#but I want the stupid shit they pull halfway through a season to fuck things up as well

[quietwingsinthesky]

Thinking about what if Supernatural pulled from mythology and every time they bound Death for whatever task, no one on Earth could die.

[creamflix]

cw: some more college frenemy turned lover sukuna, mentions of seasonal depression. reader's implied to be shorter than sukuna. mentions of sex [nothing too detailed], needy sukuna & ovulating reader. reader is sick [no specifics] but recovers. part one part two

[pre-relationship]

it had been one of those days, or maybe one of those weeks, when everything felt heavy. the good ol' seasonal depression had wrapped itself around you like an unwelcome blanket — making you short with people, prone to snapping at anyone who dared talk to you. the crying jags came in waves, always in private, because god forbid anyone saw you like this.

you’d hit the peak of it that day, lying on your dorm bed with the lights dimmed, wallowing in the uncomfortable mix of self-pity and disgust. you couldn’t even bear to look at yourself in the mirror.

god, this fucking sucks, you thought, curled up under a blanket you hadn’t washed in weeks.

so when the knock on your door came, your first instinct was to ignore it. but whoever it was didn’t stop.

“open up, woman,” came the unmistakable growl of sukuna’s voice, muffled through the door.

sukuna? of all people? no, absolutely not.

“go away,” you yelled, voice hoarse from earlier tears. “i’m not in the mood.”

“too bad,” he replied. there was a click as the lock turned, and your door creaked open. of course, the bastard had your spare key.

you glared at him from your cocoon of misery as he strolled in, completely unbothered. “what the hell, sukuna?”

but he didn’t say a word. instead, he set down a bag on your desk, pulling out containers one by one. it wasn’t takeout — no, this was the real deal.

you could smell the savory warmth of a proper, home-cooked meal, the kind you hadn’t had in weeks.

“what are you doing?” you asked, voice cracking halfway through.

“what’s it look like? you looked like shit last time i saw you, so i figured you weren’t eating,” he said, not even sparing you a glance as he set up. “i made extras. don’t read into it.”

you blinked at him, utterly speechless. sukuna, the guy who could barely sit through a conversation without teasing or insulting you, had checked on you. had brought food.

“don’t just sit there staring. eat before it gets cold,” he grumbled, handing you a pair of chopsticks.

you didn’t know what came over you. maybe it was the sheer absurdity of the situation, or maybe it was the crack in the walls you’d built around yourself, but the tears started up again.

“are you — shit, are you crying?” he asked, looking genuinely alarmed.

you shook your head, laughing through the sobs. “no, i just — this is stupid. you’re stupid.”

“yeah, well, so are you,” he said, but his tone was softer than usual, almost hesitant.

and that was when it hit you — this man, this brash, stubborn idiot who usually drove you up the wall, had just done something no one else had thought to do. he’d shown up, no fanfare, no dramatics, just... him.

you didn’t know if you were crying out of amusement or the slow, dawning realization that you liked him.

not in the “i want to beat the shit out of you” way you always spoke about, but in a way that made your chest ache and your hands tremble as you accepted the bowl of food he pushed into them.

sukuna, for once, didn’t say anything. he just sat across from you, eating his own portion in silence, as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

sukuna had always thought of himself as untouchable, even back in his reckless college days. he was the guy — cocky, brash, and always down to settle things with his fists.

but apparently, third-year bravado wasn’t enough to stop a couple of fourth-years from giving him a thorough beatdown after some trash-talking got out of hand.

he sat slumped on the back steps of the dorms, his knuckles split and bleeding, a bruise already blooming on his cheekbone. he looked like a mangy alley cat that had lost a turf war, sulking in the dim light. his pride was bruised worse than his body, and the last thing he wanted was for anyone to see him like this.

so, of course, you showed up.

“what the hell is wrong with you?”

his head shot up, and there you were, standing over him like a storm cloud ready to unleash. he groaned, leaning his head back against the brick wall. “not in the mood for this, woman.”

“yeah? too bad,” you snapped, dropping your bag and crouching in front of him. “who the hell told you to pick a fight with people who could bench press your ass?”

he scowled. “they started it.”

“oh, real mature, sukuna,” you shot back, and before he could stop you, your hand reached out to prod at the gash on his lip.

“ow, fuck! what the hell, woman?” he hissed, jerking away.

“good. serves you right,” you muttered, but your tone had softened, just barely.

normally, anyone poking at his wounds like that — literally or figuratively — would’ve had him snapping back, but you? you were different. there was no pity in your eyes, no overly sweet words of comfort. just your usual fire, tempered with a concern you couldn’t quite mask.

“seriously, you’re such an idiot,” you muttered, shaking your head as you pulled a crumpled tissue from your bag and dabbed at the blood on his temple. he could’ve sworn his heart skipped a beat.

what the fuck?

“if you keep this up, you’re gonna get yourself killed before you even graduate,” you added, tossing the tissue aside.

“and then what? who’s gonna be left to annoy me, huh?”

and there it was — the real concern, hidden in your usual brashness, the kind of care he hadn’t realized he needed until now. it hit him like a punch to the gut, harder than anything those fourth-years had thrown at him.

shit, he thought, watching as you rummaged through your bag for more tissues. this is bad. this is really bad.

because sukuna, for all his bravado and pride, had never met anyone like you. someone who didn’t sugarcoat things, who could yell at him and still make him feel cared for, all without losing an ounce of their fire.

and in that moment, bruised and bleeding on the back steps of the dorms, he realized he didn’t just like you. no, it was worse than that.

he was falling for you, and he almost wanted to slap himself for it.

it wasn’t supposed to be a big deal. just a party, one of those things where music blared loud enough to drown out any coherent thought and the smell of cheap beer lingered in every corner. you weren’t one to shy away from fun, and when your friend threw a house party, you were there — decked out, dancing like no one was watching.

except someone was watching.

and that someone was sukuna.

he wasn’t the type to dance. ever. the guy barely showed up to parties, and when he did, he was more likely to hang back, leaning against a wall with a drink in hand, sizing people up like he was too good for all of this.

so when you felt someone move in behind you on the dance floor, your first instinct was to spin around and yell — because who the hell dared to — but then you saw him.

sukuna.

“you’ve gotta be kidding me,” you said, loud enough to be heard over the music, crossing your arms and glaring up at him.

“what?” he shot back, one brow raised in that infuriatingly smug way. “you’re the only one allowed to have fun?”

“you? fun?” you retorted, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “don’t make me laugh.”

but then he stepped closer, moving with a confidence that was almost infuriating. “what, scared i’ll show you up?”

and somehow, against all odds, there you were — dancing with sukuna, of all people.

the height difference was almost comical. you barely reached his chest, and the way he had to lean down slightly to match your movements made you want to punch him and laugh at the same time. but then the lights shifted, flashing dark and soft, and you caught a glimpse of his expression.

he wasn’t smirking. he wasn’t teasing. no, he was just...looking at you.

and maybe it was the music, or the way his hands hovered near your waist, almost as if he wanted to hold you but wasn’t sure if he should. maybe it was the heat of the moment, or the fact that his presence was so overwhelming that it made your skin tingle.

but for just a second, you forgot how much he pissed you off.

for just a second, it felt like there was no one else on that dance floor.

it’s just dancing, you told yourself, stubbornly ignoring the flutter in your chest.

but a small, treacherous part of you whispered otherwise.

and sukuna? for once, he didn’t have a snarky comment ready.

because maybe, just maybe, he felt the same.

sukuna wasn’t supposed to be here.

you didn’t invite him, didn’t even know how he managed to sneak past your dormmate without some sort of confrontation. yet there he was, sprawled out on your bed like it was his own, watching you from behind with that insufferable expression he always wore.

“what?” you asked, not even looking at him as you lined your lips in the mirror, the curve of a soft hum escaping between phrases of a song playing from your speaker.

he should’ve had some snarky response locked and loaded, but all he could do was grunt and cross his arms, hating how comfortable he felt in your space. hating the way he couldn’t seem to look away from you.

watching you do your makeup was...annoying. not because of what you were doing — hell, it was a miracle you weren’t barking at him to get out — but because you looked so damn at peace.

the way you focused, brows furrowed just slightly, the way your lips moved to the lyrics, and the subtle glow of your skin under the desk lamp — all of it was maddening.

“what’re you getting all dolled up for?” he finally muttered, though it came out harsher than he meant.

“what do you care?” you shot back, smirking at him in the mirror.

he wanted to laugh, maybe make some comment about how ridiculous it was seeing you, of all people, sitting there with your brushes and powders. but he couldn’t.

not when his chest felt tight, not when his heart was doing that thing again.

the thing it did every time you smiled at him, or laughed at something he said, or even scolded him for being an idiot.

he hated it.

“you’re thinking too hard,” you teased, breaking his spiral as you turned to look at him fully. “what’s your problem, huh?”

he scoffed, leaning back like he was trying to hide how flustered he felt. “nothing. you’re just taking forever.”

but the truth was, he could’ve sat there all day, watching you hum to some dumb song and seeing you completely oblivious to how much space you were taking up in his head.

and he hated it more than anything.

sukuna didn’t know what possessed him to say it.

one second, he was mindlessly doodling on the edge of his notes while you ranted about some equation, and the next, the words slipped out.

"you know," he said, leaning back in his chair with a lazy smirk, "if you spent half as much time looking at me as you do those numbers, maybe you'd actually get something worthwhile."

the silence that followed was deafening.

you froze mid-sentence, blinking at him like he'd just declared his undying love for algebra. the sheer audacity of his comment caught you so off guard, it took you a moment to process it.

"sorry, what?" you asked, lips twitching like you were trying to decide between laughing or strangling him.

shit. he tried to play it off.

"relax," he said, rolling his eyes and tapping his pen on the table. "just wanted to try it out — thought it'd work on some chick, y'know?"

but even as the words left his mouth, he hated himself for them. he didn’t want to try it on "some chick." hell, he didn’t even care if it worked.

because the truth — the one he couldn’t bring himself to admit — was that he only wanted to use lines like that on you.

the way you narrowed your eyes at him, a flicker of amusement breaking through your confusion, made his chest tighten.

“oh, please,” you scoffed, turning back to your notes with a shake of your head. “your charm’s as subtle as a punch to the face.”

he let out a low laugh, rubbing the back of his neck to cover how flustered he felt.

“yeah, yeah,” he muttered, though his smirk lingered. “whatever helps you sleep at night.”

and as you rolled your eyes and muttered something under your breath, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking:

if spending a lifetime throwing stupid lines your way meant seeing that spark in your eyes, he’d happily do it forever.

[post college]

jealousy wasn’t a concept that fit neatly into the dynamic you and sukuna shared. it wasn’t the clichéd, possessive, screaming type of jealousy; no, you both knew better. your bond wasn’t fragile enough to crack under a stray glance or a whispered comment.

still, it didn’t stop that little itch of annoyance when the world decided to test you.

like when the two of you were out, maybe just walking through the park or sitting at a café, and you’d notice a group of women openly staring at sukuna. the bolder ones would even giggle behind their hands, casting you a pitying glance, as if you were second place in a competition they didn’t know you’d already won.

your reaction? subtle but telling. your hand would slide into his, your fingers curling with a bit more force than necessary, or your arm would snake around his waist, tugging him closer. sukuna never said anything about it, but the ghost of a smirk would creep onto his lips when he felt you cling tighter.

on the flip side, sukuna’s patience ran razor-thin whenever men stared at you.

a simple grocery run turned into an internal boxing match when some random guy decided to ogle you. sukuna noticed everything: the way their eyes lingered too long or the way they adjusted their posture, suddenly trying to puff up like they had a chance.

his solution? pure, unspoken possessiveness. he’d sidle up behind you, lean down slightly, and pinch your waist with those stupidly sharp fingers of his. “yo, you done taking forever with the eggs?” he’d grumble, his tone casual, but his eyes screamed a warning to anyone watching.

“sukuna,” you’d hiss, swatting at his hand.

“what? you’re hogging the cart,” he’d tease, his grin wide and borderline feral.

despite the undercurrent of irritation, neither of you let it escalate. you knew the truth — they could stare all they wanted, but at the end of the day, it was you and sukuna at home.

and what a home it was.

the two of you, lazing on the couch, matching face masks making you look ridiculous. a bottle of wine cracked open, your glasses clinking every so often as you toasted to nothing in particular. sukuna’s legs stretched out while you curled into his side, scrolling through your phones or chatting about nonsense.

“those girls today were embarrassing,” you’d snort, leaning your head back against him.

“you’re one to talk,” he’d reply, tilting his head to glance at you, his lips quirking up. “you almost crushed my hand back there.”

you’d roll your eyes, but your cheeks would burn. “and you didn’t have to pinch me at the store like that, idiot.”

“you liked it.”

“in your dreams.”

despite the bickering, the quiet security between you spoke volumes. jealousy had no real place when you both knew where your priorities — and hearts — truly lay. sitting there, face masks peeling, wine glasses half-empty, the two of you had the last laugh.

because who was really winning? you were.

every single time.

there were moments when sukuna despised himself for feeling this way. like some hormonal teenager with no control over his thoughts — or his body. it wasn’t that your sex life lacked anything; far from it. but sometimes, the gaps between those moments stretched longer than he liked, leaving him restless.

still, he never wanted to pressure you, so he let that frustration churn quietly, manifesting in ways he thought were subtle but were anything but.

he’d start hugging you from behind more often, leaning his chin on your shoulder as his hands rested on your waist. sometimes, those hands would wander, not entirely inappropriate but lingering long enough to leave a warmth buzzing under your skin.

then there were the patterns he’d draw on your bare arm or thigh, tracing slow, deliberate circles and lines that felt more like a challenge than idle affection. his touch grew heavier, like he was silently willing you to notice the tension coiling in him.

and of course, the biting.

sukuna didn’t just bite; it was a teasing nip here, a playful graze of his teeth there, as if testing how far he could go before you caught on.

sleep became a whole other battlefield. when he held you at night, his arms felt just a little tighter around you, his breathing a little more labored when your body shifted against him. and god help him if he woke up sporting a hard-on. the sheer embarrassment of it was enough to make him curse himself silently, knowing full well you’d tease him mercilessly if you noticed.

but you did notice. you always did.

at first, you chalked it up to his usual antics, but the signs became impossible to ignore. the extra clinginess, the not-so-innocent touches, the way he grumbled under his breath when you’d wriggle out of his grasp. it clicked one evening when he bit you for what felt like the tenth time that week, muttering something about how you “tasted too sweet to resist.”

you didn’t even call him out on it directly. instead, you turned around, cupped his face, and kissed him — deep, slow, and deliberate. it was enough to make him stiffen in surprise before pulling you in with a low growl, all pretense of subtlety abandoned.

the next morning, you woke up tangled in his arms, your hair a mess and your body sore in all the best ways. sukuna was still half-asleep, his hair sticking up in odd angles and his expression dazed as he blinked at you.

“what’re you smiling at?” he grumbled, voice thick with sleep.

you bit your lip to keep from laughing outright. “nothing. just thinking how demanding someone’s been lately.”

his groan was immediate, his arm pulling you closer as he buried his face into your neck. “shut up.”

“make me,” you teased, only to yelp when he nipped at your shoulder.

even in his flustered state, sukuna didn’t miss the way your laughter rang through the room, filling the space with a warmth he’d never admit he craved.

you hated how sukuna always seemed to know.

even without saying a word, the bastard could read you like a book. it was during that time — ovulation, the dreaded period of feeling like your hormones were running a marathon — that he seemed to turn into some kind of smug mind reader.

it wasn’t just his ability to track your cycle; no, it was the way he started doing the most mundane things yet somehow making them seem... irresistible.

he’d be in the kitchen, flipping omelets like some five-star chef, forearms flexing just right, wearing that damn apron that only added to the appeal.

or he’d be dusting the house, his sleeves rolled up, exposing those tattooed arms that seemed carved by the gods themselves. and the worst part? he wasn’t even trying. sukuna was just living his life, completely oblivious — or so you thought.

but in reality, sukuna was absolutely aware. he’d caught on to your little quirks long ago — the subtle huffs of frustration, the way you avoided looking at him too long, and how your voice got quieter, almost shy. he lived for the way you tried so hard to act normal while clearly fighting the urge to pounce on him.

and sure enough, it happened. you were sitting on the couch, pretending to read something on your phone, but your eyes kept darting toward him as he stood by the window, adjusting his tie for work. his hair was perfectly messy, his shirt clung just right, and he smelled faintly of that cologne you loved — the one that always made you weak in the knees.

was he always this manly? you thought, biting your lip to suppress the idea forming in your mind.

finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. in a voice barely above a mumble, you blurted out your request, staring at your hands like they were the most interesting thing in the room.

sukuna paused, one brow arching as he looked over at you. “what was that?”

“you heard me,” you snapped, cheeks already burning.

his smirk grew, slow and deliberate. oh, he definitely heard you, but making you repeat it was just too much fun. “nah, say it again, brat.”

you glared at him, but your words came out softer this time. “i said... can we — ugh, forget it.”

but sukuna wasn’t letting you off the hook. he crossed the room in a few strides, leaning down so his face was level with yours. “you want something, sweetheart?” he teased, his voice low and infuriatingly smug.

“don’t call me that,” you muttered, but the way your face betrayed you had him grinning like a wolf.

inside, though? sukuna was practically doing cartwheels. he’d been waiting for this, playing it cool while secretly hoping you’d cave. hell, he’d even spritzed on that cologne just in case.

“guess the cologne worked,” he thought smugly, straightening up and offering you his hand. “come on, then. don’t just sit there sulking.”

you grabbed his hand, muttering something about him being an insufferable show-off, but the warmth in his gaze told you he didn’t mind one bit.

christmas was no longer the wild, chaotic blur it had been in your college years. gone were the days of cheap beer and blurry memories; now, it was the season of deadlines, adult responsibilities, and the quiet kind of teamwork that came with sharing a life together.

this year was no different. the two of you were neck-deep in work, scrambling to finish your projects before the holidays while juggling the ever-growing to-do list at home. the tree needed decorating, gifts had to be wrapped, and the house needed to look at least somewhat festive. but every time one of you lagged behind, the other seemed to pick up the slack without a word.

sukuna always acted like it was no big deal, like he didn’t just string up the lights you’d abandoned halfway through in frustration. when you came home to see the house glowing softly, you couldn’t help but smile. the bastard had even arranged the ornaments more symmetrically, something you knew he had no patience for.

“nice of you to finally show up,” he teased, leaning against the wall with that signature smirk. “thought you were gonna leave the lights looking like a toddler’s art project.”

“yeah? well, maybe i wouldn’t have left them if someone wasn’t holed up in meetings all day,” you shot back, tossing your bag onto the couch. but your tone lacked any real bite, especially when you saw the small pile of neatly wrapped presents on the coffee table — ones he had been too lazy to even look at yesterday.

“don’t mention it,” he grumbled, catching your gaze. “figured you’d just complain if i didn’t do it.”

and yet, there was a softness in his voice, the kind that reminded you of all the ways he cared without having to say it out loud. you didn’t mention how his gift-wrapping skills had gotten a lot better since last year, either.

you weren’t innocent in this silent game of covering for each other, though. while he’d been at work, you’d tackled the dishes he left stacked by the sink, cleared out the spare room, and even hung the stockings he’d forgotten about. and the look on his face when he noticed? priceless.

“didn’t know santa’s helper was working overtime,” he muttered as he hung up his coat, eyeing the spotless room.

“someone has to pick up the slack,” you shot back with a grin, earning a scoff from him.

this was your rhythm — quiet gestures, little acts of service that meant more than any grand romantic gesture ever could. by the time the two of you collapsed onto the couch that night, the house felt a little more like christmas, and neither of you felt the need to say thank you.

it was understood.

you hadn’t always been the woman you were now — brash, sarcastic, and unapologetically yourself. there’d been a time when you tried to fit into a box that people expected of you. you wore the smiles that didn’t reach your eyes, softened your voice to avoid being “too much,” and stayed quiet when things didn’t sit right.

but somewhere along the way, you grew tired of the charade.

now, you weren’t afraid to stand your ground, to call people out on their nonsense, or to let your emotions show when they threatened to bubble over. people called it “unladylike,” but you felt it was real. and sukuna? he never flinched.

from the moment he met you in college, he didn’t look at you like the others did. no raised eyebrows or snide comments, no attempts to tone you down or “fix” you. if anything, he leaned into it, meeting your fire with his own and somehow finding a rhythm that worked for both of you.

“damn, woman,” he’d tease when you got into it with someone over something trivial, a smirk tugging at his lips. “you’re scarier than me sometimes.”

but you knew better. sukuna didn’t just tolerate you — he admired you for it.

he admired the way you stood up for the things you believed in, even when it wasn’t your fight. like that time at the grocery store when you stepped in to tell off some jerk berating a cashier. or when you put your foot down at work, demanding the credit you deserved for a project someone else tried to claim.

on days when doubt crept in — when the whispers of “too much” got to you, or when you wondered if maybe you should’ve kept your mouth shut — he was always there.

“don’t start with that crap,” he’d say, his tone firm but his gaze soft. “you’ve got guts. people don’t know what to do with someone like you, and that’s their problem, not yours.”

and just like that, the doubts would fade. because when sukuna said it, you believed it.

you weren’t perfect, and you didn’t try to be. you didn’t always handle things gracefully, and sometimes your fire burned a little too hot. but sukuna never made you feel like you had to apologize for it.

“real woman’s a little rough around the edges,” he’d say, brushing a hand through your hair as you scowled at him. “guess that makes you the realest one i know.”

you’d roll your eyes, shove him away, and call him a dumbass. but inside, you knew the truth — he meant every word. and that was more than enough to keep your head high and your fire burning.

sukuna had always been the kind of guy people whispered about — the loud, brash, unfiltered type that couldn’t blend into a crowd even if he tried. some would chalk it up to boys being boys, but others weren’t so forgiving. his rough edges earned him judgmental looks and hushed comments: “he’s too much,” or worse, “no woman in her right mind would feel safe around someone like that.”

he shrugged most of it off. it wasn’t like he was trying to be anyone’s knight in shining armor. sukuna was who he was — tough, straightforward, and unapologetic about it. but sometimes, the words stuck, sinking in during quiet moments when no one else was around.

then there was you.

you weren’t like the others, not even close. back in college, the two of you were little more than reluctant friends who spent more time throwing insults at each other than actually talking. it was a mutual loathing that somehow worked, a rivalry with an unspoken undercurrent of respect.

so when you stumbled out of some dingy campus bar one night, tipsy and laughing, and pointed at him out of everyone else in the crowd, he was stunned.

“you,” you slurred, jabbing a finger in his direction. “i’m trusting you to get me back safe, ‘kay? don’t screw it up.”

twenty other people stood there, friends and acquaintances who probably looked more polished, more reliable, less... him. but you chose sukuna, the brash idiot who gave as good as he got when it came to your constant bickering.

he didn’t know what to say. “you sure about that, woman? i’m the last guy people’d think is safe.”

you squinted at him, leaning against a lamppost for balance. “yeah, well... i think you’re better than you act.”

it wasn’t a declaration, and you probably didn’t even remember saying it the next day. but for sukuna, it was a moment that stuck with him. you, of all people, trusted him.

and that night, he made sure you got home without a scratch.

as the years passed and your relationship deepened, sukuna found himself thinking back to that night more often than he’d admit. he’d come to terms with the fact that people might never see him as a “safe” guy, might always look at his tattoos and his sharp demeanor and decide he was a liability.

but you? you never flinched. you challenged him, called him out, and refused to put up with his nonsense, but you trusted him completely. and for sukuna, that was enough.

maybe it was fine if the world saw him as rough around the edges.

maybe it was fine if only one girl felt safe around him.

because you were the only one who mattered, and he wouldn’t want it any other way.

some days, the universe had it out for you.

the fluorescent lights in the office had felt especially harsh, the deadlines more relentless, and the endless emails were nothing short of soul-sucking. by the time you trudged through the door, your entire body screamed for reprieve.

you didn’t even have to say anything when you spotted sukuna on the couch, sprawled out like he’d been hit by the same work-from-hell truck. his shirt hung loosely, half the buttons undone, and his tie dangled like a noose he’d narrowly escaped from.

he cracked an eye open, glancing at you as you kicked your shoes off without a care for the usual routine of placing them neatly by the door.

“rough day?” he asked, voice gravelly and tinged with exhaustion.

you snorted, plopping onto the opposite end of the couch. “you could say that.”

he grunted, leaning his head back against the cushion. “figured. you look like you’ve been through war.”

“gee, thanks,” you muttered, rubbing your temples. “you’re really helping boost my mood right now.”

he smirked faintly, the corner of his mouth twitching. “not like you’re a ray of sunshine either.”

the two of you sat there in silence for a while, the room filled with nothing but the faint hum of the air conditioner. the mutual understanding hung between you like a comforting weight: there was no need for conversation, no need to pretend everything was fine. right now, the world could wait.

after a moment, he shifted, nudging your leg with his foot.

“want me to order something?” he asked, his voice softer this time.

you glanced at him, meeting his tired gaze. “only if you let me pick the movie.”

he rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. “fine. but no shitty horror.”

“no promises,” you shot back, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the day you’d had.

he didn’t reply, but when he lazily tossed his arm over the back of the couch, leaving just enough room for you to scoot closer if you wanted, you took the invitation without a word.

and in that quiet moment, with your head resting on his shoulder and his warmth easing the weight of the day, you both found the break you needed.

visiting your parents always brought a sense of comfort you couldn’t replicate anywhere else. there was something about the smell of home-cooked meals wafting through the air and the sight of your mom humming as she rearranged the living room for the third time that week.

sukuna didn’t always come along, which you understood. he’d often tell you it was important to spend time with them without distractions, a sentiment you begrudgingly agreed with, though you sometimes missed having him there to share the little moments.

but even when he didn’t tag along, his presence was still felt in the quietest ways.

like the morning of your visit, when you found a bouquet of fresh flowers sitting on the kitchen counter with a sticky note slapped on the side. the handwriting was messy — typical sukuna — but the note was clear: "for your mom. tell her i said hi."

or when you opened the trunk of your car and spotted the sleek cutlery set he must’ve snuck in, the one your mom had been ogling during their last spontaneous shopping trip together.

“what’s this?” you’d texted him, grinning at your phone.

his reply came almost instantly: "you know she’s been talking about it non-stop. don’t make it weird."

and then there were the gifts for your dad, subtle but thoughtful as ever. the latest issue of his favorite sports magazine, tucked neatly into the grocery bag you’d prepared, and — because sukuna could never just stop at one thing — a pair of tickets to a football match hidden at the bottom.

“he’ll know it’s from you,” you’d told him over the phone later that day, biting back a laugh.

“good,” he grunted, but you could hear the faint smile in his tone. “that old man deserves it. just don’t let him hug me next time, alright? he’s too damn strong.”

by the time you sat at the dining table with your parents, watching your mom gush over the flowers and your dad’s eyes light up at the tickets, you couldn’t help but feel a tug of warmth.

sukuna wasn’t there, but his love was as present as ever, woven into every thoughtful detail he left behind.

the day you fell critically ill, sukuna learned what helplessness truly felt like. it wasn’t a punch he could throw, nor a problem he could snarl his way out of. no, this was worse — it was seeing you pale and unmoving, hooked up to machines that beeped with cruel indifference. the doctors had assured him that you'd be fine, but he couldn’t shake the unease that clung to every word they refused to say outright.

he tried to stay strong, like he always did. for you, for himself.

but the way the nurses glanced away during certain check-ups made his stomach churn.

sukuna had never been a man of prayer, but in those moments, he found himself muttering bargains to whoever might listen.

work? forgotten. calls and emails from the office piled up, but he didn’t give a damn. nothing mattered more than staying by your side, holding your limp hand, and willing you to wake up.

he refused to cry, but his body betrayed him. his hands would tremble as he smoothed back your hair, his shoulders shaking as he sat silently in the sterile hospital room. his jaw clenched so tightly it ached, yet his chest felt hollow, like every unshed tear was pooling there, ready to drown him.

days stretched into weeks, and he stayed. through the sleepless nights, the tasteless cafeteria coffee, and the endless hum of machines. and then, one day, when he was dozing off in the uncomfortable chair by your bed, he heard it — your voice.

weak, raspy, but unmistakably yours.

"you look like shit."

his head snapped up so fast he nearly got whiplash. his heart stopped, then surged with so much relief it left him dizzy.

“say that again,” he croaked, voice cracking in a way he’d never admit later.

you blinked at him, a faint ghost of your usual smirk playing on your lips. "i said you look like —"

you didn’t even get to finish before he leaned forward, burying his face in his hands as the first sob tore free. sukuna, the man who never cried, couldn’t stop the tears now. his shoulders heaved as the weight of weeks came crashing down, his relief overwhelming and raw.

and even in your weakened state, you found the strength to lift a trembling hand to his, lacing your fingers with his in silent reassurance.

“it’s okay,” you whispered, voice hoarse but steady. “i’m okay.”

and for the first time in weeks, sukuna believed it.

if you thought you getting sick was bad, sukuna catching whatever it was you had was a whole different kind of disaster. the man, who usually strutted around like he was invincible, had practically worked himself into the ground worrying over you — and now here you were, sitting at his bedside, glaring at his feverish, helpless form.

his hair was messier than usual, sticking up in odd directions, and the flush of his cheeks wasn’t the usual healthy glow but the result of a high fever. his strong, confident presence? reduced to pathetic groans as he thrashed under the covers, mumbling incoherent nonsense thanks to the cocktail of medicine pumping through his system.

"i told you to rest, you idiot," you grumbled, your hand gripping his limp one tightly. "but nooo, you had to play the hero, didn’t you? now look at you —"

"’m fine," he slurred, his voice rough but somehow lighter than usual. his half-lidded eyes barely focused on you, though the lazy smirk on his lips was undeniably him.

“fine, my ass,” you snapped, adjusting the damp cloth on his forehead. “you’re burning up like a damn furnace.”

he chuckled weakly, though it sounded more like a wheeze. "you’re hot too..."

your face immediately burned, but you weren’t about to let him get away with that. "shut up, sukuna. you're delirious."

“delirious for you...” he mumbled, trailing off into a hum as his eyes fluttered shut.

you sighed heavily, leaning back in the chair and letting your head drop against the bed frame.

“if you don’t get better soon, i’m gonna kill you myself,” you muttered, though your grip on his hand never loosened.

despite the frustration bubbling in your chest, you couldn’t help but find him oddly endearing in this state. his sharp edges were dulled by exhaustion, his usually brash demeanor softened by vulnerability. even when sick out of his mind, he still managed to worm his way under your skin.

and as you sat there, watching over him the way he had done for you, you couldn’t help but smile at how unfairly cute he looked like this — messy, helpless, and somehow still so him.

the morning of your fourth anniversary began like any other, except for the fact that sukuna woke up with a jolt, heart pounding as if he'd just realized something earth-shattering. in truth, he had.

he loved you. no, not just the casual "of course i love you" love that he'd tossed your way over the years, but the overwhelming, soul-stirring, i want to marry you and grow old together type of love.

and the thought made his chest tight in a way that wasn't unpleasant — just... intense. too much to keep still. too much to lie there like everything was normal.

so he didn’t.

he jumped out of bed like he was late for something, practically bounding around the apartment with a stupid grin on his face. when you shuffled out of the bedroom, still groggy, you squinted at him suspiciously as he spun in the kitchen, humming some offbeat tune while attempting to cook.

"what the hell are you on?" you grumbled, rubbing your eyes.

"nothing!" he chirped — chirped! — and the sound alone made you pause mid-yawn.

you raised a brow. "you’re acting like you downed three energy drinks before sunrise. you're, what, twenty-six now? should i be worried about this second wind of yours?"

he waved you off, grinning like a fool as he leaned in to peck your forehead — something he usually only did when he was either apologizing or trying to soften you up. “don’t worry about it, brat. just... uh, happy anniversary!”

“...right.” your voice was laced with suspicion, but before you could prod him further, he darted out of the house, claiming he had errands to run.

in reality, sukuna wasn’t rushing to work. he was rushing to every jewelry store he could think of, frantically searching for the ring. nothing felt good enough at first — too flashy, too plain, too cheap-looking, too expensive —but then he saw it.

a simple but elegant b and, something he could imagine sliding onto your finger, and his chest squeezed at the thought. he bought it before he could second-guess himself, but as the cool weight of the box settled in his palm, his excitement morphed into nerves.

this was it. this was real. he wanted to marry you.

and for once, the man who could talk shit in his sleep felt like his tongue might betray him. how was he supposed to ask? what if you said no? what if you laughed at him?

but then he thought about you — about the mornings you’d yell at him for leaving socks everywhere, the late nights you’d fall asleep on his shoulder during a movie, the way you’d wrinkle your nose when he teased you but still let him kiss you anyway.

and suddenly, the nerves felt less like fear and more like anticipation. because no matter how badly he might screw it up, he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you.

now all he had to do... was figure out how the hell to propose without making a fool of himself.

your day was already spiraling out of control.

it started with your parents calling to gush over how you and sukuna had made it to four years, rambling about how he’s such a nice boy, so thoughtful, so dependable, and then dropping the bomb:

“so, when’s the wedding?”

your first instinct was to laugh it off, but they were persistent. “no, really, sweetheart. four years is a long time. don’t you think it’s time to settle down?”

you barely managed to hang up without screaming, only to find yourself spiraling down a rabbit hole of self-reflection. sharing an apartment, living like pseudo-adults who sometimes forgot to buy milk — wasn’t that enough? did there have to be a wedding?

...okay, maybe you had saved that one wedding dress pin on pinterest. but that was hypothetical! a fantasy, not a plan!

still, the thought of marriage stirred something in you that you weren’t ready to confront. and now, your parents' words echoed in your mind like a broken record.

so naturally, when sukuna came strolling back into the apartment looking suspiciously smug, you decided to handle the situation with grace.

"what the hell are we?" you blurted, standing in the living room with your hands on your hips, still wearing your old snoopy t-shirt and pajama shorts.

he blinked at you, confused. "...what?"

“us!” you snapped, gesturing wildly between the two of you. “are we just boyfriend and girlfriend forever? is that all this is? because apparently, everyone’s waiting for some big grand wedding announcement, and i —”

“oh, for fuck’s sake,” he muttered, cutting you off mid-rant as he dropped the shopping bag in his hand and reached into his pocket.

you froze, watching in disbelief as he got down on one knee. your brain short-circuited as he pulled out a ring, glaring at you like you were the one being unreasonable.

“you wanna know what we are? fine,” he grumbled, holding up the ring. “we’re two idiots who’ve been together for four years, and yeah, i love you, and yeah, i was already planning to propose, but you had to go and yell at me first.”

you stared at him, completely floored, your heartbeat deafening in your ears.

“so,” he continued, waving the ring slightly as if to snap you out of your shock. “are you gonna marry me or what? because my knee is killing me here, and i swear to god if you say no —”

you didn’t let him finish. practically tackling him, you shouted, “yes! yes, obviously yes!”

he huffed, half-annoyed, half-relieved, and slid the ring onto your finger before pulling you into a kiss. when you finally pulled back, you couldn’t help but laugh through your tears.

“you proposed to me while i’m wearing a snoopy t-shirt,” you said, voice trembling with equal parts amusement and disbelief.

he smirked, wiping a stray tear from your cheek. “well, you’re the idiot who started yelling at me in pajamas. figured i’d match your energy.”

and just like that, in the middle of your messy apartment, you realized you wouldn’t have it any other way.

planning a wedding with sukuna was a comedy of errors wrapped in sarcasm, stubbornness, and way too many uses of the word bro.

“bro, what’s the deal with this caterer?” you asked one evening, sprawled across the couch with a pile of wedding magazines. “they’re charging how much for some dry-ass chicken?”

“i don’t know, bro,” he shot back, tossing a pen at you. “maybe don’t pick the one with ‘gourmet’ in the name next time.”

your casual banter didn’t go unnoticed by your parents. your mother, horrified, kept clutching her pearls whenever she overheard you.

“you can’t call him that!” she hissed during one planning session, waving a hand at sukuna as if he wasn’t sitting right there. “you’re supposed to call him something sweet! romantic!”

“relax, mom,” you replied, deadpan. “i call him husband in my head sometimes.”

that earned a squawk from your dad. “what happened to being a lady?” he shrieked, gesturing wildly like he was about to disown you right then and there.

but you couldn’t care less, and neither could sukuna. though it was a whole different story the first time you called him husband out loud.

you were going over seating arrangements one night, hunched over the dining table with a bottle of wine between you.

“what do you think, husband?” you said absentmindedly, tapping a pen against your chin as you stared at the chart.

the sound of the pen dropping from his hand caught your attention. you looked up to find sukuna frozen, eyes wide like a deer in headlights.

“did you just —”

“what?”

“you called me —”

“what?” you repeated, playing innocent.

“husband,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, as if the word was too sacred to say out loud.

and then, to your utter disbelief, his knees buckled, and he plopped onto the floor in a dramatic heap.

“oh my god, are you serious?” you exclaimed, rushing over to him.

he groaned, running a hand down his face. “holy shit, this is real. i’m really about to marry you. you, the most stubborn, annoying, incredible woman on the planet.”

you couldn’t help but laugh, crouching down beside him. “and what? that’s enough to make your knees give out?”

“shut the fuck up,” he muttered, grabbing your hand to pull you closer. “you’re lucky i love you, wife.”

your heart skipped a beat at the way he said it, low and full of certainty, and for a moment, the teasing stopped. it was real. all of it.

and if sukuna’s knees gave out a couple more times on the way to the wedding, well, that was between you and him.

the day of the wedding dawned bright and clear, a little too cheery for your taste, given how your nerves were practically setting your stomach on fire. the venue was packed with friends and family, and sukuna stood at the altar looking as annoyingly smug as ever, though you caught the way he kept flexing his fingers, a sure sign of his own restlessness.

the ceremony went on in a blur — your father tearing up, your mother fluffing your dress at the last minute, the aisle stretching longer than it had any right to be. but then you were standing across from him, sukuna's stupidly handsome face softening just enough when his eyes locked onto yours.

“finally,” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

“shut up,” you hissed back, though your lips twitched with a smile.

and then came the vows.

“alright,” sukuna began, clearing his throat. “here’s the deal. i promise to put up with your constant nagging, your stubborn-ass attitude, and your inexplicable need to buy three different brands of the same mascara.”

you blinked, momentarily stunned, before your lips parted in disbelief. “are you kidding me?”

“not done yet,” he said, holding up a hand to stop you. his smirk softened into something warmer, his voice lowering. “but i also promise to stand by you when life gets rough. to always be the first one to have your back when the world feels like it’s caving in. to love you, even when you make me want to tear my hair out. and yeah, i guess i’d even give you the last slice of pizza, but don’t make me regret it.”

there was a collective laugh from the audience, but the emotion in his eyes left no doubt in your mind that he meant every word.

when it was your turn, you took a steadying breath, trying to calm your racing heart. “fine. i promise to tolerate your overly dramatic bullshit, your constant need to be loud in every situation, and your inability to follow a single recipe without adding your own twist.”

his grin widened, but you pressed on, your tone softening. “but i also promise to be your partner in everything — whether it’s taking on the world or just deciding what to eat for dinner. i promise to never give up on us, even when you’re being insufferable. and yes, i’ll love you through all the ups, downs, and sideways curves life throws at us. but don’t expect me to share my fries. ever.”

sukuna barked out a laugh, and you caught the glimmer of tears in his eyes as he squeezed your hands a little tighter.

“are you two serious?” the officiant asked, though they were smiling.

“dead serious,” you and sukuna said in unison, glancing at each other with matching smirks.

and when the final moment came, when the officiant announced you as husband and wife, sukuna didn’t waste a second.

“come here, wife,” he murmured, pulling you close and crashing his lips against yours.

the cheers and applause from your friends and family faded into the background as the kiss deepened, sealing not just the vows but every unspoken promise between the two of you.

as you pulled back, breathless, sukuna smirked down at you. “you know we’re gonna tell this story a million times, right?”

“damn right we will,” you replied, matching his grin.

and just like that, the two of you — stubborn, ridiculous, and deeply in love — were ready to face whatever came next, armed with the best stories to tell your future kids.

thank you for sticking around the wild wild journey of a stubborn-kuna and an even stubborn reader. i hope you enjoyed <3 produced by creamflix on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, modify, repost —support your writers by liking and reblogging. ♡

[bugs1nmybrain]

Mommy's Boy: Shigaraki x Fem!Reader~Mommy Kink~☆•°♡☆°●♡

As always, Minors do NOT interact!

I remember saying how I thought writing Shigaraki fucking you in front of Dabi was out of pocket, but I've pretty much thrown all humility out the window at this point. Upsidaisy.

Updated: Nov 26th, 2023

Traits about the reader: Medium to big boobs, curvy, thick thighs, implied to be either shigaraki's age (20 in this) or older, implied to be on birth control, bad at playing video games

Notes: NSFW/smut, mommy kink, sub/switch Shigaraki, fem reader, shy and moody Shigaraki???????, Shigaraki loves boobs, awkward reader and Shigaraki interactions, spanking (reader receiving), tit sucking, vulgar language, mutual masturbation, slight degrading, a sprinkle of praise, hair pulling (Tomura receiving), no condom, reader and Shigaraki play GTA 5 in the beginning, kinda cringe tbh, season 4 era Shigaraki

I know each of my fics always end right after sex I'm so sorry. I'm going to have to get better at some plot after sex because I feel like it's so cliché.

"You suck!"

Unfortunately for you and Shigaraki, there was only one controller for the PlayStation. He had wanted a gaming date but there wasn't much you two could do together, so you had compromised by taking turns on GTA (story mode by your request).

Tomura watched as you continued to knock into every car in your line of view. You'd back out of a car you had hit only to knock into another. When you finally made it to a mission that required shooting, you were doing halfway ok, but only because of the auto-aim mechanics to be completely honest. However, the cops just showed up, and now it was you (Trevor), Franklin, and Lamar against a shit load of police. Shigaraki hoped and prayed you'd start catching on, but you just kept on dying.

"GTA 5 is easy! How are you fucking up this bad?" Shigaraki ponders in a near-genuine tone.

"It's been a while! I haven't played for maybe over 6 months."

"It's not even hard whatsoever, I don't get this. Give me a turn."

"You played like 4 minutes ago."

"Yes, but you're bad at this and it's making my head hurt. Give me that stupid controller," Tomura, without your input, snatches the controller out of your hand and plows through the mission for you with ease. You slouch on his shoulder and mope, your feelings hurt by your own pathetic gaming abilities.

"Maybe we should do something that we could both do. Why do I want to just sit here and watch you play GTA all night?" You whine. Shiggy responds with an annoyed groan.

"Take it then! It's not my fault you're shit at this. Maybe try a strangers and freaks mission," Shigaraki drops the controller on your lap. You breathe in and set your waypoint to Vinewood Boulevard. Tomura observes you drive so cautiously that it's almost worse to watch you drive so slow than to smash into cars.

Tomura sighs in agitation and slumps his chest against your back, wrapping his arms around your soft tummy and burying his face in the crook of your neck. He hugs you tight as he watches you fuck up your game and turns his attention away from your awful playthrough to something that he'd consider you to take more pride in.

Tomura glances at the v-neck of your black shirt that looked like his, only short-sleeved. He allows himself to look at your tits while you're distracted. He's had some pretty good self-restraint today, he'd say, as the push-up you were wearing was driving him fucking crazy. They looked so hot and the complexion of your skin gave them a lovely glow. He felt like a pathetic little bitchboy, wanting nothing more than to touch them and bury his face in your tits. It was a good thing you were so distracted by GTA because he was scoping the terrain out to plot his next move.

He felt embarrassed. The two of you have had sex many times, but he still felt annoying to want to appreciate your tits. Would he seem like a little bitch with mommy issues or something? Oh well, you were his girlfriend, right? If you didn't like it then you'd need to find a better toy to play with, though the thought fueled his blood because Shigaraki hadn't ever found anyone that took interest in him like you did.

There was no helping it. He was already growing a boner and you were already feeling it press against your ass as you sat in his lap.

"Tomura?"

He felt a shock surge through him, knowing full well why you were calling his name. So he didn't answer.

"Tomura, are you okay?" You giggle teasingly.

Don't do this to him, he thought. This was supposed to be a simple gaming night. But who was he kidding? 9 times out of 10 your dates ended in kind of sex.

"What gives you the impression that I'm not?" He says in an embarrassed tone. Was he feeling flustered? Cutie.

"Because something's poking me."

"Haha."

You laugh, a little surprised that he's not trying to come back with some cocky monologue like he always does. You turn around to face him to see the cutest scowl on his face. He's clearly frustrated and the boner in his pants only makes it cuter. You take it upon yourself to straddle his lap, resting on his thin frame with your thick thighs. The outline of your crotch presses against his bulge and he grunts in response.

"What's wrong, Tomura?" You coo at him and begin stroking his hair tenderly. You're going to kill him, he swears. His gaze stays stuck on the TV screen as your player stands outside of the Los Santos hospital, but you turn his face to look at you instead. "Why are you being so moody?"

"Your tits have been distracting me all day," he pouts with a flustered face, his eyes now making their way toward your cleavage.

The immediate cackle you respond with almost softens Shiggy's cock all the way, feeling insulted.

"I'm serious," he says with a grumpy voice.

"Really? Is that all, baby?" You smirk with a nurturing voice.

"Pretty much."

Taking Tomura's neck, you kiss his nape gently. He cups your hips with his hands, leaving some fingers up so as to not harm the only person who has both shown him love as well as not piss him off to no end (well, for the most part). You begin grinding on his cock which creates heavy, frustrated sighs from him.

You continue to play with Tomura's hair, messaging his scalp in between your fingers. He tilts his head backwards with a drawn-out whine as if he hasn't been touched in his whole life. That notion wasn't entirely false, before you Tomura hadn't received physical affection like this from anyone and assumed he never would because of his quirk. You were such a lucky catch for him. Maybe it was why he was hesitant to say his needs, he was scared he'd weird you out and that you'd ditch him.

Damn, when did he start caring about how somebody else would feel about his actions?

"What's wrong?" You ask caringly.

"I told you what's wrong."

"Oh, right. What can I do to make it better?"

"Mm.." Shigaraki stares at your chest and back up to you, hoping that you would pick up on his desires without him having to say it. He felt so cringy right now, like a little subby boy begging for access to your tits.

He gives up on trying to be nice when you continue to play dumb. You were doing it on purpose, for sure. A part of you loved seeing Tomura shy and polite like this, as he was usually so abrasive. He tugs on the V of your shirt and whispers in your ear, "are you too numb to get the idea?"

"And what's that?" You banter.

"Bitch. What am I supposed to tell you? That I want to suck on your tits?"

"Is that what you want?"

"Shut up!!"

"It's okay," You laugh. "You don't have to be embarrassed. I know you've got mommy issues."

"What of it? Is that a problem for you?"

"No," you giggle. "Do you need me to spoil you, baby?"

"Ew."

"I'm trying."

Tomura cackles, his broody demeanor. He squeezes your love handles and buries his face in your neck again.

"It's not my fault that you've got the body of a MILF. How am I supposed to react?"

"Wow, what a compliment."

"It is a compliment," Shigaraki snickers as he begins kissing your neck and down your chest. His hands travel from your love handles up to your waist, gripping like his life depended on it. "So, are you going to let me indulge or what?"

You giggle are stroke his long hair as he hums in question, embarrassed by his request, but somehow honored.

"Knock yourself out."

"Mmm, thank you mommy.."

"Oh my god you didn't just say that."

"Just roll with it."

Shigaraki takes a finger and tugs at your V-neck, but is disappointed at your bra. He reaches underneath to unclasp the back and yanks it out from your shirt. His attention focuses back on your tits. Tomura pulls your collar down to reveal one. He wastes no time and begins sucking tenderly. You can feel his cock growing more inside his pants, so you start grinding on the fabric, causing him to grunt while your tit is in his mouth.

Tomura pulls the other breast out from your shirt, taking a moment to gawk at them before going for the other. He teases your other nipple with his fingers. You hadn't realized how sensitive your tits really were as his tongue was flickering against your nipple causing a dripping arousal to seep through your underwear. You whine at the pleasure.

"Is this making you feel good baby?" You ask sultrily to Tomura. He responds with an eager "Mhm" and continues sucking. After what seemed like forever he lifts his head up and pulls your face down to kiss him, his saliva-coated mouth being a lovely adhesive between your lips.

"Your tits are so cute, mommy.."

"When did I consent to this mommy treatment?" You giggle.

"You're literally the one who told me I have mommy issues! Don't make me feel like shit for this."

"I'm not!" you laugh. "I'm just teasing."

You kiss him and continue to tug at his hair, "Does my baby boy need mommy to take good care of him?"

"Yes please.."

"Please, who?"

"Please mommy.."

"Mm.." You lift off of his lap and take your leggings and shirt off, leaving your full figure out for him. He puts up a finger to signal "wait" and reaches over to his bag on the floor and pulls out his special gloves. Fuck what would he do without them? He needs his hand condoms if he's gonna thoroughly make love with you.

"You're so sexy," he says, trailing his fingers to your wet cunt as he begins stroking your clit. You whimper in excitement and begin to pull down his pants. His cute cock slips out, standing proud with pre-cum already leaking out from the tip. As he continues toying with your pussy, you stroke his sensitive cock which creates lovely scratchy moans from his throat.

"God..that's it...," Shigaraki his horny, pulsing cock out on your clit, rubbing circles on it rapidly. You moan out lightly, grinding your clit against his fingers to create more friction. You rub his dick in fast as he submissively cries out in pleasure. Your clit twitches in familiar waves of pleasure once he begins sucking on your tit again.

"Is mommy gonna cum?" Tomura teases, releasing his mouth from your breast to only go to the other.

"Mhm!"

The look on his face when you began falling onto him as you came was unlike him. Tomura snickers in pride, pulling you in for a kiss while you kept stroking his cock.

"I think you deserve some privileges," you coo at him, and you sit on his lap yet again.

"I do? Have I been a good boy?"

"Mhm. Very good boy."

You circle your groin around Tomura's leaking cock as he whines out in pleading.

"Please, mommy..."

"Please mommy what?"

"Fuck me. Fuck me mommy, pleaaaase...."

With a pleasant hum in your throat, you reach down to rub Tomura's cock, then inserting it inside of your dripping cunt. Tomura groans loudly at your gooey, wet walls and attempts to push his cock deeper into you, begging for you to fuck him. To his satisfaction, to begin to bounce on his cock in rhythm, and Tomura swears you're going to drive him insane.

"Mm..does my baby boy like this? Does he feel good?"

"Fuck, yes...," Shigaraki moans. He watches intently as your tits bounce while you fuck him. He smacks your ass in frustration, shocking you.

"I guess I'm a bad boy, then. Are you gonna punish me?" He chuckles maniacally.

"Tomura, that wasn't very nice of you," you squeal, pulling at his hair in response.

Without speaking you begin bouncing on him in a quicker pace than before. Shigaraki holds around your waist tight as he thrusts, trying to savor every inch of your pussy. You were so fucking tight, but so wet too. Your cunt always made him leak, but tonight it was driving him mad.

"..fuck me...fuck me harder, mommy!"

"MmmMM! Fuck! God, mommy, you're gonna milk me.."

You oblige, hopping on him while you clench your walls, purposely trying to milk him.

"That's it, baby. Cum for me. Cum inside of mommy's pussy."

You definitely didn't have to tell him twice. Tomura sufficates himself into your neck as he holds you tight, fucking you until he finally cums deep. His orgasm is intense and long, as he continues to pump you full of cum for many seconds.

Panting and sweating, Shigaraki kisses you once more before you lift your pussy off of his cock, cum oozing out onto his lap. He snuggles in your arms and you stroke his hair. He whines from his cock that's still throbbing after his orgasm.

"Did that feel good, baby?" You ask with a nurturing tone, kissing his scrunkly forehead.

"Uh-huh...I don't know if I've ever came that hard."

"Mommy told you she'd take good care of you."

"Okay stop it. That shit is over and done with," he laughs and flicks your forehead. You rest your head down on his chest while he holds you tight, breathing heavily as he pets your skin.

"I love you," Tomura says and kisses your head as he yawns, sleepy from his orgasm.

"I love you too, Tomura."

"Next time Daddy's gonna have to do something special for you."

[tetsurouskuro]

Reunion

pairing: bokuto koutarou x fem!reader

warnings: fluff, smut, slight angst, breeding kink, unprotected sex, public sex, bokuto does the kabedon

word count: 5,006

a/n: this is my submission for the Haikyuu Headquarters second NSFW server collab! this time it’s the prompt “Guess I’ll just have to cum inside you.” you can find the masterlist HERE by the amazing @vixen-scribbles who is my queen so go give her a follow! 💖

thank you @deathcab4daddy​ & @gallickingun​ for beta reading, ily guys so much (go give them a follow if you aren’t already)! 💖

now enjoy; feedback is always appreciated! <3

tag list: @miamiya (message me if you want to be included)

Synopsis: Three years has passed since you got your heart broken by your one true love Bokuto Koutarou. A high school reunion is about to take place at Fukurodani Academy. What will happen when you finally meet your ex boyfriend? 

MASTERLIST!

≫ ----- ≪·•♕•·≫ ----- ≪

Your eyes scanned the invitation card from your high school. Reading every word that’s written. A high school reunion. The thought alone makes you think of him. Wondering how he’s doing. He may be your ex and the boy who broke your heart, but he was your first and still to this day, your only love, and you knew why he did it. He had his reasons.

He had talked you through it before you both graduated high school. He had told you that he wanted to focus on volleyball and that he was going to move away from Tokyo, and you were not the type to try and stop him. You wanted him to succeed. You also had to think about your future and what you wanted to achieve. Both of you went your separate ways, heartbroken that you could not be together anymore.

Bokuto succeeded in achieving his dream. He was playing in big arenas with huge crowds, on TV and he was a well-known volleyball player. The number 4 ace and captain from Fukurodani made it big, just like he promised you all those years ago.

You sighed and placed the card onto your fridge. There was still one week left until the reunion, and it wasn’t like Bokuto would show up. He was busy with volleyball, especially since a new season just started. 

You sigh and turn around to grab the warm coffee cup and head to your couch. Once seated you turn on Netflix and start a random show. Grabbing your phone, you go to the search bar on Facebook and search for your ex-boyfriend. Once the two of you had broken up you had unfriended him immediately. You knew it was going to be hard to get over him, so to save you from having to see his posts and face on Facebook, you removed him.

He’s the first one that pops up. You share mutual friends, so it isn’t that weird. You go to pictures and see him with all sorts of different people, smiling and laughing. Sometimes even looking, upset?

Sighing you close the application, lock your phone, and toss it next to you on the couch. Closing your eyes, you throw your head back against the headrest, hoping and praying that Bokuto doesn’t show up to the reunion.

≫ ----- ≪·•♕•·≫ ----- ≪

Wearing a black evening gown with a front slit, thin shoulder straps, and a pair of black heels you step into the big gymnasium where the rest of all the third years are gathered. A waitress walks up to you with a tray in hand, offering you a welcome drink, probably champagne. You take a glass and nod your thanks. Taking a sip, you sigh and take in your surroundings. People are standing in groups, chatting, and laughing. You see Yamato, Konoha, Haruki, Yukie, and Kaori in the middle. Konoha looks your way and you lock eyes. He smiles widely and waves you over. The rest of the gang turns around and sees you too, all of them start to yell at you to rush over.

You smile at them and head towards the squad.

“(y/n)! you’re here!” Yukie excitedly exclaims.

“Yes. Here I am,” you laugh. “How’s everyone? Haven’t seen you all in ages.”

 You stand there talking with everyone. You chug the rest of your glass and turn around to grab another just as a round of applause is heard. You follow everyone’s gaze and see someone enter the gymnasium.

“Hey, hey, heeeeeey!” The voice echoes. A familiar voice.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit!” You chant and shove your champagne glass to Yukie. “I need to use the loo.”

“Wait- (y/n)!” She yells after you, but you’re already headed for the door that leads you towards the nearest toilet.

Your heart is beating hard, you can feel your pulse rising. Adrenaline has kicked in and you feel nervous. You’re breathing heavily as you reach the door, turning around slightly to just peek at the man that has made you react this way.

He hasn’t spotted you yet. He’s surrounded by girls and boys, welcoming their former ace to the reunion. You stand there, the door slightly opened, your body halfway through the doorframe and take him in.

He’s wearing ripped black jeans, a matching black tee, black vans, and a light blue jean jacket. His hair is spiked the same way as usual and his golden eyes are filled with happiness. He laughs loudly and scans the room like he’s looking for someone and then his orbs land on you. The way he gazes at you makes your whole-body shiver and you feel like you can’t breathe. You stand still, watching him watch you for a second more until you turn your body back and go through the door and towards the ladies’ room.

Once inside you stand by the door, back against it, trying to control your breathing.

Okay (y/n), calm down! Act normal and don’t freak out!

After 5 minutes you turn around and push the door and walk out, walking back to the gymnasium. You pass a hallway when suddenly-

“(y/n)?”

“Jesus fucking christ!” You jump. “Don’t scare me like that.” You exclaim and turn around and are met with a pair of golden eyes.

“Ah sorry,” Bokuto speaks, his hand rubbing the back of his head. “I just wanted to see how you were feeling. You rushed out so fast.”

“I’m fine,” you sigh. “I just needed to use the toilet.”

“Oh. Okay.” There’s a long pause. Both of you are silent.

“Bokuto-kun!” A female voice yells out, interrupting the awkward silence and you turn around to see where the female is.

“I should head back. Yukie is probably waiting for me,” you lie. “It was nice seeing you Bokuto,” you smile at him and turn around to leave, but he grabs you by the forearm and pulls you towards him.

“Let’s take a walk around the school. I don’t wanna head back just yet.”

“Bokuto I-“

“Please (y/n)? I haven’t seen you in ages and I just wanna talk.”

“Fine,” you sigh.

“Great,” he smiles. “Let’s go then!” He grabbed your hand instead and intertwined his fingers with yours as he dragged you down the hallway and escaped the voice of the girl that was calling his name.

He suddenly stops outside of your old classroom and you both stand there, panting and trying to control each other’s breathing.

“Felt like a teenager doing that,” he laughs. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just need a moment.” Still panting, you stay silent, and watch his tall frame. You stand up straight and clear your throat. Bokuto turns his body sideways and looks at you.

“Do you think it’s open?”

“I don’t know, but what do you wanna talk about Bokuto?” You speak up, wanting to get away from this situation. “We broke up. We’re exes, we’re not supposed to be like this.”

The silence returns, Bokuto’s eyes never leaving yours. You watch him, still out of breath you feel an aching pain in your chest. You fist both of your hands beside your body, tears starting to form in your eyes.

“I- shit,” you curse and let out a small laugh. “I need to leave.” You’re just about to turn around when Bokuto’s right arm slams itself on the wall to your left, stopping you in your tracks. You press your back to the wall and raise your head so you can meet his gaze. His tall frame towering over you.

“Don’t,” he sighs. “Don’t leave.” You don’t listen to his plea and try to leave again but this time he slams his left arm on the wall, caging you in.

“Bokuto. Let me go!”

“No!”

“I- What?”

“I came to this reunion mainly so I could see you,” he pauses before continuing. “I made up my mind that if you came, I would try to get you back, ‘cause I still fucking love you.” His golden eyes stare right into yours. You can see the determination in them.

“The way we broke things off, I should never have ended it that way. We shouldn’t have ended it that way. If I could go back and change it, I would’ve made you come with me. I was stupid to let you go.”

“Bokuto, I-“

“And stop calling me Bokuto!” he fumes. “You never called me that while we were dating and-“

“We’re not dating now!” You respond, interrupting him.

“I know!” He slams his right fist on the wall, making you jump. You have never seen Bokuto this upset before, not even when you broke up.

“I’m sorry. Shit (y/n) I’m so sorry I don’t know what came over me. I-“

“It’s okay, Bo! It’s… fine,” you sigh out that last word. You let your head hang low, watching the ground, seeing how close his body is to you. You gulp, trying to contain your thoughts. You haven’t had any sexual contact with anyone for as long as you can remember, and seeing Bokuto now, here, this close makes you clench your thighs together. But you would not let your sexual desires over him take over. If he wanted you back, he had to tell you, and apologize.

“When I- We broke up I did it because I wanted to focus on volleyball.”

“Yeah, I know that.”

“Wait, let me finish.” You stay silent and let him continue.

“I wanted you to come with me, I wanted you with me so badly and I thought that I couldn’t let you come with me because I didn’t want you to stop chasing your dreams. Volleyball was my ambition, not yours.” He pauses for a second, collecting his thoughts and breathing before continuing. 

“But I was wrong and dumb. I didn’t ask what you wanted, I just assumed and chose for you. I should’ve talked it out with you, asked you if you wanted to come with me and I didn’t. I fucked up,” he takes a deep breath before yet again continuing talking, expressing his emotions.

“Over these past few years, I haven’t been able to let you go. You were always on my mind. You had taken over my head so bad that I started seeing things. Seeing you on the streets, in the audience while I was playing. I never stopped thinking about you. I even stalked your Facebook multiple times and-”

“You stalked my Facebook?” You look up, watching him. Your heart beating fast against your ribcage.

“Yeah, not my proudest moment but I did. I needed to see your face, needed to see what you were doing, and if you were seeing someone. If you were as miserable as I was,” he sighs, his eyes watching yours. “Please (y/n) I am desperate. I want you back. Give me a second chance. I need you back in my life. If you just give me a small chance, I will prove it to you that I will be one of the best decisions you’ll ever make.”

Bokuto sighs out loudly, like he was in pain, and places a kiss on top of your head before sinking so his eyes are in front of yours. His face just mere inches from yours.

“Just give me one chance. Just one so I can have you back. I want you (y/n). I want to be able to call you mine again. I just need one-“

You decide to instead of using words you crash your lips against his. Cutting him off mid-sentence, wrapping your arms around his neck. It only takes Bokuto a few seconds to respond by kissing you back, his body pressing itself close to yours, his forearms bracing him on the wall.  

You break off the kiss, bite your lip, and look into his golden shimmering eyes. “I never stopped loving you either.”

“Really? I expected you to have a boyfriend or fiancé by now.”

“No,” you groan. “I tried dating, but nobody compares to you.” He smiles widely at your words. Like a kid on Christmas morning.

“I’ll try to give you everything I can Bo, I’ll try-“

“Everything means nothing if I can’t have you (y/n)!” Blushing you look down, but Bokuto grabs your face in his hands and presses a kiss on your lips again. And again. You fist a handful of his shirt in your palms and press your body close to his, feeling his semi poking you and showing how much he wants you.

“You’re mine, (y/n). I love you so much,” he moans against your lips and then pushes his tongue inside of your mouth. His hands moving to grab your ass, pushing your pelvis against his. “I’m gonna prove it to you. I need you now. No time to waste.”

He pushes himself off you and turns around, trying to open your old classroom door and to his luck it does. His wide smile is back as he ushers you in.

“Wait- Bo! We can’t, not here.”

“Aww c’mon baby, it’ll be fun and besides,” he pauses, still looking at you as he undoes his belt. “I always wanted to fuck you in this classroom back in the day.”

His sentence makes you hurry inside, and you look around the now unfamiliar classroom. You hear Bokuto close and lock the door, the sound of his zipper being pulled down makes you turn around and face him. His pants are undone but still around his hips.

“Come here baby,” obeying, you take a few steps forward and stop once you’re in front of him. Both of his hands grab you by the waist and pull you forward, his lips instantly crashing to yours. His lips don’t stay on yours too long as they start to travel down the side of your neck towards your exposed collarbone. While his lips are giving your upper body some attention, his hands push your dress up, exposing your black lace thong to his fingertips.

Bokuto recognizes the material and stops his movements just so he can peek at your underwear. He grunts.

“Do you… like them?”

“I love them, baby. Jesus Christ.” Bokuto’s lips return to yours, his index and middle finger tracing the outline of your slit, making you squirm. He then removes them and ushers you to get up on one of the desks, and you do, but not before you remove your thong as sexy as you can, and throw it on the ground nearby.

“Babe, you’re gonna be the death of me!” he exclaims in a groan and hurries back to you. His body standing between your thighs. A slight breeze passes making you shudder, your nipples peek through your dress. Bokuto notices this and instantly with both of his hands, he pushes your dress down your arms and chest, making your breast spring free.

“Haven’t touched these girls in years,” he speaks while palming them both. “So beautiful.”

“Bo- I-“

“Shh love. It’s all about you now,” he removes his right hand just so he can tease your opening. Lubricating your core with your wetness before inserting a finger inside you, making you moan and throw your head back.

“Baby. Look at me,” he groans. You pull your head back and watch him. He removes his left hand and places it beside you, bracing all his weight on it while his other hand is occupied with your cunt. His finger going in and out of you, your walls clamping around him tightly. He snickers at how wet you feel around him and adds another finger, his middle and ring finger are fucking you slowly, too slow for your liking.

“Bokuto, please. I want more,” you moan.

“Easy now baby, I wanna savor this moment. Feeling your wet cunt around my fingers after such a long time,” he grunts. “God baby, you’re so wet.”

“I know, it’s all for you Bokuto.”

He licks his lips seductively and leans in closer to you, his breath hits your neck and makes your whole body shudder. His tongue comes out and licks you up from your collarbone to your ear, nibbling at your earlobe and making you let out a sigh in pleasure.

“Do you like that, hmm?” He snickers. “Do you like my fingers inside you (y/n)?”

“Y-Yes Bo, I-I love them,” you moan. He lets out a slight “fuck” as he rests his forehead on your shoulder and thrusts his digits harder inside your wet and aching core. Wanting you to cum so badly. He arches his fingers inside you, making them hit your g-spot.

“Bo, please. I’m so close,” you groan. “I want to cum so badly, please.” You keep on whining to him, the once familiar feeling returning to the pit of your stomach. The pressure in your lower abdomen is getting higher and higher. Your legs start to shake and in just a couple of seconds, you’re releasing yourself around his fingers, your right-hand wraps itself around his wrist, nails digging into his soft skin as you moan out loudly from orgasming. 

“Kou!” you scream, your walls clamping themselves around him, his fingers still going in and out of you, your legs shaking and your pelvis grinding itself on his hand. Eyes closed and mouth wide open and panting, trying to get your breathing under control.

After a minute, you open your eyes and are met by a smug smile as he removes his fingers and raises his hand to his lips, licking your juices off his fingers while still maintaining eye contact with you. 

“I missed the taste of you baby,” he groans. His long fingers going inside that beautiful mouth of his. A big smile on his lips, his excitement palpable. 

Once he has licked his fingers clean, he moves his hands to his pants and starts to pull them down his long legs along with his briefs, his cock springing free and colliding with his lower abdomen. Precum leaking from the tip. 

Your eyes are glued on his hard member. It’s as beautiful as you remember, two veins going around his shaft, the pink head craving attention. 

Your eyes never leave his crotch as his hand goes down and wraps itself around his hard cock, moving up and down slowly.

“You’re so eager, I love it baby, so sexy when you look at me like that,” his voice speaks, making you look up and meet his golden eyes. He takes a small step forward and with his hand that’s around his cock he traces your lips, mixing his precum with your wetness. 

“Wait Kou- Condom!” You moan. The fact that you managed to even utter those words surprised you, but you didn’t know who he’s been with.

“I didn’t bring one,” he answers. “Guess I’ll just have to cum inside you instead,” he groans and rams himself inside you. Your walls clenching around him tightly. Your heat making his cock twitch from excitement. 

“Fuck Kou, you- you feel amazing.”

“Fuck, you’re so tight, baby. I can feel you pulsating around me.” He’s still for a moment, letting you get used to him. Had he gotten bigger since you last were with him? Or had it just been such a long time since you’ve had sex? It didn’t matter to you, you loved the feeling of him stretching your walls, making your tight cunt ache for him to move.

His hips backtrack only to force themself back to you, colliding and hitting your g-spot, making you throw your head back and grip the edge of the table hard. Your eyes are closed as you take in all the pleasure that he’s giving you. He repeats the same action, he grunts and you moan at the friction.

“Baby look at me,” he moans, his hand going to your cheek, holding it with his large palm. “I want you to look at me.”

You answer him by moaning, opening your (y/e/c) eyes looking at him, pleasure displayed on his handsome face as he starts to increase both his speed and the power of his thrusts. His hips colliding against yours with a strong force. The pleasure is displayed on your face, a lewd look as you’re loving the way he continues to ram himself inside of you.

“I’m gonna cum inside of that pretty cunt, baby. I’m gonna fill you up with my cum,” he moans loudly, not caring if anyone hears him. He loved the excitement of knowing you could get busted having sex in your old classroom but he didn’t care. He had craved you for 3 long years and he wasn’t going to let this moment pass up. 

“I want a future with you,” he continues. “I want to marry you. I want to get you pregnant.” 

This makes your cunt clench for him. Your walls clamping themselves tightly around him. Marrying him? Pregnant? 

"Oh, you'd like that baby? You want me to breed you, baby?" His thrust hits hard, his cock going deep into your core. His eyes travel down, watching his cock going and out of you. The wetness surrounding it like lube, making it easy for him to thrust in and out of you. His gaze is locked on where both of you connect, watching the way your cunt swallows him whole.

"Fuck baby. Beg for me to fill you, I know you love the feel of my cum inside you."

"Oh god Kou, please fill me with your cum. Breed me," you almost sing. Your voice is filled with all kinds of emotions, pleasure consuming you.

"You want me to breed you, baby? Fill you up with all my sperm," he moans, his hands holding your hips in place as his thrusts got deeper and deeper inside you. The tip of his cock grazing your g-spot viciously, the pressure in your abdomen getting stronger after each thrust. The thought of you swollen with his child made him even harder and closer to reaching his climax. 

"Cum for me baby, I want you to cum for me. Cum with me. I'm so close," his thrusts get sloppier and you know he is near his release. 

"Cum with me Koutarou. Let's do it together."

"Fuck (y/n)," his whole body stills as he ejaculates inside you. The warmth of his semen spurting in you, coating your walls and you follow him soon afterward. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you coat his cock with your release. 

Your body is shaking from the intense orgasm you just had, your teeth biting into your lower lip and you feel him move, his still hard cock going in and out of you. Bokuto is making sure that his cum doesn’t come out, to make sure you’re bred and hoping you get pregnant from this. 

"Mhm Kou," you moan. Your eyes glance up to his face. A big smile was plastered on his lips. 

"That was so hot baby. I want more."

"I don't think I can stand," you giggle. His eyes are watching you, the smile on your face making his heart squeeze harder and being filled with all his love for you. 

"What now?" Your tender voice asks. 

"I'm waiting."

"... On what?" 

"For you to calm down before I go for round two,” he smirks. 

“W-Wait. Hold on. Round two?”

“You didn’t think I was already finished with you, baby? I’m just getting started.” With that being said, he flips you over. The action making his cock get pulled out from your heat. 

You’re bent over and your front is pressed against the now warm desk. His hands start to caress your body, from the base of your neck to your naked ass. He gives your ass some attention before slapping each cheek, making you jump from the sudden action.

"I could just cum from the sight of you," he grunts. "I'm gonna cum inside you again, to make sure you're bred."

"Kou-tarou~," you moan as he enters you without warning, his cock rock hard and coated in both your juices and his semen. His hands holding your hips still as he thrusts deep inside you. Ramming his cock hard into your wet and tight core. His fingertips are digging hard into your flawless skin, leaving a mark but you don’t care. The only thing that’s going through your mind right now is the way his cock is pounding into your wet and swollen cunt.

"I won't stop until you're dripping with my cum, to be sure you're pregnant with my child," he almost screams. "Jesus fuck baby the way you clench around me is wonderful."

Your cunt clenches harder around his cock, the thought of being pregnant with his child makes you reach some kind of bliss that you never thought you could. The soft image pops up in your mind for a second, but it’s soon gone as one of his hands grabs your shoulder, his other following suit.

You can feel his semen leaking out as he continues to ram into you, and you know he notices it cause he lets out a snicker. 

"My cum is seeping out of your pussy, but I'll fill you up again baby. I'll fill you up again and again."

"Kou- I'm gonna cum again," you moan. Your left hand holding the edge of the desk while your right one is in front of you, trying to grab something and it does as Bokuto's right hand comes forward and intertwines with yours, clamping around it. His body pressed against yours. Feeling his breath on your neck.

"Say it, baby, say what I want to hear."

"P-Put a baby inside me Koutarou please."

"Fuck yes," he moans vocally, biting down on your neck as he fills your cunt with his cum, the feel of his cum inside you again makes you clench around him and you reach your climax. 

"Yeah, my cum makes you orgasm so fucking hard right baby?"

"Mhm," you answer, too worn out to even form your own words. 

You press the side of your face on the desk and close your eyes. You're breathing heavily, so is Bokuto. His warm breath hitting your neck, making goosebumps form on all of your body. 

"(y/n)?"

"Yeah?" 

"I'm getting soft."

"Oh my god!" You giggle. 

"Stop. You're making me fall out, stop it!" This makes you laugh out loud, this man who just minutes ago went all sex god on you is now filled with concern. 

"Are you alright though? I wasn't too hard? Or rough? Or-"

"Baby, you were perfect," you answer in a giggle, interrupting his worrying self. 

There's a comfortable silence surrounding you both, not a single word is uttered. The only sound is the sound of your breathing. 

Suddenly you feel him move and pull himself out of you. Bokuto is fast with tucking himself inside his briefs and pulling his pants up, buckling his belt too. While doing this, you feel his cum seeping out from your hole.

"Hold on I'm on it," his voice speaks and you can hear him look for something to clean you up with. "This will do."

He's back fast and with some paper towels that are not very nice to your lady parts, and he cleans you up. The feeling of the paper made you wince, both from being sensitive and roughly fucked by your ex and now boyfriend, but also from the paper not being soft enough for your liking. 

"I'm done, there," he softly speaks, his voice filled with tenderness but also worry, that it was hurting you. He wasn't. He was doing something so much more, and you loved him for that. 

Getting up and getting dressed was the part where it got uncomfortable for you, his eyes stared at you as you dressed, fixing both your gown and hair, making it not look like you’ve just been fucked. 

Your thoughts wander to what had just happened. Was this just some kind of roleplay or did he want to impregnate you? Not that it mattered for you, you couldn’t care less because you got what you had wanted for years. Him.

Once you’re done you turn around and see that Bokuto is already watching you, a big smile on his lips. 

"What?"

"Nothing. You’re just so beautiful I can stare at you all night.”

"I-" you blush. “Thank you.”

"Now,” he says as he takes a small step forward and grabs you by the waist, pulling you closer to him. His smile still there and you can see how his eyes are glowing. 

“I love you,” he kisses you. “I love you so much (y/n). You’re the love of my life.”

"Again."

"Huh?" He turns his head to the side, not knowing what you mean. 

"Say it again. I need to hear it again." With confidence, he grabs your face in his hands and holds you in place. His eyes watching yours and with the softest smile on his lips, he says: 

"I love you.”

"I love you too." You sigh in happiness and he seals your lips with a passionate kiss. Both of you smiling through the kiss in pure bliss. 

He pulls away and grabs your hand and starts to lead you out of the classroom and in the opposite direction of the party. Confusion consumes you as you speak.

"Kou, baby. The party is that way," you giggle and point down the other side of the hall. 

"I know. We're not returning."

"We're not?" You ask in confusion.

"No."

"Why not?" He stops in his tracks and you collide with his rock hardback. He turns around, smirking.

"We have 3 years of lovemaking to do and I want you in my bed when doing that." He returns and walks you out and into the parking lot, leading to his car and a future of you and him together again. Nothing could stop you now.

[forever-rogue]

Douse the Lights

A/N: I have no excuse for this, except I love one (1) Din Djarin and he deserves this and so do we. Enjoy! A little Happy New Year gift from me to you! As always, comments and feedback are welcomed! xx

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: SMUT (18+ only) - oral (m and f receiving), unprotected PiV, choking, degradation, creampie...filth. This is just filth. 

STUTTER SOMETHING PROFOUND (PART 2)

THE MANDALORIAN MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Then stop kriffing staring at me.”

“I wasn’t even looking in your direction.”

“You,” with a sharp turn of your head you saw that he wasn’t even near you. Nope. Not at all. 

Kriff. Awkward.

“Lothcat got your tongue, Princess?” you’d never seen his face, but Maker, you just knew there was a wicked smirk on it.

“Just mind your own business,” stowing away your clean blasters with a huff, you prayed with all your might that he couldn’t see the flush of warmth on your face or hear the crack in your voice. You hated him. Everything about him.

At least you wanted to; you would have given anything in the galaxy to. It would make constantly being around the Mandalorian that you called your employer a lot easier. 

Maybe if you kept repeating it yourself, you would manifest it to become true. That you could hate that annoying, half-witted, tin can. 

“Thought that’s what I was doing,” there was the most minute inkling of amusement in his voice as he came over, lithe and silent - ever the hunter. He was at your side in an instant, the warmth of his body contrasting sharply with the cool metal of the beskar as he sent shivers up and down your spine. Along with the low pooling of heat and desire settling in your belly, but you were going to ignore that for now.

Almost as if he knew the effect he had on you, he made it a point to brush a gloved hand over yours as he nudged you to the side to inspect some of the weapons he’d tasked you with cleaning. You had to be quick in order to shut your mouth and keep a small whimper from escaping your lips. 

How long had it been since someone last touched you? Maker, it had been….dank farrik. It had been way too long. A simple hand brush - there wasn’t even skin to skin contact - and you felt like a lothcat in heat. You really needed to get...some company and have your frustrations taken out or surely you would explode. There was no way you were to give Mando the satisfaction of knowing the type of hold he seemed to possess over you. 

Perhaps once you were out of this more than awkward conversation you could slip out for a few hours and seek some pleasure. The little one had just gone down for a nap a short bit ago, and he was likely to be out for some time. Surely he wouldn’t have a problem for a few hours. Then you could -

“These are still dirty,” was his voice always that rough and low? He had to be doing it on purpose, surely. Before you could contemplate it too much, he took one of the blasters and shoved it back into your hands. Not rough or gentle, but with enough firmness to remind that he was in charge. You looked it over and raised your eyebrows as you inspected it yourself - it was polished to an almost pristine shine, “clean them again. All of them.”

“What the fuck, Mando,” you scoffed with indignation as you rolled your eyes at him, shoving the blaster right into of the black T of his visor. You waved it almost as if to prove your point, “this is clean. I dare you to find a cleaner blaster in this Maker forsaken galaxy.”

He was quick to your grab your wrist, his grip was firm as he kept your hand from moving. You didn’t normally argue with your stoic and mysterious employer, but this was apparently new and uncharted territory. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but there was a shift between the two of you, something had changed. The tension in the air was palpable, so thick you could cut it with the dullest of knives as you stared back at him. 

“Clean it again,” it was a growl that went straight to your cunt as you subconsciously clenched your thighs at the sound. Either this was a one time deal that you would commit to memory or you were going to make it a point to annoy him more often. As he stared you down, he slowly let go of your wrist and pointed at the discarded cleaning rag, “and make sure its actually clean this time.”

“You are the worst,” you tried to retain the little bit of composure that you had remaining as you swiped the blaster back.

“And you are a brat,” brat. Brat. Brat. Brat. Of all the words available in all of the galaxy, he had to choose that one. This was absolutely on purpose. The Mandalorian never did anything without careful planning and calculating the risks. The same could be said with his words; this was all carefully and deliberately chosen. He cocked his head to the side, almost as if trying to gauge your reaction, “but here we are. Get them clean.”

“Or what?” it was a mere pathetic squeak as found yourself almost unable to meet his face.

“Just get it done.”

Without another word he strode away, as silent and dangerous as he was when he first came in. If you were stronger, if you weren’t a weak little fool, you would have looked away and focused on your work. 

But no. Not today.

Instead you watched him go, staring shamelessly at his imposing figure as he moved to disappear back into the cockpit to do whatever it was that he did. 

Was his ass always that nice? Were those thighs always so strong and sturdy? Was he always so damn broad and wide? 

Shit. 

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” you hissed at yourself as you picked the rag back up and slammed yourself back down on the bench in order to re-clean all the weapons that you had just done. He wanted clean weapons? You’d give him the cleanest blasters he’d ever seen. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

Almost an hour had crept by when you’d finished your second round of cleaning. At this point you honestly didn’t care if the Mandalorian deemed the job satisfactory or not. The longer you had ruminated on his words, the more frustrated you became. 

Each word, each touch seemed burned into your mind as you let your imagination take over. You’d be lying if you said you’d never thought about him before. There had been a number of sleepless nights when you imagined it had been his hand between your thighs, his fingers running through your slick folds before they slipped inside of you. On nights when you really couldn't help yourself, you even imagined it was his cock, how he would feel buried to the hilt inside of you. You wondered what he would be like, but something - this day in particular - told that he was big. And he would get the job done.

But it wasn’t going to happen. 

Nope. No. Nah. You were just his sidekick little employee that most definitely was not going to act on any impulsive or rash decisions. You might have been a lot of things, including a huge fool in that moment, but you weren’t that stupid. You didn’t need to create some unnecessary strain in your relationship with the stoic warrior or even worse, lose your job and home and be left stranded in a forgotten corner of the galaxy. 

Even as you tried to rationalize all the ways in which acting on your impulses was a horrible idea, the frustration and the throbbing between your legs didn't wane. You were getting so desperate and pathetically needy that you sat on the edge of your small bench just at the angle so you could get a little bit of friction on your clit. Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.

As you rocked back and forth, trying to keep the little mewls and whines from slipping past your lips, you realized you couldn't do this.

You couldn't risk getting caught by the Mandalorian. Oh yes, everything's fine, just getting myself off. Don't worry, I'm super horny because of you. Yeah of course I'd love your cock.

Yeah. Cool, cool, cool. This would never happen. 

Just when you before you reached your breaking point and had your hands halfway to your soaked core, you stopped. 

"Kriff," you sighed to yourself as you pulled your hand back out and stood up. What the actual fuck had gotten into you? A few commanding words you were completely losing your control. Either you were desperate for a release from something other than your own hand or you craved the mysterious Mandalorian. 

Hastily stashing the impeccably clean blasters back into the weapons cache, you discarded the rag as you quickly came up with a plan. 

Tiptoeing quietly back to where the little one was sleeping, you sneaked a peek and saw that he was still fast asleep. He wouldn't even notice you were gone - that's what you tried to convince yourself as you delicately touched his soft ears and button nose. 

You weren't sure if you were speaking of the Mandalorian or the baby. At this point you really didn't care. 

You glanced back at the ladder towards the cockpit, watching almost as if you expected him to come down and catch you sneaking out. Hells, technically he'd know as soon as you left the ship. You scrawled a quick note telling him that you needed a cleaner or something, in your haste you couldn't even remember what you put, and would need to go to the market.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. That was totally plausible, you insisted to calm your own nerves as you slipped on your boots and a cloak before making your final decision to leave. Attempting to be as quiet and subtle as possible, you slowly made your way off the Crest and started scurrying towards the nearby desolate town of Mos Eisley. In reality you looked more like a scrap rat scurrying away from the light than a woman heading into town to find something. 

Whatever.

Mos Eisley wasn’t exactly known for its sparkling reputation, and you were sure you could get exactly what you wanted quickly enough. In and out, you thought to yourself as a flush rose in your check, well precisely that. For at least you were hoping. 

But the Mandalorian, a seasoned hunter with a reputation for a reason, and didn’t miss a single trick. He was aware of what you were doing before you even left the cargo hold. If he was this frustrated and turned on you by you, his cock hard and straining against the confines of his pants, he was sure you must have been in the same position. 

Oh, but he had been close to breaking, just like you. How easy it would have been to seal the hatch to the cockpit and relieve himself of the desire and ache. But no - just like you he had limits and wasn’t about to give in and stroke his hard cock while you were within earshot. No matter times he had imagined it - fucking your mouth or burying himself deep between your luscious heat before pounding you into oblivion, he wasn’t going to give in this easily. 

He wasn’t a virgin by any means, but with your little backtalk and the way you had looked at him with those wide doe eyes and pretty pouted lips sure had him feeling like one. The thought of burying himself inside you, to watch as you bounced on his cock with your tits in his face was enough to make up his mind. 

One time couldn’t hurt, right? People had casual encounters all the time.Why should this one be any different? If you were willing of course, although judging by how your pupils had dilated with each word from his mouth, had little doubt you felt the same way; but consent of course was key. 

And tomorrow? You’d be back to being the same way you had always been.

Hopefully. Maybe. Probably.

Fuck.

This was a bad idea, and the small, sensible part remaining in his brain told him so. But he was too far in, too deep and lost in his own desires to stop himself. 

He was watched as you ran away, deciding to wait until you were halfway to Mos Eisley before going after you. He’d take the kid to Pelli, sure she’d more than happy to watch him for the night. The rest? That was to be all consumed by you. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

The old cantina was dirty, dingy, and smelly. There was no doubt in your mind it must have been at least a decade since it was cleaned, and yet it still remained a hot spot; granted not for those of politer society, but enough to get the job down.  You pushed that to the back of your mind as you clambered through the crowd and to the bar, sitting down next to a handsome Zabrak you had spied when you’d walked in. You’d never been with one his kind before, but you’d heard rumors of them, especially when it came to their prowess behind closed doors, and something within you was piqued. 

He must have sensed something was up - as soon as you sat down, he motioned for the bartender to come back and bring the two of you a new round. 

“You’re new here,” he said gruffly, a dangerous edge to his voice, sharp like a knife as he took one of the luminescent drinks and shoved the other towards you.

Before you could even move to grab your drink or utter so much as a word in response, a hand darted and quickly grabbed your wrist, the grip biting and firm. 

“She’s mine,” the words washed over you before you could even turn to look at the Mandalorian. His chest was rising and falling heavy as his visor was trained on your would be companion for the night. A shudder ran up your spine as he pulled you off the stool, the two men glaring at each wordlessly. 

He pulled you behind him, storming out of the cantina as the crowds parted at the sight of the gleaming silver beskar. They knew better than to stand in the way of the Mandalorian. You felt like a child being scolded as he refused to acknowledge you, keeping his gaze trained straight as you struggled to keep up with his long strides. 

“What the hell, Mando?” your question was an indignant shout as your voice climbed an octave. His grip didn’t waver for a moment as he grunted in his response. Oh, he was mad. Yup. Definitely. You had fucked up. 

Any thought of talking back or prodding him further were estopped as you could see him fuming as he dragged your ass back to the Crest. 

This was it, you realized. This was the end where he would fire you and send you packing. Of all the places in the galaxy to be stranded, Tatooine was not one of your top destinations. No one to blame but yourself, you reckoned. 

Instead you hung your head as he refused to look back, making quick work of opening the cargo hold and shoving you inside. There was something about his touch that was rough, almost sending you falling to your ass, but there was still an odd gentleness.

You stared back at the blank visor in challenge, attempting to figure out what was going on. His chest was rising and falling rapidly as he stared back at you. Neither of you were about to get a good read on each other. 

“Did you really think it was a good idea to just walk away without saying anything?” his voice was dangerously low as he crossed his arms over his chest and glared at you. You opened and closed your mouth a few times as you tried to come up with either a smart response or an excuse but instead of anything coherent, it was a mixture of the two. Great. Now he's going to think you were an idiot on top of everything else. 

“I didn’t...just um...doesn’t matter what you...I needed something from the market?” you swallowed the lump on your throat as you dropped your gaze to the floor. He sighed for a moment - heavily - as you’d come to know was his penchant to do. 

“You needed something from the market?” it wasn’t a question so much as an accusation.

“Mhmm.”

“What was it?”

“C-cleaner,” you lied. Somehow it sounded better than saying yeah, I really just wanted a quick fuck because you have me feeling some type of way. 

“There's a new cleaner right in the cabinet,” he said as you internally groaned. He was right - there was a brand new gleaming bottle on the top shelf. He’d gotten some last week, “or did you conveniently forget that?”

“Umm,” you couldn’t get anything else out as he took a step closer and left minimal distance between your bodies. He reached up and put a hand under your chin, turning your face up to meet his, “uh huh.”

“Uh huh, honey,” his voice warmed you up from inside out as you gave him an innocent look. If he hadn’t known what he was doing earlier, he certainly did now. And he was going to milk every second of it, to push this as far as it would go. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, a subconscious gesture, but not unnoticed by the Mandalorian. His hand slipped from your chin and jaw and slid until he was gently holding your throat. His grip was light, and he was barely squeezing, but Maker, you wished he was, “is that really what you were going to do?”

“Y-yeah,” how much longer were you going to keep up this little facade? You had no clue. But the feel of his hand around your airway, pushing slightly, ever so slightly, had your mind positively reeling.

“Then why did you go to that filthy old cantina?” he leaned closer, his helmet mere inches from your face as you closed your eyes, the blood rushing to your ears as you the heat pooled in your belly, “why were you talking to Zabrak? Did you really think he was going to fuck you? To make you feel good?”

“Mhmm,” you managed to murmur after a few beats of silence as you realized what was happening. This was new, uncharted territory - for the both of you - and if you went any further, there would be no going back. And you - fuck it. Your eyes snapped open as you turned to look into the visor, right where his eyes would be, “needed someone to do it, since you never would.” 

And there it was - finally out in the open and hanging thickly between the two of you. All you could ever was a small huff from under the helmet and you were positive he was smirking like a victorious predator.

“Is that what you want, honey?” he asked and you nodded. Give and take and then...it all broke, “get on your knees. Now.”

And you wasted no time sinking onto the cool metal floor, now level with his cock, where you could see the hardness straining against his rough fabric. Shaky fingers worked to hastily pop the button and pull the zipper, but just before you could get to what you wanted, Din roughly grabbed jaw, turning your face up to his, “you take what I give. Yeah?”

“Yes,” you promised, feeling yourself grow wetter and wetter with each word. But then, with another gentle tap to your chin, he seemed almost...gentle, “Mando?”

“If you don’t want this, just say stop,” he waited for you to nod as you a sense of warmth fluttered over you at his desire for consent, “I will not be gentle, I will not-”

“Give it to me then,” you beamed at him before turning back to his cock and pulling out of his underwear. You almost moaned at the sight of his cock, hard and leaking already; and just as your little fantasies had led you to believe, he was more than adequate. 

Spitting into your palm, you took him in your hand, pumping him a few times before licking the head, just small light licks, just enough to tease. Licking a stripe up his shaft, you played with his balls for a moment, earning what you were sure was a small groan from under the helmet. Making it a point to draw it out, you shouldn’t have been surprised when his hand went to the back of your head as he pushed you onto his cock. 

A sound of surprise was muffled by his cock as you took all of him into your mouth, doing your best not to gag as he hit the back of your throat and your nose brushed against the soft curls of hair at his base. Your hands slid up his thighs and found purchase on his hips as he began to fuck your mouth. He started slowly at first, almost as if he was afraid to give too much. When you grew accustomed to him, making it a point to hollow your cheeks and suck him as best as you could, he picked up the pace. And it was brutal in all the best ways, spit was starting to run down your chin along with a few tears that had spilled over, but if nothing else, it worked to spur him on. 

“Look at you,” he grunted between thrusts as he took in the sight in front of him, “take me so well. Knew your big mouth had to be good for something. Always wanted to fuck that pretty face.”

You hummed in delight as you raked your nails over the exposed slivers of his skin on his hips, golden and delicious and you wanted it all. His thrusts slowly become more erratic and sloppy as he twitched in your mouth. His hand dropped from the back of your head as you took over and put a hand back on his shaft as you worked to finish him off. 

Soon enough he did, followed by an almost primal growl as he came, his hot, thick, cum coating your mouth and you eagerly swallowed all that he offered, which unsurprisingly, was a lot. As his breathing slowed down and he slowly came down from the rush of his high, you pulled back from him, looking up at him with innocent eyes and a wicked smile. You cleaned him off, but just as you went to wipe at your mouth, his gloved hand was faster and he collected the spit and cum that had spilled out and pushed it back into your mouth with two fingers. You grabbed his wrist and made a show of sucking his fingers clean, tasting him along with the worn leather of his gloves. 

“Good girl,” he praised before hoisting you to your feet, “strip.”

“What about you?” you turned your head to the side, but he shook his head in response. He paused for a moment, almost as if he was having second thoughts, but just quickly, he whipped off his gloves and tossed them onto the floor before putting a hand on your cheek and stroking it tenderly. You swallowed thickly before nodding and working to pull off your clothes. 

First was your shirt, tugging slowly over your chest and tossed down to join the gloves. Your arm went to your back as you tugged off your bra, letting the straps fall down your shoulders as an almost nervous breath escaped your lips. 

“Keep going,” he commanded, eyes trained slowly on you as he drank in the sight of you. You undid your own zipper and pulled your pants and panties down in one fluid motion before kicking them off along with your boots and socks. You’d never felt more vulnerable or exposed in that moment, wanting to cover up but also relishing in the fact that you seemed to have rendered the Mandalorian speechless. He looked you up down, not bothering to hide the fact as he looked at your form, glancing at your soft mound before your breasts and then landing back on your face.

Beckoning for you to come closer with a simple crook of his fingers, you did so, standing directly in front of him. His hand flitted from your cheek and down your body before resting at the apex of your thighs. You gasped lightly in surprise as he dragged his fingers through your soaked folds, coating them in your copious arousal, before chuckling darkly. A hand immediately went to his shoulder as you steadied yourself and tried not to completely lose it at the simple touch, “all of this for me, honey?”

“Mhmm,” you admitted as he gently rubbed over your clit, teasingly in the slowest, most tantalizing way possible. Before you could stop yourself you blurted out, “always think about you. Always get so wet.”

He made a small, noncommittal sound as he pulled his fingers away from your wetness and brought them to your lips. He tapped your bottom lip and you opened your mouth, sucked his fingers clean from your own arousal, “I’ve thought about fucking you too. That mouth, that pussy. You’re such a brat, but you drive me crazy.”

“I like when you get mad,” you said as he pulled his fingers out of your mouth, “‘s sexy.”

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice deeper and lower than ever before, and you felt your knees start to buckle at the sheer sex it exuded, He brought his large, warm hands to your tits, touching over your pebbled nipples as you bit back a moan. While you wished it his mouth on them instead, this touch was just as well, as he massaged them, trying to get a good feel of them and seeing what drew out those sweet mewls from you. But before you could enjoy it too much, one hand gripped your waist like a vice and the other went between your legs. He ran his thick fingers through your folds, before slowly inserting one into your wet heat. You moaned as he slowly inserted another and then a third, stuffing you full and already having you seeing stars in no time, “make yourself cum.”

“What?” your eyes snapped open as he stilled his actions, “you’re joking, right?”

“Nope,” he popped the p loudly as he lightly teased your clit, eyes boring into yours, “you act like a brat and you want to cum? You have to work for it.”

“You can’t be serious,” you groaned as he moved to pull his hand away, as if to show you just how serious he was. This time, you caught his wrist and held him in place. He chuckled lightly in triumph as one of your hands returned to his shoulder for balance and the other went to play with your sensitive bundle of nerves. He held completely still, a practiced and patient man, as he made you work for it. He wasn’t kidding by any means when he said he would not be gentle. 

He remained quiet, watching your pretty face shift through a range of expressions as you worked to reach your own high. He was glad for the helmet, for if you had been watching him, you’d have seen the tinge of pink rising in his cheeks as the sight of you fucking yourself on his fingers. He’d envisioned this many times, no doubt about that, but he’d never thought it would become a reality. Maker, you were gorgeous as you thrust onto his hand using him for your own pleasure a string of gentle filth spilled from your lips as you rubbed slow circles onto your clit.

“Mandooo,” it was soft as you felt that familiar blinding haze start to take over you, and your toes involuntarily curled and your cunt started to clench around his fingers. Your eyes fluttered closed in pleasure as your vision turned blurry and that familiar warmth started to spread all over your limbs. He felt his cock twitch from where he had tucked himself back in after you’d pleasured him. Before you could finish though, something different met your ears.

“Din,” he said as bit your lip in order to keep from crying out completely, “my name is Din.”

And there it was. Completely unexpected and out of the blue. It wasn’t just a name - no it was so much more than it. It was a sign of trust, of closeness, of the fact that whatever this little situation was, it was neither the first or only time something like this would happen. No, your story with Mando may have come to an abrupt end, but your relationship with Din was just beginning.

It was almost as his name, uttered softly and almost unsurely, was exactly what you needed to push you over the edge as you came around his fingers. A soft moan left your lips along with the sweetest sound he was sure he’d ever heard, “Din.”

A merciful man when he chose to be, he took over for you and worked you through your orgasm as you almost collapsed into his arms, “there you are pretty girl. You did so well, fucking yourself on my fingers.”

“Not enough,” you rested your against the soft cowl of his neck as he pulled his hand from you, but not before slapping your ass a few times, almost as if testing to see how far he could push you. You made a few sounds of delight at the sting, only spurring him on as he slapped and then gently needed the ample flesh of your backside, “please, need you to fuck me.”

“Is that what you need, pretty girl?” he purred in your ear as he pulled back and grabbed your face in his hands, taking in the already blissed out expression on your features, “you want me to fuck you? Think you’re ready for my cock?”

“Yes,” you were practically ready to beg at this point, “I’ve been wanting it for so long.”

At your words, he almost dragged you to the small bed that was reserved for you in the corner and motioned for you to sit. You watched with eager eyes as he scrambled for the waistband of his pants and hastily pulled them down and kicked them off, letting them join your discarded clothes. He practically ripped off the rest of the beskar until he was bared in front of you, save for the helmet. His cock was already painfully hard again, standing at attention and leaking fat drops of precum.

“Can I trust you?” he asked as you nodded, understanding exactly what he meant. You’d never questioned the fact that you’d never seen his face or that he apparently just never showed it to anyone. You respected him and his decisions, and you’d never dare to push the envelope or destroy his trust. 

“Always,” you promised as he walked over to the wall and hit the switch for lights, cloaking the room in darkness. You sucked in a breath before you heard him shuffling about and the beskar helmet clanged against the metal floor. He stood in front of you, you could feel his breathing as he touched your cheek before wrapping a hand around your throat.

“Hands and knees,” he instructed with a delicious rasp, made even better by the lack of filtering from the vocoder of his helmet, “now.”

The singular word was enough to send a fresh rush of arousal through your veins, as you laid on your belly on the small cot before positioning yourself so your ass was in the air. He shuffled behind you, his large hands grazing over the soft flesh of your ass. He spread your cheeks apart before dragging a thick finger through your soaked folds. A small sound of pleasure rippled through your throat as you clutched onto the thin, scratchy blanket of the bed, “please.”

“Quiet,” it was harsh and biting as  the palm of his hand slapped your ass, the sting delicious and leaving you wanting more, “you like that, don’t you? You like being spanked, pretty girl.”

“Only by y-y-you,” before you could say anything, he slapped your ass a few more times before kneading the soft flesh to make sure the sting wasn’t too painful. 

Mando - no, Din - shifted his weight and you could feel him line himself up at your entrance. He ran the tip of his cock through your folds. A moan escaped your lips - and his - as he slowly pushed into you, giving you a brief moment to adjust to his considerable size. The stretch was amazing, the slight burn quickly turned into pleasure and you felt full, so completely full. He groaned as he bottomed out, already feeling pussy dumb by the way your velvet walls hugged him, “this - kriff - this pussy is perfect. Just like it was made for me.”

“Din,” you buried your face in your pillow as he pulled out, slowly, before thrusting sharply back into you. He was not lying when he said that he would not be gentle. His large, warm hands went to your hips as he held them in a bruising grip. You were sure you’d bear his marks for days. 

He set a bruising pace, thrusting into you with no mercy as he slammed his hips into yours. There was nothing gentle or intimate about, no - this was months and months of pent up frustration and desire coming out all at once. Din was not a talkative man, but as he fucked you into oblivion, he was whispering strings of filth and praise into your ears. All you could do was lie there as he pounded into you, so lost in your own pleasure as you became a whining mess under him.

Before he came, his arms snaked around your waist as he pulled you flush against his chest. One large hand went to play with your breasts as the other went to your clit as he rubbed and circled at the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your mouth hung open in a blissful haze as he kept going, pressing kisses into the soft skin of your skin and shoulder, alternating between nipping and sucking and making sure to leave plenty of marks so everyone knew you were his. 

“Look at you, pretty girl,” he grunted in your ear, “taking my cock so well. You love this don’t you? Getting used like this.”

“Mhmm,” you bit your lip as he kept going, kept abusing your spent pussy as he started to stutter in his thrusts, “‘m so close, please, wanna come.”

“You’re going to come on my cock,” he commanded as you nodded, “and I’m going to fill you up and make sure you know who you belong to.”

“I’m yours,” you insisted as you felt your walls clench around him and his cock start to twitch, “only yours.”

“Good girl,” he praised as he turned your head to place a rough kiss on your lips. It was the sheer act of the moment and feel of his stubble that sent you over the edge and cumming all over him. You were like jello in his arms as he held you up, giving you a few more thrusts before spilling inside and coating your walls with his cum, “ahh - fuck - so fucking good. Maker, you feel like no other. Perfect pussy - just for me.”

He held you tightly against his body as he caught his breath, the two of you breathing in sync. You thought he might pull away immediately, but instead, he pressed more kisses, chaste compared to your previous actions, down your back as he slowly lowered you onto the bed. You couldn’t even form words as you laid there, cockdumb and already feeling his arousal along with your own dripping onto your thigh. 

“You did good,” he praised gently before reaching between your legs and scooping up some of his cum that had started dripping out. You whimpered at the touch, still sensitive, and listened as he brought his fingers to his lips and sucked them clean, “but I’m not done with you yet.”

Din gently flipped you onto your back so you were lying face up and exposed to him. He sat between your legs and slowly spread them apart, admiring his handy work. He leaned back before climbing off the small and getting on his knees, pulling you towards his face. Just as you had gotten on your knees for him, he kneeled only for you. 

“Din,” you sighed contentedly as he kissed along your inner thighs, working his way back to your dripping heat. He nuzzled his nose against you, taking a moment to take it all in, “already so much."

"Come on, honey," his voice was like liquid gold as he reached up and touched your breasts, cupping them easily in his large hands, "you've got another one in you. I know you do. Aren't you a good girl?"

"Mhmm," you arched into his touch as he rolled your nipples between his fingers. How this infuriating man got you to become a pile of mush in his hands you'd never know, but you definitely weren't going to question it. He leaned up and kissed your hips before burying his face between your legs, "I'm your good girl."

And with those words, he licked a long stripe up your soaked folds, still soaked from your combined juices. His nose, which you presumed was aquiline in nature, nudged your clit as he ate you like a starving man. You were the shining prize, glimmering in the distance, and he was the wrecked man crossing the desert to get to you.

This time you didn't even bother to hold back as you mewled and cried, tears of pleasure and overstimulation welling up at the corners of your eyes and sliding down your cheeks. Din hummed in content as he licked and suckled at you, making sure to focus on your clit as you came completely undone.

Reaching down, you carded a hand through his locks - curls - as you pressed his face against your aching core. You could practically feel him smirking against you as he slipped a few fingers inside to join his ministrations. Expertly curling his thick fingers, he quickly found the sweet spot that made your toes curls and you see stars.

"Almost there," he grinned as he gave you a moment of reprieve before diving right back in, "I can feel that perfect cunt squeezing around me. Taste so good, pretty girl."

"D-Din," his name falling from your tongue was like pure magic as he became transfixed by how it sounded. Your mouth dropped open in a small O as your legs shook around him. He pulled his fingers from you as he held down your hips in order to keep you from squirming away from him, "feelssogood - makerohstars - Dindindin."

"Come all over my face, pretty girl," his tongue darted into you for a few moments before he gave your clit a harsh suckle. That was all it took before you came again, screwing your eyes shut as he worked your through your orgasm, lapping up every bit of your juices, refusing to waste even a drop, "there you are - taste so fucking good. Perfect."

He was relentless until he was sure you were completely done and a practical ragdoll on the bed. Slowly, he pulled back from you, trailing light kisses up your body, stopping when he got your face. Almost as if he was able to see even in the almost complete darkness, he wiped away your remaining tears. He hesitated for a moment for leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. You sighed softly as you rolled onto your side and scooted closer to the wall, making room for him. 

It was a big thing you were doing, boundaries had been crossed and blurred and any rules you'd previously had were thrown out the window. Neither of you were sure what came next.

But you did know that you didn't want him to leave - not yet anyway.

"Din?" you asked softly as he pulled the blanket over your spent body; he was surprisingly gentle for a man that had just sent you to heaven and hell and back. 

"Yes, pretty girl?" 

"Will you stay?" your voice was small as you prepared yourself for defeat and for him to leave.

"Yes," he whispered softly as he slid in under the blanket and next to you, "I'd like that."

"Me too," you admitted as he shifted and pulled you in his arms so you could lay your head on his chest, listening to the steady thump thump of his heart, "Din?"

“Hmm?”

"I'm in charge next time," you smirked lightly as you kissed his soft skin. He inhaled sharply but you could tell he was into it. The man might have just been in charge, but you had a feeling he might like being told what to do as well - and you were going to find out, "I want to ride you."

"Kriff," he groaned under his breath, "You're going to be the death of me, little brat."

"I'll make it worth your while," you promised with a small yawn, "I'll have you crying in no time - begging me for mercy."

“Mhmm.”

“You’re going to be a good boy for me, right?” it was your turn to put your hand on his throat and give it a gentle, but firm squeeze as he stiffened at the feeling, “I know you’re a good boy, Din.”

“Fuck.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[seijorhi]

insidious

Hinata Shoyo x female reader (+ Miya Atsumu x female reader)

tw dub-con/non-con, yandere, voyeurism, nsfw, smut but like just a sprinkle

Atsumu’s never considered himself much of a relationship guru, but surely he can’t be the only one who notices there’s something real fuckin’ weird about your relationship with Hinata.

Admittedly, the first few times he met you, he wasn’t paying all that much attention. Sure, you were hot, and he’d be a liar if he said he hadn’t snuck a peek every now and then; but his focus has always been on the game, on his teammates. On himself as a setter. It’s why he’s got a strict no girlfriends policy during the season. Atsumu doesn’t do distractions.

And he likes Hinata. On the court, the little dude’s a monster for him to unleash and he’d love him for that alone, but somehow despite being a 5’7” excitable ball of crazy intensity off the court as well, the redhead’s impossible not to get along with. 

There’s a few guys on the team that have partners – fuck, Meian’s even married, his wife five months pregnant with their second kid. But it doesn’t hit him until maybe three or so weeks after Hinata joins the team that he’s never seen any of them (or the ones that came before them) show up at every single training session. 

You do. 

Rain, hail or shine, no matter how early Hinata starts or how late he stays, you’re there, sitting in the stands, just… watching. It’s not a bad thing exactly. He knows Bo thinks it’s cute, gets all moony eyed and sappy about it and Hinata certainly doesn’t seem bothered by it, beaming up at you after every point scored, every successful spike, every receive. 

But it’s just– they train six days a week. It’s long hours and a lot of it’s just drills and exercising till they’re dead on the floor, and even hardcore volleyball fans would find it boring to sit through day in and day out. You don’t take a book or sit there on your phone; you just watch idly as they train. 

Day in, day out. 

There ain’t a rule against it; their practices are closed to the public but the team have a few passes they can hand around on the odd occasion. It’s more of an unspoken understanding; you can invite who you want, so long as you’re focused and they don’t make a fuss.

You never do though, quiet as a mouse as you wait for Hinata to finish up. 

“Don’tcha think it’s weird though?” he asks Sakusa one afternoon, wiping the sweat from his brow as he watches Hinata slump down beside you after practice wraps up, pulling you into a nuzzling embrace.

Sakusa makes a noncommittal noise, but dark eyes regard the two of you nonetheless. “She moved with him from Brazil, didn’t she?” 

Atsumu shrugs, “And?”

“She doesn’t have any friends or family here, no roots, no job, just Hinata,” he says – slowly, like Atsumu’s an idiot. 

And he tries to put himself in your shoes for a minute, imagine what it would be like to follow someone halfway across the world (further actually, because he’s pretty sure you weren’t from Brazil to begin with) but it’s not the same. Even without Samu, or his friends or his family, even in a country with weird customs and a language that wasn’t his own, Atsumu’s always been good at finding his feet. 

But he supposes he can understand why you cling to Hinata. Though it’s really more a case of Hinata clinging to you, ‘cause whenever he turns around, it’s the redhead who’s the one all over you, pulling you into cuddles, twining his fingers with yours, peppering your face with butterfly kisses. Like he’ll just die if he’s not touching you every second you’re together.

It’s either sickeningly cute or revoltingly excessive, and for the life of him Atsumu can’t figure out which. 

You’d think it’s his first relationship or something, that he’s stuck in some weird puppy love honeymoon phase, but from what he’s heard the two of you have been together for years now – that’s just the way Hinata is, apparently.

He shouldn’t be too surprised; the guy’s always first in line to jump on his back or try and tackle him to the floor after any successful play. Between him and Bokuto, he’s got more bruises littered over his body than a linebacker, but they’re a tactile team, and he usually gives as good as he gets. 

You’re not one for excessive PDA though. You never fight against the overbearing affection, don’t shrug it off or shrink away – at least, not from what he’s noticed – but Atsumu hasn’t seen you initiate anything more than a quick peck to his cheek when Hinata’s got you all bundled up in his arms.

And he gets that not every relationship has to be equal in that sense, different love languages and all that crap, but while you don’t fight it, you never seem… entirely comfortable with it either. Not in the ‘stop, we’re in public, please don’t’ kinda way, but–

He can’t put a finger on it. 

You smile at Hinata, cheer when he scores, let him pet and kiss and pull you around wherever he wants, but you never seem to relax properly, and it bothers him. He doesn’t know why it bothers him.

If he hadn’t met you, hadn’t known that you’d been with Hinata since he was dirt poor and moonlighting as a delivery boy in Brazil, he’d be tempted to think that you were only in it for the money. It’s not a bad plan, as far as these things go – find some up and coming athlete to place all your bets on, get him wrapped around your finger before success goes to his head. And he doesn’t know you all that well and has absolutely zero fucking justification to back it up, but you don’t strike him as the money hungry type.

You don’t strike him as anything, and maybe that’s part of the issue.

Hinata’s like a sun; he’s gonna eclipse anyone standing too close. That’s normal. The team; him and Sakusa, Bokuto, the others – they have their own talents to stand on, to push through and shine on their own, but you… 

Fuck, why does it even matter?

Why does it bother him? It ain’t his relationship. You never complain, you make Hinata happy – he’d have to be blind not to see how much that guy loves you – and he dotes on you, spoils the shit out of you, so why can’t he shake this feeling in his gut that something ain’t right there?

It ain’t his relationship, and Atsumu’s not stupid enough to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong.

It ain’t his relationship.

It’s not, and he has more important things to focus his time and energy on.

You aren’t his problem. Fuck, you’ve barely spoken more than a few sentences to him! There’s no reason for why he can’t get you and your stupid relationship with his wing spiker outta his mind. 

“Just admit ya wanna fuck her and stop bitchin’ about it,” Samu groans one night when Atsumu stops by the restaurant after training. “Yer looking for a problem between the two of them so ya don’t feel guilty about it.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, “Shut yer trap, wouldja, Samu? I said it ain’t like that!”

He’s not gonna stand there and deny that he thinks you’re hot, but that’s not what this is about. Never has been. 

It’s quiet between them for a moment, Atsumu angrily stabbing at the onigiri on his plate, but he feels it when Osamu looks at him. Really looks, dark eyes flickering across his face, reading him like an open book. Samu might enjoy giving him shit and winding him up just for the sake of it, but there’s nobody on earth who knows him better. 

Eventually he sighs, and the air feels different between them. Heavier, somehow. “What’re ya saying, Tsumu? Ya think Hinata’s hurting her or somethin’?”

Yes. 

No.

He knows Hinata. Well, for a few months at least, but peripherally for years. Ever since high school. And Atsumu’s had the displeasure of knowing guys like that, guys who liked to feel big and tough and strong and would gladly slap around some pretty thing just to feel all manly and shit, and Hinata’s not– 

He doesn’t treat you like you’re made of glass or anything, but every time he touches you, so much as looks at you with those bright eyes, it’s with this kind of intense, burning love that Atsumu just doesn’t understand, that honestly freaks him out a little. He’s never seen bruises littering your skin – at least, not the kind that Samu’s worried about. You don’t flinch away from Hinata’s touch. 

(You never look comfortable though. Never happy – not like Hinata is.)

No. He’s a good guy, he wouldn’t hurt a fly, and despite the lingering unease Atsumu has about the two of you, he doesn’t doubt for a second that Hinata is head over fucking heels in love with you. He wouldn’t hurt you.

He wouldn’t.

“No, ‘course not! I just…” he breaks off, shaking his head. And he chews on his lip for a moment, debating with himself whether he should actually admit what he’s been thinking the past few weeks or whether Samu’s just gonna call him a pussy or something and tell him to knock it off. “I get the feeling she doesn’t wanna be there. She’s smiling and sitting there all pretty, but it’s just… I dunno, it’s just weird.”

Osamu doesn’t say much after that, but he doesn’t really need to. He knows what his brother’s thinking. If you weren’t happy, you’d leave. If Hinata wasn’t treating you right, you’d leave. You’d tell someone. But it ain’t that simple, is it? 

Atsumu’s always had a problem sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. 

The first game of the season’s a slam dunk, and while they’re usually pretty tame during the season, beating Kageyama and Ushijima, last year's undefeated champs is cause for celebration. He’s not surprised to see you there at the club, tucked under Hinata’s arm in some little black dress, all dolled up. You smile at him, a hollow, fleeting thing, and Atsumu hates how the sight of it makes his stomach clench. 

Sakusa, Bokuto and Inunaki arrive moments later, a drink’s shoved into his hands and he forces himself to think of other things. You aren’t his problem, you aren’t his girl, and he’s definitely not watching you dance, your back flush with Hinata’s front, the wing spiker’s hands splayed across your hips, his mouth trailing greedily along your neck. 

And for the first time since this whole stupid thing started, Atsumu recognises the ugly feeling stirring in the pit of his gut. It’s jealousy.

He’s played one of the best games of his life today, his team’s fucking amazing, the music’s good and the alcohol is free flowing – he should be happy. And there’s absolutely no reason he should be watching you out of the corner of his eye, waiting for an opening.

It shouldn’t make his heart skip a beat when Hinata leans down to whisper something in your ear, passing you his glass as he heads off to find the men’s. He’s midway through a conversation of his own with Adriah and Bokuto that he’s barely paying attention to, and there’s a voice in his head (one that sounds suspiciously like Samu’s) that tells him to just let it go, but his feet are already moving, a half hearted excuse spilling from his lips as he slips past them both to make his way over to you.

“Hey,” he says. His voice is too quiet, too breathless to carry across over the music, but he’s taller than you, taking up your space and he isn’t imagining the way that your eyes widen, a flicker of something passing your face before you school your features back into that same fake, pleasant smile. 

He doesn’t imagine the nervous look you dart over his shoulder in the direction Hinata walked off in. 

You take a delicate sip from your glass, the very same one you’ve been nursing since you arrived and he watches – watches – as you force yourself to relax, the tension easing from your shoulders, your posture softening. “Miya,” you greet, raising your voice just enough to be heard. “Congratulations on the win.”

It’s so polite, so fucking fake that it makes him wanna hurl. 

“Atsumu,” he corrects before he can help himself. Sakusa calls him Miya, but nobody else – nobody who knows him – does. He can’t bear the sound of it on your lips, like you’re nothing more than strangers. 

He’s talked to you before, right? Surely. 

You’re just standing there, perfectly at ease around him and the others – if not for the finger tapping anxiously against the stem of your glass, a tic he wonders if you’re even aware of. You might be able to fool the others – admittedly, they’re probably not paying you too much attention – but he’s used to picking up on the smallest details. 

And he’s become real good at reading you these past few weeks.

“So tell me, how’d the two of ya meet?” he asks instead, because he’s rushed in here with no game plan and it’s the first thing that comes to mind. He doesn’t even care about the answer; now that he’s finally here, finally has you to himself for a moment, he just wants to hear you talk. 

“Oh, um,” you swallow, ducking your head so you’re not meeting his gaze anymore. “It’s a little embarrassing–”

A familiar, bright laugh cuts you off, and Atsumu’s heart hammers when Hinata slaps him on the shoulder, “It’s not embarrassing, babe, it’s cute!” 

Deep brown eyes meet his; wide, glittering and freakishly intense and he fights the urge to recoil. He’s done nothing wrong, he knows that, but Hinata’s staring at him like every thought he’s ever had about you is written right across his face, plain as day.

And you – you look like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar, like Hinata’s stumbled on you shoving your tongue down his throat rather than just having an innocent, friendly conversation with his teammate. It’s a split second that stretches a lifetime, but when he dares to look over, you’re rigid, eyes wide and full of panic and he knows, he fucking knows that he’s right. 

“Tell him,” Hinata urges, wasting no time in slipping past Atsumu to take his place by your side.

His arm wraps around your waist, squeezing you gently, and after a single, tense beat, you comply. “O-on the first week of my trip to Brazil, I was mugged. Shoyo saw it all happen and chased after them – got my purse back for me, even walked me back home to make sure I was okay, patched me up and everything.” You pause, nibbling on your bottom lip as you gaze up at Hinata, “He was my knight in shining armour.”

Hinata preens as you smile, but it’s still wrong. Atsumu’s seen what hero worship looks like, what real love looks like, and he’ll hand it to you; you have the basics down pat, but you can’t fake everything. 

With bitterness and disgust eating away at his gut, it becomes suffocating, standing there trying to carry a conversation and pretending that whatever there is between the two of you is in any way fucking romantic–

It’s too much, like somebody has a grip on his lungs, viciously squeezing out the last of his breath, and he barely remembers to excuse himself before he’s shoving his way through the crowd, knocking Meian’s concerned hand away as he flees for the balcony.

The late summer night air’s warm and humid, but he gulps it down in big, gasping heaves, clinging to the rail like it’s a lifeline. 

You’re fucking with his head and he hates it. He hates that he can’t let this go, can’t get you out of his goddamn head no matter how hard he tries. Atsumu’s always been a selfish, arrogant bastard, why should he give two shits about some girl whose last name he doesn’t even know?

He wants to despise you. He wants to forget you, to shove you aside like he has every other distraction in his life. It’s not his problem you’ve found yourself in some fucked up relationship.

But he squeezes his eyes shut, and all Atsumu can see is your face. 

He stays out on that balcony until his body stops shaking, until the sweat on his forehead cools and he no longer feels like he’s gonna throw up. The beat of the music, spilling muted from the glass doors, wraps around him now that the pounding in his head’s subsided, tempting him back inside. Any other night, and he’d follow it, get absolutely shitfaced and party till he doesn’t remember his own name.

And as he stands there alone, staring up at the Tokyo city skyline, part of him almost wants to give in – to drink himself to oblivion. Because at least that’d be easier.

But he won’t.

Instead, Atsumu shoves his feelings down, musters up a lazy smirk and walks back inside. He has every intention of saying goodbye to at least a few of his teammates before heading back to the hotel room to crash, but as his eyes scan the crowded floor, he catches sight of something that stops him cold in his tracks.

Hinata has you pinned to the wall, his face buried in the crook of your neck, but that’s not what makes his heart skip a beat. It’s the way your dress is hiked up, your panties shoved to the side, Hinata’s hand between your thighs, fucking you on his fingers.

It’s the look on your face, screwed up in pleasure – or pain – biting down on your lip to stifle your cries. It wouldn’t make a difference. Nobody would be able to hear you over the music, and even if they could he doubts anyone would give a fuck.

His mouth dries out, every thought eddying from his head as he watches you cling to Hinata, your hands gripping his arms tight. Your makeup’s smudged, a tear spilling down your cheek catches the glittering lights of the club, but when your head tilts back he knows it’s a moan that leaves your lips. He can almost hear it, picture it in his mind. You’re shuddering, shaking your head even as your eyes are squeezed shut and the only sound Atsumu can hear is the restless thumping of his own heart.

And then your eyes flutter open and find his. He watches, frozen in place, transfixed in the worst possible way as mortification flashes across your features and your lips move–

Whatever you say to him, Hinata doesn’t stop. He just shifts a little, angles his body in a way that gives Atsumu a better view of your pussy and the attention he’s paying it. He can’t look away even if he desperately wants to, utterly enthralled by the slickness coating the digits, the way your thighs tremble and quake as those fingers curl inside of you, the little jolt you give when Hinata’s thumb rubs at your puffy clit.

Atsumu watches, equal parts horrified and mesmerised as he pushes you over the edge and you cum for him, a pleasured cry drowned out by the music, shaking and breathless and beautifully wrecked in his teammate’s arms. And as you all but collapse against him, Hinata finally turns to glance over his shoulder, meeting Atsumu’s stare.

And with his eyes fixed on the blonde, he whispers something into your ear that Atsumu doesn’t have a hope in hell of hearing, presses a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek and grins.

It’s enough to rip him out of his stupor, stumbling back with a gasp as his blood runs cold. Hinata knew, he knew he was watching – put on a fucking show for him, and suddenly the nausea returns, bile creeping up his throat and Atsumu can’t do a single thing but turn and flee.

Alone in his hotel room and not nearly drunk enough, he falls into a fitful sleep, the image of your face, tear stricken and beautiful as you fell to pieces on Hinata’s fingers, burned into the back of his eyelids. 

—

He doesn’t utter a word about it when Boktuo gives him shit for ducking out early the next day at training. He doesn’t so much as meet Hinata’s eye, though the redhead seems no different than usual, all but bouncing on his heels when the Coach runs through the game against the Adlers set by set.

He still gushes when Atsumu gives him a perfect set, beaming up at him with that thousand watt smile. He still offers to be paired off with him when they run two-on-two games, isn’t ruffled when Atsumu instead grabs Sakusa and goes up against Adriah and Barnes.

And you’re still sitting in the stands, fingers twined on your lap, smiling dutifully whenever your boyfriend glances up.

Atsumu tries his best to ignore you and focus on training. He can’t afford to let you distract him any more than you already have, but in the quiet moments between sets, on their breaks, every second he’s not thinking about the game and his performance and his team his thoughts drift back to you. The way you’d bitten down on your bottom lip. Your eyes, pupils blown wide as pleasure crashed through you. Your glistening cunt, swallowing up Hinata’s fingers. The cute little noises you made – the ones he couldn’t hear but spent all fucking night imagining.

And the moment those thoughts enter his head, he can’t stop himself from darting a quick glance towards you, like he’s making sure you’re still there, that you’re okay. Even if you stiffen almost imperceptibly every time he does.

He can’t help himself, and he’s not the only one who notices. 

“Dude, you good?” Bokuto asks, pulling him aside a week or so later during one of their water breaks. And for a second there, there’s a flicker of indignation – whatever’s going on with his head, his performance is beyond question; he’s killing it. 

It’s not until the wing spiker’s attention shifts, risking a glance over his shoulder to where he knows you’re sitting that he realises that’s not what Bokkun’s worried about.

“Look, I get it, she’s cute and all, but…” Bokuto trails off, awkwardly scratching at the back of his neck. Every ounce of discomfort is written clear as day across his face. “You might wanna tone it down a bit, you know? For everyone’s sake.”

The irony of it all doesn’t escape him. And he probably should feel some kinda shame, because if Bokuto’s noticed then that means every goddamn one of the others has too and they’re all just too uncomfortable to say anything, but he can’t seem to muster it. 

“Yeah,” he croaks out instead.

Two days later he’s halfway through a shower when the stall beside his bursts open and he hears that familiar, sunny laugh, the sound of two bodies clambering into a space too small, and his heart stutters in his chest.

“Sho, no. I-I don’t wanna–”

“Shh, be good for me, alright baby? Please?” 

A drawn out hiss followed by a breathy moan, and Atsumu’s bracing himself against the tiled wall squeezing his eyes shut.

The spray of the shower isn’t loud enough to drown out the sounds of you swallowing down Hinata’s cock. And he can’t move, can’t make a sound for fear of making this worse, but with every lewd, messy gluck from your throat, every obnoxious moan that spills from his teammate’s lips, Atsumu feels that telltale stirring in his gut.

His eyes are closed and the image comes unbidden to his mind.

You on your knees, looking up at him with those big, wide innocent eyes. You, pressing soft, teasing kisses to his cock, your tongue slowly trailing along the thick vein that runs along the underside of his shaft. The way it’d swirl around his flushed head, eagerly lapping at his precum. Fuck, his cock’s already throbbing, aching. 

He’s only human, he thinks as he wraps a hand around his member, teeth sinking into the flesh of his forearm to stifle his groan. You’re making a mess of him, he wants it so fucking bad. Wants you; to fuck you, have you, hold you, he doesn’t give a shit anymore, you’re driving him to the brink and he’s helpless to stop this.

He can see it so perfectly in his head, how you’d look with those soft lips wrapped around him, the way you’d massage his balls as he fucked your face, how you’d choke on it. You’d be good, so fucking perfect as you sucked him off–

Hinata’s chanting your name and Atsumu picks up his pace, strokes turning into pumps, his fist tightening as he hisses with pleasure. Distantly he wonders whether they can hear it too; his heavy breathing, the slick, wet sound of him jerking off less than a foot away.

He doesn’t care anymore, can’t hold himself back. It’s blinding, the pleasure that rips through him, shaking him to his very core as spurt after spurt of thick, hot cum paints the shower walls.

His knees buckle, his cock still twitching as aftershocks jolt through him, stealing his breath. For a blissful moment, Atsumu lets himself sag against the tiles, a lazy smirk coating his face as he basks in the afterglow, his heartbeat slowly coming down from it’s racing high. 

And yet as the warm water of the shower cascades down his toned body, his breathing returning to normal something unpleasant begins to unfurl in his stomach, toxic and cloying, seeping through his veins. All that bliss, that heady, addictive pleasure fades away and Atsumu’s left with the weight of what he’s just done.

Distantly, he registers that it’s quieter now in the stall next to his. Hinata’s murmuring something to you, but Atsumu can’t make sense of it over the dull roar in his head, the disgust and shame that coils like a noose around his throat.

He should hate himself. 

He just might, actually.

And it’s not enough to scrub until his skin’s raw and he doesn’t feel it crawling anymore, doesn’t matter that he stays in the shower until the two of you leave, until the water runs ice cold and it physically hurts to stand under the spray.

Hinata’s still in the locker room when he gets out, slowly gathering the last of his things and shoving them into his duffle bag. For once you’re not by his side, and Atsumu can only thank whatever godly beings might be out there for this one, tiny mercy, because he doesn’t think he can bear to see you after what he’s just done.

But Hinata just smiles, bright and cheerful and all too knowing, “Seeya tomorrow, Atsumu!”

And he feels filthy all over again.

[rattlerinthewheel]

Fight Like Siblings: Scud/Reader

You fight like siblings. That’s where anything "familial" ends.

For the Season of Kink bingo square: wall sex, at @phoenixblack89’s request along with a gender neutral reader (well, female, but I couldn’t manage so we settled on gender neutral). Sorry for the delay! Got a migraine towards the end of the night and wanted to do one last proofread this morning.

Title is a wink to Eric and his "sister" Nora from True Blood, when he says they fight like siblings but fuck like champions. No incest here, though.

- - -

The van’s cluttered. Weapons, junk, junk food out in the open or stuffed away under ratty blankets. There’s hardly a place for you to be without something clanging off your hip or crinkling under your foot. It’s unavoidable, because not only is the van trashed, but it’s dark. A bank of TVs is your only light source, some of them switched off, the rest displaying grainy feed that just barely gives you the shapes of the other familiar against the opposite wall.

You slump against the back wall, eyeing the doors the familiar slammed shut after you leapt in. You don’t hear anything, and the feed’s utterly boring, so you relax by a fraction—and stiffen when you feel something with give to it sag under the hand you put down. Soft, sticky, and it flakes off onto your palm when you snatch your hand back.

It’s a goddamn donut.

"Could’ve left you out there, you know," Frohmeyer—Damaskinos is too formal to call him Josh, or Scud, which you don’t blame; it’s fucking stupid—says from where he’s a lump on the floor, seeing your look. Content with the rest of the trash.

"Couldn’t kill you to clean up," you scoff, tossing the donut at him. It’s childish, but so’s the cartoon he’s got playing on one of the TVs. "Damaskinos would be disgusted."

"Damaskinos ain’t here," Frohmeyer scoffs.

He fishes out a cigarette, and the orange spark of the lighter that materializes like some magic trick hurts your eyes. Nicotine burns your sinuses, but at least it isn’t the earthy weed you get a whiff of, seeped into the blankets.

"’Sides, keep your voice down," he snaps, clapping the Zippo shut and tossing it into the middle of the van. You guess that’s what he does with most of the junk scattered around when he’s done with it. "Damaskinos wouldn’t be too thrilled if you gave us away."

"Oh, so now you’re worried about it?"

You fall into bickering. Fighting like siblings, some of the familiars do. Part of it’s the need to get out of familiar status alive—well, turned. Prove to the one you’ve given yourself over to that you’re worth it, carrying their name, representing them.

Part of it’s that the only thing that bonds you is that you are familiars, otherwise you’d likely never interact with one another a day in your lives.

With Frohmeyer, you’d be sure of that.

"You should smile more," pulls you out of scowling at the donut where it landed against his leg.

You’d finally fallen quiet, too—but it’s just like Frohmeyer to ruin things. "You should get drained."

"Aw," he hums, and another cloud of smoke burns your nose, "the baby jealous Big Brother got the job instead? Had to hold Nyssa’s hand after I did all the work?"

You’re livid, and you make that clear by your lack of response. You’ve only been sent in after Frohmeyer’s done the hard task of getting in the daywalker’s good graces. You know why, that logically, Frohmeyer was the better choice to lure those two females at that campsite—and by default, the daywalker, once they started tearing into him.

But it still stings. And by the smokey grin that leers at you, Frohmeyer knows it still does, too.

"Fuck off," is what you settle on, pushing to your feet and not caring when you kick his ankle by accident.

"Fuck off yourself," gets scoffed up from below, with another thick cloud of smoke. You expect that.

But you don’t expect the foot he lashes out, that hooks your instep and sends you stumbling. "Asshole!" would probably draw a reaper or two, if there were any shown skulking around in the feeds; but there aren’t, so you let it bellow, and because he just grins at that you can’t do anything but lunge at him.

It isn’t fair. Tinkering and building—he calls it art; you call it clutter to stub your foot on—has given him strength, from having to clamber and lift his bigger projects. You don’t have any hobbies that give you an edge, so it’s you that ends up against the van’s wall, thumped into it, with his hands bracing yours in the curve where wall and ceiling bend.

It’s not fair, either, that he isn’t even bad-looking. That would make hating him easier.

At least it does so for the fucking.

His bangs are greasy, unwashed, but you like the way they both hide and make his eyes pop. A blue that’ll be downright deadly, once he’s turned. That’ll go bleach-blue, once he’s drank his fill, silver in the worst of blackness. Cheekbones that cut, soft-looking arms that bunch with hidden steel when you try to wrangle yourself free. It’ll cut harsher, harden to bedrock when he’s earned his place.

Maybe there’s something in that nicotine that isn’t, after all. The cigs did look home-rolled.

You’re too busy taking in his tongue to ask.

You feel his laugh buzz around your teeth as you cringe back, at first; he was halfway through puffing out another damn cloud, and it dries out your throat and chalks your tongue.

You get back at him by kissing deeper, biting into his bottom lip where the tattoo is. He has a penchant for rubbing the spot on the outside, you’ve noticed, the nerves scrambled from the overeager vampire that inked it. Yours doesn’t bother you—the meat of it’s raised, but that’s all—but he bites down on yours in retaliation. But the growl he follows it with is light and playful.

"Quit fucking around," you huff.

His grin’s wide and flashes teeth that aren’t sharp. They will be, one day, you can practically see the fangs he’ll get wink down with it. "Get right to it, then? Sure, baby."

"Don’t," you warn, even as he lets your hands go so you can paw at the front of his pants. Baby is too often used when he’s dangling the fact that he’s older (and was found and picked first) over your head. You can’t associate it with anything but the fact that you’re not-really-siblings.

You don’t need some incest angle forced into this. Jesus, no.

He lets it go, not because he’s being nice. You pulling him out is distracting—one of the guaranteed ways you’ve figured out, over the years, that will shut him up.

It doesn’t quiet him entirely. He pants against your cheek where he leans his head against yours, curling his fingers in your hair to keep them busy—they always need to be doing something—and his sharp inhales shake back out thready. He moans when you start stroking him, at a slow and even pace because this is the only peace you’ll get from him anytime soon. You want to take advantage of that. Even if his weight pressing on yours slowly drags you down, until you both kneel on the floor with the junk and trash.

You hiss at the burn in your legs as the hands that are plucking at a knot in your hair drop to your shoulders and bend you back, pinning you back. But the noise gets swallowed as he kisses you again, his hard-on pressing into your stomach.

You get a hand back on his cock, the other pushing his hip out so you can get to it.

"Just think how good this’ll be, when we don’t need air," he hums, panting.

You roll your eyes, but you help him get your jeans down, and he turns you to the van’s wall to get things going.

And it’s going well, his rhythm eager and greedy, your meeting thrusts keeping up, until the van shudders as something heavy drops on its roof.

Your swear gets muffled by the hand that clamps over it. You’re too frozen to bite it like you want to, and you don’t get the chance when you get your wits back because it’s off your mouth just as fast. He’s out of you, with it, and you can’t help but ache at the abrupt end even as he points to one of the TVs and you get your jeans up.

On top of the roof, a reaper’s crouched, scenting—and down the street, from another angle, you watch more lope towards the van.

"Shit," he hisses, fumbling with the panel under the TVs and you get ahold of his gun. You’re already pointing it towards the doors, waiting, as you hear a shriek too awful to even be vampire. Normal vampire.

"Get your pants up," you tell him distantly. If you have to make a run for it, you aren’t risking your own neck to help him up if he trips over himself.

He does, and you shove his gun at him while you grab yours, when a quick glance to the feeds show you aren’t going to be overrun in the second you’re defenseless. But it’ll happen, soon enough; the reaper overhead snarls and the blow it aims lags after the dent and crunch that bursts down, mangling the roof. It’s some kind of rallying or hunting cry, because the reapers in the street begin to sprint.

"Ready?" He’s got a thumb on one of the panel’s switches, ready to flick. "UV’ll smoke most of ‘em, ‘cept the dipshit on the roof."

It’ll try to get in any way it can. You get what his nod to the door means: control where it gets in, so you aren’t surprised.

"Do it."

He does, and when what’s left of the pack is still flaking and sizzling, you put more than enough rounds in the remaining repeal. Just to be safe, one of the UV lights are angled it’s way, where it’s already wilting and curling like a dead spider.

Then it’s gone, too.

It’s a mood killer, but once you’re back in the van and he’s done radioing the team to let them know what’s been dealt with, you get into light petting easily enough.

[louiseleblancdiggory]

Speedy one night stand

Ok, so this is an old scene that i never posted because I never thought it was good enough, but since I wanted to post smth before ‘Tis the Damn Season, here it goes! I’m sorry for any typos, it’s 3 am and I don’t have the patience to proof read rn. There are mentions of a car accident but I swear it is not a sad or angsty scene. It’s bad and not at all a believable situation, but I hope it’s ok enough to be mildly enjoyable!

Aelin was having a spectacular day.

She had woken up around six, laying near the hottest man to ever walk on this Earth. In the previous night, she had drank enough to practically guarantee her a bitch hangover, but apparently her beautiful, silver-haired stranger had fucked it right out of her. A few times.

Not so proudly, Aelin sneaked out of his house without making a single sound. Maybe she should have stayed, maybe asked for his name. But she was also almost sure she had given him her number yesterday, and so if he wanted to continue things, he could call her. If not… Well, it had been a fun night.

Understatement of the fucking century.

And thanks to her stranger, once she got home, Aelin felt energized and inspired enough to finally give the painting a try.

The painting had become Aelin’s nightmare for the past year and a half. She had the idea, had the ability, but didn’t know how to do it, how to tackle it. She tried a few times every few days, and left the room hating it more and more. The painting started to be a mock to her abilities— she would finish other works, beautiful works, and yet the messy canvas would always stare at her from the corner of the room.

Aelin was mainly a sculptor, not a painter, and so she didn’t even know why it bothered her so much but it did. Oh, it most certainly did.

For the past eighteen months, staring at that taunting canvas was like staring at yourself on the mirror for too long. The vision started to blur, and it didn’t look real, evoked a deep panic.

For the past eighteen months, Aelin hated that fucking painting.

And yet, when she got home earlier, all she could think is that she might be able to finish it. The painting was supposed to be of Oakwald, a beautiful forest that extended for the whole expanse of the west of Terrasen. She hadn’t been at home for so long now, and all she wanted was a painting of how she remembered the forest to be. She wanted to capture its light, its life. She wanted it to look exactly how it was in her memory, but the colors never seemed right. Her fondness of the memory was becoming stained with that stupid canvas.

All she needed was the right palette.

And he had walked in a bar and sat by her side yesterday.

Her stranger was the literal embodiment of her memory, so much so that for a split second, Aelin had thought she had gone officially insane. His silver-grey hair was the exact shade of the sky on the cloudy mornings when she and her dad would go for a walk. Eyes a combination of a few shades of green and small specks of brown that reminded her of how the trees were. His demeanor was cold, and yet Aelin found him somehow so welcoming— just like she felt back at Oakwald, back home.

Her stranger had given her the thing she had needed for the past eighteen months, even if he hadn’t given her even his name.

Aelin was staring proudly at the now finished painting when the phone rang. She was glad her roommate wasn’t at home to witness her staring at the painting for that long like a crazy person, and honestly hoped it was Lysandra calling to ask if she wanted to go out and grab something to eat.

Or maybe it’s your stranger.

Aelin forced herself to shove every single spark of hope down until they were nothing more than cinders. To be honest, Aelin knew that she probably wouldn’t get a call from him. It was his first day in town, they both had been drunk, and, even though the sex had been great, her stranger didn’t seem like the dating type.

At least not the dating type with a woman who left his house unannounced at six in the morning after leaving him with no note other than her number that could potentially be wrong since said woman was already tipsy when she gave it to him.

A fucking shame.

“Hey.” Aelin said, putting the phone to her ear as she looked for her car keys. She wanted to be in the elevator by the time the word “eat” left Lys’s mouth.

“Is this Aelin?” A female voice she had never heard in her life asked, uncertainty and hesitation lacing every word.

Aelin withdrew the phone from her ear and looked at the unknown number.

Aelin rarely gave her phone number to strangers, and lately it had only been to…

Oh fucking shit.

He had a girlfriend?

Fuck fuck fuck.

“Hum, yes?” Aelin sounded as uncertain as the girl. “I’m sorry, but who is this?”

Maybe it wasn’t what she thought. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe—

“Do you know a Rowan?”

Well.

“Maybe?” Aelin wanted to bang her head against a wall. Almost seven months without touching a guy, and the first one in her way back to the land of the social people had a girlfriend. At least she knew his name now. Rowan seemed fitting, matched his appearance somehow. “Silver hair, green eyes, looks really pissed even when he’s sleeping?”

Please say no.

“Oh, yes.” The woman said, sounding… relieved? “I’m doctor Towers, and—“

“Doctor?” Aelin blurted out, all anger and nervousness being substituted for confusion. “Doctor?”

“Yes. Well, actually an intern since I’m still halfway through my first year here and—“

“I swear I mean no offense, but I am a little confused.” Aelin interrupted her after she started mumbling. “You’re Rowan’s girlfriend?”

“No!” The woman shouted loud enough that Aelin had to take the phone from her ear. “Gods, no. I thought you were his girlfriend.”

A moment of silence passed through the two women.

“What the fuck?” Was everything Aelin managed to say. She cleared her throat, mind trying to catch up with what was happening. “Why would you think that?”

“You’re the only contact on his phone.”

“I am?”

“You are.”

“I am.”

“You are.”

“I— Why are you calling me?” Aelin shook her head, her grip on her keys strong enough that started to be painful. She didn’t know if this was some type of joke her friends were pulling on her, or if Rowan was just some sick asshole that was fucking with her now that he had her number but she sure as hell wasn’t enjoying the experience.

“Well, you see.” She cleared her throat, voice tone becoming more serious, more professional. “Rowan was admitted into the Torre’s hospital a few hours ago. He was involved in an accident, and all the emergency contacts we could find are not in town as of now. I know it is not protocol, and I’m breaking so many rules here, but I went through his phone to see if I could find a contact of someone who was around. We didn’t know if his injuries were serious or not, but…”

Doctor Towers didn’t finish the sentence, and dread mixing with some type of anxiety started rolling inside Aelin’s stomach. “But?”

She didn’t respond the question, instead changing the subject. “You’re the only contact, Miss Aelin.”

Aelin slowly sat down, the dead silence of the apartment mixing with the expectant silence from Doctor Towers. She didn’t know the guy, didn’t even know his name until two minutes ago, and yet the image of the painting in the other room kept flashing in her mind, the colors in the canvas mixing with the colors she saw on his face. “I— Is he alive?”

“Yes, yes. He’s in surgery, I believe.” The initial apprehension came back to the woman’s voice. “I don’t know, actually. Again, just an intern. People don’t tell me much here.”

“And I suppose hiding somewhere after stealing a patient’s phone isn’t the best way to pick up on any information they might be sharing in the halls right now.” Aelin said, some amusement for the girl showing through her voice. “Where are you? Storage room?”

“Coma patient room.” Doctor Towers laughed nervously. “I thought I was helping.”

“It’s fine.” Aelin said even though she didn’t feel it.

The line went silent once more, and after a minute, Aelin said. “Well, bye, I guess.”

“Wait.” The doctor’s apprehensive voice sounded again. “Couldn’t you… Can you still come? Even if you’re just his friend?”

Aelin sat frozen on her chair. “I’m not his friend.”

“Oh.” She sounded disappointed. “Ok. Sorry. Have a great night, Miss Aelin.”

Before Aelin could respond, the call was ended.

—————

The first thing Rowan noticed when he opened his eyes was that he was not at the rented apartment he and the rest of his friends had gotten for the summer.

The lights were too white and too artificial, the bed too uncomfortable to be the same one he had slept the previous night.

And there was also the fact it felt as if he had been thrown from the top of a building, broken every single bone in the impact and, somehow, survived.

He tried opening his eyes a little bit more and acute pain shot to his brain.

Unfortunately. Unfortunately survived.

Shit, maybe he was in hell.

“I don’t know if the struggle is amusing or pathetic.” A low and sultry voice sounded from the left corner of the room. “Maybe try not staring directly into the light and then try opening your eyes.”

Rowan turned his head to where the soft voice had come from, pain burning his neck with the movement but he found himself incapable of not looking at her direction. But the woman was right, and Rowan managed to open his eyes enough to see her seating in one of those uncomfortable hospital chairs, legs crossed in front of her and fingers laced on top of her stomach.

Rowan mentally scratched his last thought. If he had actually died, that certainly was tilting a lot more towards heaven than hell even with the killing pain.

“Fuck, I think I died.” Rowan blurted out.

“I’ll pretend you just compared me to an angel, not to the devil.” She said, getting up and walking in his direction. Despite her hurt tone, she was smiling as she approached his bed. “It’s the least you could do after you ruined my perfectly perfect day. I was having a blast, you know?”

Hell, heaven, or Earth— it honestly didn’t fucking matter because the pain was the same, but her voice seemed to soothe his muscled, make the pain secondary to the pleasure of listening to her voice.

“Yeah?” Rowan rasped out, hoping she would continue talking.

“Oh, yeah.” She sat by the edge of the bed, straightening his sheets. The light wasn’t so blinding anymore, and he could see every detail on her face.

Heaven. Definitely heaven.

“I’m an artist, you know. Sculptor mostly, but I’m a decent painter. There’s this painting I’ve been trying to get done for over a year now, and today I did not only make progress I liked, but I also finished it. I thought today was going to be a terrible day, you know? Yesterday I found out my flight back home had been canceled and I would only be able to get another one by the end of summer, so I went to a bar and planned on getting drunk. Today was a day for tears and hangovers.”

“But?” Rowan asked automatically, all too focused on the woman sitting next to him.

She smiled, raising a hand to brush his hair from his face, fingers intertwining with the shoulder-length knots he most certainly had after whatever it was that had happened. She seemed too focused on her hand gently undoing the knots, but thankfully kept talking. “But I met this guy, you know? Definitely not from here, accent gave it away immediately. Also not from where I am from. Just that made him interesting enough. And,” she turned her eyes to him, eyes glinting with mischief. “Very, very fucking hot. That definitely made him even more interesting.”

“What a guy.” Rowan could feel some of the life coming back to his body, and even managed to weakly match the grin she had on her face.

“Oh, yes, what a guy. Fucked the hangover and artistic block right out of me. A hero, if you will.” Her grin extended into a smile, and she shook her head. “So imagine how ruined my day was when I got a call saying my amazing bar guy had been in a car accident.”

Rowan let out a broken laugh, his ribs screaming in pain when he did so. “So irresponsible of him.”

She assented solemnly. “And there I was, hoping he would have called me to go out on a date. I’m not picky but hospital is a huge downgrade from mind blowing sex in his expensive apartment.”

Rowan laughed again, not even caring about the pain.  “I’m sure the guy would have asked you if you hand’t left the expensive apartment at the crackass of dawn without telling him.”

“And instead of calling he let his car be smashed by a fucking truck to get my attention? Tsk, tsk, tsk… Maybe I didn’t dodge a bullet with this idiot.”

Rowan’s lips were taken by a grin. “Well it worked, didn’t it?”

“Next time try something a little less dramatic.” She said, eyes narrowing but Rowan could see how she was trying to contain a smile.

“The girl really seemed into dramatics tho. Gave it away last night when she—“

“Since I didn’t know your name until your doctor called me, Rowan, I’ll save you the embarrassment of asking mine.” She interrupted him, slender fingers going from his hair to the top of his lips. “I’m Aelin.”

“Aelin.” He said against the finger sushing him. “May I ask how you got here?”

She blushed a little, taking the finger from his mouth and straightening her spine. “I was the only contact in your list. They called me.”

“Lost my phone in the airport yesterday and had to buy a new one. Still doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, small nose frowning. “You’re very talkative for someone who could barely open his eyes a few minutes ago.”

“Am I?” Rowan said, hoping to push some of her buttons. Consciousness had been coming back slowly, and Rowan certainly remembered every single detail. Remembered being pissed by losing his phone, impatient because he would have to wait two more days for his friends to arrive.

Remembered all the pissy and impatience leaving his body once he sat on the bar by the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. She had been quick-mouthed, with no filter, and absolutely hypnotizing. She wasn’t just fucking beautiful, but also funny, smart, and had the ability to make him forget every single thing that was making him irritated.

And the rest of the night… It was a shame Rowan was bedridden, he certainly wouldn’t mind reenacting last night again.

And again. And again.

And again.

Rowan had wondered earlier if she had been that amazing because he was drunk. The answer was obviously no.

Aelin pursed her lips, red coloring her cheeks. She cleared her throat, rolling her eyes. “The doctor guilty tripped me.”

“Yeah?” Rowan knew he was smiling like an idiot.

“She said you were in surgery and she didn’t know how serious.” Aelin finally looked him straight in the eyes, and Rowan noticed how beautiful hers were. “No one deserves to have no one in this situation. She said your friends were out of town, and the girl sounded desperate enough that it sounded as if you were fucking died. Again, no one deserves to die alone. Specially someone this good in bed.”

It took Rowan a second to understand everything she had just said. When the last sentence finally registered on his brain, Rowan laughed. Aelin shook her head, a small smile appearing again.

“Also, you’re the first guy I slept with in seven months. Letting you die alone seemed like bad luck.”

“I am honored you put so much consideration into coming to stay with me.”

“Shut it.”

“If it makes you feel less embarrassed—“

“I’m not embarrassed.”

“I would have come too. Make sure my best fuck wasn’t dead.”

“Awn, best fuck? You’ll make me tear up like this, Ro. So romantic.” Aelin pretended to clean fake tears the moment the doctor in darker scrubs and a few on lighter ones entered the room.

“Good to see you awake, Mr Whitethorn.” The man smiled at him, checking his charts. “It’s always good to see wives crying of happiness rather than sadness around here.”

“Of course.” Rowan agreed, turning to Aelin and raising an eyebrow.

“They wouldn’t let me stay if I wasn’t family.” She whispered low enough so that only Rowan would hear. Her face slowly broke into a grin, and she winked at him before turning to the doctor. “So he’ll be fine, right, doctor?”

Rowan had to bite his cheeks from laughing at how obviously fake she sounded, but no one other than him noticed. “Yes, yes. Other than a fracture to his right wrist, your husband is completely fine. Some bruising and soreness that painkillers can help, but nothing major. You two are free to enjoy your vacations when he’s discharged tomorrow.”

“Oh, great.” Rowan said, nodding seriously. “My wife here has just informed me that a hospital is no adequate place for a first date.”

All the people in the room laughed, thinking Rowan meant their first date in Antica.

Not their first date ever.

“I’ll leave you two. Anything you need, ask a nurse and they will page me.” The doctor in darker scrubs said, leaving the room with all the ones in lighter scrubs following.

“Where do you live?” Rowan asked the moment the doctor was out.

Aelin turned to him, fingers going back to his silver hair. “Have been living here for the past two years in an art internship. Going back to Orynth, Terrasen by the end of the summer.” She curled a strand around her finger before looking to his face. “You?”

“Have been and will continue to be a very happy resident of Orynth.” Rowan said, a smirk appearing on his lips. “Definitely happier after the summer.”

“Haven’t even asked me out and you’re already thinking about the end of the summer.” Aelin shook her head and clicked her tongue even though she was smiling. “No surprise you got into a car accident, so speedy.”

His smirk grew into a smile. “My dear wife, would you like to go on a date with me?”

She narrowed her eyes, taking her sweet, sweet time to answer. “I’ll think about it.”

“And, seeing how the doctor talked about all my grave injuries—“

“Grave.” She snorted.

“Do I get kisses to feel better?” Rowan’s tone was full of mockery and some laughter.

“If I kiss every place you’re hurting after being hit by a fucking truck, I think we’d be here for a long while.”

“You didn’t complain yesterday.”

Aelin half laughed, half snorted. Rolling her eyes, she bent forward, and even though she was trying very hard not to, Rowan could see the start of a smile just before she pressed her lips against his. They were sweeter and softer than he remembered, and despite the pain on his arms and specially on his right wrist, Rowan raised his hands and put them in her golden strawberry hair.

“One more thing.” He said against her mouth.

“Has anyone ever told you that you ask for too much?” Aelin said impatiently.

“As our situation is already as fucking weird as it’s gonna get—“

“You don’t say!” Aelin said, voice dripping with so much fake surprise Rowan couldn’t stop but smirk up at her.

“As our situation is already as fucking weird as it’s gonna get,” he repeated forcefully, eyes narrowing at her as her smile widened. “Tomorrow, when my friends arrive.”

“Yes?”

“Can you please still pretend you’re my wife?”

Aelin stared at him blankly for a moment before letting out a full, lovely laugh. The bed shook with her laughter, and Rowan joined her— a little weakly due to the pain, but joined her nonetheless. She bent down to kiss him again, nodding as she did so. “Of course. What type of person would I be if I didn’t help such injured person find some happiness in their lives?”

Rowan kissed her back, fingers playing with her hair. “So this means you’ll go out with me?”

“We’ll see.”

.

.

.

.

.

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato @jlinez @courtofjurdan @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @ladywitchling @lexflame @sleeping-and-books @annejulianneh111 @perseusannabeth @linshryver @mu-si-ca-l @camilamartinezdunne @dank-queen7 @minaidss @starborn-faerie-queen @booksofthemoon @loveofbooksandwine @jesstargaryenqueen @bluejaberry @multifandommessblog @yesdreamblog @superspiritfestival @ireallyshouldsleeprn @woollycat22 @julemmaes @claralady @abookishfreak @faerie-queen-fireheart @morganofthewildfire @queen-of-glass @heirofthenightcourt @booksbqueen @heirofthrnightcourt004 @fromthelibraryofemilyj @rowaelinismyotp

* if your name is in bold i cannot tag you

[no-droids]

Can you describe the exact moment where Mando knew he wanted to fuck the reader?

I think tumblr ate my ask, so (in Bernie Sanders’ voice) I am once again asking if you can describe the moment Mando knew he wanted to fuck the reader and couldn’t deny his feelings any longer.

(((Your second ask included another question, so I’ll write for both, ALSO SPOILERS FOR SEASON 1 OF THE MANDALORIAN YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED)))

***

The first moment Mando knew he wanted to fuck you?  Or the moment he couldn’t deny his feelings any longer?

Different moments.  Completely different moments.  Took place weeks, if not months apart from one another, in fact.

If… if he’s being entirely honest, the first one probably isn’t that interesting of a story.  He’s almost certain the thought crossed his mind before you ever said a single word to him.  Actually, now that he’s actively thinking about it, he’s pretty sure he hadn’t even seen your face when he was first struck with the idea.

That really isn’t all that uncommon for him, though.  Of course, Mando has never been immune to the charms of women, but as he grew older and in his more recent years, he learned it’s almost always best to just avoid the hassle altogether.  

That doesn’t mean he never thinks about it.

In fact, not having sex surprisingly causes people to think about sex more, if you can believe it.

Not that anyone would ever know it, obviously.  Most people are entirely capable of keeping their thoughts to themselves, but Mando does them two better and keeps his words and his face to himself, too.  Nobody truly knows what’s really going on behind the helmet, and he prefers it that way.  He can think whatever he wants, let any emotion play over his face without once worrying about its potential impact on another person.

Nobody ever knows.  Nobody knows when he’s smiling, when he’s gritting his teeth.  Nobody knows if he’s sleeping, or if he’s just choosing to sit remarkably still.  

Nobody knows how often he looks at you, especially if his head is facing a different direction.  

The beskar offers solace in that regard.  He has many personal qualms with it, but on occasion, there can be.  Benefits.  Specifically, it was incredibly useful the first time he saw you.  That day was one of the rare occasions he remembers being truly grateful for the helmet.

At that point in time, Kuiil had been dead for a few weeks, and realistically, Mando had no real reason for even being there.  He had no real reason for landing the Crest somewhere in the outskirts of his late friend’s abandoned moisture farm.  He could make up some excuse about the blurrgs weirdly getting to him, how Kuiil’s enclosure was likely too well-built to escape from and they’d probably be nearing the point of cannibalism by now.  But realistically, he had no reason.

Secretly though, if anyone ever asked him to cut the shit and just fucking explain himself—give them a legitimate, valid rationality as to why the fuck he bothered wasting the fuel returning to this desolate planet, why he delayed collecting payment on Nevarro in order to visit a barren moisture farm he knew would be empty—Mando could.  He wouldn’t, obviously, but he could.  It was stupid, it was completely fucking illogical, it was absolute fucking nonsense, but there was indeed an underlying motivation attached to his actions that he likely wouldn’t even admit to himself.

He was looking for something.  Or, someone, to be more specific.  Someone like Kuiil.  His good friend’s affinity towards children and his abilities as a versatile mechanic were incredibly useful when he was still alive, and while Mando wasn’t stupid enough to think those things came from the water here on Arvala-7, whatever trace amounts of it there were to be found in the air, he was… well, he was getting a bit desperate.

The kid was a fucking handful, always getting into trouble while he was out trying to hunt down bounties.  It would be irresponsible to take him with Mando, but it was also irresponsible to leave him in the ship by himself.  He couldn’t do both at the same time.  No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t continue to be this child’s caretaker and provider.  It just wasn’t physically possible.

He needed help.  But he had no idea where to look for it.  Kuiil was one of the only people to whom Mando ever extended an offer of partnership, one of the only people he ever trusted to look after his ship and his kid.  So, after a few weeks of unsuccessfully juggling the responsibilities of a single-parent/bounty hunter, Mando figured that if he needed to start somewhere, he should probably start at the very beginning.

He wasn’t expecting much of anything.  When he hid the sleeping kid in the stowaway cot on the ship and silently made his way across Kuiil’s land, he wasn’t expecting much of anything at all.  In fact, he kept inwardly scolding himself for even bothering.  He’d let the blurrgs out of the corral, try not to get immediately eaten by the starving beasts, and then probably just have to figure something else out in regards to the kid.  Sorgan, maybe?  There were some nice, trustworthy people there.  Maybe he could find one who’d entertain an offer of adventure.

If anyone pressed him about it, Mando supposes what he was expecting was an empty house.  Rabid blurrgs enclosed a few hundred feet away, either in the process of dying or already dead.  He even braced himself for the possibility of a dismal, scavenged scrap pile that those Maker-forsaken Jawas would leave behind if they decided to raid Kuiil’s farm while he was gone.

He… he absolutely was not expecting the sound of someone moving things around in the house.  A quiet voice murmuring unintelligibly to itself as pieces of scrap metal clanged carelessly against the floor.

Mando stepped around the corner.  And then he saw you.  Bent over, rummaging around in one of Kuiil’s spare junk bins.

And…

There.

That’s the moment.

That’s when he knew he wanted to fuck you.  Seeing you wave your ass in the air, completely oblivious to his presence as you continued rifling through Kuiil’s things.

Not very interesting, he said before.

The thought struck him a split-second before an immediate flare of anger at your blatant disregard for his friend’s memory.

His third emotion was his blaster in his hand.  That’s—admittedly, not really an emotion, but then maybe somebody should tell him why Mando sure as fuck seemed to feel it often enough.

“None of that shit is yours,” he remembers saying through the modulator, his voice rough from a day or so of disuse.  Your body snapped upright at the first word, hair pulled into a high ponytail and hands black and greasy as they immediately flew up into the air over your head, clutched tight around a few frayed wires.

“Oh shit, I wasn’t—”  You started to spin around, but you froze halfway through the process at the sound of Mando clicking off the safety of his blaster with his thumb.  Based off your positioning relative to one another and the way a sweaty tendril of your hair hung in front of your forehead, he could just barely catch a sliver of your face at this angle, but it was enough to see you try to look at him through the corner of your eye as best you could without lifting or turning your head.  “I was just here taking care of th—”

He wasn’t in the mood, and Kuiil deserved better.  Kuiil deserved better than a lot of fucking things Mando handed to him.  He deserved so much better than what happened to him, but no matter how much Mando wilted under the guilt of being the main reason Kuiil wasn’t here right now telling you to get your fucking hands off his personal belongings himself, he simply couldn’t change the past.  He could, however, right some wrongs right here and now.

“I can see how well you take care of things,” he grunted sharply, cutting you off.  “A good man dies and you think his shit is yours to scavenge?”

The wires immediately dropped from your hands and you whipped around entirely to look at him in the eye, disbelief and shock painting your expression.  “Kuiil is… d-dead?”

He… he wasn’t expecting that.

Okay… any of those things, really.

First, he wasn’t expecting you to be surprised, much less upset by the news.  Second, he wasn’t expecting you to know Kuiil’s name, or third, to move so rapidly and carelessly under a loaded blaster in response to his, in hindsight, incredibly cruel taunt.  Looking back, he wishes he made even a marginally better first impression with you, but as Mando quickly comes to learn, you’re too forgiving.  You never bring it up again.

Fourth, and notably, one of the things he remembers thinking most is how he wasn’t expecting you to well… look the way you did.

You were a young woman in the middle of this arid, fucking Jawa-infested desert and you somehow managed to look well-fed.  Vibrant, even.  Bright eyes, soft features, blinking up at him from under long lashes, plush lips parted and chin beginning to wobble like he just broke your fucking heart.

Pretty.  Grease smudged across your cheek bone, fingernails dirty, hair a complete mess.  Still.  Devastatingly pretty.

Fifth.  Strangely, and perhaps more jarring than anything else—Mando didn’t expect you to stare right into his eyes the very first time you looked at him.  Most people ended up focusing their gaze somewhere near his forehead, maybe even down to his nose on occasion.  You managed to hit him dead-on.  On the very first try.

Sixth.  He faltered.

Mando faltered under your stare, your words, your appearance.  He took way too long in responding.  He remembers watching your hands fall to your side in a shocked sort of dismay, and then he remembers silently holstering his blaster as you all but plopped down on the ground, right where you were, the stricken horror of realization painting your expression a hauntingly empty tabula rasa.

“Oh,” is all you said.

Over the next few hours, Mando learned a few things about you.  Some things you told him, other things he figured out.

Things you told him: You were one of Kuiil’s neighbors.  When you didn’t see him for a few days, you set up base here to keep things running smoothly, feed and take care of the blurrgs while he was gone.  You were waiting for him to come back.

Things he figured out:  You liked animals (even those stubborn overgrown creatures that look like they’re missing the middle-third of their body) and from the immediate softening of your expression upon catching sight of the bleary-eyed kid peeking his head around the doorway at some point, you liked children as well.  You were a moisture farmer like Kuiil, an occupation that required you to be a wide-ranged and skilled mechanic.  You lived alone and managed to stay relatively healthy in such an unwelcome environment, which meant you were hardworking and resourceful.  But the state of your clothing said you needed money.  And the way you looked at him told him you were lonely.

The last one was a shot in the dark, he’ll admit, but Mando has always been observant.  Your house had to have been a reasonable distance from Kuiil’s, just based on the sheer square acreage of his land alone.  Sometimes you tripped over your words, like it’d been just as long for you without speaking as it had been for him.

Admittedly, you were… quietly endearing to him.  In a way.  Soft spoken but sharp, capable yet entirely untested beyond this tiny little rock in the backskirts of the outer rim.  The kid liked you.  He had good instincts, and he smiled a toothy little grin every time you turned your attention to him, clearly finding the little one much easier to talk to than Mando.

And, he supposed, at the very end of the day, Kuiil apparently liked you.  Kuiil apparently trusted you.  And Mando… Mando very suddenly remembered someone—something else.  Something else Kuiil once trusted, and at that time, Mando sure as fuck didn’t.  He probably couldn’t have distrusted that fucking bounty/nanny droid more, and yet… Mando ultimately trusted Kuiil, and he ended up being completely right.  Mando was wrong, and Kuiil was right.

Weeks after he covered his body in rocks.  Weeks of silent overthinking, of the guilt of his friend’s death weighing heavier on his shoulders than any armor he’s ever worn.  Well.  Mando wasn’t about to start second-guessing him now.

Perhaps, the real question is why you ever agreed to join him when he casually offered.  A chance at adventure, at finally leaving Arvala-7?  The promise of good money, of not having to constantly worry about farming water from the atmosphere just to have a sip of it?  

To this day, he still has no fucking idea.  That’s probably something best to ask you.

Now.  The second question.

When Mando couldn’t deny his feelings any longer.

He… he feels like there’s something weird about phrasing it like that.  It’s probably better to ask about.  The turning point.  When everything either fell apart or came together, depending on how you want to look at it.  The split-second realization that shit had changed.  The exact moment when Mando knew he was well and truly fucked.

Before he starts, he should probably preface.

Mandalore isn’t known for their fine arts.

Anything creative he did as a foundling that wasn’t also inherently, at its core, strategic, wasn’t rewarded.  Ever.  His people have always been a militaristic people, and art is for peacetime.  Mandos aren’t known for their music, painting, or architecture.  Their specialty is smithing, combat, and depending on the clan, espionage.  Their symphonies are war chants.  Their murals are blood-streaked battlefields.  The last person he really remembers hearing sing, if only just for the love of it, was his father.

Maybe that’s why it originally took him so long to figure out what that fucking sound was.

He was in the pilot’s chair of the Crest, almost asleep at that point.  The door to the cockpit was shut tight, and last he checked, you were entertaining the little one in the hull.  After a few weeks with your company, he had come to expect certain things from you, if not based off the terms of the deal you two struck, then simply based off newly established precedent.

You took good care of the kid and fixed mechanics, yes, but you were also apparently a decent pilot.  You even took to the habit of cleaning the ship whenever Mando was gone.  That was never part of the agreement, but you did it anyways.  You were surprisingly helpful.  Sweet, in that regard.  Not difficult to be around, nor to work with.  And if he was being honest, you were just about the furthest thing from difficult to look at.

But mostly, you were quiet.  In general.  The record for the longest conversation ever occurring between the two of you was still held by your very first introduction.  As a quiet person himself, Mando had grown accustomed to the average individual’s insatiable need to fill the silence for him, talk his ear off out of nervousness, discomfort, or an annoying combination of the two.  In contrast, and like him, you barely said a word unless it was necessary.  It made for a peaceful journey around the galaxy, if ever a silent one.

Even more surprising, you were usually very good about keeping the noise down even with a small child in tow, and excelling where Mando failed (mainly, stopping the tears before they evolved into screeching sobs).  Because of that, the unfamiliar sound he could just barely hear from his place in the ship was that much more intriguing to him.  It was audible through hyperspace, through a metal door, and through sound-absorbent beskar.  So quiet, but loud enough for him to wonder what its source was.

He remembers standing up and slowly walking over to the door, straining his ears and listening to the volume marginally increase, but not by much.  Just to the point where he could finally place it, though it took him far longer than it should’ve even considering the situation.

A gentle melody.  Humming.  Sweetly reverberating throughout the ship despite its deadened acoustics, when Mando didn’t think he’d heard a song in years.

He must’ve stayed like that for a few minutes at least, just standing statuesquely in front of the door leading to the hull.  Either… either you were singing to his son, or you were singing just because you felt like it.  Somehow, each one of those possibilities managed to move him more than the last.

Only it was still too quiet to truly hear.  There were still just too many pieces of metal separating him from you.

So, at that point, he had two choices.

Well, three.  Mando had three choices.  He could always just fuck off and go back to the pilot’s seat, up the noise cancellation setting on his helmet just slightly and try to pass the fuck out, but that wasn’t… realistic.

So he had two viable choices.  Each one came with its own set of problems.

One, he could press a button on the panel and open the door.  Potential problems included the noise it would make while shifting to the side, and the ability for you to catch him eavesdropping if you happened to be standing right under the ladder to the cockpit.  Statistically, the prior was much more plausible.  If it happened, and it was very likely to happen, you’d stop singing and the ship would be silent.  Once again.  Like always.

Two, he could.  He could… take his helmet off.  But—

—But here was the thing about that.  Mando hated doing it.  Even when he had to take it off to eat, he hated doing it.  And not because of the reason most people would probably expect.  It wasn’t because he felt uncomfortable or exposed without it, even when barricaded inside an enclosed space like this by himself.  It wasn’t because he felt guilty about it, either.  Technically, he would probably be violating his oath by removing it unless absolutely unnecessary—eating, for example, or bathing, or about to bleed out and die from a head wound, etc—but Mando probably couldn’t have given less of a shit about the details.  He was always more of a big-picture person.

No, the reason he hated doing it was because… well, because of how much he really fucking loved doing it.

When he was younger, he’d always looked forward to any excuse to breathe fresh air.  He’d drag out his meals for as long as he reasonably could, trying to memorize the way everything looked without a digital interface shielding his eyes.  He used to have absolutely impeccable grooming habits, really taking his time shaving his face and deep cleaning the beskar and filter every single day.

That… that only lasted a few years.

Eventually, it became harder and harder to put the damn thing back on again.  Only, he had to.  This was his life.  After a handful of decades, taking the helmet off became less about savoring the moments without it and more about just prolonging the inevitable.  Making it that much more difficult to accept.  If you knew you were going to starve, would you want a full course buffet in front of you the entire time?  Let the visuals of everything you could never have, the aromas torment you until your very last breath?  The blissful temptation started to eat away at him, until eventually he just grew to dread taking it off altogether.

Eventually, those few moments of relief from the torture of wearing it just became the worst torture of all.

It was easier keeping it on.  Physically, emotionally, whatever.  His body would acclimate to the metal and padding wrapped tight around his skull, and some days he happily forced down the growling in his stomach and skipped meals altogether.  He hated taking it off.  He hated the fresh air.  He slept in the helmet.  When he had to, he scarfed down his food.  He learned how to eat with his eyes closed.

So.  To reiterate, Mando had two choices.

One.  Run the incredibly high risk of you stopping entirely.  

Two.  Do the thing he arguably hated doing more than anything else in this galaxy.

He silently turned and pressed his back against the closed door, sliding down to the ground and weighing his options.  Technically this was a non-problem.  Technically he was just making things difficult for himself.  He could always just say fuck it and mind his own damn business.  He could always just… he could…

He—

He took the helmet off.

He cradled the beskar between his knees and stared down at the visor as it glared judgmentally back up at him, his spine resting against the closed door and listening to your soft humming for as long as you felt like doing it.

And…

There.

That’s the moment Mando knew he was fucked.

That’s the moment the countdown started.  From that point on, it became only a matter when he’d give in, not if.  Before, he could at least pretend everything was fine.  Before, he could at least tell himself with reasonable certainty that while he genuinely liked you as a person, he’d never push your relationship past the point of quiet, yet friendly, business acquaintances.

But that was the moment Mando knew he was full of shit.  That sooner or later, there’d come a point, a shift, when his resolve would eventually snap.  And like his kid and the ship, he’d let himself get taken care of by you, too.

He didn’t know how long it would take, or the catalyst that would set everything off.  It could be anything.  A close brush with death.  A soft, much needed touch.

Fuck, even just a really rough day.

[hyunjilicious]

100 ways to say ‘I love you’ Christmas Edition [bucky barnes]

Summary: it’s pretty self explanatory, I guess. (FLUFF) 1.6k

Warnings: absolutely none, just Bucky being cute, awkward and madly in love with you!!

-

In 2018, you were in Namibia, hunting down an American terrorist that had been on the run for the better part of the year. In 2019, the avengers were scattered around the globe, executing a 'shoot first, ask questions later' type of mission that ended long after the new year began. But this year, all of your friends were home. For the first time in years, the Stark Tower was shining from top to bottom with Christmas lights, carols echoing down all of its long, secluded hallways. It was the first time you'd get to actually spend the night of 24th of December with your true family. That is, if you made it in time. Back on December 19th, you and Bucky got stuck in the depths of Louisiana, with absolutely no means of communication, let alone transportation. You decided to make the best out of the situation and turn it into a road trip, but time flew by so much faster than expected, that it was now 2:13 pm on Christmas eve, and you and Bucky were sprinting down the snow covered empty highways of the east coast, dead set on making it home in time. He wasn't that eager to get back and tried to get you to rent a hotel room and spend the night alone, but you weren't having it. He huffed and puffed about not giving a shit about Christmas, but it was the first one he could celebrate with people that loved him, in over 70 years. With every motel that you passed, he'd turn and look at you from the passenger seat, begging you to stop. You didn't even consider it. You wanted him to have the full Christmas experience. A storm was brewing and you were whiteknuckling the steering wheel, fighting back the urge to yawn for the 3rd time in the last 10 minutes. After driving for 7 hours straight, you were close to passing out, but nowhere near ready to give up. "Pull over, love" he smiled, grabbing your thigh, "Let me drive. I'll wake you up when we arrive"

-

And of course Bucky refused to decorate. You spent the better half of the day rummaging through boxes and looking up diy tutorials on the Internet, doing your absolute best to make your bedroom as cozy and Christmasy as possible. Candles were scattered all over the furniture, their soft light and delicate cinnamon scent filling up the room, a small Santa Claus figurine was sitting neatly by the window, garlands dripped from every corner and your Christmas playlist was on shuffle for probably the 4th time that day. As you kept busy, lowkey exasperated whenever one ornament didn't fit in as planned, Bucky laid on the bed, making nasty comments with every chance he got. He complained about the music, said the room was too hot, that the candles made his nose feel funny and not for a second did he stop begging you to drop the fucking decorating and join him in bed. You didn't wanna hear it. You kept going, bringing in box after box of ornaments, each one making Bucky more and more frustrated.

"Buck!" you whined, turning around in your hands a little remote controlled reindeer. "His leg is stuck... he keeps falling"

"Throw it into the trash" he scoffed, plopping down on his back and hiding his face in the crook of his elbow.

Of course you didn't listen to him. "No..." you mumbled, more to yourself. You sounded like a child, but you didn't care. Instead, you just sat down on the edge of the bed, all your attention focused on the broken toy in your hands, "I'll fix it somehow"

"Just throw the goddamned thing away, Y/n" he groaned, "Only on my nightstand there are other 3. We got enough"

You just shook your head, focused on getting the reindeer to walk again. It was no use. You got no utensils and your nails were threatening to break as you kept trying to open up his battery container. 5 minutes of painful silence followed, ending with you finally giving up, "I'll just put something under his leg and use it as a decoration" you whimpered, legitimately heartbroken over the toy.

"Fuck, just come here. Give it to me. I'll fix the damn thing for you"

Your heart swelled up, "Really?"

"Yeah..." Bucky sighed, grabbing a screwdriver out of his nightstand and picking up the toy. "Master assassin and I'm fixing toys" he mumbled under his breath and you couldn't help but wrap your arms around him and kiss his cheek.

-

Your version of paradise started just when you arrived at the tower on Christmas Eve. Bucky did as promised and then offered you a weak smile, full of warmth as he helped you out of the car when he parked in front of the Tower. You were beaming with excitement for the days that were to come. When the next morning arrived, you were sipping your coffee on the balcony, waiting for everyone to wake up so that you could all start unwrapping the presents. When the door opened you didn't expect Bucky to come out, as he never - ever, failed to sleep until noon, if given the chance. But there he was, wrapped in one of your comfy blankets, padding over to you with a coffee mug in his hand. When he reached you, he opened his arms and welcomed you against his chest, closing his hold around your body and engulfing you in the warmth of the blanket. It didn't take long until you noticed the little paper bag lodged under the elastic of his sweats, and when you asked about it, he cursed himself for ruining the surprise. He handed you the bag, and urged you to open it, insisting that it wasn't your present. When you did, your eyes landed on a knitted bunny clutching a heart to its chest. "An old lady was selling these a few weeks ago at a boutique I saw while waiting for you to meet me. I know you love to call me Bucky Bunny because you know how much I hate it. I forgot about it and came across it this morning at the bottom of my bag while searching for my charger. Now I think its stupid, a dumb rabbit and his eyes are a little bit fucked up, but he's cute and it reminded me of you, so here you go"

-

As much love as some of you had for the holiday, it still wasn't enough to convince the whole group to actually watch a Christmas movie. So, in true avenger spirit, you all decided to watch Terminator. After finishing dinner, you all scattered around the Tower. Some people left to change in more comfortable clothes, some helped clean up the kitchen, and some, like Bucky and Thor, remained in the living room, plopped in the middle of the couch, fangirling over Arnold Schwarzenegger's acting and the great sense of humour of the 90s. Eventually everyone gathered around them, you and Wanda being the last ones to show up. She cuddled against Vision's side, but Bucky was lodged in between Thor and Steve, and there was no way you'd ever ask any of them to move. Seeing you eye an open spot, Bucky waved you over as he stood up. "Here, take my seat". You wanted to object but he didn't want to hear it. Eventually, you sat down, and so did he, on the floor, right in front of you. Nonchalantly, Bucky pulled your legs apart and settled between them, with his back against the couch. He gathered your Christmas themed sock clad feet into his lap and rested his head against your knee as the movie began.

-

And like any other Christmas dinner, of course yours wasn't an exception. Natasha's recipe for apple pie was by definition the best that ever blessed the earth and none of the attendees was any stranger to that. Considering how many of you there were, as you made a point of spending the end of the year together, 2 batches had to be made. It was hectic, everyone fuzzing around the Tower, preparations on tow the whole day. And of course there would be repercussions for the chaotic atmosphere, but you'd only find out about them later. After burning through the first meal courses of the evening, it was finally time for her sweet delicacy to grace the table. Natasha neatly placed the two pies on either end of the table, proudly announcing you could all dig in. Bucky was seated to your right, and he unlike you, managed to grab a piece of pie from the first batch. You didn't think too much of it, until you started eating yours, only to realise the bottom was burned. Despite all of you trying to assure Natasha that it was not her fault and that she shouldn't beat herself up about it, she promised she'd make another one tomorrow. The night carried on as planned, but no matter how much you tried to push away the thought, you couldn't help but feel bitter about missing out on the good pie. Just when you were about to come to your senses and realise what a dumb reason for you to get upset that was, Bucky sent you text, asking you to come to the bedroom. Curious as to what this could have been about, you hurried upstairs and burst into the room, nearly crashing into Bucky's chest. He slammed the door behind you and handed you his plate - his slice of pie only halfway eaten. "I saved you a piece. These are jackals, I had to hide it. Dig in before anyone comes!"

-

On December 27th the buzz was starting to die down. When you put up the lights in your bedroom, Bucky said they could stay on for two days and two days only, and you reluctantly agreed to make a compromise. Just this time. The time to turn them off came last night, and since he offered to let them on until the morning, you felt like an unreasonable little shit if you were to ask him to turn them on again. It was about 7pm and you were two seasons deep in The X Files, and Wanda asked for your help. Bucky pulled out his phone and assured you he wouldn't watch ahead until you got back. It took you about 30 to help your friend with her problem, and when you returned to your room, confusion washed over you. The Christmas lights were on and Bucky was nowhere to be seen. "Fuck" he grunted.

You turned around to see him behind you, standing in the doorway, two cocoa mugs in his hands, "I made these cause I know you like them. And I wanted to surprise you with the lights but vision is a dumbass and forgot to text me and tell me when you were almost done"

"So she didn't actually need help folding the bed sheets?" you laughed, endeared by his antics.

"Of course she didn't" Bucky shook his head, handing you one of the mugs, "She's not an imbecile"

"Oh my god" you giggled in disbelief as you sat down on the bed.

"I'll squirt shit nuggets out of my ass for two days, so please tell me at least I got the recipe right" 

He was so adorable, anxiously waiting for you to taste the cocoa he just made. "It's so good!" you rolled your eyes in pleasure, taking another sip, "Thank you, you're too sweet, Buck"

"Yeah, I know-" he chuckled, grabbing the mug from your palm and placing it on the nightstand. "I got one more present for you. Close your eyes and hold out your hands"

"No, Buck-" you whined, "I didn't get you anything else-"

He dismissed your words in an instant and kissed your lips, before guiding your hands up. You opened them up and closed your eyes, curious about what he could have gotten you. First, you heard him shuffle around the bed, and then you felt something rather itchy touch your palms. You nearly burst into laughter when you realised it was his chin.

"Ok, open your eyes"

And as you did so, your eyes landed on Bucky's face, as he had placed his head on your hands. He was wearing a tiara with reindeer ears, and you couldn't help but laugh out loud.

"You're my present?" you beamed, throwing yourself against his chest.

"My face is the present-" he corrected you. "Guess what it does. Take your leggings off and you'll find out"

[cullxtheherd]

Dammit, I'm too soft and need my comfort boys now! 😭

Can I get “No one’s kissed me like that in a long time.” for Sharky, my dear pyromaniac boy? ❤

hell yeah you friggin can!!! thank, thank, thank you for sending me this ask!! i haven't proofread SHIT!! i took my medicaiton and i need a nap!!! asakdjskdsk this is uh? what most would call NSFW, enjoy!

“Woah, woah Chica-” Charlemagne grips the condensation laden bottle by its end and its past peeling sticker. The texture lies somewhere between off putting and comforting and he runs the pad of his thumb over one of the wrinkled corners, “Hold on now I-hCc!” Despite being a well seasoned drinker something must not have sat right with him this evening and he hiccups twice before he can continue.

“What was I sayin’?'' It comes out as one word on one hopps laden breath and he refocuses on his drinking partner for the time being, “Oh, yeah!” He hikes a finger into the air vaguely in her direction with one eye half closed, leaning on the rounded edge of the bartop, “We hardly even know each other, Little Miss!” With the bottle halfway to his lips he abruptly stops, one finger uncurling to point at her as well, “And I do declare-hmnn-hmm-hmm!”

Sharky can’t hardly help himself on a good day and he starts laughing. First he does try to subdue it, face pinching with the effort but he does release a painful snort, “I’m sorry,” He tries between a hoot, “I can’t even take my own damn self seriously- did you hear what I was even trying to say? I mean, woo-hoo!” He laughs again at the thought, cheeks and neck reddening with rising hilarity, “Me. Charlemagne Victor Boshaw the FOURTH!! Tellin’ an interested woman what’s for.”

“Well, I mean!” He realizes himself too late and he sputters trying to backtrack, bottle at his lips for a swish before he continues, “That is not to say that I am assumin’ nothin’ when it comes to that or you and me- and hey!” Feeling like he’s really only caught his first good, decent look at his comrade for the night, he tries to concentrate around the blurred, starry edges of his vision. “Hang on now, you remind me of somebody.” His face screws up in a look of near constipation, gears grinding and turning - trying desperately to form a single, cognitive thought, “I know you…”

“Aww,” Her voice is low and pitying, sickeningly sweet, “Sharky.” Tinged with a hint of hopeful disappointment, “You should just stop thinking.” She swivels in her seat, one leg folded neatly over the other and a halo of blonde shining under the overhead lights, “Just,” She inches closer, just slightly, forever luring him in but never setting the hook, “Hush that pretty head of yours and have another drink. It is,” The lines around her eyes set when she giggles far more youthful than her appearance, “On the house, after all.”

“Yeah,” He agrees though he isn’t particularly thirsty and when a bottle is pressed to his lips he takes a lengthy swig, fully trusting the woman he’s been speaking to. “I should,” So entranced is he that he hardly realizes the switch off. New bottle, different shape, “You’re right.” Directly from her hands to his mouth this time. “That’s an excellent idea-” He wants to elaborate but the thoughts leave him and he watches, happily, as someone he is sure he should know briefly interrupts their little two-person soirée.

“Yes,” He catches her saying, “Yes Father.”

The way she looks up at him with an unmatched, heady desire sparks a tight, hateful twinge somewhere deep within him and suddenly, without thought or warning, he’s getting up out of his seat- nearly jumping backwards off of his bar stool. He doesn’t say anything but he holds himself on edge, breath heavy and chest tight. Ready for what, he isn’t sure.

His new friend gets up as well. Slowly and placatingly she approaches him. Tiptoeing barefoot around the toppled stool she rests on her heels in front of him, pads of her pointers tracing the raised, bubble lettering of his sweatshirt. “Shame,” She sounds sad and heartbroken as she looks up at him through her lashes, “Things were going so well, wouldn’t you say?”

Though he is struggling through the haze, trying to break free from the control she has on him he finds himself nodding along, mouth opening, “Yes, I would.”

“Tonight was going to be the night, Charlemagne,” There is an almost supernatural, haunting tone to her voice that coats him to his very soul- viscous and charming is she, “The. Night.” She pouts feigning a sob into his chest and, despite the dread creeping in he embraces her, palms smoothing over the lines of her gauzy, lace dress. “Do you understand what that means?”

Sharky doesn’t respond verbally but his fingers tighten, digging into the curve of her shoulders underneath a layer of fabric that reminds him of the floral doilies his grandmother kept on surfaces around her home.

“You and me, together,” Though he is gaining his wits his heart aches for that statement, “Forever.” She spins once, heavenly, between his arms and humming, “It could be Bliss, you know.”

She looks up at him and though he knows he should make a move to run- leave this place and never look back, he dips his head instead. When their lips meet it is other-worldly. Charlemagne feels like blasting off into space with Larry and whatever that damn computer's name is he’s always talking about.

Though they are by no means alone, anything rooted in reality ceases to exist for him. They could be in the middle of a field, tornado overhead- bottom of a mountain with an avalanche barrelling down and he would be none the wiser. Sharky had never been one to buy into the whole ‘time stops’ theory when it came to being with another person and sharing intimacy, but? He is becoming a believer as the seconds tick by.

When they pull apart, each of their chests heaving for breath he takes a long, wisened look at her. This is? The enemy. Without a doubt- make no mistakes about it. This is wrong.

She opens her mouth to say something but unthinking and working solely on drive Charlemagne pushes forward, rearing her into the wall of, what he is now aware is, not a licensed retail establishment. The bus turned Peggie jungle gym decorating the center of Moonflower Trailer Park creaks and groans with the voracity in which he attaches himself to her.

In the many times he’d dared to imagine a similar scenario he at least envisioned some kind of refusal or rebuttal from the female Herald but she leans into him, eager to respond. Sharky pulls away, flustered lips biting a line down the side of her mouth to her chin. At her neck he particularly digs in, hands tying into her hair tightly.

“No one’s kissed me like that in a long time,” She’s a mixture of cross and ashamed, hands wrung tightly in the curled hairs at the nape of his neck, “Bastard.”

“Should leave you with a little somethin’ for Padre Joe, in that case.” He moves in as her mouth opens to object, teeth rough on the tender bend of her neck. A hand travels the curve of her ass, bringing her in closely as she responds.

“Sharky . . .”

He’s never heard a creature as ethereal as her breathless before and it takes battling an excellent sense of self preservation to make a line of mottled, swollen hickeys in every tender, erogenous zone he can manage to get to. “You like that?” As the Bliss really begins to leave him he does have the sense to start getting angry with her and her tricks despite their current entanglement.

She nods her agreement, little huffs of air tickling the short hairs on the side of his neck but it isn’t quite the type of affirmation he’s looking for.

“Let’s see, then.” With nearly any other woman he would likely not be this assertive but this is the second time she’s tried to drug him and take advantage of him to get him to join their stupid wacky cult and? He’s not concerned about pleasantries or anything resembling normalcy. The hand at her rear ruchs up the back of her dress just enough so that he can trace the outline of her panties freely before snaking a finger inside, “Oh, yeah?”

She has the decency to look embarrassed and he smiles wide, pleased, “You get all hot and bothered thinkin’ of ways to get me to say Yes, don’t you?”

“I-” He shifts, moving to bring his hand to a more advantageous position and she makes a noise of protest, “No!”

Sharky raises a brow at her and the way her barefoot slaps the ground in rebuttal, “You sure about that?” Reaching between them he adjusts himself, purposefully slow to return his hand to the apex of her thighs. Alight with joy at the look of frustration it causes he relents, “Now,” The decommissioned school bus creaks when she tries to vy for leverage against his slow, lapping movements, “Think real hard before you answer me-”

“Yes! I do- I,” Rachel cuts herself off sucking in a large, shaking breath, “Ohh! I love thinking of ways to bring you down, Sinner! I- mmm!”

Charlemagne laughs silently, eyes creasing up in the direction of the moonlight. Toeing the line of stern and gentle he leans in, lips and tongue and careful teeth against her. Two small, hot hands grip the width of his wrist, keeping him there, when he tries to adjust his stance and he grins against her, sickeningly glad to know he is doing well for her.

Nose against the shell of her ear and mouth working on and off in time with his digits he speaks gently this time, starkly aware of what her reality must be, “How long has it been since a man treated you right?” Apparently unable to speak, she shakes her head in the negative, teeth pinching her lower lip, “Never?”

“Shut up,” She barely manages.

“What?”

“I said shut up and fuck me, Charlemagne!”

His entire face screws up at that, her hazy spell broken. “No,” Sharky removes himself from her, head shaking in the negative, “Don’t think I will. Go home, Faith.”

“You can’t just stick your fingers in a woman and then tell her to get out, Sharky!”

“I can and I have and I will, Ma’am.” Taking a breath he releases what he’s debating on, “Not every guy wants it like that, Shorty.” Out of view within the bus behind her he reaches into the darkness, “Sooner you learn that,” He shrugs, looking stern though he is sporting quite the rock-hard erection, “Sooner we can do more than just talk.”

“Sharky-”

The shotgun blast dissipates the vision of her and he looks down at the barrel, nearly disappointed he hadn’t submitted and agreed to be turned into one of her newest pets, “Well. Least I got my twenty bucks worth.”

[hueswrites]

hq kinktober [day2] hanamaki & matsukawa

main hq kinktober masterlist

hq kinktober [day2] hanamaki takahiro & matsukawa isseis - double penetration

includes:

simultaneous vaginal & anal sex, all consenting, established relationship, alcohol use

wordcount:

4,136

~~~

You lay in bed with your boyfriend, basking in a blissful post-sex haze while you let your eyes rest. The "ding" of a text coming through Takahiro's phone grabs your attention.

"I'm getting drinks with Issei," he says, rolling out of bed.

You glance at the time. "It's two in the afternoon," you state, giving him a disapproving glare.

"And?" He says, going to the bathroom to take a piss with the door wide open.

"I really wish you would find a job. Is Issei off today or something?"

"Nah. He had a shitty day and his dad let him leave early, so I'm going to keep him company."

You roll your eyes. "Must be nice working for daddy. Why don't you see if you can get a job with him?"

"He actually did say they need someone in the crematory, but I'm not burning up dead people for a living. Besides," he turns to look at you and winks. "You know you love having me here to cook, clean, and fuck you senseless at all hours of the day."

You roll your eyes. He had a point.

~~~

Takahiro finds Issei at the bar, halfway through his second beer and looking absolutely miserable. They greet each other with a nod and Takahiro takes the seat next to him. The bartender is is already cracking a bottle open of Takahiro's usual order, which happens to be the same exact beer Issei preferred to drink. He takes a good, lengthy sip then sets the frosty bottle down with an audible sigh of delight. He looks over at Issei. "Wanna talk about it?"

Issei groans. "No. I just wanna drink." He takes a sip of his beer.

Takahiro unzips his jacket and saunters it off his shoulders, then places it onto the empty stool beside him. He looks up at the top shelf of liquors behind the bar and racks through his brain for something to talk about that would help get his friend out of his slump. "Oikawa's visiting next week. Have you talked to him? You know that'll be a good time. Always is."

Issei only sighs in response. Well, shit. He was really down in the dumps. "I need to get laid, Makki," he grumbles.

Takahiro raises his eyebrows. "What happened with that one foreign chick? Thought you and her had a good thing going on."

"She found someone else. Said she felt like she was fucking the grim reaper and thought I'd end up giving her a curse from one of the dead bodies in the funeral home," he drops his head down onto his forearms and hides his face. "Said she couldn't get the image of dead, shriveled dick out of her head when we hooked up."

Takahiro laughs. "That's fucking weird," he says. "You don't even see the bodies. You just sell the caskets and help families through their grieving."

"Yeah, I know," he groans out in frustration. "I have a decent job making decent money and even have my own place... I guess that's the limit on the amount of good things I'm allowed to have in this life."

Takahiro scoffs. "Don't say that. You're doing really good. Shit, look at me. I've been unemployed for three months now, freeloading off my girlfriend-"

"Your hot girlfriend,"

Takahiro ignores him, continuing, "I'm in a shit ton of debt, and I've now watched every single season of that stupid Korean drama my girlfriend insisted would inspire me to change my life Honestly, that shit made me feel worse."

Issei manages a laugh and lifts his head back up, dark wavy hair now a tousled mess over his forehead. "Yeah, dude. You sound like a bum. Why does she keep you around?"

"I cook and I clean. And," a smug smirk lifts the corners of his lips, "the sex is amazing."

Issei's head drops back down onto the bar top. "Fuck you," he mumbles into the sleeves of his shirt.

"You know, she is a model and a personal trainer. There's no way she doesn't have any single, cute girl friends that would be willing to hook up."

Issei sits back up and finishes his drink, the idea now seeming to lift his spirits. "If you could find someone that'd be interested in a gloomy, boring guy like me, then I'll pay your tab-"

Takahiro smiles and chugs the rest of his beer, then locks onto the bartender. "Another round on this guy's tab, please," he shouts.

Issei chuckles. "You better work some magic, asshole."

~~~

Takahiro returns home to your apartment to find you in the living room, drenched in sweat and in the middle of giving one of your online fitness classes. As you go through the motions of squats and burpees he takes a moment to admire the way your ass jiggles and resists the urge to give it a smack. You would kill him if you did such a thing in front of her clients, and probably withhold any sort of physical intimacy from him as punishment. It's amazing that you even have the energy to workout after your earlier exertion with him in bed.

He decides to make himself comfortable on at the kitchen counter and pulls out his phone, scrolling through your list of friends on Facebook. He didn't know half the people on your list, and he was pretty sure you didn't know them either. It made sense that a popular, attractive young woman such as yourself had so many connections. When the two of you started dating, you warned Takahiro about the amount of attention men (and women) gave you. It didn't bother Takahiro one bit. He loved knowing someone as attractive and talented as you was all his.

Issei may have had the career and the independence, but to Takahiro, you were all he needed. He loved to please you. The cooking and cleaning was no chore to him. You allowed him to stay at your apartment expecting nothing but his love and respect in return. And great sex. You were definitely just as kinky and open-minded as he is.

As his thoughts focused on you, he found himself remembering the early days of your relationship. He met you two years ago at a bar when Oikawa had been in town visiting for the holidays. Both he and Issei were instantly attracted to you. Oikawa noticed their attraction to you and was able to get your number in the blink of an eye. Imagine her disappointment when she learned that neither of the two numbers that texted her the next day belonged to that gorgeous brunette with big brown eyes and a voice as sweet as honey.

He and Issei made a game out of trying to woo you. In the end, you fell for Takahiro's boyish good looks and charming personality. Not that Issei wasn't charming or good looking - you just thought Takahiro had much more going for him, with his talk of wanting to be an entrepreneur and successful business man, while Issei went right into working for his parent's funeral home.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

It's then that an idea pops into Takahiro's head. He brings up his text conversation with Issei.

He sends a text: "Wanna have a threesome with me and ___?"

Issei responds almost instantly: "You serious?"

Takahiro chuckles to himself. He replies: "Let me ask her. I'll get back to you."

~~~

After your class is finished, you shower and get yourself ready for dinner. The news plays on the TV in the living room adjacent from your dining area, but you're not paying attention. You're trying to figure out why your boyfriend is so unusually quiet. He's been on his phone since the two of you sat down to eat, only taking a bite every couple of minutes.

"Hey, Hiro," you start, irritation laced through your voice. "What's wrong?"

"Issei is lonely," he says.

"That sucks," you say through a mouthful of rice.

"He needs to get laid."

You raise a brow. "Okay. How are you going to help him with that?"

"What do you think about letting him join in on our fun?"

You spit out your food.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

He smirks, eyes still on his phone. "Would you fuck him?"

"Takahiro. I'm not even gonna answer that question."

Takahiro hums. "His dick is bigger than mine, you know."

Your face flushes red. "Are you really being serious right now?"

"Yeah. You know he's always had the hots for you. Don't you find him attractive? You did back then, I know that's a fact."

You pause as if to consider. "He's cute. I never liked his hair though. He needs to cut it."

Takahiro snorts. "Babe. Think about it. You already know each other, and you said having a threesome is on your list of sexual fantasies you want to try."

"How do you know about my list?!"

Takahiro skims over your question and continues. "So is that a yes or a no?"

"But he's your best friend."

"Yeah, and that's why it'll be fun!"

You really did want to check off having a threesome from your list.

You let out a huff and frown. "Let me think about it."

Takahiro beams and starts tapping away on his phone. "Okay, so is Friday good with you?"

"Takahiro!" You shout, shooting him your best crazy eyes. You grit your teeth. "I have a class Friday night. Let's do it Saturday."

Takahiro to Issei: She’s in. You free Saturday night?

~~~

Saturday finally arrives, and you and Takahiro are both getting ready to leave your apartment for the night.

"I'm gonna need alcohol before we do this," you said as you rolled on deodorant.

Takahiro is in the bathroom, brushing his teeth. "Aww, you nervous, babe?" he garbled through his spit and toothpaste.

"Yes, Hiro. You're gonna be watching your best friend fuck me."

"Issei and I are cool like that. Always have been."

Silence follows, and Takahiro looks at you through the mirror. You've stopped packing your things and are sitting on your bed, gazing off into space. He frowns. "You know you don't have to do this if it's making you uncomfortable. I'm not gonna force you to do anything you're not sure you want to do."

You look up and glare back at him through the mirror. "I know that, idiot," and then you smile. "I'm just being a brat."

Takahiro rinses his mouth and gives his hair one last comb through before leaving the bathroom and walking over to you. He bends down to give you a kiss and ruffles your hair with his hand. "I love my little brat. Wouldn't have you any other way."

You reach up and cradle his face in your hands. "Love you too."

~~~

The three of you decided to have drinks at the bar in the hotel's lobby Issei had paid for your night together. You told Takahiro that you would feel more comfortable away from home, somewhere that you could let loose and not have to worry about cleaning up afterwards.

The conversation had mostly been the two of them reminiscing on their high school and college years, with you slurping your drink and giggling in between their exchanges. "You guys really chose to go to the same college so you could remain friends?"

Takahiro idly stirs his drink, keeping his eyes on you. Your cheeks are flushed red and your eyes are glossed over, an obvious sign that you were pretty buzzed. You seemed to be enjoying yourself, even offering little flirty comments Issei's way here and there. Takahiro thought it was adorable.

"Once Oikawa and Iwaizumi went away, everything got really boring. Making new friends is a pain," Issei explained. "I don't think other people would be able to handle our sense of humor. We like to make jabs at each other, and other people take things too seriously."

Takahiro hums in agreement. "I hate when people can't take a joke."

You finish your cocktail and the tiny little hiccup that escapes your lips has Takahiro looking at you with adoration. "I don't think many best friends would be down to fuck the other's girlfriend, either." You giggle.

Both men blushed at your blunt observation. Takahiro cleared his throat. "Uhh, you wanna get the check and skedaddle, Issei?"

Issei swallowed the rest of his drink and slammed the empty glass down onto the table. "You always read my mind, Makki."

~~~

The three of you are stripping yourselves naked as soon as you enter the hotel room. You were the first one on the bed, waiting rather impatiently for someone to start giving you attention. Takahiro was quick to climb after you, having discarded his clothes onto the floor. He placed kisses all over your face and your neck, sucking onto your breasts and pinching your hips. You squirmed underneath his touch, curling your toes in delight.

Issei goes to sit in the chair at the side of the room, and the sound of air leaving the cushion as he plops down causes you and Takahiro to stop what you're doing and look up at Issei. "What are you doing?" Takahiro asks, confused.

"M'gonna sit back and watch you two," Issei says. "Lemme see how amazing fire crotch over here really is."

"Watch it, dickhead. I'm no fire crotch. My hair's strawberry brown, idiot." Takahiro growls, returning his attention back to you. He towers over you, eyeing you hungrily. "You ready for this, baby?"

~~~

Takahiro's got two of his fingers deep inside your cunt, pumping into your sloppy, wet heat with determination to get you all warmed up for what's to come. You feel the mattress dip behind you and shiver as a second pair of hands lands on your body. Issei finally had enough as a bystander and was ready to join the action. He presses his lips to your back, between your shoulder blades, and massages his thumbs into your hips.

"Feeling good, baby?" Takahiro mumbles into your ear.

"Mmhm," you nod, both of your hands coming up to rest on his shoulders. Issei hums and slides his hands up to caress your breasts. You lean your head back against him and sigh.

"You're so soft," he says behind you, giving your nipples a squeeze. You moan.

"Tell Issei how you want to be touched," Takahiro says as he continues to work his fingers down between your legs.

"Just keep touching me like that," you breath, voice shaky.

Takahiro slides his fingers out from you and pulls back just a bit, looking at you with dark, heavy eyes. He takes in the sight of Issei's large hands enveloping your breasts, the way you pant softly through parted lips, and the rise and fall of your chest just under your collar bone. The sight makes him groan. He leans back against the headrest and strokes himself slowly.

You take one of your hands and place it over Issei's to pull it away from your breast and down to your stomach. He takes the hint and brings his fingers down further to start massaging your clit. You can feel his length pressing into the small of your back, slight moisture from the tip sticking to your skin. His fingers spread your lower lips and he smears your juices over your hole, teasing your entrance.

"Show me how good you suck Makki's dick," he mumbles against your neck.

You oblige and lean forward onto your hands, pressing one down into the mattress on each side of your boyfriend's legs.

Takahiro watches with anticipation as you lower yourself down to his hard, swollen cock. You pause to tuck your hair behind your ears and the simple action makes his heart flutter. He lets out a pleased groan as you wrap your lips around the tip.

Issei dips two of his fingers into your cunt and you moan around Takahiro's cock. He responds by placing a hand on your head, encouraging you to take him deeper.

You swirl your hips against the palm of Issei's hands like a feline swaying her tail. Takahiro's cock is deep into your mouth now, touching the back of your throat. You press your tongue against the sensitive underside as you suck your way back up, tracing the vein that protrudes through his thin skin.

Takahiro groans. "Fuck, yes," he sighs, tangling his fingers into your hair. "You are such a good girl."

Issei's roused by the sight of Takahiro melting into the bed, and suddenly feels like the luckiest guy in the world for having such a generous friend. He inserts a third finger.

You feel so full and so content. The surge of love you feel towards your boyfriend has you removing yourself from his dick to lean forward even more and plant a tender kiss to his lips. "This feels so good, Hiro," you tell him.

He grins. "I knew you'd like it, babe."

You raise yourself to stand upright on your knees and turn to meet Issei's lascivious gaze. "Let me suck you off," you say, wrapping your fingers around his wrist to stop his hand from working you any further.

"Please do," he says with a smirk. He shuffles back and collapses onto the bed, spreading his legs invitingly.

You lean down and press a kiss to Issei's stomach, then open your mouth wide to take him in. He is larger than Takahiro, so you have to widen your jaw more than what you're used to.

Takahiro watches, sliding his fingers through your hair. "You're so sexy, babe," he says, then sits up and grabs a bottle of lube from the nightstand. He figures now is the time to start working your little pucker open. He comes to kneel behind you and pours a generous amount of lube onto your ass and spreads it through your crack. He takes a slicked up finger and circles it around your tight little hole, easing the very tip in and out as he goes. "God, I love your ass," he says before giving it a light smack.

"Her mouth is something else, Makki." Issei sighs, rolling his head back to rest against the headboard. His hip stutter and buck up into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat by surprise. You grab onto his thighs and muffle a choke. "Shit, sorry," he says, but you're quick to take him back even deeper. The tickle of your nose against his stomach has him groaning loudly.

Takahiro licks his lips and slowly presses one finger into your tight hole. "Tell me if it hurts," he says, pushing his finger past his first knuckle. He pumps it slowly, feeling your muscles loosen ever so slightly. You tense when he inserts the second finger.

"Wait," you tell him, removing yourself from Issei's cock. Takahiro stops and rubs your back softly as the sting of the stretch fades away. "Okay, go ahead."

Issei inches himself back a bit to sit more upright and grabs his cock with his hand. "I'm good for now, darlin'. Just focus on feeling good." You give Issei an appreciative smile before rising up to wrap your arm around Takahiro's neck.

"More," you whisper, pushing your ass back into his hand. Takahiro inserts a third finger and you contract around him, causing a low rumble to send vibrations from his chest into your back.

Issei is back to stroking his cock as he watches Takahiro fuck his fingers into your ass. You play with your clit, the action making your legs shake. Takahiro takes his free hand and pushes yours aside, inserting his own finger into your cunt. "More," you whimper, grabbing onto his forearm. He inserts another finger, and picks up the pace.

"You feeling good, baby?" He asks you.

"So good," you whine.

Issei groans, stroking his cock faster.

Takahiro nuzzles your chin and gives you a kiss. "You wanna try riding Issei first?" he mumbles.

You nod. Takahiro removes both his hands from your body and sits back to catch his breath. You move to straddle Issei's waist and take his cock into your hand. He places both of his hands on your hips and gives you a devilish little smirk. "Ever think you'd fuck a cock bigger than his?"

You snort a laugh through your nose.

"Fuck off," Takahiro retorts from behind.

You lower yourself onto Issei's length, the stretch sending little shockwaves of pleasure through out your body. He squeezes your hips and encourages you to keep lowering your self, watching your expression the entire time.

"How's she feel?" Takahiro asks, keeping his eyes on your cunt as it swallows Issei's cock.

"Fucking amazing," he breathes, slowing rocking his hips up into you. "Not sure how long I can last."

Takahiro moves forward onto his knees. He leans over you and kisses your ear. "Think you can take two?" he says.

"Yes, please."

Issei slides down the headboard just a bit so you can hover further forward over his chest and raise your ass. You feel a wad of lube drop onto your asshole and slide down between your cheeks. Takahiro smears the liquid around inserts his finger into your hole again, just to be sure you're still ready. He removes his finger and then presses the head of his cock to your entrance. He pauses. "You good?"

"Yeah," you breathe.

He slides in slow. You have to place your hand back onto his thigh to tell him to stop while you ease into the feeling of being stretched and filled in both holes.

"Deep breaths, baby," Takahiro says, watching the muscles in your back twitch. You inhale deeply, then exhale and relax.

"Okay."

Takahiro starts to move, and Issei follows. You simply hold yourself still while both men work on finding a rhythm that lets them move together comfortably. One of your hands comes down to rest under your belly button, and you swear you feel the bulge of Issei's cock inside you.

You try taking your mind off the slight discomfort your body is feeling at such an unnatural stretch. The squelching between your legs, Issei's labored breathing as he tries so hard not to cum, the rumble of Takahiro's deep voice giving you all sorts of little praises - "good girl, you feel so good, you're doing so well, I love you so much," and your own voice getting louder as any discomfort you were feeling melts into pleasure.

"I need one of you to touch me," you say through shallow breaths, your body shaking, your hands grasping onto their arms.

"Issei," Takahiro says, quickening his pace. "Make my girlfriend cum."

Issei obliges and presses his thumb to your clit, rubbing quick, tight circles. Your body tightens up around them as you cum, moans sounding like cries as your mind struggles to handle the intensity of your orgasm,

"Oh, shit," Issei groans. "I'm gonna cum."

"Cum inside," you urge.

"You sure?"

You nod, and Issei increases his pace. He grips your hips tightly and groans as his load spills inside you.

You lean forward and give him a kiss, which he can hardly return in his current state.

Suddenly you're yanked back by your hair and pressed against Takahiro's chest, his arm snaking its way around your waist to hold you against him firmly. Issei's cock leaves your body, and Takahiro gives you one good thrust, cumming long and heavy into your ass. He lets out a string of curses into your hair, holding you tight.

His chest is heaving, having emptied every last drop.

Your head spins and your thighs are numb. "Hiro... I need to lay down," you say, tapping your hand against his arm.

"Mm," is all he can mumble before letting you go. You crawl forward and curl up onto your side next to Issei. Takahiro falls to your other side and sandwiches you in the middle.

"Fuck, that was amazing," Issei says, running a hand through his damp, curly locks of hair.

Takahiro groans in agreement, pressing his palm to his forehead, eyes closed.

The three of you lay there, catching your breath.

Takahiro rolls onto his side to face you. "What'd you think, babe?" he asks.

You hum blissfully, eyes closed. "I loved it. Let's do it again sometime."

Takahiro gives your ass a squeeze in appreciation, then reaches over to slap Issei's chest.

"Ow," Issei says, opening his eyes to see Takahiro's hand hovering above his face. He raises one of his own arms and curls his hand into a fist, smacking it against Takahiro's.

You laugh. "Did you guys just fist bump?"

"Sure did," Takahiro says, grinning proudly.

You roll your already aching body over onto your stomach and stuff your face into the pillow.

"Idiots."

[ohheyitsokay]

congrats you angel, you deserve all the love and praise for your writing bc holy shit you’re so talented!!! for the soulmate au celebration, i’m thinking either javi or jack (your choice bc i can’t choose) with the soulmate goose of enforcement au 💕 ik it’s a bizarre au but the potential for chaos is insane 😂 anyways ily and i hope you’re having a great day honey

...not me, having JUST reread your javi/jack fic, considering both... definitely me

Anyway, thank you, jj, you absolute gem of a human. I swear I had to turn up the fan reading this I got so flustered. I hope you have a great day too! And I hope you enjoy- I had to do a little research, and made it shorter than I wanted to, so hopefully it fills your chaos cup still!  (You'll understand, and hopefully forgive my delay when you see what's under the cut :) )

wordcount: 2.5k

warnings: strong language, lil angst with happy endings all around. mild menace meeting menace shenanigans 

Okay this is written as pt 1 Jav, pt 1 Jack, pt 2 Jav, pt 2 Jack, bonus pt 3. If you’re only in it for one of the boys, it makes reading a bit weird, but I liked the format for the whole thing. Sorry!

>>

Javier wanted to hit it with a bat. Or a car. Or anything. All that mattered is that maybe then it would leave him the fuck alone. Of all the stupid, infuriating, ridiculous guides the universe could have given him to find his other half, he was sure this was the worst. Rumor was, he couldn't even kill it if he tried.

It's not that he didn't want to find his soulmate, but he... well, he didn't want to find his soulmate.

There were all sorts of excuses to spout - work, obviously a priority, inconvenience, not wanting to give up his way of life. Not to mention following a damn goose was an impossible task, plus the fact that the stupid thing didn't even like him.

It would appear seemingly at random, honking insistently or flapping erratically, and then be gone before anyone else could bat an eye. To say that he had become increasingly irritated would have been a huge understatement.

The truth of it was that Javier was afraid. No one in the world liked to feel like they were being controlled. People liked to know what was going on, and this just didn't fit the bill. He didn't like that he didn't know you, couldn't be chosen, by you.

His life was already complicated enough - messy enough - that a soulmate would only make it worse. He had made it this long, this far without needing one, so he was fine without, thank you very much. Even to himself, his lie sounded okay.

It was hard to face, the idea that there was someone out there, a relationship that he couldn't have control over. And someone who would love him unconditionally? Terrifying.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t allowed to do nothing, because it seemed like every direction he turned there was a goose from hell wreaking havoc on his life.

They had reached an impasse - glowering at each other as it had planted itself in front of his door. Little feet pacing angrily, unreasonably long neck, all of it was just begging to be kicked. Except, for all he was a seasoned DEA agent, Javier was almost afraid the thing could go a few rounds with him. Feet shuffling uneasily, his hand twitched for his gun, even though he knew he couldn’t, wouldn’t shoot.

It was stupid to have a staring contest with a goose. And even more stupid that the goose won .

Javier turned away, spitting spanish curses in a stream that would make his mama smack him. Maybe it wasn't too late to find a hookup he could use to crash, he was thinking, and that thought was apparently the final straw. The goose reappeared in front of him.

Hissing.

More curses, a quick turn on his heel. This time, it didn't move in front of him, it left a sharp peck on his calf, before dodging his kick.

It was herding him, against his will, to you.

-

When he saw the goose, Jack thought he was delirious. The Statesman lab must've screwed something up because he'd seen that horrible, wonderful, stupid goose once before, in another life.

And he never, ever thought he'd see it again.

He did a lot of thinking, that night and the next day and the next. Strangely, he did a lot of feeling, too, noticing how light his shoulders felt, how kind the ache on his heart had become. He visited their grave, pressed his forehead to the headstone, and breathed some deep breaths.

And when he saw the goose again, he lassoed it.

It wouldn't have died even if it was powered up, but he didn't take the chance, determination and longing filling his being like blood, pumping through his heart to each and every part of him.

Miracle of miracles, it let him, with all the glare a bird could give. Knees only making small pops, Jack settled on his heels, looking at it sternly.

"Can you take me to them?"

The expression on it's tiny, smug face didn't change, but it also didn't disappear to free itself, so he waited.

And he waited. And waited. And eventually, watching it with half an eye, he grabbed a doughnut and offered it to the stupid soulmate goose god.

It considered the doughnut, pecked it as Jack yanked his fingers out of reach, and apparently accepted. After it was finished, it began to tug him along, waddling on its makeshift leash as Jack's heart leapt into his throat. He grabbed the bag of doughnuts and his hat before getting dragged along, to you.

-

At his very core, Javier was a man driven by his personal sense of justice. Being herded by an immortal goose of mischief was unfair, it made no sense that he had to find you, somehow needed more, and wasn't allowed to choose. It pecked and honked and bullied him all the way to a crowded bar, which was a perfect example. 

Just as he was thinking, trying to convince himself he would've come here on his own, it disappeared again and he sighed.

He needed a drink. And, he needed to make some of his own goddamn decisions. Defiance and determination, he told himself. Not stubbornness. There was nothing to prove, it was just defiance and determination, to take his fate into his own hands and make his own choices. And if he was going to do that, he wanted to look for someone who wasn't an informant or a one night stand. His gut was looking for someone he could pull to his side and to show the universe that the goose was right to give up on him.

You were a perfect fit. Slightly disgruntled for whatever reason, even through the crowd he could see the faint, telltale wrinkles of someone just as... determined as he was. Shoulders held the same defiance he was so proud of, and he would be lying if he wasn't physically drawn to you as well. The inconsistent lighting could make anyone look good if you wanted it enough, but you... were something else.

There was a line of pink neon reflection from the top of your ear, across your cheekbone, and just grazing the line of your upper lip as you looked thoughtfully at something he couldn't see. Javier thought he wouldn't mind tracing that path with his fingers, and then maybe his own mouth, and his feet were already carrying him to you to look for an open door. The rest of your form came into view, and Javier noticed the bass of the music was turned up a little bit more than necessary- he could feel it thumping in his bones.

Talking to you went smoother than maybe it ever had before. You seemed resigned, at first, which was a reaction that caught him off guard, and that combined with the weariness of his week, making him unusually candid. In turn, you opened up to him like a flower turning towards the sun, fun and thoughtful and refreshing. 

He liked the way you laughed when his lines came out a little awkwardly - open and appreciative, and it made his chest puff out a little. He liked the way you spoke, too. There was kindness and romance in your soul, just whispering at the edges of the words, and while he didn’t pick up on that, per se, they made him feel special, handsome, worthy, but also trusted and comfortable and safe. Neither of you noticed at first, that you had shuffled into a quiet corner of the bar, that his body had moved close, a gentle shield boxing the two of you into your own little world.

When the question came - what brought you here, anyway? - he found himself answering honestly about half being led by his guide, then wanting to make his own path. His confidence faltered at your quiet laugh. His heart ached. A glance at the clock told him it had been two hours since he'd found you, and already he wanted to... choose you. To have you choose him.

He felt stupid that he had confessed so soon, but...

Oh, you were kissing him. There were hands shooting off sparks into his soul against his chest and his jaw and you were kissing him. Javier kissed you back.

When you pulled away, his mouth chased yours, not ready to give up the contact so soon, but you stopped him, laughing again.

"I have a confession," you whispered, and he paused.

“My guide led me here, too. I thought when it gave up on me when I saw you,” your next kiss was more chaste, “I think we got tricked.” Noticing he liked the feel of you in his arms, even if he didn’t remember pulling you there, he tightened his hold.

Javier felt light, understanding your laughter, and blissfully unafraid. “No,” he said, knowing already you’d understand him. 

“I chose you.” 

- 

Jack was running out of doughnuts. It was easier, safer to have the dumb bird half hog-tied, but he still didn’t feel any closer to you, just halfway across town. He dug in his boots and sunk onto a bench, yanking the goose to a stop, too annoyed to beg for a break. 

He wasn’t giving up and running away, absolutely not, he was just... running out of options. Or, doughnuts. And breath. If this pace kept up, he wouldn’t be able to tell you all the things he had planned out in his head. 

Eyelids closing against the southern sun, he let out a long, slow sigh. His heart was still racing, and he wondered if he was really as ready as he wanted to be, to meet his next soulmate. A sturdier inhale grounded him. He was ready, he knew he was. Whoever you were, you had to have the patience of a saint - it would be alright, he just needed a breath. The ground under his boots was sturdy, the breeze over his skin cooling, and the goose was mercifully quiet. 

“That’s one strange lookin dog you have there, cowboy,” The voice was teasing, but not malicious, and he grinned, eyes still closed. 

“She’s a purebred,” he replied, and he heard a huff of laughter like the first few notes of music. Waiting for your footsteps to carry you away, he savored the moment, feeling silly as he hoped his soulmate would like to laugh as much as he did. 

There was a weight on the other side of the bench, and he wondered at it, as you said, “Want to talk about it?” His smile was softer, this time, intrigued by the moment, but not wanting to be tempted into flirting, not when his soulmate was on the horizon. 

“Nothin to tell,” he replied, feeling suddenly strange. Jack opened his eyes, looking at the rope in his hands, feeling the fibers run through his fingers. “Just a free range chicken... taking a break from tryin to chase down my second soulmate.” He winced, definitely not wanting to look at you, after the second had slipped out. 

It wasn’t judging, though, the voice that said, “You seem like you want to talk about it.”

For once in his life, Jack didn’t know what to say, slipping off his hat to run his fingers through his hair before replacing it. He heard your half-laugh again, and it felt refreshing, like sweet tea on a southern summer day. 

“Okay,” you said, and he heard amusement this time, like you had something to say, some thought you were chewing on. 

Then, there was that terrible honk of the goose, not from his feet, but from where, assumedly, you were. Snapping his gaze to the other side of his bench, he saw a sight for sore eyes, half backlit, glowing like something he never thought he’d see.

There was an indignant goose in a cage at your ankles, now making grumbling bird noises in indignant conversation with the one at the end of his lasso. 

“I thought you were never gonna look at me,” Your arm was across the back of the bench as you grinned at dynamite smile at him. 

Jack returned it, feeling bashful and eager, dropping the rope to grab your closest hand. 

“I promise I aint making that mistake again, sugar.”

-

bonus ending:

Jack was clinging to your hand, grinning like a fool as you introduced yourselves, when another movement caught his eye. There was a man, walking up behind you, a resigned look on his face. Whiskey’s hackles should have been all the way up, yanking you into his arms at the way this man was approaching you, but instead he was dumbfounded for the second time that day. 

He was backlit, too, with shoulders that carried as much weight as the man in his mirror every morning, and he could see the shape of a gun as he knelt next to his soulmate. The stranger’s eyes when they looked at you... were as adoring as he was sure his must have been, a moment before, and he was familiar with you, like you’d known each other before now. Jack wanted to swallow, but his heart felt like it was in his throat, beating like he’d gone a round with a bull at the rodeo.

“This is probably a lot,” Javier said, taking you other hand and quirking an eyebrow. The geese made some loud, obnoxious noises and he looked at them appreciatively. “I wish I had thought of that,” he gestured at the lasso, and you smiled at him. 

“This is Javier,” you said, and you let go of them both to stand up and brush yourself off. Warm hands and strong grips were exchanged, and you watched them curiously as they shook, murmuring names and titles again. They were sizing each other up, certainly, but you felt a rush of relief as you saw a familiar spark of attraction in Javi’s eyes. 

“You got any more surprises for us, then?” you looked up at the cowboy, confused, only to realize he wasn’t talking to you. The goose in your cage was free halfway down the walk, the one in the lasso hissed. The poor man had been an RV in an earthquake and come out the other side overwhelmed and happy, of all things, but there wasn’t much more he could handle. To your surprise, he grabbed a crumbled paper bag and tossed the contents to the bird, before it gave a final honk, and waddled after it’s friend. 

“I guess that’s a no,” you said, suddenly shy at the fullness in your heart. 

“That’s alright,” Jack picked up his lasso, before looking at you and Javier, his eyes happy, and glinting with something stronger. “I think this is more than enough.”

And you agreed.

<<

taglist:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @beautyagegoodnesssize @princess76179

for whiskey:

@0celestialbitch0

[reynie-muldoons]

'The Art of Conveyance and Round-Trippery' Liveblog!

Sorry this is a few days late!! I moved across the country this weekend, we drove like 13 hours within 2 days and we did a lot of heavy lifting. I'm exhausted, but the boxes are slowly emptying and I've been wanting to watch this episode so gd bad, so LESGO

Over halfway through the season!!!! That's absolutely surreal

1:11 oooh they're getting their royal fitting

1:22 LMAOO WTF 😂😂 Princess Diaries vibes

1:42 ✨CONFIDENCE✨

1:52 Alfonse is a perfect name for that guy HAHA

2:05 Nathaniel, my guy, you've made some points

2:11 "do you feel your power?" POWER RANGERS, GO

2:24 no no hesitation just prolly thinkin bout how he was caught cheatin

2:39 "can you not allow yourselves luxury?" okay fr I feel that I get Nice Things Guilt(tm) too easily

2:52 dayummmm let's talk about Sticky being a hat stall between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, mans is brave as fuck under extreme pressure and loyal to the point of putting himself on the line

3:15 bro Sticky getting some recognition. Love to see it, he deserves it

3:19 "is that a coincidence? Or written in the stars?" IS DR. CURTAIN CATCHING ON THAT THEY KNEW EACH OTHER BEFORE OR LIKEEEE

3:49 WHAT WORD AROUND CAMPUS 😭😭😭 MY BOYS ARE NOT A MISTAKE HOW DARE YOU

4:09 why doess the action of Dr. Curtain putting the sash on them seem so nefarious

4:36 I dont really understand the whole pastel yellow, blue, and pink palette of the school but the boys both look pretty okay in their vest-sash getup

4:42 THE OPENINGGGGG. This shit slaps.

5:41 Kate and Constance look so fucking cute in that shot, dont ask me why but hnnggggg

5:54 sash rope 😂😭 kate, honey, that's a reach

6:09 it might feel buttery, but, my guy, it also looks buttery. It's literally the color of butter. Get yourself some crisco

6:24 I find it kinda interesting that they made up new riddles for the show, I'm almost positive that that one wasn't in the book. Correct me if I'm wrong though

7:03 "I'm not gonna apologize for knowing things" the sass. the ✨confidence✨. living for it

7:03 If they build on that it sets Sticky up really nicely for the arc in the second book where he starts to show off a little

7:15 tiny Constance who is constantly dressed in pink with cute little braids is the perfect medium for the most morbid comments 😂😂

7:55 Martina's hot in her uniform. Can't prove me wrong.

8:15 why does that make me sad 🥺 eat with your friendssss. iirc they only talked about eating at the Messenger table in the books

8:26 dipshits forgot their lunches. Seems Constance is holding the communal braincell atm

8:50 anyone have Guiness on speed dial? Reynie and Sticky have a submission for them

9:25 oh hello this was alluded to in the preview!!! Morse code is compromised, rip

10:05 so are Jackson and Jillson stuck with night guard duty all the time?? They've been outside at night a lot

10:18 ahhhhhh the little blinkie light, stopppp

10:25 MILLIGANNNNN!!!

10:25 so is this the point where he starts staying on the island with them????

10:39 so are they just like "fuck it we'll do it right before sundown" ???? Like Jackson and Jillson are still gonna be on the lookout, they aren't gonna chill just because it's not fully dark

10:50 did the kids.....just not tell them that Mr. Bloom was on the island 😂 nice oversight guys

11:05 MADGE TIME MADGE TIME

11:05 remind me to tell you guys a story about Madge, I may or may not have done something irl a few years ago that would make y'all proud 😂😂😂

11:16 idk why but it makes me so happy that they kept Madge as a peregrine falcon

11:37 Rhonda, my love, you have my heart in your hands

11:46 roll credits

12:05 THE HEAD SHAKE HAHAHAH

12:06 Awww man, I was so excited for Milligan to be on the island .-. He must have been scoping out the inlet

12:07 "they're quite regal" A. I read the subtitles as "legal" the first time and that's somehow really in character for him, and B. IS MILLIGAN GOING TO NAME HER???!? HER MAJESTY???? PLEASE I WOULD LOVE THAT SO MUCH

12:15 his grimace KILLS ME

12:17 the hard cut from Nicholas in a brown setting and brown suit to Nathaniel in a blue setting and blue suit was lowkey striking

12:36 are they looking up Morse code 😳 can you imagine if they wrote down the message and are now decoding it

12:41 omfg all that for a HAT 🙃 I feel stupid

12:51 two things: 1. Those walls are atrocious, and 2. Yeah, talk about Morse code in a louder voice Connie girl, you're just in a public hallway

13:03 I'm sorry but those orange pillar things are not the vibe

13:03 the golden gate bridge called, they want their arches back

13:10 please let Kate climb the tower before the end of season 1. please.

13:22 y'all are about to be flying something else 😎

13:33 cleansing breaths

13:47 OH HELLO MESSENGER DUTY ALREADY??

14:06 what the heck is that teal pole for 😭😭

14:12 blindfold timeeee

I'm so sorry but I'm exhausted, it's 11:30 pm on Sunday night right now, I'll finish this episode tomorrow morning after I get some sleepies

~~

Good morningggg lesgetatit

14:50 "vomit of metal" ashhdjdjd

15:16 a wild Martina appears!

15:36 and if you folks look to your left, you'll see a wild Constance being the voice of reason once again

15:57 "lose the bucket" "I'm not gonna do that" HELL YEAH KATE

16:07 I get not having the bucket on the court lolol, I thought Martina was telling Kate to lose the bucket in general. Like, yeah, good luck convincing her to so that

16:35 show!Kate is much angrier than book!Kate and I'm still deciding how I feel about that. The Kate we've known from the books is a sunshine baby with looots of repressed trauma.

17:03 ......what is that. why is that.

17:11 WAIT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO BE REYNIE AHEHDJDJD

17:15 HI MADGE

17:41 the grand swell in the music makes me think it's going to go comically wrong

17:51 she's majestic because she's a queen 🥺

18:03 LMAO CALLED IT

18:14 Rhonda and Number Two getting at each other is such a sisterly thing to do 😂😂😂

18:37 ohhhhh? Someone's approaching? Miss Perumal perhaps????

18:45 YEAHHHHH BABY

18:50 PROTECTIVE MOM COMIN IN HOT!!!

19:22 THEYRE SO PRECIOUS 😭😭😭😭 I feel like I've been subconsciously starved for her and Mr. Benedict's interactions

19:36 died at that line in the one trailer

20:00 so Miss Perumal pulled a Sherlock Holmes. Love that for her

20:20 Cheri Tupintown??? Of all the aliases they could pick, Cheri Tupintown???

20:33 "Power in Truth Inc" that HAS to be something Rhonda came up with

21:01 you can literally watch Mr. Benedict realize that this is a woman not to be fucked with and he is CORRECT

21:23 "he's fine. Perfectly fine." At this, Mr. Benedict's pants caught aflame.

21:52 something about Constance sitting in on practice!!! It scratches an itch!!!!

22:19 "incorporate the helix. Live in the helix." Lord Helix is pleased with this offering.

22:26 so what I'm hearing is Kate is going to blow up on Constance for messing with the bucket

23:13 unrelated but Jillson'a shoes are cute

23:29 why does this room give off Johnny Depp's willy wonka vibes

24:13 that looks like a chair from a doctor's office waiting room 😭

25:29 they do be egg heads tho

26:02 baby girl, I have no idea why you're crying at weird art but let me dry your tears 🥺🥺

26:50 SHE FOUND ITTTT

27:27 okay Indiana Jones, go off

27:46 why did that kinda sound like Miss Perumal

28:43 the return of everyone's favorite, "enjoyable"

29:05 not that I'm not loving the ice breaker questions and the one-sided conversation, but I'm not loving it

29:22 oh so we're getting right into it aren't we

29:54 his eyes being open again makes this infinitely creepier

30:36 "where's your proof?" Miss Perumal doesnt fuck around!!!

31:29 you're telling me Constance has been there all day?? And Kate went to find her???? 🥺

31:58 oh so we're getting right to it then?? Kate addressing her independence and trust issues arc????

33:29 NEWS!!!!

33:49 CONSTANCE RIDING PIGGYBACK!!!!!!

34:04 okay, so they opened the murder hole, what are they gonna do now

34:59 Italian? 🤨 m'sir that is so fancy

34:59 fun story I learned Italian diction in college, so I know a little bit

35:16 "take your time" the whisperer says, immediately repeating the prompt to get the answer sooner

35:31 theeeeere it is

35:46 SOMETHING ABOUT THE WHISPERER SAYING "YOU ARE HOME" 😭😭😭 the show really played up the cult shit!!

36:02 Kate being protective of Constance 🥺

36:20 ohhh shit is it time for Connie girl to have double Reynie? Double Sticky?

36:36 STICKY

36:52 "what kind of nonsense?" HAVE THEY NOT ASKED THAT BEFORE THIS?????

37:14 "and your tiny brain can somehow pick it up!!" KATE STOP 😂😂😂

37:16 "I knew you had to be special in some way." WE DONT HAVE TIME TO UNPACK ALL OF THAT

37:51 she's right, this is disregard for their safety. The show made Mr. Benedict and his team a lot more back-alley and dishonest, and Miss Perumal has every reason to be pissed

38:30 oh good they finally remembered he has narcolepsy

39:38 and the best mom award goes to:

40:38 I was gonna say that this hallway is how I imagined the KEEP in riddle of ages but then I remembered that (spoilers) the Institute is the KEEP

40:46 oh, hello propoganda

41:10 that's the other person Rhonda couldn't contact, along with Mr. Bloom. This has to be the brainsweeping process

41:22 yeppppp

41:44 this dark doctor's office theme gives me horror movie vibes

42:22 ohhhh, so that's how they replaced that scene where the four of them jump in a crate to hide and Sticky drops his glasses in the open

42:47 and so we've come to the part of the story where Sticky and Reynie become infinitely more conflicted

42:47 and since we've reached that point..... can we have the white knight scene? Pretty please? Please Disney I'm begging you-

43:12 so Reynie just figured that out without Constance? :/

44:03 love the manipulation

44:31 I'm sorry, the farm?

44:35 farm and forest????

45:16 "the Emergency has served its purpose" 😳 well okay then murder man

45:39 "one thought, one purpose" the hive mind rises once more

45:48 LOVE THE MANIPULATION

46:07 "what have you done to earn anyone's trust?" VALID

46:26 "please do!" WHY AM I EMOTIONAL

47:06 "we still have the falcon" that you do 😂

47:19 AYYY HERE WE GO!!! Time for Milligan to stay on the island??

47:49 ohhhh Constance, casual telepath strikes again

48:16 "stop it, Kate!" OOOOHHHHH

48:53 that line ("it would be nice to be unburdened") would be funny as shit if not for the fact that Constance is a telepath unbeknownst to herself and can both subconsciously perceive people's thoughts and hear the subliminal messages

49:20 HI MRS. PERUMAL!!!

49:25 wow, she's really going through with it 😳 not that I doubted her, but still, that's dedication

49:39 OH SHIT

50:17 oh, so he's an asshole to SQ too. Got it. Torches and pitchforks? Ready to kick his ass?

50:40 "for the moment, anyway" FUCKIN WHAT

This episode was really good!!! They covered a LOT. I hope Miss Perumal comes back to the group and talks about her findings, I hope Milligan goes to get the kids and they tell him no, and I hope they get that classic 4-person Society brainstorming and binding time that hits that sweet spot

[haunthouse]

alliejay + the shadows

Jaylen does not fly to Dallas to see Allie the moment she’s shadowed, but it’s a near thing.

Instead, she throws everything she owns around Tot’s guest room and then cleans it back up, sweeps the glass into the dustpan and shoves the clothes haphazard into her suitcase. She screams loud enough that Tot’s neighbors start knocking on the door. Tot knows her well enough to know when she needs to be alone, and kindly leaves the apartment, texts her that ze’ll be around and that there’s cookies on top of the fridge, and Jaylen shoves three cookies in a ziploc bag and takes her suitcase and goes.

She doesn’t have a destination in mind until she gets to the airport. She thinks, maybe Dallas. She thinks, no, she’s going to have a breakdown if she sees anyone who’s still playing right now, and picks a city with no blaseball team, and goes there instead.

So in the end, the first time Jaylen-in-the-shadows sees Allie in person is months into the season. A layover in Dallas turns into god, I just want to sleep turns into a cab to Allie’s ranch would only take half an hour turns into dragging her single suitcase out of the airport, leaving a seat unfilled on the flight she was meant to get on, and forty-five minutes later she’s using the key Allie insisted she keep on her keyring to let herself into Allie’s home and collapse on the couch.

“Shit,” she hears, a few not-quite-restful hours later. The sound of something falling, the sound of Allie scrambling to pick it up. Jaylen yawns as she opens her eyes.

“Hey, Al.”

“Hey — jesus, Jay, you couldn’t have texted?”

“Forgot,” Jaylen says, dragging herself up to sitting, rubbing at her eyes. “Wasn’t planning on coming here, but I had a layover and decided I didn’t actually care about where I was planning on going anyways, and —”

Allie’s found his way to the couch at some point, and his arms wrap around Jaylen, suddenly holding her tight. The embrace is such a shock to her system that she can’t remember what she was going to say next, not even a little bit. It’s been — it’s been a while since anyone’s touched her. She thinks she’d ended up sprawled halfway across Betsy when they’d gotten high on the roof the night before elections, but since then she’s been jetting around, looking for any meaning at all beyond the game she’s no longer permitted to play (or maybe just an escape from the hostage situation Seattle has made of her life.) It’s only now that she realizes she was missing it.

“Missed you,” Allie says against Jaylen’s hair.

“Yeah,” Jaylen murmurs into his shoulder. Her voice is hoarse all of a sudden, and she’s content to pretend it’s just sleep making it that way. “Shit’s been weird. Didn’t want to lay all that on you.”

“That’s — weirdly considerate of you, you know. But you don’t have to do that.” Allie pulls back a bit — just far enough for Jaylen to miss the touch — and brings a hand to her cheek, and looks her in the eyes, and —

He covers up the sharp breath pretty well; it wouldn’t be noticeable at all, were he not so close, and if Jaylen weren’t so familiar with Allie.

“Oh shit, your eyes,” Allie says. Softly. Something like awe creeping into his voice.

It’s been just long enough for Jaylen not to leap out of her skin every time she looks in the mirror and sees two dark brown eyes instead of one dark and the other burning incinerationfire blue, the way it had been since she came back.

The way blaseball has changed her physically has always been among the lesser of her worries — she can change herself right back, keep its influence off with shitty haircuts in hotel bathrooms and shittier dye jobs — but this feels personal, feels like something’s been taken away. Every sign of what she’s been through erased. She looks, once again, the way she did in season one, with her hair grown almost to her shoulders, her eyes both dark. She also looks nothing like she did before she died: she carries herself differently, now, like she’s always looking for a fight; she’s tired; something skeletal still hangs around the edges of her smiles when they appear.

“I — fuck, did I not tell you about that,” she says, knowing full well that she didn’t. It was a stupid hope that they’d return to what’s been normal for the last decade. This was the norm for the two decades before she’d died, but nothing else is the same as then, so why the fuck should she look like who she was?

(It isn’t true that nothing’s the same. Allie’s — well, Allie isn’t the same, he’s changed, same as everyone else, but he’s still here.)

“You didn’t,” he says. He reaches up to brush a strand of hair out of Jaylen’s face, and she feels exposed, she feels — more seen than she has since she was shadowed, that’s for fucking sure. People tend to look around her, now, more than at her. Their eyes slide past. It’s made her question, more than once, if she’s even still visible, if blaseball hasn’t taken her very corporeality from her — but Allie is looking at her, and there’s no doubt in her mind about that.

She looks down at his shoulder, because if she looks him in the eyes while he’s looking at her like that she’s going to lose her entire mind right here on his couch.

“It’s fucking weird, I know. I don’t know how I feel about it, either. It’s — I don’t know, it’s —” The words come out all in a rush, and don’t stop until Allie kisses Jaylen, sweet and soft and over before it’s even started.

“Jay, it’s fine.” He smiles, just a little. It makes something that had nearly been dormant flutter to life behind Jaylen’s ribcage. It makes her feel in a way she hasn’t since she got shoved unceremoniously into the shadows. “It’s fine,” he repeats. “You look beautiful.”

[goosewithasaxophone]

Attack On Titan seasons 3+4 Spoilers (and 1 if you haven’t started it or gotten halfway thru it yet)

EVERYONE LISTEN UP OR DONT IDC BUT I JUST FINISHED EPISODE 8 OF AOT AND I HAVE AN IRRELEVANT HEADCANON THAT HELPS ME FALL ASLEEP AT NIGHT

Levi says to the kids (i guess they’re not kids anymore 😭😭😭😭) “Don’t die on me” and i just AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA it got me thinking how fuckin TIRED THIS POOR MAN IS of LOSING HIS FRIENDS

he lost his mom as a young child, his squad in s1, Kenny, Erwin and almost Hange (TOO CLOSE MOM TOO CLOSE) in s3, now Sasha in s4 ??? he needs a BREAK !!!!!!!!!!!!

so here’s my headcanon that i think about nonstop ☺️☺️

Levi is alone in his office after they return from the fight between Eren and the other titans. Sasha is put to rest with her things gathered and folded nicely on Levi’s desk to return to her family (are they alive ?? whatever i don’t remember).

He’s sitting at his desk writing a letter to go with Sasha’s things when they’re given back to whomever. Hange walks in, she’s exhausted. They both are. She stands in his doorway watching him. He tells her to come in, his tone gruff and assertive and his voice low and tired. His eyes are dark, even under the light of the lantern on his desk, shedding a low warm glow around the little room.

Hange steps closer and stands behind him where he sits, reading over his shoulder at the letter he’s writing. Beside it, she sees another letter, in fact, it’s a small pile of letters. Each paper has his scribbly writing inked and smudged and aged. She glided her fingers across the sides of the top page in the pile, trying to read them under the dull light. She sees the name “Erwin Smith” appear several times in several variances throughout the letter. Her heart twinges at the heartfelt words in the letter. Underneath that one she searches for other names in the other letters. She sees Petra, Oluo, Eld, and Gunther throughout the other pages.

By the time she finishes reading final letter in the pile she snaps back into the moment and notices Levi writing more aggressively on Sasha’s letter. His pen is taking the pressure from his hands and almost tearing through the paper. Hange has to place her hand on his wrist before he goes too far. He resists and tears a hole in the paper.

“Fuck,” he curses aggressively under his breath. Hange is about to say something, she opens her mouth to try to say something, anything that will reassure Levi that the tear in the page is nothing to fret, he can write another copy. But she knows she can’t say that because his words are authentic and to write another copy would be replicating a feeling already felt. That’s dwelling in the past and Levi doesn’t do that.

So she says nothing, and instead places her hand on his back. If she presses her palm flat against him she can feel his breath grow shallow and rigid. His breathing becomes audible.

Levi does not show emotion. He stares straight ahead and speaks monotonously no matter the situation. He uses his actions as expression and displays loyalty through his behavior.

Unless he’s alone with Hange.

Moments pass and Hange thinks he’s pulled himself together, so she takes a step back. Just as her fingertips lift from the man’s back he slams his fist on the desk and drops his face into his hands. Hange swoops down and throws herself over him like a protective blanket. She snakes her arms around him as far as they’ll go and squeezes tightly.

Levi curls forward from within her embrace and continues to try to control his breathing. He’s failing, they’re both aware, and neither say a word. It’s not until Hange realizes he isn’t going to immediately pull himself together that she takes another action. Shuffling her feet until she’s directly in front of him she brings her arms underneath his and raises him so he’s standing. She can hold him much closer this way.

“Fucking shit,” he sobs. Despite the lack of context Hange knows exactly what he’s talking about. It translated to “Why do I keep losing people?” She says the only thing she can think to say in the moment.

“Not me,” she whispers, feeling her own tears begin to sting her eyes. “Never me.”

“You were too close,” he mumbles. “Don’t ever fucking pull some shit like that again, he growled, remembering back to the sight of her being slammed against the trees, the sound of her voice shouting in pain as she hit the hard surfaces on her way down after her gear failed to suspend her. “That was too fucking close.”

Hange chuckles weakly. “I’ll do my best.”

“No you won’t. Your wreckless ass can’t stand not being at the center of danger.”

“What do you expect, that’s how we learn about things. From the center of them.”

“You’re fucking stupid.”

“I know.”

He brings his arms around her waist and pulls tightly. She knows he doesn’t mean the things he says. She knows he doesn’t think she’s intellectually stupid. He just doesn’t want to lose her too.

“You’re not gonna lose me, but I can’t lose you either, okay?” she said, trying to take a more encouraging turn. “I can’t handle those stupid kids on my own. Someone’s gotta be around to kick the shit outta them and keep ‘em in line, okay?” He nods against her chest and keeps his face buried in her.

It’s late evenings like these, when they return from some sort of mission, after Levi has changed out of his bloodstained clothes and Hange has restored her messy ponytail and everyone else has settled in for a long awaited rest, that Levi finds himself emotionally more vulnerable. It’s late evenings like these that when Hange is around and they’re alone, he can let himself be vulnerable. She’s his closest remaining partner.

It’s the pile of letters on his desk, never sent out, only ever growing with every additional squad member’s death, that Hange sees Levi’s true colors in. He’s not the cold, distant, abusive caption that everyone fears to anger lest they experience his wrath. He’s the damaged, healing, fragile captain that is so goddamn determined to keep his squads alive because every single time a member dies, another small piece of him dies with them. When the kids came into the picture he had never felt a greater weight on his shoulders. Every boy containing Farlan’s eyes and every girl containing Isabel’s, though no one saw it but him. He had to keep these stupid, wreckless, impulsive kids alive, because if he didn’t, who would?

But now the kids weren’t kids anymore. They were growing up. They were maturing. They were seeing things that toughened their skin and their hearts. They were taking control of their lives and realizing the real important things in life.

Levi was glad he could see them grow up and become wreckless adults instead of their old wreckless selves. But it also scared him, because he used to be that fresh new wreckless adult. And now he was the only one left. Him and Hange.

And that’s why he puts up an emotionless front. Because he and Hange are the last two left. The kids may think they are on their own, but Levi keeps an eye out. He watches and observes and takes pride in their enthusiasm on the good days and stays quietly sympathetic in the defeated hope on the bad ones. He’s watching because he cares so much. And that is what makes him so afraid.

Anyway that took me a half hour to type out because the more i thought about it while writing it the more developed it got. So there’s my big detailed headcanon, probably some misinformation in there but that’s because i don’t always understand what’s going on in the show and i’m far too behind to start the manga now. hope y’all enjoy and can suffer through the rest of the season along with me <3