#like the themes that were building up just fizzled out ....

[gommeboi]

ranting about mha extra in the tags 😔

[wakeup01]

From Behind

(A horror themed butt growth story.)

Why do you keep doing this to yourself? It’s like you set yourself up for disaster. You are travelling home alone from a rather productive session at the gym. That is the good news, the bad news is you have just entered what is known as a run down area of town affectionately referred to as ‘The Crack’, everyone tends to avoid it if possible. There have been recent reports of missing people in the area too, but no one is very surprised, or seems to care. But today you were in a rush and despite your reservations, this was the quickest route back. At least, in theory.

Passing down a street of derelict warehouses you notice a side passage that appeared to lead down an alleyway. That was odd. You’ve been down here before, but had never noticed this back-alley before. Paths don’t tend to spring up out of thin air. You try and calculate where it should lead and come to the conclusion that it would let you save some time, maybe? Look, it’s extremely unlikely anything bad could happen within the minute it would take to make it through to the other side. Yes, that is what everyone says before things go horribly wrong but that was absolutely, definitely not going to happen here.

You step into a puddle that splashes an unidentifiable liquid up your bare leg. Mental note: never wear shorts in ‘The Crack’ again. Trash was piled up high on either side, it was obvious these buildings didn’t get a huge amount of use anymore. You always thought horror movies had done a real disservice to alleyways, but this one certainly wouldn’t be changing anyones mind. In the distance you see the silhouette of someone standing in the middle of the alley. From their stature it seems to be man, but something about them throws you off. You feel a pang of trepidation, a chill runs down your back. It’s only just occurred to you how deafly quiet the passage is, the sounds of the street feel like miles away. You turn around and the uneven pavement seems to impossibly stretch away from your feet. You hear a dull droning, fizzling just within your hearing range. Looking back and the man appears closer than before, you swear he hasn’t moved and yet…

“Uh hello?” You call out, to no response. Strange. But then, you see it. The most beautiful sight your eyes have been graced with. His butt.

Butt.

His grey joggers are having a hard time trying to contain what he’s packing, not that you’re complaining. It’s bigger than what you thought possible, it’s captivating. And now you’re just staring. Staring at another dudes gigantic butt in the middle of an alley, try not to overthink it. You see it jiggle just slightly and your eyes follow it’s repetitive movement hypnotically. What doesn’t occur to you is how your body is starting to….adjust. There’s a barely perceptible malicious force entering your form, you welcomed it in the second you laid eyes on the perfectly sculpted ass. Not a wholly bad trade off.

It wastes no time in making itself at home. Assessing the prey that wandered into it’s lair, before going to work on you.

The energy is gathering in your nethers, passing down your head and pulling through your torso. It seems to be taking something with it as your rear begins to heat up. You feel a light throb. It starts slow but soon increases in intensity. Your modest stature is being ‘enhanced’, your average ass cheeks piling on pounds as the rest of your body flattens out. Muscle and tissue is consumed, just food to bolster your hindquarters. All your body fat melts away until you have a tight slim chest. Your arms thinning out into effeminate twigs, hands slender. And through it all you continue to watch the rotund cheeks in front of you, not daring to take your eyes off them. Wouldn’t it be nice to have that too? Any sacrifice would be worth it, no? You want that, that -

Butt.

The thin polyester fabric of your shorts is pulled taut across your enlarging rear. Straining as it struggles to cage the hungry beast within it’s confines. Today was perhaps not the best day to decide on going without underwear. But lets be honest, underwear isn’t going to have much prominence in your future.

With your body adequately slimmed down, the insatiable parasitic-like force begins to target any identifying features you have left. It focuses on your head, a couple of twitches and it’s done. Nose itches, eyes water. It leaves your face with an uncanny quality, like it was unsettlingly sent though a algorithmic generator. It’s you, but an eerie idealised version of you. Plasticised perfection. Your skin is now unnaturally even, without a single speck or blemish. Anything that could distract from your main asset is smoothed clean. Absorbed by the mound of flesh expanding in your pants. There’s only one thing people should be paying attention to. That’s quickly becoming less of an issue. The inevitable missing poster they put up will only vaguely resemble you.

“Guh.” You hear yourself pant.

The low droning of the alleyway grows more prominent, pulsing rhythmically, akin to the low bass of a dance track. Your buttocks instinctually vibrate to the beat.

It’s increasingly hard to ignore the obvious changes happening to you. Your rotund behind is becoming so heavy. And while, yes, it is slightly concerning - can the issue wait just a little bit longer? You’ll deal with it later, after fully grasping the scope of this dude’s bountiful booty. For a second you wonder what the mans face looks like but then you think better of it. His face isn’t important, in the same way that yours isn’t.

You shift your feet apart, trying to balance out your rear heavy centre of gravity. The slight movement sends your round cheeks wobbling comically like a bowl of jelly. They bounce together, creating a wet slapping sound in your tight shorts. Your lower half is at risk of putting fuck toys out of business.

You’ve never had the word ‘butt’ enter your mind with such frequency in your entire life, it begins to loose all meaning. A collection of random letters.

Butt.

Are you perhaps forgetting something? That 4 letter word isn’t about to share a space with that bump between your legs. At some point you may have believed your cock was of some importance. All those times it had made you feel good, where for a second your concerns would fade from view. But things change. You are changing. Sometimes you have no choice but to embrace it. You start to feel a light tugging at your crotch. It’s slightly uncomfortable but there’s a pleasant tingle too. You reach down and feel it’s length diminish within your hand, sucked up like a vacuum by your ever thickening arse. It doesn’t stop until a mere nub protrudes from your groin. It dribbles the smallest amount of pre down your leg and spreads across the cracked concrete of the alley. No amount of stimulation is going to produce much down there. Your pleasure centre realigns a little further back. A deep itch that requires constant attention. A cock is something that other people have, you instead have an open socket for them to plug into.

Your shapely bum must almost rival that of the one your eyes are glued to. Not much further to go. Other people will stare at yours in the same way. You didn’t know you were so jealous of it but who wouldn’t want THAT?

You’re not sure how long you’ve been watching his rear end, or how long you plan to continue doing so. No better ideas come to mind right now. That might be because with your body and cock sucked dry, your brain is the next best source of fuel. So much useless power being used up there, where it can serve a much better purpose. It’s like a battery being drained, squeezed right into your juicy fat ass. Churned away just to add another inch of thickness.

You don’t think you really want this to happen, maybe you’re big enough back there? But what you want and what it wants are two very different things. Unfortunately for you, it doesn’t appear to be up for debate.

If you round up all those little idiosyncrasies of your personality, you might even squeeze another few millimetres into your hips. There’s only one thing around here with much substance anymore, and it certainly isn’t your brain. You can admit it, not much of value has been lost. It’s not like you were getting around to solving world hunger. At least now you have the opportunity to solve a different kind of hunger.

Your thoughts provided a decent amount of sustenance as they were sucked out of your brain through a figurative straw. You feel the benefit push out. Your hips flaring out instantaneously while your globes inflate to the size of footballs. With your brain emptied out of anything complex, thoughts and instructions to your body start to arrive from the new master of the domain. Neurones rewired, your butt was now command central, your head was just the go between, mostly irrelevant. Simple instructions and desires like ‘bend’, ‘twerk’ and ‘facesit’ overwhelm you. But -butt- right now the main one was ‘stare’; you weren’t done yet after all.

Your cheeks moisten as they rub together, their new sensitivity firing bolts up your spine. Your shorts grow damp as the leaking fluid soaks into the polyester and clings tightly to your skin. It only helps to make your arse seem bigger, the fabric bunching up between your crack, creating a noticeable crease down the centre that leaves nothing to the imagination.

Once again you feel your ass throb and shudder, each jiggle pushing it just a little bit further from your body. Just when you think you couldn’t get any bigger back there, it keeps going, inflating to cartoonish proportions. Sticking out like a depraved shelf. Your waist thins out and your hips expand to accommodate your new form. Women would be jealous of what you’re packing, and men will be queuing up to test it’s suspension.

It’s okay to smile. Happy people smile. Aren’t you happy? You must be, everything else in your head was consumed. The entity did you a favour in that regard. Think of the words ‘bouncing booty’. Go on, give it a try.

Your lip quivers in a last ditch effort of restraint. Don’t let ‘it’ win. The defiance is vaguely amusing in a pitiful way but your face muscles start to give way. Your mouth stretches wide into a broad, earnest grin. The most sincere display of joy you’ve ever shown, who cares if it makes you look ‘dumb’? It doesn’t bother you at all that people can take one look at you and accurately guess, that not a single word of value will exit your mouth. Dumb people are happy. Why worry? You had different priorities now. You can feel safe knowing that your most prominent feature is taking the lead, that it knows what’s best for you. Give it the keys and good things are bound to happen.

See, and doesn’t smiling feel good? Doesn’t it feel right to smile as your hole is used like a cum receptacle? Or when your cheeks are surrounding a mans face? People don’t want to see their toy sad.

A lone giggle falls out between your pursed lips.

You reach back around and place your hands on your two buttocks, your palm is dwarfed in size. It no longer stretches across its surface. Like palming a basketball. You can feel it push against your fingers with immense pressure as it expands within your grasp. Just another centimetre, and another. It’s curvature widens, expanding out from your hips. You press your finger into the skin and rub. The surface is completely smooth and the texture has a slight friction to it, creating a light satisfying sqk. No one for a second will believe that it’s real, it’s obvious fake-ness is by design. Authenticity is so overrated, nothing real would bounce so tightly back to position, would shine so brightly in the light. Would be able to withstand so much pounding… People don’t actually want real, they want a fetish image come to life, they want no maintenance, no downsides. They want someone to just nod and agree while they fuck them without concern; they want a rubber butt like yours. You’re not about to question it, and neither will anyone else.

They won’t question it while they undress you, or while they find relief inside of you, or even when their own butt begins to expand. And still, when they are reduced to just another butt boy, they won’t question it.

Butt.

That’s right, you’re a carrier. You have been entrusted with a important task, to leave a string of giant asses in your wake. You need to spread it, like a computer virus. Once they ‘plug in’ there’s no going back. Whoever they were, they’ll all end up the same.

You are finished. Your glutes tighten into place. And your hole opens for frequent visitors. Stretching wide as if it had just been treated to a rigorous fuck machine session. You’re just a butt with a body attached. It’s how you view yourself, above all is tending to the needs of your ever hungry rear. The rest of your body is just a mode of transport, a means to an end. A rear end.

It feels like you’ve stood here for hours, but in reality it’s been no more than a minute. A minute was all it took for you to be repurposed as a literal butt boy. A mere sixty seconds for all your thoughts to be hollowed out; maybe you weren’t as smart as you thought, or maybe you secretly wanted this all along. Either way your head is now just a pretty picture to smile at before spinning you around.

The space in your head is about as empty as the hole between your pillowy cheeks, although only one has any hope of being filled up.

“Butt!” You hear yourself blurt out, like a child saying a naughty word. The sound echos down the dank alley.

Suddenly the butt opposite you turns away, his legs moving him towards you. A wordless instruction reaches your body to kneel and so you do, obediently. He turns back away, his beautiful ass only a few inches apart from your face. His joggers lower and his prize springs forth from it’s prison. He slowly backs his cheeks into your face until they eclipse your entire view. He continues until your head is pushed between his round globes with a blomf, encasing you, muffling the sound in your ears. There’s a mild tingle across your forehead/face.

You feel the pressure push against your sides. It makes sure your head is an appropriately vacuous vessel, squeezing out anything left. That little remnant that didn’t want to be butt brained drips away in no time, turned to drool and absorbed into the guys ass crack. This would be good for you; You needed to be made perfect, so you let the butt finish it’s work. A new set of instructions flow into you, into your ass. You feel your consciousness connect to the butt burying your face, assimilating and adding you as one of it’s own, making you part of something bigger. One of many.

The pressure on your head leaves your emptied mind subservient to the mass of tissue straining under you. It gives you a new identity.

I gave you a new identity.

BUTT BOY.

And you’re now ready for service. Butt. Boy. Ready to spread joy. To put it in the nicest way possible, you have a butt for a brain. It has been given full control, and it has one singular goal. You need to make more Butt Boys. It is that simple. It’s not a desire, it’s just something you have to do.

The cheeks spread open again and are unseated from your encased head, your broad smile still unflinching.

Something else is different though. A cold breeze brushes over your forehead. The hair on your head is nothing but a light dusting of what was there before, at most 1mm in length. It was one less thing to worry about, and one less thing to identify you with. It’s unsettling how much of your personality seemed to be stripped with it gone. The buzzed look certainly makes you appear more anonymous. Like a default custom character in a video game. Nothing made you stand out… well, aside from the obvious.

The ass in front of you is satisfied with your ‘adjustment’ and leads it’s body from the spot it once stood so patiently in. You continue to stare as the buttocks juggle erratically in the grey joggers as they leave the alleyway.

Your feet begin to move of their own volition. Movement is awkward, each step your balance is pulling you backward. You’re like a dumptruck trying to make a tight turn.

You are left in silence, aside from the clapping of your bouncy cheeks as you stumble forward to replace the previous occupant. You stand in the exact same spot, thighs pushed together, back straight. Now it is your turn to wait - like an animal for it’s prey, knowing that you cannot leave until you have passed on the gift to another man; ensuring that the cycle continues. The idea of causing someone else to go through the same process fills you with such pride.

It’s unclear how long you stand there, time in the alley doesn’t appear to operate within normal parameters. Like a crack in the world. You see your shadow projected onto a nearby wall, a straight line interrupted by an obscene vibrating speed bump. Doorframes could be your new biggest enemy.

You were desperate to see your reflection, from behind obviously. Most people take selfies of their face, the subject of your attention would be much further down.

You hear a voice echo from behind.

“Excuse me sir.”

One week later:

“Man, how much work did you have done on this, femboy? Unff. You make even my girlfriend look flat.” A towering voice booms down at you.

You’d picked up the jock in a club. He was relatively easy, it didn’t take much to end up back at his place. You stared at him with that horny, open mouthed duck face. But he wasn’t interested in what you had going on up there. It was remarkable how little men cared about how flagrantly airheaded you were once you flash your rear at them. It didn’t matter how ‘plastic’ or fake you so obviously were. The eye see’s what it wants.

He was clearly in the mood to let off steam, and one look of what you had on offer was all it took. You didn’t even need to say anything, which was good, as words were so hard to get right. For tonight, you were his; a light tap of your butt and he owned your body. A breathy ‘mhm’ confirming your obedience to him and his sizeable bulge. Your ass begins to moisten in preparation - it wanted him, in more ways than one.

He had told you his name, but you already forgot it; he soon would too. ‘Jocky’ was good enough for now.

Jocky was obnoxious in all the right ways, wearing his masculinity on his sleeve. That type made for the best, most severe adjustment.

“Love the buzzcut by the way femmy. Yeah…mhm. Very basic, it suits you.” He rubs a hand over the top of your head before running his fingers through his curly hair. It was a good thing he already liked the look.

*plap plap*

The strong man’s 7 inch cock thrusts in and out of your well used hole, pulling between your lubricated cheeks. Your buttocks squished against his member tightly, every bump rubbing across your hypersensitive skin. You were so hungry. He wasn’t the longest but he definitely had thickness on his side. You pant heavily as he has his way with you. Bent over his bed, facing away from him at a wall. He wasn’t as good at this as he thought, you would know, but it wouldn’t matter for long.

“Mmf. You’re a quiet one. Ah… I- I like that in a bottom. Makes a nice change from…hff. Always whining. Know your place. Fuck.” He continues to drunkenly rant into your ear. His deep, self-aggrandising voice quickly grating on you.

“Uuh. Take it all dumb slut.” You let him have his petty insults, it seemed to make him feel bigger, more in control. Evidently, he was obviously very self obsessed, dumb as you may be, even you could tell that much. The constant glances at his own muscles were enough of a giveaway. Eh. You’d seen better; the change will be a improvement.

He speeds up, sending shockwaves up your body and making your butt bounce enthusiastically.

“H…hey it’s real hot in here.” His voice shakes. “Umf. Maybe we should stop?” He puts his hand on your hip in an attempt to steady himself as he continues pumping you. You begin to push back into him, his dick pushing all the way in.

“Wh… what the fuck. My ass feels…mmm.” He groans loudly. You know how it feels. You can hear them rubbing together already.

His grip on your back weakens, the weight crashing into you softens. His body is like a deflating balloon, his diminishing height bringing him closer to the floor. The girth inside of you shrinks.

“Ahh. So heavy…damn. My-“

“Butt.” You tell him. A slight hint of boredom in your tone.

“Oh god, why does my head… so hard to think.” Right on cue, his smarts were being cleared out, in preparation for his ass to take over thinking duties. This part was your favourite; it wasn’t fair he had all that stuff while you felt so…blank. “Feels so good. Unnf.” It was too late for him to stop it, he’d soon be very happy. Happy, eager and ready to comply. “Shouldn’t though…” You take the lead, rocking back and forth along what’s left of his dwindling shaft. Your buttocks slap against his tightened chest.

*plap plap*

“Bouncy…hehe.” He laughs dimly. You can’t help but echo his giggle, it WAS a funny word. One of your favourites - top 5 at least, right after ‘jiggle’.

“Don’t wanna…fuck…b…but I can’t…but…but.” He stutters, like a scratched record.

“B…bu…Butt. Buuuutt.” His voice moans in realisation, mumbling the word over and over to himself. He shudders, squirting inside of you. It’s okay. It’s never enough to satisfy you.

His tiny cock slips out of your hole, dragging a small string of cum across your sensitive rear. That familiar feeling of emptiness sets back in. You get out from under him and assess your work. Turning to face him, you’re greeted by his broad smile and blank, lust-filled stare. His jockish face and body now heavily twinkified; those boorish muscles, gone. His cocky attitude, subdued. The bed creaks. You check on his oversized ass splayed beneath him, a rather drastic change from his previously flat posterior. Looking even more ridiculous with his shortened stature. The slight rubbery sheen was the cherry on top. Those plastic beach balls were made to twerk and put on a show. A vast improvement, he seems pleased by it too. His left hand is loosely fondling his new selling point.

“O…ohh.” A surprised squeak slips out from his mouth. It’s always a shock when they see where everything has gone.

You’re pretty sure he didn’t have much experience back there, if any at all. He’ll soon get the hang of it.

You know what comes next, what’s required of you - it’s instinctual at this point. You push him onto the bed and position yourself on top of him. You gradually begin to lower your huge rear over his head. You sit snugly down on his blushing face, shifting your weight a bit to get into a comfortable position. His gelled hair tickles against your skin, until it doesn’t…

He’ll make a cute Butt Boy.

[honeybuckin10]

Code Blue - a Hawks x fem!lawyer!reader One Shot

Summary: Pre-Meta Liberation Army Arc. A hero’s birthday party on a night off blurs the lines of professionalism between the Commission’s rising junior prosecutor and a certain winged hero when secrets are exchanged [wc 5.2k (I'm so sorry)].

Warnings (nsfw): swearing, drinking, workplace romance, mutual pining, angst and fluff, everyone’s a dummy, mature themes, smut-ish, heavy petting. Characters slightly aged up (mid-late 20’s).

a/n: first time writing for Hawks and/or MHA, would love feedback. please don't be a ghost reader!

Nights off for heroes were few and far between. So when they did happen, usually all Hawks wanted to do was catch up on much needed sleep. But it was Best Jeanist’s birthday, which was how he found himself begrudgingly ordering a round of drinks at the bar for the handful that had gathered to celebrate their friend and colleague.

For the sake of Best Jeanist, he did his best to hide the fact that he was in sensory overload. His feathers only amplified the already deafening bass of the live band, coupled with the loud conversations, and the clinking of dishes, glasses, and silverware.  

“Happy birthday! Sorry I’m late,” he heard the squeaky voice behind him. He turned around to see you giving the birthday boy a friendly hug before handing him a small gift bag with a card sticking out. You were a prosecutor for the Hero Public Safety Commission’s District Attorney's Office. Due to the nature of your work, you crossed paths frequently with heroes to gather evidence and build case files to justly put away villains.  

The first time Hawks met you, you bumped into him in line at the Public Records Department on the second floor of the courthouse. Literally. Your face was buried deep in a case file, the *click clack* of your heels echoing as they hit the linoleum floor. Not paying attention, you walked right into Hawks’ wings, causing you to drop the plethora of papers in your arms.

-

“Oh my gosh, I’m sorry I wasn’t paying attention!” you said, not even realizing at first who exactly you had bumped into, though you did think it was odd that you had to spit out a feather.

The halls of the courthouse, like any government building, were unfriendly, bureaucratic and slow. Annoyed, he was going to tell you to watch it. The words began to form in his mouth, but fizzled when he turned around and saw you crouched down awkwardly trying to gather all your papers, your range of motion clearly limited by your stiff skirt suit and precariously balanced in your heels. At one point your hair was probably pulled back in a sleek bun, but more than a few strands were now falling out of place. He felt bad. So instead of telling you off, he knelt down to help you pick up whatever was left on the floor.

“It’s ok, these things can be hard to miss sometimes.”

Confused, you looked up to meet golden irises and a sly smirk. Your already rosy cheeks deepened from pink to red upon realizing who was in front of you.

“Oh my God. Mr. Hawks Sir. I’m so sorry.” You immediately got to your feet, straightening out your posture. Your eyes fell from his face to the very prominent crimson wings that hung majestically behind him. You grimaced. “Wow I guess I was really out of it.”

“No worries.” He handed you back the rest of the strewn files, your fingers just grazing. “So… come here often?”

He earned a small laugh from you, finally able to put you at ease somewhat even if only for a moment. “No… or yes? I’m not really sure yet. This is my first case.” A newbie lawyer, of course. You gave a strained smile, but the furrow in your brow gave your nerves away.

“Ah, welcome to hell. Prosecutor or public defender?”

“Prosecutor.” He smiled.

“I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other, then.”

“I hope so.” Ever the professional, he was sure you didn’t mean for it to come off as anything more than introductory pleasantries. But he couldn’t help the little beat his heart skipped that caused his wings to flutter slightly. He hoped you didn’t notice.

“NEXT!” The voice of the elderly woman at the front desk boomed, hoarse from years of yelling and cigarettes. Hawks took one more look at you as your eyes kept darting to your watch.

“Why don’t you go ahead of me?” he offered. He could have introduced you to Beyonce and he was sure he wouldn’t have gotten the same reaction. You looked like a little kid on Christmas morning, but you did your best to hide your eagerness.

“Are you sure Mr. Hawks?”

“I’m in no rush, I insist. And please, just Hawks.”

“You’re holding up the line, you have five seconds to decide before I’m kicking you both to the back,” the old lady deadpanned. You looked at each other, eyes wide, both biting back shit-eating grins.

“You heard her,” he said. He took a step back, bowing slightly with an arm extended to motion you through.

“Thank you,” you mouthed wordlessly to him as you slid past.

“Good luck.”

-

That was almost two years ago. Since then, you picked up more high-profile cases, including the arrest and sentencing of Stain and had begun to make a name for yourself as a rising junior prosecutor. Two years of various long and agonizing depositions, witness prep, thousands of boxes of files combed through, late night arraignments. Almost two years of brushing elbows in the trenches, and this was his first time seeing you outside of a work setting. But for your voice, he wasn’t sure if he would have recognized you.

Your hair, free from its ordinary confines, fell effortlessly down your shoulders and framed your face perfectly. Sure, occasionally he thought about what your body might look like out of a suit, but the reality was better than anything else his imagination could concoct. Had you always had curves there?

Hawks had always thought you were pretty. But being the Number Two Hero with a predominantly female fan base, he wasn’t necessarily phased by looks. What did phase him was that big brain of yours. You wouldn’t be good at your job if you weren’t insanely intelligent with a work ethic to boot. Hawks realized he had a crush on you after the first time he saw you try a case in person. It was a trial for one of the villains he had taken down and you enlisted him as a witness. Seeing you in court charm every single juror in your opening and closing statements, expertly cross-examining hostile witnesses, keeping your cool in the face of a disrespectful opposing counsel – that’s what got his heart going a mile a minute.

So now here you were in the wild, not in a suit, saying hello to everyone like the social butterfly you were. Your exposed skin was like the answer to a riddle he didn’t know he was trying to solve. He tried not to stare, staring was rude. Staring was also causing his wings to have a mind of their own, puffing up and fluttering away ever so slightly. He turned his back again to hide them, and took a sip of beer trying very much to go unnoticed.

“Um, excuse me ma’am. I’m going to need to see some license and registration for the absolute dump truck you got behind you,” said a devilish Mirko after tapping your shoulder. Your laughter rang out, cutting through the other noise in the bar. Hawks tried to pretend he didn’t hear it, though the corners of his mouth threatened to tug a smile out of him. She’s not wrong.

“Hawks, doesn’t y/n look good in this ‘fit?” He didn’t know how or when, but he was going to kill Mirko. He blamed it on her sixth bunny sense that she’d somehow sniffed out his feelings for you - though it was probably the fact that she noticed he stopped entertaining one-night stands months ago.

“Mirko, have you considered that y/n would like to have a night out without being harassed?” Even in the dim lights of the bar, he could tell your cheeks were flushed. And despite the nonchalant act he was trying to put on, he was sure his face was about the same.

“Hey, I was just giving a compliment,” the bunny said mischievously. She gave Hawks a wink as she backed away, but not before mouthing “If you don’t fuck her, I will.”

“Hi,” you said cheekily, blissfully unaware of the chaos around you.

“Hi Counselor,” he said, no longer able to contain his smile. He dipped down to give you a hug, hoping the way he inhaled your perfume went undetected. His senses were permeated with vanilla and cedarwood, followed by the smell of your floral shampoo. The warmth of your body spread across his chest, and he tried to memorize the way your soft hands felt so small resting on his shoulders. Reluctantly he pulled away.

“So how much catching up do I have to do?” you asked. Hawks swirled around the last of his beer.

“This is my second, but I can’t speak for the rest of my – uh - colleagues,” he said as he glanced at Mirko who was now forcing Best Jeanist to take a shot.

“Ah, I see,” you said slowly, following his line of sight.

“So what can I get you to drink?” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“You buying me a drink, Hawks?” He rolled his eyes as you elbowed him in his side wiggling your eyebrows.

“I needed a refill anyways and my tab’s already open. Don’t let it get to your head,” he teased back.

“Oh don’t you worry, I will.” The bartender placed two beers in front of you. You took a long sip, as you watched the hero swirl is drink. Something was off and you were going to get to the bottom of it.  

What Hawks was actually thinking as he stared at his beverage, was that he suddenly had no idea what to say or do with his hands.

“So are you going to spend the rest of the night cowering in the corner? Didn’t think you’d be the wet blanket of the bunch.” He nearly spat out his beer.

“I’m not a wet blanket,” he said defensively.

“Prove it.” You stuck out your hand. “Since you bought me a drink, I think I owe you a dance,” you said with a smirk. He looked at you thoughtfully.

“You owe me nothing except your friendship.”

“Oh we’re friends now? I thought we were colleagues,” poking fun at his earlier comment. He didn’t like the hole you were digging him into. He could flirt with a brick wall, yet for some reason the workplace flirtations that had escalated for two years between you two were not translating to the place where they would be most appropriate.

“I, uh, tend to get in the way. Better not.” He tilted his head towards his back where his wings hung lamely.

“Oh come on don’t be a party pooper,” you gave an encouraging smile. His eyes met yours only for moment, but looking at you was like looking directly into the sun. So he kept his eyes on your hand while he found himself uncharacteristically tongue tied. He took your extended palm, but didn’t budge when you tried pulling him off the barstool. He sensed your breath hitch as he held you in place. Your eyes traveled from your now interlocked hands to his face. “Hawks…?”

*beep* “We got a code red. I repeat, code red. Over.” *beep*

The noise came from your purse, pulling you both out of whatever trance you were in. He raised an eyebrow. Sure enough, you pulled out a walkie talkie and brought it to your mouth.

“Rescue effort deployed, over.” *beep*

His golden orbs finally met yours, your eyes swimming with sympathy.

“I’ve been summoned. I don’t know what’s going on here, but come find me when you’re done sulking, yeah?”

He released your hand and watched as you disappeared into the dance floor, but not before he saw you ward off an unwanted suitor leering over Mount Lady who was still gripping the sister walkie-talkie.

He settled back into the bar seat and chugged.  

“I thought you were fun at parties.” Best Jeanist saddled up beside him, dropping off his empty round. Hawks groaned.

“Not you too.”

“It’s my birthday, you’re obligated to be nice to me. Not that I thought it would be so difficult for you.”

“It’s my first night off in months man, I’m just a little tired.”

“We’re all tired, that’s no excuse.”

Hawks felt guilty, Best Jeanist was right. Embarrassment bubbled in his gut, though maybe that was just the beer.

“Relationships are like a new pair of high quality jeans –“

“Please stop.”

“At first, the fibers are stiff. They take a while to break in, may even feel uncomfortable at first. But after a few wears, the fabric relaxes and molds to the wearer. The perfect denim…”

“Are you done?”

“No. You knew she was going to be here tonight so what gives?”

Hawks ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

-

You and Hawks had been at it for hours. You let out a low groan.

“Can you grab that box for me? I can’t reach.”

Hawks couldn’t help himself. You looked so cute on your tip toes arms extended. The persona you exuded in court was bigger than life, but outside that you were quite ordinary. He liked that you weren’t so infallible that you were beyond the need for his assistance.

The boxes of evidence filled the office, floor to ceiling. You had gone through most of them, only one pile was left. Technically he didn’t have to be there, but he’d bumped into you in the halls of the HPSC long past most had left the building. You explained your plight that the other junior associate assigned to the case with you had bailed. It was for one of the villains he’d captured anyways, so he volunteered to help.

“Yeah, I got it Birdie.” He walked over to where you were, but you didn’t budge. Stubbornly you continued to wave your arms as though you’d be able to summon the box clearly out of reach through sheer will alone. It was, in a word, adorable. So he perched himself behind you, pressing against your backside to absolve you of your struggle. He was being mindful of space - was the story he told himself, which was a lie. It would also be a lie to say he didn’t enjoy it.

You inhaled sharply and instinctively closed your eyes, his cologne infiltrating your nose. It’s not that you and Hawks hadn’t made physical contact before, it’s just that it was mostly in the form of professional or friendly touches. Like handshakes or pats on the back or nudging arms. There had only been a handful of other times where there was accidental increased contact, and each time felt like an out of body experience. This was no different. You tried not to push your ass into him as he reached above you, relishing the warmth of his body against yours. Meekly, you let your arms drop to your sides as a shiver rolled down your spine.

You only turned around when you heard him drop the box on the ground. You let your back land on the stack of boxes against the wall. You drank in his form, mere inches away from you. Jacket and gloves long discarded, you admired the veins in his forearms and the contours of his muscles that shown through his shirt. You knew he caught you staring, but you didn’t mind.

Hawks stared right back at you, silently enjoying the way the collar of your blouse, now partially unbuttoned and lopsided, showed off your clavicle. Your hair once perfectly coiffed now fell in a loose bun, strays falling around your face. Your half-lidded eyes beckoned him to close the tiny gap between you.

Maybe it was sleep deprivation that he forgot who you were (his coworker) or where he was (inside your office in the building of the HPSC). All sense of rationality went out the window the moment Hawks decided to take a step forward. Your eyes followed as he placed a hand next to your head, then trailed up the length of his arm back to his face, finally focusing on his lush lips that were suddenly very close. You held your breath as you patiently waited for impact that never came. His beeper went off, startling you both and cutting the moment short.

-

That was last night.

You were a lawyer. You followed rules. You enforced rules. Not that sleeping/dating a coworker was illegal, but it felt like you were doing something wrong. You weren’t each other’s superiors or subordinates, you weren’t in the same department, you checked the Commission’s bylaws and there was nothing else explicitly prohibiting romantic relations between employees. But you were still scared to disrupt the status quo.

You didn���t think much of it at first. You knew Hawks flirted with anything with a pulse. So you didn’t see the harm in giving him a taste of his own medicine every now and then. You weren’t sure when you started having actual feelings for him. It might have been a few months ago when you got to your office in the morning after a long night of work, only to find a coffee and a crimson feather on your desk. When had you told him your coffee order? All you knew was that the exchanges that once felt like an inside joke now seemed like cruel and unusual punishment, a reminder that you were nothing special and that this was just how he acted with everyone.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been out on the dancefloor. Your feet were starting to hurt. Mirko had fed you two shots and you were now nursing the remaining ice from your second gin and tonic. With clear liquor and cloudy eyes, you felt your confidence draining as the night wore on, no sign of The Winged Hero in sight. Did you go too far? Did you horribly misread last night’s events? Was he avoiding you?

You felt a pair of hands grip your hips, pulling you out of your daydream and realizing you had no idea where everyone else was. Your hand flew to your purse to grab your walkie-talkie.

“Don’t tell me you’re about to code-red me.” Your eyes immediately lit up as you turned around, too much alcohol in your system to play coy.

“You came!” Your hands excitedly drummed his chest. Your grin was infectious. He leaned in to make himself heard over the speakers.  

“Of course I did. Just took a while to find you, you’re pretty short.” His hot breath tickled your ear.

“You think I’m pretty?” you drawled, a lazy smile plastered on your face. The initial panic in his eyes softened as he realized your mistake. He didn’t have the heart to correct you, nor were you were wrong.

“That’s not what I – yeah… you’re pretty.” You pressed yourself up into him on tip toes, cupping a hand around his ear.

“Can I tell you a secret?” His heartbeat quickened, his own sobriety lacking along with his social filter. He should have shut it down, but instead he said:

“Always.”

“I – “

“Hey, watch it with those things.” His wings, again having a mind of their own, had inadvertently fluttered a drink out of a nearby patron’s hands - and he wasn’t happy about it. He was about to apologize, but you beat him to the response.

“Clearly it was an accident, why don’t you watch it you bitch-ass – ” On one hand, he thought it was very sexy how you tried to defend him. On the other, you were simply not threatening no matter how hard you tried and the last thing Hawks wanted right now was to ruin what felt like the most important moment of his life with a bar fight.

“I am very sorry sir, it was an accident. Feel free to use my tab the rest of the night,” he said to the man as he picked you up by your midsection and carried you away before you could finish the sentence. Even as you retreated, you continued your death glare towards the stranger who was left very confused.

Hawks placed you down in a corner where his wings and your sharp tongue hopefully wouldn’t cause any further disruptions. He leaned his back against the wall just to be safe.

“So do you usually go around starting bar fights?” he said with a smug smile.

“Me?! He started it and I was defending your honor,” you huffed, crossing your arms. “You’re welcome,” you said defiantly. To your dismay, the hero let out a hearty laugh. “Hey!”

“I’m sorry. You’re right, you were very scary,” he finally got out as his laughter slowed.  

“Don’t lie,” you pouted.

“It was really cute.” He was still laughing, but you were starting to sober up.

“I said don’t lie.” Your meek voice was barely audible in the still boisterous bar. His eyes softened at your hardened expression.

“I-I wasn’t.” He was suddenly very aware of your surroundings, which was next to the line starting to form by the bathrooms. Loud chit chatter and crying coming from the ladies’ room mixed with sound of someone audibly vomiting from the men’s room was not exactly how he pictured this going down. He took your hand and started walking again.

“Ugh, where are we going now? Our friends are still there,” you groaned. Friends. Why was that word so easy for you, yet rolled off his tongue like sand paper?

“We can go back inside in a minute, but I want to talk.” He’d led you out the backdoor of the bar. You looked around, clearly confused.

“Dude, what is happening?”

“I couldn’t hear you in there and we were next to the bathrooms.”

“So you dragged me out to an alleyway next to a literal dumpster. Got it.” He looked around just to check if you were correct, which unfortunately, you were.

You couldn’t be serious with each other if you tried. Snorts and stifled giggles filled the alley, overpowering the dull bass from inside.

“I guess I really know how to set the mood, huh.” He scratched the back of his head, admiring the scenery.

“I didn’t know there was a mood to be set.” Your tone was inquisitive, free of judgement. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on? You’ve been acting weird all night.”

Hawks took a deep breath, trying to gather his growing nerves. But he was a coward who’d rather fly into a burning building than share his feelings so he deflected.

“You said you were going to tell me a secret in there. What was it?”

Your felt your cheeks immediately burn. The liquid courage you had before was wearing off so you volleyed back.

“You have to tell me a secret first,” you said defensively. Hawks rolled his eyes.

“I’ve already told you two secrets tonight, you just weren’t paying attention.”

“Like wha- oh.” You brought a hand to your mouth to cover the audible gasp that left your lips. You wondered if Hawks was embarrassed. If he was, he hid it well under the guise of a knowing smirk. It was at that moment you noticed how his gilded eyes shone spectacularly under the dim glow of the nearby streetlamp. Perhaps the embarrassment, if any, was also pacified by how clearly flustered you were by the culmination of all that had transpired in the last 24 hours. You crossed your arms. “Well… I still need one more secret from you.”

“Wow, three for the price of one? Now you’re just overselling it.” He stopped teasing when he saw you pouting again. Not a playful pout, but the kind that made it look like you were about to break. He never thought of you as fragile before. He grabbed your hand, averting his gaze.

“You have to promise to keep it a secret, ok?” You nodded, squeezing his hand for reassurance.

“I promise.” He took a deep breath, finally gathering the courage to look you in the eyes again.

“Keigo.”

“What?”

“Keigo,” he said again. “Keigo Takami. That’s my real name.” Your eyes widened in horror realizing you’d made him compromise his own security. You frantically began scanning your surroundings for any unintentional witnesses. He grabbed your shoulders to steady you.

“Oh my god, Hawks, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to –“

“Shhhh it’s ok there’s no one else around. You didn’t force me, I want you to know. Please, call me Keigo.” He watched the rise and fall of your chest, trying to monitor your labored breathing. Again, this was not going as planned. Not that he really had a plan to begin with. But even if he did, causing you to go into cardiac arrest surely was not on the list. Your breath finally started to slow.

“Keigo,” you whispered, more to yourself than anyone else. You liked the way his name felt on your tongue, so you said it again. “Keigo.”

He tried to suppress a smile, watching how the corners of your lips tugged upwards. His hand, seemingly acting on its own, stroked your hair as he continued to sooth you.

“See, that wasn’t so bad,” which was another way to say he’d never heard a more beautiful sound in his life than his real name falling from your lips.

He tried to lighten the mood, not wanting to cause you any more distress than he already had over the course of the night.

“Not to brag, but this better be one hell of a secret ‘cause–“

He didn’t get to finish the sentence. You grabbed him by the collar to bring his lips to yours in a messy, fervent kiss that took his breath away but was over in the blink of an eye before he could act or process.  

You pushed him away slightly as you caught your breath, looking just as surprised as he was about the whole ordeal.   

“I-I’m sorry I should’ve asked –“

He crashed into you as he held both sides of your face, afraid you may float away if that beautiful mind of yours started to overthink as it often did. The force knocked you into the building behind you, but you didn’t mind. Wandering hands traveled over each other’s bodies, both eager to explore foreign skin. Your tongues danced in unison as you body tingled under his erratic touch, grabbing your arms, back, hips, waist, hair, whatever he could hold onto unable to stay in one place for long.

You couldn’t stop your own hands from feeling the muscles you’d watched from afar for so long, enjoying the ripple of his abs, the sturdiness of his chest, finally landing around his neck. You pulled him impossibly closer, spiteful of the little space that still separated you. His wings protectively caged around you, shielding any prying eyes from your compromising position.

In an extraordinary display of restraint he kept a hand on your ribcage, his fingers delicately ghosting the band of your bra over your clothes, his intent clear but never crossing boundaries. You smiled into the kiss deciding to take advantage of the new privacy as you placed your hand over his to guide it to its true destination. He let out a groan that reverberated against your lips as he squeezed the soft flesh under him, still in disbelief that he should be so lucky to experience all that had only existed in his imagination. He swallowed the soft moan you let out when he grazed his thumb over your sensitive nipple that peaked through the fabric of your top. You rolled your hips forward desperate for friction, and he eagerly returned the favor. You gasped at the feeling of his bulge against your pelvis, which you realized was the first time you’d come up for air since you locked lips.   

His mouth traveled down your neck until he found a sweet spot that made you squirm. Your hand also made its way south, but your path was halted by his calloused hand when you reached the waistband of his pants. Hawks might fuck you in an alleyway outside a bar, but Keigo wanted to build you the softest nest to lay you on because you deserved nothing less.

He nuzzled his face into the crook of you neck as his other hand drew little circles on the small of your back.

“Technically… that wasn’t a secret,” he whispered into your skin. Your chests rattled against one another as laughter escaped your lungs.

“You’re an ass,” you said through fits of giggles. He nipped a little more at your neck, encouraging you on. “If you’re going to make me say it… I wanted to kiss you. Tonight. And last night. And the day before that. And the week before that. And –“

He kissed you once more to cut you off, but this time it was sweet and soft. It made you feel calm and centered. So when he pulled away, you decided to share more.

“Can I tell you another secret?”

“If it’s anything like the first one, absolutely.” He brought your captured wrist to his mouth, leaving a trail of small kisses over your hand. Your heartbeat that finally started to slow picked right back up.

“I’ve never flown before.” You not-so-subtly glanced at his wings before looking back at him, eyebrow raised. He gave you a wicked grin.

“Yeah I can give you a ride little bird. Not to be presumptuous, but uh… your place or mine?” You pretended to think hard about the proposition.

“Hmm. I’d say appropriately-sumptuous, and… dealer’s choice.” Hawks had found his way to your neck again which made thinking straight quite difficult, but you persisted nonetheless. “Though… maybe we go back inside and table this for another hour. I feel bad leaving without saying goodbye.”

Hawks moved up the column of you neck until his breath was in your ear.

“I’m gonna go on a limb and say, I think it would make the birthday boy very happy if we didn’t.” Despite the blush that crept to your cheeks knowing you may be the subject of workplace gossip tomorrow, your core clenched in anticipation at his words. The hero could tell from your dazed expression that it was time to go. That was, at least, until the walkie-talkie in your purse went off again.

*beep* “Code blue, y/n where are you? Over.” *beep*

You could see his sails deflate when you pulled out the device, assuming once again that his plans were foiled. Not one to put up a fight, he moved towards the door to reunite with everyone. But you didn’t budge, squeezing his hand to hold him in place. He watched closely as your other hand brought the walkie-talkie to your mouth. The playful twinkle in your eyes told him all he needed to know.

“The eagle has landed in the nest. Over.” *beep*

[fhrlclln]

Could you write Miguel hates everyone but you please.

miguel o’hara x spider!gn! reader

ANONNN YESSS, the thought made my toes curl how he’d automatically go soft on you at any moment LOLLL, like his annoyance would fizzle out just one word or glance from you (basically i want him obsessed with me 🤪).

｡･:*˚:✧｡

if you knew better, you know well not to get on miguel’s nerves.

he’s a busy man, stressed and fighting his way through his mission of keeping the multiverse in-tact. lyla once said that he wasn’t all like this before, just that everything had weighed on him the moment he discovered what keeps every spider-person’s dimension stable, learning from his own personal mistake. basically, you think the spider-society’s leader is kind of… unstable? kinda, if mentally but overall, you think he just hates everyone.

it was common to see him snapping at people, mostly the ones who get on his nerves frequently. but most of the time, he’s strict and scarily assertive when it comes to normal matters that need his guidance. everyone in the spider-society don’t really care if they pissed their leader off in some way but they were aware not to push his buttons. they just kinda wished he was more fun since they deemed him as the only spiderman who isn’t ‘funny.’ hell, everyone wanted to see if he’d throw that attitude away for once.

but maybe he did.

it was subtle, subtle you couldn’t even make it out.

“a new suit you’re building?” miguel’s shoulder’s tensed at the sudden boom of your voice, yet instantly he relaxes as you hop of the ceiling to stand by his side while he works on his own suit. “hope i’m not intruding.” you quickly follow up, realizing your mistake of not knocking or something.

“in the progress, yes.” miguel says, without much sarcasm or annoyance. you relax as well as miguel continued on working, not minding you were here it seems. he was quiet as you knew, you knew from observation that he liked working alone most of the time.

“that’s cool! how far are you enhancing from this suit?” you asked, utterly excited now as you gesture to his original suit. miguel seems amused, as you expected him to shut you off or ask why you were here but he merely chuckles, liking your curiosity.

“way far, trying to improve it’s durability and other things here and there, sensors, these web wings...” he gestures to the material underneath the armpits of the suit. a fine light byte material as you noticed. “and more.” he looks down to the other parts of the suit, proud.

you hummed, taking the to admire his craftsmanship. it certainly was a big change to his suit now as you can see, the color theme was changed as well, incorporating white in it but still had that usual tone. your eyes wandered, taking every little detail until one had your eyes widening.

“are those… boot jets?” you bend down to take a better look, as the suit was situated by wires, hanging a top.

“yes. for boosting flight speed mainly.” he says, grabbing one of the soles as he shows it to you. your eyes sparkled as you touched it, amazed how a booster could fit that small.

“amazing, miguel! wished my suit was capable of that.” you smiled as miguel shrugs at it, though a small smile is graced on his lips from your compliment. “what else are you innovating?”

miguel gestures to the wrist of the suit’s gloves as he picks something off the table from the side to show it to you. it was small arachnid shaped objects he presented as he demonstrates it by flinging it off way up as he shoots it with his laser webs causing a small explosion to occur, making you jump.

“explosives—“

miguel lets you take one of small explosives from his hand with astonishment as he softly explains along what they are. “prototype explosives. yeah, they’re something i’ve been—“

“what are we talking about today?! i just heard an explosion, i thought we were keeping it baby-proof here, miguel!” peter’s cheery voice suddenly took over as miguel let out a tiny exasperated sigh at the sudden intrusion. you waved in greeting as the father-daughter duo made their way towards the two of you. mayday happily napping in peter’s baby sling.

“there is no such thing of baby-proofing a lab, peter.” he grunts, resuming his antics as peter cooly dismisses his unwelcoming attitude. his face remains passive yet his tone was off, you noticed. “what do you want?”

“important matters. sorry for intruding whatever you two are doing, was it serious?” peter takes a knowing glance at you as you chuckled.

miguel rolls his eyes. “it was not—“

“it’s no big deal, peter. was just stopping by for miguel.” you smiled at him, looking back at miguel as you sensed some serious matter was going to be discussed as you excused yourself now. “i’ll be heading back now. miguel, if you have the time i’d love to hear more of the suit.”

miguel nods gently, the sudden look of annoyance dying down from his face a bit as you waved goodbye to peter, not forgetting to whispering a bye-bye to mayday as well. the two men stood in silence as peter seemed to catch something on as miguel went back to his desk, resuming his work.

“so, you really don’t hate everyone, huh?” peter starts, amused. very amused at the sudden subtle change. amused as well that he just won the bet that their leader didn’t hate everyone in fact.

“what does that have to mean?” miguel raises a brow at the assumption.

“oh, i don’t know… but, well for one, you aren’t that snappy at them than to me and maybe so on…” peter says mischievously, looking back to where you exited, chuckling as he smirks as miguel catches on with that implication and the tease. the tip of his ears heating up that as he turns his back at him.

“stop assuming things, parker.” he says defensively, peter raises his hands in defense as well, yet still not letting it go for a moment before they finally talk about the more serious matters. though, his mind yet ponders at what truth was said. it wasn’t that true that he hates everyone… everyone just annoys him but, yeah…

maybe he does like you, it seems.

｡･:*˚:✧｡

i want him fr

[deobienthusiast]

drunk on woo | ksw.

• pairing: kim sunwoo x gn!reader

• word count: 1k words

• genre: non idol!sunwoo, suggestive, there isn’t really fluff, but there also isn’t really angst. it’s just, suggestive

you meet the perfect stranger on accident in a club, and now you keep coming back for more as he leaves you feeling more intoxicated than alcohol ever could

warnings: mature themes, no actual description of a sex scene, but there is call backs to sex, im hesitant to say 16+, probably would say 18+ just to be safe. i wouldn’t consider this something a minor should probably interact with so mdni (pls), mentions of alcohol

notes: i welcome you to the most spicy thing ive written. not sure if ill get more spicy or if ill fizzle out but this has been on my mind for a while and i needed to put it into words. so enjoy. this wasn’t proofread btw i just sent it to sana (@sanaxo-o) so she could be surprised😏😉

the barstool you occupied pulsated from the loud music pumping through the speakers. the drink you were holding shook slightly, leaking onto the sides of the cup from the bartender overfilling it. you weren’t worried about that, though. you already had a few drinks, a form of liquid courage if you will. this wasn’t a regular scene for you. you weren’t the party and drinking type, however you were drawn here for one reason and one reason only. kim sunwoo.

you knew he frequented this club, and he came here on fridays. after meeting on accident due to your friends dragging you here out of pity, you two met. he was enamored with your quiet and shy demeanor. he thought you were breathtaking. and honestly, you thought the same thing about him. his hair was jet black, shiny, and curly. it fell in front of his dark, boba-like eyes and had a bounce to it every time he moved. what really drew you in were his lips. full and pink, constantly being pulled between his teeth and licked by his tongue. you two danced together the whole night before he inevitably dragged you away from your friends, taking you back to his place.

he showered you in lust-filled kisses and filthy words hidden inside the sweetness of his voice. his lips, the same ones that drew you in, brought you over the edge repeatedly. whether it was through his words, or the skilled way he buried himself between your legs. you were a goner before he was even inside of you. the night went by quickly. when he dropped you off at your friend’s place the next morning, you were left wanting more. you never got a phone number, and you were desperate. you slept with other men after him, but it wasn’t the same. it didn’t feel the same. you craved him in ways that other men or your own toys couldn’t satisfy.

hence how you ended up back in the club, this time accompanied by no one. you needed another night (or more) with sunwoo. you told yourself it would be just to get him out of your head. deep down, you knew that wasn’t the truth, but you would cross that bridge when you got there. the lights were low, black lights decorating the walls, casting a purple haze across the crowd of sweaty bodies lumped together on the dance floor.

despite the amount of people in the building, it wasn’t hard for you to find sunwoo. the way he moved through the crowd, the way he danced, the way he moved his hips, was all subjective to him. he stood out, in a good way that is. his hair still black and shiny, but the black light was picking up a light color, turning the strands a bright purple color.

he put in highlights.

you remembered the silky smoothness of his hair between your fingertips. the way his hair bunched up between your fingers as you pulled on it. he loved it. he told you to pull harder.

you grabbed the drink on the counter and downed it, pushing yourself off the barstool. the liquid courage had you feeling bold, but who knew how long it would last, especially around him. you made your way through the crowd, bumping into people who didn’t bother to say anything, because they were too busy dancing offbeat to the club music. he had his back to you, keeping his distance as he danced with a girl and her friends. when you were just a foot away from him, you tapped his shoulder. the tap was enough to alert sunwoo as he turned.

his eyes widened as a smirk made its way to his face. his full lips pulled up slightly revealing his pearly white teeth that glowed under the black lights. with how close you were now, you could see hints of blonde in his hair, the light color attracting the black light. sunwoo wasted no time in grabbing your waist with his large hands, the same way he did in his bed, holding your waist in place as he spoke above your high pitched whines. if you keep moving, i’ll punish you.

the words echoed in your head, making you shudder as he pulled you into him, turning you around just before you make contact so your back is pressed against him. he moved your hips in time with his, feeling him move one hand to completely circle your waist, while the other moved up to tilt your head to the side. the music made everything he did more intense, before you felt his plush lips plant themselves on the exposed skin of your neck. you gasped.

i missed you.

his words muffled against your neck, just barely being loud enough for you to hear. you swallowed hard, feeling your throat go dry. he continued peppering kisses on your neck before he found a particular spot he was fond of, sinking his teeth lightly into your skin. you whimpered at the feeling of his tongue gliding back and forth on the mark he just left on you.

i missed those pretty sounds. couldn’t stop thinking about how good you were, how sweet you tasted.

you felt yourself heat up at the thought of living rent free in the kim sunwoo’s mind. his thoughts poured out of him, letting you know he hadn’t taken anyone else since your night together, getting himself off to the thought of you and your pretty sounds as he put it. he was slowly driving you crazy, making you dizzy at the touch. he knew the effect he had on you. spinning in his arms, he lifted his head quickly before you pulled him into a deep, yet messy kiss. teeth clashing, tongues colliding, and groans being shared. all of it being laid out in the vicinity of the club without a care in the world other than getting lost in each other.

when he pulled away, you whimpered, feeling yourself rub your thighs together at how worked up you were. sunwoo chuckled as he laced his fingers with yours, pulling you through the crowded dance floor to the exit.

don’t worry baby. gonna take good care of you.

[steddieunderdogfics]

This week’s writer spotlight feature is:  steddieasitgoes! @steddieasitgoes has 27 works posted to AO3 in the Stranger Things fandom and 23 of them are in the Steddie tag!

Our anonymous nominator recommends the following works by @steddieasitgoes:

Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I'm Yours)

for a fortnight there, we were forever

honey i'm still free (take a chance on me)

You Were All Yellow

Eat Your Heart Out, Big Boy

"Her fics are SO FUN. I have enjoyed every single one that I've read IMMENSELY and am always talking about them to my friends after I've read them <3" -- anonymous

Below the cut, @steddieasitgoes answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

Was I supposed to watch Eddie throw Steve his vest – the quintessential 80s romcom moment – and be totally normal about it? But in all honesty, there’s just something about them that compels me. When you dig deep into their personalities and arcs, they’re really two sides of the same coin and there’s so many ways for that to manifest in fic.hen

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

I had to consult my ao3 bookmarks for this one and “getting together” tops my list, which really isn’t a traditional trope but I absolutely adore that mutual pining, idiots in love sort of thing that happens in those fics. Bonus points for slow burns!

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

Idiots in love for sure. Again, not a typical trope but I’m pretty sure it’s tagged on just about every fic I’ve written. It’s just so easy to slot them into those roles and banter their way into a love confession. The show is so life and death all the time, that I like letting them be goofy boys.

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

This is like asking me to choose if I’m more of a Steve girl or an Eddie girl – impossible! But if I had to narrow it down to a top few, I’d say: the most remarkable thing by greatunironic, rounding third, sliding home by througheden, better by you, better than me by palmviolet, and is your light on? By Adure

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

Outside of fic I’m a huge fan of enemies/rivals to lovers so I think that would be fun to explore between Steddie. There’s a hint of it in Signed, Sealed, Delivered but I think their hatred fizzles out really quickly and I definitely want to play with something where that takes longer to happen.

What is your writing process like?

It sort of depends on the project, but typically I get a kernel of an idea. Somethings that’s a setting, sometime it’s a bit of dialogue, sometimes it’s just ✨ vibes ✨ Then I’ll add it to my jumbled mess of a notes app on my phone and keep adding to it as I get ideas. When I wrote my first fic (Can’t Fight This Feeling Anymore) I had no outline whatsoever. I just knew I had this one scene in mind and kept writing and building the world until I felt the moment made sense to happen. Nowadays, I’m a bit more organized when it comes to longer fics. I’ll usually do a bare bones outline with the major beats I want to hit outlined. This gives me enough structure to not feel lost, but also lets the characters breath one the page and make their own choices. Every fic, but the one I’m working on now for the steddie big bang, I’ve written chronologically which helps me because I can see the progression of the relationship dynamics in real time.  For one shots, it’s somewhat similar. I start with a kernel of an idea and a general plot in my head and just write and hope for the best lol

Do you have any writing quirks?

I think I use the same sentence structure a lot which drives me nuts, but I can’t always help it. Motif-wise I don’t think I have a unifying theme amongst all my fics, but I can almost guarantee that there will be some kind of third act break up. Happily ever afters are always going to be in my fics, but I like to make them work for it. Also they do a lot of gazing at each other and things in my fics. So much gazing!

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

Generally, I like posting when something is completely finished. But I get antsy and have been known to start posting when the fic is 85% done and then procrastinate on writing the end until my deadline is looming.

Which fic are you most proud of?

I’m proud of all of them for different reasons, but I was really blown away with Can’t Fight This Feeling Anymore. I hadn’t written fic in years and had never written a third-person mlm story before. At the time it was also the longest thing I had ever written. It definitely made me fall back in love with fictional prose writing and the steddie community as a whole.

How did you get the idea for Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I'm Yours)?

It was actually inspired by a ficlet I had written earlier that year and decided to use as inspiration for the full length fic. I was driving around and I kept seeing mail trucks everywhere and I remember getting an image of Steve in those short khaki shorts, carrying a satchel full of mail. And then I remember thinking “I wonder what Eddie would think” and the worms took over. I will say, expanding it into a full fic did take some time though because the ficlet was just vibes

When writing Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I'm Yours), what was something you didn’t expect?

How long it ended up being lol I think it came in double what I had predicted it to be. I also didn’t expect to write it in the way I did. All my other fics are very traditional in that each chapter is a day or a couple days and it follows a clear timeline. With Signed I really went for a vignette, slice of life sort of storytelling which was a bit difficult initially but I think it paid off in the end.

What inspired honey i'm still free (take a chance on me)?

That one was written for a valentine’s discord server so it was based on the prompt steddiealltheway on Tumblr had submitted. It took me a minute to work out the plot, but I liked the idea of Robin getting to be the wingwoman for Steve.

What was your favorite part to write from for a fortnight there, we were forever?

There was a metaness to that one that was so fun to write. You have Eddie falling in love with Supernatural, a show that was known for making questionable decisions in the end and talking about how fanfic saves the day and that’s exactly what I’ve spent the last two years doing for him lol I love the idea of Eddie being a fandom kid like all of us, and dragging and unknowing Steve into it with him.

How do/did you feel writing Eat Your Heart Out, Big Boy?

At the time I think I just wanted to write something fun and silly because I was deep into Signed, Sealed, Delivered at the time and was feeling bad about not sharing anything. It was like a palette cleanser.

What was the most difficult part of writing You Were All Yellow?

Definitely deciding which yellow objects I was going to use and figuring out how to string them together in a clear narrative arc. It was a puzzle of sorts that took a lot of patience to figure out. It was also a bit reverse-engineered where the objects dictated what the story would be. I think it would have been easier if I had the story first and then found things that fit that narrative.

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

I struggle with writing poetically, so I was really proud of this line from Duck, Dodge, Don’t Fall In Love: “He feels like an astronomer falling in love with stars for the first time in the untouchable night sky. Because that’s what Steve is, right? A dazzling force that Eddie can steal glances at but never touch, never reach.” But also any and all smut scenes I’ve written. That was an incredible challenge at first and I literally wrote the first make out scene ever under the covers of my bed lol

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

I’m planning to participate in this year’s Steddie Week with some (hopefully) short one shots. And then I have my big bang fic When The Buzzer Sounds that will come out later this year. Other than that we’ll see. My notes are overflowing with ideas it’s all about finding the time and the right one.

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

As I write this I’m not sure who nominated me, but I want to say thank you to them! It’s so wild to me that people resonate with the silly stories my brain comes up with and I’ll never take that for granted. There’s so many creative steddie fic writers out there and I’m so happy to be one of them. We really blew up overnight and it’s been so fun watching everyone grow together. And I want to thank all the mods behind this blog for helping share writers hardwork!

Thank you to our author, @steddieasitgoes, and our anonymous nominator! See more of steddieasitgoes's works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

[cookinguptales]

Out of curiosity, do you have any theories for why the bizarre narrative shift wwdits had circa late s4 happened?

I've gotten some uh. Pretty intense anons for saying what I'm about to say, for some reason, but sure, yeah. I'll talk about it. This will be pretty long because I haven't written wwdits meta in a long time, but. Oh well.

For s4 specifically... There's something that Anoop Desai, the actor who plays the Djinn, said in an interview once that I thought was really interesting. He said that they initially only wanted him to be in a few episodes of s4 and told him they'd go from there. As we all know, he ended up doing a great job with the part, the Djinn ended up becoming wildly popular, and the role was expanded.

But when you think about it... a lot of things in the back half of s4 only happened because the Djinn was around, right? The wish for Marwa to like whatever Nandor liked (and its subsequent issues), the wish for Marwa to become a Freddie clone... Those can only happen the way they did because the Djinn's wishes were available as a plot device. It's entirely possible that they were going to happen anyway, just another way, but... I don't think it's really going too far to say that there had to be rewrites of late season s4 in order to incorporate the Djinn, and we just have no way of knowing how extensive those rewrites turned out to be.

I think certain aspects of the end of s4 still had to have been there (a boyfriend for Guillermo, the wedding going poorly) but the exact way that things played out? Well, it did kind of smack of last-minute rewrites to me. We know there was also a lot of confusion about episode order, too, with the wedding seeming to have been originally placed closer to the end of the season... (Based on slates seen on IG.)

So... it really does make you wonder if things might have gone very differently if not for the Djinn's presence. I always kind of felt like I got monkey pawed because I love the Djinn, I really wanted him to be around longer, but then... oof.

s4 was kind of bewildering because it had some truly wonderful episodes, but there was a sense that they were building up to something that just never happened. A lot of themes, like Guillermo learning he can't lie to his loved ones and still keep a strong relationship with them, were really emphasized only to be dropped when they should have been very important with Freddie and all of s5.

Even what I'd argue was the most successful part of s4, the relationship between Laszlo and Colin, was really kind of unceremoniously dumped in s5.

I feel like s4 was where we really started to see a lack of payoff in long-running arcs. s2 was really the last time a season finale cliffhanger had much of any impact on the long-term events of the show (and s3 was when there was a showrunner change, so that could partially be why) and I think that fans were hoping that we'd still see those long-term arcs for characters, especially when s3 on seemed to focus more on characterization and relationship-building.

But what's actually ended up happening is that we constantly get these build-ups that either fizzle out, go nowhere, or worse, get retconned altogether. There's been a real lack of canon consistency the last few seasons, and what felt like small momentary lapses in consistency (like Nandor suddenly being better at hypnotism than Laszlo when the opposite was true in s2) suddenly felt much more dire when fundamental character changes seemed to happen with characters like Guillermo.

I've noticed a real divide between s1-s2 Guillermo and s3, s4, and s5 Guillermo, with him starting to get... almost Flanderized, honestly, with his whole uwu I could never hurt anyone thing. It seems to get worse every season, and this last season making it canon that he feels no guilt towards killing vampires but could ~never~ kill a human (despite being totally blase about it in early seasons) really seems to turn the whole conceit that he loves supernatural creatures (and can't meaningfully connect with humans due to his social otheredness) on its head. Personally, I'd consider that a core aspect of not only Guillermo's characterization but the overarching themes of the show, so it really kind of shocked me.

(In other words, I'm not actually disappointed that he didn't become a vampire. I always kind of thought that was how things were going to happen. But to make it be because he's too gentle?? Because he values human life over vampire lives??? Oof! That lack of character consistency is rough!)

I guess... the reason why I thought the end of s4 was rough was the rewrites. It really did feel rushed, and often themes/characters/relationships seemed to be chucked out in favor of jokes that weren't even all that funny. But I think the overall quality dip (imo) of the last season and a half are due to larger problems. There's a lack of commitment to things established in early seasons that I find troubling, and a total inability to commit to the arcs they're writing now, too.

It's odd. I feel like the first two seasons were more episodic and were less concerned with big arcs, but they still pulled off slowly growing character changes well -- Guillermo finding out he's a slayer especially. Since the showrunner change, they've been much more ambitious about characters, relationships, and long-running arcs -- but they never seem to stick the damn landing! They're aiming higher (building expectations) and landing lower. Which is a bad combination.

So then you have s5, which kind of feels like a culmination of all this. Characterization choices that don't always make sense, season-long arcs that don't go fucking anywhere and ignore previous canon (Laszlo was particularly egregious here), important characterization moments being thrown out in favor of jokes that no one fucking liked. (God, those fucking hybrid creatures.) And in the end, they again refuse to commit and instead send things back to a status quo, now made even shittier because they've closed off a narrative path.

I would hope that this season finale would mean something and we'd see the characters dealing with everything it brings up for the next season, but that didn't fucking happen the last two times, so... I have low hopes. I'd love to be proven wrong, but. I do feel very tired.

Finally... In retrospect, I actually think the death knell came very early on in s4. It was the time jump. Instead of really dealing with the way that any of these characters would have to function with the set-up they created in s3, they skipped all that. I'm not sure Guillermo ever really made that much sense after that, especially, and I think it's because they simply didn't think about what that year would mean to him very much. In interviews, we've seen that Harvey had to make up a lot of backstory himself, we've seen that Harvey and Al independently came up with two very different backstories for how Guillermo and Freddie met and how long they knew each other, we know that the writers often didn't really seem to know what Guillermo was doing in London...

Like. I hate to say it, but that's lazy writing. A time skip doesn't have to be lazy writing, but it often is. It's often used to skip the hard work of getting from characters from A to B, and the only way to do one well is to still know what happened during it. But once they did that, we started to increasingly get these [scene (and characterization) missing here] periods that really brought down the momentum every single time.

So... I guess I think that's been the overarching problem. Rewrites, a lack of loyalty to early canon and worse, a lack of loyalty to the stories they're writing now. If they're not invested in the story arcs they're making, why should we get invested? The way that the whole Laszlo and Colin thing was barely ever mentioned again in s5 was egregious. It was treated as lasting trauma in s4 and then Laszlo seemed totally fine in s5, even going so far as to have sex with the man he'd seen as his son like... two weeks before. For a while, we kept thinking that his weird behavior towards Guillermo was a form of transference, but that never really amounted to anything, either. I think we were just putting too much faith in the writers, maybe.

I guess, in the end, that's probably the biggest problem of all. The writers did some really amazing stuff in the first three seasons. They had a lot of long cons, so to speak, and it was hugely fun to see those pay off. We came to trust the writers, and now we keep thinking that these confusing plot arcs are just one more long con.

But they're not.

So we just get annoyed and let down every single time because we keep expecting payoffs that never come anymore, and in the end we just get kinda bitter.

That's just my two cents, anyway. And it really is still possible to turn things around! But uh. There's not much more time to do it. lmao

Fingers crossed, I guess. (But not around the vampires.)

[charmspoint]

idk if i'm poking a hornet's nest, if i am, feel free to ignore this ask. i just wanted to know: what are your thoughts on jjk? i'm genuinely really interested because i've started reading it and i'm really enjoying it so far. and i love how it's inspired so much fanwork and analysis, but also, a bit of criticism. idk ... what's your response to it? sorry for sending such a vague ask!

Oh don't worry at all, if there is one thing I can be counted on is to share my opinion on p much anything I can have an opinion on, loudly and in length.

So here are few things to consider before giving my opinions any weight

I don't read shonen because I think it will be good hjbhbh this sounds mean but like, as frustrating as it is, shonen not being As Good As I Would Like It To Be, is kind of the point. I almost NEVER write fanfics about manga i really truly love. If i asked my followers now I don't know if they would be able to name my fav manga n anime. I read shonen to have something to write about, to have something to fill out and develop.

Shonen focuses a lot on fights. I don't care about fights. My primary interests when I'm reading are A. Characters B. World building. Shonen has these but they are never the focus, the focus is setting up a cool way to have a cool fight, whatever that means in the world of the particular story. This of course doesn't apply to every shonen manga, don't come for me, but it applies to a lot of the popular ones and it applies to JJK

All that to say: I'm not the target audience and I know it, if you are looking for an opinion of someone who really really really likes shonen manga and is into the major aspects of it that's not me and I won't give you any useful insight on that.

Onwards with my thoughts:

JJK is really really fun at the beginning! If you just started reading it you are in for a fun time for a good bit. The characters are interesting and show a lot of promise, the central themes are cool, the designs are badass and it has one of the better adult supporting cast which I, as an adult who can no longer really identify with teen protags, really appreciate. It has amazing villains, some of the better treated women in shonen (tho keep in mind that is a very low bar) and enough emotional content to keep you digging for more. It had me teared up at least once! It's world is very interesting and the psychology and the make up of it are just MADE for someone like me who specializes in studying pain and grief and death to splash around in.

It's just that after a bit...it stumbles. I think it's p much unanimously agreed at this point that the shibuya arc was the high note after which the manga very very slowly started getting dull. The nature of where it was headed meant that a lot of new characters had to be introduced only to be immediately discarded. It was a death game where it didn't really feel like the main characters were in danger which, after Shibuya which had a high death toll on known and bellowed characters, just had me kind of disinterested. Death game with no stakes is BAD. It's hard to explain all the ways i just kind of stopped caring. Combination of the inflation of the cast with characters I didn't care about while leaving the old ones by the wayside. Feeling like the most interesting of new characters got sidelined (suspiciously mostly women...remember what i said about the low bar), while the boring ones stuck around. It started feeling rare that the manga hits an emotional point (it did happen, it was this era of the manga in which it almost brought me to tears) but even the hits would get undermined with something later that made them stumble and fall flat. A lot of promising, cool things, conversations, backstory details, interactions that were expected and predicted from the first half just kind of fizzled out, didn't happen, or were done so quickly and offhandedly that it got me saying 'is that really how he's gonna do this'. It was just a pile of small disappointments that grew and grew until I found myself not as excited for the new update like i once was, till i found myself completely forgetting to check if the new chapter was there or not.

All in all, I would place JJK very close to BNHA in terms of my feelings for it: Very promising but can't live up to its own ideas. Or to be fair, can't live up to my ideas. Every time I check in Gege seems to be having a blast and in the end that's what's most important. I'm just someone writing in the blanks he left behind according to my own interests lol.

[spontaneouslygeneratedfly]

𝕠𝕡𝕖𝕟 𝕣𝕡 𝕔𝕒𝕝𝕝

hey everyone! looking for some new rp partners (21+ only) .

I've been missing the hobby lately & I'm so excited to jump back in. my name is nellie, i'm 22 & from the west coast. I love hiking, the sims 3, baking, & all horror media! If anyone 21+ with similiar hobbies just wants to chat that's cool too!

Here's a little info about my rp style: 

•I like to write around 2-6paras, it really depends on context of the scene & my partner's length. I write in third person pov only. EX: "Do you prefer writing with asterisks? I don't." She said, looking down at her paper & pen.

•I do not rp with people who exclusively play submissive role characters. I feel like rp should be both of us putting in effort to write, not one person indulging a fantasy.

•love, LOVE long term plots with OOC planning & world building. i feel like many rps fizzle out after the beginning events when partners have no idea where to go next, I want to try to avoid this with plotting!

•i do play male/nb & comfortable with mxf (either role) but I prefer playing sapphic F characters. 

•Love playing non human characters! 

•I am not very worried about replies as long as I hear from you once a week. I can commit to 3-5 responses a week, sometimes I'm more active than that. I'm very patient, so if you're a person with a hectic life & can't commit to frequent replies, we might work well together! I just ask if you know you'll be a gone for week+ to give me a heads up. 

•Smut is fun/allowed but I think building drama, tension, & plot is more important to a long term rp's success!

I'm just gonna cast a wide net for the best chances! These are just concepts/genres/barebone ideas TBD further in dm. 

high/urban/dark fantasy. Adventure, court politics/intrigue, exploring, etc

small town, creepy american gothic. Town with many secrets, dark past, smth that impacts the PCs & they must solve it. Super interested in combining this w/next bullet

A situation which seems normal on the face, but deeply disturbed in reality. PCs know something is off but don't really accept it. think shows like severance & s1 Legion where smth larger than the PCs highly regulates information & controls the narrative. This can go into lot of different genres & I have some plot seeds. 

•This is a dystopian/highly dramatic rp inspired by 2000s media treatment of young celebs. MUMU best for this. In a hyper-capitalistic, plutocracy/autocarian govt, a small group of children were selected by an algorithm which predicted their abilities to become famous stars. These children were taken from their homes & trained in the arts. They were placed into the public eye young - some children actors, other singers. They had a constant barrage of praise by the media & public - as they became young adults, the way they were raised deeply impacted them in negative ways. Their mistakes were broadcast to the whole world & the media ripped them apart & manipulated them. I lowkey want to combine it with Hunger Games aspects but I'm not sure how to develop it further or where it could go! :)

Obsessed with any plots involving spooky religions or cults in general (imagine a "pure" cultist getting involved someone they were told to be evil, only for the cultist to realize their own deeply held beliefs are harmful as well - & either lean into that or exit.)

STEAMPUNK

Sci fi dystopian. 

Surreal horror

I also have some character concepts I'd like to rp as, if they strike anyone's interest:

•CREEPY fey. She would be better for dark fantasy - she is a little feral, I envision fey as creatures who live in a surreal, dream-like world. They are violent & powerful, with inhuman tendencies & ideologies. (Her name is Melrose & I love her)

•Interested in playing an anthro character that's perhaps an exotic pet. I'm interested in illegal, shady anthro pet trade, along with themes of rebellion, crime, & escaping. Very half baked atm.

•Vampire who is a high ranking member of the local vampire syndicate - they control the weapons black market (when dealing with human criminals) & fresh meat/blood trafficking. Perhaps the other character is a human cop assigned to investigate, but then gets embroiled in the supernatural world. 

•I also love playing bratty characters!!

I'm always open to brainstorming, suggestions, and reworks. Dm or comment if you're interested :)

Again, 21+ ONLY

[nitewrighter]

Have you described how Faumir's first kiss went in any ask?

I got this ask that was someone else's suggestion for a first kiss, but that was more of like a goofy joke than me really making that scenario canon to their relationship. A first kiss is a good fic prompt, though.

---

Samir stood on the edge of the roof, looking down the scope of his rifle at several of Marti’s hacked feeds on hard light screens around him. 

“I’m still not sure about this,” he said, lowering the rifle and phasing it out of existence. 

“It’s a much simpler snatch and grab than a lot of ops we’ve run before,” said Marti in his earpiece. 

“Just... I don’t like the idea of stepping on The Collective’s toes.”

“We won’t be stepping on their toes, because we won’t get caugh--” Marti cut herself off with a series of coughs.

“You need to be in bed,” said Samir, flatly.

“I am in bed,” said Marti. Samir frowned and flicked a screen with her vidchat feed into existence. She looked like hell; dark circles under her eyes, her knit beanie pulled down to her eyebrows, and a shiny mustache of vapo-rub catching the glow of her monitors. 

“You need to actually rest? Hand oversight over to... I don’t know, who’s available?”

“I’ve--” Marti coughed, “Got this, I’ve worked everything out for you. Khepri’s going to be doing most of your job for you, anyway. You just need to get him in there and watch his back---You have him, right?”

Samir plucked the tiny beetle-like robot from an interior pocket on his jacket, its little metal legs wiggling feebly between his fingers. “You realize after this the rest of the team’s going to want their own robot sidekicks.”

“I mean... you gotta admit, on theme for an Amari boy,” the rawness of coughing lent that commanding familiarity back to Marti’s otherwise croaky voice, “Get in, get the schematics, come home. You’ve got this.”

“I’ve got this,” Samir repeated with a smile before waving away all of his screens with a flick of his wrist. He made a frame shape with his fingers and projected the outward gate of the teleporter on the opposite roof, and all too easily stepped through. From there, breaking in was simple enough---enter through the vents, dodge the laser security system, just dust the surface of the palm scanner leading to the Martíns’ main office, create an adhesive plane of hard-light, press, peel, reshape the hard-light into an exact replica of the required hand-print, and--the handle of the door leading to the main stairwell had been burned off, and the security panels reduced to a sparking mess. Samir frowned.

“...I don’t think we’re the only ones with an interest in the Collective,” said Samir, heading down the stairs.

“Talk,” Marti coughed, “To me.” 

Samir eyed the security panels heading down the stairs, frozen with a bright red ‘error’ message, something that could easily be chalked up to a power surge or someone running some kind of strong magnet through the building. “Doesn’t have the hallmarks of a usual Talon smash and grab....” Samir mused, “But there’s not a lot of care with the evidence left behind either. It’s not that they want to be found, it’s that---”

“Your--cutt--Sam--” Marti’s voice fizzled in his ear.

“...they’re confident they can already get away with it,” Samir finished, now realizing he was talking to himself. He brought a hand to the headpiece at his temple and a hard-light visor phased over his eyes, scanning the room and finding.... nothing. “Laser security disabled,” he said to himself. He picked up his pace to a light trot. He moved through corridors that he had previously thought he would be painstakingly contorting his way through or teleporting through with ease.

Finally, he reached the main office, and had to take a second to let his eyes adjust to the influx of light. It wasn't the fact that the lights were on, but rather that the entire room had a bright blue glow to it that was only enhanced by the moonlight. It didn't glow like hard-light, rather, it seemed to refract the moonlight not unlike water, but with a static, geometric, crystalline quality. Samir glanced down and realized he could see straight through to the floor below. Durovidro--the pride of the Collective. The entire office was made of it. He honestly would have been more awed by the office if his attention hadn't been snagged by the person behind the desk.

She was in that neatly tailored little chauffeur’s outfit, all black, double breasted jacket with a mandarin collar, champagne blonde hair (almost looking white in that blue light) tucked up into a short-brimmed black cap. She was sitting, sleek black chelsea boots propped up along the corner of the desk, one hand extended toward the monitor, several wires snaking out from underneath cleanly manicured artificial fingernails. Her violet eyes were illuminated by the red glow of her neuroprosthetics, pretty much the only thing that could have saved the violet in them with all the blue of the room. The expression on her face was distant, no doubt she was scanning whatever information her neuroprosthetics were sapping, but her eyelashes fluttered at attention as he stepped into the room. She glanced up from the monitor and gave him a little ‘Seriously?’ look that should have been reserved more for a scheduling snafu than some mission that gave them probable cause to kill each other.

But did it though?

“You know,” Samir kept his voice low, “I always liked your dirty work outfit.”

“Calling it that insults both of us.” she said, swinging her legs off of the desk and looking back down at the monitor.

"...you know I can't actually let you leave here with whatever intel you're grabbing right now," Samir leaned on the doorway.

"Officially, you can't," she agreed, still not looking up.

"Also morally."

"Because you pay so much attention to that part," she gave a slight eye-roll, still working at the monitor.

He set his jaw and felt his lips draw back from his teeth. She didn't acknowledge this, still sitting casually.

"So how are we going to work this out?" she said, still not looking at him, "Or are you just going to stand there and seethe?"

"I'm not seething," Samir said through a tight mouth.

She smiled without looking at him and that made fury prickle up the back of his neck. He folded his hands behind his back and quietly activated Khepri with his thumb, allowing the little beetle robot to intrepidly scale down his leg.

"So I take it the Collective isn't just another shell organization for Talon," he said, stalling for time.

"They protect our interests," said Faustine, as Khepri crawled onto the back of the monitor and clamped its legs in like a tick, "In that Portugal isn't fucking underwater right now. I would have thought they'd be all buddy-buddy with you."

"Who's to say I'm not here on their behalf to stop you?" he tilted his head.

"Helix securities! Put both of your hands up!" A voice spoke behind Samir and he flinched, putting his hands up.

"I'd say... him," said Faustine.

"I won't repeat myself," said the guard in full Helix armor. It wasn't a raptora pilot, at least. He was carrying a semiautomatic pulse sidearm. Clearly the collective was more dependent on automated systems than manpower when it came to protecting their secrets.

Faustine rolled her eyes and raised her hands as well.

"...drop the wires," the Helix agent said, slowly entering the room.

"I can't," said Faustine.

"I said drop the wires."

"She can't," said Samir, a bit annoyed.

The Helix agent was now at his side rather than behind him, there were some days he couldn't believe one of his moms was from this organization. And yet at the same time... one of his moms was from this organization.

"Look--" Samir flexed his fingers, still keeping his arms raised, "We don't want to hurt you--"

"He doesn't want to hurt you," Faustine chimed in and the Helix agent flinched his gun in a fixed position at her head.

Samir hated this about her--or rather, he wanted to hate this about her, the ability to escalate the situation but purely because raising the level of panic made people that much more predictable to her. He hated that someone else had a gun pointed to her head, and he hated that he hated that. It wasn't like she was lying, either. Khepri was still on the back of the monitor, emitting a pulsing glow like a heartbeat as it sapped intel as well.

"You're a professional," Faustine said with a sympathetic head tilt, "I get that. And we really do appreciate the work you do. But I think you need to recognize that what's happening here is just a bit outside of your paygrade."

"I'm calling this in," said the Helix agent, keeping his sidearm extended as he brought his other hand to his ear to activate his comm.

"Please do," Faustine said, smartly adjusting the brim of her cap, "I'd be happy to speak with your supervisor."

The Helix agent hesitated, here. One more thing that drove Samir crazy about her in two opposing regards--the ability to bluff. But was it? Overwatch had plenty of Intel indicating that Helix might as well be Swiss cheese for all the Talon moles holing it out. For all he knew she could just be tossing a marble on a roulette table, putting it all on red. Those violet eyes flicked to Samir then, scanning his face, wondering if he was willing to either deal with additional Talon goons being sent in to secure her mission, or a clusterfuck of Helix agents to wreck them both.

The Helix agent lowered his sidearm, still keeping his eye on Faustine, and brought a finger to his ear.

Samir wished he had a clearer idea on what happened next. It was only a choice followed by pure muscle memory: whoever he's calling, it's not worth it, don't let him make that call. Then suddenly Samir was dropping low to a near horse-stance squat, then throwing his weight to the side, into his elbow, which quickly unfolded into a multi-point uppercut--solarplexus, collarbone, chin-- before he swept the legs out from under the Helix agent, and completed the arc of his own leg sweep with a half-grounded drop-kick to the helix-agent's stomach. It took a moment for his mind to register the sequence of his own blows landing. Soberly, he pulled himself back to his full height and then somewhat awkwardly kicked the Helix agent's sidearm away.

"Did you learn that from ninja girl?" Faustine was standing, leaning one hip on the desk, wires still trailing from her fingers.

Samir was slightly breathless. "We need to go," he said steadily.

Faustine's eyelids fluttered asymmetrically and a shudder ran crookedly through her shoulders. She made a short "hah!" sound as she straightened herself up in the seat and the wires from her fingers retracted, then she clicked her tongue, pushing herself up from the desk and tucking the chair in like she owned the place. Samir watched her brush a hand at the back of the monitor as she moved around the desk, apparently for balance. He would have been more worried about just how much digital weight those neuroprosthetics could take from the way she swayed, but something else piqued his alert.

"Well," she said, moving to walk past him, "it was nice catching u--"

Samir stuck an arm out in front of her, blocking the doorway.

"Give it," he said.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm letting you walk away with your intel," said Samir.

"Careful, Amari. If your team heard that--"

"Give. It."

She pinched her lips and furrowed her brow at him, then snorted through her nostrils, pulled khepri out of her pocket, and deposited the little beetle robot in his hand. "It's very cute, by the way. You should tell Marti she'd make a mint in the toy business."

"And for a rich girl, you make a pretty competent pickpocket.

"You flatter me."

Both of them perked up at the sound of an alarm blaring, then the sound of whirring.

"...Helix rebooted the security system?" Faustine said mindlessly.

"Yup," said Samir, already taking off in a run.

The drones were already behind them. To the Collective's credit, they appeared to be made in-house. Clean and aesthetically pleasing things, unified in form and function, in line with the sensibilities of the Collective. How secretive was the Collective, Samir wondered, to bring in outside human personnel, but maintain their own tech security resources? For all the sleekness of the drones, he wondered if the Collective shared notes with Vishkar. Faustine had already drawn her own sidearm, the neuroprosthetics glowing at her temples as her morph-pistol shifted from derringer to hand-cannon. She managed to take down one drone, before two took its place.

"Foss!" he called, and her head jerked back to him. He flailed out an arm behind himself and she grabbed it before he swept ahead with his hard-light projector arm, creating a plane of highly reduced friction ahead of them. "Jump!"

They both leapt and slid as their feet met that low-friction plane, and her weight shoved into him as they slid rapidly ahead of the drones, their combined mass thankfully adding to their speed. The drones fired behind them, hard-light rounds whizzing past their heads. Non-lethal pulse rounds, likely, but definitely a nasty knockout and something that would give Interpol the ammunition it needed to shut down literally everything Samir's parents had been working for for well over a decade and a half if it hit.

"Give me a--" Samir twisted where he stood and threw up a hard-light wall that the drones crashed into. The plane of low-friction hard-light ended beneath them and he leapt off, leaving Faustine to stumble after him at the abrupt squeak of linoleum beneath her boots. He caught her before she could fall, her weight shoving up against his side, and for a brief few mad seconds he considered the practicality of hauling her up into a fireman carry in case her neuroprosthetics started freaking out on her, but instead she was sprinting forward now, and damn near dislocated his shoulder yanking him behind her as the whirring of drones kicked up behind them again. She hastily stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jacket and her morph gun took on an oddly chunkier shape as she loaded something into the back of it, then fired off two sticky, beeping objects at two high points on opposite walls, before the morph gun re-took its previous hand-cannon shape and she hurried on. Samir glanced over his shoulder to watch as several drones following them were suddenly caught in a field of purple sparks.

"Hacking claymore?" said Samir, "That's new."

"Say a word of it to your team and you'll find a spike of neurotoxin in your morning wheatgrass shot." Faustine was audibly breathless. Again, he was considering the practicality of picking her up.

"You know maybe you'd actually be able to do cardio if you took wheatgrass--"

"I do wheatgrass and beet powder! Shut up!"

They both ran alongside each other in the dark. It brought back a memory Samir had of visiting the aquarium with his moms and Rajeev when they were small. There was a 'life in the deep sea' exhibit, and there was an almost completely pitch black room designed with the purpose of being able to see the deep sea bioluminescence of certain fish--he remembered the ghostly blue of lanternfish, and the sinister red of the dragonfish. Running alongside Faustine with her red neuroprosthetics and his own light blue hard-light projector gear, he felt a little like those fish in that exhibit now--creatures in the dark, under immense pressure. She practically whipped him around a corner and skidded to a halt in front of a wall terminal. Her breath was short and furious as she opened the terminal and tapped through several Admin levels to reach system commands. The whirring of drones closing in on them got louder.

"Foss....?" he said, swinging his head around.

"Working on it!" she said with sing-songy fury.

She was older than him, he knew that, old enough to laugh and chuck his chin and tell him he was being adorable, but in that moment, she seemed terrifyingly girlish. Gentle and sweet and bright and thrown into circumstances she thought she was prepared for, but she wasn't. But then something passed over her face, that calculation, the compulsion, the roulette wheels spinning. And he hated the fire that ignited in him. He hated the smile that it brought to her face when she was figuring out how to flip a situation around, or rather, he hated what that smile did to him. And it was happening right now as she tapped through the terminal, hitting exactly the dead end she was expecting.

"I need you to cover for me," she said, prying open the wall panel.

"Mm," he grunted, materializing his hard-light rifle into existence, "Is the system even equipped to--?"

"Let me worry about that, Detective," she said tersely.

Fuck, do not call me 'Detective' right now, he thought, ears burning.

She held her wrist at an angle and a wire extended itself from beneath the nail of her index finger, plugging into the exposed wires of the pried-open panel. Her shoulders bunched up and her chin jutted up in a shudder, her eyes rolling back in her head. God, it was creepy when she did this. The whirring got louder.

"Foss?!" Samir swung the sights of his rifle around, trying to determine the closest proximity of the whirring.

Faustine was silent, her eyes only bloodshot whites.

"Goddammit--" He shot a drone out of the air as soon as it breezed into his scope, likely giving away their position to the whole swarm.

"Oh--!" Faustine's eyes rolled back into focus and Samir flinched at the sound of her voice, "Here we go! Ancient, but workable--"

"Mechanics now, gloat later!" barked Samir, shooting down two more drones.

"I can re-direct a gas line to this space."

"A gas line?!"

"Oh don't be so dramatic, I know you have a barrier in your hard-light projector that can withstand it--"

"And the building?"

"...is 40% DuroVidro. It can take it."

A growl curled up in the pit of Samir's throat.

"Detective, do you really think I'm the murder-suicide type?"

"...no," said Samir, stiffly.

"Good. Now, the gas would need to accumulate significantly before it could be ignited by pulsefire--though we'd need--" she turned her head and abruptly met Samir's fingers delicately cupping over her nose and mouth, a hard-light breathing mask phasing into existence before he waved his own on with little more than a hard swipe of his fingers.

"Well, all right then," she said, before whipping out her own side arm and firing down two drones that had buzzed up behind him.

"How long is this going to take?" said Samir, quickly pivoting so that they were braced back to back.

"Honestly I was depending on your Overwatch pulsefire rounds being janky as hell," said Faustine, firing down another drone, though there were too many of them at this point

"My rifle is hard-light!" said Samir.

"Then hit something that'll spark!" said Faustine.

Samir shot down one drone, then another, then fired at the lighting fixtures above just to send down a shower of sparks that forced both of them against the wall further.

"It's not sparking!" he said furiously.

"I said it was ancient!" Faustine snapped back.

Both of them shot down another few drones, only to see more and more filling the room. They were cutting off their exits. If they were going to abort this plan, it would be too late.

"Shouldn't the drones be--!?" Samir started before shooting down another drone, which suddenly erupted in a rapidly expanding plume of fire. On reflex, he slammed himself and Faustine up against the wall and threw a hard-light shield up around them both as fire washed over them like a tide. She pressed her face into his shoulder, he squeezed his eyes shut, and both held each other tight as the world roared around them. The concussive force of heat shook the walls, shook the floor, shook them--he could feel it in his bones, but he just held onto Faustine, pressing his face into her hair. If he was going to die, he was going to die huffing her neroli shampoo.

And then the roar receded, and Samir felt a little stupid for that last thought, but at the same time, couldn't think of anything better. He opened one eye to see the room scorched and smokey, several pieces of furniture on fire, but much of it perfectly intact from being made from the Collective's patented DuroVidro glass. The drones, however, were just piles of twisted blackened metal and plastic littered all about the floor. He became aware of the warmth Faustine was breathing against his shoulder. He tried not to think about how much he loved the tension of her fingers clinging against his back and shoulders.

"Hey," was all he had to say before she snapped out of it and then gave him a dumb, furious look that said she totally knew the explosion was over, she was just testing him, obviously.

They were both frozen for a moment, staring at the wreckage, both panting and breathless, and he realized he had his projector arm thrown up at her side, a multi-fissured hard-light shield covering them both. His other arm was curled around her, holding her close--well that was just instinct, he could only make so big a shield in such a short amount of time. Then there was a loud beeping of the fire alarms going off, and then the sprinkler system turned on. They looked back at each other, water dripping down both their faces, and a breathless, nervous laugh bubbled up between them for a few seconds, Faustine moving to use her free hand to try and thumb away her now melting makeup, still laughing. Unthinkingly, Samir phased the damaged shield away, phased their respective hard-light breathing masks away, and moved to thumb away a bit of blood from under her nose, and her eyes flicked back to his again, and that laugh seemed to wash away with all the falling water, and her smile shrank as she seemed to weigh the situation, staring deep into his eyes. He was taller than her, it was one of those things you easily forgot when someone was older than you.

He really couldn’t tell which one of them had initiated it. It sort of happened all at once. Suddenly his arms were whipped around her and her mouth was on his and the fire alarm was still blaring in both their ears. She pressed into him, hungrily, and he tightened his grip on her, shoving that dinky little cap of hers off so he could feverishly run his fingers through her hair, tangle and grip it.

Try to get away, he thought, in the way your thoughts come to you only half-formed when your tongue is behind someone else's teeth, Try it now.

He didn't actually want her to try it, but it was a strange mad thought, an echo of all those times she had laughed her way just out of his reach. An echo of all the nights he spent trying to anticipate and preemptively counter her next move.

They broke apart, she let his lower lip run between her not-quite-biting teeth as he pulled away, the alarm still blaring in both their ears, and she felt his breath shudder on her neck.

"We should--" she started.

"Yeah," he said.

They pulled away but he felt her hesitate, fingers tensing on his forearm. Not meeting his eyes, she presented Khepri between her index and middle finger.

"When did you--?" the words left him dumbly. During the kiss, obviously, he knew that.

"Look--I was... just going to steal this from you but--" she gently clicked open Khepri's underbelly panel and a wire snaked out from underneath her index finger, "It's... really not that useful. Nothing you couldn't come up with without finagling with Vishkar tech, I imagine. And god knows we both have access to that, so..."

Khepri chirped and the wire retracted. She held the little beetle out to him and he plucked it from between her fingers.

He took the beetle robot with a skeptical side-eye. "And how do I know you didn't just implant him with a virus to hamstring us?"

"You don't," she smiled.

He could have kissed her again right there, but he didn't.

“Forgot this--” He clapped her cap onto her head, pulling the brim down to the point where it half-covered her eyes.

She huffed a breath through her teeth, pushing the brim up with her thumb.

"Until next time, detective," she smiled like a shark.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, Foss," he brushed some water from the sprinklers off of his own cheekbone with a thumb, grinning. Her eyes crinkled with incredulity, but she was blushing, those neuroprosthetics at her temples brightening to near neon.

They both exited the building at the top and bottom levels. Samir had a certain spring in his step as he moved across the rooftops.

"Fucking hell--! There you are!" Marti abruptly came back in on Samir's comms, "What happened? Do you have the intel?!"

"Got the intel. You have a good nap? God knows you need it right now," said Samir, bridging a gap between roofs with hard-light and practically moonwalking across it.

"Shut up--are--wait, are you... humming?"

"Mm?" Samir pranced off of the hard-light platform.

"You're humming!" exclaimed Marti.

"You should really dial it back, Marts, I think your illness is making you delirious," said Samir.

"I'm not--!" Marti started before falling into another fit of coughs.

"Get some sleep, Boss," said Samir with a slight smile.

"Oh fuck off," said Marti.

[chasingvelocity]

tumblr might be about to do horrible things to the quality of this, i'm not sure, but the preview does not fill me with confidence. ANYWAY

these were made for the Elysium intro so technically this is out of chronological order of. everything. but also before i start posting comics i want to give a good visual on who these guys are! also hey these are all the guys that were relevant to the askblog (besides Shadow), nice

(oh my god i just realized i didn't actually put Sik in Elysium. i mean he's in the bit in the second half where it's flashing through everybody but i didn't put him in the actual intro with everybody else.. sorry buddy, Double's the more important custom hero i guess lmao)

Sonic the Hedgehog: you know her, you love her, she's transgender now! 19-ish as of Forces, aroace, personality and vibe same as always, nothing gets her down. the big plot twist with her is that she's an artificial life form like Shadow and was engineered with an aptitude for chaos energy, but she does her best to shrug off the implications.

Miles "Tails" Prower: sonic's adopted little brother, 17-ish as of Forces, transgender (this will be a theme), low self-confidence despite his intelligence and his ability to hold his own. a LOT of things happen to him, uh- Colors, Chronicles, and Lost World kinda got slammed together into one story arc, so he got halfway roboticized AND blasted with negative color until he was able to break out of the brainwashing. he hasn't found a way to undo the roboticization yet.

Amy Rose: i love amy so much but i don't know how to accurately capture her vibe. 18-ish as of Forces, she had a crush on sonic but has eased off on it and now they are comfortably friends (even if she can still be a bit much at times), she does tarot, i think the most that got changed is her design tbh

Knuckles the Echidna: straightforward-thinking treasure hunter, dealing with responsibility of guarding the master emerald vs him finally having an opportunity to explore the outside world, 20-ish as of Forces, got tormented a bit in the askblog

Shadow the Hedgehog: nonbinary alien hedgehog clusterfuck my beloved. they/them, actually somewhat chill underneath all the edge, technically Sonic is a knockoff of them, still has a pretty shaky sense of identity, at one point jorb helped me figure out what ShTH story path would be most canon for them but i don't want to find it rn

Daedalus "Double" Perrow: first of many OCs! maned wolf, 17-ish (?) as of Forces, more on him later because a lot of the comics so far involve him lmao. fills in 1/2 of the custom hero role in Forces (did the prison break, teams up directly with modern sonic, has past history with Infinite) and gets nicknamed "Gadget" by sonic. trans of gender

Wayne "Infinite" Bay: whoops i took an oc and accidentally spliced him into being infinite. double's friend, 19-ish as of Forces, got kidnapped and experimented on by eggman. the askblog plotline was building up to double trying to find and save him because they were friends before wayne got corrupted by the phantom ruby, but my energy fizzled out before that could get anywhere

i can't believe sik didn't get a cool image like everybody else. get wrecked lmao

[takes1]

p.2 one night stand aftermath with needy!tsukishima

this boy is gonna get whinyyyy in the next one. sorry i haven't been posting like everyday anymore, i'm either hitting a wall or i'm exiting my manic creative fever

warnings. sfw-ish, conversation/narration about sex. minors DNI

info. fem!reader / smut build-up / flirting / one night stand aftermath / needy!tsukki / timeskip!tsukki / museum setting / miscommunication / 1.6k words / reply to be added to taglist for part 3!

haikyuu collection. part one here. part three.

more links. masterlist. my ao3.

"Are you sure they're not in your bag?"

You did not want to bother somebody at their job because of your nephew's inconvenient tendency to leave his eyeglasses around.

The six-year-old stopped and you watched him search through his little Indiana Jones-themed bag. No glasses. Just the sandwich you packed for him, a coloring book, and pencils to go with it.

"Shit," You sighed under your breath. You had already been in the museum for an hour and a half.

They could've been anywhere. You rubbed the back of your neck and looked at the reclined worker behind the service desk in the lobby.

"We'll... we'll ask if they've seen any, alright?"

"Okay!"

You approached, hoping the man would break the ice first when he noticed you.

All he did was keep tapping away on his phone.

If anything, he shrank lower in his seat when you came up to the counter so you couldn't see him as easily.

"Hi, um- Excuse me, we just wanted to know if you've seen any glasses around- Or if anyone had come by to turn some in."

It was difficult enough to muster the courage to speak. But to make matters worse, the worker peeked out from around his shoe with the rudest 'Go away, I'm busy doing nothing' stare that he could muster.

Pressured frustration built in your chest and you readied yourself to speak louder, be more assertive so he could understand this wasn't a problem that would just go away.

It fizzled at a flash of short, fluffy blond hair.

Your fingers twitched from the memory of how soft it was against your shoulder, between your legs, against your palms.

His eyes widened with recognition. He took his legs back down, a lanky hand setting his headphones to rest around his neck.

You realized you had forgotten his name, so you couldn't express that you knew him so easily-- it left you speechless, grabbing at something to say.

Thankfully, it was a problem for later, because he confirmed that he heard you after all.

"You wear... glasses?" He asked.

His face worked, soaking in every new detail of your natural features he didn't get to see the last time you were together.

"No, I don't," Was all you could say.

You motioned to the child hiding behind your back, clinging to your shirt.

A nearly open-mouthed look.

"Oh!" You covered a small laugh at his unnaturally wide-eyed stare, "He's not mine!"

You held your hand to your heart, then placed it atop your nephew's head and ruffled his hair.

"Just babysitting my nephew. He wouldn't stop asking me to come here,"

The kid leaned all his weight to the side and squinted around, using you as an anchor to hold him up. He couldn't be bothered listening to you.

"He loves the museum."

He spared a glance to the little one rubbing his eyes behind you and, to his own surprise, found sympathy in his heart.

It was a quiet and incredibly uncomfortable search. You remembered his name along the way, thankfully.

It didn't help that it was nearly empty besides your small group making a sloth's pace throughout the vast, never-ending halls. Frequent stops at places you lingered at earlier to read plaques or marvel at figures put some occasional ease on the tension.

Tsukishima walked slow, with his hands in his pockets, and looked at anything but you.

Simply by his wordless agreement to help you, you could tell this job wasn't something he took very seriously. If he didn't already know you inside and out, he would've turned his music up to drown out your plea for help.

His calculated, but somehow yet disinterested gaze stood as strong evidence that he wasn't warm.

You held yourself to silence a shiver.

So, why did he look so heartbroken when you left his bedroom?

A quiet, toneless voice wrenched you out of your inquisitive thoughts.

"You do this often?"

You didn't understand how comfortable you actually were with the quiet until you had to come up with something to respond with. What was he referring to? The museum, or the sex?

"Um-?"

His face was so intense when you tried to look at him for more elaboration. Like you had stepped on the back of his shoe.

You quickly looked down.

"With the kid," He muttered.

"Oh, yeah," You blew a breath of relief, "Yeah yeah, I see him every couple weeks. We usually come here."

He hummed.

It was getting quiet all over again. You felt an obligation to try, now.

"Do...you like working here?" You winced. A dumb question you already knew the answer to.

His response wasn't as cruel as you expected. He even pretended to consider it.

"It pays for my tuition."

A generous nugget of information- your nephew began searching on his own accord around this old, interactive archeological sand table and you lingered next to Tsukishima for a minute.

"Tohoku University?"*

He nodded at your question as you both sifted through the sand in front of you.

"Me, too," You smiled, "Kinesiology major."

There was a small laugh on his lips. He smoothed the display back out when it was obvious there were no glasses here and you continued on your way.

"What, are you some snooty med student?" You scoffed at his perceived pretentiousness.

It wasn't rare to come across people who discriminated based on major when you interacted with so many aspiring nurses and surgeons. You liked the student athletes at your university better.

"No," He shook his head, "I- Just- yeah. It's nothing."

You believed him, but he left you confused and hanging on by a thread by his odd mannerisms and avoidant speech. It was difficult to make any lasting judgement about him.

Regardless, he stuck around and, though not enthusiastically, helped you search for the next twenty minutes.

There was the chance he could've been doing it all to repeat that night. If he gave you any indication that he was interested in a round two, you were prepared to take him up on the offer. But you had a feeling he would've already tried to flirt, or talk more, or just flat out tell you instead of dancing around, exhausting your politeness if it was the case.

Another room, another few minutes spent searching.

When nothing came up again, you got his attention with a frown, "You don't have to keep helping. I know this is pretty dull."

His face grew a bit warm. You both looked away.

"I'm not just gonna leave," He managed to work around your invitation to go away and reference your night together.

At first, you trailed behind him on the way into the next hall, but shook your reaction off and caught up to his side.

"So, why did you?"

He cut the niceties and put it all on the table, but you weren't at all expecting it to be laced in guilt, or shame, on his end.

Maybe if he had a sweeter resting face, or didn't kiss you so fast, or wasn't so handsy in the Uber back to his place, or didn't fuck you on the floor because he couldn't wait to get to his room, or didn't talk to you like he owned you, or didn't tell you to scream his name-- maybe if he just had an ounce of patience at the start, you would've foreseen his cuddly side and stayed a bit longer.

Honesty was probably best.

"I just," There was difficulty in your voice, "I just didn't peg you as the type to want more than-,"

His eyes were narrow and focused, fixated on your glossy lips as you spoke. It forced you to end your sentence short.

A minute passed and you were back to the skeleton displays.

As you watched him across the room, leaned under a bench to help search despite it being well over his paycheck, your heart squeezed.

He was a pretty boy- and kind where it counted, as far as you could tell. The most obvious trait of his was how much he liked you, even at the very start.

The way his face worked when he looked at you; intensity in the form of longing you'd never been the subject of before.

You'd be lying if you said it didn't make you feel pretty special to make a guy like that crumble.

"Found them." He called.

You groaned out a yes, excited you didn't have to pay an arm and a leg for a replacement. You jogged over to watch him wipe off the lenses on his shirt and hand them to your nephew.

"Glasses are expensive," Tsukishima placed his hands on his hips, unaware of how intimidating he was to a small child, "You should keep better track of those."

The kid apologized at a barely-there whisper and quickly clung to you again, embarrassed.

After all the searching, you were both tired and relieved to be able to go back home. Part of you weighed your legs down to this spot, though.

"I- suppose I owe you an apology, too," You admitted.

The double meaning was not lost on him. His chest swelled with a tentative, slow breath and he bit the inside of his cheek.

"You don't have to do that."

You were almost certain he was about to invite you back to his place. Just when you thought you had him, he slips away.

It was risky, but as you watched your nephew sprint over to a display he didn't see earlier, you decided it was more appropriate to try again.

"I'd love to make it up to you," You placed your hands on the back of your hips and tried to emulate the same look you passed to him in the club. Through your lashes, real casual, but unwavering eye contact.

His jaw worked at your not-so-subtle request to be invited back. It gave way to a hand rifling through his short, bouncy curls and red-tinged ears.

He looked over his shoulder to check you weren't being listened to.

A familiar sound was his low, interested mutter, "Are you free tonight?"

taglist.

holy shit tsukki gets so much love on here. thanks for supporting and tuning in! part three will be hornier

@little-stitious-studios @sunshinesx-264

@hrts4hanniehae @lord-hqcifer

@inofish @integers @ushijimaschubbs

@sharkubi @imiqz @yuyunhoo

reply to be added!

masterlist. requests closed.

*the uni mention: idk what the fuck i'm talking about lmao fan wiki failed me i tried to find out where he actually goes to college don't burn me at the stake

[k--havok]

Day Nine: Moonlight

| Day One | Day Two | Day Three | Day Four | Day Five | Day Six | Day Seven | Day Eight

A companion piece to Day Four: Sunlight

Day Nine: Moonlight

She’s gone into the aether. Disappeared, like the last curls of smoke from a pile of glowing embers. 

I reach out, but only ash, coldness, and silence reply. 

Yet, I still recall that night. The night where the moon hung almost fat and round. A waxing gibbous, jolly with the promise that night would bring. 

‘That night’ was Prom. Prom. It’s called that, for there are too many promises wrapped up in that single night. Some stronger than others, and yet it cuts through society and media, painting a overblown mess of an idea that is never as fulfilling as imagination can be. 

And yet, my prom, so full of promises, was indeed nearly from imagination. 

The music pumped through the building the school rented out. The decor was shoddy, and hardly reminiscent of the James Bond theme the committee had been going for. There was no food or drink, like in the movies. Just tables to rest at, bottles of water carefully passed out by volunteers, and paper green wrist bands that explained we were indeed students with tickets at a glance. 

I had brought her. The girl that, years later, disappeared into the aether. 

That night, we snuck away. My heart, pounding with adrenaline and promise. I did not take her far just to a quiet portion of the building. A few couples mingled about, sipping water, encased in their own little world. 

We stumbled across a telephone box. One we could stand inside, even. 

We talked. She was warm in the small space, her eyes alighting with an inner spark I admired. 

She was herself. Something I wished I could be. Someone I wished I could be with. 

It did not work out. 

Yet we leaned forward, closer and closer. 

“I’ve never kissed anyone,” she admitted, her face flushing with heat. 

My own cheeks and ears burned. I had. Not always willingly. Not always because I wanted to. 

“It’s okay,” I told her. 

I kissed her. 

It was just a peck. Lips pressed closed. As quick as lighting an old match. A small flash of flame before it inevitably fizzled out. 

Yet, at that time, no other kiss could compare.

[murdockparker]

Good Vibrations

Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie never backs down from a dare, even if he had to drive out to the middle-of-fucking-nowhere to a sex shop to prove it.

Word Count: 3k

Rating: 18+ for mature themes (no actual smut)

Warnings: mentions of sex, swearing, adult themes, reader works at a sex shop, Eddie and reader are over 18

A/N: first time writing for Eddie! well, first time posting what I’ve written for Eddie... may or may not have more in my drafts lol (also bad title but fucking sue me okay)

__

This was stupid. 

The entire notion of this dare was completely and utterly stupid.

But, a dare was a dare and Eddie Munson wasn’t one to chicken out—not when he drove his sorry-ass thirty minutes out of his way to a building sat in the seemingly middle of nowhere. But, to the building’s credit, Hawkins itself was in the middle of nowhere to begin with—the point? Moot.

Why was this even the dare that Gareth came up with anyway? He could’ve had Eddie run a hundred laps at the school field, lick the bottom of his own sneakers—the thought alone was nauseating—hell, Eddie would’ve taken spending an entire Saturday at the library… studying. This? This was embarrassing. 

After finishing the blunt he had stashed away in his glove compartment, Eddie finally found enough nerve to pull his ass out of his truck and move to the building next to the small lot he parked in. The neon sign hanging in the front door flickered and nearly fizzled—it had to be as old as the building it hung in—it wasn’t looking like a great sign for him to continue on, but, like a soldier going into battle, he ventured on and into the store. His first impression? It was… clean. Surprisingly so, hell, even the air smelled fresher than the outdoors he just came in from. He guessed his preconceived notions about an establishment such as this one was just— 

“Hello?”

Eddie couldn’t have turned his head faster.

“Oh good, you can hear me,” the girl at the register laughed lightly, “thought you were ignoring my very kind greeting.”

“I—uh—guess I was,” Eddie replied sheepishly, his hand finding a home at the back of his neck, “sorry.”

“I was trying to ask you,” she smirked, shifting her weight from one elbow over to the other, “that I needed to see some ID.” 

“ID?”

“I’m afraid this shop isn’t exactly a watering hole for children and tweens—I’m sure you already knew that, though.”

“W-what?” 

She blinked once. Twice. “Y’know, because…?” With that, she ended her thought with a—rather ostentatious—gesture to the sales floor in front of them, products lit up and blinking like a Christmas tree. 

Eddie’s face grew warm. “Uh, yeah, right,” he fumbled up to the counter, fishing into his back pocket for his wallet, “here you go.”

The girl took his ID and scanned over it quickly—it was obvious that she had done that quite a few times—before handing it back to Eddie. “Not that I thought that you were in middle school or anything, but, y’know, store policy and all that.”

“Really? Damn, here I thought I could’ve weaseled my way into the Snow Ball this year and wreak some havoc.”

“You want to go to a middle school dance?”

“Well, no, obviously not,” he laughed shakily, “I was… sorry, it was a joke.”

“I know,” she hummed, “well, it was an attempt at a joke—didn’t really land though.”

“Ouch,” Eddie grabbed his chest dramatically, “that cut me deep.”

“If a stranger working at a sex shop cut you deep with an insult, I’d hate to know what happens when a friend does the same thing.”

“My friends are respectable people,” he stood a bit straighter, pulling on his leather jacket, “they would never defile my honor like that.”

“Uh huh,” she clicked, “sure.”

Eddie blinked. “You don’t believe me?”

“Tell me, Edward—”

“How’d you—”

“Your license,” she shrugged as if it were such a simple explanation, “though I can’t say I pegged you for an Edward, seems a bit too… basic for someone like you.”

“I go by Eddie,” he clarified. 

“Eddie,” she repeated. He couldn’t say he hated how it sounded coming from her—beautiful and pink—lips. “Okay Eddie, as I was saying, those friends of yours whom you claim would never defile your honor—” 

“They would not,” he nodded.

“They wouldn’t happen to be the whole reason you’re here, right?”

Eddie was at a loss for words. Was it really that obvious? Did he look truly that out of place? “You don’t think that I came here on my own volition? By my own choice?”

“Nope,” she shook her head, “I reckon you probably buy your rubbers and nudie magazines from some corner store in town, so why would you bother coming out all this way unless it were for… I don’t know, a dare of some kind?”

“Maybe the nudie mags that are offered near me weren’t my speed,” he shrugged, trying to play it off, “or I already burned through the corner store’s stock of rubbers?”

“Oh I’m sure that’s it.”

“Y’know, being sarcastic with your customers isn’t exactly a great business model.”

“Don’t really have to worry about scaring off someone who wasn’t planning on buying anything anyway.”

“I’ll have you know I was planning on buying something,” he corrected, “but your attitude is just entirely off-putting. Maybe I should take my business elsewhere?”

“Okay.”

She turned her attention back to the—completely safe for young eyes—magazine that had sat on the register beside her, effectively ignoring Eddie. He stood silent, nearly shocked at absolute gall of the beautiful stranger. “Aren’t you supposed to fight for my business?”

“Aren’t you supposed to not lie to people?” she asked, not looking up from her magazine. “Isn’t that, like, the first rule of kindergarten or something?”

“I’m not lying to you.”

“…right, and I’m the Queen of England.”

“Oh, Your Majesty,” he bowed deeply, “my sincerest of apologies.”

Her gaze flicked up for just a moment, laughter bubbling in her chest at the sight of Eddie bowing so elegantly before her. She’ll bite. “Alright, you’ve made your point,” the laugh she tried holding back escaped her, “do you need help finding anything in here?”

“Actually,” he rose his head, still bowing, “yes, I would appreciate some assistance in finding what I seek from your humble establishment, Your Majesty.”

“Humble establishment,” she mumbled, pulling herself away from the desk, “so, what’re you looking for?” 

Her arms were at her hips, giving Eddie full view of the outfit she was wearing—it was relatively normal—he was expecting something more… out there. “That’s an excellent question, use it often?”

“Yeah that’s, like, my job?”

“Just tryin’ to make small talk, sweetheart,” he held his hands up in admission, “but, uh, I guess I’m not really sure exactly what I’m looking for.”

“You drove yourself out to a sex shop without knowing what you’re looking for?”

“I think I said ‘exactly’,” he narrowed his eyes, “obviously I know what I’m looking for.”

“And that would be…?”

“A… vibrator,” he mumbled, suddenly feeling very shy. 

“I’m sorry, I’m gonna need you to speak up?”

“I’m looking for a vibrator,” he repeated, speaking more clearly, “you know? Something that vibrates or whatever.”

“Well that I can help you find, easy,” she smirked, waving him to follow her. She continued to walk across the small store, was hardly bigger than a classroom, a classroom filled to the brim with all sorts of fun looking things, things he didn’t know existed until that moment. “What kind of vibrator are you in the market for? You’ve got a few options.”

“Ah, I don’t think that it has to be anything fancy—”

“I’m sure your girlfriend would beg to differ,” she laughed airily, thumbing through a few options hanging on the wall.

“S’not for my girlfriend,” he rocked on his feet, heel to toe.

“Oh, in that case, you may want to get one with a flared bottom just so it doesn’t get lost up your—”

“No!” Eddie didn’t mean to shout, but the sound carried a bit farther than he expected it to. “It’s not for me either, no ma’am. I’m very comfortable in my tried and true methods, thank you very much.”

“Never hurts to try something new,” she said, gently putting back a package that she had pulled from the wall, “so if it’s not for your girlfriend and it’s not for you…?”

“Well, considering I don’t have a girlfriend—”

“No?”

“What? Are you shocked?” He felt his chest swell the tiniest bit, she seemed relieved. 

“Honestly? A little bit,” she agreed, “you’ve got that whole rock-n-roll vibe and everything. Most girls are into that nowadays.”

“Is that something you’re into, sweetheart?” 

“I could be persuaded, sure.”

“That’s not a no.”

“I guess it’s not,” she smiled lightly, turning her attention back to the wall of colorful machinery. She looked as if she was contemplating the options, mulling over a fine wine or critiquing a piece of art, before pulling a package from the wall. It was a small thing, hot pink and—if Eddie had to guess—was bullet shaped. “Is this something that will fit your very cryptic needs?”

“No fucking way that thing is a vibrator,” he scoffed, pulling the package from her hands, “it’s tiny.”

“Size doesn’t matter,” she laughed, “from what I’ve heard this model packs quite the punch.”

“What? Do you not fancy one of these for yourself?” It was a bold question, Eddie knew that much, but the blunt from earlier was finally kicking in—the adrenaline from entering the store probably outweighed the effects earlier—so anything was seemingly fair game. “Or,” he pulled a rather large, more phallic shaped thing from the wall, “is this more your speed?”

“I can’t say I test all the merchandise,” she nearly yawned, “but if you really want to know what I like…”

He held his breath.

“You better be taking me out first,” she winked, turning her back to the now furiously blushing metalhead. “Seriously though, if you’re not gonna share any sort of information of what you’re wanting with me I’m just going to rip down the entire wall into your arms.”

“I’d like to see you try that.”

“Don’t test me, Zeppelin.”

Eddie smiled at the nickname, his attention flicking back to the colorful wall beside them. Led Zeppelin wasn’t at the top of his favorite bands, but for some reason he had the strange urge to go and listen to any tape or record he or Uncle Wayne had of theirs—for research purposes, obviously. He reached out to pull another box off the wall, the weight surprising him. “Do people actually buy these? I mean, really?”

“Some people prefer the realistic look,” she said simply, “the realistic feel.”

“Oh,” he put the package back, “sure, yeah that… checks out.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Do I look surprised?”

“You do.”

Eddie stood silent for a moment before taking a deep breath. “Fine, maybe I’m a little surprised. I guess I never imagined that when people came to buy… these, that they’d really be going for a realistic thing, you know?”

“Oh yeah,” she nodded, “there’s something for everyone these days.”

“But, I mean,” he pressed his finger to the plastic, “this is like… scary real looking.”

“Some people just really miss their partners I guess, wanting a similar feel, if I had to take a wild guess,” she laughed, “but I try not to judge people’s interests, not too critically anyway.”

“Ah.”

He tapped his fingers a few times against the packaging, his rings not offering much of a different sound on the surface. The girl nearly sashayed back up to the register whilst he was momentarily lost in thought, only turning her attention back to Eddie when she returned.

“Well?”

“Huh?”

“Aren’t you gonna buy it?”

“Oh,” he raised the package closer to his chest, reading the text on the plastic diligently, “yeah, I think this will be fine.”

“I think your buddies are gonna love that one,” the tap of her fingers against the glass of the counter rang throughout the room, “it’s terribly realistic.” 

“Yeah I think they’ll be alright with—”

He stopped dead in his tracks. 

Shit.

“Uh huh,” she clicked, a small smile creeping onto her lips, “I knew it.”

“Fuck,” he ran his free hand through his hair, “was it really that obvious?”

“I work at a sex shop in the middle of the fucking woods, the only people who come out here are perverts, curious ladies looking to change up their solo time or some freshly-eighteen boys on a bet or dare. It’s not hard to catch onto a pattern.”

“How often does that happen?”

“Eh, twice a week?”

“Shit, really?”

“Lots of people lose bets, apparently,” she helplessly shrugged, “either way, it’s good for business and my parents can keep the lights on this shack a bit longer.”

“I’m sorry, parents? Like, your mom and pop own this kind of shop?”

“Yeah, not exactly a quaint little downtown boutique, but it’s got charm and the cash flow is insane. Who knew perverts would blow a couple of Benjamins on this shit?”

“I—yeah, that’s actually pretty impressive,” Eddie agreed, fishing into his back pocket again for his wallet, “so… what’s the damage?”

“Ten bucks,” she said, putting the purchase into a hot pink plastic bag—thankfully with no store branding on it to Eddie’s relief.

He pointed to the back wall, “but the sign over there said—”

“Consider it a new customer discount,” she said nonchalantly, pushing the bag across the glass countertop. He hadn’t noticed it before, but the glass case she stood behind was full of higher-end, colorful, glass blown products. They weren’t all toys, he realized, he might’ve spotted a few pipes if he looked hard enough.

“Aw, a discount for little ol’ me?” Eddie handed the girl a crumpled bill. 

“What can I say? I’m feeling generous.”

“You sure it’s not a handsome guy discount?” 

Another bold statement from Eddie this evening, it seemed. It was worth a shot, anyway, right?  

“A discount is a discount,” the girl smirked as she loaded the money into the register beside her, “could be the senior citizen discount and you’d be none the wiser.”

“Okay, that’s a little gross to think about—”

“Old people can have sex—”

“You think I’m a senior citizen?”

“Of course not,” she laughed, “you’re not much older than I am.”

“Yeah?”

“You seem to forget I read your license earlier?”

“Oh. Right,” he deflated a little bit, “is it by a lot…or…?”

“Well, I sure as hell am not a minor, if that’s what you’re asking,” she laughed again. God, he loved that laugh. “Couldn’t be working here if I was.”

“That’s good, wouldn’t want to catch a case for thinking the store clerk is cute,” Eddie smiled, leaning against the glass counter. 

“Do you normally think minors are cute…?”

Eddie stumbled. “Jesus, no! Of course not! I was—it was a bad joke—”

“You seem to have a lot of those.”

“Well, pretty girls make me nervous,” he tried to play it off. 

“Huh,” she clicked, clearly fighting back a grin, “alright, well, I hope your buddies get a kick outta their prize.” She pointed to the bag that now firmly sat in Eddie’s grasp.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “I’m sure they will.”

“Can I ask?”

“Ask?” He turned his head. 

“Why did your friends make you come out here to buy a vibrator?” she quirked her brow. “Aren’t they sitting in your car or something and just dare you to spend like, fifteen minutes or whatever in the store?”

“That—well, funny you mention that,” Eddie nervously chuckled, “that was the original plan, but they had something come up tonight so… they insisted I buy evidence that I came in here.”

“They insisted you buy something you have no use for?”

“I’m sure I could find some use for it,” he grinned, “or maybe find someone to use it with.” He couldn’t really tell, but he could’ve sworn he saw the tips of her ears darken—her cheeks following in a similar fashion. 

“I threw our business card in the bag. Y’know, just incase your buddies don’t believe you—”

“I’m sure the realistic sculpted dick vibrator is enough for them,” Eddie winked, pressing his hand up against the door to handle, “but I appreciate the excellent customer service, sweetheart.”

Without even a goodbye, Eddie practically ran out of the store and back to his van. Why did he do that? He could’ve at least asked her out—she was clearly interested in what he had to offer. He never even got her name.

“Fuck!” Eddie hit his head against the steering wheel, fists resting on both sides of his face. “You’re an idiot, Munson. Obviously can’t go back in there now, she’d think I’m a crazy pervert or something,” he hit his head again, “stupid, stupid, stupid…” It only took him exactly seven minutes to finish with his pity party he threw for himself before he dared to look in the hot pink bag in the seat next to him.

The business card. 

It had to have had the shop’s phone number on it, right? He could speed home and try giving it a ring before they closed for the night. Maybe she’d answer? Laugh with him about how stupid he was—or maybe just laugh in his face at his mistake. Either way, he had to give it a shot. Eddie reached into the bag for the card, his shoulders slumping immediately when there was no phone number listed on the face of the card, just the name of the shop and the address. “What kind of store doesn’t have a fucking phone number?”

It was only when he flipped the card over he saw it.

There, on the pristine white of the backside of the card was something written in pink ink—a bit smudged—it was obviously written in a hurry. It was a phone number, a personal home phone number if Eddie had to take a wild guess. 

-

You better call me, Zeppelin

~ (Y/N) 

-

He pursed his lips, his face contorting into probably his biggest grin of the night. She gave him her number. “(Y/N), huh?” Eddie laughed to himself, re-reading the card as if the ink would fade away. He’d be an idiot not to call her—to ignore such a pretty face.

Maybe he’d get use out of his recent purchase after all. 

[impyssadobsessions]

Made little onshot after my Half-Jazz post. Link to Ao3 post. Warning: Contains somewhat-Suicide, suicidal themes and death.

------

Now or Never.

Jazz closed her book, letting out a shaky breath. Danny had left the house and wasn't planning to be back until tomorrow. Mom and Dad were on a year long ghost hunting trip. She was alone.

She waited to make sure her brother didn't come back for anything he might of left behind. Thinking about it once more.

This was a stupid idea. She knew this. If it was anyone else, she would lecture them to Hell n back. Yet, she can't seem to find any reason not to.

No. She had reasons not to. Many. But they couldn't measure to what she could gain. She knew she would regret it more if she didn't. She gave a firm nod, with that in mind. She was going to do it. She stood up from the kitchen table and made her way to the basement. Jazz stopped once she reached the bottom of the stairs, staring at the ghost portal. She hated it. It devoured her parents attention. More often than not, she found herself wanting to bust the machine out of teenage rebellion. At times, she wish she had. Instead she took the high road and focused on her studies, believing she could get away from all things ghostly. Jazz snorted, shaking her head with a fond smile. 'Old me would have a heart attack.' She turned to start working on shutting the portal down, starting with the power supply to it. She had grown to get over that. She didn't care about appearances, about being normal, and about winning parents attention. That didn't matter. Still, she hated the portal because of what it did to Danny. It took away her little brother's life. Worse, it took away his death. Danny was aiming for the stars, and dreamed of his future in space. Jazz wasn't the only Fenton that picked out their dream college in middle school. Danny had a few he was aiming for. After the portal opened, Danny's grades plummeted. His eyes stopped looking at the stars and instead were trained to his feet. Dreams of the future turned into nightmares instead. He no longer looked farther than the present, if only to keep himself sane. He was just 14. Now, and forever. Jazz listened to the whirl of machinery as it powered down. Jazz staring as the portal refuse to leave. It whirled despite all the power supplied to it, dissipated. Jazz knew that powering it down wouldn't work to shut down. It would take days normally for it to fizzle out. If not weeks. That's why she had prepared before hand. After all, this wasn't a last minute decision. She had noticed Danny hadn't age since the accident during her first year at college. She had come back for winter break, realizing how much Tucker and Sam grew, yet there was Danny. Sheepish smile. He must of knew by then too. Jazz went on a photo frenzy afterwards, to make sure she wasn't just imagining it. It was true though. Danny never aged once, his demeanor made him look older, but he wasn't. Not physically. It confused her, and it scared her. She was terrified for Danny. She took off to find answers from those in the ghost zone. 'Fate is cruel. Young Daniel's even more so.' Clockwork never gave Jazz a direct answer, but he gave her all she needed. She had seen parts of the future Danny could only remember, and knew Danny would continue to beat himself up through his grief. He couldn't prevent them from dying. Nor should he. But he shouldn't have to deal with this alone. Its too much for one person. Jazz went over to a closet, revealing a modified shop-vac. She been secretly working on and upgrading the vacuum to suck up ambient ectoplasm. She used the Fenton thermos as inspiration, and the vacuum had already been modified by her parents. She just made tweaks on it. It took her a lot longer than she was willing to admit. She wasn't good at building without instructions. She wasn't creative like her Dad or Danny was, or knew as much as her mother to wing it. She couldn't asked them either, at least not directly. She couldn't ask Danny at all. He would of known that she was planning something. She smiled. Funny how he always thought he was the dumb one in the family. Considering how much praise Jazz received over Danny, even after parents knowing the truth, wasn't surprising. Still, she hoped she could change that. It took about a few hours of vacuuming, Jazz having to clean it out twice, before the Portal started to look different. Jazz was starting to worry that she might not make it in time. She looked at the clock, furrowing her brows and pressed her lips. She could of sworn it was hours, but it only been one. Jazz shrugged it off, and continued to run the vacuum.

It took 3 hours for the portal to close, (She double checked.) She let out a relieved breath. A cold settle in, as she stared at that empty hole in the wall. It felt unsettling, eerie... death. She steeled herself. She redid her bun on her head, and started cleaning up the lab. She wanted to recreate that faithful day as much as possible. She only had one chance. Danny was one of a kind, even among his own. He was perfect balance between life and death. Jazz theorized. Vlad and Danielle were still aging. Vlad was aging slowly, and poor Dani. She was aging rapidly. 'Nooo, now I have TWO older sisters! Both just as annoying.' Jazz chuckled at the memory. Dani and Danny made jokes about it. Jazz and Dani tag team to mess with Danny all night. Despite the laughter, they all were scared. Dani less so then her and Danny. 'I never even thought I get to live this long.' Jazz remember her confess. It was hard to tell with Vlad, but Jazz had seen pictures to prove it. The lines in his face were getting deeper. Jazz wonder if Danny was still holding onto hope that he was aging slowly. Tuck and Sam seem to be under that impression. So was Mom and Dad. Dusting her hands off. She had the lab outside of the portal mostly ready. Anything that could interfere, was put away. The filters were cleaned and excess ectoplasm was dealt with. Now she needed to turn the button off from the inside, so she can turn it on once everything was plugged in. She felt a chill again, as she climbed inside. Its been 6 years since she saw the inside of this thing. Her heart thumping hard. It was dark in the portal, creepy. Humans naturally feared the unknown. Jazz KNEW about the portal, but she never explored it. She never looked inside it. And now it terrified her. Danny was here when- Her resolved was steeled again, she took a deep breath. 'Focus Jazz, button.. button. A-ha!' She saw the panel in the dim light and pressed the off button, holding it down for a minute. She hoped that kept it from turning on. Now she needed to clean herself up. She didn't want her ghost to look disheveled, and she wasn't sure if any residue from ectoplasm would hinder or help her. She needed to replicate the accident as close as possible. She pursed her lips, staring at the row of hazmat suits. Danny was wearing his when he.. She didn't want to be stuck in one though. She wonder if it would change the results. Jazz groaned, deciding to put one on. She just had to put something over the top. Maybe a jacket? That sounded good. She hoped it wouldn't make a difference... 'Danny said there was a way to change it. He just didn't know how. Hm..' Danny was stuck in what he died in. Jazz wonder how much that actually affects him. That's something they never discussed. Actually, there was a lot of things she had to guess with with Danny. Jazz chewed on inside of her cheek. So many things she wonder about. Worried about. Only one way to find out. She tugged her favorite zipped up jacket over her hazmat suit. Her hair tied into a bun. She snorted. She looked far from the professional attire she usually wore. She was ready. At least ready as she could be. Danny was going to hate her. Jazz shook her hands, getting rid of the nerves that tingled her skin. She could do this. She HAD to do this. Ghosts had unfinished business, that's why she was sure she would come back. She needed to be there for Danny. She plugged in the portal. Chills going down her spine as she heard the machinery hiss with power. Jazz pressed the button on the outside of the portal on. Waiting. She heard it whirl up and creek, whispering danger. Her eyes glued to the inside of the portal, that was now lit up. Jazz felt fear that she messed up, seeing green at the end of the tunnel only for it to fade right out. She let out a shaky breath in relief.. then started laughing at how ridiculous she was. Calming herself, she went back into action. She wondered if she should leave a note for Danny just in- No. She needed all her reasons to come back. She HAD to tell him herself.

Stepping into the portal, she was cautious of the wires. 'Ugh. Mom and Dad preach about safety measures but never proper do them.' She wonder how different their lives be if they did. 'Everything is as it should be.' She gasped, stumbling back. She didn't see it the first time she was there. The wall and ground was charred black in a shape of- 'Danny...' Jazz swallowed thickly, as she stared at the shadow of her brother, stained in the tunnel. Her eyes watered, she couldn't imagine. She wouldn't have to. Her teal eyes staring at the panel. She had one more chance to turn around. Danny would forgive her... but she wouldn't forgive herself. Danny needed someone there with him. It had to be her. Mom and Dad obviously can't. Sam and Tuck couldn't do it either. Shouldn't do it. They were in denial of their guilt and it would fester if they couldn't have a life away from it. Time wouldn't be kind to them. Danny would only blame himself. He still would if she-when she. Jazz had to come back so they could work through that together. Even if it took years, decades.. maybe centuries.. though she prayed not that long. With that thought in mind, she pressed the button. She had to be there, she has to. ----- Danny grumbled as he fought Skulker. Danny hated when his plans get interrupted. Couldn't he have a day to himself? The ghosts weren't as bad as they use to be, mostly because he didn't have a fix schedule. Yet it seems without fail, something always happens when he makes plans. Earlier it was some kind of giant newt, then someone messed with the lunch menu at the hospital, and now it was Skulker. "You couldn't of waited until next week? Sam and Tuck only home for the week." "Hunter's schedule is never convenient for their prey!" Danny squinted at the weapon aimed towards him, "New rocket launcher?" "Yes! They're made to lock on to. So no matter where you run or hide, they'll find you welp!" Skulker bragged. Danny whistled, "Fancy. Make it yourself?" "Yes actually-" Danny shot directly into the barrel of the launcher, causing it to explode. Skulker slammed into the ground below with a growl. Danny smirked, as he aimed his blast to knock off Skulker's metal head clean off. "Maybe next time you should can it." Danny sucked Skulker up into the Fenton Thermos. "Enjoy your week, I know I will." Danny was planning to keep Skulker in there for at least a few days if not the week. Danny got out his phone, to text Sam and Tuck, to let them know he was on his way back- Danny dropped to the ground, as a shudder shook him from his icy core. Dread. Something bad was happening. His body was screaming at him to go home. 'Jazz?!' Fear surged through him. His shot off from the ground, speeding towards home. It took him minutes to make it back to Fenton Works, crashing into the living room. "Unggh-Didn't.. stick the landing." Danny rubbed his left side as he picked himself up. A foggy breath escape with a chill. Danny's heart sank into his stomach, leaping back up into the air. "Jazz? JAZZ?!" He was only greeted by silence. Panic. Danny dashed into the kitchen, where he had last seen his sister. Her book laid closed on the table, and the basement door was.. open. Danny phased through the floor, stopping midair with a hitch in his breath. The portal hummed and swirled behind a figure that laid on the ground. Danny landed in front of the figure, shaking. It was a young woman, her blue hair was tied up into a loose bun and her jacket was white. The woman groaned, shifting her weight. Danny caught a glance at her eyes, they glowed orange. "..nnngh.. When Danny said that hurt, he was understating it..." "J-jazz?" Danny unable to make his closed throat speak above a whisper. Teeth clenched as the situation sunk in, speaking with a hiss "What did you DO?!" "Danny?!" Jazz jolted from her spot on the floor, sitting up right. She rubbed back of her neck, chuckling. "Something.. admittedly.. dumb. B-but Hey! It worked. Heh." Danny was in shock. He couldn't believe it. His sister was- A bright light

enveloped Jazz, revealing her natural red hair and her teary teal eyes. Half-dead. And an idiot. Danny wasn't sure which revelation shocked him more.

[chiwhorei]

𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭

cross-posted to Ao3!

pairing: issei “horse cock” matsukawa x fem!reader

genre: smut, 18+ mdni

word count: ~4.4k

tags: stripper!issei, stripper!seijoh, roommate!oikawa, tendoukawa (bc @heauxzenji said it an it’s now the only ship in my head) dry humping, lap dance, a little corruption, spitting, public, alcohol and recreational drug consumption (weed and coke), spanking, degradation, hardly edited

a/n: howdy! this is my contribution to the smut pile’s western collab and it is so incredibly late but what the hell else is new. the masterlist for the collab can be found here! @messwriting and myself, in true chaotic duo fashion, built an absolutely depraved multiverse of seijoh strippers: the lawbreakers. lee, i love you so much. this journey we’ve been on the past few months has been chaotic and beautiful, and there’s plenty more to come. 

the multiverse: hanamaki || iwaizumi || kyoutani

hymn: save a horse (ride a cowboy) by big & rich

and all the girls say— save a horse, ride a cowboy

A fog of smoke burns in your eyes. The room around you feels like it could curl in on itself, four walls marked sparsely with dusty furniture, the smell of weed and cash. 

You fix your gaze onto a long, diagonal tear in the leather couch across the must and g-strings, the rip in upholstery is stuffed with wrinkled one dollar bills. 

It feels like observing an exhibit at a museum, or a zoo. Lines of coke, random dustings of pot and discarded swisher tobacco, too many open handles of liquor. Sitting on an end table is a bright pink teddy bear with a cowboy hat on it’s head.

How the fuck did you get here?

***

You shift your weight on either foot, arches aching already. The pair of jeans and top you had planned on wearing tonight were all but ripped off of your body, casual boots thrown down the hallway with sadistic glee and replaced with heels that are taller and a dress much too short.

“Damnit, you’re walking too fast.” Your appointed captor turns around dramatically, stopping in his tracks to watch you catch up. The cigarette pressed into his mouth cards in two fingers and extended towards you as a peace offering. You take the half gone stick and bring it to your lips.

Tendou’s mission was simple, drag his boyfriends roommate and best friend-- possibly kicking and screaming-- out for a night she won’t soon forget. 

“Were those really necessary, Satori?” You point with the remnants of his cigarette and he feigns a kicked-puppy expression, looking down dramatically at his all black outfit contrasting drastically with a flashy pair of brownish-red cowboy boots. 

“I am being a supportive partner. Plus Tooru and I wear the same shoe size.” His hair is bright outlined by the neon sign above the building.

You inhale smoke and nicotine, eying him over once again before continuing. 

“Does it bother you when he’s dancing on all of those horny women?” The cigarette butt falls to the ground, you snuff it out while exhaling remnant smoke from your nose, the bachelorette party walking towards the door in a parade screaming emphasizes your question.

Tendou pulls you close, mouth pressing against your neck to bite against the skin. You jerk away from his embrace, with a feeble push against his chest to match the scoff scratching against your throat. The tall red head above you, currently leaned into the dip on your neck, always has an air of vulgar humor and zero personal space. 

“Watching my pretty little boyfriend grinding on women that would never stand a chance with him,” he pulls away just in time to catch another eye roll before grabbing your wrist to pull you inside, “I think it’s hot as fuck.” 

You stumble behind him, the doorman recognizing your friend immediately and lets the pair of you through tacky saloon doors. You catch a glimpse of the tattered sign standing right next to the entrance. 

Lawbreaker’s Presents: The Guys of the Wild West

The club is drastically warmer than outside, the chill in your barely covered limbs thaws in a mixture of stage lights and body heat.

 You sigh deeply as the sound of country music fills your ears, seemingly in rhythm with the squawking of drunken hens sipping on tall flutes of champagne. Thinking back briefly to when you first signed the lease with Oikawa, you remember he wore glasses and a sweater vest. 

He said he worked as a “fitness instructor.”

“Ah, my two favorite people in the whole world,” Tooru’s ears just have been burning at your recollection, as your roommate appears in front of you in nothing but white spandex shorts and a pair of shiny boots to match, a tray of drinks is placed to the side on an unoccupied table. The white cowboy hat on his head gleamed in the low light of the club, rhinestone star shimmers-- you want to shy away from the bright refraction hitting your eyes.

He looks in his element, completely confident and cocksure as he walks around in only underwear and body oil. 

“Aren’t you glad you came out tonight? I promise, you’re going to have a great time.” Oikawa melts into Tendou’s side, he looks just as content in the current atmosphere. Tendou seems at home in any ecosystem he wanders into.

“The show starts in 15, go get yourself a drink and try to pull the stick out of your ass. I’m going to, uhm, wish Tooru an extra special good luck.” 

“I really didn’t need to know that, thanks. Tooru, break a leg.” You turn around at the sight of the wandering, tattooed hand on it’s journey south on Oikawa’s abdomen and retreat to the bar. You aren’t shocked by the display, not hardly, not with the two of them using almost every surface in your apartment as a debauched playground.

The space around you is emptier than you imagined it would be, but there is still time before the night actually starts. The bartender approaches just as you sit down on one of the wooden stools, every fixture around you is designed to look like an old saloon-- save for the strobing lights and dj booth.

You order something strong and amber, partially to stay in-theme, partially for the nerves settled in your stomach that draft beer wouldn’t be able to curb.

The woman smiles brightly and turns to pour your liquor, leaving you to pick at a cocktail napkin and await your friend’s return.

“You’re Shittykawa’s roommate.” A stranger's voice is deep and bellowing, sounding high above your ear. You swivel in your seat, gaze meeting a tanned chest instead of a set of eyes. Trailing upwards past thick black tattoos and an unavoidable pair of silver nipple rings.

You can feel the muscles in the back of your neck as they strain to meet his chocolate brown stare, he looks amused as you all but gawk at him.

“Yes, uh, I am. And you’re, uhm--” the train of thought you try to hang onto derailed completely by a devastating smile, “one of Tooru’s co-workers?”

If his smile wasn’t enough, his laugh could level the building around you. Your new friend taps the black Stetson against the bar top before putting it back on his head. He gestures broadly to his attire, or lack thereof, with another disarming and smooth chuckle. 

“What gave that one away, darlin’?” You realize how stupid your question sounded, mentally kicking yourself but trying desperately not to show it on your face.

Long, thick legs are wrapped in a pair of leather chaps, the tight fabric hides nothing even if it covers most of his lower half. A matching vest hangs open on his chest, the muscles in his arms look bigger than your head. He seems huge in presence and physique, your own form is a shrinking violet below him.

“Your drink, dear. Double Jack n’ Coke.” The bartender slides a glass towards you, and you accept it with a gracious smile. The distraction is definitely appreciated, any excuse to break the eye contact that has you dissolving like lye.

“Jack n’ Coke, a gal after my own heart.” You choke, a coupling of small coughs break out of your chest. You curse your bodies reaction, you don’t even know--

“You’re name, uh, w-what’s your name.” Casual conversation seems like the best option, because it’s only been two minutes with the almost-naked Casanova and there’s a gnawing feeling that you don’t want him to walk away.

You blame it on the alcohol not yet even running through your veins. 

“Call me anything you want, pretty girl, but my name’s Issei.”

A smile creeps from one end of your mouth to the other. His presence is jarring to say the least, but there’s something about the way his teeth peek out past curled lips that makes you want to lean in instead of away.

Tendou calls your name, effectively pulling you out of Issei’s orbit and reminding you where you are. Heat flushes in waves on your face as Tendou wraps his long arms around your shoulders from behind. Acknowledging your new friend with a pointed, “Howdy partner,” before turning to order his own drink.

“Something sweet please, and strong.” You hear his voice singing to the bartender but still face Issei, having his attention is more intoxicating than whiskey. You want him to talk to you, to ask you questions, to grace you with that smile over again.

You feel the ability to breathe escaping when Issei leans into you impossibly close, his hand enclosing around your back and pulling you in so slightly you could swear you imagined it.

“It was nice to meet you. Make sure I hear ya’ out there, darlin.”

You’re left almost falling from the bar stool, watching as Issei strides toward the back. The way his hips sway is unfair in every--

“Hey,” Tendou’s fingers come up to snap in front of your face, “Didya hear me? Let’s go take our seats.” 

That’s right; you feel like you’ve just run a marathon, heart beating erratically at the briefest interaction, your night hasn’t even started yet. 

You’re dragged directly towards the front of the stage and sat in a small two person table. You agreed to the night out between gritted teeth, hauled to the uber with absolute defiance; but most of your protest has fizzled away-- definitely not due to a pair of deep brown eyes and planes of perfectly tanned skin-- as you get comfortable next to the boisterous bridal party. You can hear their idle, drunken chatter at your back. 

“I heard they call one of the dancers ‘Mad Dog’. Apparently he’s totally feral.”

“One of them is nicknamed the ‘Big Tease’, he really likes the pretty little brides~” 

“Oh yeah? Well there’s one dancer called ‘Horse Cock’. I’m going to go home with him.” 

The women behind you howl with laughter, enjoying their friend’s last night of freedom. The straw in your drink twirls idly, thoughts drifting with each turn of the plastic against your liquor. Surely, Issei had just intended a friendly introduction, he wouldn’t be raking in tips by being unapproachable.

Friendly, you decide, repeating it to yourself until the lights drop and a black curtain is pulled up, he was just being nice. 

* * *

The show starts out mostly how you would expect. Through a few sets, toned, beautiful guys take their clothes off and fling articles at the screaming, panting crowd. The table next to you gets the most attention, bridal parties, you assume, would be the prized cash cow.

Oikawa comes out in the most obnoxious, white and teal outfit and strips into nothing but a thong and boots. Every inch of his skin sparkles, the cause becoming obvious when he jumps down to the audience and swivels his hips and ass right into your lap. Your hand comes up to his hip reflexively to brace yourself-- of course, body glitter.

You watch on at the sweaty writhing of the most beautiful men you have ever seen in real life. The atmosphere around you is absolutely contagious, it’s impossible not to fall into the rhythm, losing inhibitions with every stray piece of fabric as it’s tossed into the sea of women.

Just as you lean over to Tendou to admit that you’re enjoying yourself, the next song blasts loudly from the speakers. The beat vibrates your table, soaking into every nerve, but is almost drowned out completely by the shrieking from every patron around you. They must know what’s coming. 

 Looking back up front, you realize why the crowd is losing their minds. The man that commanded your attention at the bar is even more alluring now. His strut to center stage is deliberate, flashing smiles and winks to no one in particular and hypnotizing every person in his reach.

Issei is stunning in his element, soaking in the reaction with a humble tip of his hat. You could swear, though you’re sure that it’s just your imagination, that he’s looking right at you.

His performance starts out like the rest of them, but each movement of his tattooed hands as they travel over his chest is spellbinding. 

Issei discards his leather vest and tosses it to the side, it feels like you’re watching him in slow motion. He’s gorgeous, skin tanned and tight over thick muscle, arms wrapped in black ink and shining with sweat.

His chaps are next, ripped from his legs just as music behind him picks up. The wedding party next to you so loud you swear the laundromat next door can hear.

 All that’s left is a thong that’s barely covering his cock. You try desperately not to, but all your eyes can focus on is the bulge under a tiny piece of black leather. Your thighs rub together in search of any relief to the feeling growing hot and slick in your stomach.

He moves like liquid platinum, every long, deliberate swivel of his hips and overt palming over his crotch is enough to cause delirium. He soaks in every whistle and shriek of his name, vibrating on the high of squelching attention. 

Issei is a natural. He’s a wild animal, and, along with every other woman there, you wish he would tear you apart with his canines. 

He descends the short staircase with a quick stomp of his boots, now making rounds through the crowd. He stops in front of tables at random, invading the space between strangers and collecting wrinkled one dollar bills.

Why does something so blatantly performative feel voyeurous?

All you can do is gawk, ignoring how every time another woman’s hand runs down his abdomen you heat with envy. As he turns away from the bridal party neighboring you, your blood turns ice cold.

Issei has you, unmistakably, in his sights. His eyes pin you, holding you down tightly in your chair as he struts forward. Tendou whistles loudly as the brunette approaches your table. You wonder, in your last moment of cognizance, if Saroti and Tooru had planned your evening in more detail that you originally thought.

“Long time no see, darlin’,” Issei stands over you, and all you can do is stare dumbly up at him, “do ya trust me?” 

You don’t answer, not with words, not like he would even hear your quiver over Big & Rich booming through the speakers. His question is stupid, to trust someone you just met so vaguely?

You do. Against any better judgement, you do. 

He doesn't give you the chance to ask what he means, stuck in the gooey feeling of his attention. Issei reaches behind you, picking up your half empty glass. He swirls the drink with an almost evil smile before bringing it up to his lips and draining the last bits of whiskey and coke. 

Your face reads confused, not putting his intentions together until you feel his thumb pressed against your chin. Issei’s eyebrow quirks, eyes trained on your reaction. You’re options are to shy away, turning back in your seat, running for escape in the bathroom, or--

The gloss on your mouth is sticky as your lips part in obedience. Issei tries to hide his elation, but it’s difficult to remain aloof as your tongue lulls out and your eyes beg him.

Issei’s hold on your chin tightens, nudging you to lean in so he’s only inches away. Your eyes shut lightly, the shouting surrounding you sounds little more than a whisper with the blood rushing in your ears.

You swear you can hear him groan above you as the sharp taste of liquor hits your tongue. Willing your body to cooperate, you swallow the drink with only a small cough. 

His face dips down, it seems like a habit now, to brush his promises against the shell of your ear once again.

“You’re an agreeable little thing, I think you can take it.”

His hands are on either side of your chair in a flash, lifting you up with trained, bulging muscles. You fall forward in your seat, bracing against Issei’s chest. Every cell in your body is tight with tension, if you lift your head up to meet the audience’s eyes, you’re sure you’ll crack like glass.

He steals you from relative comfort, shifting your weight in his arms as he ascends back onto stage. You’ve gone limp in his hold, pliant to his will. The unfamiliar presence at a dusty bar top has turned into more than a front row seat to depravity.

You’re thrown off balance as he sets you down, eyes adjusting to the white hot stage lights. You’re exposed to every set of eyes in the building, even if you can’t see him-- you know Satori is smiling from one sharp cheek to the other. Wherever Tooru is, he’s most likely sitting in the same satisfaction.

Aren’t you glad you came out tonight? I promise, you’re going to have a great time.

Issei rounds the back of your chair so his actions are hidden from your view. The brim of a leather cowboy hat breaches your field of vision, much too big for your head.

His hands come down onto your shoulders, snaking down your bare arms. His touch leaves a scorching fleet of chills. Issei runs his finger tips upwards, tracing against your collarbone before wrapping his grip lightly around your neck. 

He can feel it, he has to, the racing pulse right under the surface of your skin.

The music transitions effortlessly, going almost unnoticed. The next song, still sharp with a cheesy country twang, is slower, deeper.

Issei’s thumb brushes against your cheek, your body wants to relax into the touch before it remembers how public the gesture is.

You hold in a shaky breath as he comes to stand in your eyeline again, you might as well be bound to your chair with rope. He looks larger than life-- in both stature and presence-- in front of you. His skin is glistening, refracting from the harsh lights with sweat and oil. 

He is an unstoppable force against your will. Your desire to hide from the blinding attention is nothing compared to the desire to please. To please a stranger, to please the man you met only an hour ago. 

To please Issei.

He flashes you another wink, taking a moment to rake his stair down your body. He memorizes the outline of your cute little dress, red is definitely your color. 

Issei slides across the smooth surface of the stage to meet where you’re perched. The barreling, almost naked body now impossibly close to where your knees are pressed together.

He starts at your ankles, tracing the soft skin of your legs until his palms press flatly against your lower thigh. Issei savors the moment for a beat longer before prying your legs apart.

The crowd below you is loud and hollow in your ears, the shame bubbling up against your cheeks and nose is nothing compared to the pressure between your legs. 

Issei’s hands wander up and under the hem of your skirt, scratching his nails on the vulnerable skin before they find his prize in the form of thin lace.

The “Wait” and “Stop” sitting on your lips shrivels up and dies as your panties are ripped off. You see the bright color, the last remnants of opposition twirling around his pointer and middle finger.

The crowd goes wild, watching as your body is made a fantasy that they can all live vicariously by. all you can do is watch as the fabric is stuffed into the side of his thong to accompany fistfuls of singles.

* * *

You’re still in shock by the final dance, still under a trance as Tendou pulls you towards the back. Stumbling behind him to catch up, you’re given no time to think about what you’re about to walk into. 

A fog of smoke burns in your eyes. The room around you feels like it could curl in on itself, four walls marked sparsely with dusty furniture, the smell of weed and cash. 

You fix your gaze onto a long, diagonal tear in the leather couch across the must and g-strings, the rip in upholstery is stuffed with wrinkled one dollar bills. 

It feels like observing an exhibit at a museum, or a zoo. Lines of coke, random dustings of pot and discarded swisher tobacco, too many open handles of liquor. Sitting on an end table is a bright pink teddy bear with a cowboy hat on it’s head--

“I didn’t go too far did I?” Snapping back into reality, you hear Issei call to you. You’re vaguely comforted by a familiar voice before remembering the man attached had spat whiskey into your mouth and stolen your panties just 30 minutes prior. You heat up at the tips of your ears at the recollection of two things you had let him do, that you had wanted him to do. 

Your eyes find Issei sitting on the couch on the opposite end of your freshly showered roommate, seemingly unbothered as Tendou flops down against the middle cushion and drapes both arms across the back. 

“Don’t worry partner, our girl doesn’t startle easy.” Oikawa laughs, adjusting to sit across his boyfriend’s lap.  Issei’s all leather outfit is replaced with a pair of grey sweats. He looks relaxed, effortlessly handsome. 

What was it like, you wonder, before you knew how it felt to look at him? Life past the single night feels grey around the edges. 

When was the last time you felt this alive? 

He takes a sip of a water bottle, wiping off his chin with the large rose tattooed on his hand. You can’t stop staring at them-- the ones that roamed your body in front of a club full of drunk bachelorettes, the ones that traced your skin like he already had the map. 

And now you watch those same hands, so new but so inviting, as two fingers curl inward. They pull you as if tightening a rope around your waist. You wade past tall sweaty men and freshly caught audience members as they tangle across dusty furniture.

You scoot by your best friends from where they sit next to Issei, ignoring the slap to your ass and the following laugh from Oikawa in between loud, sloshing kisses.

“Well, little one,” He pats his thigh, inviting you to the spot on his lap rather than the empty seat next to him, “you’re not gonna run away are ya?” 

Every nerve in your body is twitching, you’re not sure if you could run if you wanted to.

You don’t.

Issei takes in your small nod of confirmation, pulling you into his hold. The position is awkward at first, perching on his knee as you try to keep your balance. He laughs, his arm snaking around your back so you relax into him. You fidget with your fingers as they lie against your lap, watching the bustling around you. A cloud of smoke settles in the air, you wonder if it’s a permanent haze of tobacco and pot-- the scent is probably painted into the walls. 

“Is this what you expected?” Issei’s voice is low and close to your ear, you can feel the smile curled into his question. Your eyes are fixed forward, watching as Tendou pours a small white line into Oikawa’s collarbone and dives in nose first.

“Honestly,” you adjust, kicking your legs up over his other knee, “I’m pretty used to this kind of stuff.”

Even if your usual scene doesn't include a drug filled almost-orgy, you can’t say you’re fazed much. Not with the company you keep.

Even with the circus revolving around you, Issei is the only thing you can see. Everything else falls away but the smell of his body wash and the soft material of his sweats where they meet your naked legs.

His hand rests against your thigh, fingers just above then short hem of your party dress. The metal rings on each digit are cool against your burning skin. You’re sure Issei can feel the heat rising in your stomach as it spreads through your blood. 

You feel him lean back, fishing something out of his pocket to set in your hands. You feel every hair stand on edge as the thin cotton drops into your grip, heavy as an anchor.

“You know what I think, darlin’?” Your breath hitches, the room around you squeezing tight against your shoulders, “I think you’re a natural on stage. I bet you would have let me do anything up there.” 

A hand wanders down the path of your spine, rough fingerprints stroke past each vertebrae. You arch at the feeling, his skin is like a narcotic. The liquor still swimming in your mind is no match to this, to the heady smell of sex and sweat as it cuts through your senses. 

Issei’s right, you’ll let him do anything to you. You’ll beg for it like you’re trying to pass the gates of heaven.

Your body moves of its own volition, legs swinging to straddle his waist. The material of your dress bunches over the curve of your ass, completely exposed to the room around you before being eclipsed by steady palms.

You would be, should be, embarrassed by the display of public depravity. No one around seems to notice, half naked is still more modest than most everyone else. Tendou and Oikawa have dissolved into a pile of spit and clashing teeth next to you, saving you from any snide quips. There’s nothing but Issei, face an inch away from you and lips tempting you to lean forward.

“Would it make you feel better if I told you I don’t usually do this?” 

Glassy eyes flick dumbly at the man below you. He sees the wobble of your lip, the glaze in your stare as you memorize every feature on his face. Any reassurance sitting on his tongue dies when you crash your lips against his, hips rolling down into him and knocking him off guard.

Your kiss is searing and drips with finality. You’ve decided what bed you’ll wake up in the morning with your tongue tracing against his molars.

“No, not really.” Foreheads pressed together, it’s your turn to laugh. If you’re honest, you probably made this decision while still sitting at the bar.

You dip back in, emboldened with the bruising fingers digging against the fat of your hips. The feeling of your cunt pressed against his crotch could bring a man to his knees.

He’s not opposed, he’s just gotta get you home first.

all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️