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nemesis-is-my-middle-name · 3 years ago

Note

'i promise I'll stay on my side of the bed' with lewis and arthur 'only one bed' perhaps? *w* maybe Vivi got injured or sick and lew needs to test without crushing her, and while they're reconciled they're still awkward together but end up octopus-ing within the hour

>:3ccc yess thank you [from this]

“I promise I’ll stay on my side of the bed.”

The tension in Lewis’s face and shoulders is reading like he’s not saying something, but Arthur can’t figure out what and it’s frustrating. He’s so used to being able to tell what Lewis is thinking - it’s not like it’s ever been hard, the guy’s not exactly good at hiding his feelings, if anyone was paying attention - but after everything that happened, Arthur just... doesn’t know anymore. He can make guesses, sometimes, but he can never be sure. He hates it. Like he needed another reminder that even though he’s back, Arthur’s still functionally lost his best friend.

Okay. Changing subjects. That’s not helping.

“Can’t you just-?” Lewis can float. He’s never had a problem doing that before, when he wanted to rest or just sit down for a while. He’s not even going to sleep, he’s just sitting and reading - but for some reason he’s insisting he does it on the only available bed.

“Stop being greedy. It’s not like you’re using all the space. You turn into a tiny ball when you sleep anyway.” Lewis isn’t actually looking at him, glaring daggers at his book instead.

Arthur can’t find the words to say that’s not exactly true anymore, so he gives up and just rolls over, letting his head hit the pillow with a loud fwump. Fine, he thinks vindictively. If Lewis wants to get kicked so bad, let him find out why this is a bad idea the hard way.

---

Lewis is reading peacefully when he feels the bed shift.

He looks down to see Arthur, unfurled from his normal position around a pillow, legs kicking under the thin covers like he’s trying to push something away.

Ordinarily, Lewis wouldn’t be here to see this. He’d be idling on the other end of the room, or more likely, outside trying to clear his head. Ghosts can’t sleep - or at least, he can’t, and he’s tried - so he always tries to find some other way to occupy himself while the other two slept. Reading is usually a safe bet, or watching something, or drawing, though that last one could... get away from him.

But tonight... tonight he hadn’t wanted to do that. He’d been, well, he’d been lonely. Frankly, he’d been lonely for over a year now, but it had been easier to ignore, before. He had... other things to occupy his mind with. But now he has no revenge quest and it’s just so quiet. It was just a matter of time before he didn’t want to spend the whole night alone again.

I just want to be close to you, I don’t want to be alone felt like too much to say, too fast, and two years ago he wouldn’t have had to say it at all. Arthur would have just known, without him even having to try.

But that was then. That was before. Now everything’s different, and Arthur doesn’t know and Lewis doesn’t know if he can just say it. If Arthur even wants him near.

So he just insisted and didn’t elaborate. And if Arthur could tell he wasn’t saying the whole truth, well, it didn’t matter anyway.

But now Arthur’s twitching in his sleep and this is new. He’s never really been a restless sleeper unless he was having a nightmare, and those are rare, especially when he’s with the others...

...those were rare. Now Lewis realizes that that’s probably not true anymore.

He reaches out, intending to shake him awake and then back off - but instead Arthur’s hand finds his. And then it’s tugging him closer, grip twitching like he’s trying to tighten it but sleep is getting in the way. He makes a sharp sound that’s half muffled by the pillow, almost a whimper but not quite long enough.

Lewis changes tacks. Sets the book down on the nightstand without looking, shifts over and lies down a little more fully, pulls the still-sleeping Arthur closer until he’s nestled against his side, using his arm as a pillow. He goes still pretty quickly once they’re curled up together.

That doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t, he scolds the warm feeling blooming in his chest. Arthur is definitely still angry with him and that doesn’t mean anything.

Ghosts can’t sleep. But lying here like this, it’s easy to let his mind go quiet.

---

For the first time in... he can’t even remember how long, Arthur isn’t jolted awake out of an increasingly weird and terrible dream. He blinks his eyes a few times and then lets them close again, and the first thought he has is a surprised realization that he can’t even remember what he was dreaming about.

He’s warm. He’s comfortable. He feels leaden, and his eyes burn when he tries to open them, but for once that feeling isn’t even accompanied by frustration. He could lie here forever, it feels like.

Then his brain wakes up a little more and he realizes how wrong that is.

He forces his eyes open again and pushes himself up a little on his elbow, trying to look around. Pretty quickly he realizes he’s really close to Lewis. Actually, fuck it, he’s basically on top of Lewis.

Fuck.

Apologies fight for space in his throat as he scrambles away from the warm embrace. God dammit he knew this was a bad idea, but he’d just been expecting to- fall off the bed or get kicked awake because he was being too wiggly or something, not- not-

“Arthur?” A pair of eyelights come into view, blinking at him.

“Shit- I-” his voice still won’t cooperate.

Lewis moves back too, and that surprises Arthur enough that he stops. It’s not like he’s moving away out of anger or disgust or anything - actually, regardless of how little Arthur can read him right now, every motion is broadcasting sheepish.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have...”

That just adds to the confusion. “What are you ap-a-apologizing for?”

Lewis looks away, fiddling with the end of one of his sleeves. “You, ah. Were having a nightmare, and I... I just thought...”

Wait, that wasn’t him? That was Lewis who brought them so close together?

Whatever. With practiced speed, he shoves all his confusion into a box so he can focus.

“Yeah, s-s-sorry, I should, uh, I should have warned you. Th-that’s why I didn’t, uh... want you to be... there. I’m not... exactly a- a qui- a quiet sleeper. Anymore.”

Lewis takes a moment to consider that. Then he glances over at the electric clock on the other side of the room. “You were pretty quiet for... three or four hours, there.”

Shit, did he really sleep for that long? No wonder he’s so tired and foggy.

...and Lewis was lying there the whole time? And didn’t wake him up?

His throat is getting tight.

He slides off the bed. He’s intending to flee the room, but he pauses.

“Why?”

“Hm?” Lewis’s hum is fake-casual.

“I mean, you could’ve j-j-just... woken me up.” That’s not really what he’s asking. “Why did you... want to- to be here, anyway?”

“I don’t know, I...” he trails off, looking away.

Assuming he’s not going to explain, Arthur turns around again. He doesn’t get two steps before Lewis speaks.

“I missed you.”

Arthur starts to turn back around, to ask what? But Lewis is already continuing, with an air that suggests he’s been rehearsing this in his head.

“I’ve been missing you for... since...” He leaves that sentence unfinished. That’s fine; they both know what goes there anyway. “And I thought... maybe you wouldn’t mind if I... stayed close. For tonight. I’m just...” his gaze is fixed on his hands. “Making up for lost time.”

Dammit, his throat hurts and it’s getting legitimately hard to speak now. “W-well, I, uh, I don’t... don’t know if a f-f-f- a few hours is gonna put a dent in... th-that, but...”

Lewis finally looks up and meets his eyes. Almost hopeful.

Arthur walks back over and sits back down on the bed, letting himself lean against Lewis just a little. “I... I am st-still pretty tired.”

The corners of Lewis’s eyes crinkle into a smile. “Well, then... I think we can sleep for a little while longer.”

#mystery skulls animated #lewthur #the nemesis speaks #swift writes #the nemesis answers #answrs #writing prompt

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jackrrabbit · 4 years ago

Text

be a little bad /// Hawks x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: College AU 🍺 Frat boy Keigo pours you your first drink and decides he’s going to help himself to more of your firsts.

A/N: Hawks just makes so much sense as a frat bro 🤧 @koiibito thank you for working through ideas w/ me…& remember when I told you this was going to be short?? whoops 🤡

Tags/warnings: dubcon/coercion, inexperienced reader, fuckboy Hawks, overstimulation, alcohol, inebriated sex, problematic frat culture stuff, idk what to call it but peer pressure? to drink etc., all characters are adults

How long have you been sitting here?

You feel like there’s some kind of immense weight holding you down, making it impossible for you to stand up off this ugly couch that’s been crammed into the corner of the room to make space for the dance floor. You and this couch have become good friends over what you think has been the past hour—at first you occupied yourself by looking at the people playing beer pong, but after the fourth time you had to decline one of the players’ offers to join, you decided to stop making eye contact. So you sit on the couch, you stare at your phone, and you wish you were back at your dorm—or, better yet, back in your hometown with all your high school friends.

But you’re not. You’re here, multiple time zones away from anywhere you can call home, and all of your high school friends are asleep. And the one person—the one person you’ve managed to make friends with since orientation is the one who dragged you to this freaking frat party and then proceeded to abandon you. Apparently he didn’t feel the need to tell you that as a new pledge of this frat, he’s going to be on “door duty” checking ratios and giving sardonic responsibility talks for the next two hours.

Which leaves you here, sitting on the couch and trying to avoid the more questionable stains that you can barely make out in the seizure-inducing strobe lights. There’s a can of beer icing down your palms and you adjust your grip so it doesn’t leave a damp spot of condensation in your lap. It was your friend who gave it to you before he disappeared (“you don’t even have to drink it,” he’d said, “just hold it and no one else will pressure you to get another drink”).

It smells foul. You’ve had sips of beer before, and you can never understand why people drink it voluntarily. But maybe…maybe now that you’re in college, maybe now that you’re an adult, you’ll enjoy the taste. You raise the can to your lips and chug down a heavy gulp.

Ugh. Still gross. You wince and wipe your mouth.

“Not a fan of natty, huh? Good taste.” A hand appears out of nowhere to pluck the can away from you and you jump, nearly smacking your forehead against the stranger’s chin. He pulls back. “Whoa! Careful there.”

“…That’s mine,” you say half-heartedly as the guy tilts up the beer—your beer, your decoy drink—and takes a long draught.

“You’re not missing out. This stuff is piss,” he says, grinning down at you.

He’s not the first guy to hit on you at this party (what is it about lost-looking girls that draws frat boys in like moths to a flame?), but he is the best-looking. Long, swept-back blond hair; equally long eyelashes; a hint of scruff on his chin—he’s pretty and masculine at the same time. You let him take the seat next to you and lure you into a conversation, and he’s nice, too—laughing with you about how bad the beer tastes and sympathizing with your criticisms of your first experience at a frat party. You fall over yourself apologizing when he lets slip that he’s a brother (“social chair, actually, so if the party sucks it’s on me”) but he tells you it’s okay, that no one likes going to parties alone, not at first.

His name is Keigo Takami. He’s a junior, a marketing major, and he joined the frat in his first semester. According to him, the fraternity is a great group of guys (“I mean, they’re a bunch of jackasses, sure, but they’re well-meaning jackasses for the most part”) and all the rumors about frat parties are overblown.

“Seriously, you’d be having fun if you were drinking,” Keigo tells you. “These parties aren’t intended for a sober audience.”

“Sure,” you scoff, but it’s not serious. You are having fun, talking to him.

He gasps, mock-offended. “Don’t believe me? I’ll prove it to you. Stay right here, okay—don’t move a muscle.”

When he gets up, the dense crowd on the makeshift dance floor parts to let him through to the stairs leading into the upper floors. It’s kind of amazing. Everyone else (yourself included) has to wade through, pushing and shoving past the teeming throng to get anywhere, but for Keigo it’s effortless.

He’s back in just a few minutes, holding—oh god, how typical—a red plastic cup filled with a kool-aid red liquid that smells sickly sweet. Is it actually kool-aid? You take a whiff and can’t detect the tell-tale bitter alcohol fumes. “Is this…?”

“Mm, that’s jungle juice. The frat’s secret recipe. It’s good, try it.”

You raise the cup but hesitate. Is this really a good idea? You’ve been warned about stuff like this so many times. You don’t have to do it just because everyone else is.

Keigo catches your hesitation and frowns. “What’s up?”

“It’s nothing, I just…haven’t…”

“Hm? Don’t tell me this is your first drink? Aww, little freshman baby.” He’s mocking you, looking down on you, and you hate it. You’re not a baby. You can play with the boys.

You make eye contact with him before you tip back the cup and gulp down the juice, letting the full contents slosh down your throat. It’s syrupy-sweet and tastes like fruit punch and oranges so it goes down easy, a lot easier than you thought it would. A drop slides out of the corner of your mouth but you lick it up when it runs over your lip.

Keigo whistles. “Damn, down the hatch. That was…that was kinda hot.”

If you’re blushing, you hope he thinks it’s because of the drink.

He’s faster when he gets you the second cup. It doesn’t even taste like alcohol. Keigo won’t tell you what’s in it or how much (“secret recipe’s gotta stay a secret, y’know? It’s in the bylaws”). Halfway into the second cup you start to feel dizzy, which Keigo says means it’s working. He pulls you up off what you’ve semi-affectionately begun to think of as your couch and guides you onto the dance floor. The music is heavy and blaring loud, thudding through the speakers and making the walls shake, making you shake as it travels through the sticky floor up into your body. You sway haphazardly but Keigo’s got you by the arms, pulling you out of the way of the crowd, pulling you into him.

“Looking a little unsteady there, baby,” he says, and—and, you hear him, you do, but he’s talking to you from underwater (or, no, that’s just what it sounds like? or—) um. Beaming his voice into your brain or something?

Keigo laughs and you giggle and it feels good. “Better finish that or you’re gonna spill it,” he says, putting his warm hot hand over yours, guiding the cup back up to your face so you can finish off.

You’re in the middle of the dance floor surrounded by writhing bodies so it shouldn’t surprise you when someone’s elbow smacks into your back and jostles you so the jungle juice spills, spills out of your mouth dripping down your chin onto the dress. You process the interruption a second too late and the sticky red liquid is already staining your skin. …Feels good, you think first, because the drink is cool and refreshing and it’s so hot in here, steamy warm, everyone pressed up against everyone else like you’re pressed into Keigo, and then oh no—oh no your dress—but at least it’s a dark color, at least the stain won’t show—

“What did I tell you about spilling?” you sort of hear Keigo say, and then you sort of feel the weight of his hand wiping away the juice from your mouth, and then he sticks his face up close to yours and oh my god oh my god he’s kissing you.

There’s something indescribably weird about it, his tongue thrashing over yours like he’s trying to lick the juice out of your mouth while you try not to flinch back from the taste of the beer he was drinking earlier. But he’s so solid, so steady, the only still thing in a room full of movement—when your eyes move away from him into the twisting mass of bodies and flashing lights you feel dizzy, so you keep your gaze locked firmly on him. He wraps his arm around your back and you instantly feel better and lean into him, lean into the kiss.

You’re drooling by the time he stops kissing you. “So sweet,” Keigo says, wiping a pearl of saliva off his mouth. “Little sloppy, but I can work with that.”

You don’t get it. You don’t even know if you would get it if you were sober. What you do get is Keigo’s hand wrapped around your upper arm, pulling you through the crowd to the staircase. Once again the people move aside for him, like the Red Sea for Moses, you think with a little laugh and he looks back at you and raises an eyebrow questioningly.

You stop, halting at the base of the stairs and squinting up at the bright yellow light in the stairwell, so invasive and clinical after the strobing darkness of the bottom floor. There’s something hard pressing into your side when you try to lean on the wall. There’s a name for that thing, isn’t there? B…ban…bannister, right? You grip the bannister with one hand to hold yourself still and resist Keigo tugging you higher up the stairs.

“W-Where’re we going?” you ask. It’s weird—your voice doesn’t sound like drunk people in movies. It’s not slurred or unintelligible. To your own ears, it just sounds high, and fast, and…nervous.

“Going upstairs,” Keigo says patiently, still pulling gently at your arm. “Gonna get some air, ‘kay? I’ll show you something cool.”

“O-Okay…” Something cool? You want to see something cool, even if you’re practically tripping over the stairs trying to stumble up them.

One of the brothers is guarding the entrance to the upper floors (no doubt ensuring that wayward attendees don’t try to take the party upstairs into the personal bedrooms). He nods at Keigo when he passes, but when he catches sight of you—you with your hair mussed, lipstick smeared, flushed cheeks and wobbly steps—his eyes narrow. “She good?”

Even in your boozy haze, it doesn’t escape you that the question isn’t directed toward you. He’s asking Keigo.

“Her? She’s fine, she’s fine.” Keigo throws his arm over your shoulders like you’re old buddies. “I’m taking her to my room, it’s so fucking hot down there I can’t breathe.”

“Yeah…” the other guy says, gaze still focused on you, but he doesn’t move to the side to let you through.

“Oh, come on.” Keigo steps up onto the same stair as him so he can look him in the eye. “I said she’s fine, didn’t I? She’s having fun. Aren’t you? Tell him you’re having fun, (Y/N).”

His tone isn’t any less sociable than before, but—are you imagining it?—he’s not really asking, is he? “Um, I’m having—having fun?”

Oh. Oh no. Why did that sound like a question?

The brother waits a moment, and then shrugs and steps aside. “Whatever, bro.”

Keigo’s bedroom is on the third and highest floor of the sprawling mansion where the fraternity makes its home. Flags are pinned to the walls—one with the colors of your university and one with the fraternity crest—and on top of his desk there are trophies lined up in meticulous rows: track and field, swimming, cross country, fencing. The bedroom is a rare single, one of only a few in the crowded house, which Keigo explains is because he earned it as a member of leadership when he was elected social chair (“it was unanimous—well, almost, a couple of the douchebags voted for themselves but—“)

You’re trying to listen, you really are. But your head is spinning. Now that you’re out of the feverish swampy heat of the dance floor downstairs, you feel marginally more sober—and also more aware that you’re inebriated. Keigo’s voice is steady and soothing like the rest of him. The timbre, the intonations, the casual lilt and dip of his speaking make more sense to you than the words themselves.

“Here, have this. It’s rum. Tell me what it smells like…” Keigo puts something in your hand—a tiny little cup, a plastic shot glass—and you have to use all your concentration to hold it still enough to let him fill it with red-brown liquid out of an unlabeled bottle.

When you carefully lift it up to your face, you can smell the alcohol. It smells sweet, too—like vanilla, vanilla and something fruity and heavy. Bananas?

But mostly it smells like alcohol.

“It smells like banana bread, doesn’t it?” Keigo asks, pouring himself a shot too. “Try it.”

You take a tentative sip but even that meager amount is sickeningly bitter in your mouth. You hold it on your tongue for a second trying to taste the ‘banana bread’ and then swallow a few moments too late, hoping you don’t look as disgusted as you feel.

“Not like that,” Keigo laughs, tipping his own shot back and downing it in a single go. “Like this. Your turn.”

“…Keigo…” You’re not sure what you want to say. You don’t want the shot, it tastes bad and you’re already drunk. You’re a smart girl, a careful girl. You should know better. You do know better. But it feels like—it feels like, even though he’s not making you do anything, somehow it’s too late to say no.

“C’mon, (Y/N). It’s just a little shot.” He taps his empty glass against your almost-full one. “And look, if you don’t want to, I’ll just take you back downstairs…is that what you want?”

Back downstairs. Back to sitting by yourself and waiting for your friend and turning down offers. Is that what you want?

Keigo’s gaze dips down to the ground and he shifts a step forward. “Now…maybe it’s just me, but I don’t think you want that. ‘Cause when I saw you sitting on that couch, you didn’t look like you were having such a good time, hm? Am I right?”

“…um, I guess?”

“Yeah…you looked so sad and lost and lonely I couldn’t leave you alone. Admit it...” He reaches up and tucks a wayward lock of hair behind your ear. “You were waiting for someone to catch your interest. You were wishing a guy like me would come rescue you. If I’m wrong, I’ll take you right back downstairs and leave you by yourself for the rest of the night, okay? But if I’m right…”

You can smell his hot breath on your face—vanilla and sugar and bananas and rum.

“…take the shot.”

It’s not so bad the second time. You’re quicker and you don’t bother holding it in your mouth. The liquor sears your throat clean and when you get over the unpleasantness, it really does taste kind of like banana bread.

“Ohhhh… Not so bad, is it?” Keigo takes the glass from you. “God, you—you complain, but you really take it down like a champ.”

“Alcohol tastes nasty,” you reply, wrinkling your nose. “Why’d people do this for fun?”

“It’s not about the taste, not at first,” Keigo laughs. Weird. It’s like he’s always laughing.

“Then what?” At your next exhale, you squeeze your eyes shut and reopen them. Ah. Ah. The room is moving again, spinning, contracting and dilating. There’s something relaxing about it, like you’re being rocked on gentle waves in the ocean. You feel floaty, comfortable, pleased.

“Well…it’s nice, isn’t it? Isn’t this nice? Helps you not think so much, not worry about the consequences.” Keigo’s arms are wrapping around you again, anchoring you in place. His torso is warm and hard against yours. “Lets you be bad.”

“Mmm…” You blink up at Keigo, admire his jawline and his lashes and his pretty gold eyes. He looks like a boy you would’ve had a crush on in high school, an older boy who never would’ve given you the time of day.

His hand is rubbing circles over your back, shifting the fabric of your dress along with his palm. “So what do you say?” he murmurs. “Wanna be a little bad?”

You do. You want to be bad and naughty and reckless. You want to make dumb, drunken decisions that you’ll laugh about with your friends in a few years. You want to do things you’ll regret, because you’d rather regret the things you had the guts to do than the ones you were too scared to try.

You inch your arms up past Keigo’s shoulders and tangle them in his fluffy hair, tugging gently at the different strands until you work up the nerve to pull his head to your level and kiss him. Even though you initiated it, he immediately takes the lead and the force of his mouth writhing against yours has your neck twisting back to accommodate. His tongue pushes against yours again but you don’t mind it this time. Your spine is arched and you’d probably be falling backward if his hand wasn’t bracing your lower back before sliding down to grab your ass.

“God—“ he breaks the kiss— “goddamn, look at you.” He’s gripping your dress, lifting it, pulling the fabric up over your hips and up to your waist at the same time as he showers kisses over your cheeks and your jawline and your neck.

You lift your chin (how strange that you’ve never done this before and still it feels so natural) to let him bite and suck scarlet marks onto the thin skin of your throat. “Keigo—“

“Baby,” he sighs, his breath stirring the hair falling over your neck. “You’re gonna be a killer, I can tell… You’re sweet now, but fuck, you’ve got no idea.” His hands are under the hem of your dress giving your ass another squeeze before he pulls the skirt up.

“Killer? What do you...” He’s backing you onto the bed, kicking off his shoes, and you do the same.

“Shh, that’s for me to know and you to find out. Arms up,” he tells you, and you slowly comply, letting him take the dress off your shivering body to leave you in your panties—no bra, not in this dress. Keigo holds the dress in his hands for a second before he drops it to the floor. “This—you know what, this is how I knew you were a virgin, this little dress, who the hell wears a dress to a frat party—“

“A virgin?” Hearing him say the word hits some kind of trigger in you and your eyes go wide. Without thinking, you fold your arms over your breasts and pull your legs up to your chest.

“Not a virgin virgin, it’s just what we call freshie girls who’ve never been to a party before—“ Keigo starts to clarify, but when he catches your reaction (your overreaction), his eyes narrow and he sits on the bed over you, knees straddling your legs. “Wait. Are you—you’re not actually a virgin, are you?”

You look to the side, cheeks hot, wanting to deny it but knowing there’s no way you’ve got the mental fortitude to really convince him.

“Fuuuck,” Keigo breathes, leaning over you and framing your face with his hands. “Baby. You just keep getting sweeter, don’t you?”

“Shut up,” you whine, covering your face with your hands. “’s embarrassing…”

“You should be glad I asked, or you’d be…like crying and bleeding and stuff, right? God, it’s been a while since I had a virgin.” He scratches his forehead and then his hand comes down to absently stroke the soft inside of your thigh.

It tickles. It tickles and you feel goosebumps rising to attention on your leg and a silly little laugh bubbles out of your throat. An involuntary shiver passes through you.

Keigo smirks and ducks down to kiss the skin of your inner thigh. It’s light—it’s nothing—but the rough stubble on his chin scratches over your skin and you giggle again. He nudges up higher on your body, so close you can feel the heat of his breath through your panties, and his hands grip around your waist to keep you in place.

Everything’s moving so quickly. You wonder in the back of your mind, the tiny part that still has a decent grasp on sobriety, if you’re ready for all of this. Then you wonder if anyone’s ever ready. How are you supposed to know? When it’s the right time, are you not supposed to be nervous? You are nervous, but the liquor is taking the edge off, making you more comfortable, maybe even keeping your mouth shut when the sober version of you would’ve stopped this a long time ago. You don’t know.

But what you do know—what you do know is that Keigo is easing your panties down off your legs and then nosing back in to kiss up your thighs and latch his mouth over your pussy.

“Mm—oh, fuck—“ What are you saying? You’re not a moaner, you don’t even say ‘fuck’. You’ve always been able to keep quiet when you’re by yourself. It’s like Keigo’s tongue flicking over your clit is pulling the voice out of you.

He wriggles the tip of his tongue over that sweet spot and the breath falls out of your lungs in what is undeniably a whimper. You feel so tense with the effort of keeping still, blood rushing to your pussy, and your thigh spasms where it’s nestled next to Keigo’s cheek. “You ever done this before?” he hums between licks.

“N-No…ah!”

“Ever cum?” His tongue returns, licking you up and down in lazy strokes, spreading your juices all over your dripping cunt.

“…hahhh, yesss…” Yes, you’ve had an orgasm before, in your own bed on your own fingers. When you do it to yourself it’s detached and methodical, a means to an end. You keep your mouth closed and you barely move and you get it over with. It’s not like this, wet and sloppy and out of your control, teasing, giving you almost exactly what you want but not quite.

You’re moaning. You’re moaning. You can still hear the throbbing music of the party downstairs, and you’re moaning your little heart out, whimpering, crying with little ah-ah-ah’s that anyone who can hear would recognize immediately.

When you do it yourself, it’s not like this. It’s never like this. Keigo moves from slow to quick unpredictably, always pulling you down right when you feel that pressure building in your core. It feels good enough that you’re annoyed—no, not annoyed, downright pissed when he sits back up on his heels and licks the wetness off his own lips.

“What’re you—I was, I was gonna—“ you start, trying to organize your thoughts. It had felt good. You’d wanted it, wanted more, and now your pussy feels all warm and wet and needy, pulsating with the lust he stirred up in you.

“Gonna cum?” Keigo leans down and kisses you, long and slow. “Sorry…but I’m selfish. When you cum, I wanna feel it.”

His arms flex in the yellow lamplight as he pulls the collar of his shirt over his head. You’re sprawled over the sheets on your back, not sure what you can say so you just watch. It helps that there’s plenty to look at—the hard planes of his abdomen forming the tell-tale dips of a six-pack, perfectly-formed lean muscle (all those sports trophies, you think to yourself), and the V of his hipbones disappearing under the hem of his pants…which he’s currently taking off as well. There’s something to be said for the benefits of spending more time at the gym than you do at the library.

Every part of Keigo Takami is impressive—he’s a work of art in human form. And when he pulls down his boxer briefs and his cock springs out to bob against his stomach, you’ve gotta admit that that is pretty impressive too.

Impressive…and intimidating. You bite your lip looking at it. Keigo pumps himself up and down, and every time his fist moves down to expose the thick pink head, you wonder the same thing: how is that supposed to fit!?

Keigo must see the sudden anxiety on your face, because he smiles (reassuringly? arrogantly? or is he just delighting in your discomfort?) and lifts you like a kitten with his hands under your armpits. “Up, up, on your knees, legs together—perfect. Now turn and put your hands on the wall.”

It’s so much easier to follow his instructions than try to consider what would happen if you said no. His callused hands petting over your waist make you feel like you’re doing the right thing. But—still—the nagging anxiety of having something so big in your pussy doesn’t go away.

You hear a drawer opening, and you turn away from the wall to see Keigo squeezing a clear liquid from a bottle in his hand and spreading it meticulously down the shaft of his cock. Lube? That’s good, you’ve heard from your more experienced female friends that it’s good to be extra wet the first time…but there’s something else, something you’re missing, isn’t there?

You try to think, try to ground yourself and understand, really understand what’s happening to you. What are you missing? The bed is squishy and soft under your knees, the air is windy somehow (is there a fan on? you hadn’t noticed), and the music downstairs is so loud you can feel the vibrations through the wall you’re pushed up against. And. And. You try to think. What are you forgetting that you’re not allowed to forget?

You can feel his cock, too. Keigo’s hands grip the flesh of your hips and he leans his chest into your back, brushing your hair over your shoulders so the two of you can touch skin to skin. The head of his cock bumps against your mound, raw and hard and heavy. Skin to skin.

Skin to skin.

It hits you in a wave of panic and you whip your head around and push desperately back at Keigo’s solid shoulder. “Wait! Wait, Keigo—the condom? Are you wearing a condom?”

His hand wraps around your wrist and pins it back against the wall, and he bows down to nip a a little spot on the crook of your neck. “Calm down, we don’t need one.”

“No, we—we need it, I need it!” you squeak out, trying to push away from Keigo but he’s got you sandwiched between him and the wall and those perfect muscles you were admiring earlier are definitely not just for show.

“I said calm down. I’m not gonna go inside.”

“…What?”

He rocks his hips forward and his dick bumps up under your pussy again. “Ever heard of thighfucking?”

No, you’ve never heard of thighfucking, but you’re an intelligent girl and you might be drunk but you’re not so drunk that you can’t piece together what he means. Your interpretation is reinforced when you feel Keigo slathering liquid—lubricant—over the lips of your pussy and between the tops of your thighs. It feels cold and weird—slippery slick, like lotion—but even the barest second of his fingers brushing over your clit reignites the need from when he ate you out and you shudder.

“Keep those knees together for me, baby,” Keigo says, and with no further delay he pushes his cock in between your thighs, aiming it perfectly to slide between your pussy lips so the head will bump up on your clit.

“…ahh, Keigo, wait—oh!” The full weight of Keigo’s body shoves against your back every time he thrusts. You’re too weak for this, too delicate to stay in position. Your elbows buckle under the pressure and your face is about to smack directly into the wall until Keigo laces his fingers in your loose hair and yanks you back from it.

He’s got no trouble holding you down, keeping you perfectly posed with your soft thighs molded tightly around the cock driving between them. Your head is craned back from his hold on your hair and he lays hungry kisses over your mouth, your cheek, your neck, anywhere he can reach. He’s right—he is selfish, and you know that this position is about him, not you, so it takes you by surprise that the longer he fucks his cock between your thighs and your dripping slit, the more heat you feel rising up in your cunt.

It’s not right. It’s not supposed to be like this. Your first time doing anything with a boy isn’t supposed to end up with him using you like he’s humping a pillow, thrusting his slippery cock into your thighs and groaning in your ear. It’s all wrong, and it’s definitely wrong that you’re getting off to it.

But now you know why he ate you out and left you high and dry (well, not dry) without making you cum—because the heat and the friction and the feeling of every ridged vein sliding over your clit, his hips smacking with a wet slap against yours, the smooth head grinding over your pussy—all of it is making your thoughts swirl like your brains are sloshing around in your head, and not just because of the alcohol.

“Fuck,” Keigo purrs, ducking forward to bite the shell of your ear and then running a soothing tongue over it. “Fuck, baby, you like that? Is that virgin pussy getting all wet on my dick? You’re twitching, I can feel you…”

“…Mmph, ah, I, I—please—” You can’t really talk, not when he’s knocking the breath out of you with every thrust. But you need more. It’s not fair, having to make do with the uncontrolled jerks of his cock over your upper thighs and the outside of your pussy. He’s fucking you like he couldn’t care less about whether you get to cum—which, if you had the ability to think about it, he probably doesn’t. Certainly not as much as he cares about your soft, lubed-up skin squeezing so deliciously on his cock.

You grind your hips down a little, sticking your ass back toward him to get a better angle and—ugh, ugh it works, the pressure on your clit increases, and you keen desperately, begging him to fuck your thighs faster harder deeper. He yanks on your hair, snapping your head back so your whimper chokes up into a squeal, and—god, are you imagining it?—but you swear you feel the stiff length of his cock throb in between your legs with the head nudging on your belly.

“Uhnn…baby, baby, baby,” Keigo chants in your ear. His voice is heavier and jagged with the puffs of breath that are coming out in time with the roll of his hips into yours. It sounds…needy, almost. “G-Good girl, keep those legs tight, just—just like that…my good little sweetheart, angel, virgin. Gonna make me cum? Yeah? Make me cum with these pretty fucking thighs?”

“—Keigo, I’m—mm!” You can’t say it, even the thought of announcing you’re cumming like some kind of pornstar makes you cringe, but even if you don’t say it, there’s no way he doesn’t feel the electric shock that passes through you, sending tremors through your body.

You’re crying out, loud, louder than the music downstairs maybe (or at least it feels like it). There’s nothing you can grip for purchase so one hand just scrabbles against the bare expanse of the wall while you curl the other into a fist and dig your fingernails into your palms.

Fuck, is it the alcohol? Is it the liquor that’s making it feel like this, so overwhelming and heady you don’t even know where you are? You vaguely try to remember how you got here (something about blond hair, an easy laugh, and sugar-sweet liquid coating your tongue), but it’s not important, who fucking cares when the cock pistoning between your thighs is still rubbing up on your clit, still stimulating you, still sending sparks of heat up through your spine and making it impossible for you to breathe without moaning, much less think.

“Keigo…Keigo I came, please ahh—it, it hurts,” you whimper, trying to shift your hips up off his cock to relieve the pressure on your sensitive clit—but he won’t let you.

Keigo’s grip on your ass digs in deeper, harder so he’s probably leaving bruises, and the hand in your hair pulls your head back toward his. His voice is a growl, so low and scratchy that it sends a chill up through your body. “Don’t move. Don’t you—don’t you fucking move. Stay right fucking there.”

It scares you.

It scares you, but his dick is rocking over your pussy, making you crazy, making you lose your grip on whatever other physical sensations you can still feel. You’re limp except for your thighs pressed into one another as tightly as you can manage, letting Keigo hold you up. It doesn’t hurt, not really—but it’s horrible, it’s too much, it’s like you’re trapped on the edge, cumming and cumming and cumming and cumming while you squeal like you’re being tortured, and you are, you are, you are, you are—

—it's torture.

But not pain. It doesn’t hurt. It’s mind-bending, oppressive, awful, you want it to stop but—oh god oh god—you’re helpless and you don’t get to make it stop, you don’t get to make that decision, it’s up to him. He decides, Keigo decides, and Keigo decides to keep fucking into your thighs, keep spreading your pussy lips apart and teasing your clit, so you just roll your head back and stop trying to convince yourself it doesn’t feel incredible.

You barely notice him speeding up—you probably wouldn’t notice at all if you couldn’t hear the beat of your moans, paced in time with his body slamming yours against the wall, increasing in frequency. He releases your hair (you swear you can feel blood rush back into your head when you’re finally able to lean forward) and his hands go back to your hips, guiding you to rock yourself back on him so his last few rabid thrusts finish with the head of his cock rubbing firmly against your stomach.

“Ugh, goddamnit fuck, baby, yesss, stay still, stay right there,” Keigo groans, and you’re so blissed out from the overstimulation that you barely even feel the twitching of his cock between your legs and the spurt of thick, hot liquid on your stomach.

Oh.

Oh god.

When Keigo finally picks his hands off their bruising grip on your ass, you drop directly onto the bed, barely remembering at the last second to roll over onto your back so his semen (his semen, which is spread over your lower belly like a Jackson Pollock painting) doesn’t stain his sheets.

You stare at the ceiling and what do you know, there is a ceiling fan, blades spinning in lazy circles that make you sick when you try to follow them. So you close your eyes.

What are you feeling? What are you supposed to be feeling?

Anger, probably. Fear? Well, you won’t deny that there are hints of both of those emotions swimming underneath the hazy surface of your drunken psyche, but they’re overshadowed by what you’re really feeling, which is relief, relief that the stimulation is over, relief that it felt good, relief. And—since you’re too out of it to stop yourself from admitting it—satisfaction.

There’s a rustling, paper slipping against paper, and then you can feel Keigo wiping his cum off your bare stomach with a tissue and then dabbing at the smears of wetness between your legs. When he’s satisfied that you’re clean, the bed creaks as he lays down next to you. He’s panting.

Reluctantly you open your eyes and roll onto your side, propping yourself up on an elbow so you can look down at him: golden hair spread out in a halo around his head, pale lashes and brows, a healthy glow of sweat over his forehead. You hadn’t seen it before, but there’s a tattoo curling over his biceps from where it must originate on his back—red feathers, wings, inked permanently into his skin.

Angel, Keigo called you earlier. But really, between the two of you…he’s the angel. In appearance, if nothing else.

His eyes drift open and the corner of his mouth tilts up, pleased to see you inspecting him. “How was that? Did you have fun being naughty?”

You and him both know exactly how much fun you had, and if you said it you’d just be stroking his ego. “You’re not a good guy, are you,” you say instead.

“Never said I was.”

“Then why didn’t you…have sex with me? For real?” you ask after a beat. The question’s been weighing on you.

“Don’t tell me you’re complaining.” A hand comes up to comb through your mussed hair unhurriedly.

“I’m not…” You still want to know, though.

“Mmm…baby. You didn’t want this to be your first time. Believe me, you’re not supposed to lose your virginity to a guy like me. No—don’t pout, come on. Your first time is supposed to be, like, soft and special and romantic, right?”

The girl you were one month ago, before you moved away from your hometown to come to college, she would have agreed. But you’re not that girl. You’ve been to your first college frat party, you’ve had your first drink and your first shot, you’ve kissed a stranger and you’ve done…sexual things with a man for the first time. And you’re okay with it. So you roll your eyes. “I’m not some fourteen-year-old drawing hearts in my notebook. I don’t need soft,” you tell him, hoping you sound bold and sarcastic.

Keigo chuckles and pats you on the head. “Don’t knock soft fucking, it’s got a time and a place like everything. I just couldn’t do it. Not when I saw you sitting there looking so lonely—you were like, hmm…like a rabbit in a den of wolves. You looked delicious.”

Oh god, you’re blushing again. This isn’t good for the nonchalant cool girl persona you’re trying to cultivate for yourself.

He cups your chin and runs his thumb over your lower lip. “I don’t think I could’ve been soft with you if I tried.”

A sharp rap on the door has both of you tensing, and Keigo only has a second to yank a blanket up from the foot of the bed over your naked bodies before the door is slammed open so hard that it bangs against the adjacent wall. “Jesus, get the fuck out!” he barks to the intruder, and it’s weird to hear the authoritative note in his voice reminding you that within this house, he’s someone who commands respect.

You tuck your face into Keigo’s chest and hope wildly that the person who just walked in 1) didn’t see anything and 2) isn’t the friend who brought you to the party, because if word gets around that you’re the girl who ‘slept’ with an older frat boy at the first party of freshman year, you’ll never live it down. Regardless of your own sexual liberation or whatever, you’re well aware that this isn’t the kind of reputation you want to start your college career out with.

“Sorry Kei! But we need you downstairs, we’re out of alc and the music stopped and no one knows how to fix the speakers!” the brother says, shielding his eyes with his hand, but he doesn’t leave the room. At least it’s not your friend—you breathe a sigh of relief and Keigo automatically smooths a hand down the back of your head in response.

“I’m kind of busy,” he seethes, and—you’ve gotta admit, there’s something marginally funny about seeing him caught off guard like this. You bite down on a laugh and he looks at you curiously, one thick eyebrow quirked.

“I’m really sorry, man, but the President said you’ll be on puke clean-up duty tomorrow if you don’t get your ass down there. His words, not mine.”

“Tomura, of-fucking-course…shitty incel has it out for me…” Keigo curses under his breath. “Give me five minutes.”

As soon as the door is closed, you’ve got your feet on the floor, groping around the discarded articles of clothing for your dress. You smooth down your hair with your hands and hope you look like any other tipsy freshman instead of a girl who just got pseudo-fucked. Keigo winks at you and taps his cheeks under his eyes; you take the hint and wipe away the smudges of mascara and eyeliner that migrated out of place during your…activities.

Your phone is safely in the pocket of your dress and you’re all but ready to leave the room (hopefully there won’t be anyone in the hallway to see you) when Keigo, still pulling on his pants, tugs you back by your wrist.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” you reply uncertainly.

“Aren’t you going to give me your number?”

What? Really? You’ve heard plenty about how frat guys like him operate, and nothing Keigo’s done (except the whole ‘no penetrative sex’ thing) has led you to believe he doesn’t fit the stereotype. And the stereotype doesn’t involve sleeping with the same girl twice, especially if that girl is an awkward freshman who is apparently too innocent for him to get his dick wet with. “What do you want my number for?” you ask.

“Do I have to spell it out to you?” Keigo’s fingers lace with yours and you stumble forward into him so he can kiss you.

It’s light, chaste even, but it’s not fair because he knows, of course he knows—a kiss like that is going to leave you wanting more. “Yes,” you tell him, just to be contrary.

Keigo laughs again, and you do your best to memorize the sound of it. “It’s so the next time you decide you want to be a bad girl…you know where to find me.”

#Hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #hawks #takami keigo #bnha #boku no hero academia #boku no hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia imagines #mha #mha x reader #mha imagines #my hero academia #my hero academia x reader #my hero academia imagines #smut #BNHA college AU #tw dubcon

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ubemango · 4 years ago

Note

*gregorian chant* breeding kink c*m inflation kink breeding kink c*m inflation kink breeding kink c*m inflation kink bree

In another universe pups is the ABO fic I never wrote HJDHJDSHJDSHJHJFHJFSD OK so anyway I won’t lie I had to google what cum inflation was and when I saw what I saw.... yes. Ok. It got my brain gears going *rusty noise of gears turning* U know what I mean??? So i was thinking..... ***NSFW WARNING

You see hentai on Namjoon’s laptop one day. You’ve mastered the art of nonchalance, though. So when he comes back from the bathroom and gives you a smile—as if you haven’t gotten a peek into Things That Turn Namjoon On That Don’t Include You—you breathe an internal sigh of relief. Safe.

Except you’ve stopped taking notes and now all you can think about is Namjoon watching porn so brazenly on his laptop. Where he does schoolwork of all places! He could at least just use his phone. Also you’re just a teensy bit wet because cartoon boobs and dick is still conducive to horny hours, even if you are doing something as unsexy as critical writing.

Your study date ends with a simple kiss on the lips because Hoseok’s home this time and you’d rather not taint the living room space while he’s occupying the apartment too. Namjoon slips in a little bit of tongue though, because he’s cheeky like that.

You text Namjoon right when you get home. You lie and say you’re going to sleep early, with the excuse that you have to wake up early for a meeting with your advisor. And when he sends you his good night text, you get to it. Getting ready for bed, turning your night light to the colour red once you’ve settled in.

You have sleuthing to do.

Because the hentai wasn’t just... well there’s no regular hentai, is there? It’s just. There. Being hentai. And what’s Namjoon without an inclination for messy pussies because of—because of—

You close your eyes tight because you can’t believe what you’re about to type into the search bar on your phone.

But first!

Incognito. Whew. The shame of clearing your history would be too much to bear. So when you press enter on cum inflation it isn’t so bad. Especially when all the X-rated websites pop up and your screen just becomes Anime Boobies Galore when you click the first link.

You can’t believe Namjoon had the gall to just leave that website up there on his screen. You’re scrolling down the page and already you’re feeling hot. And it isn’t even because of the fact that you’re skimming through videos of perfect girls getting so cummed up their stomachs literally become distended. Nor is it the thought of Namjoon watching it and enjoying it, either. Rather...

Was he thinking of you when he was watching these videos? Bending your knees up over your shoulders and promising you that he’s saved up all his cum for you? Getting you to drool down your chin, cross-eyed?

(Your hand is down your panties at the third video you come across. You come pretty hard when you see the girl’s pussy literally spew semen from how hard the guy comes inside her. And when you reach post-orgasm clarity you immediately exit the browser, chuck your phone onto the floor, and hope to god sleep overtakes you within twenty seconds.)

The next time you meet up for another study date with Namjoon is the weekend. That’s a good three nights of jacking it off to the same video of a huge dongle fucking a good five buckets of semen inside his girlfriend. And when you settle all your notebooks and laptop down, you immediately go for the kill.

“Do you like anime boobs?”

Namjoon chokes on the water he’s drinking from his bottle. “I—ahem. What, uh... what brought this on?”

“I’ve been watching a lot of hentai so I thought I’d ask,” you clarify.

“Uh-huh,” he says incredulously.

“And you know, it’s just—I liked it. A lot. You know. Just for your information.”

Namjoon blinks. “Are you trying to get at something here?”

“Because I don’t really mind, you know. Porn is porn. And you can like whatever you want. Like as long as it’s nice and consensual,” you ignore him.

“Babe.”

“Like I would never make fun of you because I’m—well I’ve watched Grinch porn before but that was against my own will—“

“Baby,” Namjoon laughs, squishing your cheeks to stop your rambling. “What’s going on?”

“I like h’ntai,” you try to articulate with his hands still keeping your lips pressed in like this.

“I get that. But why?”

Oh god. You don’t even know what you want from this conversation. Maybe the guilt of catching him has caught up to you. Or maybe you also just want to have a distended stomach from having Namjoon bust a fat load inside you.

You take his hands from your face, clutch at them for support. “I saw... Um. What you were watching. The other day.”

“Ah.” You watch Namjoon’s ears turn red. He squeezes your hands right back. “You—damn. I’m sorry.”

“No—!” You clear your throat when it warbles. “N-No... it’s... well I...”

You feel his thumb rub comfort into your skin. He looks like he’s getting ready for a scolding. So when you say, “I actually really liked it and I’ve been watching it every night,” in one breath, Namjoon blinks.

And blinks.

After a solid sixteen seconds of silence, he says: “That’s really hot.”

You both stare at each other. The notebook you laid out for notes sits quietly, waiting.

“You wanna go to your bed—?”

Namjoon nearly dislodges your shoulder when he pulls you up to stand. “Yes we’re going right now.”

Something you’re really thankful for when it comes to Namjoon is how compatible you two are. You can’t count how many times you’ve both just looked at each other, no words to say, but somehow still completely on the same page. It’s like you both have the instinct of the other person ingrained in the part of your brain that deals with intuition.

You’re pretty keen on foreplay most days, but even Namjoon sees you’d rather rip your hair out than not immediately go for the feeling of his dick ramming inside you right at this very second. He laughs when you strip in record time, laying supine on the bed while he undresses.

“What’s gotten into you?” As if he’s not hard himself. He crawls over you with kisses warm on your belly, your breasts. “I have to admit. I really just wanted to fuck today.”

“Oh thank god,” you sigh. You knew something was up the second you realized Hoseok wasn’t home. He probably sexiled himself. You remind yourself to buy him dinner one day for his noble deed. “Just—I’m wet. I think. I just want you inside me, please.”

Namjoon groans. “You’re dangerous.”

“I watched hentai for three nights straight, I’m horny,” you whine in correction.

“You wanna know something? Please don’t laugh.”

“What?” Oh you’re wet alright. Namjoon lines his cock at your hole, slides tight inside. “O-Oh—what?”

“I kind of. I haven’t jacked off since the last time we met,” he says, voice tight. “Thank god you watched that shit because I probably sound crazed right now.”

“Huh?”

He grinds up till his hips meet your ass, and you shiver when the tip of his cock hits just right. “I—I wanted to save my cum for you,” he admits, sweating at his neck, and something clicks inside you, because you were right.

“I thought—about that too—ngh!”

Namjoon fucks you steady now. No more shy thrusts like he always starts off with to gauge your mood. He knows you want it. “Shit. About what, baby?”

“You. A-And... making me full... of you.”

“Oh my god.” He grabs your thighs, opening you wide. Takes a thumb to your clit like he’s on a mission. “Will you come with me? Can you do that?”

Holy fuck you’d do anything for him. So you nod, moaning with every hard thrust he gives you. Your legs threaten to close when he rubs you raw, but he commands with a low voice:

“Open, pups.”

Embarrassingly, that does it. He’s never one to order you around. And knowing he’s purposefully saved you his cum like it’s Christmas come early, you know better than to hinder the process.

Your legs shake when you open wider, feeling the warmth of his cock tenfold. “I’m close,” you cry when he slams into you.

“Feel it here?” He slides a sweaty palm to your abdomen. “Gonna give it to you right there. Make you so full. So pretty. All—mine—!”

You don’t even know if that was your signal. But the thought of him swelling you up like that girl on your screen, her womb so full with cum and promise—

“Joonie!” You shriek, toppling right into red-hot pleasure, clutching at the sheets because it’s too much. You come in waves, and Namjoon rides it with you, bucks into you with one last groan. You feel it, feel his excess warmth coat your insides just like he’d told you, and you pretend you feel your stomach balloon for more space. He rubs a grateful hand on your stomach.

“My little cum dump,” he coos tiredly, and you slap his arm with a laugh.

“Don’t pull out yet.” You slide your arms around his shoulders, bringing his tired form onto you. “Keep me plugged in.”

He laves at your neck. “Oh so now I’m out of line when I say weird shit.”

“I never said it was weird,” you whisper. “I’ll happily house all your semen.”

“Oh my—pfft. Ok. You know what? Show me that video you were watching, I need to know what’s got you like this,” he snorts, and you promise to do it later. You’ll just keep him like this for a little while.

#bts smut #namjoon smut #bts scenarios #ubemango fic #f: pups series #d: pups series

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sparxwrites · 3 years ago

Text

@manoessay replied to your post:

This post activated my brain harder than most so even though you arent gonna make a fanfic i will add, Dream testing how many times you can bring a person back on quackity once he gets out.

(i absolutely fully got possessed by this idea, and then wrote this self-indulgent and weirdly experimental fic feverishly at like 1am last night. this is... probably not what you were imagining, but it’s what fell out of my brain, so! enjoy? written to “innocence” by madeon.)

cw moderately graphic torture / gore, mental breakdown, mind games, temporary character death

[ao3]

“How many times have you died now, Quackity?”

The words flash hot through his skull, but don’t translate into meaning. Don’t translate into anything other than noise. The floor is cold beneath his palms. Russet-brown flakes up beneath his nails when he claws at it, chest heaving, lungs trying to remember how breathing works.

His first inhale gurgles, wetly, makes him jerk on his belly like a worm on a hook. His throat is raw from disuse, from screaming, from the sword that had sliced through his trachea like a knife through so much butter. When he tries to speak, the only thing that comes out is blood.

It goes like this, every time Dream drags him back from Limbo: his ears full of a high ringing, his lungs not working, his body numb. The link between flesh and brain is faulty, sparking wrong – like the battered neurons take a few precious minutes of life to rewire back together fully. It fixes itself a little less each time, the link; he’s permanently numb down most of his left side, now. The fingers on his right hand are going insensate in terrifying inches.

“How many times?”

Crooked mask, ragged voice, cracked porcelain smile. Dream looks better than Quackity feels, but not much – crouched low on a stone floor that’s caked in layer after layer of old blood, watching Quackity like a bug under a magnifying glass. His hair’s a greasy mess, his mask dirty-white and chipped, his clothes spattered with weeks of gore. With Quackity’s gore.

There’s blood dripping out from beneath the mask, though, fresh and hot. His hands shake. The knuckles clenched around the hilt of his sword are white, the skin beneath his fingernails faintly purple-blue.

The eyes behind the mask are just a little too green.

“Can you even hear me?” There’s a giddy slur to the edge of Dream’s words, the manic lilt of a man high off the same shit that’s melting his brain out through his nose. That feeling was familiar to Quackity, in another life. “Quackity. Hey, Quackity. Anyone in there?” He laughs, short and cruel and batshit crazy. His eyes are the colour of battery acid. “Have I finally broken you?”

There’s no response – because Quackity’s still trying to remember how his lungs work, remember what ribs are, remember how to do things that aren’t screaming and curling in on himself and rocking – and the amusement in his voice turns angry, sour. “I said tell me how many times, Quackity.”

Dream stands, unsteady, swaying as he does and leaning heavily on the sword for balance. His hands are still shaking. The blood’s stopped dripping, but there’s a sickly tinge to it, and when he wipes at his chin with the back of one hand it leaves a smear that’s more brown than red.

There’s a flicker of something, as his knuckles touch the half-inch of exposed face – dirty white light, bridging the gap between skin in a static-shock flash. There and then gone, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it.

The eyes behind the mask glow a little brighter. A little greener. A little less human.

The point of Dream’s sword sinks into Quackity’s shoulder, splits open an old scar. Quackity’s covered in them, now, more scar than skin. More ruined than not. He spasms, chokes, bleeds wet and red and fresh over the dried blood that carpets the floor. The noise he makes is animal, leg-in-a-bear-trap high and thin and dying. Barely alive five minutes, and he’s bleeding out again already. It’s almost funny.

Dream laughs, and leans on the pommel of the sword. It pushes in another inch.

“Month!” manages Quackity, forcing the word out through the wetness in his lungs, through the broken-bone grind of his throat. If he weren’t so many shattered parts, pasted back together by unholy power and Dream’s capricious whims, it might have been a howl. As it is, he barely has the energy to sob, the words raw and hoarse and threadbare. “A month, a month– thirty– haha, thirty-six days in, in, in Limbo, fuck, please, please–”

There’s wet on his cheeks. Tears? Blood? Worse? He can’t tell any more. He can’t even feel the left side of his face.

He grabs for Dream’s boots, presses his forehead against them, gasps for air that doesn’t seem to bring any relief from the cold ache in his lungs. One of his hands finds an ankle, a strip of bare skin between shoe and pant leg. Dream’s skin is fever-hot, sickly, bottled lightning gone past its sell-by date.

The shock of the contact knocks him silent for a second, though. They won’t touch him, in Limbo, the ghosts – or can’t, or both, can’t and won’t. Because they’re bastards, because they hate him, because he isn’t one of them. They can’t-won’t touch him, can’t see him, won’t see him, won’t speak to him– and he’s left, alone, in a room full of the faded impressions of people he once knew, once loved, once was loved by. A room full of people who do not see him, and do not touch him, and do not hear him when he talks.

(When he screams, when he swears at them, when he tries to claw their eyes out with unsteady hands that don’t make contact– when he begs, when he pleads, when he wheedles and bribes and bargains to deaf ears– when he wraps arms around himself, when he rocks himself back and forth until the blood rushes in his ears, when he whispers to himself until his voice fades to nothing, and tries to pretend it is the same thing as being loved and held and comforted–)

“Please, don’t– hahah, don’t kill me, fuck– please, look, look, hurt me, please, hurt me– anything, anything, I don’t–” He doesn’t have the breath for this. Doesn’t have the energy. Doesn’t even really have the words any more, after screaming for thirty-six fucking days straight, after talking to himself for so long his vocal cords wore out and left him mouthing silence in a desperate attempt to keep himself company. “Don’t, don’t send me– not, don’t send me back, please, fuck, anything, ha, haha, don’t, don’t–”

“I said I’d make you beg for death,” says Dream, amused, bored, manic. “Not torture. Not that I’m complaining. It’s just kind of funny. Don’t you think? I think it’s funny.”

He pushes the sword in, another inch. Quackity sobs, desperate and pathetic, and feels no shame for it. Presses his face to Dream’s boot, clings to his ankle like a lifeline, and feels no shame for it. Shame was beaten out of him, bled out of him, several lifetimes ago. “But that’s not what I asked, though. How many times have you died now, Quackity?”

The sword in his shoulder twists, and Quackity screams. Something severs with a pop, and then another, and then another, until the joint is little more than a hot ball of pain and wet meat, grated bone. Until he can no longer scream, gasping desperately through the pain, weeping like a child. Another twist, and something else severs, something vital, a second’s resistance before a give and a spray of warm blood.

He bleeds out between one sob and the next, tumbling into darkness, the golden net of the respawn reaching up to catch him as he falls.

He wakes up three feet away, sprawled out on the filthy bed that occupies one corner of his cell, still sobbing. The respawn clings to him like a second skin, like weights around his ankles, frightening and familiar all at once. It fades slowly, reluctantly; slower each time he dies, he thinks. Like it’s getting used to holding him. Like it doesn’t want to let him go.

It’s only barely gone by the time Dream crosses the space between them, two short steps, no time for him to flinch, no time for him to hide–

Dream grabs him by the wrist, wrenches his body up from the bed, and slots the sword neatly through the front of his throat. The broad, well-used scar carved across it parts for the blade like an old friend, swallows it whole – and Quackity dies for the second time in as many minutes, choking on his own blood.

The respawn catches him. Drags him down into darkness. Drags him back up to the surface of reality, deposits him back onto a bed now sodden with crimson. He’s shaking. He should be used to it, but he’s shaking so hard his teeth clack together, so hard he’s not sure it will ever stop.

Dream drags him off the bed, back onto the floor. Back onto the filth, the layers and layers of dried gore, a carpet constructed from every time he’s been slaughtered like an animal in this tiny, lightless cell.

“Dream,” he begs, quietly. “Dream, Dream–”

Even to his ears, it sounds more like a prayer than a plea.

“It’s a simple question, Quackity. How many times have you died now? Properly died. How many times have I brought you back? I just want a number. Just a number.” The mask obscures Dream’s mouth, but his grin is audible. His eyes are so bright, they hurt to look at. “How many times have I proven to you that I’m a god?”

Quackity tries to curl in on himself, but Dream is in the way, one boot by his shoulder and the other pinning his wrist to the floor beneath its toe. He’s not surprised. Dream is everywhere, always, omnipresent. His free hand seeks out Dream’s ankle onces more, curls around that curdled-lightning skin, desperate and needy. It grounds him, touching the only real person in his whole entire world, and he hates himself for it.

“…T- ten?” he tries, and knows as he says it that it’s wrong. The panic rises like the respawn, choking him. He can’t breathe. “Ten, ten times– maybe eleven– fuck, fuck, Dream, please–”

The sword-tip finds his back, finds the space between his fourth and fifth rib. Finds the ropy scar there, beneath the rags, soft from re-use – like a zipper, easy to pry open right down to his weak, wet heart.

“Good guess,” says Dream, quietly. “Closer than before. But still not right. You need a little longer to think about it, I guess. But– hey, you know what? I’ll be nice, and give you a hint.” He pauses, and Quackity’s world stands still. “You’re guessing too low.”

He pushes the sword down. It slips between Quackity’s ribs like an old lover, lodges in the crusted filth and stone below, pins him still against the floor. His heart beats once, twice, a butterfly-flutter around the diamond skewered through it. His body convulses. He falls still.

The blood from his mouth dyes the toes of Dream’s boots crimson, as the light leaves his eyes.

He wakes in Limbo, on his knees, in a room full of people – full of impressions of people, like the ghosts of a faded photograph. He sees them all there, their backs to him, as they move amongst one another, as they talk amongst one another. Tubbo, and Schlatt, and Fundy, and Wilbur, and–

Sapnap, who looks right through him. Karl, whose eyes skate over him. They hold each other’s hands. The rings on their fourth fingers gleam weakly in the strange, nebulous light of the afterlife. They do not hear him when he says their names, ragged and desperate, like a plea. Like a prayer.

And then they, too, turn their back on him. And Quackity – still raw, still bloody, still skewered open right through his butterfly heart – screams and screams and screams.

#manoessay #dream smp #quackity #dream #dsmp fic #dsmp tag #fic #to my ex-y*gs fans: say hello to dirty white source code light and weird respawn headcanons again!#something something stop fucking around with creative mode or the dirty white light will eat you from the inside out like a parasite #it wants to pour the entirety of the universe into your head until there's no space left for *you* in there any more #that's not something you dick around with just to ensure the guy who tortured you in prison is broken down into more animal than human #also i will not apologise for making quackity's limbo so fucking miserable #he's in a hell of his own creation lmao #hc that you get what you think you deserve in limbo lmao :3c #torture //

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pitviperofdoom · 4 years ago

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Obviously I can’t get through one fandom event without bringing Jongerry into it.

Aspec Archives Week Prompt: Confusion

(AO3)

Jon caught him in a kiss as they passed in the hallway, and these days that always meant trouble. Once upon a time, in the distant past of around last month, he’d been bashful about it. They both had—Gerry especially, after Jon had sat him down to explain a few things about his preferences. But that was last month, and that hurdle was well behind him. Now the question wasn’t finding the nerve to start; it was finding a reason to stop.

On a lazy Sunday morning like this, those reasons were few and far between.

They wound up on the couch, because it was closer, and that was the direction Jon had been heading, and Gerry was happy to let himself be steered. Kissing Jon was like that, now that they were both past being shy. Even with his mouth occupied, he never failed to let Gerry know exactly what he wanted and where he wanted him.

The backs of Jon’s knees hit the couch. Gerry broke the kiss for a moment, just to enjoy looming over him a bit. He liked this view of Jon—this close, staring nearly straight down while Jon tilted his head back and met his eyes.

Then he reached up, tugged Gerry back down, and kissed him again.

The noise Gerry made came out like it had been punched out of him, and he had to draw back just to catch his breath.

Jon’s hand was on his jaw, carefully tilting it so Gerry would look at him, which really wasn’t helping with—whatever was going on. His eyes were dark and serious, scrutinizing Gerry’s face as if inspecting him for an injury. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Gerry said, more hoarsely than he meant to. “Mm. I’m good.”

“You’re sure?” Jon pressed, frowning deeply enough to form a crease between his eyebrows. Gerry kissed it before he could think better of it. “Ah—”

“How about you?” Gerry asked, even as a small but very loud part of him screamed to kiss him again, to hold him close and never stop.

“Like I said,” Jon replied, his voice raspy but warm. “This part I like.”

Gerry grinned and let himself be pulled down to the couch cushions.

Jon wound up mostly under him, propped halfway up against pillows and armrest with Gerry hovering over him, tugged down by Jon’s hand at the back of his head. He kissed Gerry the way he always did, so gentle and unhurried, but with just enough insistence to make his heart race with an unfamiliar thrill.

Felt a bit dangerous, sometimes. And while Gerry was no stranger to it, it was different now, when he finally had something he wasn’t willing to risk.

Lots of things were different, with Jon. But different could be good, different could be new and exciting before it settled into a comfort, like hands in his hair sliding down to the back of his neck, like the teasing warmth of his mouth, like arms around him holding him close—

Then Jon turned his head, fingers digging firmly into the back of Gerry’s neck, and mouthed at the corner of his jaw with just a hint of gentle teeth. In an instant, Gerry went hot with want. His body moved before his brain caught up, canting his hips forward into Jon’s.

Beneath him, Jon startled and pulled back, and Gerry belatedly realized what he’d just done.

“Shit—” He shoved himself off of Jon, face heating—not desire this time, just mortification. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine—”

“I didn’t forget, I just—that’s never happened before—”

“Gerry I’m serious, it’s fine.”

“—and I don’t know where the fuck that came from,” Gerry went on, mouth running with nervous, frantic energy.

Jon was sitting up, pushing his hair back out of his face. “I think I have a pretty good idea.” His eyes flickered vaguely downward.

There wasn’t much he could do about that particular situation, so Gerry sat back and drew his knees up to his chest, breathing deep to slow his racing heart. All traces of warm excitement were gone, replaced by hot, prickling shame.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

Jon scooted closer and carefully took his hand. “It’s alright,” he said. “I mean it. No harm done—look, can you just sit properly? You look horribly uncomfortable.”

“Better me than you.”

“What do you mean by—oh, for God’s sake.” Jon sighed, infinitely patient and—fond? Maybe? “Gerry, I’m asexual, not a prude. I’m not going to faint at the sight of a clothed erection.”

Gerry choked on an unexpected laugh, then slid his feet down to sit in a more comfortable position, Mercifully, he was already softening.

“I’m—” He bit down on another apology.

Jon hadn’t let go of his hand yet. “If it makes you feel better, that’s probably the fastest anyone’s gotten off when I asked.” Gerry stared at him wordlessly. “I mean—don’t look at me like that, I meant literally—physically gotten off of me when—oh, you know what I mean!”

“Right, right.” Abruptly, the words sank in, and he went stiff with alarm. “Wait. Jon, does that mean—have other people…?”

“What—? Oh!” Jon’s eyes widened. “No. God, no—I’m sorry, that came out wrong. No one’s ever—right. What I meant was that, of the very few times I’ve been in this situation before, the other person was usually… I mean, they stopped when I asked, but I had to ask, and sometimes I got the feeling that they were… sort of reluctant? It made things extremely awkward, more often than not.”

“This isn’t awkward?” Gerry asked dryly.

“In comparison? Hardly at all.” Jon squeezed his hand. “And even if it were, I’ve had my share of awkwardness.”

Gerry squeezed back, finally starting to settle. “That so.”

“I’m going to regret telling you this, but my first kiss was an absolute disaster,” Jon informed him. “I went for the cheek, he went for the mouth.”

“Yikes,” Gerry said with a wince.

“Oh, but I haven’t told you the worst part,” Jon went on. “I turned my head away, and he went for the side of my neck—no, stop laughing—he latched on like he was a bloody vampire—”

He couldn’t help it. Gerry dissolved into laughter, ducking his head and muffling it behind his fist. At some point he looked up again to find that Jon had scooted closer in his distraction. He liked when Jon got sneaky.

But did he like it the right way, was the question.

“Alright?” Jon asked, tentatively brushing their shoulders together.

“Guess so,” he replied, with another long breath. “Better, at least. Could be loads worse.”

Jon was running the pad of his thumb over each of Gerry’s knuckles now, in slow, back-and-forth swipes. “You don’t sound very sure of that,” he said after a moment.

“Maybe not.” Gerry sat back, leaning his head on the back of the sofa. Jon continued to play with his hand, tracing the outline of each tattoo. It felt—nice. Not the dangerous sort of nice that he’d just now managed to dodge. Just comfortable. Fond. (Loving.)

“If you—” Jon began. He hesitated, pressing Gerry’s hand between his palms. “I’m not the best at this. But if it’s really bothering you, then I need you to know that you don’t—you don’t have to feel guilty about this, it’s not like you can—I don’t know, make yourself stop feeling… whatever it is you feel.” He paused again. “Anymore than I could make myself feel it at all.”

“That’s the problem, though,” Gerry admitted. “I shouldn’t be.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know, I just shouldn’t!” Frustration welled up in him, and he tugged his hand out of Jon’s grasp without thinking. “I never have before, but now I am and I don’t know why. I’ve lived my whole life without giving people a second glance, and it never crossed my mind because I just—I never had the space for it. Good thing, too; dunno what I would’ve done if I had to deal with that on top of everything else.”

“Right,” Jon said softly.

“And then I met you,” Gerry went on. “And we had that talk. And I thought, fuck, there’s a word for it, it’s just a thing and it’s fine, it’s not just me being—being not right. There’s a reason why I’ve never given anyone a second glance, not even you. At least—not at first.” His voice trailed off, words running dry. “I dunno. It’s just been different recently. I look at you and… and I think about things I never have before.”

“Me?” Jon stared at him incredulously. “You feel that way about me?”

“I know you don’t like that,” Gerry answered, trying not to sound as miserable as he felt.

Jon gave a quick shake of his head, though whether it was denial or just to clear his head, Gerry couldn’t tell. “No, that’s not—I just mean, why? Why on earth would you—me, of all people?”

“Because you’re hot, apparently. Can we not argue about that while I’m having a crisis?”

Jon shrank a little, looking ashamed. “Right. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Surprised me too, to be honest.” Gerry looked away. “Feels like—more like greed than lust, sometimes. Like the more I get of you, the more I want.”

At that, Jon sat up straight, and Gerry realized how that must have sounded.

“I’m not gonna ask you for any more,” he said quickly, cutting off whatever Jon was about to say. “We had that talk, and I listened, alright, and it’s been—it’s been good. Really good. I don’t need anything more, especially if you don’t want to.”

“I know,” Jon assured him.

“Oh.” He deflated a bit. “Good, then.”

“Can I ask you a question?” Jon asked.

“I’ve about spilled my guts already, but sure, maybe there’s a bit of spleen I missed,” Gerry said wearily.

“It’s a bit personal, but… have you ever been close to anyone before?” Jon asked. “Emotionally close? Friendships, anything like that?”

“No…? No.” Gerry shook his head. “Never had the chance. I don’t have that kind of life. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well… I mean, far be it from me to impose a label on you,” Jon said cautiously. “But from the way you describe it… it’s possible you might be demisexual?’

Gerry frowned. Another new word. Demi usually meant half or partial. “What’s that one mean? I only want it sometimes?”

“Sort of.” Jon had grabbed his phone off the side table and was scrolling through it. “It’s on the spectrum of asexuality. To my understanding, it’s when you only experience attraction when you’ve formed an emotional connection with someone.”

“That’s a thing?” Gerry leaned over his shoulder to see the screen. “Don’t tell me there’s an app for this.”

Jon laughed. “No, but there is a wiki—here it is. Demisexual. Have a look.”

Gerry took his phone and read through the definition, frowning in thought.

It certainly sounded like what the past month had been like. And it explained a few things—he’d been alone his whole life until Jon, and even with Jon he hadn’t wanted him at first sight. It had taken time. It had grown into it—as far as he could tell, it was still growing, still changing.

“Say you’re right,” he said at last, looking up from the phone screen to Jon’s face. “Say this is me. Where does that leave us?”

Jon shrugged. “Same place as usual, I hope,” he answered. “If… this doesn’t change anything for you?”

“Should it?”

“Maybe.” Jon shrugged again. “I don’t know. I’ve just found that it helps to have a word. Makes things simpler if you can at least name them.”

With a sigh, Gerry passed his phone back. “Would’ve been even simpler if I could just be like you, not feel this shit at all.”

Jon put the phone down. Then, turning so that he was fully facing Gerry, he took his face between his hands.

“You are,” he said, as his dark, serious eyes bored into Gerry’s. “You’re just a step to the left, that’s all. But you are like me.”

It was enough to rob him of speech for the better part of a minute. When he found his voice again, he leaned forward until his forehead was on Jon’s chest.

“See, you say things like that and then turn around and wonder why I think you’re attractive.”

Jon spluttered, even as his arms wrapped around Gerry’s shoulders and pulled him back down. They didn’t kiss again, just lay squashed together on the couch with Gerry sprawled on top, enjoying the warmth and closeness without feeling like he was scratching an itch that would never settle.

“Thanks,” he said, after the silence stretched long enough to circle back around to comfortable again.

“Whatever for?”

“Dunno.” Gerry pressed his face into the soft fabric of Jon’s shirt. “Glad you’re here. Glad you’re you.”

Jon gave a noncommittal hum, like he wasn’t sure whether to agree or how to answer. His fingers combed softly through Gerry’s hair, and after a moment Gerry let himself lean into the touch, Jon’s quiet amusement.

He was no stranger to wanting things, but—all he needed was this, right here.

It was more than he ever would have dared to hope for.

#AspecArchives #the magnus archives #jongerry #jonathan sims #gerard keay #tma fic #fanfiction #tales from the pit

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ddarker-dreams · 4 years ago

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Kinktober Day 5: Cramped Spaces. Mista x F Reader 🎀

[Scarlet Ribbons description]

This takes place in Guido Mista’s route, which branches off from the main Scarlet Ribbons story.

Description: Mista never has good timing, but this has to be the worst you’ve ever seen. Not SFW. Tags: Slight exhibitionism, dirty talk, blow jobs, boob jobs, throatfucking, and partially clothed sex. Word count: 1.5k.

You’ve never seen such a disaster of a night.

The expectation of plans going exactly as they are meant to is one you’ve never held, especially when you’re paired up with Mista. Improvisation seems to be his middle name. That’s all well and good. What’s not good is the fact you’ve lost sight of your target, and are currently knee-deep in enemy territory.

Mista is running just ahead, gun at the ready, and you’re following suit. You’re both concerned with the same thing, do you risk fighting here? This building isn’t an ideal place for Mista’s Stand. A cramped nightclub filled to the brim with tourists and locals alike, music blasting at full volume and strobe lights blinding. It’s too risky that bystanders would get caught in the middle.

Even if you could find a more open area to fight, that might not be in your best interest. The rumor of another gang selling narcotics at this establishment is what got you two assigned to this job. Getting in a fight with them now could lead to a full blown turf war, the last thing Passione needs at the moment. This was purely meant to be reconnaissance, not a confrontation. Now it feels like you’ve swatted at a wasp nest.

Utilizing all your stamina to continue weaving in and out of the crowd behind Mista, he suddenly makes a sharp turn into a storage closet. Maybe he’s hoping to gather our bearings, you think. It’s a good idea for the two of you to be on the same page. You follow in behind him, closing the door and wrapping ribbons around the handle for good measure. There, now no one should be able to open it.

“So, what are we supposed to do?” you speak up while shuffling around, trying to get used to this constrictive space. It doesn’t help that it’s so dark you can barely see a thing in here. “I’m pretty sure Mariano spotted one of us. God, what a mess... now they know we’re onto them. Should I call Bucciarati?”

No response.

Well, that’s odd. Mista’s nothing if not talkative. Frowning, you squint, eyes still adjusting to the dim light from a single lightbulb overhead. Mista’s chest is heaving for air. Was the run that winding? You were only sprinting for less than a minute, you’ve seen him exercising for longer periods of time than that. Concern floods into your being at his unnerving silence. Leaning closer to him, you inspect for any possible injuries, hearing how he inhales sharply as you brush against him in the process.

You’re not seeing any visible wounds. “Mista? Are you alright?”

“A-ah, I’m fine [First], just... catching my breath, that’s all...” He trails off, gulping at the end of his sentence. Why does he sound so apprehensive? You feel something hard against the inside of your thigh, mind temporarily going blank. Wait. Hold on just a moment. Everything is starting to add up. Glancing down, you take notice of how your chest is pressing right against his. It doesn’t help that this outfit is particularly revealing, in hopes of blending in with the night crowd. Your cleavage is visible even in the sparse lighting.

“For fucks sake, Mista,” you whisper yell to him, flicking his forehead. “Now is not the time for this!”

“I know that! It’s just, god, you look so hot tonight and I just want to,” he takes a deep breath and cuts himself off. You can tell he’s trying his best to calm down, but now you feel flustered as well. “And we haven’t... well, y’know, in a while because we’re both so busy--”

“You can’t be serious.” You deadpan. Here you two are, on the brink of a possible firefight, and Mista’s incapable of not being horny for just a few minutes. Not that you don’t understand where’s he coming from. With all the work on your plates it’s been far too long since you’ve been intimate together, warmth gathering between your legs at the thought. I guess we’re both a mess. How romantic.

It’s difficult to know what you’re doing without a clear source of light, but you start pulling his pants down, much to his surprise. “Babe, wait, what?”

“Be quiet, would you,” you curse yourself for stuttering, cheeks flushing as you sink down to your knees. The last thing you need is for his head to be in the gutter when your lives are on the line. “I’ll just-- take care of this, so you can use your brain to full compacity again.”

“It’s not like I’m complainin’ or anything, trust me. Fuck, okay, I’ll be honest, this is really hot. I’ve jerked off to the thought of this at least once... maybe twice, actually.”

You manage to get his pants down as he rambles on. He bites his lower lip when you take his length out, which has hardened considerably. Running your fingers up and down his cock, you feel the most prominent veins throbbing from your movements. Stroking him further, the muscles in his legs go taut, and an idea comes to mind. The easy access of your revealing top allows for you to pull your boobs out. Mista’s mind goes blank when you settle his dick in between your cleavage.

“Ahh, fuck, yes,” he groans, bucking into your movements frantically. “I’ve always wanted... to fuck those pretty tits of yours, nn...”

You hum in acknowledgement, pressing your lips around the head of his cock. His precum tastes salty, but you don’t mind, tongue coming out to lap all of him up. Mista throws his head back at the sensation, numerous curses leaving his lips. It feels nice knowing you have this effect on him. While you pleasure his length with your chest, your mouth focuses on sucking and kissing the tip of his dick.

Mista’s hands curl into your hair, pulling your face as close to him as he can. “Make good use of that cute little mouth of yours. Take all of me in.”

Obliging to his command, you open your mouth further, taking in all of his pulsing cock. Mista doesn’t give you any time to adjust. He starts thrusting into your mouth, the sudden sensation causing you to gag. You press your hands on his thighs to keep your balance, feeling how his balls hit your chin with every desperate thrust. He’s too occupied fucking your mouth to think about anything, the loud wet noises he’s making, or the moans that continue falling from his lips.

“Y-you like that, don’t you?” he gasps, slamming his dick into your mouth like a man possessed. “Little... slut... dressing like that... you wanted me to do this to you. Wanted me to use you like the little whore you are.”

You whine against him, the vibration almost sending him over the edge. “Nngh... I’m gonna come right in your mouth, take all of it...!”

Just a few moments later, Mista lets out a low growl, halting his feverish movements. He releases hot loads of cum down your throat, pressing himself so tightly against you that it’s difficult to breathe. Your heart is pounding while he remains still, salty cum coating your tongue. He’s gasping for air when he finally pulls his softening dick from your mouth. Grimacing, you manage to swallow as he asked. Some globs of his cum dribbles down your face from your mouth. That’s going to be a pain to clean up...

Neither of you say a word. Mista puts himself away, then offers you a hand to help get up.

“What a gentleman.” You comment with a roll of your eyes, using the back of your hand to wipe at your mouth. At least your lungs are able to get the air they so desperately need now. A part of you almost forgot the situation you were in entirely, too preoccupied with your horny boyfriend. Not that you’re much better, seeing as your panties are completely soaked. He’s gonna pay for that later. Now you have to walk around the rest of the night in these...

“I second that,” Mista hums. He’s beaming at you, smoothing over your messy hair. “I’ll eat you out later, don’t even worry about it babe. Or we can just fuck, whatever you like.”

“How about we find a way out of this mess first?”

He blinks, realization hitting him. “Oh yeah, I kinda forgot about that.”

“Mista, you’re unbelievable...”

#mista fuckers this one is for you #love u <3 #what if you wanted to go to heaven #and god was like #hey man remember this #not sfw #guido mista #kinktober #mista x reader #mista imagine #mista guido x reader #guido mista x reader #JoJo's Bizzare Adventure #jojo's bizarre adventures #vento aureo #vento aureo x reader #Golden Wind #scarlet ribbons #my stuff

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pearl-blue-musings · 4 years ago

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If it’s alright with you two I combined these two cause they were pretty much the same!

Pairing: Baukugo Katsuki x fem!reader fwb unless???

Warnings: oral(female recieving), very suggestive language, angst AGAIN 18+ ONLY and I may have gotten carried away again sorry

Enjoy your meal~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your hair is already sticking to the top of your head and you had barely been able to catch your breath. Your eyes are scrunched close as pleasure continues to overwhelm you in the small space of the utility closet. A warm and rough hand covers your mouth in an attempt to quiet your moans and cries. Bakugou’s tongue was working wonders on your aching and dripping pussy while one hand kept purchase on your hip and the other over your drooling mouth. You could barely whimper to enjoy his ministrations on your core, knowing he’s eating you like a man starved.

“Princess, I need you to quiet down. Unless you want all those extras to hear you.” He sucks lightly on your clitoris making your hips jump forward. You hiss and bite at his palm, enjoying the taste of his sweat as you chase your orgasm. The bite makes Bakugo growl into your heat and tease you even more. He sticks his tongue out and gives little kitten licks to your outer lips and grazes your nub.

“Fuck, ‘Suki,” you whisper muffled, “don’t tease me.” Your hips try to wiggle to get him to do anything, but he keeps messing with you. Without warning he plunges his tongue back into your pussy, lapping at it hungrily. He then removes his hand from your mouth and meets your gaze giving you a knowing look. Nodding, he finds your tossed aside and wet panties and puts them in your mouth forcing you to be silent.

“Good girl,” he growls and presses a finger into your weeping hole, keeping your mounted leg on top of his shoulder. He’s finger and tongue fucking you with earnest. His vermillion eyes see your blissed out face and he wants to keep that face engrained in his memory as the thought of graduation looms in his mind. He doesn’t want this, what you two have, to end.

But that’s not something he would openly and readily admit to you.

Bakugou can feel your orgasm coming as the pads of his fingers rub at your insides vigorously. You feel it too, but with your mouth covered you can’t say anything. “Come on baby girl, squirt all over my face like the slut you are.” Your eyes roll and your hips move in time with his fingers as pleasure and your orgasm floods your senses. You feel empty as Bakugo removes himself from your dripping hole and empty in terms of your feelings. You had been wracking your brain around whatever it was the two of you had but suddenly it got to be too much for you. You feel his lips covered in your release being placed on yours as you eagerly kiss him back. You feel his hands grip your waist and a moment of hope enters your heart, but quickly leaves when he’s straightening himself out.

Bakugou hears the voices of his classmates approaching the closet near their shared classroom. He whispers to you, “Hey, get yourself cleaned up and presentable. Class is gonna start in five. Leave a little after me – “

“Is this all I am to you?”

He finally turns to meet your face, not seeing the usual satisfied face you always give him after these sessions. He sees something different, and he’s not ready for it. “What the hell are you talking about?”

You readjust your skirt after dealing with your stained underwear. “I mean this,” you gesture between the two of you. “Us. All I am to you is a way for you to unleash and let go.” You pause but quickly add, “not including this because all you did was eat me out…”

The blond is shocked. You want to have this talk now? Before afternoon classes start? He was hoping to push this back as far as he could but he was never one to shy away from a battle.

He lets his anger subside for the moment. “So that’s it then, huh? You’re just someone I fuck on the side, yeah?”

You didn’t expect him to say those words so harshly to you. However, you didn’t think he would be so blunt about it. Now here you are, struggling to keep your tears in standing in a goddamn utility closet with the guy you thought had feelings for you too. There’s no way his words have a double meaning to them right?

“Yeah,” you sniffle, “obviously that’s what I think. What the fuck else am I supposed to think? You never wanna b-be seen with me alone in public! Bakugou, we’ve been at this for a year and I’m tired of putting my feelings to the side!” You stop to formulate your next words, knowing you’re running out of time.

“Why did you call me Bakugou.”

It wasn’t really a question.

“Oi, answer me!”

“I’m taking that sidekick gig in the States.”

Ruby eyes widen and his jaw softens. What Stateside gig are you talking about? You never mentioned leaving him.

“I wasn’t gonna take it but you changed my mind.”

Bakugou scoffs, “dumbass, how did I change your mind when this is the first I’m hearing of it?!”

You muster up your strength and yell, “because you didn’t love me back! I’m tired of being nothing to you and I want to be somewhere where I’m needed and wanted for more than just my body.”

You open the door to the closet first and walk out. You use the sleeve of your uniform jacket to rub at your eyes aggressively in an attempt to look better for class. It’s not long before you hear heavy footsteps behind you.

“I’m not done talking to you! Why didn’t you tell me you were thinking of leaving?”

You can feel his steely gaze on you but you press forward. “Why would it matter,” you hiss, “I’m just your fuck buddy right?”

“God, fuck would you let me talk?!” He reaches out and grabs your arm, swiftly spinning you around.

“Let me go,” you hiss.

“Not until you hear what I have to say”

“Let. Me. Go.”

“Not until you hear what I have to say!”

“Bakugou, (L/n). Get to class.”

The two of you were interrupted by your teacher, Aizawa, arriving at your homeroom late as well. You bow and mutter an apology and hurry behind your tired looking teacher. You’d be dumb to not feel the growing anger coming from the blond behind you as you two walk inside. You storm to your desk in the back and sulk into your chair. You do your best to ignore the crimson eyes eyeing you every now and then from the front of the class.

**************

The rest of the day went on but you barely registered it. There was something about the ceremony in a months time and final grades but your head wasn’t all there. Your mind was occupied by the blond who pretty much lived there. But not for long.

How long could you keep up ignoring the man that you’ve held feelings for since you met in your first year? You saw him grow and evolve, publicly and privately. You thought you two were endgame, with the way he had previously talked of the future with you. But he never touched you around your friends, never said you were more than just friends to all of them despite all the sneaking around. But enough was enough. You deserved better, and honestly so did he.

Bakugou could get any woman he wanted but he chose you. Why? It didn’t make sense and this late in the game it didn’t matter. You’re too wrapped in your thoughts as you approach your dorm that you don’t hear your name being called.

“(Y/n).”

It isn’t until the blond places his hand on your shoulder that you’re jerked out of your rampant thoughts. Your eyebrows raise and then furrow at him. He’s so close to you, you can smell his musk and the tinge of arousal from your earlier escapade. His lips just waiting to be kissed.

“Can we please talk?”

You huff and cast your eyes downward. “Isn’t that what we’re doing?”

He’d always liked your quick wit and sass, but right now he wanted, no needed to be serious with you. “Shut it brat. Inside?”

He motions toward your door and like clockwork, you let him in and he’s standing in the middle of the room while you’re on your bed. You cross your arms to hide the building anxiety and cease your shaking. “So?” You question, “what is it you wanna talk about?”

Bakugo has his hands in his pocket and you can make out the fists his making. This isn’t going to be easy for him. Good, you think.

You’re still waiting for an answer while he just stands there ruminating. The silence is killing you. “Damnit Bakugou! You can’t just demand to come in here and then say nothing! All of this is your fault you know!”

That got to him. “How the hell is it my fault, eh?! I thought you were fine with our arrangement.”

“God, you really don’t know women and you sure as hell don’t know me. You were the only person I had eyes for! The only one who could fuck me raw and then make me feel like I was invincible. It was only you Bakugou,” you voice tapers off as you cry for the second time today. “You were all I wanted, the only one I had feelings for and you didn’t care!”

“(Y/n)…”

“What,” you continue, “am I being too loud that others will hear? You never wanted anyone to know you were spending time with me! How is that supposed to make anyone feel? Especially if that person means the world to you?!”

A tense and eerie silence befalls upon you two. There’s never a tense silence between you, usually there’s some sound, whether it be him teasing you over grades or him teasing you in bed there was never silence.

“Just tell me that all we had was nothing so then I can move on.”

For the last time you met his eyes. His red, emotionless eyes.

“We were nothing.”

****************

Bakugou had never been one to shy away from a battle, even a losing one. He walked back to his dorm room defeated, but also the victor. He knew of your feelings and how they had developed.

But you didn’t know about his.

Bakugou is a man who doesn’t half ass anything and he proved it to you whenever you were together. He knew his feelings for you were real when he wanted to punch Kirishima for going too hard on you in training when you had been having a rough time. He knew when you would be cuddling together after some rough sex in his bed and he didn’t want you to leave. But he knew better than to keep you for himself.

You are someone who belonged to the world.

He knew of your incredible brain and potential and that any agency would be stupid to not have you. So when you two were having pillow talk and you mentioned offers from other countries he knew what he had to do. He knew he had to break your heart. You couldn’t stay in Japan for him in order to really hone your skills and succeed in this messed up and changing hero society. And he knew you would drop all of those abroad offers to be with him.

He couldn’t let you do that. Bakugou knew he couldn’t be the reason why you didn’t reach your full potential. So he pushed you away; said things that he knew would hurt you despite how wrong they were. He wanted everyone to know you were his and that no one could have you. However, he also knew that you didn’t love half-heartedly and that you would have done anything for him.

So as he cries in his dorm knowing full well he’s lost you for good, he’s happy and excited to see the way you’re going to change the world.

You are the love of his life after all, and Bakugou always and only accepts nothing but the best.

The diner is open

#the diner #answered #bakugous-mamas #anon ask #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugou x you #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #my writing #i did the thing

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chillassimagines · 4 years ago

Text

Pause - Peter Hale Smut

(REQUESTED)

“You available?” You asked in a rushed tone as you held the phone to your ear.

“Um, yeah, I’ve got time. Are you alright?” You bit the inside of your cheek to prevent tears from running down your face.

“I uh...whoo! This is rough, um...fuck. Okay, so, I may or may not be in heat, and...it makes me emotional sometimes, because I’m single and I...I need someone to fuck my brains out.” You prayed to god he didn’t judge you, because you were already parked across the street from his house. A long silence followed over the line.

“Y/N, do you have the right number?” You rolled your eyes and huffed.

“Yes, Peter, I have the right fucking number.” You smacked your hand against the steering wheel, accidentally honking. A shorter silence followed.

“Come inside.” You hung up and placed your phone in your purse before grabbing it and exiting your car. He might’ve been watching you cross the street, but you had no idea, because you kept your head down and focused on the gravel instead of your bubbling heat inside of your body. You opened the door to his home and closed it behind you. You slipped off your shoes slowly to be able to hear where he was.

You left your purse on a side table by your shoes and made your way upstairs to where his heartbeat was coming from.

“Hey, Peter.” He looked over from the window to you with a hint of concern on his face.

“Sit.” He pointed to the sofa across from where he sat and you followed his direction immediately. You couldn’t sit still as you anxiously twiddled your fingers around.

“I understand if you want me to leave, I just couldn’t take it anymore, and I thought that you’d be more likely to-”

“Pause.” He commanded. You quickly shut your mouth and looked down at your hands. “You just asked me to “fuck your brains out” and now you’re sitting there like a kicked puppy?” You swallowed and nodded.

“Sorry...I-I don’t even know what I was thinking.” You had half a mind to get up, walk out, and avoid Peter until the day you died.

“Yeah, you didn’t know what you were thinking. You came over here thinking that I wouldn’t question this?” You bit the inside of your cheek again, inwardly cursing yourself because you didn’t feel the need to cry.

“I mean, I don’t know. Part of me was just...hopeful, that you’d just run with it. It’s obvious I shouldn’t be here, so I’ll just go.” You stood up and went to leave.

“Sit. Down.” You kept your eyes on your feet as they widened like saucers. You slowly sat down in your previous spot, making no attempt to look up.

“Okay.” You whispered and your hands squeezed around your kneecaps nervously.

“This can’t be off of an impulse. How long?”

“How long what?”

“How long have you craved me?” Crave? Such a...primal word. It was a question that was hard to answer.

“Um...I don’t exactly know? Maybe a long time. Maybe um, I should probably leave.” You moved an inch before you heard a growl. You pushed yourself back onto the sofa quickly.

“A long time is, well, a long time to wait. You have that patience I’ve noticed, since I met you. Do you have endurance, though? Stamina?”

What the fuck is he talking about?

“I mean, I guess. Peter, what do you want from me?” You felt his hand at your jaw which caught you way off guard.

“No no no, princess. What do you want from me?” He lifted your face up so you were forced to look into his blue eyes. “C’mon, tell me again, what it is that you desire?” His voice carried a light tone, but the words held something much darker.

“Fuck my brains out.” His lips quirked up slightly.

“Who?” You couldn’t breathe.

“You, Peter.” He gripped your waist with his other hand to bring you to your feet and press you against him. You took a sharp inhale of breath at the motion.

“You listen so well. Can you feel me? Can you feel how long I’ve patiently waited for you?” His hold on your jaw became slightly tighter as you could feel his hardness press up against your aching core.

“Y-Yes.” You whimpered, feeling the heat boiling your skin. Peter leaned in and merely rubbed his lips against yours.

“I’ve craved you, Y/N. Not just these soft lips, not just your heat crying for me...” His hand moved from your waist to your ass, rubbing you against his length. You were fucking speechless. “but your soul, your heart, and I need you to promise me that it can all be mine.” You had absolutely no idea that Peter could be so passionate, or that he felt this way.

“I-I promise. I promise.” As you spoke your lips rubbed once more against his and they sent tingles down your spine everytime they grazed.

“Then that’s all I ask of you. Are you prepared?” Prepared? He’s gonna rock your whole world.

“I hope so.” You leaned up to press your mouths together for the first time and it was like unleashing a fire. You wrapped your arms around his his mid section and let your hands grip him by his shoulder blades. He urged your body to follow his as he backed up to an unknown destination. You literally followed blindly, allowing yourself to be consumed by his lips.

“I can’t imagine that you’re cold.” Peter spoke breathlessly, separating his mouth from yours. You smiled and shook your head no. His hands removed your shirt from your body and then his. You occupied yourself by removing your pants and unzipped his.

“Peter, they’re too tight.” You complained about his jeans. You noticed the destination was his bedroom, so you invited yourself to lay back on his bed. He shook his head with a chuckle as he peeled his jeans off.

“You give up too easy, princess.” He crawled onto the bed and you opened your propped up knees. He caresses your knees and moved down to your thighs. He lifted a leg onto his bare shoulder to softly kiss it. “I won’t allow that any further.” Your heart accelerated at that statement. You couldn’t take the sudden overwhelming tightness of your bra, so you took it upon yourself to remove it while he graced your thigh with his mouth.

“Maybe if you sped up this pace.” You grasped your breasts in your hands as he finally looked down at you.

“You might regret that.” He grasped your other thigh and flipped you onto your stomach. You gasped as your world literally spun. Your leg was extended back to Peter’s shoulder still. He ran his hand up your thigh to your dampened panties. You directed your gaze down to his hand as a nail extended out. He ran it right down the middle of your underwear, tearing it in half.

“Peter.” You said, very shocked by the action. His nails retracted as you watched him insert two fingers inside of you making your eyes roll back. “Fuck, Peter.” You whined out at his slow proceedings.

“Your patience must have been used all up on waiting to come to me. You’ve deprived yourself of our natural instinct, princess...that’s not fair to your tight, hot, wet, body.” He thrusts his fingers harshly inside of you as he describes your current state, making you let out a long moan.

“I’m sorry...I did, I did.” You dug your nails into the bed while grinding back into his fingers.

“You want my forgiveness, beautiful girl?” He leaned over you to whisper in your ear while driving his fingers into your core relentlessly.

“Yes, please, Peter! Forgive me, please!” You cried, needing to feel him inside of you.

“Since you said please...” He snatched his fingers from your warm grasp to place them on your clit. Moments later you felt him threatening to enter your walls. You whimpered and pressed your sweaty forehead into the mattress. “You’re mine.”

“Oh my god!” Your back was forced to arch, your breasts were pinned against the bed, and he was finally inside of you. His grunts were muffled as he bit onto your shoulder. The hand that wasn’t holding him up grabbed you by your neck to lift your head up from the covers. You could feel his scruff scratching against your cheek as your bodies moved in sync.

You brought a hand away from the bed to press his cheek against yours. His possessive growls were aimed directly into your ear canal and seemed to be amplified that way. Your heat was building a storm inside of you and you could feel it in your belly.

“Peter...I’m gonna-ahh!” His grip on your neck tightened and you couldn’t finish your sentence.

“No patience, princess. I’ll have to show it to you next time. Give it to me, then.” He growled in your ear, his pace never faltering. You felt your claws begging to extend, so you removed them from his face and dug them into his shoulder.

“Peter Hale!” You cried, seeing white as you released around him. You felt the pressure of him releasing inside of you shortly after, but you barely noticed it as you let your upper body fully collapse onto the bed. Peters gently pulled out of you and turned you over to place you onto his chest.

“Get some rest for a bit, I’m sure the heat isn’t over yet.” He spoke softly, running his fingers affectionately through your hair repeatedly. You smiled up at him before letting your naked bodies blend into what seemed like one safe space.

#imagines #one shots #smut #peter hale smut #peter hale #peter hale teen wolf #teen wolf #teen wolf smut #peter hale x reader #teen wolf imagines #teen wolf peter #peter hale imagine #ian bohen #ian bohen smut

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babbushka · 4 years ago

Note

For the latest promts: 7. "I'm gonna be so late but the thought of not tasting you right this very second just might kill me." and/or 45. "I can't stop thinking about your mouth, and it's driving me nuts." for bond villain kylo, pretty please?

Happy Thanksgiving weekend!! Would you please consider this for Bond Villain Kylo? Please and thank you very much for doing a sinday! 19. "I'm sorry I keep staring, but you're really the hottest thing I've ever seen in my entire life and I don't know what to do about it."

Hello dearest! Wanted to stop by since requests are open and politely ask for a prompt of any of the boys (though i think mob/bondvillan kylo and pale work best) meeting the reader in a lil’ burlesque place, yknow havin a little jessica rabbit moment! Or just something along those lines! Thank you! ✨❤️

2k, minor angst, NSFW (pussy eatin’ & fingering)

He’s got to be here somewhere, you’re sure of it. Kylo Ren, what an enigma of a man, you think as you walk with purpose through the lounge. This was one of those places where criminals of his ilk came to unwind, dark and out of the way from prying eyes. Women and men in risqué costumes performing strictly choreographed numbers for the enjoyment of the wealthiest people in the world, unlimited drinks on a tab that half these criminals never even looked at, and thick steak dinners galore.

You’re watching the end of one of the performances now, politely clapping when the women take a gracious bow. You’re here on an intel mission for someone completely and totally unrelated to your Mr. Ren.

But just because you weren’t here for him, didn’t mean you wouldn’t find him.

Or rather, that he wouldn’t find you.

“What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” Speak of the devil, there’s Kylo now, sidling up right next to you in the cozy circle booth you’ve nestled yourself into.

You try not to look at him, because you’re still angry about Paris. Well, maybe angry is the wrong word, but you don’t want to think about the emotional implications of the right word – hurt. Being hurt meant you cared, and you can’t think about how treasonous it is, that you care for him.

“Enjoying the view, what else?” You say instead, sipping your drink to give you something to do. Or at least, pretending to sip your drink. A man at the bar had purchased it for you and you didn’t trust it one bit, but it wouldn’t do to anger a known criminal, so, you’re pretending.

Kylo smirks at your subtle gesture, waves the waiter over. He orders you a proper drink, slips the waiter a hundred, and within two minutes you have a fresh martini passed straight from the bartender to your palm.

Looking around to make sure no one is paying attention to you, you lean in and press a chaste kiss to Kylo’s lips, a silent thank you for always looking out for you. Even if you were still angry.

“I knew you were here the second you walked through the door.” Kylo breaks the silence, lights up a cigarette. The lounge is smoky already, what was one more puff?

“Oh you did, did you.” You muse, running the tip of your finger around the rim of the glass.

“Mhm,” Kylo leans in, his lips tickling your earlobe, his nose brushing against your cheekbone as he murmurs, “I could smell your perfume. You’re wearing the one I left you in Paris.”

“Yes, remember how you left me in Paris?” You bite back, bitterness stinging the back of your throat at the reminder.

The reminder of how he had taken you on a whirlwind vacation for what was supposed to be a week, but four whole days in with no warning, snuck out in the middle of the night off to do his dastardly deeds. You had woken up confused and upset that he would just disappear without a trace so early, and you’re still confused. Still upset.

Kylo’s eyes are soft, the lights up on the stage twinkling and blinking gently as the new number starts, a slow song sung by one of the performers.

“Don’t be sour, I’m here now aren’t I?” He reaches for your hand, and against your better judgement, you let him take it.

The woman sings in a smooth beautiful Italian that has the audience captivated. Your brain very passively translates, but you’re not paying that much attention. She’s gorgeous, the type of pretty that makes your stomach hurt, you think. You wonder if Kylo’s thinking it too.

When you spare a glance his way, you find that he’s got all eyes on you.

“Knock it off.” You bite back a grin, pleased to see that he’s so enthralled. He blushes, ducks his head bashfully.

"I'm sorry I keep staring, but you're really the hottest thing I've ever seen in my entire life and I don't know what to do about it." Kylo whispers, and it’s like the pain in your chest from Paris has vanished, replaced with the longing you have for him…the desire you have for him.

“I think you know exactly what you’re going to do about it.” You whisper back, licking your lips slowly, purposefully.

Kylo looks up then to check the coast being clear, and then presses a kiss to your cheek.

“Count to ten, then meet me in one of the red rooms.” He says, and then he’s away from your side, disappearing into the dark.

They’re the longest ten seconds of your life, but you wait for them to pass, before you too are leaving your table and the drink behind. You weave through the lounge a different way than he had, just so it wouldn’t be too obvious. Down the back hallway and to the private rooms your feet carry you – and when a strong hand grasps at your arm when you pass one of the red doors, you know you don’t have to be afraid.

Kylo is kissing you, walking you backwards the moment he catches you, and you let him. Your arms wind around his strong shoulders, your feet step out of their heels, your eyes slipping closed. It feels so right to have him like this, to have him right here in your arms where he belongs. It’s a dangerous thought, but it floods through you anyway, the relief of holding him this close.

“I can’t stop thinking about your mouth, it’s driving me insane.” Kylo chuckles against your lips, and you grin, your ego stoked. Knowing you’re on his mind is intoxicating, and it’s good payback for all the space he occupies in your brain.

“Have your fill of me.” You encourage him, the back of your knees bumping against the nicely made bed. You sit right there on the edge, tugging him down down down with you, your tongues sliding together, mouths parting, lips panting and gasping against each other.

“Lay down?” Kylo murmurs, already loosening his bowtie.

“We can’t have sex here.” You shake your head regrettably, but he waves the thought off. He wouldn’t fuck you in a place like this.

“No, no I know -- just let me eat your pussy for a little while, please?” His eyes are so big and pleading, brown in the low light of the red room. He throws a look to the clock on the wall and sighs, “I have a meeting and I'm going to be so late but the thought of not tasting you right this very second just might kill me.”

You roll your eyes and bite your lip with fond exasperation, before falling backwards the rest of the way onto the mattress and letting him kneel in front of you.

He pushes the skirt of your cocktail gown up, his strong arms slipping around your thighs as he nuzzles his cheek against your skin. He kisses and sucks a little trail to your folds, tugging aside your panties just enough that he can swipe his tongue through you, licking up your slick and juices.

“Fuck, that’s good.” You moan with a happy sigh as he plunges his tongue into your cunt, thrusting shallowly as his nose rubs and teases at your clit, “Oh god Kylo – your tongue.”

You can feel him smiling against you, a smile that turns into a great big grin when you tighten a fist in his hair, your back and hips arching up into his mouth. He sucks and licks at your pussy, one of his hands holding your lips open, making out with you and sending jolting shivers of pleasure up your spine. Your head is fuzzy in the best way, and you let out a gentle gasp when he pulls away enough just to fit two fingers into your cunt, tongue lapping up around them.

“You’re so sweet,” Kylo murmurs, kisses your inner thigh, the pad of his thumb pressing down on your clit and stimulating it while his fingers crook inside of you, stretching you wider to take more of his tongue. It’s long, and he has every intention of making you come on it. “Angel, baby girl, this pussy’s so sweet. Like wine, summer wine.”

“More, I want more.” You card your fingers through his hair while your chest heaves, nipples stiff inside your bra, the friction only making your pussy wetter for him. You whimper and whine, lipstick smudging from how often you lick your lips.

“Shh, shh angel, relax for me.” Kylo soothes you, speeding his fingers up some more, spreading them in little scissoring motions, thrusting them in and out of you.

It isn’t long before he replaces those fingers with his tongue again, the hot wet muscle spelling out his name against your walls, making you sweat, making your toes curl. You hold him in place, refusing to lessen your grip, wanting him to drown in your cunt. He chuckles, the sound deep and vibrating up into your very being, ricocheting through your bones, as your pleasure mounts and mounts and mounts -- until you’re coming into his mouth with a moan.

Kylo drinks you down, until he’s sure that you’re finished, your body shuddering and jolting gently on top of the covers. He cleans you up with his mouth, sucking your oversensitive skin until that slippery slide of slick is gone.

“Do you really have a meeting?” You breathe, chest aching.

That’s how this went, wasn’t it? You meet up, you fool around, and then someone leaves. More often than not, it’s him, that’s how it goes. That was the very nature of the relationship and it worked…didn’t it?

A small voice in the back of your head was starting to pipe up and quietly say, no, it wasn’t. But what you want, you can’t have, not yet anyway.

“Yes.” Kylo sounds regretful, and you wonder if he’s got the same thoughts in his head, the same voice egging him on, telling him to leave everything behind and run off with you, the way yours does every day now. He doesn’t say it, if there is. Instead he caresses your cheek with a sweaty palm and reassures you with, “Don’t worry, I’ll find you after.”

“I might not stick around.” You challenge, stretching the stiffness out of your legs, easing them back down into a more relaxed pose.

“There isn’t anywhere that you could go, where I wouldn’t follow.” Kylo says seriously, the kind of seriousness that he doesn’t often show you, let alone in moments like these.

“That’s creepy.” You reply, just to lighten the mood.

It works, he chuffs out a laugh and rolls his eyes.

“No, it’s romantic.” He counters, only to be met with a raise of your brow. He puts his hands up in surrender, amending, “For us, anyway.”

“Go to your meeting.” You nudge him with your foot, not wanting him to go at all.

He can tell, you know he can, with the way he hesitates. You shoo him playfully, and eventually, he steps into the bathroom to wipe off his chin, wash his hands. You listen to the water run, and think about how domestic of a sound that is, how domestic it could be.

But neither of you were domestic, an agent and her criminal, and so when Kylo steps back into the red room and lingers in the doorframe, when he smiles at you with his bowtie all crooked, you’re not too sour. You get up off the bed on shaky legs and make your way to him, undoing and retying the bowtie so it’s perfectly presentable, and he kisses you sweetly.

It’s just like he said, he’ll always find you, and you’re certain that you’ll be visited by him again real real soon.

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren/reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren/you #kylo ren smut #kylo ren imagine #adam driver character #adam driver fanfiction #james bond au #bond villain!kylo #007!reader

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jenanigans1207 · 4 years ago

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Castle of Cards [Renga]

I said I wasn’t gonna post this on here because formatting on Tumblr is so obnoxious now, but I figure I might as well. So here’s my fix-it fic to ep 9 (so, spoilers!) where Langa and Reki finally talk it out and Reki gets the gd hug he deserves!

-- x

Everyone is looking at him.

They’re looking and pointing, whispering words behind their hands. Some are even outright shouting congratulations to him, though he barely hears it. He may respond absently, he’s not honestly sure. His brain is too occupied with one thing and one thing only, leaving no space for any of this. Compared to what he’s dealing with currently, his win against Joe barely even exists in his mind right now— it’s certainly not something he would call important currently. The words Adam, Snow, and Eve follow him around, rippling in his wake as he makes his way through the crowd. The voices all blend together, background noise to him at most.

None of them are the voice he’s looking for, the voice he needs to hear.

None of them are Reki.

“Excuse me.” Langa’s at the gate now, and he’s not really sure why. But he’s looked everywhere else and he hasn’t been able to locate Reki, so he’s running out of options and feeling a little more desperate with each passing second, with each face he sees that still isn’t Reki’s.

“Oh, Snow.” The guard glances up at him, surprised. “That was an amazing race.”

“Thanks.” Langa says absentmindedly. He glances around one more time, but no faces jump out at him. “Have you seen a red headed guy? About my age?”

“Oh, yeah.” The guard nods, his gaze far away as if he’s remembering. “He left a little while ago.”

“Left?” Langa echoes, hollow inside. He can feel his heart pounding against his ribs like drums, can feel the way he’s only a few beats away from having his ribs crack open entirely, bleeding all of these emotions out for the world to see. “Is he coming back?”

“Well, considering the fact that he gave me this,” The guard digs around in his pocket for a moment before holding his hand out between them, an S pin catching the light in his palm. “I’m going to say no.”

For a moment, everything stops. It’s just Langa and the pin, staring at each other while Langa tries to make sense of what he’s seeing. Cold dread seeps into his veins, spreading to the tips of his fingers and toes. The pin glistens in the light, bright and beautiful, just like it had so many times when it had been attached to Reki’s collar. It had caught Langa’s eye so many times, been the thing he chose to stare at when he couldn’t stare directly at Reki any longer for fear of something stupid coming out of his mouth. He knew that pin almost as well as he knew Reki.

But no, it must’ve been some other red headed guy.

The pin must belong to someone else. There’s no way it’s Reki’s pin.

It was true that Reki and Langa weren’t on the best terms, but Reki would never give up his pass to S. Just the mere thought of it sits wrong in Langa’s chest, makes him feel a little sideways. He almost wants to laugh bitterly at himself for even considering it. He knows that Reki would never. If there was one fundamental thing about Reki that could never change, it was his love for all things skating— and that certainly included S. Langa remembers the first time Reki had told him about S, the way his whole face had lit up. He can still feel Reki’s hand on his shoulder as he’d shook Langa, insisting that Langa should be more excited for such an honor.

Reki would give up breathing before he would give up S. Langa was sure of it.

“Oh.” He finally says dumbly. “That must be someone else.”

“No,” The guard shakes his head, seemingly unaware of the turmoil slowly starting to stir in Langa’s stomach, unaware of the ice in his heart, chilling him to the bone. “It was definitely that guy you usually show up with. Took me a minute to recognize him without that headband, but it was definitely him.”

It feels like the entire world is ripped out from underneath Langa’s feet.

Suddenly he’s free falling, plummeting towards some dark future that he wants nothing to do with and there doesn’t seem to be a way to slow it down. Suddenly he’s a million miles from Reki, on the other side of a divide he had unknowingly dug. Everything he knew seemed to be flipped on its head, the chilling realization that he didn’t know Reki as well as he thought— that he had hurt Reki far deeper than he’d realized— was freezing him to his spot. Everything he believed in, everything he held close to his heart, every touch, glance, smile— all of it, stripped away from him.

Langa stares at the pin like it might tell him that this is some practical joke, that Reki is just trying to teach him a lesson. Dear God, he’ll learn the lesson. He’ll do anything if it gets Reki to come back.

Because Reki had been here. He’d been here, despite the fact that he’d been avoiding Langa and insisting that he didn’t want anything to do with this tournament. He’d been here and he’d cheered Langa on, because he was Reki and that meant he was incapable of not being there for the people that mattered to him. Even lost in thought as he’d been, Langa had recognized Reki’s voice instantly. He’d always recognize Reki’s voice— he’d recognize anything about Reki. His voice, his laugh, his footfalls, even the sound of his ragged breathing after an afternoon practicing a new trick— Langa was in tune with all things Reki.

Or, he had thought that he was. He’d thought that he knew Reki better than anyone else but suddenly he’s staring down at Reki’s most prized possession, Reki nowhere to be found, feeling his heart crack open in his chest. Somewhere things went wrong, they got off track and suddenly fell out of step with each other. All this time, Langa had been looking to Reki to lead him, to show him what was next, to step into another adventure at his side. All this time it had been them . But now it was just him . And even though he was in the center of a crowd that kept repeating his name, Langa had never felt more alone.

“Can I take that?” Langa asks after a silence that has stretched so long it has become awkward. “He’s just having a bad day. He’ll want it back when he’s feeling better.”

The words don’t sound quite right and they taste a little bitter on his tongue, as if the words themselves know that they’re a lie, but Langa ignores that. He wills it to be the truth, to give him some hope to cling to. He needs that right now. Because if he doesn’t at least have hope that he’ll be able to get Reki back, he has absolutely nothing . Not even the board Reki made him, not anymore.

The guard shrugs and deposits the pin in Langa’s hand. It’s cold to the touch but still something inside of him burns. “Technically I should say no, but I’ve seen him around here for years. I know he’s a good kid. So, go for it.”

Someone arrives at the gate then and the guard bids Langa farewell, unaware of just how much his words sting. He’s seen Reki around here for years— yeah, that sounds like Reki. The Reki that Langa knows, the Reki he had been thinking about at dinner with his mom a few days ago when he first mentioned that Reki was avoiding him. That sounded like the Reki that shined brighter than the sun and dragged Langa out of the dark hole that his life had become.

Because Langa had moved here with nothing but his mom. He’d lost his dad, he’d given up snowboarding and then lost the possibility of picking it back up. He’d moved here without knowing a single soul outside of his family and he’d assumed that his life would just remain bleak and boring for— well, indefinitely, really. And then Reki had come dashing down the street, arm bandaged, yelling for Langa to catch his board before it got away and everything had changed. Langa’s fingers had closed around the board, he’d turned to meet Reki’s gaze and the entire trajectory of his future had shifted in that exact moment. He was completely sure of it— that was the moment that everything in his life had changed. That was the moment he found a purpose again. And more than that, he’d found someone to share it with.

Langa shoves the pin deep in his pocket because he can’t bear to look at it any longer. It’s bad enough that he has to carry around the splintered halves of his skateboard, he didn’t need another reminder staring back at him.

Something was happening in the distance, Langa didn’t really know what, he wasn’t paying attention. All he knew was that the crowd seemed to have finally moved on from talking about him and he was grateful for the peace because right now he wanted to be with Reki. And if he couldn’t be with Reki, he wanted to be alone.

-- x

He’s careless as he rips the posters off of his wall, tearing them irreparably down the middle.

Not that it matters.

Not that anything matters.

Reki doesn’t turn his bedroom light on as he shreds the posters in his hands, throwing crumpled bits of them on the ground. What’s the point in having his room decorated in skating memorabilia if he wasn’t going to be skating anymore? Because that was really the only option that he could see, that’s what today had made clear to him.

He didn’t want to be standing in the crowd, watching Langa reach new heights. He didn’t want to see Langa’s back . He wanted to be by Langa’s side, in the center of his circle. He wanted to be in Langa’s heart . But Langa was out of reach now— too high in the sky, surrounded by too many adoring fans, up on a pedestal that Reki could never climb, no matter how hard he tried. He wanted to skate, but he wanted to skate with Langa. And since that goal was officially unreachable, well, he didn’t see the point in skating at all.

What fun was there left in it when he would always have an empty place by his side? Where was he supposed to find the joy when he didn’t have Langa there to cheer him on, to clap him on the shoulder or high five him in congratulation when Reki finally landed a trick he’d been practicing? What enjoyment was left for him if he was just going to be eating lunch alone in the middle of the day, a million thoughts on his mind and nobody to share them with?

Because the truth that he’d been trying to avoid for the last few weeks was that he absolutely couldn’t find someone else to share this with. Not the way he shared it with Langa, anyways. There was never going to be someone else that he had that connection with, someone else who walked into his life and just stayed like it was the only place they could possibly imagine being. He hadn’t known it when Langa had introduced himself to their class that first day, but Langa was a missing piece to Reki’s heart, something to complete him and make him feel whole again. Langa challenged him and took him to new heights and for the longest time, Reki had thought that Langa would wait for him, that he wouldn’t try to hit a new level until Reki met him on the one he was at.

Because for a while, it had been okay that Langa was naturally talented and unbelievably amazing because he stayed in stride with Reki. It had been okay that Langa could fly higher than Reki, because it gave Reki something to strive for, a goal to reach. And the whole time, Langa stayed there, encouraging him and cheering him on, laughing with him and offering a hand to hoist him up from the ground when he fell. It was okay that Langa was ahead because he was still there — bright and beautiful, always within Reki’s reach.

He wasn’t within Reki’s reach anymore.

But there was something about Langa, something about the way he fit perfectly into the cracks of Reki’s heart that made Reki absolutely certain that he couldn’t share his passion with anyone else the same way. He’d always have a hollow spot throbbing in his heart whenever he touched a skateboard. That was the real reason he hadn’t skated since their fight. Every time he touched his board, he just felt the ache of loneliness that came with Langa’s absence. Somewhere along the way skating had stopped being his thing and instead had become their thing. But since there was no longer a them , Reki didn’t feel like he could find a home inside skating again.

And that hurt more than Reki had thought anything could.

In the matter of a few weeks he had lost his best friend and his passion, and they weren’t even stolen from him. Langa had willingly walked away, had known that he was breaking his promise to Reki and had chosen to go along with it anyways. Langa had given up on Reki and now Reki was left with no choice but to give up on skating. Because the idea of giving up on Langa hurt even worse, somehow, and a small piece of his shattered heart harbored hope that Langa would come back.

Reki sinks down to the floor, curling in on himself and pressing his forehead against the wall, torn skating posters grasped loosely in his palms.

All this time he had felt like he and Langa were creating a castle together, a place to rule over their shared passion. But now that Reki was alone— well and truly alone, not even the presence of his S badge to keep him company— he realized that it was nothing more than a Castle of Cards and it was collapsing around him.

-- x

The problem with doing the right thing is that right now, Langa doesn’t know what the right thing is.

He had been trying to give Reki the space he seemed like he wanted the last few weeks, trying to stay within Reki’s orbit without forcing Reki to interact with him if he didn’t want. But that hadn’t worked because suddenly Reki seemed even further away than he had before. But if Reki really didn’t want to talk to him— and that certainly seemed to be the case— Langa didn’t want to corner him.

He looks down at the broken board in his hands and thinks that it’s the perfect representation of everything Reki in his life right now— shattered completely and something Langa has no idea how to handle.

Words have never been his forte. And it’s true that Reki is usually able to read between the lines or connect the dots to Langa’s point if he mixes some of his thoughts together, but this isn’t the kind of thing he wants Reki to have to parse. This is something he needs to say to Reki, clearly and succinctly because anything else risks him losing Reki forever.

And if he loses Reki forever— he loses skating forever, too. Because he can’t skate without Reki there, cheering him on. He doesn’t find joy in it unless he has Reki, that much has become abundantly clear in his last few trips to S.

That, he knows, is the whole problem. It took him too long to realize that the thing he was chasing had in fact been next to him the entire time. It took him too long to realize that the feeling he was addicted to wasn’t the feeling of going fast, but instead the feeling of Reki’s belief in him, the warmth of Reki’s friendship and unwavering support. The thing he had gotten so lost in was Reki, not skateboarding, and he didn’t make that connection until it was too late.

And Reki— Reki was really good at keeping a straight face, at pretending he was okay when he wasn’t. Because Langa had been blind sided by Reki walking out of his life. He’d had maybe one hint that Reki wasn’t feeling himself and then suddenly the bridge between them was on fire and Langa didn’t have any water with him. He’d been forced to stand there as it charred to bits and now— now he had to find some other way across that gap. Because now he knew that it was Reki he needed, Reki he wanted. He knew it was Reki that meant more to him than anything else in his life ever had and he wasn’t going to let Reki go.

Slowly, and with far more effort than it should actually take, Langa peels himself off the ground. S had ended hours ago and everyone had scattered, but Langa hadn’t felt like going home. The sun was starting to rise over the horizon, just the tiniest hints of pink and yellow starting to paint the inky black sky. Another day dawning— another day without Reki if Langa didn’t do something. Another day of the thing he wants most slipping through his fingers.

With equal amounts of determination and fear, Langa takes off towards Reki’s house. He has no idea what he’s going to say, no idea what he’s going to do , but he can’t just sit around and do nothing anymore. He grips Reki’s S pin in one hand, clutching his broken board to his side with the other as he treads the familiar path to Reki’s house. He could walk there with his eyes closed if he wanted to, he’d been here so many times. It was like his feet knew the path on their own, like even lacking courage couldn’t stop him from going there because every fiber of who he was longed to see Reki, to be near him again. Every single cell in his body was screaming at him to get to Reki before it was too late and Reki was gone completely.

He rounded the last corner and came to a complete stop as he stumbled into Reki’s front yard, surprised to see Reki sitting on the front porch so early in the morning.

“Reki?”

Reki’s head whips up and he squints at Langa, the sun from behind Langa no doubt blinding him. “Langa? What are you doing?”

A lot of different thoughts swirl in Langa’s mind, the weight of both the pin and the board heavy in his hands as he tries to figure out where to start. Reki stares at him, still in the same hoodie he’d worn at S, his headband gone. His hair was longer than Langa had realized as it fell down around his face, framing his eyes and the unbearably sad expression on his face. He looked the way Langa’s heart feels— empty and void of any passion. The first thing Langa considers is just dropping everything and pulling Reki into a hug, but he’s not sure Reki would receive that willingly and he really doesn’t think he’d be able to handle Reki pushing him away.

“I—“ Langa glances down at his feet, at the board in his hand, the scrapes along his arms from when the board had broken and he’d fallen. If only this was as easy as a simple cut, if only this would heal with just a little time and tending to.

“What happened?” Reki asks and when Langa glances up at him, he sees Reki’s gaze focused on his board. There’s a sharp downturn at the corner of his mouth and Langa can’t tell if Reki is mad that he broke the board or not.

“Oh, it—“ Langa glances at the board, too. The board that Reki had made for him, the one that Reki had poured time and effort into. The board that allowed him to reach the heights he can now reach. “It snapped right after I crossed the finish line with Joe. I’m sorry, Reki, I didn’t mean to—“

Reki sighs and it sounds like he’s pulling the weight of it from the very depths of his bones. Langa worries for a moment that he’s going to collapse in on himself when he exhales because it sounds like he’s letting go of everything he is. “You need me to fix it for you?”

That startles Langa. Sure, when his board had first broken and Joe had suggested that he go back to Reki to fix it, Langa had assumed that Reki would. But something about finding out Reki had turned in his S pin had changed everything. If Langa’d had to guess before he got here how he thought Reki would react, he would’ve said that Reki would’ve staunchly refused to fix his board for him and shown him the door. It didn’t sound anything like Reki but then again, neither did giving up S and Reki had apparently done that.

“You would?”

Reki raises one shoulder in what Langa assumes is meant to be a shrug. “You can’t beat Adam otherwise.”

Each word is a knife straight to Langa’s heart and somehow, completely despite himself, he drops the board to the ground at his feet, his arm going limp. “Reki…”

Finally, Reki stands up from the porch and closes the distance between them. And even though he’s technically getting closer with every step he takes, Langa feels like Reki is being pulled further and further away from him. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? To beat Adam? You’ll need a board to do that.”

Slowly, and with far more care than it deserves, Reki picks the shattered pieces of the board up off of the ground. He stands up, just a few feet away from Langa, close enough that Langa could reach out and touch him if he wanted to— and Langa wants to. God he’s not sure he’s ever wanted something more in his life. He wants to touch Reki, to feel that Reki is really there, that Reki is real and beside him again, right where he belongs.

Because all along, it’s been Reki reaching out to Langa. It’s been Reki throwing his arm around Langa’s shoulders, pulling Langa close in celebration. It’s been Reki holding onto Langa, holding Langa together, dragging Langa forward. And then— and then the one time he’d reached for Reki first, Reki had shaken off his touch and left him standing under a street lamp in the rain.

And Langa really wants to reach for Reki, but he’s paralyzed by fear that Reki will shake him off again.

Pain courses through his body with every beat of his heart and suddenly Langa feels like he’s losing control. The unbearable agony of being this close to Reki and not being able to have him, to hold him, breaks Langa apart completely. “Why did you turn in your badge?”

Reki hears him, Langa knows he does. Because Reki has always heard him, has always been listening for him in the midst of everything. There’s never been anything that Langa has said that Reki hasn’t heard. But Reki ignores him. “I’m probably going to have to start from scratch.” He says instead, his gaze studiously focused on the board. But Langa sees the tight line of his jaw. “I don’t think I can repair this.”

“Reki—“

“Don’t worry,” Reki reassures even though they both know that Reki’s doing nothing but dodging the issue at hand. “I can have it done by the time you have your beef with Adam. I’ve already made it once so I know what it needs. Just give me a day or two.”

And then Reki turns to walk towards his garage as if he’s going to get started right away. Reki turns to walk towards his garage, away from Langa.

“Reki!” Completely out of his control, Langa’s hand shoots out and grabs Reki around the wrist, holding him in place. He holds as tightly as he can without hurting Reki, determined to not let him get away this time. “Reki, talk to me .”

Reki’s head is bowed and his shoulders are shaking and every already. Broken piece of Langa’s heart somehow manages to break further. “What do you want me to say, Langa?”

With a gentle tug, Langa turns Reki around so they’re facing each other again. He pulls Reki’s hand forward until it’s open in front of him and then he presses Reki’s S pin into his palm, staring with so much intensity it’s almost unbearable because Reki still won’t look at him. His fingers curl under Langa’s, wrapping around the pin as he scoffs, turning his head to the side.

“Why?” Langa presses, his hand still firm around Reki’s wrist. “Reki, why?”

When Reki finally raises his head, his eyes watery at the edges, Langa thinks he might just crumble completely, become a pile of broken dreams at Reki’s feet, waiting for a gentle wind to blow him away. “What purpose do I have there, Langa? I can’t keep up with everyone. I’m not—“ The words seem to lodge in Reki’s throat but he refuses to turn his burning gaze away this time. “I’m not good enough. There’s nothing there for me.”

“I’m there for you.” Langa replies with as much ferocity as he can manage. It sounds feeble, broken, like it’s two seconds away from collapsing entirely. “I’m there for you, Reki.”

“You’re there for Adam.” Reki practically spits Adam’s name, like it tastes bad on his tongue, like he can’t wait to get it away from him. Langa had known that Reki hated Adam, that Adam scared him and seemed dangerous but this— these emotions swirling around Reki’s words, hiding in the depths of his eyes— this was something more than that.

And this is it— the breaking point. This is the moment where Langa can either make or break everything they have between them. Every late night, every early morning, every band aid Reki has carefully put over his wounds have led to this moment. All the knowledge he has of Reki culminates to right now when he has to figure out exactly the right thing to say, has to figure out how to tell Reki what it is that he really feels. His mom had told him to just be honest with his feelings, but that was easier said than done. At the time he’d thought it would be embarrassing but now he’d willingly take embarrassment if it meant Reki would smile again.

How long has it been since he’s seen Reki smile? He feels like he’s being suffocated without it, like the happiness is slowly being drained away from him.

“I thought I was,” Langa begins and he sees Reki flinch away from him, sees the moment Reki tries to build those final walls between them. Holding Reki’s wrist the tiniest bit tighter, Langa rushes on, “But I was wrong. Reki I— I thought it was skating against Adam that made my heart race. I thought it was the speed. But it wasn’t.” Langa shakes his head and a few strands of hair fall into his eyes. This isn’t going how he wants it to, the words are getting all muddled in his head, lost somewhere between his mind and his tongue. “That’s— it’s not—“ He sighs.

But Reki is looking up at him again, his eyes wide and his mouth open like there’s a question poised on the tip of his tongue. There’s the tiniest flicker of hope, a small flame that needs fanning in Reki’s expression. “What?”

“These last few weeks, when you haven’t been there it hasn’t— it hasn’t felt the same.” Langa takes a deep breath and finally lets go of Reki. If he’s going to leave, at least he will have heard Langa out. That’s the most he can ask for. “It hasn’t been fun or exciting. Nothing about it has felt like it did before. Even when I was racing Joe earlier it didn’t— it didn’t mean anything to me until you cheered for me.”

“But…” Reki ducks his head and Langa swallows around the lump forming in his throat. “But you’re so talented.”

“So are you.”

“Not— not like you.” Reki’s loose hair falls even closer around his face as he shakes his head and Langa’s hands long to reach out and brush it away from his eyes.

“Reki, I can only skate because of you.” Carefully, Langa reaches out to place a hand gently on Reki’s shoulder. When Reki doesn’t shy away from the contact, a small piece of his heart repairs. “You taught me how to skate, you made me a board that I could use. All of my skating is thanks to you.”

And that, if nothing else, is the absolute truth.

“But—“

“I want to skate with you, Reki.” Langa emphasizes, the last truths rising to the light. If he’s going to do this, he might as well do it all the way. “I want it to be with you, not Adam. I don’t care about facing Adam if you’re not there with me. And I’m sorry that I made you think otherwise, I’m sorry that it took me so long to figure that out but— it’s not good if it’s not you, Reki.”

The silence that follows lasts long enough to become painful. The sun is rising behind him and the edges of Reki’s hair catch like fire in the sun, glowing and warm. He looks beautiful as he glances back up at Langa, those eyes watery again but full of so much emotion that Langa can finally recognize again.

“I want to skate with you, too, Langa.” Reki says finally, each word a balm on Langa’s battered soul.

“You do?”

“I thought— You were leaving me behind and you’re so much more talented than I am— I was afraid—“

Without any hesitation, Langa tugs Reki forward, throwing his other arm around Reki and clutching him against his chest. Reki drops the broken board somewhere along the way, his own arms wrapping around Langa as he buries his face in Langa’s shoulder, the edges of his hair brushing Langa’s jaw. And just like that, in one swift moment, Langa feels like he can see the light again.

-- x

Reki can feel his S pin, warm against his palm as he fists his hands in the back of Langa’s shirt. He can feel his S pin and Langa both pressed against him, holding his jagged edges together and he can’t help but think that this is exactly how it’s supposed to be. Because Langa may have left him behind for a little while, but he’d come back for Reki. He’d come back and gathered Reki’s broken edges, piecing him back together. He hadn’t given up on Reki even when Reki had given up on himself.

“I should’ve told you sooner,” Langa mumbles into the top of his head, his hands tight around Reki’s back, “I’m sorry, Reki. Please don’t give up skating. Please don’t leave me there alone.”

And that plea is everything Reki wanted to hear. It was everything Reki needed to know— that Langa still wanted to share this with him, that Langa would give up on his idiotic idea to go up against Adam. It was everything Reki wanted, but he knew he couldn’t take it, not like that. Because there was more that Langa wanted and if Reki accepted the apology, if Reki promised to come back to skating and to go back to how things had been, he’d be taking some of those things away from Langa. And no matter how hurt he’d been, he never wanted to take anything away from Langa, that was why he’d left. Because he wanted Langa to have everything he could ever want without feeling like Reki was holding him back.

And now Langa was here, offering to give it all up for Reki and Reki knew that he couldn’t let him do that.

“I’ll make you a deal.” Reki replies instead. He doesn’t love it, but he knows it’s the right thing to do. He knows that Langa needs this, that he needs this if they’re really going to put this behind them. “I’ll come back to S, but only to watch you kick Adam’s ass.”

“Reki?” Langa pulls away enough to look at Reki’s face, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

Reki pulls away completely, stepping back and over the broken board so that it fills the space between them again. “Someone has to beat him.”

“So let someone else do it.” Langa takes a step closer, his toes nearly brushing the board. “Not me.”

Reki shakes his head, reaching up to brush some of the longer pieces of his hair back. “It has to be you, Langa.”

And they both know that’s true, Adam won’t rest until he skates against Langa again. Adam has made it abundantly clear that he doesn’t consider anyone other than Langa a proper opponent. If someone is going to take Adam off of his high horse, it has to be Langa, whether Reki likes it or not. He doesn’t like it, not even a little bit, but Langa came back to him, Langa offered to give racing Adam up entirely. Reki has to just trust him now, to stand by his side while he races Adam, holding his breath and cheering loudly, And when it’s all over, all he can do is hope that Langa finds his way back to his side again.

Because just keeping Langa away from Adam wouldn’t be enough. Reki would always be haunted with the question, would always wonder if Langa was satisfied, if he was happy to just skate with Reki at their own pace. He needed to know, to be absolutely certain that he was the one Langa chose.

“I won’t do it.” The amount of conviction in Langa’s voice tells Reki that it’s going to be alright.

“C’mon,” Reki bends down to pick up the broken board between them. “Let’s go get started on your new board. We can figure out the rest from there.”

“Reki, I won’t— I don’t want to—“

“Yes you do.” Reki cuts in but he’s surprised to find that he’s not mad anymore. He’s not even hurt, he’s mostly just afraid. But he’s choosing to put all of his faith in Langa because so far, Langa hasn’t actually let him down. The fact that Langa is standing here in front of him at the first signs of dawn, while the rest of the world is completely asleep tells Reki that Langa hasn’t let him down yet and isn’t going to start now. “And I’ll be there when you do, okay? You know I hate him, I’ll take pleasure in watching you defeat him.”

Langa hesitates, “And if I do this, what then?”

And that answer comes to Reki surprisingly easily. “Then you’ll be the king of S. And I’ll be the one to knock you off your throne.”

The smile that spreads over Langa’s face is slow to come, but no less warm than all the ones Reki has seen in the past. “Is that a promise?”

“Yeah.” Reki says, holding a hand up in front of him. “It is.”

When Langa responds in kind, giving Reki their signature high five and fist bump combo, Reki realizes that maybe their castle wasn’t made out of cards after all. Maybe Langa wasn’t the only one who had gotten lost along the way. Because suddenly, it feels like there’s some solid foundation under his feet again. He takes off towards the garage, Langa in tow and he knows with absolute certainty that neither Adam nor the fear Reki feels in the face of him is strong enough to actually break them apart.

And when Langa kicks Adam’s ass and comes back to Reki to celebrate, well Reki might have a few other things he needs to tell him then. But for now, he relishes the feeling of his heart patching itself back together as Langa settles onto his normal stool in the garage, propping his head in his hand as Reki selects a new piece of wood to begin working with.

Everything may not be okay quite yet, Reki might still have some lingering fears and doubts, but he has Langa by his side again and he knows with Langa there, he’ll be able to overcome any of those things. Everything may not be okay quite yet, but Reki knows that soon it’s going to be okay again.

#renga #sk8 #sk8 the infinity #sk8 spoilers #sk8 the infinity spoilers #sk8 fic #reki gets the hug he deserves #I just needed something last week #after the pain of that episode #so I wrote the reconciliation we needed

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sevenstarsinning · 4 years ago

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Summary: Raditz loses his mate when Planet Vegeta is destroyed and finds himself working alongside Prince Vegeta. When he comes to Earth to recruit his brother, he’s dealt another devastating blow when Goku refuses to join and leaves him near death. He’s found by a human and attempts to adapt to life on Earth.

Ch.1 - Ch.2

Chapter 3

Raditz

Raditz stared back at you with murderous intent. A human questioning his worth? That was something he could not stand for.

But as you went back to tending to his wounds, not disgusted or berating him further, something occurred to him. Humans were weak, that much was obvious. But the weaker ones weren't cast aside as nothing. In the very short time he spent in West City before tracking down Kakarot, he saw it first hand. The weak were not treated as less and the strong as more.

His eyes trailed down your body, fully taking in your appearance for the first time. He found you pretty, for a weak human, anyway.

He did feel slightly bad about destroying your house but your attitude made him not care as much as he should've.

"Sorry about going off on you," you finally spoke, as if you were reading his mind. His brow furrowed, curious if you really were a mind reader.

He arrived on Earth with very little information about it's inhabitants. For all he knew, that's exactly what you were, a mind reader and all of his deeply guarded secrets were wide open for you to invade.

After you finished patching him up, he watched as you examined all of the damage the crash had caused. Your entire bedroom was gone, replaced by his pod. The bathroom across the hall was salvageable but still a disaster. Half of the kitchen was collapsing but, luckily it was the side opposite the major appliances. Overall, the damage could've been much, much worse.

"Hey, Raditz, can you lend a hand? I need to get this at least partially closed up before the storms start tonight," you called from the kitchen.

Raditz reluctantly agreed, at least it would distract him. He helped close up the open spots in the walls with tarps and plastic sheeting from the shed. It wasn't perfect but it would keep most of the rain out.

"I guess we're leaving the pod here for now," you said, examining what was essentially a UFO.

Raditz watched you take in every detail of the pod you could while you circled around it. For him, there was nothing extraordinary about it because he was used to seeing them and traveling in them only when absolutely necessary. But to you, he imagined it was something quite remarkable based on the childlike wonder you displayed while you ran your fingers along the edge of the door.

He held his hand up to a scanner to the left and the locks disengaged. The door slowly lifted revealing the inside.

"Okay, totally thought that was just a window," you admitted before stepping forward to take a peek inside.

"It's very small compared to the other transports we have... had on our planet," he corrected himself without considering the ramifications. All he could do was hope you didn't catch it.

Right when you turned your attention to him, he braced himself for a marathon of questions. But they never came. You merely looked at him with an expression he wasn't entirely familiar with. You seemed... sad. But that couldn't be right unless you really were a mind reader.

"Do you mind if I check out the inside?" You asked, turning your head back to the pod.

"Don't press any buttons." His tail uncoiled from his waist and moved slowly back and forth behind him while he watched you explore. He tried to keep his mind as clear as possible in case you were listening in.

When you sat down in the plush seat, you looked up at him and immediately screamed when you saw the furry brown appendage. His tail puffed up and whipped around wildly.

"What!?" Raditz looked around for whatever threat nearby that made you let out that god awful sound.

"Is that a tail? I thought it was some kind of ridiculous furry belt." You took a deep breath and calmed your nerves while his tail went back to it's normal amount of floof.

"A furry belt... why would I wear something like that?" He asked, puzzled by the odd assumption.

"Dude, you're wearing a battle speedo, a furry belt is not that far out of the realm of possibility."

"A battle speedo? Are you still speaking this planet's language?" He asked, brow furrowed while his tail darted back and forth.

"It's called English, it’s not the only language here, and yes, I'm still speaking it. That little piece of spandex covering your... " you trailed off and gestured towards the middle of his body, "that whole area is pretty much a speedo and you said you're a warrior. It is, therefore, a battle speedo," you explained.

"Step away from my pod, you can't be trusted if your mind conjures up those sorts of ridiculous things," he chided, ready to close his pod up and ban you from it for making a joke about the remainder of his Saiyan clothing.

"Whatever, big guy. I need to call the insurance company and get screwed over on this claim anyway." You brushed past him to the living room and made yourself comfortable on the couch.

By the time you got off the phone, you were seething. It turned out there was no fine print in your insurance premium about losing part of your house to a space pod. Most of what you were saying went over his head. He had no idea what insurance premiums were and considering the way you were acting about it, he didn’t care to find out.

"This is perfect, I have no idea where I'm going to sleep or how the hell I'm going to fix this." You crouched and leaned against the pod. Fighting off anxiety was a lot more difficult than it should've been. It had a way of swallowing a person whole and plunging them into darkness.

Going against everything his own brain was screaming at him, he sighed, "you can sleep in my pod."

"Thanks, but where are you gonna sleep?" You asked, looking down at the shredded hunk of springs and memory foam that used to be your bed.

"In my pod, obviously. You're not foolish enough to think I'd leave you alone in there, are you?"

"Come again?" You asked, eyebrows raised as you regarded him.

"It's just sleeping, human. What's the problem?"

"Sleeping next to random strangers you found in a field isn't exactly safe for females here."

"It's cowardly to attack while someone is asleep or unable to defend themselves." He felt a twinge of guilt saying that, he wasn't afraid to fight dirty if the situation called for it.

"I guess if you were going to hurt me you would've done it by now. It's not like I could fight you off, even injured." You stood and looked around for something to keep you occupied before the stress did you in.

The sun lowering in the distance turned the sky into a tapestry of pink and orange. Raditz was sore from his rib injury but he was still determined to keep himself distracted by helping you move some of the bigger things in your house. He wasn't sure what compelled him to do it. He had zero interest in befriending humans, you were no exception.

Sometime after midnight, Raditz retired to his pod. You opted to give the couch a try and see if it could work as a bed for the time being.

He climbed in his pod and engaged the locks. It was far too soon to be back in the cramped space but it was at least a piece of home. The only piece he really had left. His armor was broken along with his body and he was stranded on a planet meant to be a quick stop on his journey.

Everything changed so drastically in such a short amount of time that he barely had a moment to process all that he lost when Planet Vegeta was destroyed.

His chest ached when memories of her played through his head. That was the biggest question that needed answering. How was he supposed to continue without his mate? Their bond was stronger than it had ever been last time he saw her. And then she was just gone, dust spread among the space in which his home planet used to reside.

A tap on the door was a welcome reprieve from the thoughts that haunted him. He blindly hit the side panel to open the door for you.

"So, I'm terrified the roof is gonna collapse on my ass," you announced. Without a word, Raditz scooted as far to the left as he could and put his massive hand out to help you climb in. The two of you kept your eyes on one another as he pulled you in to settle next to him.

The same expression from earlier returned to your face. You looked at him as if you could see past all of the bullshit and right into his mind. But it was more than that and it finally clicked in his stubborn head. You weren't reading his mind at all. You recognized his overwhelming sadness because it was in you too.

#raditz x reader #raditz #dbz #dragon ball z #let you go fic #supremeleadershitlord

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samsexualdeancurious · 4 years ago

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The Way He Looks (At You)

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Words: 1,602

Summary: The reader is crushing hard on the younger Winchester.

Warnings: None

Written for Belinda for her June 2020 prompt.

Betaed by me.

---

“Y/N!”

You look up from your beer in the direction of the familiar voice and can’t help a grin when you see who it is. “Dean!”

Your friend weaves his way through the crowd towards you, two beers held high to try and keep them safe. His grin is a breath of fresh air in this place as you stand to hug him.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, squeezing him around the waist.

“We’re on a hunt,” he answers and that’s when you realize he isn’t alone.

A tall man is standing behind Dean, looking confused but interested in what’s going on. Tall is an understatement, actually. Dean is tall. This man is a giant. A gorgeous giant with broad shoulders, a strong jaw, high cheekbones, and fox-tilted eyes of a color you can’t quite identify in the low light of the bar. He has long hair, floppy in a way that reminds you a bit of a puppy. The ends curl a little around his ears, on the back of his neck, and where a few locks have fallen over his forehead. You want to run your fingers through it.

What the hell? Where did that thought come from?

Dean is speaking, stepping back and gesturing to the man with one beer. “Sammy, this is Y/N, a hunter friend. Y/N, this is my brother, Sam.”

Oh.

It’s honestly shocking that you’ve known Dean for so long and never met Sam. The man is the light of his brother’s life, Dean’s whole reason for existing. You remember when you first met Dean. Sam was still away at college at the time. He’d been grumpy about Sam leaving but also so proud of him for getting a full ride to Stanford of all places.

“Hi,” you say, offering your hand for Sam to shake. “It’s nice to meet you. Dean’s told me a lot about you.”

Sam smiles and oh. My God. Just when you thought he couldn’t look better. He has dimples. “It’s nice to meet you. Dean hasn’t told me much about you but all of it was good.”

“I sure hope so.” You give Dean a playful poke, making him squawk and almost spill his beer. “Did he tell you about the many times I’ve saved his ass?”

Sam’s grin widens and Dean sputters a protest. You just laugh and hop up onto the high chair you’d occupied previously, gesturing to the seat next to you.

“Have a seat, Sam. I think we’re gonna get along great.”

Dean is pouting as he takes the third chair at the table. “I’m going to regret introducing you two, aren’t I?”

You shoot him a wink. “One hundred percent.”

Talking to Sam is easy. He’s brilliant - of course he is, the man went to Stanford on a full ride, for crying out loud - and hilarious. You could listen to him ramble about anything for hours, you’re pretty sure. You could also listen to him and Dean banter for hours. The two play off each other beautifully, a snappy back and forth that has hidden warmth at its core. It’s a treat to see.

Turns out the boys are in town for the same hunt as you. You’d figured as much and immediately suggest working together. Dean agrees without hesitation and Sam flashes you another of his brilliant smiles. Butterflies stir in your belly.

You’re in trouble with that one.

After that hunt - which went really well, having extra hands is always nice - you don’t see the Winchesters again for several months. When you do, it’s once again on a hunt. The Winchesters arrive in town just in time to join you in adventuring into the nest of a shifter that’s wreaking havoc on an upscale neighborhood. Thank god they’re there, too, because the shifter ends up being a pair of shifters and if you’d been alone, you definitely wouldn’t have escaped with only a broken leg.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Sam says as he helps you into the backseat of the Impala after you’re released front he hospital. The cast is awkward, to say the least, and Sam’s huge hands are steady on your forearms.

“Don’t be,” you assure him. “If not for you, I’d probably be dead now. I thought I was ready for that hunt but apparently not.”

“Just goes to show that even when we’re as prepared as we think we can be, things can always go wrong,” Dean says as he slides into the driver’s seat. “I’m just glad a broken leg is the worst injury any of us got.”

“You need to take it easy.” Sam settles into his place in the passenger seat and twists around to look at you. You can’t help admiring him - it’s so unfair, how beautiful he is. “You should stick with us, at least until you’re leg is healed.”

So that’s what you do, except that you never actually end up leaving even after your leg heals.

The three of you make a great team. Plus, the bunker? Is fucking awesome. You stay there for the three months it takes your leg to heal and quickly fall in love with the place. It’s been a lifetime since you had a place you could call all your own, let alone your own room. Once it becomes clear that neither you nor the brothers want you to leave, you find yourself settling in easily and filling your space with your own things.

The downside of living with the Winchesters, though, is seeing Sam all the time. Well, it’s a downside in that you’re finding yourself falling head over heels in love with him and there doesn’t seem to be anything you can do to stop your quickly-developing feelings. Sam is physically beautiful but he’s also beautiful on the inside. Despite all the horrible, traumatic experiences Sam has been through, he’s still kind and empathetic to everyone he meets. His hands are rough with gun callouses but gentle when he holds rescued victims or pets the floppy ears of the dogs you two meet on your morning runs.

On top of that, he’s wicked smart. He loves books and spends hours in the library between hunts just learning about anything and everything. He organized the whole huge room himself when they first moved in, apparently.

Something about that is incredibly hot.

You may have met Dean first but you and Sam quickly become friends. You can spend hours together, running or watching movies, or even just sitting in the silence in the library surrounded by books. Dean is a good friend for nights out at the bar or nights in with junk food and good/bad movies. Sam is a good friend for afternoons of quiet study. You like spending time with Dean. You love spending time with Sam and it’s very quickly becoming a problem.

You’d hoped Dean would stay oblivious to your feelings but no such luck. He pulls you aside about six months into living at the bunker.

“You better ask him out soon,” Dean tells you without any lead-up to the statement.

You sputter, mind racing as you try to find a way out of this conversation. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Sam. Ask him out.”

Your cheeks burn. “He doesn’t like me that way. I don’t want to make things awkward between us.”

“He doesn’t like you - Y/N, are you blind? That boy is in love with you. He’s been crushing hard since I first introduced you two but ever since you started living here? He’s been falling head over heels for you. Have you seen the way he looks at you? I haven’t seen him look at anyone that way since Jess.”

Jess. Sam’s first love, the girl he wanted to marry right up until Azazel decided to use her as a pawn to get Sam back into the hunting game.

Shit.

“You’re not fucking with me, right?” you whisper, staring at Dean and hoping he understands how serious about this you are.

“Never about this,” he assures you, reaching out to give your cheek a little pat. “Go get your man.”

You bat his hand away and he chuckles, looping his arm around your shoulder instead for a hug.

“Trust me,” Dean says, giving you a squeeze.

You nod and lean into him. You have your doubts, of course, but your mind is racing with all the new possibilities that Dean’s words have created.

Sam breaks first.

“Y/N,” he says softly, words loud in the quiet library.

You look up from your book to find him watching you. “Yes?”

“Will you. Um.” His cheeks are pink and he ducks his head a little, adorably shy. “Would you like to go get dinner with me?”

Your heart leaps, your stomach flips, and your mind comes to a screeching halt.

“What?” you manage to say.

Sam blushes hard and he looks away. “It’s okay, you don’t - I understand -”

Your brain finally processes what he asked. “Yes!”

He stops talking and stares at you in awkward silence for a second. “... what?”

Now your cheeks are burning. “I would love to get dinner with you,” you say.

Sam lights up and the sight warms you at your very core. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You return his grin. “Does Friday night work for you?”

“Yeah,” he says, tone softening. Almost as if he’s in awe - like he didn’t expect you to say “yes.” “Yeah, Friday works.”

You reach across the table to weave his long fingers between your own. “It’s a date.”

---

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—

Team Forever: @mrswhozeewhatsis @laughing-at-the-darkness @tumbler-tidbits @imsuperawkward @emoryhemsworth

#sam x reader #spn fanfic #my writing

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thefanficmonster · 4 years ago

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And My Heart Burned In That Lodge

Michael (Mike) Munroe x Reader (female)

Warnings: Death, Grief, Dealing with loss, Heartbreak, Swearing

Genre: ANGST

Summary: None of them will ever be the same, who knows if they’ll even heal. However, the case is different for Mike. He’s left to be dealing with the guilt, grief and the haunting memory of his friend’s death. He’s angry with himself for all the wrong things he did and all the right things he was too much of a coward to do. Now, his only closure is talking to a gravestone, hoping the wind in the graveyard will pass the message onto the person who the words are meant for.

Requested by Anon. Wish I could tag them, they have such amazing ideas ❤

PS - Sorry this is hella long, I got carried away LOL

I stand aside, watching as my friends place their flowers on her grave. I can hear their cries. For some odd reason I can’t find it in me to feel sympathy or the need to go over there and be with them. I can’t see how that would do anything but make me feel more miserable. Standing here, seeing this scene unfold in front of me, I can’t help but be reminded of how it all started.

Fuck Mondays, man. Fuck them from the bottom of my heart. Even worse, this is the first week of school after winter break so no one wants to be here. Even even worse, this is the first time I’ll be seeing Emily after out breakup. We broke up over text and while I’m aware that’s the worst way to break up with someone, I must admit it was the only way for a lot of arguing and awkwardness to be avoided.

It’s the first time I’m coming to school alone in a while. Without Emily, the car was pleasantly quiet aside from the songs on the radio. Not gonna lie, it felt a bit lonely. Being single for the first time in what feels like forever is both liberating and oddly melancholic. I try to push the self-loathing and the depressing thoughts away as my eyes scan the hallway, looking for the group of familiar faces. My gang. We used to be ten people but we lost two girls during our winter getaway at the Washington lodge. Josh’s sisters, Hannah and Beth, went missing and are presumably dead, all cause of a stupid prank Jess, Emily and I concocted, convincing Matt and Ash to go along with it. In retrospect, I don’t know what we were thinking.

‘Seriously, Mike? From one depressing thought to another? Is your brain lacking serotonin today more than usual or what?‘ I mentally scold myself just as I spot two familiar faces - Sam and Ashley.

It doesn’t take long for me to notice the rest of the gang - Matt, Jess and Chris - all standing near by, surrounding a girl I have never seen before. She sticks out immediately with her long H/C hair and shiny E/C eyes. Jess has her arm linked with the girl, a gesture really out of place for Jess. I mean, her and Emily are pretty close and I’ve never even seen them hug.

“Hey, man. How are you?“ Matt notices me first, lifting his head and smiling at me. His greeting leads the others to look in my direction as well, including the girl. I catch Jess lean down in and whisper something to her. I can’t hear what she’s saying but it clearly aggravates her. I have never received a dirtier look from a girl in my entire life. I usually have the opposite effect on women but I guess there’s a first time for everything.

“Mike...” Jess steps away from the girl and towards me, “this is my best friend, Y/N. She just got transferred here.” She turns her attention back to the girl, “Y/N, this is Mike.”

Y/N looks unamused as she outstretches her arm in my direction. “Nice to meet you” is what she says, but her expression clearly tells me she would like to see as little of me as possible. At least she’s polite, right?

“Likewise.” The handshake is brief and, despite her obvious distaste for me, she still gives me a firm handshake.

“Wait, you were transferred? I thought Jess said you came here cause you moved.” Sam furrows her brows in confusion.

“Well, it’s really a chicken and the egg type of situation.” Y/N laughs, rubbing the back of her neck almost nervously, “We moved because I had to transfer.” Yikes.“ Ashley comments, “Not to pry or anything, but why did you have to be transferred?“

Y/N looks me dead in the eyes, as if she’s sending me a message that I better not overlook, or so help me God I’ll be dead. ”Noses randomly broke when I was around.”

It hurts so much to look back on those times and not pick up on what I was feeling. I foolishly decided that if I can’t give the feelings a name or find them a purpose I should turn a blind eye. I wasn’t that ignorant, I could tell she was the cause, but I could never admit it.

And then there’s the situation with Jess...

“You hurt her, and I’ll kill you.“

I found Y/N by the bleachers and let me tell you, she’s quite the paradox. She’s a straight A, no nonsense, intelligent beyond her years girl. With all these characteristics, you’d think she’d know better than to smoke cigarettes. Wrong! She’s a smoker. Jess can never not complain about the smell of cigarette smoke, it’s a miracle these two get along.

To my ‘hi’ she responded with what looked to be an eyeroll and an annoyed release of smoke through her nostrils. Even though I know I’m not welcome to be in her proximity, I still decide to sit down a little ways away from her, for personal space and all that. Definitely not cause I’m slightly afraid of her. No way.

We just sit in silence until she hits me with the aforementioned threat. I am caught off guard. All I can do is stare straight ahead of me like a deer in headlights. After maybe thirty seconds of absolute confusion I manage to turn my head to look at her. “What are you talking about?” The question is supposed to sound harsh but compared to the way she spit out that death threat it sounded more like a whimper.

“You are such an ignorant asshole.“ She shakes her head, throwing her cigarette on the bench below her. She stomps on it and walks away. I can’t help but stare at her until she’s out of sight. I feel like I’m watching something non-human. A phenomenon you can experience once in a lifetime - if you’re lucky.

She’s the complete opposite of Jess: grounded, smart, rational. The only time I’ve seen her be so unpleasant is around me. I catch her interactions with the rest of the gang. From afar, she seems like the nicest, friendliest girl. And then she catches a glimpse of me and her mood changes. I don’t know what’s her problem with me but I know it most certainly isn’t something I’ve done to her. She’s been like that since the first moment we were introduced, so either Jess has talked a lot of shit about me or she just hates people named Michael. I may never know.

I had no idea what she meant at the time and only found out three weeks ago. Speaking of three weeks ago, the group once again headed for the Blackwood Pines, trying to hide their uneasiness with make excitement. I was pretty hyped when I heard we were going because that also meant our friend Josh was finally starting to get better. He hadn’t been in a good mindset since his sisters went missing and we were all really worried for him but weren’t allowed to show it because he always insisted he was fine.

He wasn’t. He was as messed up as ever and served as only the prologue to the nightmare of a night we had to live through.

But before all that could happen, the night started off well. Better than expected. The eeriness of the mountain combined with the bad memories we had of the place we still there, we could all feel the tension, but we did a good job masking it with jokes and whatnot. I’ll be honest, I wasn’t really looking forward to go and not only because of what happened the year prior.

“Wait, wait, wait. Y/N’s coming too?“ I ask, looking at Josh with wide eyes.

The guy is clearly confused by my overdramatic reaction to him counting down the names of the ones who had already RSVPd ‘Yes’. “Is that a problem or something?”

I sigh, hiding my face in my hands. It’s embarrassing to admit, really. “She doesn’t like me, and that puts it mildly. She hates me.”

He looks even more baffled than before, “Why? What’d you do to her?”

“Nothing, for fuck’s sake. Not a single thing. I haven’t even had a proper interaction with her.“ Talking about this matter exhausts me, mostly cause I can’t even express half the things I’m feeling.

There’s been a time or two I’ve caught her looking at me but her eyes weren’t filled with that distrust I’m used to. She looks away quickly when we make eye contact, as if she can’t put the mean mask on in time and she has to look away to do a system reset. I sometimes catch myself looking at her without realizing. I try to tell myself I do it for the purpose of solving her.

‘Who are you kidding, Munroe?‘

* * *

And here I am, climbing up the mountain to the Washington lodge. I’ve made it a goal to use this getaway to mend things with Y/N. It’s the only way for me to get back to normal. To get my mind back since she’s recently been living in my head rent-free. I’m bullshitting, not just recently. She’s taken over my brain since day one. I can’t place what’s going on with me, I can’t find a term to label it with and I most definitely can’t find a way to stop it. So, I’ve come to the conclusion that if I can’t stop it on my own, she’ll have to do it for me.

Another thing - I’ve never felt nervous or self-conscious around a girl all my life. Never. My friends joke that I’m a ladies’ man and I’d say that’s pretty true. So I have a tough time understanding how I turn into an awkward turtle that’s missing confidence when she’s around.

Once we all get settled in and there’s a fire going, giving the lodge a cozy atmosphere, it’s every man for themselves. Everyone picks a activity they want to occupy themselves with and the living room of the lodge empties out, leaving me there alone.

I scroll stare at the screen of my now useless phone. The thing has no reception and no way of keeping me busy, leaving my attention to wander to the voices that are getting more and more distant as my friends walk out of the room.

I can’t help but overhear Jess say to Y/N, “You haven’t even set your bag down yet and you’re going for a smoke? Jeez, Y/N.”

“You say as though you don’t know me.“ Y/N laughs, the sound of a door opening following after her voice.

It’s such a nice sound, her laugh. I’ve never heard it before. I’ve seen her smile and seen her chuckle at someone’s joke, but it was never actually a laugh. Seems she keeps those for special occasions.

If she’s in the type of mood to laugh, she’s in the type of mood to be civil with me. Before I can talk myself out of the on-spot decision, I mentally slap myself and get off the couch, walking to the door to the side deck.

“You’ve got this, she’s just a person”

“Who’s just a person?“ her voice cuts through the silence of the outdoors.

‘SHIT I SAID THAT OUT LOUD‘

I decide to carry this all the way, no shortcuts. No backing out. Somehow, now that she’s standing in front of me - a cigarette between her fingers, her shoulders tense from of the cold - I find it easier to get the words out. She’s just as human as everyone else. The cold causes her to shrivel up. She’s addicted to tobacco. She’s not some riddle I need to solve, just a person I need to talk to in order to understand.

“You.“ I reply, “Why aren’t you wearing a jacket?“

She shakes her head, her shoulders trembling a bit, “It builds the immune system.”

“No, it makes you suffer.“ I shrug my jacket off, cautiously approaching her and wrapping it around her.

Surprisingly, she accepts it with a nod and a murmured ‘thanks’, holding onto it with the hand that’s not holding her cigarette. “Why were you reminding yourself that I’m just a person? Do I not look like one?” She scoffs, facing away from me to look at the snowy hills ahead.

“No, no, not that. You just make me nervous that’s all.“

She whirls around, giving me this look as though she has no idea what I’m talking about.

“Really? Why’s that?“ she puts out her cigarette on the wooden railing, focusing all her attention on me.

My hand instinctively goes up to the back of my neck, feeling my face start to heat up. “Well, you’re not really fond of me. And I don’t know why, and....” I trail off, sighing in self-disappointment, “And I wanna know why.”

Her expression turns the complete opposite, a smile spreading across her face. “It’s not about something you have done. It’s about what you might’ve done.”

Despite feeling slightly relieved, I am no less confused than I was a minute ago. “And what is that?”

“Break my best friend’s heart.“ She looks a lot more serious now, “You really had no idea she was head over heels for you just a month ago. You were so oblivious and she was so whipped...“ frustration radiates off of her, “I just didn’t want her to get hurt.“ She closes her eyes, stabilizing herself before finishing her statement, “I didn’t want to hurt her.“

“Wait, what?“

The hurt that paints itself on her face is contagious. I feel it too and I don’t even know what’s causing it. “She always told me about you. Mike this and Mike that. She made you sound like the best guy in the world. And...I really wanted to be let down when I met you, but you were nothing but nice to me and to the other people in the group. But you were also such a jerk from time to time. You are just too...Fucking forget it.”

In a blink of an eye she puts my jacket over the railing and runs inside the lodge.

“Y/N, wait!“

Needless to say, running after her was the best decision I’ve made. I didn’t get her to admit to anything, but at least we lied down the armor and agreed to give each other some time to get to know one another. Drop aside the assumptions and give a this acquaintanceship the chance to become a friendship.

Sadly, all good things come to an end way sooner than we want. The rest of that dreadful night I witnessed her transform. When everyone was freaking out, she held them and comforted them. I saw the fear in her eyes but she never let it shine through in her actions. She was the one still holding it together even after she saw that disgusting creature. Her and I were the ones to turn that sanatorium upside down. We were with Josh in the mines. We were the ones to see the Wendigo first. We were by each other’s side the entire time. We had each other’s backs.

I’ve never felt such a connection with someone. I was experiencing the most intimate understanding with a person in the worst moment of my life. It was bittersweet. The poison mixed with the cure.

Even when she knew her death was approaching, her only reaction was a single tear. A single crystal drop running down her cheek.

We can make a break. We can run right out of this hell hole and turn it to ash, all we need is for this fucking to focus its attention elsewhere. Thankfully Chris, Ash and Emily have made it out already and they’re safe. However, Sam, Y/N and I are trapped. The silent looks we exchange are laced with fear and panic. We have to calculate our next moves down to a millisecond and we don’t even know what those next moves should be.

Suddenly, a sharp pain starts spreading from my hand shoulder. My adrenaline is no longer doing a good job blocking out the pain of the fingers I had to sever. I slip up, letting out a hiss. The pain is just that unbearable.

That thing turn at the speed of light, letting out a screech and heading in my direction. My whole body is tense I couldn’t move if I wanted to but my arm is in such a horribly painful position, I think I’ll faint if I don’t readjust it.

“HEY!“ The voice comes from opposite me and my heart drops.

Sam’s next to me. It’s not her. It’s Y/N.

The Wendigo loses interest in me as soon as it hears her yell turning and heading straight for her. It all starts sinking in. Now that it’s facing away, Sam and I can make it out. But she can’t. It’s over for her. There’s no way she’s leaving this lodge.

I catch her eyes from across the room. Her posture says a fighter, but her eyes scream ‘petrified’. She knows it too. She knows it’s game over. A single tear rolls down her cheek, shattering my heart.

That’s the last vulnerable moment, however. She turns her head, deciding to go out without showing a glint of fear to that piece of shit. I don’t have to look at Sam or tell her what to do. We’re both aware that we’re about to make it out, losing Y/N in the process.

It happens in a split second. Y/N spits at the Wendigo and then next thing I see is her laying on the ground in a pool of blood.

The dash out of the lodge is a blur. The last thing I remember is sitting outside of the burning building, staring at the flames. The lodge wasn’t the only thing burning. Years of memories; history; wendigos; and my heart burnt in that lodge.

I see the group leave the graveyard. I struggle to move forward, my limbs heavy. I feel gravity is a lot stronger all of a sudden.

I didn’t go to the final goodbye. I knew it wasn’t her. There was nothing left of her to bury. Sam told me they buried things that reminded people of her and objects she cherished.

Well it’s time I give my goodbye.

I shrug my jacket off - the same jacket from that night - and put it around the gravestone like I put it over her shoulders. There’s a box of the cigarettes she smoked in the inner pocket.

“I hope you felt what I felt, Y/N. I hope I didn’t have to say it for you to notice it. I wish I knew...cause now it’ll haunt me for the rest of my life.” I can’t stop the tears, I’m too weak and I’ve been holding them back for far too long. “I’ve never believed in an afterlife. But I really hope there is one, just so we can meet again.” I scoff, shaking my head, “Who am I kidding, I’m probably going to hell.”

I believe that’s where I deserve to go, anyway. I’m the reason she died. And I will never let myself live that down. I will never forgive myself. A flame like no other burnt out so mine could keep burning. I will make sure it haunts me till the day I leave this world behind.

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idyllicstarker · 5 years ago

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Hello :) I was thinking of something where Peter sits on the rooftops near Stark Tower a lot. Spying and keeping an eye on things, and if you wanted to make it explicit, he could see Tony “doing things” through the window, or for a softer direction, maybe Tony catches him and invites him in for dinner. 😊🖤 or a mix of both 👀

Heya!! Thank you for the prompt. It was my first time writing something like this, I guess smut without much smut. But it was fun! I was going to do a mix of both, but since I wasn’t too sure, I kept it short for now. But I hope you like it anyway. 💖💖

Warnings: Sexual content, some foul language

It is explicitly mentioned that Peter is eighteen!!!

Being your friendly neighbourhood spiderman wasn’t all that exciting. Peter knew that all too well. Although that’s probably because he was the only friendly neighbourhood spiderman.

But either way, despite the fact that Peter loved his self-proclaimed job of protecting New York, there wasn’t a lot to protect. He helped ‘return’ a stolen bicycle. Well, he returned it the best he could - he couldn’t find the owner so he just left a note. And he helped the lost Domican lady… she was really nice, and bought him a churro. He’d even been recognised a couple of times, deemed “that spider guy!” It was not quite the alias he was going for but hey, it was a work in progress. Just a very, very slow progress.

Peter was tired of it, to say the least. He wanted to do something big. He couldn’t say he was a superhero when he wasn’t doing any superhero things. Petty crimes, that weren’t even crimes, wasn’t really exhausting Peter’s talents. He could do so much, he knew he could, but nothing happened in New York.

There was one thing, he did like about there not being much to do, however. It was probably a little creepy, but he liked to call it patrolling. Being high up gave him an advantage when it came to watching over the streets. The rooftops near Stark Tower gave him the perfect opportunity to do just that (and maybe stalk his idol too.)

It’s no lie that if Peter positioned himself in just the right place on that one certain building (he’d never taken the time to figure out what it was for), he could see into the windows on that side of the Tower pretty much perfectly. And it just so happened that one of the middle windows (cough fifteen up, four across cough) was Tony Stark’s bedroom. Peter couldn’t and would never deny the fact that he looked up to Tony. He was a powerful and intelligent man, and Peter admired his work. There was also the fact that he was THE iron man, and if Peter could get on his side, he was sure that his job of being New York’s protector would be a hell of a lot more exciting. But Tony would never see Peter, let alone Spiderman, he’d probably never heard of him too and why would he want a highschooler from Queens in his team? Peter had already come to terms with the fact that Tony was never going to notice him, which meant the fact that he was madly in love with him would be a lot easier. Peter found the older man more attractive than anyone he’d ever laid eyes on, and he was sure no one around him compared to the sexiness that was Mr. Stark. He was also certain that nothing would compare to how the man could probably make him cum his brains out in one session but that’s something Peter fantasised about and no one would ever know.

The point was, finding this rooftop space was one of the best things to happen in Peter’s life. And trust me when I say, he used it to his advantage.

Most days you’d find him there after school, eyes flicking between the windows of the tower hoping to catch a glimpse of the man and the streets below hoping to catch a glimpse of an actual job to do. Unfortunately neither came often, but Peter held onto hope, especially for the former.

Tony was a busy man with a busy life, and thus finding him actually in his bedroom was a very rare sight. The other rooms were unidentifiable to Peter, but seeing him in there regardless was also a rare occurrence. He guessed it didn’t help that he was never there too long after dark because May got worried, and he figured looking into the man’s window of whom he’d love to get dicked down by (even if he was a billionaire) wasn't exactly a valid excuse.

But either way, Peter remained there.

“Yeah but did you see the guy in the red shirt, he was totally angry. He even-”

Friday evening, and Peter found himself in his favourite spot in probably the whole of New York. Mask off, spread eagle on his back, staring up at the slowly darkening sky, he engaged in casual conversation with Ned over the phone. He had to admit, sometimes being up here was lonely so he tried to occupy himself in various ways, including phoning Ned. Until, something caught his eyes, and slowly he began to sit up, looking around in confusion. At first he considered it to be a bird, before he realised a light had come on, and it was that which he’d noticed. It was the light to Tony’s room.

Peter’s mouth went dry. He’s always swore to himself that if Tony ever did show up, he’d stay to simply catch a glimpse and leave. Being the only building near, tall enough for Peter to actually look into, it seemed wrong to invade his privacy in such a way. But Tony was there. There! And Peter’s promise to himself seemed like a punishment when he was so infatuated with the man.

“Hey, uh, listen man, can i call you back?”, he said slowly, eyes trained on the window as he tried to figure out what he was doing. No one in their sane mind went to sleep with their curtains open and it was practically still daylight, the setting sun casting an orange glow around the city.

Ned seemed to get all too excited over the phone. Peter could practically see the amazed expression on his face despite Peter having not given any reason to why he was hanging up so abruptly.

“Is there something happening?! Is it another stolen bike? Are you actually going to get to do something?”, he questioned, voice high and bubbly. Peter of course appreciated the support of his best friend, the only one that knew the truth; just not right now.

“No Ned.. it isn’t”, he began, eyes squinting slowly as he watched Tony approach the window. For a moment he feared he could see him, but surely he wasn’t looking so hard to notice him there. And even if he did, he could play it off as if he actually was patrolling. Not stalking… not at all. And it didn’t matter that, if Tony could see his face, he was in the spider suit, he must know all about made up identities and whatever.

“There is something exciting happening”, Ned gasped, “So are you gonna like fight some bad guys? What about…”

“Look man, I’ve really gotta go, I’ll fill you in later”, Peter said quickly, as he hung up the phone and placed it in his backpack.

He dared to crawl closer to the edge of the roof to get a better look, breath shaky as he bit down on his lip. “What is he doing?”, he muttered to himself.

Upon a closer inspection Peter realised the man was pantless. He was still in a button up shirt, probably from the suit he’d been wearing. But the first two buttons were undone, he’d seemed to have ditched a tie, and he was standing leant against the window in his boxers. Peter’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline, freezing as he tried to figure out what the best thing to do in this situation was.

The part of him that lusted after the man was telling him to stay. But the moral part was telling him to swing down from there. He’d got his glimpse, but this was a total breach of privacy.

As Peter thought, Tony shifted. Now unless Peter’s sharp eyesight was failing him, those boxers seemed a little too tight. He licked at his lips, before wildly shaking his head. “No, no this is wrong”, he hissed, but despite the conflict in his mind, he still seemed to sit back on his heels, gaze trained on the window.

It happened in such an aggravating slowness. And yet Peter couldn’t, no matter how hard he tried, get his gaze away from Tony.

Reaching into his boxers, the man pulled out one of the biggest, thickest shafts, Peter had ever seen. Porn couldn’t even do it justice. That belonged to some kind of god, or at least the man must have done some kind of deal with the devil to get it.

In that moment, Peter knew he should leave. He was doing something wrong, and let’s face it, illegal, but at the sight of something so delicious, Peter knew he couldn’t leave, letting out one of the most needy whimpers. He didn’t even know he was capable of such a sound. The things he’d do to get that inside him, or at the very least in his mouth. It began to water at the thought, the delicious pain of being stretched to that extent was a far away fantasy.

Squinted eyes, Peter gaped watching Tony close a fist around himself. At first he seemed almost stoic, as if he was simply standing there jacking off for the hell of it. But Peter soon realised that the relief that washed over Tony’s shoulders as he began gave it a small squeeze (he watched the veins in his arms pop as he did) painted a far different picture. The man had clearly needed this, probably all day. Peter watched the way his shoulders sagged and he held onto the glass with his palm to steady himself. Peter watched the way his eyes closed, as if nothing else mattered in the world right now apart from chasing his own orgasm as he began to move his hand in slow strokes.

Peter couldn’t take his eyes away. It wasn’t his yearn to be filled, bent over a table. No, it was how beautiful the man looked like that. So at peace.

His thighs began to tremble and Peter mewled, his body leaning forward as he watched, and he waited. Tony’s lips were parted, and Peter could only wish to hear the sinful sounds he was probably making. Moans and grunts of pure bliss filling the room. Or maybe he was quiet. Maybe the sensation of it was too much, and Tony could only let out heavy breaths.

His biceps flexed as his hand worked - Peter could just make out the way his thumb brushed over his slit. He wondered if it was leaking, begging for release.

He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting here watching. But it felt like a lifetime. All he knew was that Tony stroked himself firm and slow. Feeling the length and savouring the feeling. It was almost torturous, so much so that Peter was impatient on Tony’s behalf. Pleasure came easy, but total ecstasy clearly didn’t, or rather, Tony didn’t let it come quick. Either way, the man had stamina. Peter feared that nightfall was too close, and he’d stayed this long, he wanted, no he needed to see the end.

It did come, or rather Tony did. Almost as if it had got too much, Tony began to pump his cock like he’d die otherwise. Stripping it sensually. There was no doubt in Peter’s mind that if he wasn’t verbal before, he definitely was now. The way his mouth moved, loud unfs, was unmissable, his back arching forward as his body trembled.

Peter counted four final strokes before a desperate cry was definitely yelled. Tony toppled forward, eyes squeezed closed, his legs giving away underneath him as he panted, hips shaking, barely having time to move his shirt out of the way, before he was spurting thick ropes of cum against the glass.

He fell back, in a chair Peter hadn’t even noticed, the hard shaft falling limp against his stomach as it dribbled the very last release against his skin.

Peter shook, Tony’s lips forming a curse as Peter fell back on his bottom. The front of his suit was sticky with desperation and much too tight. It was then when the reality of what he’d just done hit him. He felt dirty. He felt as if he’d committed an unforgivable act. He couldn’t comprehend what he’d just seen, but he knew it turned him on, but it shouldn't have even watched. He stumbled to grab his backpack, shoving the mask inside. He chanced a last glance at the window but Tony was gone. How he’d gotten up so quick Peter wasn’t sure, but he knew he’d already overstayed his welcome, not like he was welcome in the first place.

He swung down from the building into an alleyway. In a moment's decision he knew he couldn’t be swinging around with the air against his crotch like this, and so pulled off the suit, ignoring the way his cock begged for attention and pulled on his shirt and jeans. He sighed, finally taking a moment to catch his breath. A cold shower, that’s what he needed.

“What the hell is wrong with you man”, he muttered to himself as he began to leave the alley.

“Well I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you. In fact I quite enjoyed the audience, don;t think I’ve had an orgasm like that in a long time.”

Peter’s eyes widened, before he clenched his jaw, refusing to look at the man that appeared beside him.

“What? Did I say too much?” Tony asked, his voice low and gruff, clearly still tight from the effects of his little fun he’d just had.

“You knew I was there?”, Peter asked, voice timid and small, still refusing to look, because he wouldn’t believe it even if he did.

“I knew you go there most afternoons. I didn’t know you were that at that moment until about half way in. But you didn’t seem to mind.”

“Mr Stark I’m so sorry, I know it was wrong of me, Please don’t go to the police”, Peter begged, big eyes finally turning to look up at the man. He honestly looked terrified. Tony was still in his shirt, although he now had pants on. He’d clearly come down as soon as he’d caught his breath.

“I’m not gonna go to the police kid”, he laughed, shaking his head, “I mean, we both know you liked what you saw”, he hummed, gesturing to the bulge at the front of Peter’s jeans. The younger gasped, moving to cover it as he bit down on his lip.

“I’m sorry. You just looked so, so hot, And I love you… I mean I love your work. But I guess I do love you too, You’re so attractive, and you make me feel so… and...”, he began to ramble, but Tony silenced him simply by lifting his hand.

“I’m gonna need a bit of help getting it up again, but I’m sure you won’t have any trouble with that”, he said, a smirk on his lips as he gestured for Peter to follow him.

He seemed confused for a moment, but instantly scampered after him in a way that can only be described as adorable. “I-I uhhh… what?”, he began to question, the want in his eyes clear, but it was mirrored in Tony’s too which only confused him more,

Tony, well the boy had caught his eye a while ago. With a bit of help from Happy. He’d managed to identify him, find out where he went to school, and find out he was eighteen. It took a bit of googling to find out who the spider boy was, but he found a video on YouTube saying “call me Spider-Man” and Tony was curious.

The attraction to him was undeniable. But Tony knew deep down it was wrong. He’d always been planning to approach him at one point, to recruit him as spider-man, in a way. But after today, and seeing him gawk over him through the window. Tony knew he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off him even if he tried. So he figured he wouldn;t even try.

As the two made their way into the tower, he rested a hand on the small of Pete’s back which only sank lower and lower as they made their way into the lift. As soon as the doors closed he gave his perk ass a rough squeeze, groaning at the sweet sinful moan Peter let out at that alone.

“We’ll discuss spider-man later over dinner. But for now I want Peter on his knees. It’s not gonna get hard itself”, he said lowly.

The grin on his face as Peter scrambled eagerly to obey, was much too wide to miss.

| Part two || Part three |

#starker #starker fanfiction #tony stark #peter parker #tony stark x peter parker #ironspider #skylars asks #skylar writes

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