT

Hiromi Higuruma who, when you eventually bring up adding him on social media, takes weeks to add you back because he knows he can’t be trusted with access to a collection of pictures of you. He was already battling guilt over jerking off to the picture of you on your LinkedIn. It was so posed and styled that it barely looked like your day to day self but it was all he had outside of his imagination for months.

Hiromi Higuruma who feels like a disgusting fucking pervert when he makes a whole folder of saved pics that make his dick twitch after clicking through every single picture. Innocuous things like a photo of you sitting down, looking up at whoever was taking it with a twinkle in your eye - ammo enough for him to picture you looking like that on your knees in front of him. God help him if he finds a picture of you in a swimsuit, or anything more revealing than your work attire. He knows it's scumbag behaviour, and he knows it's risky having them on his phone because he'd look like a crazy person if someone ever saw him with a hidden collection of seemingly innocent pictures of you, but after months and months of pining he sometimes finds he has to lock himself in the bathrooms at work to stroke his cock looking at them. Especially if you've shown up wearing those heels.

Hiromi Higuruma who so helpfully accepts your request to house sit for you when you’re going to be gone for a week. All he needs to do is pop in to water some plants, maybe feed a cat or some fish, just generally check everything was in order. He knows from the second you leave your key with him that he will be an absolute freak about it too. The first time he goes over he finds himself looking in your dirty clothes hamper, heartbroken to find it empty. He doesn’t even finish the actual job he’d come there to do because he feels that fucking guilty for being a creep.

Hiromi Higuruma who, a day later, comes back, waters your plants, and settles for stealing a pair of clean panties to spend the rest of the week jerking off into. He’ll return them washed, right back where he’d found them, the day before you come home. And he'll miss them just as much as he hates himself for doing any of it in the first place.

Hiromi Higuruma who makes you second guess if he really liked you as much as you thought when he starts asking when you’re going on vacation next. It’s not that he doesn’t miss you while you’re gone… it’s that he can’t stop kicking himself for not rifling through your drawers to see what sex toys you use on yourself.

Dating Co-Worker Hiromi Higuruma HCs

#my writing #hiromi x reader #higuruma x reader #higuruma hiromi x reader #hiromi higuruma x reader #jjk headcanons #jjk smut #higuruma #higuruma hiromi

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hauntingrabbits · 6 months ago

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Batman my little pony AU. Part 2 here, Part 3 here

More info on these under the cut!

1. Sundown Mane/Batpony (Bruce Wayne)

His backstory & general situation is pretty much identical to every other batman out there so I wont get into it.

Other notes:

-His cutie mark is a masquerade mask that I tried to make vaguely bat-shaped. The general public sees his Cutie Mark through the lense of his reputation, and he leans into it heavily to obscure the truth. In interviews, he presents it as being tied to hosting galas (it’s the reason he started hosting those huge masquerade balls in the first place) and/or his fashionable looks, but in truth it’s far more representative of his stealth and disguise capabilities, as well as his masked night time hobbies as a whole.

-He’s not an actual bat-pony in any way, the bat wing appearance is just the costume (intentionally designed that way for intimidation, battle, and obscuring his identity further). Though most citizens assume he’s a true bat-pony, other rumors range from him being a vampire, to an Earth pony with false tech-based wings, to a magically disguised alicorn, to a spirit of the night.

-If Batman were actually to be a pony I think he’d 100% be an earth pony, because his big thing is relying on skill and tech rather than power and he has the whole “normal guy amongst gods” thing going on. HOWEVER. There are actual bat ponies in this show. How am I not supposed to utilize that somehow for the guy whose name is BATMAN? Also with Sundown I think being a Pegasus just fits the playboy personality front he puts up. I don’t know why, its just vibes.

-I think he just doesn’t fly much while patrolling as batpony, instead using his wings for extra jump or for intimidation and cover like with his cape. They’re probably steel-tipped or something too. He doesn’t rely on flight for advantage and trains entirely grounded because he doesn’t want to be dependent on flight and find himself lost if his wings are ever incapacitated.

2. Apollo Honeyscales/Two-Face (Harvey Dent)

Fascinated by the Equestrian legal system and craving a more organized society than what was offered by his generally disorderly and solitary fellow Chimeras, Apollo moved to Gotham to pursue higher education. Unfortunately, ponies are often intimidated by, if not downright terrified of Chimeras, so though Chimera cultures usually give each head equal social weight and three individual names, Apollo quickly adapted to instead try to present himself as pony-like as possible. He used a singular name and pronoun for his whole body, presented the less intimidating, herbivorous-looking goat as his “main” head, and eventually even took to having a faux Cutie Mark applied for media and court appearances. Prior to the attack, the lion and the snake head were never seen talking in public, and even in private the only ponies to have heard them speak were his close friends Sundown Mane and Glider Gold.

After being attacked with acid in court, Scales succumbed to injury and had to be amputated, while Honeybite was left alive but severely scarred. With this event, Apollo’s and Honeybite’s already fragile mental states from years of pony society othering them, the weight of their job, and personal repression finally snapped in their grief and anger, leading Honeybite to fully take the reins and create the criminal persona of Two-Face. Attempts from both Sundown and Glider and to reach out since have been unsuccessful.

Other Notes:

-According to the wiki only one chimera shows up in the whole show so. I made stuff up. -Chimeras typically being solitary is based on the fact we only ever see one in the show. This solitary nature would make it hard for them to have a widespread legal system at all, let alone to enforce it; thus Apollo’s original fascination with the foreign pony legal system. The Chimera in the show also has individual names for each head, each with a slightly different style (the goat following pony name conventions with the name Pumpkin Cake, the tiger following a slightly more violent version of pony name conventions with the name Sweetkill, and the Snake bluntly just being named Snakey). I tried to follow similar conventions for Apollo. I was most happy with the name Scales, because it followed the blunt snake naming convention while also sort of doubling as a scales of justice reference. Apollo is just a reference to Harvey’s nickname in some of the comics, and Honeybite is just for fun.

-His perfectly split coat is unique even among other chimeras, and as Apollo he was generally considered attractive and “exotic” by Equestrian media outlets.

-The temporary Cutie Mark application was done professionally. (Surely ponies have perfected this art, right? Like this has to be something pony society does and has services for, right? Ponies covering up embarrassing Cutie Marks, blank flanks covering up an embarrassing lack of a Curie Mark, Ponies getting Cutie Marks done for costumes, theater, movies, etc… you get it.) Apollo’s choice of a faux Cutie Mark is meant to serve as both a way of further integrating himself into pony society and a proclamation of his legal skills.

-Apollo was a genuinely great lawyer. Ponies on defense were often so preoccupied at the terror of having a lion and a snake silently stare them down that they wouldn’t realize it was actually the goat they should’ve really been afraid of until their entire case had already been ruthlessly torn to shreds.

3. Glider Gold (Gilda Gold)

Even prior to their relationship and subsequent engagement, Glider had long been Apollo’s closest friend and confidant. She saw the way his job and keeping up his image was tearing him apart long before the acid attack, and she deeply regrets not trying harder to get him the help he needed before it was too late. Multiple news outlets have been trying to get an interview with her and their efforts only increase every time Two-Face shows up in the news (despite Sundown’s efforts to dissuade them). She hasn’t been the same since the attack and Apollo’s disappearance, losing interest in her work and finding her friendship with Sundown heavily strained as they both feel the weight of Apollo’s absence.

Other notes:

-I wasn’t even going to draw Gilda originally because she’s such a minor character in Batman stuff but as I was writing out Apollo’s background she nudged her way back in. I like her too much.

-This version is based on her very first iteration where she was a sculptor. Her green coat is a reference to that version’s accompanying Two-Face (also his first iteration), who had green scarring.

- The choice for her to be a pegasus was mainly just to go with her silly name, but I do think being a pegasus would be beneficial to a sculptor. No ladder required to work on high details just fly up there.

-I am not immune to the bruce/harvey/gilda agenda

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lurkingshan · 11 months ago

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Japanese BL Starter Pack

It’s been awhile since I dropped a rec list, so I am here today to share one that is very near and dear to my heart—a Japanese bl primer for those who are new to the jbl game. I created this for @neuroticbookworm to help her on her journey when she decided she wanted to start getting into Japanese works. The fandom (on Tumblr and generally) tends to focus primarily on Thai shows because they are the easiest to access for international fans, since Thailand is working its way toward world domination via ql media and wants us all to be able to watch. But there is a lot of great stuff to watch beyond the easy access Thai channels, and Japan is the country where this genre originated, so its shows are important for anyone who considers themselves a bl fan. Japan doesn’t cater nearly as much to the international audience so tracking down the shows sometimes takes some ingenuity and can-do spirit, but that’s part of the fun!

And so, the list! Bookworm is about halfway through it and having a ball, so I figured it was time to stop hoarding it and share it with anyone else who would like to dip their toes into jbl and isn’t quite sure where to start. A few notes:

I am not here to teach you about the deep roots of the jbl genre or give you a primer on yaoi manga. I am by no means an expert and there are other places to find that information. Start here with this great post by @nieves-de-sugui and then maybe wander over to @absolutebl to read up more on the evolution of the genre.

This list is by no means an exhaustive accounting of every important Japanese bl ever made; it is simply a nice sampler platter of the cream of the crop among various styles you will find in jbl. Watching through this whole list will not only expose you to some fantastic shows, but also give you a sense of what makes jbl unique and how the country’s style differs from others, and point you toward the types of jbl you’ll like most (they tend to put shows in pretty specific style and tone lanes and once you find the ones you like there are lots more where that came from).

If you’re coming to this post as a jbl lover and you don’t see your favorite here, I promise it’s not because I don’t love it very much; I simply had to make some choices to get this down to a reasonable shortlist. Feel free to leave extra recs for others to find!

I’m putting these in a loose suggested watch order that will take you through the various jbl lanes in a kind of popcorn style, because I always think it’s good to change it up so you don’t get too stuck in one mode, and it works its way up to most of the extremely Japanese stuff (you will know what that means by the time you finish). But do what’s in your heart and change up the order if you want, friends, I am not the boss of you!

Cherry Magic (Crunchyroll or grey)

gif by @liyazaki

I believe everyone on Tumblr is pretty familiar with this one, which is not a coincidence—this is one of the most accessible jbls. Not in terms of actual access to watch it, mind you (we’ve all jumped through shady internet hoops to watch it) but in terms of its content and style. Cherry Magic is a classic workplace romcom with a magical twist, and it is charming af. It’s a great exemplar of Japan’s light and zippy comedy lane for bl—a lane in which, importantly, the romances stay chaste even when the actual plot is about sex, or lack thereof. My friend @waitmyturtles would kill me if I didn’t make sure you know that Cherry Magic also has a lovely follow up film. And bonus: there is now a Thai remake airing so if you watch the original you can get in on the discussion about the different adaptations between countries. This is pretty easy to find these days in all the usual places, but I strongly recommend watching it here.

Old Fashion Cupcake (Viki)

gif by @liyazaki

Moving on to a slightly more mature workplace romcom. Old Fashion Cupcake, another Tumblr favorite, is an age gap boss-subordinate romance, and it’s both very adult and somehow wholesome af at the same time. Sure, there is a lot of carnal desire going on here, but there is also a lot of wooing via fluffy pancakes. It’s a tight five episodes and a fantastic example of what Japan, with its extreme technical precision in writing, directing, editing, pacing, and acting firing on all cylinders, can do in two hours. There’s not an ounce of flab on this thing and you’ll want to watch it over and over again.

Utsukushii Kare (Viki)

gif by @wanderlust-in-my-soul

Time to get a little weird! Weird is a key feature of Japanese media, and lots of jbls explore unusual relationship dynamics rooted in complex psychology. This is the first show on the list that will likely feel very Japanese if you’re new around here—my advice is to lean into it and finish the show, even if you get uncomfortable along the way. In Japanese media, discomfort always serves a purpose. This is a high school story with a twisted relationship at its center, and I’m not saying any more than that. Don’t spoil yourself and go watch it! This one also comes with two sequels—one short second season and one movie—that continue from the original story. They are less essential but still excellent.

I Cannot Reach You (Netflix)

gif by @my-rose-tinted-glasses

Next up, another high school tale, but with a totally different vibe. This show is kind of a revelation in its willingness to tell a story about overwhelming desire—including sexual desire—with young protagonists. It’s rooted in a classic but often misunderstood trope, friends to lovers, and takes the angst of it seriously, giving us a low stakes story that feels extremely high stakes to our leads. It’s also gorgeous and uses a classic Japanese visual style (bokeh) that you’ll be dying to learn more about.

His (Viki)

gif by @gabrielokun

Time for a break from high school, and we’ll sprinkle in a movie for some added flavor. His is a jbl film featuring a second chance romance between a stoic, introverted man who moves to a remote town to start over, and his ex-boyfriend who follows him there unexpectedly, adorable child in tow. Importantly, this movie does not take place in what we often refer to as the “bl bubble” where homophobia doesn’t exist; the leads’ experiences of being gay men in a homophobic society are hugely important to the plot and themes of the story. It’s a beautiful film and I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve watched it. @bengiyo would surely also like me to tell you that this film follows a brief prequel show called His: I Didn’t Mean to Fall in Love about the characters originally meeting in high school; I do not think it’s really necessary to watch it but completists can start there.

The Pornographer series (Gaga)

By now you should be ready to get into some classic Japanese fucked up psychosexual material, right? Right! The Pornographer series is told in five installments in this order:

The Novelist, a six episode miniseries

Mood Indigo, a six episode prequel series

Spring Life, a 15 minute short

Pornographer: Playback, a two hour film

Spring Life Continued, a 15 minute short

Confused by that distribution model? So say we all; sometimes Japan likes to make us work for it to make sure we really appreciate its many gifts to us. The story across these installments is about a very difficult to love protagonist, what makes him the way he is, and the also-unhinged-but-in-a-different-way man who finally gets through to him. It’s an extremely satisfying love story and one of the best character arcs I have ever seen, full stop. For this one, you’ll want to just pull the word problematic out of your pocket and store it in a drawer; nearly everything that happens in this story is problematic and that’s the point. Lean in! All of these installments except for the film are on Gaga, if you get that far hmu and I will supply you with the final puzzle piece.

Our Dining Table (Gaga)

You could probably use a break after those last two, so it’s time to shift over to a heart-tugging twofer: family trauma mixed with the cutest shit you’ve ever seen. ODT is an example of another classic type of Japanese show: the food drama (you will see the GOAT in this category at the end of this list). In Japanese culture, food is love, and the act of preparing food for your loved ones is a common path to romance. You’ll love this story about an isolated office worker who meets a pair of brothers, learns to cook as a way of connecting with them, and begins to heal from his own trauma as a result. The image above is a scan from the manga, which @troubled-mind curates to make extremely cool comparison sets like this one. Many jbls are faithful adaptations of yaoi manga source material, so it’s good to have a bit of familiarity with them.

Minato’s Laundromat (Gaga)

gif by @liyazaki

Japanese media loves to explore taboo, and often manages to do it in a way that is surprisingly light and chaste. This is an age gap romance between a teenager and his adult neighbor that explores internalized homophobia, emotional repression, and falling in love across seemingly impossible social chasms. It’s also a great example of old school yaoi seme-uke dynamics that still show up across the bl genre. Also, take my advice: end your journey with this one with the first season and just pretend season 2 doesn’t exist.

Eternal Yesterday (Viki)

gif by @wanderlust-in-my-soul

Remember what I said about weird? Time to do that again, but with a heaping dose of grief and pain on top. It’s not a spoiler to tell you this show involves a major character death; a major character death is, in fact, the root of the entire story. This is a magic realist tale of first love turned tragic, and it will hurt and heal you. It is one of my favorite dramas of all time.

Restart After Come Back Home (Gaga)

And now for a break for your poor exhausted brain. This film is basically the jbl version of a Hallmark original movie, about a city boy who goes back home to the country and falls in love with a total sweetheart while working together on a farm. Enjoy it, bestie, you’ve earned it!

Tokyo in April Is… (Gaga)

gif by @wanderlust-in-my-soul

You’ve probably noticed by now that emotional repression and failed communication are big themes in Japanese works. This second chance romance has plenty of both, and it’s a great example of a kind of muted emotional style that Japan does so well, where the surface of the story seems almost placid and calm even as deep emotion roils underneath. This one (and Eternal Yesterday above) are part of a special line up of jbls on Japanese channel MBS called Tonku (Drama) Shower. The shows air one after another in the same time slot on Fridays (in Japan, perhaps Thursdays for you depending on where you live) and you truly never know what you’re gonna get, but they’re all interesting. Warnings on this one for sexual assault and trauma.

The End of the World With You (Viki)

Time for sexy and weird again, but even more so! This has to be one of the most unique bls ever made; it goes to some truly divine and strange places, and it feels incredibly queer while doing it. Made by the same screenwriter/director of the Pornographer series with a lot of the same sensibilities, but in a more heightened apocalyptic setting. This one has existential angst, a road trip, a redemption tale, and a variety of interesting side characters in the mix.

What Did You Eat Yesterday? (Gaga)

gif by @my-rose-tinted-glasses

Congratulations, you’ve reached the end of the list and your reward is watching one of the best bls of all time, and a perfect slice of life food drama to boot. WDYEY now has two seasons (along with a couple specials and a movie that fall in between) because the universe clearly loves us. You can now get it on Gaga for easy access but I’m partial to the versions over at @kinounaniresource for better subs. Wherever you watch, settle in to get cozy with Shiro and Kenji and make sure to always eat before you hit play.

#shan recommends #cherry magic #old fashion cupcake #utsukushii kare #eternal yesterday #our dining table #minato’s laundromat #what did you eat yesterday?#tokyo in april is...#his the movie #the pornographer #japanese bl #jbl starter pack

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t-tomuras · 2 months ago

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⚡︎ ─── •𝐀 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐋𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐲

Pairing: Denki Kaminari x Mouse Hybrid!Reader

Warnings: Reader is an escort, Denki has trauma, alcohol, teasing, slight pussyjob, slight anal play, creampie, mention of pegging

Wordcount: 3.4k

Notes: SUCH a fun character to write and it's for none other than my sweet @saturnsorbits

Everyone has their vices, some people gambled, blurred their minds in a drug addled haze or drank themselves into a stupor.

Denki’s was his desire for company, his need to be wanted and adored but not how the general public admired him as the hero he was. Craving something more organic and less reverent.

Even if he had to pay for it.

He’s certain his teenage self would be reeling over the change in views, but war did that to a man; especially experiencing it as a boy instead.

Life was more peaceful now, the occasional villain in the streets for him to stop but nothing compared to his first year of highschool. Now Kaminari just felt like he was a decoration in the street, plastering a broad smile on his face as he waved.

He adored the attention, the appreciation, everything that came with his profession but where was it when he was in the sanctity of his home? Why was there no solace in silence?

No dopamine rush even as he scrolled various social media timelines, each one holding a plethora of thirst traps and fan edits of candid photos of Denki.

It only worsened the feeling of derealization, exacerbated the dehumanization he felt as a figure for the public eye.

Nobody ever told him it’d be like this, had anything changed since he’d listened to the villains speeches about how rotten society was? Was it different just because he was on the other side of the spectrum?

He decides not to think about it, slamming his phone face down onto his bedside table as he paced around his room for discarded clothing. Stepping into his leather pants that fit like a second skin before donning a loose off the shoulder, distressed style white shirt. Clipping the fringe that falls into his face back with a black headband, hiding his telltale onyx bolt of lightning in his electric blond mop. Completing the ensemble with tinted shades despite the hour of night but his favorite bar district was plenty bright.

Abandoning his phone for the night, like he does every time he needs a break from doom scrolling, as he carries himself down familiar blocks in long strides.

The nightlife is bustling, as it always is even for the middle of the week. Businessmen still clutching their briefcases with loosened ties already calling it a night to their cohorts as they go separate ways, returning to their wives. Scattered groups of university students and young women just looking to blow off some steam lingering in the streets, though the clumps of people grew sparse the further into the district you delved.

Hands shoved deep into his pockets, head slightly ducked as Denki seemingly traveled by muscle memory alone until he stood at an innocuous bar you had to take steps down into. A hole in the wall in every sense of the word but the interior decor contrasted that notion heavily.

Vaulted ceilings outfitted with crystal chandeliers but the establishment remained dimly lit, crushed velvet curtains covering windows that were far from functional and every man and woman employed there

The bar didn’t even have a sign out front for the ultimate level of discretion, Denki knew multiple heroes frequented this pub as well but he’d never tell; he could only hope the feeling was mutual.

The tabloids would kill for that headline afterall, every time he sets foot on the lush carpeting it comes to mind. “Pro-hero Chargebolt look’s for love in all the wrong places.”

What would Shoji, more specifically, think of him now if he knew how particular his tastes were? Would this be considered exploitative? He never paid them for sex or sexual favors but he wouldn’t turn them down if they tried in the alleyway or cab back to the agency at the end of the ‘date’ before he called night. Heteromorphs still being one of the most marginalized people based on their quirks despite all the work his friend did after the war, after all.

He liked to think he was respectful, he only paid for their company, for them to treat him like Denki Kaminari and not top twenty in the hero ranking charts, Chargebolt, or Kamino Wards most eligible bachelor.

He shakes his head, has to nip the thoughts in the bud as he slides into one of the stools at the bar nestled in a secluded corner of the room. In a stool with one other soul next to him when he orders his first drink.

You.

You sit quietly next to him for a good minute, long enough for him to finish his first drink while you nurse your own, spinning around the little black straw you were given so you wouldn’t smear lipstick all over their precious glasses.

Keen ears flicking every time you hear him take a drink, every thick swallow of liquor you know should be burning his throat despite the low hum of conversation from the rest of the room.

Jolting slightly at the sound of glass hitting the hardwood bar top followed by his hiss before Denki turns his lower body towards you. Twisting his body in his seat as he leans cooly after calling for another two drinks, his own and whatever you’re nursing despite not even being half finished with it.

“Your ice is melted,” your ears twitch again before you finally turn to him as well, clutching at your drink as a new glass is slid towards you by the tender.

“Figured it was time for a new one, unless you like watered down drinks instead,” tone playful and intentionally disarming. You let your own eyes take up his body and he grins but the expression doesn’t meet his eyes when he reaches for his third drink.

He doesn’t give you a moment to respond, swallowing quickly as if he’s realized something, “oh you’re probably not supposed to drink too much on the clock huh?”

“How did you know?” Thinly veiled defensive tone, you’d just barely managed to school your features to keep from scowling at him.

“They value their discretion but they only hire hybrids as escorts,” commented calmly as he takes another sizable swig of his drink, chuckling as he glances at you from the corner of his eye, “it must be your first day.”

Denki makes it increasingly difficult for you to control your initial reactions, inherently uncomfortable with a man having an easy time reading you especially in this line of work. You’d only taken this gig because it paid well and you were assured you wouldn’t have to fuck any creep you didn’t want to as well as decent security to assure your safety.

You try to compose yourself a bit, crossing your legs as you pull down the hem of your dress, tail wrapping around your calf comfortingly as your lips purse around the little straw to sip cutely at your drink, “and what makes you so sure it’s my first day?”

He chortles at that, bringing his glass to his lips before snorting once more with a shake of his head, “you just look like this is the last place you wanna be, is all.”

“Maybe I’m just not that interested in you,” scoffed slightly but without any real malice as your lean your cheek against your curled knuckles, “would all that hero ‘people reading’ bullshit tell you that about me, Chargebolt?”

You eat up the way he looks struck, eyes widening minutely and his lips parting around a quiet exhale as he lowers his drink once again. Before he starts laughing. Genuine laughter, cute and boyish in nature despite how he’s now pushing his thirties and it makes your heart race. The sound of it is inherently different from the practiced reactions he displays for the cameras and impromptu interactions with fans in the streets.

It takes a moment for his laughter to subside, knuckle wiping at a tear along his lashline as if he hadn’t laughed like that in who knows how long, “ya caught me, darlin, how’d you know?”

“Did you think sunglasses and clipped back hair would make you unrecognizable or are you just used to everyone playing dumb when you

That takes him aback and you cringe at your own harsh tone, clutching your drink tighter as you glance around just in case your handler was still lingering close by before boisterous laughter pulls your attention once more. Expression softening at how vulnerable he looks when your gaze falls back to him, placing your hand over his to gently ask for his attention.

“The real Denki seems like he’d be a lot more fun than the Kaminari every piece of media tries to push, so how about we try again,” he looks at you curiously as you give him a soft smile, glass raised and held out between you both, “what’s your name handsome?”

Denki laughs again, nose scrunching cutely as he raises his glass to clink delicately against yours, “Kaminari, Denki Kaminari.”

He doesn’t do this, he’s never done this before, never brought an escort back to his own house.

You’d asked him for his number, he’d told you he’d left his home and you knew by his awkward groping at himself for it and the nervous twitch to his lip that he was telling the truth; even before he tried to swear to you he wasn’t lying. Quelling his descent into pitiable promises and attempts to prove that this wasn’t some ploy to take you home as you tell him you’ve no qualms about his sincerity.

Assuring him with a sweet tone and sway of your tail that made his heart skip a beat when you read him to filth for the second time that night, “I know, you’re a terrible liar.”

So how you got here, hungry kisses and fevered pawing before Denki’s able to stumble you both over the threshold to his humble home, you’re unsure. Maybe it was the way he’d switched your positions on the sidewalk so he was the one nearest oncoming traffic or the way he’d pulled you closer protectively and glared at a group of drunkards overtly ogling you.

Maybe it was how easily you made him laugh, whole bellied laugh, over some of the shitty dates horror stories you’d regaled him with and he shared in turn before the topic got heavier the closer to his home you got.

Asking him why he frequents the bar enough for you to know he was a repeat client from how the bartender served a specific drink after a single cursory glance.

It made Denki’s heart race, to be so obviously seen the way you’ve seen him tonight, it made sharing with you easy. Everyone already knew he’d fought in the war as a teenager but, surprisingly enough, he gives you the grittier details. The death, the mangling of his idols and classmates, how it all seems glamorized to Denki now ten years later.

And then the way you held him in your hands when he seemed to get riled up, knuckles white in clenched fists that eased when you slipped your fingers into his hand while you held his face with the other. Grounding him in that moment and the way the street lamps backlit you, painted you with an ethereal glow, you looked more like an angel to him.

He had to kiss you, and again whenever you’d make that cute squeak of surprise before melting into the exchange. Chaste brushes of one another lips quickly devolving into chasing contact, tentatively tongue swiping on Denki’s part past the seam of your lips to get a better taste of you. Mumbling an apology intermittently about the taste of alcohol on his own before commenting how he likes the honied undertones of the gloss layered over the lipstick he ruins.

Everything about you was so enchanting, so naturally alluring to him. It was easy for him to get lost in you like this, fumbling for the keys to his front door because he refused to untangle from you. Finally pressing your back against the door for some stability until he conquers the pesky lock and you both stumble into the privacy of his home.

Denki kicks the door shut behind him before flipping your positions to pin you against the sturdy wood. Crowding your space as he grows bold, hand venturing between your thighs and stifling a borderline whine that catches in his throat at the dampness he finds. Rewarding you with delicious friction as his fingers drag along your clothed slit until you’ve had enough of the teasing.

Tail wrapping around his wrist tightly as the heel of his palm grinds into your sensitive clit and his fingers sneak beneath the seam of your lacy panties to delve into your sopping entrance as if he’d even dream of pulling away from you.

Besides pushing your dress up higher around your hips as he slots his thigh between yours to give you steady friction while he works the material the rest of the way off. Your tail only unwinding from his forearm long enough for the garment to be shed before you’re pushing at his own clothing.

Bodies turning again as lithe digits work at the button and zipper of his pants while Denki lavishes your throat in open mouthed kisses as he walks you blindly. Expertly guiding you through familiar surroundings and into his room by the time you’ve pushed his pants low enough for him to step out of before the backs of your knees hit his mattress.

Saved from tipping backwards by the electric blond alone as both hands palm at the fat of your ass while your tail wraps around his upper thigh to keep it out of the way. Feeling his hard cock pressed against your mound while Denki fingers tease at your entrance and play with slick folds as he nips playfully at the sensitive cartilage of your ear.

Whispering a low, ‘do you have a condom?’ that you don’t catch at first, focus divided between the feel of him pressed against you and wiggling your hips hoping for even the moderate stretch of his fingers before he asks again.

“I don’t have one, do you have a condom?”

It’s almost jarring, forcing you to focus more in order to respond before you opt to simply cradle his jaw in your hands and seal your lips over his while your free hand grips at the base of his shaft. Pumping languidly as you go for another searing kiss, swallowing the groan you pull from him before you part, tugging his lower lip between your teeth gently.

“Does it really matter that much right now? When we’re already naked?” Purred in a sultry coo as your thumb rolls over his leaking tip, spreading his pre down his sensitive head and throbbing shaft.

“Not at all,” chirped before he flips you around and guides you forward, your hands and knees dipping in the mattress before you crawl towards the center. Denki’s chest pressed against your back as he slots himself against you perfectly.

Cock gliding through your folds, thick tip kissing your clit with each rut that’s soon punctuated by sweet pitchy keens from plush lips until he catches on your entrance. Obviously eager to fill you now himself because Denki’s hips begin to push forward until the soft clap of his pelvis against your ass can be heard. Resuming the stimulation you vocally approved of as he reaches his hand between you and the pillow top, ring and middle fingers rolling methodical circles into your puffy nub.

Dipping your chest to the mattress as you grip at the pillows haphazardly arranged at the end of the bed, only somewhat muffling your moans but Denki hears them clearly. Feeds off of them, grinning as he ruts into you before laughing breathlessly at the way your walls convulse around his cock as you mewl once more.

Leaning down as his lips leave a blazing trail from the nape of your neck to the juncture of your jaw.

“Pretty noisy for a mouse,” playful and fun, twirling your tail in the opposite direction he swirls his fingers around your clit, lips against your thrumming pulse point as humid breaths dampen the skin of your throat.

You’re not sure if the electricity you feel with every roll of his fingers in time with the rut of his hips is from the pleasure he provides or from his infamous quirk. You’re not sure you really care as you melt in his hold, mind going pleasantly numb as your grip on downy pillows tightens.

Muffling your mewls into the plush material, arch of your back worsening as Denki strokes along the sensitive base before you no longer feel his comfortable weight against you. Suddenly very empty, turning to look back at him just as Denki pulls your ass further into the air by it.

Leaky tip still teasingly gliding through your folds the same way Bakugou always brags about with his own spouse before Kaminari catches on your entrance.

The insufficient stretch has you jolting forward as your hands splay out on the headboard, pushing yourself backwards and sinking him further into your sopping cunt with a throaty groan.

Surprising Denki in turn, choking on a curse as his fingers quickly grab at the fat of your ass. Bead of sweat rolling down his temple with a wavering smile and furrowed brows marring handsome features as the confident facade falters, muttering a lame ‘whoa..’ when you take him to the base in one push.

Choking on his own spit when you rock backwards into him, finding your own pace as your head lolls backwards with breathy sighs bordering sweet moans.

Using Denki for your own pleasure now and it makes him throb, uselessly gripping at you and bucking out of sync at first until you whine.

Twisting to face him slightly as your hand splays out just beneath his navel, cute face crunched in mild frustration. Furrow of your only fading, plush lips pursing into a pretty ‘o’ when he grasps your hint and slows the rolls of his hips in time with the rhythm you set, “like that Denki, just like that.”

Thumb spreading you further, pulling gently at the skin of your cheek so he can watch with rapt attention how you’re stretched around him, how your greedy cunt grips him like you don’t want a moment of separation. Saliva pooling on his tongue Denki has to swallow thickly at how creamy rings gather at the base of his cock in time with how much more vocal you get.

He’s going to cum already from the slight alone, coil in his lower belly tight as his abdomen flexes beneath your fingertips.

Golden hues alight as a few subtle sparks of electricity dance in the air from his skin, literal shocks of pleasure heightening your experience and the pitchy keen he elicits from you is evidence enough.

In awe of how frantically you’re chasing your high, how you’re essentially using him as a human dildo and he’s loving every second of it. Feverishly chasing your climax, unabashed as you hiss and whimper in slight frustration before sitting up for a heightened sense of stimulation. Supporting yourself on the headboard but the sudden movement surprises him, thumb slipping past the tight ring into your ass and that’s the moment the coil snaps.

Loud moan reverberating against thin walls he’s sure his neighbors will complain about later as every muscle in your body tightens, twitching from the overwhelming euphoria.

Pulling Denki over the edge with you, white hot light clouding his vision as his fingers on your hip grip with a bruising force while he paints velvet walls in creamy white. He’d meant to pull out, meant to decorate your pretty skin since neither one of you had a condom but he’s glad he didn’t.

You’re warm, warmer than anything he’s ever experienced before and you’re pliant as you work your way down from cloud nine. Sitting up as Denki reflexively supports your body, pulling you until your back rests against his chest. Moving his hand to rest just below your diaphragm, hooking his chin on your shoulder as you both pant for breath.

“Wow..” Denki mutters against your dewy skin, keeping you pressed closely to him as you both regulate in your post ecstasy bliss. Kaminari laying a kiss to your trapezius muscle and then another at the column of your throat before resting his cheek on the ball of your shoulder so you can see him from the corner of your eye. Tired but cheeky smile lighting up his whole face as his fingers twirl the end of your tail, “do you wanna peg me next or is that a second date sort of thing?”

#vixen writes #denki x reader #denki x you #kaminari x reader #denki smut #denki kaminari x reader

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scourgeofmyownbrain · 1 month ago

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My siblings in Primus, holy fucking shit. I made an Optimus Height Chart. This took me.. SO LONG TO DO. Were y'all aware of how many Optimus designs there are?? Because I don't have all of them on this chart, and I still have TWENTY NINE (29, a 2 and a 9) out of the THIRTY SIX (36, a 3 and a 6) that exist. I didn't include the SEVEN (7) because either they were just a temporary upgraded form, or I already had multiple designs from that universe that were the same height and having all of them is redundant and repetitive.

40 fucking years and nearly as many distinct designs, I deserve a medal, honestly. Optimus has been in every single piece of media the Transformers franchise has ever made. Working on this in tandem with the Megatron one was a wild choice of mine, but I did it.

I included Optimus Primal on this chart. Both are named Optimus, I should not have to explain myself. Big Monkey and Big Truck are the same. No, your honour, I do not plead insanity; why do you ask?

Quick Disclaimer, if any of the images look weird, it's because I had to stitch a few separate images together to create a full body shot of the character.

Links to my Bumblebee Chart and my Megatron Chart. !!NEW!! -> Shockwave & Soundwave. For future reference, all these charts will be filed under my "Transformers Height Charts" tag and my "aka the adventures of a..." tag. Hopefully, my bumblebee post is acting up and idk if the same issue will happen here.

Explanations below the cut because I have fucking WORDS to say. This is gonna be a long one... 29 separate designs...

G1 Beast Wars V1 - ~9 Feet (Primal. Straight from TFWiki, converted to feet and rounded, the tiniest baby man gorilla)

G1 Beast Machines - ~8 Feet (Primal. The wiki failed me, but I found a old forum discussion where they made a chart comparing all the BW/M characters. Glorious stuff, I commend their effort.)

G1 Beast Wars V2 - ~10 Feet (Primal. TFWiki with the clutch, I will not always be this lucky.)

Earth Spark - ~15 Feet (Prime. No official numbers have been given, but I have already figured out how tall Bee is, and I was able to compare the two and get a good estimate. This is the shortest non-animal universe to date holy shit. Look at this, I'm showing my work

I am having a conniption they are so short)

RID 2001 - ~16 Feet (Prime. TFWiki once more, we love one source for everything)

Unicron Trilogy V2&3/ENG&CYB - ~16 Feet (Prime. For the uneducated, the Unicron Trilogy has given each of its 3 seasons separate names and 3 separate art styles. These are the designs used in Energon (S2) and Cybertron (S3). The Wiki had Cybertron's numbers but not Energon's, so for my own sanity, I decided the two were the same height. I could have done something in between Cybertron's and Armada's (S1) numbers, but there was a lot of float between the two)

G1 Beast Wars V3 - ~16 Feet (Primal/Optimal Optimus, this is the result of a fusion between Primal and Prime. The TFWiki says this design is like 40 feet tall, but if that is true, Rattrap, a character stated to be 1.8m or ~6f tall across several sources across several different languages, is actually not that tall. So I call bullshit, this guy is 2.6 Rattraps tall, making him around 16f or 4.9m tall. Checkmate, I win)

Prime Wars V1 - ~17 Feet (Primal. Slight spoilers for further into this chart but I decided that the Prime Wars Trilogy and the Netflix Cybertron Trilogy Optimuses were the same height as the Gen 1 design, because they're nearly identical. So comparing Primal to Prime, Primal comes up to about Prime's tits, bada bing bada boom)

Netflix Cybertron Trilogy - ~17 Feet (Primal. Identical explanation to above, don't want to repeat myself)

One V1 - ~17 Feet 10 inches (Prime. Okay, the Wiki says 32.534 feet, and I call Bullshit. A: These numbers are sourced from the Walmart Promotional AR Experience that came out before the movie. B: There are three decimal points, and that number does not convert into a whole number in meters (which is originally what I thought was weird about it). C: The director has said that this movie is both canon to the LA movies and its own separate canon. I already stated all of this in my Bumblebee chart post, and I will be dying on this hill. This is as short as we see OP in the movie, him at his tallest should match his KCV height, he's never taller than Megsy, so knock a couple feet off the biggest number and voila, my brain hurts)

One V2 - ~18 Feet 10 Inches (Prime. Same explanation as above, but taller than he was without his cog, because he got bigger)

Gen 1 - ~19 Feet (Prime. TFWiki has saved me the effort of figuring it out myself)

Prime Wars - ~19 Feet (Prime. As I said before, since this design is identical to Gen 1, it is the same height)

Netflix Cybertron Trilogy - ~19 Feet (Prime. I've said it twice now, identical, therefore same height)

Knight/Capel-Verse - ~19 Feet 4 inches (Primal. No Robot height given, I have his monkey form height from TFWiki, but comparing him to Optimus he's only a few inches shorter)

Prime Wars V2 - ~ 20 Feet (Primal. Compared to Prime, Prime comes up to about Primal's nose area, and we all know how tall I think this Prime is)

Animated - 20 Feet 6 Inches (Prime. This number actually comes from @phoenix-inanis and the glorious calculations they have done on the TFA Characters. Go check it out, because animated has literally no actual numbers -> https://phoenix-inanis.notion.site/TFA-Height-Chart-f6ad2960ca8c4c5b859ee4958723aaa4?pvs=4)

Knight/Capel-Verse - 20 feet 10 Inches (Prime. TFWiki has graced me with a number)

One V3 - ~20 Feet 10 Inches (Prime. If it's canon to KCV, then it's canon here. I've already told you my reasons)

Cyberverse - 21 Feet (Prime. Oh, shitty screenshot from a random Russian YouTube video; you treat me so well. I would adore a better scan of this if anyone has one)

RID 2001 V1 - 22 Feet 11 Inches (Prime. Technically, this number is for the Armada video game, which isn't exactly canon to the show. But I don't have any other numbers and my brain is tired, so CANON IT IS)

Aligned Cont. RID15 V1 - 25 Feet (Prime. I'm really proud of this one: I can already hear some of your questions. "But I thought his second form was as tall as his TFP V2 form, and this one was as tall as TFP V1," "but his V1 forms and V2 forms look like each other," You thought Wrong!! And I can Prove it!! Let's refresh ourselves on the height difference between TFP V1 Prime and Bee.

As we can see, Bee comes up to the top of Optimus's hips. Lovely. Now, let's look at RID15's height difference when Optimus first returns. Keep in mind that RID15 Bee and TFP Bee are the same height.

Look, Bee comes up to Optimus's chest in this form, not his hips. He comes up to a similar point on Bulkhead in the previous picture. Let's look at Prime's second form.

This is from the intro; yes, Bee is crouched, but look, if he stood straight he only comes up to about Prime's hips, JUST LIKE IN TFP!!! With this evidence, we can conclude that Prime's first RID15 form is similar in height to Bulkhead! I was so fucking excited to show y'all this, I was so proud of myself, I still am)

Bayverse V1 - 28 Feet (Prime. From the first 4 movies. Straight from TFWiki, because Mr. Michael Bay loves me)

Bayverse V2 - 29 Feet (Prime. Only in The Last Knight. Mr. Bay has lovingly kissed my forehead because he always gives me numbers for his movies)

Aligned Cont. WF/FOC/TFP V1/RID15 V2 - 30 Feet (Prime. TFWiki/Fandom/Me respectively. I love you, Video Game Info Screens. I am still pretty syced about figuring RID15 out, oh I feel so good. Almost makes me forget about how FREAKISHLY HUGE this universe is. And how the games concretely prove this fact)

Aligned Cont. TFP V2 - 35 Feet (Prime. Yes this number comes from Fandom, but this entire universe is monstrously huge for no reason, I believe it. Go look at my Bee chart for more in-depth and insane rant about how huge this universe is compared to other universes, it's at the end of the post)

Not Pictured: Aligned Cont. Rescue Bots and Rescue Bots Academy Optimus Prime - 30 Feet. (Yes, Optimus in the Aligned Continuity has 7 distinct designs across the whole thing. I am in physical pain. SEVEN?? ONE GUY?? SEVEN??), Bayverse Optimus Prime Power Up - 40 Feet. (It's an upgrade form that does not stick around, why should I include it), RID 2001 Super Mode - ~21 feet (Optimus can turn it on and off at will, it's just an upgrade mode), Unicron Trilogy Energon & Cybertron Optimus Prime Super Mode - ~20 Feet (Once more, upgrade mode, it's like stilts, you don't count something you don't always have on.)

29 pngs, holy shit I've done it. This took so long. If anyone has any suggestions for which transformer I should aggressively analyze next please tell me I don't know which ones to do next.

Here are the different layers separated, just so you can see all the many Optimuses (Optimusi?) clearly. I know my og chart is crowded, there's 29 pngs on there you don't think I noticed?

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jyoongim · 9 months ago

Note

Okay before I put in my request lemme just get this off my chest. I love anything you do with Al (my man my man my man)!!! Like you eat every single time and if anyone says others wise they’re hating idc. Don’t ever don’t your craft I’m so serious! Much love🫶🏾

Now for my request could you do something with Alastor adjusting to his gf who’s from more modern times? I’d like to see that scary scrawny old man with a thick young lit bich. Both of them getting used to each others likes, habits, interests (he reads the paper while she scrolls on her phone, he hums old songs from his time when he’s getting ready for the day while she has or rnb playing on a speaker while she does her makeup, etc). Idk I like seeing opposites come together☺️

my man my man my man my man is right baby! Awwwwww thank you so much. Words cannot describe how this made me feel (giggling and blushing reading this) I LOVE YOU ❤️💕😘

Alastor didn’t know what attracted him to you. The two of you were complete opposites. From completely different eras.

Your attitude, style, language, hobbies all of it was so different from his time.

But he adored you nonetheless.

You used to think he was so old-fashioned. Not liking modern tech, reading the paper, cooking home cooked meals instead of takeout. Often confused when he spoke in riddles than actually being direct.

But the two of you made a cute pair.

For instance:

You were sitting at your vanity, makeup sprawled everywhere as your hiphop playlist played. You were recording a video or ‘going live’ as you put it. Alastor found himself liking the music you played as he got ready.

”who’s the old man?” He heard you say, a laugh bubbling from you as you broke out in giggles. He turned his head to see you give a sly smile in his direction before turning back to your camera.

”oh that fossil?” you chirped, giggling at the comments flooding your feed.

Another comment must have caught your attention because you snorted.

Alastor never understood your need to be on social media. To entertain others that weren’t him, but he let you be.

He was curious. What had you giggling so much?

You smiled as he appeared behind you, large lanky frame entering the camera frame. He wasn’t glitching.

”Dearest what’s got you so ticketed?”he asked, peering over your shoulder to look at the little words appear on your screen.

’why is an old man in the room with you?’

’HE BAGGED A BADDIE LIKE YOU? NO WAY!’

’definitely a sugar daddy’

’why you with that old man?’

He tilted his head, where they referring to him? His lip curled as he read the comments, looking at you for some context.

You giggled,wrapping an arm around his neck to rub his cheek against yours lovingly.

”yes yes this is MY man. Alastor tell everyone ‘hello’ ” he growled instead,giving your glossy lips a peck before walking back to finish getting ready.

You giggled, continuing to put your makeup on as you sang along to your music, eyes reading the comments on Alastor.

”I put this WAP on him y’all hahaha but no You know i looooove the way he treats me. Absolute princess treatment” you laughed. Alastor adjusted his bow tie on final time before turning his attention back to you

You had finished your makeup, standing up you showed your outfit of the day and made silly faces.

You leaned over your chair to read a comment

”He must be dicking you down real goodt” you read out loud and before you could respond your phone glitched out, ending your live.

You pouted, turning to Alastor “Al!”

He wrapped his lanky arms around your plush form, “such lewd comments” he said admiring your makeup.

Sometimes you catch yourself humming the songs he played as he cooked. You were NOT a cooker, so watching Alastor helped you figure out what went with what for when you actually attempted to cook.

”baby what’s that?” You asked as he pulled out multiple seasonings. He explained each seasoning, what the flavor did in different recipes and how to properly blend them so they weren’t so hard but a subtle taste.

You weren’t too keen on his cannibalistic ways, but you loved to watch his process.

Angel and Husk often made snide comments about how you must be rubbing off on the old demon.

“He did not use that slang right toots, what are you teaching him?”

You would shrug it off, thinking it was cute Alastor was picking up on your modern language.

Most days when the hotel wasn’t on fire, you and Alastor sat in bliss; him reading the newspaper as you asked him his opinion on random posts you saw as you scrolled on your phone.

Alastor loved to take you to lounges, not disgusting clubs you were so privy to. He thought you need to be exposed to ‘real music and dancing’. He would drag you to the dancefloor, pulling you in for a waltz or whatever old timey dance from his time.

While he didn’t mind the lustful sensation of your body rolling against his, he loved watching you trying to learn steps to old dances.

The way you flushed with embarrassment as you stepped on his toes as you tried to follow always made him laugh.

Alastor was not a fan of your attitude. You were sassy and always spoke your mind, not caring that he often spoke empty threats at you. You never cowered at him and always had to get the last word in. It really ticked him off, but it also made his chest swirl with lust when you never backed down from him.

Your arguments often led to the two of you fucking it out.

Him degrading you as you hiss insults at him, but purring as he pounded your pussy into the mattress.

The two of you were like puzzle pieces. You fit together perfectly, even if the picture looked odd.

The two of you wouldn’t have it any other way

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #jyoongim #alastor x y/n #alastor hazbin hotel

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helloaugustmoon · 5 months ago

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Michael Jackson x she/her!reader

this was my first ever request for this blog! thank you so much for requesting, angel, I hope you like it! ♡

·˚ ◌༘͙[Dating Michael] ! ˊ

Off The Wall - his shyest era, but also his least paranoid one; his focus will be your relationship rather than any media issue, so this’ll be an endless honeymoon phase era filled with the excitement of the start of something great. consistently throughout any era, Michael needs a lot of reassurance for his insecurities. you’ll be his first everything - if you’ve got any experience prior to him, you’ll need to guide him, but if you don’t, you’ll learn together. being his first, he’ll figure out his relationship style with you, his love languages of touch and gift giving, and he’ll go all out in both of those with you, given that he’s never had the opportunity to do so before. Michael wants you in every music video, he’s just so excited to be with you and show the world that you’re his

Thriller - it is quite literally only your insist and police refusal that means you’re not the star of the Thriller music video, I’m saying. there’s a lot of pressure on Michael during this era, but he won’t ever take that out on you, he’ll confide in you and need your comfort. you’ll be at every tour date with him, no question. he begins to understand the negatives of being in the public eye and gets very upset when the media publish anything pertaining to your relationship - who are they to have an opinion on what they know nothing about? it upsets him, but you’re there to reassure him that there words are nothing, that you two know you’re good and that’s all that matters.

Bad - very accustomed to being under scrutiny from the media by now, it bothers Michael less, but he’s more keen to keep your relationship private and is less insistent on you joining him when he’s on tour; you’re welcome to join him if you’d like to, but you’ll need an extensive security detail at all times - Michael will miss you terribly if you stay in Neverland, but he’ll write you everyday and return home in between dates as often as he can, and he’ll completely understand if you’d prefer to be there. he knows you’ll be safer there than you would be in all the penthouse suites he stays in all over the world, and coming home to you makes it all worth it.

Dangerous - this era specifically is Michael’s peak for gift giving (that ornate album cover says it all); he will insist upon buying you every single thing you ever want in general, but in this era? if you have some obscure dream of owning an animal shelter or hospital or store of any kind, Michael has it built for you in secret to surprise you with it. he wants you to have your own ventures, your own passions and joys, and he feels honored he is the one to give them to you. he loves hearing about you running your own business, seeing you so happy living your every dream with him.

Blood On The Dance Floor - not all that different to the Dangerous era except to stay Mike’s playing you from Neverland to wherever he is on any given day for some post-show romancing. that’s all. kinkiest era Idc.

Invincible - in this era, he’s adamant about staying home with you rather than touring; he’s seen so much of the world, you’re the only world he wants to orbit for the rest of his life. this is Michael’s most paranoid era, so everything is done with the utmost secrecy, in particular any travel/holiday plans, but he’ll take you anywhere you’d like to go, everywhere you’ve ever dreamt of visiting - home is wherever you are. this is very much also a honeymoon era, in that you will be Michael’s solace through the stress of this time, and that only makes him adore you all the more.

·˚ ◌༘͙[Additional Notes] ! ˊ

Michael is ready to have kids in any era, whenever you feel ready to. if you want children with him, there are contrary points to the above pertaining to you being in Neverland with your family, safe and happy, when Michael tours and that you will all fly out together to see him (only to destinations with the shortest flights so that the children don’t suffer any long flights), as well as further hc’s surrounding discussing baby names in quiet, giggling whispers in the dark, how differently Michael acts during your pregnancy, etc - please feel free to request separate hc’s for these! ♡

#michael jackson x reader #michael jackson imagine #fanfic #fanfiction #michael jackson #imagine #imagines #x reader #headcannon #headcannons

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opreaadriann · 8 months ago

Text

High School Revenge

High School Revenge is an interactive fiction game set in the scariest imaginable location: high school. In this game, you will get to play as a teenager that was betrayed by his best friends and classmates 7 years ago, and get to come back to their high school, with a completely different look, preparing your revenge on them, Count of Monte-Cristo style. You will get to live a full academic year alongside your 8 targets, as you befriend, betray, and even romance them to get what you want. Will you forgive them after learning of their reasons or will you go through with your sweet, sweet revenge? The current version of the demo is 102k words.

Demo

The game is still a work-in-progress, so any suggestions are appreciated! If you find any bugs or issues, make sure to mention them.

Other places where you can follow the project or support me:

X/Twitter COG Forum Patreon (+many words demo, I lost count) Discord

Features:

Play as male, female, or nonbinary.

Romance your 6 childhood bullies, your 2 childhood friends, or hidden allies.

Live the tragic childhood events that lead to the worst day of your life and decide how everything went down.

Almost all targets will have deep secrets that you’ll have to discover throughout the story and use against them.

Pretend to be a charismatic popular kid, a likeable klutz, a rebel that goes against the norm, or the edgy, silent type.

Lie, charm, spy, blackmail, everything is on the table to get your revenge. There is no “good” way to learn the targets’ secrets and there’s no perfect way to get the job done.

Your stats will almost never affect your capability to get revenge. All that will make a real difference will be your relationship with all the characters.

Spend a full academic year getting to know your targets, interacting with them through random events, relationship events, or hobby events, similar to a Persona game.

Romance Options:

Targets

Dylan Evans

The first friend the MC ever made, Dylan was once just a nerdy Asian kid with big square glasses, playing video games with you every single day. However, as time passed, he turned into a social media influencer, garnering over tens of thousands of likes on every post.

With an incredibly fake smile, Dylan manages to turn most people into his followers, as his strategy to suck up to the rest of the students seems to work quite well.

Though he seems to be quite irredeemable, you do remember him being a selfless kid with a big heart. There are so many memories with him helping you out whenever he could, being the only person you could confide in. What could have made him turn against you when you needed him most?

Olivia Hartley

If your MC had to choose the most unlikely person to ever do them wrong, then Olivia would be their first choice. Strong willed and incredibly sarcastic, this raven-haired tall girl has remained exactly the same 7 years later.

And yet, she did betray you on the day of the Tragedy, giving secret information to your bullies and allowing you to fall victim to their prank… What could have been her reason?

Olivia is an incredibly intuitive person, with a quick mind and a powerful personality to boot. Someone like her will likely be a huge challenge in the upcoming revenge, but not even her can stop this mastermind.

Michael Knox

This tall, dark, and handsome captain of the Baseball team can be, depending on your choices, the person that tricked you into falling in love with him, only to publicly humiliate you in front of the whole school.

He is an incredibly talented athlete with a very arrogant attitude, assuming that the world belongs to him. With a very rich dad to support him, nothing has ever gone wrong in his life, if we were to ignore his mother’s death during his birth.

Can he be considered one of the main antagonists of this story or is he just a secret follower that only followed orders during the Tragedy?

Cecily Knight

Ah yes, Cecily Knight. Everyone, everywhere knows who Cecily Knight is. This petite blue-eyed blonde is the captain of the swimming team, and regularly publicly humiliates anyone that attempts to get to know her romantically.

With such a strong reputation, Cecily manages to order around anyone in the school with ease, as they all lower their heads when she passes them on the hallways.

However, observing her more closely can reveal that she is much more docile with her friends and loved ones. Is she actually an ice queen or is it all a facade to protect herself?

Connor Cobb

With his long blond hair and piercing smile, Connor tends to attract every girl that passes his way. However, he manages to make them all leave once he opens his mouth, as his desperation can be seen from miles away.

As the star guitarist of The Fighting Rooster, Connor is an incredibly talented individual that planned the whole part of the Tragedy where they befriended you first before destroying your life.

Though he seems like a total idiot, looking into his life seems to reveal that there is more to him than just this fake persona he shows everyone. With 3 younger siblings, Connor seems to have a lot on his shoulders as many in his family look up to him.

Isaac Freeman

With his curly red locks and emerald eyes, Isaac manages to trick many people into thinking he is someone they would like to get to know. As the mastermind behind the Tragedy, he is the worst out of all the people on this list.

It is quite common for him, even 7 years later, to bully students so badly that they decide to move schools. By observing his behavior, it seems that all he cares about is being thoroughly entertained.

Either make him laugh, do something outrageous, or get out of his way, as he will do his best to make every day more interesting than the last.

Vivian Porter

Vivian turned from Isaac’s best friend in her childhood to Dylan’s current confidant. With a seemingly perfect appearance and an endless wardrobe, Vivian manages to impress anyone that sees her pass by.

She is incredibly empathic, being able to tell what anyone is feeling at a glance, allowing her to use this skill to make anyone fall for her ambitious tricks.

Is she just someone that just made a mistake during childhood or are her intentions impure at this age as well?

Haley Freeman

As Isaac’s twin sister, nobody would expect her to be the biggest goody two shoes the world has ever seen. Seemingly stuttering her way through most conversations, people usually tend to forget she even exists.

This curvy redhead has a deep passion for painting, as she spends most of her time in the school gardens, capturing the view.

Is there more to Isaac’s sister than meets the eye or is she just another victim of Isaac’s abuse?

Allies

Angela Slone

A swimmer with long, brown hair, Angela is part of the team alongside Cecily. After being bullied into submission by the harpy, she reluctantly decides to help the MC carry out their revenge against their many targets.

With a bubbly personality and a merciful soul, Angela is possibly the worst ally for this revenge you could find. However, this doesn’t mean she can’t be tricked into giving you what you want.

Marcus Parmer

Marcus has led a horrible life during high school. Being diagnosed with a medical condition forcing him to go bald, he has been constantly bullied by Isaac ever since he joined the Baseball team.

He is much more serious than any of the allies you can find in the school, but he isn’t the most capable person for the job. He is, however, excited to help you get rid of the scum pretending to be students in his school.

#interactive fiction #choicescript #interactive game #romance #high school revenge #dashingdon #if wip

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ashs-nerd-den · 2 months ago

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Gearrscannán ar YouTube

Short films on YouTube

(Don't worry, everything has English subtitles in the videos themselves)

Fán https://youtu.be/e3xnvkMp_1Q?si=i-4pmljDbzA8bRtu

Created by the incredible @nibmoss, an absolute queen (Bánríon). It is a short sapphic story about 2 best friends who end up together and it is my favourite short story ever!!! It is also my favourite piece of Irish media in existence!!! I love it!!! It is incredible!!! BEYOND AMAZING!!!

Yu Ming is ainm dom https://youtu.be/JqYtG9BNhfM?si=jnZjP4LozqOhNxkI

This is a classic. Ive had 4 different teachers show me this over the years, and my first year Irish class studied it exam style. It was the first piece that we studied and everyone LOVED it, people were quoting it all the time. Every second conversation had someone using a line from it. It's a crows pleaser and simple to listen to even without the subtitles provided. It also has a great storyline about a man who is fed up with his life in China and learns Irish to move over here, and well (bhuel) , I won't spoil the plot twist for you

Lipservice https://youtu.be/4QP0eEhhTSo?si=1DLvo_ECRhwGI5s8

It's the day of the oral exams and everyone is terrified (bhí imní an domhain ar gach duine), people are rehearsing in the bathrooms and speaking French instead of English, the stuff that half of them come out with is absolutely gas, this one is such a bit of craic, I was in stitches. And the bit at the end is so sweet. Is breá liom an gearrscannán seo agus beidh mé mo scrúdú béil i dhá bhliain 🙈🙈🙈 (I loved this short film and I've my speaking test in 2 years🙈🙈🙈

Filleann ar feall https://youtu.be/Tay7eMxas2k?si=q3ksVJVYJ7E_xxoa

IT'S CILLIAN MURPHY AG CAINT AS GAEILGE!!! You can't beat a bit of Cillian, he's a national treasure. And this is 2000 Cillian, he's so young (this was before I was born) he's in the Gaeltacht for his holidays with a grumpy friend, on a job to sell some Putchín, and he is everyone's favourite sweetgeart, a bit of a himbo, and a respecter of old ladies. Agus deir duine sa sna tuairimí (a person in the comments said that it's like Breaking bad, but with an Irish teacher that instead of a chemistry one (I've never seen Breaking Bad, so I don't know how true that is, but I do know that this was AR FHEABHAS!!!

Rúbaí https://youtu.be/jjYx5v2BUWo?si=tFu1ektBvHNkoQFB

This is a short story about a little girl (cailín beag) who's class is about to make their 1st Holy Communion, but she doesn't believe in God (ní creideann sí i nDia). She's everyone is trying to convince her that god is real and she's just like "nope, read a bit of Darwin, he's great, I'm off to collect worms", even to the priests face and towards the end there's a bitter sweet twist which gives a LOT of background. This was a nice, easy watch, the little girls was so cute, there were a couple of laughs (cúpla gáire) and the vocab was nice and simple

Gaiste https://youtu.be/Xr-V7vg_Y2Q?si=cMMNqPLkmtugbg8t

Very simple vocab, good message, kind of like a fable, big "One of us is Lying" vibes. Nice short film overall

Fíorghael https://youtu.be/t3Kv4fZ2SOE?si=bHibiFJyRUcvZ-TZ

This ones a bit older, but it's still a good bit of craic. You need to wait a couple of minutes to get into it, but the end is brilliant (Caithfidh tú cúpla nóiméad a fanacht chun dul isteach ar, ach tá an chr��och go hiontach)

Sylvia https://youtu.be/fi_4aweOP4w?si=ZCfUAfYaD73IVn8r

There are plot twists, and then there plot backflips, this was the later. This is so weird, but I really enjoyed it at the same time

Ciúnas https://youtu.be/cGfuQ-HeTmk?si=WRPGmo-UNQ0bw9mA

There's not much dialogue, but all of it is very casual, so you still get to pick up a few words that you wouldn't find in a textbook. The storyline is quite sweet, but please be careful watching because it although it centres around her family's love for her, it is set on the way home from the hospital after she tried to end her own life

#ash’s originals #Gearrscannán #resources #online resources #free resource #youtube #irish langblr #irish language #ag foghlaim gaeilge #gaeilge #as ghaeilge #langblr #Studyblr #Adhd studyblr #Spoonie studyblr #This is such a great way to study when you have no spoons #It requires like 0.05% energy for me #So I love doing it

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catsoupki · 6 months ago

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CHP. ONE | INEBRIATION QUENCHES THE THIRST

SUMMARY: Katsuki has settled into a routine-like dance with you ever since your debut as a hero. He takes care of you like harmonious clockwork, but as he peels layer after layer, he’s caught up with his own tantalising feelings when he finds your blood staining his hands. You teach him, slowly, of what it means to fall in love.

TAGS: pro hero au, fem reader, banter, hurt/comfort, eventual smut (ch4)

CHAPTER LENGTH: 2,754 | SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT CHP.

“You look like shit.” Bakugou stalks into the room just to catch you in your most vulnerable moment— you only had concealer applied to your face. “You insulted the wrong person, babe.” You shoot back before muttering a small ‘sorry’ to the angel of a woman that was doing your make-up, who shakes her head with a soft smile while muttering something about puppy love. You roll your eyes. Bakugou clicks his tongue before falling down on the seat beside you with a heavy thud. “You letting yourself go that soon, Kats?” The nickname you’ve given him doesn’t properly sound as your makeup artist, Tanaka, was it? covers your lips with some scrub.

You celebrate your victory of the day as he only answers with a tch. He glares at the poor soul assigned to do his make-up for the event through the mirror, before his gaze shifts towards you.

You look stunning, as always. Not that he’d admit it, ever. You look like you fit the title “Number Four Hero”. Wearing only a flimsy vest, your collarbones were exposed as you sat in the make-up chair. The lighting at the studio only further accentuated the curves of your arms— forcing him to will his eyes to meet anything else before you catch him, and he certainly, most definitely does not want to endure your teasing, and for the record, your teasing absolutely does not make his night spent at these charity events more tolerable and manageable, and, not even enjoyable. Not in the slightest bit. At least that’s what he tells himself anyway.

You two were intentionally put into the same room, as always— you’re notorious for being one of the few pro-heroes who’s able to keep up and deal with his temper and attitude. Ever since your graduation from Shiketsu, the media immediately spotted the similarities between your personalities and fighting styles: strategically brash, stupidly abrupt, and chaotically unpredictable. The only difference being that you aren’t unnecessarily rude to those who don’t deserve it;

Finally though, during an interview a few years after your debut, it was made clear that you had known Dynamight since he was a child growing up in the rural outskirts of Musutafu. Ever since, the two of you became each other’s automatic plus-one for every social event.

+++

Doing the breathing exercise your manager of all people taught you, you step out of the black vehicle, instantly greeted with a myriad of flashes and shouts. Paparazzi, fans and the like all vie for your attention, the December air nipping at your skin but you put on your plastic-smile and fight your way across the red carpet, stopping at the stairs and meeting the eye of Dynamight.

He was in a dashing grey suit and a black blazer the same shade as your low cut maxi dress, tailored to fit him at all the right places, all broad shoulders and tiny waist (his waist-to-hip ratio is infuriating) donning a red tie that didn’t live up to the crimson in his eyes at all. He looks good, as he always does. You really can’t be any more grateful to the shiver of sharks and cameras surrounding you two, by the time you get home, you can gawk at his stature in paparazzi pictures in the quiet of your humble abode. It doesn’t mean you won’t try your best to sneak glances up and down his body tonight though, but there will only be so many instances where he has his back turned to you.

His hand grazes your lower back while your arms remain at your sides, both of you standing at a slightly slanted angle so that you were facing each other in the tiniest bit. Flashes of cameras continue to barrage you two as the shouts get more and more aggressive, Bakugou quickly lifts up his hand and sends the photographers a hot and quick message of fuck-you with his middle finger; you were thankful, but that didn’t stop you from elbowing him in the ribs before you were so rudely torn away and steered around the venue by your plus-one.

Both of you were accustomed to this, boring speeches from the host of the event — some balding guy that was shrivelling up in his seventies with too much money — awards honoured to the top five heroes and a bunch of group pictures.

“Next up, we have our number four hero, Metal Gear!” Your smile is as plastered to your face as the sweat on your hands as you walk on stage, met with claps and the beaming smiles of your friends and colleagues and ex-classmates. “This year, she not only made history by becoming the first female hero to achieve such a high ‘blood-spill’ rating, she also has the highest score for ‘the element of surprise’ since the founding of the Hero Commission!” You shake hands with the rich and balding guy as he hands you two plaques made of glass, the backstage workers motion for you to join Tsukuyomi next to the rest of the guests while you wait for the remaining heroes. “Smile!” The photographer gleams as you all but Katsuki does the basic celebrity face— cheeks up eyes open!

And the rest? It all goes by in a blur.

+++

It was some time close to the ass-crack of dawn. After attending the set amount of after-parties your manager set you to, you crawl into the back of the agency car before it speeds off to your honest cabin. Your gaze settles unfocused outside the window, tall and lonely street lights taking turns mocking your weak frown with their derisive yellow hues, you take note of the scattered blue lights in office towers, those who live a life not knowing comfort and safety, and a sense of gratitude fills your heart.

Fighting off inebriation and drowsiness doesn’t get easier despite the accumulation of experience, you’re flushed with alcohol, ears still buzzing with lost excitement, stomach fluttering with the remnants of butterflies from the times Katsuki brushed his knee against yours under the dining table that night, or when you felt his (almost envious) eyes burning holes at your back as you involuntarily talked with Monoma.

Slurring a quick thank you, you stumble out the door and fiddle with the keys before kicking off your heels and crash-landing on your couch. You won’t wake up until tomorrow, when your manager calls your house phone because she knows you. After all, she has worked with you since the founding of Metallica™, she knows your habits, she knows the battery of your cellphone has long been dead since last night, and she knows you haven’t showered yet, nor have you done anything really. So she calls you with a long enough buffer period that by then you’ll get your life and yourself back in check and open your eyes to another day of paperwork and patrolling.

She brings you your second cup of coffee in the morning. Hangovers are difficult to deal with so she gets you a cookie to help with the patrol you have to go on 17 minutes later too. You’re paired with a new sidekick whose name you forgot, the both of you groaning after hearing the screams of civilians and the shatters of windows in the penultimate minute of your duty time. You decide that you like this sidekick.

But it’s everyday work, you’re used to this. This being the fact that your neighbourhood burglars and robbers always resort themselves to metal weapons because they’re the cheapest and most accessible.

You’ll have to thank them for the relatively easy but interesting job though.

+++

This time the monthly group hangout is, surprisingly, being held at Bakugou’s place. You have no idea what blackmail Mina must have pulled up to convince him to let you guys absolutely wreck his place, but you keep your comments to yourself.

You’re the last to arrive, having just finished an interview with some late night show, you hurry towards Katsuki’s home, a modern and sleek one at that. He hired some designer who was apparently a friend of his mother, and man did that woman have taste.

The interior mostly consisted of neutrals, grey walls and black cupboards, and obviously a kitchen done to his exact liking, with a rotating seasoning rack, a two-door fridge, and a sink that has a detachable faucet with five different pressure settings.

Your knuckles were met with nothing on the third knock, the door swinging open to reveal an extra smiley and doubtlessly tipsy Kirishima. You can hear the television playing, some shitty movie with the cheesiest lines you’ve ever heard, ‘but I love her!’; Mina and Kirishima were probably the ones responsible for the rather unwise movie choice.

You give a polite wave, simultaneously kicking off your shoes before beelining to the makeshift bar to pour yourself at least two shots before joining the rest of them. Denki gives you his usual greeting, something something flirtatious with a wink, Sero a friendly hello, and of course, his elbows. Mina must be stuck in the bathroom since you still haven’t had air pushed out your lungs by her signature hug. And Bakugou? You don’t see him.

Ah, he’s in the kitchen. As much as he likes to complain that he isn’t Denki’s nor Sero’s private chef, you know he can’t stand their poor dietary choices, so he takes matters into his own hands instead. For whatever reason, their habits of eating instant ramen six nights a week never truly left them even after UA. Whatever Bakugou is making, it smells delirious, you feel yourself getting high just from smelling it—

“Oh my god bitch I haven’t seen you in so long!” So long as in two weeks. Just how she is anyway. You usually return her energy, but it’s been a busy day, so you just respond with a tired nod and hooded eyes before allowing yourself to be dragged towards the couches, but being weary doesn’t make you any less alert so you don’t miss the (worried) glance Katsuki sends you.

You guys are a weird, weird group. You’ve known Bakugou since he was a scrawny little kid at the sandbox, and for a long time you went on play dates together while your mothers sipped on expensive teas and gossiped about the neighbourhood drama, but when Katsuki started acting more violent and aggressive towards Izuku, you had stopped talking to him after numerous failed attempts of telling him to stop. He’d reply with ‘You don’t get to tell me what to do!’ or maybe ‘If you loved stupid Deku so much go play with him instead!’, his crimson orbs didn’t look familiar when he spat those ugly words at you.

You were sad, of course. Your mother was your saving grace because she told you you’d be moving a few streets away and attending a different school just three weeks later.

It was a bittersweet goodbye, whatever that meant for two seven year olds, but despite his absence from your life, his grip on you never loosened, his influence was as present as ever, and you found yourself longing to become a hero by the age of thirteen, your parents began to lecture you, and you were no longer the sweet nine year old toddler who listened to every word spoken by your dear father, but instead you rebelled— you filled out the high school application form yourself without consulting your parents, you put down your own phone number when your homeroom teacher requested to call your mother to make sure your school choices are final.

Even with Bakugou off of your mind, you two still had uncanny similarities that Izuku never unsaw. You didn’t make it into UA, but two years after the USJ event, you started studying at Shiketsu.

You grew to be a wonderful teenager and soon, a preadolescent. You kept seeing Bakugou on the television, for the first few times you hated it, but you grew to accept that— you’ll have to share the same neighbourhood anyway.

That became true during your final year in Shiketsu, where you went to Miruko for your internship, you ran into Bakugou, the sidekick, there.

It took some reconciliation, sure. Months and months were spent biting at each other’s necks, never backing down from fights and bickers, but you were quickly adopted into their group despite being two years younger when Mina relaid the things she heard you call Bakugou to the rest of her friends (“Is Mitsuki doing well? Can’t be that well if she still has you as a son,” “You should text her yourself, maybe she’ll give you some skincare advice too.”)

Two shitty movies later, Denki and Sero have their arms around each other’s shoulders as they bump their way out the door and down the hallway, Kirishima is holding Mina’s heels while she herself is smothering you with kisses and telling you to get home safe, you would have texted her about it if you weren’t in the bad state that you are in now. They don’t say anything about you staying, you’re always the one to stay to help with clean-up at every meet-up anyway. But, this time, you think that maybe you should’ve left with them too, the air is awfully thick with tension, and you don’t know why—

“Fuck’s sakes eyebrows, just spit it out, we both know you have something to say.” Katsuki mumbles quite softly, but the way he aggressively picks up beer cans negates the gentleness he was trying to convey.

“‘m just tired. ‘s been a hefty week.”

You know it’s a blatant lie, even he knows it’s false. But he doesn’t call you out on your shit, not yet anyway. Instead, he decides to bribe you to save your ego.

He wraps up the cleaning process at lightning speed before bolting towards the kitchen. And just with the ingredients he’s pulled out, you know he’s making you your favourite soup.

(You ignore the feeling that infests your heart just by knowing he’s kept the necessary ingredients for your favourite soup in his fridge.)

The way he handles the knife, the food, the pot, even with the way he shuffles across the kitchen, grabbing the seasoning he knows you like, it’s all way too meticulous. It’s his territory, arguably more so than the battlefield. You sit at your usual spot, the left corner of the kitchen island to watch him cook, your spot. He hands you the mug, your favourite way to drink his soup, your favourite mug, and your own dedicated spoon. It’s all too meticulous, he leans against the countertop, drinking you in while you drink the soup he made. You look tired, more exhausted than usual, even more strenuous than the time you did 7 social events back to back.

He knows something’s wrong, he’s just waiting for you to tell him, like how you always do. And even you know you’ll tell him eventually. So you save both you and him some precious time and sleeping hours by spitting it out now.

“My parents have been giving me shit again, I thought that after they laid off a bit meant that they have finally come to terms with my work as a hero. Surprise surprise, they haven’t.”

The nonchalant look on your face, the would-be furrow between your brows, the would-be tears in your eyes, he already sees them. He inhales deeply, all the way down to the last crevice of his lungs, resting his eyes for a split second before realising just how sleepy he is, but he’ll always have time for you, so he doesn’t mention it.

He waits a bit more, and you’re confused at first, until you realise that he’s just waiting for you to finish the soup. So you do so hurriedly, and let him drag you to his bed. You flop onto it unceremoniously and certainly without much grace. He sighs, not having the heart to force you into cleaner pyjamas, he's just going to have to clean those sheets for the second time this week. He rolls onto the bed himself, he doesn’t touch you, not like he ever has, but he just lets you know he’s there, with his pillow, his blanket; it’s his cologne that floods the bed, it’s his apartment that you’re in, but you kind of knew, that he’s here, for you. Always your respite, always your safe haven.

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