#this body hair mod suits him to perfection | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shoutogepi · 4 years ago

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Pink Handcuffs

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𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : 𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐨 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 6.7k

[ ✘ (𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰!), ☀︎ ] smut

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : switch!shouto, power play, bondage (cuffs), temperature play + food play, teasing, 69, begging, praise, baby/master dynamics, squirting, and a little aftercare <3

𝐛𝐢𝐨 : The only time you can tame your pro hero boyfriend is when he’s bound beneath you in pink, fluffy, quirk-cancelling cuffs.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : sooo u guys always are requesting sub sho, and i finally delivered hehe. this is my first time participating in a Sewer collab, ty to the mods who have been so sweet & welcoming to me even tho i’m shy and don’t talk too much 🤍 also i’m so sorry this is late, my bf decided to take me on a surprise vday trip!

𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : i actually think white chocolate is the inferior chocolate but i wanted it to look like cummies bc that’s hot soo… yeah this is the only acceptable situation to eat such an abomination imo ☺️

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─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

There was absolutely nothing wrong with the ravioli you ordered, nor the appetizer that preceded and the dessert that followed. If anything, each dish was divine in its own respect— as they should be, coming from perhaps the most exclusive, romantic restaurant in the city. Especially on an occasion like today. But the thing was, you didn’t harbor much of an appetite for such luxuries. Not when your boyfriend was casting heart eyes directly at you all night, not even batting an absurdly long eyelash at the longing gazes of the other restaurant-goers.

You were hungry, alright. Just… for something else.

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The leather of his loafers had been slowly rubbing against the exposed top of your foot throughout the meal, your heels not offering you much protection from his affectionate game of footsie. He had the nerve to reach across the linen tablecloth and lace your fingers with his, playing with them as he leaned in and allowed the flickering candlelight to wash his face with a romantic, warm glow. Ever the gentleman, he had offered you a spoonful of his risotto, and when you had returned the outstretched offering of your own meal, he locked eyes with you and allowed his tongue to wander out to caress the cutlery before he closed his lips around the silver, two-toned eyes glinting dangerously. You were sure your cheeks turned a temperature high enough to achieve the perfect sear of the wagyu on his plate.

It was criminal for him to be acting like this. To be giving you his undivided attention, to be looking at you as if you had hung the moon and all the stars. As if you were the moon and all the stars.

And for him to have shown up in such a devilishly handsome ensemble— a dark, charcoal suit with a crisp dress shirt, rolled up so that the lean muscle of his forearms was exposed to your ravenous eyes. The muted turquoise tie around his neck only made his left eye jump out at you, something he damn well knew you were defenseless against.

But it was that smirk that really got you going. That satisfied little curl to his perfect, pink lips. He knew what he was doing. He knew that he was going to be inside you in just a matter of time, however long it took for the pair of you to finish eating and get back to his apartment. And he thought he was going to ravish you as usual— and there was nothing wrong with that, really— you loved when he had his way with you. However, that wasn’t what was going to happen tonight. Tonight, he was yours, and he was going to be completely at your mercy.

So you let him have his fun at dinner. You let him fluster you and play with you, let him think he surely had the upper hand.

Because it would be that much more fun for you when he finally realized what he was in for…

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You sat on the edge of the cloth sectional, upright and on guard as you awaited Shouto to return from the bathroom. Half of you had expected to be pressed against the wall the second you entered the premises, smothered in a passionate kiss and his hands messing up your styled hair. Instead, he’d taken the time to pour you a drink and freshen up from dinner, promising to return in a moment before he disappeared down the hallway. Little did he know, he had given you the perfect opportunity to hide your surprise underneath one of the couch cushions— the fuzzy, pink pair of handcuffs completely concealed underneath one of the many pillows that littered the area.

The music from the sound bar across the room was low and pleasant, the melody soothing to your frayed nerves. Your fingers played with the tassels on the corner of the pillow behind you, busying yourself as you allowed another gulp of wine to coast down your throat. This would be your first time… taking charge, so to speak, in your relationship with Shouto.

The dynamic between you was equal back and forth in all other aspects except for your sexual relationship— although sometimes he managed to sneakily pay for more of your dates than you liked to admit. You were still getting your footing as a couple, still in that unbelievable, all-consuming honeymoon phase where the pair of you were so obsessed with each other that your heart felt like bursting whenever his lips pressed against yours. So, taking this step— leap, rather— was quite a bold move.

Shouto returned from down the hallway, a gentle smile turning the corner of his lips upright. You could smell the cologne that wafted off of him as he moved to sit beside you on the couch, his arm naturally reaching out to lay behind your shoulders, allowing his warmth to spread and seep into your side.

“Would you like to watch something, love?” he inquired.

It was unfair of him to look that good while he was just asking you a simple question.

You fake-pondered the suggestion for a minute, entertaining him as the lust in his gaze only increased by the second. “Hmm… not really,” you replied honestly. “I kind of had something else in mind.”

He mirrored you as you tipped back the rest of your glass, setting the thin-stemmed crystal to the side. “Oh?”

His voice had dropped an octave, his eyelids drooping as you watched the salacious intent sharpen within his brilliant irises. It was almost too much, being the target of his desire— it made you forget for a moment that you were the one taking charge tonight. Only for a second, though.

“Yeah,” you whispered in the most wanton tone you could muster. You scooted closer to him, pressing up against his side fully, and placing your hand on his far shoulder. That took him by surprise, if the flicker of the emotion across his features was any indication. It was gone as soon as it came, but that was fine— you were just getting started, after all.

Shouto’s eyes met yours as your hand trailed up to cup his jaw, your heavy gazes locking just before your lips captured his. He was still for a moment, savoring the feel of your lips on his before he pulled you closer to him, his arm wrapping tight around the small of your back. It wasn’t long before the innocence of your initiation melted off, and his tongue greeted yours as you parted your lips for him. He tasted like the confection you had split for dessert, mixed with the tang from the wine you’d both just downed. His sweet tongue was a welcome flavor, brushing against yours as his hand moved to caress the back of your head. Time seemed to warp as you drowned each other in kisses, and you found yourself almost losing track of your plans once again. But you forced yourself to remain conscious of the situation— managing to take off his shirt and tie, revealing his sculpted torso to you.

Knowing that Shouto was just as consumed with the kiss as you were, you took the opportunity to sneak the handcuffs from underneath the cushion, balancing them on the top of the sofa skillfully. He sighed as you let your fingers slide through his silky locks, his breath hot on your slick mouth before his lips covered yours once again. Then, you trailed your nails down his forearms, grasp tightening around his wrists and pressing them up beside his head. You peeked at him through low-lidded eyes, reassured when you saw his eyes were shut and brow scrunched— seeming to enjoy your little power play, completely oblivious. A thrill struck through you as you swiftly transferred his wrists to the awaiting fluffy cuffs, the telltale click too fast for him to realize what was happening, for both his hands were secured in the device in under a second.

Shouto stiffened, his body jerking as he tried to move his hands to your sides. His eyes snapped open, looking to you in confusion before he glanced at his wrists, the pure shock blooming on his face, plain as day. You moved in to kiss the soft skin on his throat, taking the chance his surprise gave you as the wheels began to turn once again in his brain. Once he seemed to recuperate, his jaw hung open as he tried to find the right words— any words, really. But your lips on his neck only slowed him further, your hands slipping up to rub at his chest while you continued your ministrations. He tried to say your name in admonishment, but you crawled onto his lap at that exact moment, and it turned out sounding more like a moan instead.

“What… what is this, love?” He finally managed to ask, his voice deliciously low and gravely, rumbling against your front as you shamelessly pressed your body against his. He tipped his head back as you sucked at the skin beneath his jaw, holding in another moan while he inspected the cuffs further. “Where did you manage to get these?”

He was, of course, referring to the restraints around his wrists. He was right to question it— the cuffs around his wrists were the very same ones he saw on the daily, thanks to his profession. They were of professional grade— high caliber, quirk-canceling cuffs— identical to the pair that laid in the pack of his hero suit in his bedroom closet. He tried to activate his ice just a little, but wasn’t surprised to find his powers did not answer his request.

You stirred your hips around his lap, causing his attention to return to you instantly. His gaze grew more desirous as he inspected you, your insides fluttering with a quiet relief that he seemed into the whole charade. “I have my ways~” you replied vaguely. There was no way in hell you were going to bring up how you had to beg your friend Bakugou for months on end to get your hands on a pair of these babies. You could tell him that later, when your sexy-time was over. Instead, you kissed him again, brushing his corded neck with your thumbs on either side, cradling his face the way you knew he loved so dearly.

Shouto dropped it immediately, not wanting to push it when you were grinding on top of his lap, taking the reins and smothering him with your soft, sweet lips. “They’re pink,” he managed to observe, his breath getting choppy as you stole all of it away.

It was true, the cuffs boasted a fuzzy, pink material around the insides so that the restraints wouldn’t be so harsh against his pretty skin. The color looked simply divine on him, a perfect mix between the two shades of his hair. You had hot-glued the plush cloth to the cuffs the other day, and while it seemed like a ratchet method, it was the only way you could get the damn things to stick.

“They are pink,” you confirmed, brushing your lips against his ear, your teeth gently scraping on the outer shell. “You wanna know what else is pink?”

His hips bucked and his strong thigh pressed against your core through your clothes, pleasure shooting through you at the sudden stimulation. He answered without hesitation, “Yes. Yes, I do.”

You smiled at his honesty, confidence leaking into your veins from his agile reply. “Ask me nicely, and I’ll consider showing you.”

His eyes rolled back as you pressed down harder onto his lap, his slacks now forming a rather tight looking tent at the front, which you took full advantage of rubbing yourself against. “Please show me, Y/n. Show me what else is pink baby, please, I want to see…”

There was no way you weren’t going to oblige after that, so you smirked to yourself and got off his lap, moving to stand before him. Shouto scooted forward slightly, his legs spreading to showcase the length trapped between them as his eyes burned into yours. You took your time fiddling with the back of your dress, sliding the zipper down and then carefully slipping the garment off your shoulders and down your hips.

“Fuck.”

And there went the eloquence he was so renowned for.

Shouto’s tongue wandered across the bottom of his teeth as his eyes flicked up and down your body, taking in how the pink lingerie clung to every dip and curve on your body. The pure lust on his face made another wave of confidence surge through you, and you turned as you stepped out of the dress, making sure to shake your ass for him a little as you bent over.

“Get over here and take these off.”

You looked back at him, a mix of amused and aroused at his sudden change of inflection. He didn’t sound all that complacent now, his voice deep and demanding— the one that you were accustomed to whispering nasty things into your ear while he rearranged your guts.

“I don’t think so, baby.”

His brow rose the quickest you’d ever seen, the surprise evident on his face yet again. “Excuse me?” he balked.

You stood upright and turned to face him, unapologetic and unafraid as you stalked closer to his sitting form. Spreading your legs so that you were straddling him, you leaned into him, your face was right in front of his as you whispered, “I said, I don’t think so, baby.”

If he tried to stop the shiver that coursed through his body, it didn’t work. His eyes closed and he inhaled sharply as you rubbed yourself against his lap, your cunt dampening the lace that separated your core from his slacks. Your hands crawled down his torso, taking your time to knead the taut muscles that lined his front. When you reached the top of his slacks, you smirked and thumbed over the well-kept trail of red and white that disappeared underneath. You helped him maneuver so that he was rid of the luxurious clothing, leaving him only in a pair of boxer briefs that looked rather tight at the moment. His cock was visible through the dark material, a long and thick temptation to stray from your agenda.

“One sec,” you nearly giggled as you ran over to the kitchen, taking the bowl you had prepared when he was in the bedroom earlier from the microwave.

Shouto watched you from the couch, still trying to devise a plan to get out of his restraints and take his revenge on you. But that all slipped away the moment you returned and stooped to your knees in between his legs, and he could see what the contents of the bowl in your hands was, exactly. It looked like… milk?

As if you could read his mind, you drizzled some of the melted liquid off the spoon and onto your finger, offering him a taste. Like he had done in the restaurant, he made sure to keep your gaze as his tongue curled around your finger, lips closing and sucking the food in question off. His eyes lit up at the distinct sweetness, his mouth following your digit slightly as you pulled it back.

White chocolate.

You laughed to yourself, happy that he seemed interested— his cock jerking against his thigh when you took a spoonful and began to drizzle it over his chest. It was hot, the chocolate molten so that you had to trace over the lines you made swiftly with your tongue, ensuring it didn’t harden and stick to his skin.

Shouto started moaning as you licked up and down his body, watching as your pink muscle trailed around his body, all the while avoiding the one area he really wanted you to pay attention to. A dark spot had started to form at the tip of his cock, and he was painfully hard.

You suckled at one of his nipples, a spot which you knew he was especially sensitive to. He groaned as his head fell back against the cushions, rutting up against you with measured precision. It was hot having him under your complete control, having him squirm and moan beneath you, desperate for your touch. You were sure your panties were drenched by now, there was no way you weren’t with the way he was looking up at you.

Finally you moved your attention to his thighs, his ass moving off the couch instantly as your fingers curled into his underwear, dragging them down his legs and depositing them onto the floor. You couldn’t help but lick your lips at the sight of his erect cock, looking full and beckoning. The fucsia tip was engorged and shining with precum, evidence of his arousal that glistened in the low lighting and left a thin path down the length of him. The cool air of the room must have felt intense for him, for his length reached forward on its own, begging for your touch.

Shouto said your name lowly, gravel in his voice as he watched you eye his cock. He damn well knew that you were thinking about how good it would feel to just slip your panties to the side and press him inside of you, how amazing it would be to have him stretching your cunt with his cock. He was sure that he would slip right in, too— he didn’t have any doubt that you were wet from teasing him like this.

You kept his gaze as you spooned around the outline of his flushed member, from one thigh to the other, along the bottom of his abs and over his prominent V. The fire in his eyes only ignited further as he watched your tongue move across his skin, the white liquid pooling against the muscle and gathering in your mouth. His cock strained as it tried to reach for you, wanting for you to milk its own white liquid from it instead of the melted chocolate. Then, you were climbing onto his lap again, offering the melted candy to him while you gripped his shoulders.

His tongue met yours with enthusiasm, sweeping off the chocolate and collecting it into his mouth. You moaned as he eagerly took the liquid from you, taking his time afterwards so that his tongue mingled with yours, enrapturing you in another kiss. Once again his hips jerked up against you, his cock dragging across your clit through your lingerie. You tried to scowl at him, but it felt too good and you ended up letting out a soft mewl instead.

Shouto looked pleased as the noise slithered out of you, his arms straining to reach for you but the cuffs stopping him from doing so. He growled at the restraints, the short chain clinking as he fought against it futilely. “Y/n, please,” he huffed, irritated. “Just take these off and I’ll reward you.”

Shaking your head, you gyrated across his lap again, eliciting a groan from him. “What if I just take the reward for myself?” you purred, getting up and pushing him down to lay back onto the couch.

He was about to object when you slipped your panties down your thighs. Voice caught in his throat, he watched a strand of slick stretch between them and your cunt before he shut his mouth and leaned back, complacent. He seemed to understand what you wanted, keeping his arms still above his head as you slipped your legs between them, then planting your knees beside his neck. He clicked his tongue at your demand, but he didn’t wait long before he split your folds with it instead.

You could feel him smirk against your cunt when you moaned, the direct stimulation strong enough to make your toes curl already. The position allowed him to cup your ass with his hands, fingers digging into your plush flesh as he moved the skilled muscle to trace along your clit. He switched between kissing the bundle of nerves and sucking on it, savoring the way your legs began to shake on either side of his head.

All the while, you busied yourself with kissing down his chest, slowly getting closer and closer to his cock that was leaking onto his toned stomach. You didn’t bother with the chocolate any more, and you didn’t care to tease him either— you wrapped your hand around him and took the head into your mouth, moaning as your lips pulled tight around him.

“God— so good, baby” Shouto gasped, throbbing in your hand as his fingernails dented the skin on your ass. He moaned into your pussy, pushing his tongue inside your entrance and moving it feverishly against your velvet walls. His hips drove up and you gagged around his cock, which only made him pull your body tighter against his face, working harder against your cunt. The pre helped him slide into your throat easier, your spit beginning to drip down his length as you struggled to pace yourself, head bobbing as best you could.

He continued to slurp at your entrance vigorously, even with the restraints making it hard for him to hold onto you. You could feel his smooth hair tickling the insides of your thighs as your hips swung back and forth over his mouth, your fingers cutting shallow grooves into his thighs as you slid his length along your tongue.

“Fuck, just like that,” you paused, saliva shining on your lips as you glanced down at Shouto, his tongue rubbing at your clit with steady licks. You took a moment to enjoy the view, his chiseled jaw protruding as he ravaged your sex, having abandoned any defiance he previously harbored. You luxuriated in another minute of his sensual efforts before you moved your hips back, carefully taking your legs out from between his arms and moving so that Shouto was sat upright, and you were hovering over his lap again.

A silvery sheen covered the bottom half of Shouto’s face, his eyes blazing into yours as he wiped his chin with the back of his cuffed hand, then licking his lips. Even if you were the one in charge here, he knew how to rile you up, and he certainly knew how to deliver as well. You just didn’t expect for him to try to fluster you.

“Did that feel good, Master?”

You sputtered at the sudden title, eyes wide and body still while you lingered above his lap, his hard cock grazing your slick thighs. Your mouth hung open as you tried to formulate words, the shock evident on your face. “I—”

Shouto seemed charmed by your lack of response, your brain still buffering as you tried to process what he had just called you. He raised his cuffs over his head, settling into the couch while he thought he had managed to snag the upper hand from you.

Like hell you were going to pass him the reins.

“That felt so good, baby,” you purred, enjoying the shock that suddenly appeared in his vibrant irises. You dragged your hand down his chest, fingertips bumping over one of his rose-colored nipples. “You’re such a good boy for me.”

His cock smacked against your thigh, your eyes glinting down at him as his body betrayed him in his fleeting attempt to hide his response to your praise. Suddenly the mischievous look in his gaze had dissipated, melting into longing instead. He seemed confused by the sudden change of emotion, but you didn’t give him long to contemplate it— you lightly drew your nails down his abdomen and grasped his cock, a startled noise sounding from his throat. Tracing the swollen head against your slit, you doused him with your arousal, teasing the pair of you as you dipped the tip just barely inside before rearing back. You half expected him to thrust up and sheathe himself inside of you, but he only laid there beneath you, watching your core glide against his length in assent. His legs twitched with the urge to feel your silky cunt around him, but he remained still, athletic thighs strained while his hips wiggled just barely. His eyes widened as you turned around, presenting your bare ass to his gaze and allowing your cunt to part, dragging it along the vein on the underside of his erection.

“Aha—” he sucked a breath in through his grating teeth, brow furrowed and gaze focused on where your bodies connected on his lap. “Please Y/n…”

You looked over your shoulder at him, catching how his pupils were dark and full of lust. There was nothing you wanted more than to stuff him inside you already, but you had to hear him utter it one more time before you allowed the both of you to sink into pleasure. “Please, what, Shouto?”

His gaze lifted from his lap to meet your eyes, full of desire. He whispered, this time much more shameful than the last, “Please sit on my cock… Master.”

You smirked, straightening your hips over his, arching your back, and sinking down onto his awaiting length. Impaling yourself with his cock always hurt at first, the girth of him stretching your sopping core like nothing else— no one else— could. It was impossible to stop yourself from crying out, agreement coming from Shouto in prefect harmony. The cuffs clinked as his hands flew down to grab your waist, awkwardly placing them on your lower back as he couldn’t grab you as he desired, thanks to the pink, fuzzy restraints.

“Good boy~” you moaned, ass jerking back to swing your hips down onto the tops of his solid thighs. There was a ridiculous amount of pleasure that coursed through you with each rut of your hips against his, beginning to find a rhythm as the lewd smacks interrupted the soft music humming from the other side of the room. His cock jumped in response to your praise, stretching to press into a spot nestled deep inside your gummy walls.

Shouto watched you shiver through hooded eyes, feeling your cunt clench down onto him as your hips pushed down to get his cock to press harder inside of you. “Fuck, that feels so good,” he groaned, head tossing back over the back of the sofa, a long moan following.

“Oh God,” you whimpered, knees pushing into the cushions so you could find an arch that allowed the very tip of him to relocate the same angle, again and again. Your slick started to drip down your thighs and onto the tops of his, his cock sliding in and out of you with ease. You felt like your stomach was on fire with how turned on you were— having him at your complete mercy made your cunt tighten around him, lust clouding your head.

One of your hands moved behind you and planted on his abs to help leverage your weight as you bounced on his lap, the other hand sneaking between your legs to toy with your neglected clit. Shouto whined when your fingers touched the sensitive nub, your pussy squeezing his cock even tighter at the stimulation. It felt amazing to rub yourself with his cock plunging deep inside of you, your slick bountiful enough to spread across your clit and aid your efforts.

You kept up the pace, your thighs beginning to tremble as the pressure in your stomach continued to heighten. All the while, Shouto was moaning from beneath you, trying to hold his noises of content back, but failing each time. His large, rough hands trailed up and down your spine while you humped his lap, the metal of the cuffs a sharp contrast on your skin from the soft, pink cloth you fixed onto them.

“Slow down, love,” he choked out, the words heavy in his throat. There was no way he was going to last at the pace you were setting, not after you had handcuffed him, sucked him off, and started throwing your ass back onto his lap. You didn’t want to stop, but you knew that if you ignored his plea he was going to cum too soon. “Wait—” he whined when you got off his lap, standing up and turning around, letting him watch as you unhooked your bra.

You didn’t make him wait long, though. Your knees sank bank into the cushions on either side of him, but this time, your front was facing him. Shouto took in the sight of your naked chest gratefully, taking it upon himself to slip one of your nipples into his mouth. Guiding his wet cock back between your legs, you exhaled as you lowered yourself onto him again. Teeth grazed across your chest, your fingers winding through the short hairs at the back of his neck and carding through them. The new position allowed him to reach new depths when you fully sat on his lap, your toes curling at the edge of the cushion. You rolled your hips in slow and precise circles, grinding his length inside of you brazenly.

Leaning in so that your teeth could pinch at his bottom lip, you forced him to look up at you, savoring the fucked-out expression painted across his handsome features. “Fuck baby, your cock feels so good inside me,” you whispered, lips trailing across his cheek so that you could nip at his ear and test your newfound discovery another time. “You’re such a good boy, Shouto~”

Pure euphoria crashed through you as he bucked his hips up, slamming his cock balls-deep inside of you. You knew that you were supposed to be the dominant one right now, but it was impossible to keep the moan his action induced inside.

“Anything for you, Master,” he grunted, a sinful crackle in his tone as his tongue traced over your collar bone.

It didn’t help that his voice was so damn deliciously low— he was already sexy enough on his own. But when he had you all to himself, he stepped it up another level that none could ever imagine existed— the side of him that was devoted to your pleasure, the side of him that was dedicated to pulling orgasm after orgasm from your body until you were left boneless and breathless.

Shouto began to bounce you on his lap slightly, meeting you each time your hips fell down so that he could push entirely inside of you every time. You didn’t want to let him take over just yet, but his hips never seemed to tire, even now when yours began to tremble with exertion. That familiar pressure was back and building again, faster than last time in between your hips. Shouto was well aware of your declining energy, his hands cupping your breasts and thumbing over the hard buds on each one, the cuffs digging into your middle with each thrust.

“Take the cuffs off, Y/n,” he murmured, fingers twisting at your nipples gently. Then he started to suck a hickey into your cleavage, his cool breath making goosebumps appear on your skin.

“No,” you gasped as you dropped particularly hard onto his cock, silky inner walls spreading especially deep as his length pressed inside of you. “I can’t— have to make you feel good —agh, fuck!”

He flashed you a short smile, huffing as you continued your efforts on his lap. “I feel good when you feel good,” he replied, pinching at you harder, relishing the sweet moan that tumbled from your open mouth. “Please, I’ll behave, promise.”

You didn’t need to hear anything else from him, leaning back and swiping the key from underneath the book on the coffee table— where you had stashed it when you hid the cuffs in the first place. As soon as the cuffs were off, Shouto tossed them to the other side of the room, the pink restraints clattering as they landed somewhere on the floor. His hand immediately gripped your waist, fingers spreading out across your lower back, and tilting you back slightly while he leaned forward, thrusting up into you with fervor. The other hand made a makeshift ponytail of your hair, pulling it so your throat was exposed with your head thrown back.

The sudden change in angle elicited a pathetic mewl from your chest, his cock hammering into your g-spot at such a pace that you were instantly brought to the brink of an orgasm. You clung onto his shoulders for dear life, his head buried in your neck while he sucked his mark into your skin, the wet, quick slaps of your fronts meeting repeatedly echoing through the apartment rhythmically.

“S’That feel good, Master?” His tongue trailed up your throat and he nibbled at your ear, just as you had done to him just minutes ago.

You could barely think, your cunt pulsing as you got closer and closer to cumming right around his cock, your fingernails digging into the thick muscles that lined his shoulders. “Y-Yes, fuck— so good— such a good boyyy~” you cried, tears gathering to dot along your lashline, your body overwhelmed with the ecstasy rushing through your entirety. “God, Shouto— I, I’m gonna—”

“Do it, love,” he ordered, hands dropping so that each cupped an ass cheek, spreading your legs even more so that each thrust was ensured to drive as deep inside of you as possible. He could feel your pussy clamping down on him, squeezing his cock hard enough that you must’ve been right on the edge, just needing that extra little push. “Please— ahh fuck, I— I want you to cum on my cock. Cum for me, Master.”

That was all it took for you to be creaming on his length, your body quivering in his hands as your cunt fluttered with bliss. It felt like the world was crumbling away and that Shouto and you were the only two people on the planet, like he was pouring oxygen into your veins just as you were about to run out of breath.

As you were still in the throes of your orgasm, Shouto maneuvered you so that your back was pressed up against the top of the coffee table in front of the couch, falling to his knees and throwing your shaking legs over his shoulders. The bowl of white chocolate and the magazines in the corner of the table fell down onto the hardwood floor, but neither of you were paying attention to the sound of the ruckus.

He began fucking you then, his hands clasping your thighs so that your body stayed close enough for him to slam his hips into yours without mercy. “Fuck Y/n, you’re so sexy, look at you, baby,” he hissed, taking a moment to examine your puffy cunt, spitting on it crudely before a thumb began to rub at your clit earnestly. “I’m your good boy, huh? See how good I fuck my Master?”

“Oh God— oh, fuck Shouto, yes! Don’t stop!” you exclaimed, and somehow, even though you were still cumming from before, another pressure started to build in your stomach, gathering faster than you could comprehend.

A heightened euphoria rushed through your nerves and tickled at the ends of your limbs, different from before. You whimpered when you realized what was happening, but by then it was too late to warn him— Shouto was pounding into you relentlessly, and his thumb steady on your clit only made your high arrive even faster. A strangled moan slipped out of you as clear liquid splashed across his abdomen, your body shivering and convulsing as it struggled to handle the pleasure he delivered to you. You had certainly orgasmed before, but this was as if the pleasure you had felt increased tenfold, leaving you truly wrecked and exhausted.

You were still squirting as you came to, and when you were finally able to look at him, you watched as he stroked his slick cock with ferocity. His eyes were focused on your soaked thighs before they closed and he groaned deeply, ribbons of white spurting past his hand and splattering across your breasts and stomach. His palm slapped onto the tabletop beside your waist while he hunched forward, out of breath as pleasure wracked through his fit body, the muscles that lined his torso heaving while his pink cock throbbed in his hand.

Your head fell back onto the table as you recuperated, shocked that he had just made you squirt all over him, and then he proceeded to cum at the sight, painting you white with his spend. Another minute passed and you were still trying to find your breath, coming down from your high, even though Shouto had already recovered from his.

A warm hand cupped the back of your neck, and you opened your eyes, realizing suddenly that you were secure in his arms, moving past the messy living room and down the hallway to his bedroom. His lips pressed against your forehead softly when he entered his room, your heart skipping a beat in your chest as you took in the dozens of lit candles that lined the walls and windows. It only continued when he turned into the ensuite, the bath filled with cloudy pink water, flower petals floating on the still surface and littering the surrounding tiles.

“Shouto— this is…” you tried to sit up in his arms, but he only held you tighter against his chest. There was a proud look that lingered in his eye, yet he only offered you a soft smile as you looked between him and your surroundings. No one had ever committed such a romantic act for you before, and you sure as hell hadn’t been expecting such a suave move from your boyfriend of a couple months.

So this is what he must’ve been doing when you had returned from dinner.

“There were bubbles, but someone distracted me and they must’ve popped while we were preoccupied,” he explained, fingers brushing a strand of hair to the side of your face.

“I— it’s perfect, baby,” you chirped as enthusiastically as you could, your body still drained from the exertion of two consecutive orgasms. “Thank you, I love it.”

He hummed as he shifted your weight to one arm, reaching out and activating his quirk to heat the water to the right temperature again. You sat in his arms, satiated and more content than ever as you surveyed his handsome face. Surely there would be hearts in your eyes, with how loved you felt in this moment.

Once he was satisfied with the warmth the water offered, he stepped into the tub, slowly submerging the two of you in the pleasant-scented bath. The warmth flooded into your tired bones, your body happy to be swaddled in his embrace as he held you close. You hummed as you rested your head against his chest, hand coming to rest beside your face.

“How’s the water? Just let me know and I’ll fix it to your liking… Master.”

You scoffed and slapped at his chest, the pink water splashing across his pale skin. He donned a genuine smile at the sound of your laughter, calloused fingers stroking down your spine. “Shut up,” you managed, cupping his neck and pressing a kiss to his throat to show your words held no real intent, “It’s perfect, I mean it. Thank you, Sho.”

Shouto’s smile remained, his eyes soft as his leg curled around one of yours beside the porcelain of the tub. “You deserve it,” he murmured, thumb swiping across your cheek to rid you of a water droplet that had splashed onto you from your attack. “Happy Valentine’s Day, my love.”

─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

happi belated vday babes!! <3 once again, sorry it’s late~ I hope you all had a good one tho!! :3 love y’all <3 <3 <3

➥ masterlist

𝐂𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 © 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐩𝐢 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟏 . 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.

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forbidding-souda · 2 years ago

Note

Could you do NSFW RanTeru (Teruteru x Rantaro)? Teruteru and Rantaro start dating each other, and eventually get married. Their interactions in DR:S were nice and wholesome.

Teruteru Hanamura and Rantarou Amami NSFW headcanons

I love watching rantarou talk to people it's so cute

i want a smoothie so fucking bad but I don't want to spend money who do I have to kill to get a smoothie rn one of my friends owes me 45 dollars I think I should make her doordash me a smoothie so it goes down to 25

currently watching: moon knight s1:e2 summon the suit

✯✯✯✯✯

-Mod Souda

✯✯✯✯✯

❤ In terms of their relationship I'll just say that Rantarou does the makeup and Teruteru does the hair. It's like, the perfect levels of [some form of] fashionista in both of them.

❤ After they get married I imagine it's like at a place very local to Teruteru but the honeymoon is somewhere that Rantarou gets to pick.

❤ And the sex afterwards isn't even any different from anything they've ever done before.

❤ They've done a lot of things together, obviously, but by the time they get married they already have a solid idea of the things they equally enjoy.

❤ I'm gonna get this one out of the way but I think Teruteru likes being sounded and Rantarou is 100% okay with indulging in it.

❤ Rantarou is like a soft top and Teruteru is a bottom that just be talking.

❤ Teruteru can also top but I think no matter, Rantarou is like neutrally the dominant one.

❤ ^ Like, whenever he brushes his hand through Teruteru's hair, he will melt completely and give up control.

❤ When Teruteru is on the top he will use his hands to push Rantarou's thighs up, his legs in the air, as he just admires his body.

❤ Teruteru will lick random places on his body and he will be like woah there.

❤ Teruteru is an ass eater W. A slobber globber.

❤ He also really likes being edged, which Rantarou will gladly indulge in. Rantarou is neutral about a lot of kinks and such, there's a lot that he isn't turned on by, but the fact that he is even close enough to him to let him do all these things makes him passionate about the few things he does like. Which, one of the few things he does like, is seeing Teruteru in grand pleasure.

❤ Teruteru fucks a lot faster than he does. He is more aggressive. When Rantarou is a pitcher, he with clench his teeth and grunt, while the rhythm of his hips is more of a grind.

❤ They know each others limits + are confident in the relationship to be able to say when to slow down (else, a fake safe word for slowing down, one that inhibits teasing).

❤ Smeared wet nail polish on Teruteru's body because he couldn't wait patiently before a session.

❤ ^ He really likes smeared things like nail polish and lipstick and eyeliner.

❤ ^ Crossdressing? Sorry, my demons typed that. Who would say such a thing?

❤ An aphrodisiacs in food of course. Consensually, of course. It's just a form of play.

❤ Teruteru is living on that "oh you're wearing a white shirt? Let me accidentally spill something all over it" motto.

❤ ^ He loves seeing him shirtless more than anything. He will stare in deep admiration.

❤ ^ He be doing his laundry too like "wow his balls were in this".

❤ I think they are very sexually compatible in the sense that Rantarou likes specific things and Teruteru is fine with doing a lot of things, so there isn't much to clash.

❤ Their sex has a lot of cute couple moments like foreheads resting against each other and the kissing of knuckles and fingers.

#teruteru hanamura #rantaro amami #rarepair #rare pair #danganronpa #sdr2 #danganronpa ship #teruteru hanamura x rantaro amami #rantaro amami x teruteru hanamura #notsfw

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brisquad-unit-4402 · 2 years ago

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okay fr tho here’s a wishlist. i made them all the time for fun over the last uhhhh, six months?

🖋 Ike Eveland

i know that’s a beret but wouldn’t it be so darling if it had nautical themes. like a little sailor hat. wouldn’t that be such a slay

why’s your hand in a fist bud. i need to make an edit of this like that one arthur meme

fr tho i would trade a kidney for tentacle themes here please please please. i want a lovecraftian eldritch type vibe soooooo bad

think his turtleneck’s going to be an open jacket? just on vibe

and i have a feeling his glasses will stay the same but wouldn’t it be so cute if he had a different frame. wouldn’t it be funny if they were funky glasses too, like stars or hearts

(honestly i don’t have a lot of opinions on his fit but i DO have a feeling he’s cooking up either a lore video or a song release to follow the outfit reveal he’s been too busy of a boy lately)

oh update i just saw this tweet and ike with different bangs. awwww. that would be so cute. perfect timeline fr fr

🦁 Luca Kaneshiro

i am clinging onto the last hope that the side ponytail is on his left side and low along his chest bc his shorter hair reminds me too much of banri settsu and that is not a problem i think i have the mental state to handle rn.

i’d be able to handle it if his tits we’re out tho : )

a bomber jacket with fur would be really cool esp if it still has the pins/brooches on his og suit jacket and the triangle pattern from his hairclip especially since the side ponytail’s in limbo rn

ohhhh and i hope he gets more tattoos too, idk maybe it’s because i’m american and the way that i am but it doesn’t really feel like he has all that much for a guy known for his tattoos. bonus points if he thinks of symbolism for it too like fuck yes we love worldbuilding we love meaningful body mods slay king

WHY IS HIS WAIST SO SNATCHED THO. i have a feeling the jacket’ll be cropped

wait a minute hold on wtf is the fuzzy thing on the left side all the way down. is that a boa. did he bamboozle us. hold on

🦊 Mysta Rias

left brain: that’s a monocle

right brain: that is an ear cuff with a chain and he is living his best goth life :)

left brain: that is a monocle and he is a detective. find jesus

i really don’t know what else to take out of this one tho. idk i don’t think the hat is it for me,, i think i liked his old hair more too

he got a helix tho let’s go!!!!

i’m p sure it’s going to be more detective themed than his og outfit but in my heart of hearts what if we let him be a manwhore. what if his midriff was out. what if it showed off his hips. i’m unit 4402 and i’m the official editor of vogue magazine

*prays so hard that his old hair is compatible with the new outfit*

👟 Shu Yamino

god

why is he so beautiful but his personality is so bro

i don’t see how we beef this one

i think he won

👹 Vox Akuma

okayyyyy i don’t have a lot of expectations for vox bc dramatic af and i really don’t see this being a bad call. all roads lead to the destination

i know in my soul he’s about to drop some zesty angsty lore tomorrow, but also hehe ponytail

AYO WAIT HOLD ON AT THE BOTTOM LEFT

IS THAT A THUMB

HE FINALLY UNCROSSED HIS ARMS

IF YOU’RE NOT WEARING NAILS YOU’RE NOT DOING DRAGGGGGG

yeah

#unit 4402 reporting #i think shu’s hand is still up tho. and maybe mysta’s #shu is liiiiiike. so pretty and i so simp for him but then he opens his mouth #and i’m reminded that this is the neighbor that starts as a friendship of circumstance and evolves over years of childhood into a stable-#close friendship that could never be anything other than friendship bc you’re gone through a lot together. he’s a bestie. a ride or die #that’s the vibe her personality has #HIS APPEARANCE HOWEVER.#i’ll be there for him. with open arms. and open legs. and an open mouth

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blookmallow · 3 years ago

Text

rating spirit halloween’s new animatronics for 2021

or at least what’s showing as New Arrivals on the site for me. looks like we got 15 new arrivals listed here and im HYPE about them so here we go

the caretaker

pretty standard reaper character with a Gravedigger theme to it. hes... fine? nothing about this particularly stands out to me, but i dont dislike it at all. i like his gravestone. would be good for a graveyard set. i guess ill give him... 6.5/10

mr. dark

at first glance he also just looks like a standard reaper character (or voldemort. he definitely looks like voldemort now that i think about it) but it turns out he SPRINGS UP RIDICULOUSLY TALL LIKE A CURSED WACKY INFLATABLE TUBE MAN and the spring motion in the video is actually really fucking fast so, while this isn’t a lot different from other jumpscare animatronics, i gotta give him credit bc i guarantee this would have scared the fuck outta me in person. according to the site he’s almost 9 feet tall at his full height

i expected him to jump out and scream but i did not expect. That. i feel like if you put him up on a stage or something to make him loom over people even more he’d be very menacing indeed. would also be really good if you put him behind something so you don’t see him until he's suddenly There

i like him, 8/10 springy spook man

click for more

grave grabber

pretty much just a zombie but he’s cute i like him. i like the green eyes. i dont know what it is about him in motion but the video makes him kind of endearing to me for some reason and i dont know why. 6/10

ophelia

at first for some reason i thought the monster’s name was ophelia but i think that’s supposed to be the name of the victim? i think the idea here is “girl haunted by a Nightmare” but the fact that the monster itself is so small and doesn’t actually have a body for the most part makes this unintentionally hilarious to me

like. it. it’s so small. it’s just a little shoulder demon. it’s so cute

psst. hey do we have any more cheetos

anyway i like how the girl’s eyes move back and forth but the sounds she makes are uncomfortable and she just looks so. stiff and solid and there doesn’t seem to be any movement at all other than her eyes and the monster peeking out so it’s just kind of weird to look at. it’s an interesting concept but the execution is just strange and unintentionally hilarious. 7/10 bc i still think its really funny

someone should buy this and mod it into chrona and ragnarok

harriet hustle

WE DID IT KIDS WE FINALLY GOT A FEMALE CLOWN ANIMATRONIC im so happy i could cry i wish my store had her set up i want to meet her

i love how they have her hanging upside down like this, it makes it so much more visually interesting than the figures that just kinda stand there looking spooky, even though she doesn’t really Do much (she just swings and her head moves around a little, just laughs, doesn’t have spoken lines)

i love her outfit i love her hair shes SO cute i love this little murder gremlin i love her i love her

im still waiting on spirit to give us a female clown figure that isn’t “creepy little girl” (ive commented before on how their only female figures tend to be either the Old Hag or the Creepy Little Girl and not a lot else) but i absolutely love this all the same 20/10

this one is fun too because we also have:

henry hustle

according to the description he’s actually harriet’s dad!! we have an evil clown father and daughter duo here and im LIVING for it

i dont think ive ever seen spirit do characters that are related to each other like this that’s so cute,

apparently his wife/harriet’s mother left them and ran off with the ringmaster. he’s a single father clown trying to raise his evil daughter clown and i support him wholeheartedly

there doesn’t seem to be any more animatronics on this storyline, we don’t have the mother here and the only ringmaster animatronic they have is the rotten ringmaster who was released previously, but i doubt he’s the homewrecker ringmaster in question. he Could Be. imagine if your wife left you for That. we dont even know if henry’s wife was also a clown or not. spirit halloween clown lore going on here

anyway i absolutely LOVE this clown, he does something INCREDIBLY STARTLING AND UNEXPECTED which i dont want to spoil for you. go watch his video and see what he does its great

my absolute favorite type of halloween animatronic is the “does something completely unexpected” category and this one is ALSO a clown and a GOOD clown at that

and he’s got this great vintage clown style i really like, i love scary clowns like this that actually look like they could believably be a real guy and not just some kind of mutant Clown Monster

and hes got cards!! card suit motif!!! i love it i love him this is a great clown 20/10 for him too

w. raith

we have this one at my local store and listen to me. im completely obsessed with this ghost

it’s pretty much just a ghost but it’s SUCH A GOOD ghost. especially in this photo here with proper spooky lighting and everything. i would absolutely LOVE to see this in a haunt attraction, it looks SO good even in bright store lighting. i feel like this under the right lights and in the right environment could look SO fuckign cool

the shredded rag look!!! the ethereal glow!! the weird jellyfishy movement!!! the classic wooOoO oO o o ooo noises!! this may perhaps be the ideal ghost. it is without flaw. a perfect specimen. i fuckign LOVE this ghost i want it so badly but i do not have the space or the money for this thing 15/10 w. raith my beloved. my true love. maybe one day

buzzsaw

at first i was slightly disappointed to see that this guy didn’t have an actual name, but then in the description apparently his name is Bill “Buzzsaw” Jackson and his backstory is he tried to be a wrestler but it didnt go very well so he grafted weapons in place of his hands. i guess. you know, to be better at wrestling. i dont really understand it and i definitely would not have gone with “disgraced former wrestler” as the concept for this guy

but anyway we have mr jackson at my store right now, he’s Big, i like him. he doesn’t really move very fast and doesn’t jump at you, he just kinda swings his saw around. for some reason he just seems friendly to me and i dont know why. makes me think of like an uncle dressed up for halloween rather than an actual murderer guy. i dont know i cant explain it but i like him hes my friend 8/10

wacky mole

this guy’s also at my store this year, i didn’t know his name was wacky mole fsdgjsdg

he’s listed as a new arrival, but i thought i remembered seeing him before, and the description says he’s a returning fan favorite, so. i guess this is a re-release

anyway pretty standard Scary Monster Clown. his teeth look like candy corn. i like it but i think they should just Be candy corn. i like his colorscheme and his silly giant buttons. light up eyes are always a nice touch. he doesnt really stand out but hes overall a pretty good clown. 7/10

grim

good ol’ classic skeleton. he’s pretty nicely modeled though and i highly recommend watching the video for this guy because he moves REALLY well for a spirit animatronic, he’s got a way wider range of movement than most of them do and his head moves really nicely. one of the benefits of a skeleton animatronic is you don’t have to deal with lip movement, so his jaw movements match with his lines a lot more realistically. i like the animated glowing eyes too, it really gives him a lot of personality. he’s really interesting to watch. like, it’s just a skeleton, but it’s a really really good skeleton, so, 8/10

BEETLEJUICE!!

i love love love franchise character animatronics and spirit has so much great beetlejuice stuff this seems well suited to them but looking at it............. hm. hm

he just looks so. stiff and his face comes across like, deer caught in the headlights to me. it Does Not look very natural but it looks slightly better in motion (he just swivels from side to side and says a few phrases but it somehow looks less. shellshocked when he’s moving)

maybe not the greatest execution but maybe he looks better in person and im still hype to see him so 8/10 regardless

night stalker

we have this guy at my store too, im still not really sure what’s going on with his arms (did he just rip loose from them and leave them behind? did someone do this to him? i dont know) but i love a good spooky scarecrow. love his Wiggles. hes a pretty good boy. 6.5/10

here we have another pennywise, it pretty much just pops out at you, but it’s still pretty good. i like the full size one they had before better, but this one’s slightly cheaper and would be easier to integrate into a haunted house attraction since he comes with a built in set piece. it looks good but doesn’t do much. 7.5/10 i guess

GHOSTFACE!!!!

FUCK YES I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS

please. please spirit halloween set him up in my store so i can see him

anyway hes got kind of the same issue beetlejuice has where the figure just. looks kind of stiff, and he looks more like a spooky ghost decoration than like, A Person. he doesnt seem to have any lines or anything either, he just kinda pops out. but then again i guess whenever we see ghostface in person in the movies he doesn’t usually talk anyway. i dont really know how id make this better but it seems a little underwhelming somehow. still hype to see it though. 7/10 i guess

now if we could just get a jack torrance and a bela lugosi dracula id be content

i would LOVE to see Red from Us but i doubt they’d do one. my other horror beloved is norman bates but i know if they made one of him it’d just be him in a dress waving a knife around (not that i wouldn’t still be hype to see him, but, y’know) (anyway. tangent. moving on)

mr. howle

it’s. a werewolf. he howls. that’s....... about it

it’s a very nice looking werewolf, it’s a well designed figure and definitely looks very imposing, but it’s... just a werewolf. there’s not really anything particularly interesting or creative here. its a perfectly good werewolf. i dont have anything to say about this. 6.5/10

i also just am not a werewolf person so maybe someone out there who has a greater appreciation for werewolves might like him more

#spirit halloween #spirit 2021

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peachy-inserts · 4 years ago

Text

𝕚𝕞𝕡𝕣𝕖𝕘𝕟𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟/𝕓𝕣𝕖𝕖𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕜 - 𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣, 𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝟜

✰warnings: mentions of pregnancy ✎a/n: ok mod josie here and im going to be completely honest.. this is the first actual smut ive ever written and i didnt proof read it because im embarrassed and im not happy with how it turned out PLEASE be gentle with me im very scared also more under the cut

➳ɪᴡᴀɪᴢᴜᴍɪ

══════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ══════

The bedroom is hazy, fuzzy. It’s almost as if it’s clouded your vision, the heat from both of your bodies overwhelming and contributing to the change in atmosphere. Iwaizumi’s hands are finding every part of your body, sliding down slowly to your supple thighs just to give them a quick squeeze and travel back up towards your neck, where he lingers for a moment before deciding tonight isn’t the night, not for choking, at least.

No, tonight he’s going to get you pregnant, and he at least wants it to be special. He’s already prepared for the aftercare, going out of his way to make sure you have to do as little as possible while you fucks you senseless and stuffs you full with his cum time and time again so that there’s no possible chance of not getting it on the first try

You’ve only just gotten home a few moments ago, still fully dressed and yet already a shaking mess beneath him, a devilish glint in his eyes that suits his smirk all too well, satisfied with your wide eyed anticipation that you always seem to reward him with before you’ve even begun. It really gets him going. There are no words, but only an intimacy that leaves you feeling completely overheated and yet as if your whole body is relaxed, even despite knowing that he’ll have you in a mating press before too long; you know from experience it’s worth the aching joints, though.

He ghosts his fingertips along the curve of your breast under your buttoned shirt, laughing to himself and retreating his touch when you lean into him, begging for him to finally do something, anything.

“Please-”

“Please what?”. He cuts you off, grinning, looking down at you with what could almost be interpreted as malice, but you know him better than that. You know it’s just an act for him, he only does this because you enjoy it so much.

“Aren’t you gonna stop fucking teasing me, Haji?”.

He huffs, thinking to himself for a moment before pressing you backward onto the sheets so you’re lying down, and places soft open mouthed kisses along your jawline all the way down to your collarbones, carefully undoing the first few buttons in doing so. “You’re so impatient, you know that?”, he whispers against your skin, and the hotness of his breath is arousing. He notices the way your heart thumps within your chest against his lips and laughs to himself yet again.

“It’s only been a few moments, and I bet you’re already soaked for me, aren’t you? I bet you were thinking about this all day.. Coming home and letting your man fuck you so good, put his baby right in you…”. Iwaizumi’s hands finally travel back down your body, grazing across your thighs and gently prodding at your clothed cunt, rubbing light circles into your work pants until he can feel them dampening beneath his touch, to which he immediately stops, only to run his thumb over your lips so you part them for him and force his now scented fingers into your mouth while the other hand softly caresses your cheek, tucking stray hairs behind your ear.

“I knew it. It doesn’t take much for you, does it, baby?”. Hesitantly, you nod, careful not to accidentally bite his fingers in the process, although he’s much gentler in his ministries than usual. With his tapping against your cheek, you know to let his digits go, and a trail of saliva is left running down your chin, and a cold chill runs down your spine despite the heat consuming your body.

Before you know it, he’s discarded your shirt and left you topless save for your bra, although it’s not long before he’s made quick work of it, too, and your torso is completely exposed before him. It’s a little unfair given that he’s still fully dressed, but you know it won’t be long before he gives in and strips down to nothing. A calloused hand circles your nipple until its erect, and he clambers onto the bed to take the bud into his mouth, tongue swirling around it with little kitten licks and biting down on it every few moments just to make you jump, and you’re whining beneath him, it’s so good and yet not enough-

“Don’t be so greedy”. He swats your hand away and releases your breast with a pop when you try removing your pants, only to do it himself in a contradictory fashion. Iwaizumi looks you up and down, his breath hitching and a sudden pang in his chest. You’re going to look so fuckiing good carrying his child, stomach swole out with his seed and breasts heavy with milk, bigger than they had ever been before

He can feel his cock twitch in his pants.

His body moves on its own, and he's situated himself above you with his elbows on either side of you, a knee prodding at your heat and teasingly rubbing against the fabric of your panties, wet in excitement and anticipation. Iwaizumi’s lips find your own in haste and he’s eagerly pulling you closer to him, hand returning to your breast to squeeze and fondle the one he has previously neglected while the other remains pert and slick with his saliva. He’s becoming feverish, taking your bottom lip between his teeth and sucking on it before he pulls away for air, panting, chest heaving, just to dive straight back in with an open mouthed kiss. His tongue is swiping at your red and swollen lips, and when he twists your nipple you moan against him, and he licks the back of your teeth, his wet muscle finding every sweet spot of your mouth and eating it up with delight so you’re whining below him.

“Hajime-”. You’re fucking desperate now, wanting nothing more than for him to fill him up the way he does, so good each and every time, his cock too fat to ever miss those sweet spots inside of you that always having you seeing stars.

“I know, I know sweetheart”. He’s quick to undress, and although your view is obscured by your current position, you’ve come to recognize the sound of his belt thumping against the floor, the metal piece always clinking with the hard wood below.

His rough fingertips are grazing along the sensitive skin of your thighs, and he tugs your panties down slowly, revelling in the string of slick that pulls from it until finally breaking contact and running down to your ass. God, he can’t stand it; you’re always so perfect for him, always getting yourself nice and ready for his dick.

Iwaizumi positions himself just before your entrance, his cock painfully hard. The head is red with blood and throbs against his palm as he strokes the prominent vein that runs along the underside of his girth. He’s trim, well cut and fit, and you find yourself pink in the face as your eyes dart across his trained abs, a happy trail just below down to his well groomed and massive cock. His sensitive slit you’ve always found a way to take advantage of is oozing with precum, and he rubs it against your thighs before using the head to tease your swollen clit. Your hips buck at the touch, abused lips parted as a low whine escapes them.

His fist guides himself along your glistening folds, and a growl resonates in his chest and the slick feeling. He lines his head up with your hole, and you grip his arm in preparation. Slowly, tantalizingly slowly, he pushes into your little cunt, pushing your walls apart and coating him in a sheen of white. He hisses as you clench around him like a vice, nearly losing control and rutting into you at full force.

“Fucking shit, babe, fuck”. Iwaizumi grunts, and he repositions himself so that one hand is gripping the headboard above you while the other keeps you pinned below him. Finally, he bottoms out within you, and begins a slow and shallow pace. Your sweet little moans fuel him and before he knows it he’s thrusting into you at a relentless pace. You hardly have any time to comprehend what’s happening, head bobbing at the force he’s beating into your tight little with a rhythm and high pitched whines your only capable form of speech.

“H-Haji!”. Your words are slurred, and you bite your tongue as he ruts into you particularly hard. His cock is ripping you apart, your sweet cunt wrapped around his base in a way that’s downright pornographic, your hands wrapped around his neck and nails digging into his back, scratching the skin and drawing blood, but he doesn’t slow down

With every thrust he’s hitting the tip of your cervix, and it hurts but god, it also feels so fucking good. The bed shakes and headboard smacks against the wall, but it’s hardly audible beneath the lewd sound of your his clashing, his balls slapping your skin while your own cum leaks out around him, dripping down his thighs

He grunts, having no words left to speak in losing himself in the feeling of how fucking amazing you feel, walls fluttering around his length and your breasts bouncing with his every move, and he thinks again about how perfect you would be carrying his child. Your pussy is aching, and the sensations are overwhelming. His hips grind against your neglected clit only a few times, and yet it’s enough for you to unravel around him.

You gasp, trying to sputter out a warning, an indication, but he’s pounding into you so fucking hard and the noises of your own juices squelching around him are so prominent that it doesn’t matter anyways. Your pussy flutters around him and your walls clamp around him like a vice, and he hisses at the sudden tightness and grips the board above you so tight his fingernails are marking the soft wood, no different from the way your own leave scratch marks down his back. Your back arches causing your hips to catch against his own, and the friction is unbearable. He only pounds harder, faster, fucking you through your release and chasing his own high, leaving you overstimulating and squirming beneath him. You try to wriggle your way free, but his hands have moved to pin you down.

Just as you’ve finally began to feel the first aftershocks of your orgasm, Iwaizumi tugs you forward by the waist, sheathing himself balls deep with one final thrust, and paints your abused little cunt white with his seed, breathing heavily inches away from your face.

With a languid sigh, your body sinks into the mattress and you finally relax, and after a moment of stillness, he finally pulls out, making sure to keep every last bit inside of you so it doesn’t go to waste. Iwaizumi rolls over onto his back just beside of you, pulling you into his arms and rubbing at the knots in your lower back from the position he’d help you in. You were going to be so good to your kids, so kind and nurturing.

And he couldn’t wait.

#iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi smut #iwaizumi fanfic #iwaizumi scenarios #iwaizumi hc #iwaizumi drabble #iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi x y/n #iwaizumi imagine #iwaizumi insert #hajime iwaizumi #mod josie #kinktober #hq #haikyuu #scenario

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mandalorewhore · 4 years ago

Text

Common Ground

Part 2 of Hunter (formerly Hunter and Prey)

gif by @themandaloriandaily

Rating: Explicit Content Warnings: SMUT, Oral Sex (fem recieving), Cock Warming, Descriptions of violence/blood , Edging (maybe?), Dirty talk, Praise kink, Size kink, Big Dick Mando, Blindfolded Sex Words: 11.7k AO3 LINK

Summary: Reader and Mando land on Nevarro to meet with Karga

A/N: im sorry to niceguy!Karga in season 2

This would be less awkward if you knew how to talk to the man.

The awkwardness is probably one-sided though you doubt he’s brooding over what the two of you did last night in this cockpit. You’re not a blushing virgin afraid to talk about sex, but it would be nice if you actually knew something you both had in common, since you’re going to be spending a lot of time together. The extent of your conversations have been about sex, mechanics, and killing people. That’s pretty fitting for the two of you, you suppose. He is… Officially? your bounty hunting partner now.

However, he’s very comfortable in silence, so much so that it seems to be a central part of his character, much like the armor strapped to his body. Is being reserved a part of the Mandalorian creed too, or does he just prefer it? Does he want to talk about how you sucked his dick mere hours after abandoning your jobs as mercenaries? What is he thinking about right now? You could probably ask him all this, you know. Your internal argument is boiling over like a forgotten pot as you ruminate in the passenger seat of the Crest’s cockpit.

You woke up in his arms a few hours ago, curled up in the pilot seat together, your face feeling a bit grimey due to not scrubbing it clean after he gave you that facial. Feeling cozy in the quiet moments that follow waking, you snuggled in closer to his warmth, still only separated by the thin layer of his undershirt. You started when his palm squeezed your shoulder, his way of letting you know he was already awake.

There’s an unspoken feeling about the way he fell asleep in your presence. You may work together now, but you’re still virtual strangers and Mando is a professional. You doubt he’ll pass out in front of you again.

Slumped in your seat, you mull over every second that passed between the two of you. Meanwhile, he’s just sitting there like a lump of metal. Unaffected. Impassive. If you didn’t have first-hand proof of the deliciously warm skin he hides, you would’ve passed him off as a droid.

Actually when you think about it… when it comes to conversation topics, maybe metal is the place to start. As in, the ship that is now your impromptu home for the foreseeable future. You’ve gleaned that the Crest is like home to the Mandalorian and, come to think of it, he seemingly opted to sleep on his little cot down in the ship’s hull instead of taking up a bunk back on the space station. If he were anyone else, the gesture would’ve been ostentatious. It gave the impression that he was ready to leave at any moment.

But no one wants to confront a Mandalorian.

Bringing up the Crest is probably a safe option and you’re knowledgeable about ships. You can hold your ground when it comes to the technicalities of mechanics. Plus, you can be charming when you want to be; on merc jobs you weren’t put into the femme fatal role for no reason. Although you’ve casually lured men to their death, you’re more nervous to chat with Mando. But you’re determined to try. Try to be appealing...

“I’m curious… Once I have some credits saved up, would you be interested in adding mods to the Razor Crest? I haven’t gotten a good look yet, but I’m floating some ideas around.” You bite your lip automatically out of apprehension, but hoping it comes across as playful. You’re not out of line or anything; it's been hours since you last exchanged any words so it's not like you’ve been chatting his ear off. Still, you worry that you sound extra loud to someone who’s spent so long in stillness.

“That may be useful. What were you thinking?” Mando’s response comes only a second later, and even though he faces the cockpit’s transparisteel windows as he speaks, you’re giddy at his swiftness to respond.

“Well, I would love to touch her up a little. There are some issues with the hyper-drive and coms that could be fixed pretty easy. As for modifying, I saw that you installed a mobile carbonite-freezing chamber for bounties?” He nods to affirm your guess. “I could move that ‘round to utilize the space for storage and better suit two people living here. Either install a bed that can swing down or-”

“Separate beds are unnecessary. We can sleep in shifts or share the bunk.”

“O-oh. Sound’s good.” You gulp, feeling a little warm. The implication makes you sweat even if he shot down your idea. “Well, upgrading the deflector shields would be a good idea. Protect her better, plus efficient heat dispersal during atmospheric flight would let us jump into hyperspace faster. If we need to run or just want to fuck off somewhere.”

“Hm. That is a good idea. She’s fast but there's always room for improvement.” He accentuates his response by patting the console lightly, and something about the way his hand lingers gently on the surface reminds you of a parent touseling their child’s hair. A smile stretches across your face, finally relaxing a little after being so tense all morning. For someone that you thought was so serious, he sometimes reveals a sentimental side to his personality. It makes you want to ask him more, to know more about him and how he thinks, but you’re so nervous about asking him anything even slightly personal, anything that has to do with his preferences or opinions. Your short exchange about his ship went pretty smoothly you think, maybe you can ask him more, you’ll just stay on the topic of starships. That should be fine.

“Do you have a dream ship?” You blurt, sounding a little less casual than you were trying for. Oops.

He takes longer to respond this time, seemingly thinking the question over. “No. Maybe when I was younger. I have the Crest now, there isn’t a need to plan for another ship.”

There's that seriousness again, the way he responds to you makes you think that he has never had to answer hypothetical questions before. It makes perfect sense, the average person doesn’t go around asking tall, intimidating Mandolorians about their hobbies. What a Gonk Droid. I’m jealous he can get away with talking like that. Still, you do want to continue this conversation if only to hear his voice. “Nothin’ about planning Mando, just a little make-believe. Personally, I like an A-Wing, the RZ-1 variant is classic even if the 2 is flashier. X-Wings are neat too, minus the pigs flying them.”

A weird huff passes through his voice filter and he finally turns to face you. You’re caught off guard by the sudden eye-visor contact, so it’s a second later when you process what that noise was, and the realization makes you positively giddy. “Oh shit, did I make a Mandolorian laugh? Am I on Spice?”

“That’s funny- pigs don’t deserve the nice Starfighters.” He laughs again, clearer this time while warmth feelings bloom within you at his reaction. It’s so unbelievable to you that he’s here laughing at something you said. You never once heard a reaction like that from him before now. “Those fast ships are impressive and great for combat, but I need a bigger space… a YV-929 would suit my needs.”

“Of course it would, there’s like 1000 guns on that blocky thing. Plus the Empire banned it and you like to break rules.” The ship he named is virtually the same build as the Razor Crest, just with more guns, which is amusing to you.

Creature of habit, you think, finding yourself leaning subtly closer to his body with every exchange. You don’t think you’re imagining him doing the same.

“16. Could add more though.” He murmurs and something in his voice makes you think that he isn’t being entirely humorous.

Maker, he is probably mapping out all the baster mods he could stick on that bulky freighter. You’re still amused by his very literal sense of things. You settle back in your seat to observe the hyperspace light streaking across the cockpit, a comfortable silence falling over the cockpit.

As you sit there and ruminate, the topic of weapons brings forth a vague memory in your mind.

Someone once told you that Mandalorians aren’t considered great fighters due only to reputation and rumor. Most people are aware that armor and weaponry is part of the Mandalorian culture, but fewer are aware that such items have religious significance, going much deeper than a learned skill. Mandalorians are revered as great warriors not just because of their physical training, but because fighting and waging battle is a form of prayer.

Despite finding rumors about Mandalorians to be generally exaggerated, you feel this one may be true.

You’re curious but afraid to ask him to elaborate. The fact that neither of you exchanged more than a few words when you worked together is proof of his preferred privacy. Even though you’re pretty sure he wouldn’t mind giving you some sort of explanation about his culture, you decide to avoid any personal questions.

Plus you really don’t want to come across as asking about his helmet.

You break the silence shyly, trying to smoothly bring up a different topic. “Down in the hull… I haven’t explored much of your ship, I don’t want to come across as snooping. But I’m wondering, what sort of manpower have you got stored here?”

“I installed an armory. Do you want to see it?”

Fuck yes you want to check it out, his personal collection must be a wet dream.

“Yes, I’d love to!” You reply excitedly. The weapons Mando carried were always fascinating. You especially admired that rifle he slung across his back. You’ve never seen it in action but you heard it evaporated its targets. The two spokes at the end made you wonder how it shot. There has to be different settings on the gun, it would be impractical to evaporate all your targets especially if you need to bring back bounties, dead or alive. The bullets he slung across his chest must be paired with the rifle based on their size and shape when you compare them to the rifle chamber. What sort of charge do they contain to completely disintegrate its victims?

You’re tapping your fingers on your bottom lip, calculating how the rifle might function when his leg brushes past you. Glancing up in surprise, you realize he’s already headed to the cockpit ladder, twisting his upper body as he turns his helmet to look back at you.

“Come on.” You’re unable to read his face but something in his body language makes you think he’s amused by you. Flushing red, you scramble upright from the leather seat to follow him down to his armory. He slides first down the ladder, not bothering to use the rungs. Being unfamiliar with the area you opt to carefully descend one portion at a time, unaware of the view you’re giving Mando. By the time you reach the bottom, he’s diverted his gaze.

Tall body moving to a panel on the wall, he punches in a four-digit code, prompting a smooth metal cabinet on the opposite wall to slide open with a hiss. You shake your head at this. The man has a tiny metal cot but he installed a hydraulic system for his weapons cabinet. But when you look closer at the exhibit your jaw falls open.

Oh my… Now that’s sexy.

The two side doors hang open to reveal a space in the middle filled with large blasters. His mid-sized guns are stacked horizontally above each other while the longer rifles lay vertically to the right of the center display. The doors contain smaller handguns of varying design and purpose. Each weapon is unique, there is not a single inch of wasted space given to any blaster if it doesn’t have distinct properties. Eyes locked on the arsenal, you scoot forward and make grabby hands at the cabinet.

“Oo, they’re beautiful! Can I- May I see?” You are immediately drawn to a cylindrical pistol mounted at the very top of the stack, the gun’s sight a smooth metal and grip warm brown. Despite its deadly properties, it is a fucking gun, something about it looks soft to the touch. You’re finding more and more that you enjoy the juxtaposition of lethality and softness.

Even though you’ve made no specification on which gun you want to hold, Mando reaches out and selects the very gun you’re attracted to and hands it to you. I should stare less, it's like he can read my mind. Despite resolving to do so the thought is fuzzy, unimportant when you’re so excited about handling one of the prettiest pistols you’ve ever seen. Mando watches you from a few feet away.

“Good choice. I usually conceal-carry that blaster since it’s small on me, looks like the perfect size for you though.” Mando’s compliment has you grinning up at him, feeling giddy and full of light, but you’re quickly drawn back to look at the gun. Turning the weapon over in your hands you admire the polished metal, the texture making a satisfying noise as you run your fingers on its silky surface. The weight is perfectly balanced as you aim it at the wall, lining up the sight with a seam in the metal paneling.

“You can carry it from now on.”

What? It’s a good thing you know your trigger safety otherwise you would’ve pulled the trigger in shock, probably ricocheting the blast into your head. The giddy energy drains from you, replaced by apprehension and confusion. Why is he giving me so much shit?

Of course you’re thankful. You’re incredibly thankful to be on the Razor Crest at all; however you can’t help feeling as if you owe Mando on a level where you’re incapable of repaying him. He didn’t have to take you with him when he dropped Ran’s crew, he didn’t have to indulge your sexual fantasies, he didn’t have to comfort you, didn’t have to partner with you, and he doesn’t need to give you this blaster. It is certainly a collectible, a rarity. A Mandalorian wouldn’t have it on hand if it were some run of the mill E-11 handed out to every Stormtrooper in the Empire.

But what can you even say to him? It would be incredibly awkward if you refused him right now. Your mind races.

Best focus on the easy stuff. As long as he doesn’t drop me off on some wasteland I’ll be fine. That blaster is too pretty to decline so with your willfulness broken by aesthetic pleasure, you holster the gun on your hip, opposite the blaster you already carry.

“Thank you. I’ll put it to good use.” You try to inject as much gratefulness into your voice as possible, even though you still feel odd about taking it.

“Yes, you will. Get ready and come back to the cockpit, we’ll be on Nevarro in a hour.”

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

You’re used to men like Greef Karga but that doesn’t mean they’ll stop being annoying.

The way he speaks like he’s owed something from you just because you’re listening, the way it’s clear that every decision he makes is in self-interest, the way he eyes the women around him, yourself included. He isn’t outright dismissive like some men; such as the guard placed behind him only having eyes for your partner; but you can tell he either doesn’t take you seriously or he is more concerned about how he can sexualize you.

He definitely isn’t treating Mando as a joke. Annoying.

But, it’s not all bad. You got a kick out of how a hush came over the dusty cantina when the Mandalorian entered. He had been walking behind you which, with a little imagination, gave the effect that they were all reacting to your presence instead. Even though in reality, no one had ever reacted to you that way unless they were leering. You like how they fear him. It's a turn-on.

You wish they would fear you like that.

Someone says your name, startling you out of your thoughts. You realize that everyone at the table is looking at you expectantly but you didn’t hear the question at all. Kriff, you need to show yourself up more. Mando’s reputation is practically handing you the job but you still need to sell your skills to get anything decent out of Karga. He’s so stingy with the quarry's, even with Mando despite how he kissed the Mandalorian’s ass when greeting him. You figure that Mando didn’t take on bounties often, which put his skills in high demand.

“Uhh, sorry. A bit distracted. Can you repeat the question, please?” You reply, accentuating the please with a bat of your lashes while looking Karga full in the face. If he’s going to objectify you, you may as well play into it. Smiling, he leans forward and pushes a glass of Spotchka into your hands, lingering a little longer than necessary when your fingers meet.

“I asked if you wanted a drink. Take it, I can see you need one.” He winks at you while you stare indignantly, wondering what he means by that. It’s not like you’re sweating bullets in here. You’ve been here countless times on countless planets. Seedy cantinas with seedier people. Hopefully, he’s just flirting and doesn’t think you’re nervous. Maybe the flirting is backfiring.

You grip the glass and wet your mouth with the drink, enjoying the burn for a moment. Mando tilts his helmet at the way you accept Karga’s drink, seemingly looking sideways at you. Narrowing your eyes at him, you drink again and turn back to Karga.

“Thank you, the Spotchka here is lovely.” It’s average, but flattery can’t hurt. Karga laughs robustly at this.

“It’s no Alderaan wine, but it’ll do.” He drains his glass then pours himself another, filling it to the brim before turning to your partner. “So, Mando! Word travels fast around here. I take it you’re a full-time guild member now! I’m not surprised, always took you for the loner type. In fact, I already updated your status to full-time before you landed.” Karga waits for a response from Mando but the man sits silently at your side. Unbothered, Karga continues, “But, I am surprised you stayed that long with Ran in the first place. Must be the pretty ladies he keeps around.”

The comment makes you cringe but you still smile brightly back at him since what he is inferring is clear. Can he just register you already?

“Not alone. She’s with me.” Mando’s reply is short and flat, with no reaction to how you’re attempting to work Karga’s attention, nor at the revelation that Mando’s departure from mercenary work has apparently spread across the sector.

Karga’s smile twists into a smirk as he glances between you and Mando, looking at both of you as if he wants to fit your bodies together like a puzzle. “Well, well, well Mando. Didn’t think you were the type. Is she a bed warmer?”

Your grip tightens on the glass. What the fuck is he implying? You’re rising in your seat, about to let loose on Karga when a gloved hand settles on your shoulder and pulls you down. Excuse me? Do I have to go off on everyone here? Why the fu-

“She’s my hunting partner, my equal. Don’t insult us again.” Oh okay, you don’t know why he stopped you and he still doesn’t sound all that offended, but at least he’s defending you.

Not wanting to be spoken for, you add on, “I’m prepared with my information so that you can register me in the Bounty Hunters Guild. Pull up your holo, I’m done with the small talk.” Your back is rod-straight in the cantina booth, trying to look down at the Guild leader even if he’s seated higher than you. “Also, your Spotchka is shit.”

Karga’s is unphased at your reactions, even rolling his eyes. He replies bluntly, “If you’re going to join my guild then you need to prove to me that I’m not wasting my pucks on you. Don’t rely on the Mandalorian’s reputation. If you aren't out of some brothel then you were a mercenary, were you not?”

At first, the audacity of Karga has you fuming, ready to stand again despite whatever Mando wants. However, as you’re looking out of the corner of your eye at the crowd you realize that the bodies filling the cantina are no longer milling around quite as naturally. It's subtle, to an untrained ear and eye not much has changed. The chatter around you remains at a consistent volume and no one is blatantly staring. But your senses are sharp enough to tell that everyone in this room is On Greef Karga’s side. If a fight broke out you’d likely lose, even with Mando being worth ten men and the shiny new blaster strapped to your hip.

Also, your prospects with the guild would be fucked if you fought everyone right now, which is the whole reason you’re here. You have to play nice and it infuriates you… But you still need the job.

Taking a deep breath to quiet your anger you look to your left away from Karga, only to be startled by Mando’s visor locked directly on you. Sharing a look, one that you can only guess the meaning behind, you find the patience to calm down. You turn back to Karga, locking eyes steadily.

“Sorry for insulting your drinks, that was petty of me. But I am not sorry about how you implied that Mando would keep some poor sex slave around, nor am I sorry for reacting that way. I’d like to start over… If you’ll accept my apology, I’ll accept yours.” You can’t help letting some stubbornness slip into your words. If he’s supposed to be your boss then you aren’t going to keep up a pretense of respect after that. Not without an apology.

You’ve never given much thought to how you look to other people, how you affect the crowd when you enter a room. It’s not that you don’t think you’re pretty. Being assigned roles by Ran that allowed you to dress up and distract targets was a direct affirmation of how you looked, even if they were creeps. But when you walked into this place, the only heads that turned were for the Mandalorian. You've never had the experience of being scary to other people. You’re always having to prove yourself and show everyone that you’re someone who can handle what’s handed to them, an equal to every other hard character in the galaxy’s Outer Rim... it’s tiresome.

Karga is looking at you again, a little differently this time.

“I respect you for being blunt. Do accept my apology.” He sounds sincere enough so you nod, lips drawn tight. Heavy metal suddenly settles on your knee, Mando’s vambrace is laying across the soft flesh on your upper thigh. He squeezes, oh stars. Now you’re feeling flushed for other reasons than anger.

“Do I get an apology?” Mando asks Karga quietly, voice frustratingly mild just like the other two times he’s spoken up in this booth. The other man grins at Mando, more jolly than he should be considering who he insulted.

“My apologies, Mando! Do stay with the guild, your skills are irreplaceable! I’m afraid my jokes can go too far.`` His response is light and humorous but no one is fooled by the tone. A Mandalorian is far too valuable to lose.

After a few seconds pass between the two men you clear your throat, annoyed by everyone dancing around each other while you’re still not signed up to hunt bounties. It’s your only purpose here but whatever. Karga directs his smile at you, pulling his holo from behind him out of his guard’s hand.

“I haven’t forgotten about you, sweetheart. Now, I’m going to put your basic details in… Do you happen to be registered elsewhere, such as under an Identichip?” You shake your head; you always worked behind a moniker. “Great! That makes this easy for me. Simply provide a name, real or not, and I’ll set up a chain code so quarries are tied to your data.”

You provide your name while Karga fiddles around on the device. It’s unclear if it is really that complicated to work the thing or if he is just stalling. This feels a little too easy so far. Didn’t he make a huge fuss about proving yourself? You decide to ask outright, wanting to bring it up instead of waiting around for him to finish.

“I thought I needed to prove myself to you. Aren’t you worried about wasting pucks?” You were trying to tease but the bite in your voice can’t be helped. You worry you might’ve gone too far when Karga looks up at you with open annoyance.

“Do you want to go out back and shoot a few bottles down? Seems childish to me.” He huffs out a short breath and returns to his holo. “I know that you worked with Ran’s crew on mercenary missions which grants you some cred. You can tell me what your specialties were on such jobs and it might convince me to give you the mid-level pucks instead of entry.”

This is unfair, everyone knows it, he’s the one who told you to prove yourself and now he’s making you feel stupid for reminding him. He’s the one who was so concerned about wasting his precious pucks. But now that you’re here… you might actually be able to talk Karga into giving you a better quarry. Taking a deep breath, you start to list your qualifications.

“On mercenary jobs, I usually took a stealth role due to my stature. For certain missions, I would dress to infiltrate a group, sometimes carrying hidden weapons but mostly I would conceal poison in my jewelry, skin powder, or anything similar. I’m a great shot and am knowledgeable about starships. When I first started I had to work my way up the ranks, the lowest being mechanics. Within a year I managed to go from handywoman to assassin... There’s more if you want to hear, although I can’t directly prove anything.” You wish you could actually show all these skills to him instead of just telling him. Karga is right, shooting down dusty bottles like some sort of carnival game would be pretty useless, but at least it would feel more substantial than this.

You’re about to open your mouth and tell Karga more when you’re interrupted by Mando, and he finally sounds emotive, no longer inscrutable in tone. “This is all true. I haven’t worked closely with her on every job but I noticed her when I did. Her stealth was critical to our success during hits. She often worked on my starship. The Crest always came out in better shape once she looked at it.” You’re not sure what emotion is in his voice but whatever it is, it reminds you that his hand is still resting on your knee under the table.

Trying not to smile too widely, you bring your hand down on top of the one on your leg, giving it a pat of thanks. Karga’s eyes follow your movement but thankfully he stays silent, leaning back with a pensive look.

“Alright, this is all very interesting. Tell you what, and don’t take this as an insult, you can either have two entry-level pucks or one mid-tier. It all adds up to the same amount of credits, however, the mid-tier quarries will boost your rank… Mid also comes with a time constraint.”

There’s always a catch with this man you think, a little displeased, but at the same time, you understand that he can’t maintain his business if all pucks were given away in good faith. Mid-tier seems like the best deal, and you aren’t just here for the money. Presumably, this will be your job for a while so you may as well aim ambitiously.

“What are the last known coordinates of the mid-tier bounties?” You ask him, trying to sound like you’ve not already decided to take it.

“One for Corellia and one for Mimban. Neighboring planets.” You grimace, recognizing the names. How lovely, you get to choose between two shitholes. Karga is correct, the planets are right next to each other, so at least you don’t have to worry about fuel. Corellia is more dangerous but the planet is explored thoroughly when compared to Mimban and you’ve already been to Corellia once.

“I’ll take the Corellian bounty, thank you.” Karga slides the puck across the table with an unpleasant scrape before drawing out three more, stacking them in front of the Mandalorian one by one.

“Two are bail jumpers but the credits for each are decent. I also threw in one S level criminal, let's see how you do with that one now that you’re dedicated to my wonderful guild.” Karga grins at Mando so widely that it is almost a grimace. Well, he didn’t have to beg for the good pucks. Yeesh… Mando’s arm lifts from your knee and he gathers the pucks wordlessly.

Mando moves to leave, rising quickly from the booth and leaving you scrambling behind him, slipping your puck in the pocket on your pants. He’s at the door by the time you remember to say goodbye to Karga. Not wanting to be rude even if you don’t really like him, you turn and wave. “Um, bye! Take care.”

He waves back. “You as well, girl.”

A powerful hand grips your forearm and pulls you none too gently to the doors and out into the acrid, volcanic air.

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

It would be nice if the man who called you his equal an hour ago would tell you his plans. Instead, he had placed a small bag of credits in your palm and told you to go get some food and wait. You couldn’t find it in yourself to snap at him since you were starving, the last time you ate was probably several days ago, before Cantonica. Your hunger might explain the snippiness you’ve felt all day, actually.

Having finished your meal of dubious-looking soup, you get up to explore a bit before heading back to the ship. The settlement is small and you think it may be the only town on the planet or at least the only one in the area. The land around you is flat enough to see for miles. It’s impressive that Mando disappeared considering the lack of terrain to hide behind. He must be in the city somewhere.

As you wander through the busy main strip, peering at different vendors and booths, you start to feel dejected. Mando defended you, spoke up for you, and even backed up your claims so that you’d look better in front of Karga. Then he just… disappeared. Somewhere. No communication. That's fine.

It’s a little worrisome, the speed at which you’ve become attached to the man. You’ve been together for less than three days, and you already feel weird being alone. You know that you’re being unfair to yourself right now, it's not abnormal to feel lost on a foreign planet plus you literally just lost everything you’ve worked for as a mercenary. But in the end...

Being here, alone and penniless, reminds you of home, the one you had as a child. It’s something you try to forget about.

Swallowing the memories away into that off-limits area within yourself, you decide to leave the bustling road and wander down a dingy alley. Probably not the smartest move but you do have two blasters on your hip. The sounds of the crowd fade in the background as you wander farther and farther down the twisting path.

It’s almost funny how quickly things go south.

Mere minutes later, you find yourself backed up into a wall with two Rodians aiming their blasters at you, your huddled form reflected in their massive, black eyes. One of them jabs your arm with his gun saying something in that grating, echoey voice that most Rodians speak with. You get that they’re both aiming deadly weapons at you but you’re honestly just irritated.

“I don’t have credits on me fellas, you can search me but you won't find shit.” They must understand Basic because one of them pins you to the wall while the other pats your body down, searching for anything valuable. Pulling the empty credit pouch from your belt and throwing it to the ground, he twists you to face the wall, grabbing at one of your blasters. The rare one that Mando just gave you. You start to panic now, the positioning of your bodies making you nervous as you realize how vulnerable you are, fearful that they aren’t just looking for something to steal. Kicking backward at the Rodian pinning your arms, you start to struggle against them, trying hard to wiggle free and pull your other blaster.

You must’ve connected with a kneecap because you hear a sickening crunch at the same time the Rodian howls, falling to the ground. His companion makes a furious sound then lashes out at your face, fingertips just barely connecting with your cheek as you duck slightly too late. Your face stings and feels wet, his gloves seem to have sharp points on the ends. You pray that they aren’t spiked with poison.

The injured member is still preoccupied with his hyperextended knee, granting you just enough time to pull the other blaster from your hip before he joins his partner and turns on you. You throw yourself to the ground, aiming at the same time and squeezing the trigger right before you hit the earth. The shot connects with the Rodian who swung at you and he falls to the ground, shriek cut short. Twisting to your side so you can attempt an evasive roll, you attempt to line the sight up with the chest of your living assailant but your shoulder connects with debris on the ground, jerking it out of your smooth movement.

The blast misses by a few inches.

The pain from whatever you landed on shoots to your fingertips, numbing them. Noticing your distraction, he hurls his body at you thankfully unable to jump accurately due to the injury you gave him. Despite that, he lands on your legs and starts to drag you toward him, abandoning his blaster in his rage while dirt billows around your struggling bodies.

You’re terrified, fear making you clumsy as you handle your blaster. You don’t want to die being strangled by some alien in this dirty alley but the numbness in your fingers has you moving slower than usual, hand heavy as you try to aim again. Sucking in a deep breath you scream, hoping that someone on the busy strip will hear you. But no one is coming for you and there is no time to wait. Panicked, you fire in the direction of the Rodian, not taking care to calculate possible ricochet points in the area. A shot connects, his heavy body falling on your hips, dead.

Fingers still numb, you hurtle upwards and try to wipe the dust out of your eyes to look at the bodies. The first Rodian you shot is a few feet away, slumped against the wall you were pinned to, blaster marks littering the brick surface from your panicked shots. Disgusted, you shove the dead body off of your legs and stand up.

As you analyze the second alien you realize something doesn’t add up here.

Somehow the blaster shot that killed him seems to be on the back of his head. How is that possible? Did I manage to reflect it off something and hit him from behind? You’re approaching the body to look for other possible causes of death when a large shadow leaps from the rooftop, landing heavily in a cloud of dust. You curse and aim your blaster at his head, pulling the trigger before you realize who it is.

He’s lucky his helmet is pure Beskar.

“Mando! What the fuck, I could’ve killed you!” Stomach feeling like it’s full of rocks, you march up to the man and slam a fist into his chest plate, hard. Looking up into his visor you feel a flash of misguided anger, lifting your fist to pound on his armor again. “Where the fuck were you anyway?!”

A large hand flashes up to catch your wrist before it can connect with his chest. He looks at you darkly. “Do you always hit people to thank them?” he asks, while his other hand reholsters the silver blaster back onto your hip.

“What do you mean, you-” The pieces connect in your mind, the impossible blaster shot in the back of the head of the Rodian and Mando’s positioning on the roof.

He saved your ass. Again.

You already realize your anger is misdirected, he didn’t do anything to warrant it. But the adrenaline and fear paired with your entire experience on Nevarro have wound you up to the point of lashing out. You shouldn’t be mad at him, and you should definitely apologize for almost killing him. Also, you should be thanking him for saving you even though you probably would’ve survived the mugging anyway. That criminal was unarmed at the end there.

But you don’t care. You weirdly want to argue with him, to try and break that cool attitude he’s been maintaining nearly all day.

“I could’ve gotten him easily. If I didn’t hurt my arm he would’ve been dead before you arrived, also you didn’t answer my fucking question. I thought I was your equal, Mando.” You mock his earlier phrasing from the cantina, hoping he’ll snap and say something back. But he doesn’t.

Instead, he does something so strange that all the turbulent emotions you’ve been harboring fly out of your body in one instant.

Bringing up one glove to cover your eyes, he holds the hand you punched him with at the bottom edge of his helmet, pushing it up with your clasped fingers. There is a quiet hiss and you can feel the weight of metal digging into your knuckles as the Beskar lifts. Your fingers meet with soft lips, coarse facial hair brushing your skin as he presses a kiss on the blossoming bruises there. Heat rushes to your cheeks and you suddenly can’t remember what you were yelling about.

It’s odd. You’ve seen the most intimate parts of him but only now, having felt his lips, do you truly recognize how rawly human he is.

Too soon- he draws away, the helmet settles back on his head. You step back blinking as the light hits your eyes, cradling your hand to your chest like it's been hurt. Which you guess it has. You can’t really feel it.

Unable to meet his gaze you stare at his boots, “You’re weird and I don’t understand you.” Your words sound embarrassingly breathless.

He chuckles quietly. “Good.” And after a beat of silence- “Do I get an apology?”

Annoyed at how he mirrored you throwing his words back at him, you look up glaring, but you’re unable to put any actual heat into your halfhearted expression. You’re still thinking about how soft his lips felt plus, you actually feel bad for lashing out at him.

“Yes, um, I’m sorry Mando, I was only mad because I was scared. I actually could’ve killed you, and those guys almost killed me- or worse.” You shrug, eyes round as you look at the violent scene in the alley. “Plus Karga is an asshole and you disappeared, telling me to wait around like a kid. I was in a bad mood.”

“Yeah.” He offers shortly. Is he gonna say more or- “Karga is an asshole.”

“...Is that all you’re going to address.”

“You’re a good shot. You could’ve killed these muggers without me, I just didn’t want you hurt.” He smoothes away a strand of hair from your cheek, tucking it behind your ear before gripping your chin, twisting your head to look at the scratches the Rodian left. “Pretty girl.”

Flushing red again while frozen in his grip, you stand there with him as he examines your face. His gaze is piercing, and you don’t know what he’s staring at. It doesn’t take this long to examine a face. You think he’s just looking at you.

“Let’s get back to the ship, that scratch needs some Bacta gel.” He drops his arm abruptly causing you to sway at the loss of an anchor. Hand flashing out to grip his bicep, you regain your balance before starting to pull him along, heading to the street.

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

The walk back to the Crest is short.

You don’t know your way around this city but shipyards are easy enough to find. You recognize the signs pointing it out after your time spent as a mechanic, streets gradually widening to form into a flat strip of land for the vessels, heavy machinery appearing here and there. As you walk, you oddly find yourself getting dizzy, steps starting to drag as you realize you may have injured yourself in the struggle. You can’t recall if you hit your head or if anyone hurt you aside from the gash on your cheek, which has begun to throb. Did you knock your head on the alley wall?

The Mandalorian grunts behind you when you trip, quickly overtaking your pace to throw your arm over his elbow, then walking at your side and subtly holding you steady. The Razor Crest rises into view over the horizon, so you speed up, relieved. You want to sit down so badly that you even try to jog but Mando holds you back. His helmet ducks down next to your ear.

“Don’t overexert yourself. I want to make sure that scratch isn’t poisoned.” He murmurs, voice overwhelmingly low. Your stomach twists with desire and surprise at the tone of it, he sounds like he’s flirting with you.

“Does danger turn you on or something?” You blurt, wondering if there is a pattern to the man's desires. He did let you suck him off right after yesterday's conflict and now he seems to be coming onto you after an attempted mugging. Is this a Mandalorian thing? Weirdo. He doesn’t answer you, but the ship is right there so you break away and march up to the lowering ramp.

You pause in the middle of the hull noticing some changes. The small cot seems to be upgraded, a patterned blanket is folded at the end and there is even a pillow. That sorry excuse of a fresher is more orderly too, shower hose hung from the ceiling like an actual, well, shower. There’s a sliding metal door for privacy installed on the entrance now too. The previously barren hull has a touch of coziness now, not enough to get in the way of efficiency, but everything is just a little more livable. It is unlikely that he did this just because you live with him now but the gesture is still thoughtful.

“Is this what you were doing?” You ask excitedly, walking across the room to sit on the end of the cot.

“Not the entire time.” He answers vaguely, fiddling with his vambrace to close the ramp and flick the lights on. You just sigh in response, laying back against the bed, the thin mattress has a soft squish that cradles your sore body. Eyes sliding shut you take in the lovely sensation for a few moments. A shadow covers the light behind your eyelids. You open them to peek at the end of the bed, already feeling a blush hot on your cheeks.

Mando is standing there, towering over you with his legs just brushing your dangling lower half. He leans over your frame, arm reaching over you like he’s going to prop himself on top of your body. Your heart pounds as he comes close enough to settle his hand next to your head, helmet hovering right above your forehead. The visor tilts down to look at you frozen underneath him, heat pooling in your lower belly. An almost inaudible hum comes through the voice filter sounding like the beginning of a word as if he were about to say something but decided against it.

You find your voice, asking him in a trembling whisper. ‘Wha-what? Did you say something?”

He makes that low noise again, replying, “Those scratches need Bacta,” before he gently shoves his hand under your shoulder and pulls, sitting you upright at the end of the cot.

Your eyes are round, lips pursed in confusion. Honestly, you forgot all about that.

“O-Oh yeah…” You manage to stutter out as Mando backs up from the opening, making his way to the storage shelves to rummage around. He comes back to the cot with a tin box, undoing the clasps to fish out a tube of gel and gauze. The imagery of medical equipment reminds you of the throbbing on your cheek, which is now accompanied by a throbbing in your cunt. Very conflicting feelings.

“There’s no discoloration or swelling, you’re likely not poisoned.” He starts wiping at your jaw with a wet fabric that smells of chemicals, cleaning off the rust-colored blood that dried there. “How are you feeling?”

“Ummm, fine pretty much.” His gentle motions make it hard to think, the swiping over your skin is so gentle that you’re zoning out. That is until he reaches the actual wound, which stings harshly from whatever liquid is saturating the fabric. You flinch, “Ouch! Well, it hurts now.”

“That means it's working.” Mando picks up the gel and dabs it on your cheek which helps to soothe the sting. “You say you feel fine yet you were stumbling around a minute ago. Are you sure you’re alright?”

His question is sweet but you don’t like how he points out your loss of balance. It both concerns you and is slightly embarrassing. Are you alright? You aren't sure, the stumbling could’ve been from a number of things, exhaustion, blood loss, or any other affliction. You feel worried now, grabbing at Mando’s free arm and locking eyes with the visor.

“I-I’m not sure… I’m kinda freaked out, is it possible that a toxin could have a delayed-release? What if I kneel over while we’re in hyperspace?” You finish the sentence a little high-pitched, unable to hide the worry in your voice. The Mandalorian circles your wrist with his fingers, bringing your hand to rest on top of your leg and placing his palm over it. His thumb rubs soothingly over your knuckles.

“I don’t think you’re in any danger. I’ll take a blood sample for testing then we can stay on Nevarro for an hour, just in case.” You make a sad noise when he removes his hand from yours, but he’s already sifting through the box of medical supplies, probably to find something to test your blood with. Pulling out a tube he turns to you and holds your hand again, which makes you smile until you realize the tube contains a needlepoint to prick your finger with. Oh yuck, you hate needles. A life spent surrounded by danger and that tiny jab still makes you nervous. Breaking out into a cold sweat, you look away as Mando jabs your pointer finger; he must’ve noticed your reaction because his thumb starts up that soothing pattern again.

“You’re a trained mercenary who is scared of needles?” His tone isn’t mocking, he seems to be trying to distract you. You just stick your tongue out at him instead of verbally responding, worried that your voice will shake. For some reason, Mando freezes at this, one arm halfway to the metal box, the tube of your blood in hand. It is so odd of him that you instantly take note of the reaction, wondering what you did. After a second he starts jerkily moving again, laying a small strip of paper down and dripping your blood on it. He pointedly keeps his gaze on the paper, refusing to face you even when you poke at him.

‘What? I can’t stick my tongue out at you?” You prod him again trying to provoke a response. You gasp when his hand flashes up and stops your finger in its path, his thick fingers wrapped around your wrist just like when you punched him in the alley.

“Not,” he punctuates the word by dragging your hand down his waist, “When it reminds me of my cock down your throat.”

Your clit throbs again, slickness starting to gather between your legs. “Ummm… sorry?” You reply dumbly, throat going dry when he presses your palm into his growing bulge with a groan.

His helmet glances at the strip of paper again. “Results are normal. We should still stay on the planet for an hour, just in case… How will we fill the time?”

You don’t know how to respond. Any former thoughts you had in your mind have flown away, leaving you blank. Staring at Mando, your mind races to form a decent response, but you must’ve hesitated for too long because he rolls his hips into your hand, fully hard now.

Whining, you lean toward him reaching out your free hand to wrap around his neck, but he moves away from your touch leaving you flushed on the cot. His helmet looks you up and down, contemplating something.

“Are you feeling alright?” He asks for the second time, voice an octave lower than before. He picks up the roll of gauze, unused at this point, and holds it halfway lifted in the air in front of you. You aren’t sure what he is going to use it for, you assumed to dress the wound but from the way he is holding it, he must have other ideas. He would’ve already patched you up if this were just about the fabric’s typical function.

“I’m feeling fine. The gel is working.” It’s the truth. You can’t feel your cheek throbbing anymore. The Bacta in your bloodstream has a calming effect as well, soothing your anxiety from before. You feel good even, clear-minded and thrumming with energy. You can’t imagine what he is planning but you know you want him so badly it hurts. Your heart quickens.

“Mando…” You breathe, the way you say his name is both a question and a prompt. He answers by unrolling a strip of gauze and holding it out in front of your face. The breathing through his modulator is audible now, pants heavy with desire.

“I cant- I can’t go slowly, if I fuck you right now. I want to try something else.” You nod fervently, completely ready for whatever he is thinking of doing to you however, you’re admittedly confused when he starts wrapping the gauze around your head and over your eyes. Mando unrolls several layers of gauze, a decently thick strip obstructing your vision to the point where little light penetrates the fabric. His voice startles you when you hear it right by your ear, asking, “Is this okay?”

You’re still wordless, nodding in response again. Mando hums and parts your legs with his hips, pulling you to his body and grinding against you. You mewl into the empty space in front of you and fling your arms out to find him, suddenly needing to feel as much of him as you can reach.

Hands connecting with his shoulders, you pull him down hard as if you were going to kiss him. The helmet bumps you in the face instead.

“Oops..” You murmur, embarrassed. Admittedly, you forgot all about the armor barrier between your bodies. Mando huffs softly and bumps you again, gently as to not hurt you with the heavy metal.

“Wanna guess my idea? “ He asks, sliding down your body, his fingers trailing over every inch of you, touching you as if to replace him kissing down your body. He reaches your hips and pauses there. You can’t see anything but you’re guessing he is staring at you, the thin leggings don’t leave much to the imagination. A finger presses onto your clothed slit, running up and down the length of your pussy to gather the wetness there. You can feel yourself soaking through your clothing, Mando’s fingertip is gliding wetly along your folds as if you were unclothed. You arch into his touch, needing more from him; the overwhelming sensation has you falling back onto the cot, laying there with your legs parted and the Mandalorian still between your legs.

The world feels like it’s spinning for a multitude of reasons, first and foremost being the desire you feel for the man crouched before you. Other, more complex thoughts on the situation swirl in your mind, paralyzing you with their intensity. You honestly didn’t think he would want you sexually again, especially not so soon. It just didn’t make sense for your idea of the Mandalorian, the image you carry of him as a person, all based on your time together even if much of that time was spent living separate lives. He flirted and inferred to sex a few times today, plus there was that kiss he lay on your bruised knuckles earlier. He defended you, backed up your claims, and spoke of respecting you and your skills. He’s done so much for you today, but you’re still blindsided as you sit here before him, unseeing in more ways than one. Most of all... you can’t stop thinking about that kiss.

Seconds after you physically attacked him and he offers you a kiss. It was the absolute last outcome you expected from your efforts to taunt him, you wonder if he’s even allowed to do that considering his vow to never show his face. You knew he was actively sexual just from your awful experiences on the mercenary station, although you never gave much thought to that drive. It didn’t need much thought, in your opinion. He is a man after all. Face bared or hidden away from the galaxy he still has needs, even if he is devoted to a religion that you can barely fathom the depths of. Your wants and needs seem minuscule next to the enigma of the Mandalorian.

This all seems unimportant when his fingers hook in the waistband of your leggings and pull. You whimper and lift your hips, trying desperately to speed up the process and bare yourself to him. The blasters you carry are still attached to your waist but you don’t try to remove them. Sex and guns pair together perfectly for the man.

Cool air hits your pussy at the same moment he moans low in his throat. “Fuck, look at you. Beautiful.”

That reminds you, “Can’t look, can I? N-not like this…” You still weren’t sure about the gauze blindfold he secured over your eyes, your only idea so far is that he must be into this sort of thing. Not that you’re complaining. The temporary loss of sight has heightened every other sense you have, especially touch and sound. You’re certain you’ll remember every word of this encounter for the rest of your life. He’s complimented you several times over the past few days. Pretty. Beautiful. You’ll never forget that.

“Still haven’t guessed?” The Mandalorian rumbles at your thigh, pulling your pants off your ankles and spreading your legs as wide as the cot doorway will allow. A short growl rips from his throat, his touch leaving your thighs much to your dismay as he fumbles with something. There is a heavy thud that you can't make sense of, he had to have set something large on the ground to make that noise but you don’t know what- oh. Oh, stars I can feel his breath.

He took his helmet off. For you. The pieces are falling in place quickly but you can’t react to it- you can’t even breathe, every implication of his gesture setting your world ablaze. Your heart is pounding, arms stretched out from the tension you hold in your limbs, you need an anchor, anything-

There's a hot puff of air on your clit and gloveless fingers digging into your thighs. He must’ve removed those too.

It’s like you’ve been sucked into a stasis chamber, the buzz of your cerebral cortex halting all efforts to process what’s happening, enveloped in a place so quiet that you feel fucking crazy. The anticipation is killing you, you’re going to die here and that’s alright, that’s fine, you’d love to die here, in fact- wait where is he? His face is somewhere near your aching center, you know this because you can feel each breath he exhales ghosting over your pussy, the muscles in your hips want to squirm and seek him out but you can’t. Not with all this atmospheric pressure gathering, the weighted air pressing harder and harder down on you and you know you’re about to break. But you’re terrified you’ll disrupt the spell that keeps you both frozen here, still and aching with pleasure. You’re gathering the courage to make the first move when Mando finally breaks the silence.

“From now on,” you interrupt him with a gasp at how different he sounds without the voice filter, the tone is so much fuller and warm, but he then continues unperturbed, “This is fucking mine.”

Your yelp echos off the walls when his hot, skillful tongue liiicks up your slit, flicking at the very top of its path off of your clit.

Fuck this feels so good, this feels so good, how does it feel like this, so fucking amazing? He barely even talks, how is he so dexterous with his tongue? Tortured noises fall out of your throat as Mando licks through your folds, trying to taste everything his mouth can possibly reach. He rolls his tongue repeatedly over your clit making you tense up and shake from the overwhelming sensation. There's a sound in the hull, you can barely discern the source of it at first but you suddenly realize it coming from your own mouth, a filthy mantra falling from your tongue.

Mando-Mando-Mando-Don’t stop- Please dont-Mando

He stops.

“Hey! What-” Your hands fly down and flounder around finding soft locks of hair and immediately latching on for dear life. Impatiently tugging at his scalp, you try to scoot down and find his talented tongue, your clit feeling cold and achy without his touch. But he’s so strong, a solid pillar of immovable stone and you can’t budge him at all, his only reaction being a deep growl when you yank a little too hard on his head. You must’ve pissed him off because one hand is suddenly on your heat, cupping your pussy with his palm but leaving a gap between your bodies, torturing you with the lack of friction. You whine pathetically at this game.

“Mando-fuck- why… pleeeaaase.” His touch leaves you entirely and you’re more desperate than ever, writhing to the point where you almost slide off the thin mattress onto the floor. Your inner thighs connect with broad hips again, this time without the barrier of your leggings between you. When your cunt presses into his crotch you realize you can feel more than the cloth of his dark pants, he must’ve pulled his cock out because you can feel his skin, the skin of his cock brushing over you plus just a patch of it from where the hem of his pants is pulled under his balls. A ragged sound tears from both of you when his thick length parts your lips, grinding against your clit.

“I-I thought you weren’t, I mean you said-”

“I’m not g-going to fuck you-” he gasps out, voice breaking despite the clear determination in his response, “not yet. I want you to use me and make yourself-fuck- cum. Fuck yourself on me.”

You’re speechless, there are absolutely no words in any of the Galaxy’s countless languages, known or unknown, that can succinctly express just how fucking turned on his suggestion makes you. Is this his way of giving back to you after you made him cum the night before? You don’t know, fuck- you don’t care either. Fuck whatever complex you had about owing him, you deserve this and you want it more than you’ve ever wanted anything in your fucking life.

His broad body is propped over yours, cock grinding into you over and over again as he rolls his hips and groans out, “Well? You want it like this, pretty girl? Or do you-”

You interrupt him by reaching between your legs and finding his cock, pushing it down your lips to your aching hole. He sucks in a sharp breath and everything is frozen in that quiet place again, just for a split second, before you press his length into your body, sinking down to the hilt.

A broken sound comes out of you, your throat so tight that your vocal cords can’t rub together to produce anything louder than a squeak. However, the Mandalorian is not without his words, a string of curses tumbling from him in that gorgeous, rough voice. Fuck, holy fuck, you wish you could hear him speak like that for the rest of time, his real voice without the modulator hits you straight in the gut. He called you beautiful yet he doesn’t realize the power of his beauty has completely destroyed you. You’ll do anything for him, for that voice. When he claimed your pussy as his you realized that there was never a point in time where it didn’t belong to him. The Mandalorian moves mountains with his claims.

He is like a mountain himself, completely stilling his body the second you let him inside you. You clench down on his thick length and drag yourself off of him, leaving only the swollen head inside your hole. You’re burning up, a sweat breaking out over your entire body as you try to take his cock. He’s so thick inside you, stars you can't control your fluttering lower muscles that pulse from the strain. The saliva and slickness helped him slide inside initially but now you’re clenched around him painfully tight as you try and adjust to his size. He lays so still for you, still muttering curses at the feeling of you, yet patient as you work yourself on his cock. But at some point, you can’t help letting out a little wail when you fuck yourself on him, the debilitating mix of pain and pleasure is fucking overwhelming and he can tell you’re struggling.

Mando settles lower on your body, elbows next to your head and armored torso brushing against your upper half, the ridges on his cuirass catching your nipples through your shirt. The movement slightly ruts his hips, an inch of his cock entering you accidentally. You swear and freeze at the sensation, face screwing up-it’s so good but you hurt just slightly. His mouth must be close to your face because you can feel his breath on your skin when he starts whispering filthy encouragement.

“You’re doing so fucking good for me, taking my cock- fuck you’re so tight, how are you so tight- Maker that has to hurt, you can do it baby, keep-keep trying.” The elbow to your right lifts off the thin mattress, his hand caressing down your body, over your breasts, down your side, gentle trails from his fingertips ghosting over your skin and sending tingles all over. This helps to relax your muscles a little, you feel the walls of your cunt loosen just enough to relieve the uncomfortable ache. Wetness gathers around his cock from his encouragement, as you slide with more ease along him grinding yourself up and down on his solid cock.

It is fucking indescribable, a nearly out of body experience fucking yourself on him, every time you bottom out the thick head presses into a spot that sends flashes of white behind your eyelids. You can't even moan right now, the only noises you manage are shuddering gasps and whines as you feel yourself rise higher and higher. The peak is right there, you can feel it, you’re right fucking there-

“M-Mando, I’m gonna-gonna-fuck, I’m going-I-” You’re frantic, unable to string together the words

The hand exploring your body diverts its path, reaching between your legs to rub strong circles around your clit.

He’s saying something to you but you can’t understand him, a rush of blood in your ears drowns out all other senses, the only thing you can feel is your blinding climax and the thick cock in your body. You’re clamped down tight on him as the sensation rips through you, building you up and destroying you over and over again. You can’t comprehend how he has the control to just hold himself there, you feel like you’re being wrung dry with how tightly you clench around him with each pulse of your orgasm. Eventually, the white noise fades from your ears and sensation returns to the rest of you, limbs tingling as you stretch the taut muscles.

Mando is trembling above you, arms shaking from the effort of propping himself up for so long. A soft noise leaves you and you wrap your arms around him, trying to soothe the tightness in his muscles like he did for you but the armor gets in your way. He makes a low noise in his throat when you skim over his side, finally allowing himself to rest when he lays on top of you, one arm still holding his full weight back so as to not crush you. You reach an arm under his shirt trying to feel more of his skin, but the padding and metal still attached to his body prevent you from moving more than a few inches.

This time, you’re first to break the silence, “What did-what were you saying?” you ask, not wanting to miss anything he says to you in his real, unfiltered voice. He doesn’t say or do anything at first, his hesitation lasting long enough that you resign yourself to never knowing. But then he lifts his head from where it lays next to yours and you feel the sharp tip of his nose brush your good cheek, over the bridge of your nose to the other side, then press closer into you as his lips meet yours.

His kiss is so gentle that you forget he’s still hard inside you. All you can think about is the heat of his mouth crushing against yours, pressure held back enough so that he doesn’t dig into your injured cheek but filled with a promise of the energy he holds in his powerful body. You fucking hate those Rodians more than ever because you would give anything for him to kiss you with his full strength right now, holding back nothing.

But soon -too soon, he draws back from your mouth and pulls his cock out of you. You blush at the obscene noise your wetness makes as he curses and wrenches the last inch away from your pussy, leaving you empty.

‘Come back to me…” You whisper desperately, reaching out for him.

“Fuck I can’t- I don’t want to hurt you.” Mando spits out, sounding wrecked, “I want to so fucking bad but I-”

You try pleading with him, wanting him to feel just as much blinding pleasure as you did from the way your bodies fit so perfectly together. “You won’t hurt me I swear, I can take it-you said I could.”

He groans in a tortured, painful way, hesitating for a moment and you think you might’ve just convinced him to come back and fuck you- but the hand that eventually touches you isn’t anywhere near your pussy. He’s wrapping the gauze from your eyes, pulling it from your head to press into your cheek. You blink as your eyes adjust to the yellow light of the Crests hull, the usually dull fluorescents are piercing. Still, your vision is not quite blurry enough to hide the gleam of the polished Beskar sitting back on Mandos’s head. You swallow your disappointment at losing the pure tone of his voice to that damn modulator.

“I can't,” he says softly, “you’re bleeding again. It was too rough.”

You can’t argue with him. You feel a bit weak and dizzy which is not just from your powerful orgasm. Sleeping in the cockpit didn’t grant you the most restful night; you’re exhausted, slipping away even as he speaks.

“I’m sleepy...” You mumble, your speech very simple when you’re this exhausted. Mando makes a low noise, indiscernible in tone now that it is passing through the voice filter. You hate that thing for stealing away the depth of his voice even as it fades with your consciousness.

“Sleep now… I’ll pilot the ship while you rest. Sleep…”

And so you do.

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

It’s many hours later. The ship hurtles through hyperspace as you stand and examine your cheek in the tiny mirror of the fresher, basked in yellow light. The wound isn't very deep but it’s long, stretching from the high point of your cheekbone halfway down to your jaw. You grimace at the sight. That will definitely leave a scar...

The Mandalorian is moving quickly behind you in the ship's hull, arranging the carbonite freezing slabs in a way that you can’t make sense of but don’t really care about. You’re too preoccupied with your reflection to consider it. Mando takes note of this.

“Warrior marks.” He tells you, walking across the length of the ship to lean against the doorway of the small fresher. “Wear them proudly, burc’ya.”

Wear them proudly.

And so you do.

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x you #reader insert #fanfic #smut fic #mando x you #the mandalorian/reader #din djarin/you #din djarin/reader #the mandalorian fanfic #smut #din djarin #star wars #star wars fic #fanfiction

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hope-remnant · 4 years ago

Text

The Practice Run Killing Game

Content Warnings: guns, violence, murder, manipulation, ableism, blood, weapons, bullying mention, and Dangan Ronpa, which is probably it’s own warning. This is literally 85% murder. 6.5K words.

My talentswap AU now has its own fanfic! for a full list of my talentswapped characters click [here]

Hifumi never thought school life could be so great. He grinned to himself in his dorm, pushing off the floor with socked feet to spin his desk chair back and forth. The pale blue light of his computer’s screen reflected on his glasses, which he pushed up with one finger and a smirk before typing out a last message to his friend’s stream chat.

JusticeHammer: I’ll be back in a few hours!! Have fun Hina!! <3

In his headphones the stream audio played, ambient underwater sounds from the game itself and the excited voice of his friend, the Ultimate Gamer.

“Bye Justice! You other mods better be on your best behavior now that the boss man is gone, okay?” Hina grinned up at the webcam from her side of the screen, waving with one tanned hand before returning to her game, talking about the strange atmosphere of an alien world.

The chat scrolled by as well, people from all over the world typing out goodbyes to him. Thousands of strangers, but dozens of friends as well, fellow moderators who helped wrangle the random people into order, who would play video games with Hifumi, who would message him and call him.

It was a far cry from where Hifumi had been in middle school, and he couldn’t help but grin again, shaking out his hands as if to shake out an excitement that clung to his bones, that stayed in his heart when he remembered he had friends.

His phone dinged with a soft chime, and he couldn’t help the quiet huff of amusement as he flipped open his phone and typed quickly.

Sakura: Where are you going Hifumi? Do you need assistance?

Hifumi: school council meeting! a weird late night one, no emergencies, dont worry sakura!

Hifumi: see you tomorrow, love you!!!!! :)

Hifumi stashed the phone in the pocket of his blazer- he was unsure what to wear to this sudden late night meeting, when before they had all been just after classes let out. He decided to play it safe and wear his school uniform.

Standing up from his chair, he made sure to plug in his laptop, the stream still running on it, and turned to leave his room. He had seen the interior of the main course’s dorms, they were triple the size, with their own ensuite and everything.

His own dorm was small, the wall space barely enough to fit his multitude of posters. There was a complimentary cork board as well, full of fanart people had made of his little sona, a kirby with a hammer and glasses, which he printed out and posted up on his wall as big as he could get them.

He pulled once on the lapels of his blazer, making the fabric settle properly on his shoulders and snatched his binder of notes he used in student council meetings. He made sure to lock his dorm on the way out, still smiling softly to himself. He toyed with the small ring of keys in his hand, dorm room key swinging as well as a number of soft cute keychains that Hina or Sakura sent him in their years as online friends.

He entered the cold night air, pocketing his keys and rubbing his hands together. Winter had clung harder than he had ever seen it, or Spring was simply apathetic even in April, biding its time. In the dusky light he could see the timid, barely blooming sakura trees that dotted the expansive main campus of Hope’s Peak Academy as he approached. There was no security on duty, the gates locked at the late hour.

Headmaster Kirigiri had given him a pass once he sent an anxious email talking about how the head of security, Sakakura, had been harassing him whenever he tried to go on campus. Even though reserve course students were barred from entering the main campus, Hifumi had privileges as the liaison between the reserve and main courses, and as a member of the student council.

Hina and Sakura had theorized it was because Sakakura was the Ex-Ultimate Student Council Leader, and was now one of the club’s supporting staff members, even if he had only worked at the school for a few years. The man was resentful of having a reserve course student on the council, a first in the school’s history, even though the reserve course was a relatively recent development.

Hifumi was used to people disliking him for seemingly no reason, it was only a problem that he took to the headmaster when it made him late to council meetings.

He glanced at his phone as he passed through the side gate intended for just security. He would likely be a minute or two late, but it wouldn’t make him stand out any more than usual. In his black and white suit he was a dark stain in the middle of any crowd of bright ultimates, who were able to wear anything pertaining to their talent and flaunt the rules.

Sakura wearing scrubs some days, Hina wearing garish merchandise for a game and smirking as the Ultimate Hall Monitor from class 77B could do nothing about it. They had told Hifumi about some of their classmates testing the rules, Enoshima in a sporty tank top, the Ultimate Team Manager getting away with it even in December. Fukawa, who didn’t even notice the rules apparently, and wore oil stained jumpsuits to class, no one able to deter the Ultimate Engineer and Ultimate Mechanic.

Yet here he was, in an ill-tailored suit. When he had been accepted into the reserve program and sent a uniform, his older sister had insisted he try it on, and cooed over him looking all grown up, as if she weren’t just a year older than him. She utilized some of her cosplay skills to try and modify the suit to fit him- they seemed to be made for exclusively skinny kids, then just sized up without concerns for body shape. Unfortunately Fujiko typically worked with skirts and dresses, which were more forgiving of hands more used to drawing and the bad eyesight all Yamadas seemed to have.

Hifumi had to stop for a moment, the breeze rustling past as he stared up at the few stars that began to twinkle in the night sky, faded and choked by light pollution, blurry even with his glasses. Some were simply blocked by the giant building before him, gleaming glass reflecting the lights of the city’s nightlife, aside from one classroom on the second floor, lit up bright white with silhouettes moving across the room.

He held the binder full of notes to his chest and walked into Hope’s Peak Academy, unaware that someone in the school’s entrance hall was hiding in the shadows, watching with eyes of deep scarlet that reflected light like a cat’s would in the low light.

Hifumi hurried up the stairs and down the hallway to the classroom they held meetings in. He saw Kamii and Kurosaki, two ultimates on the council who were dating, walk into the meeting room, Kamii practically clinging to her boyfriend. It was unsettling to see as he approached, considering Kamii thought PDA was impolite during meetings, and usually sat with someone between her and Kurosaki to avoid it. Maybe she was upset by something, but Hifumi wasn’t about to ask her, considering he was acquaintances at best with the council.

He followed them into the room, the last to arrive. The fluorescent lights were glaring and bright as night settled fully outside of their meeting. Everyone was seated aside from their Ultimate Student Council President, Umesawa, who stood at the podium in front of the blackboard, knuckles white as her blunt nails dug into the wood, her white armband standing out against the bright yellow of her hoodie.

After Hifumi sat down, leaving his notes on the desk, he noticed just how unhappy everyone seemed. Some were fidgeting, others talking but not saying much at all, their tone hurried and frightened, and others sat there and stared at the polished wood of their desk as if the world was ending around them.

“Now that we’re all here- you have some explaining to do Umesawa.” Ikuta, a girl with a famously short temper among the upperclassmen ultimates, had her hands on her desk as she stood slightly, her red hair swaying and catching the eyes of anyone who hadn’t been startled by her shout.

“Yeah, Aiko, your emails were really panicked.” Kashiki smiled softly at her friend, but she seemed to be trembling.

Umesawa tugged on one of the bright yellow ears sitting atop the hood of her sweatshirt, pulling down the hood and raising her head to look up at the council. Her eyes seemed to draw people in, one blue and one green, both full of an earnestness that made her a good Ultimate School Council President. Now, though, they were rimmed with red, and usually perfect wavy bob was a bird’s nest, brown strands out of place in any way they could be.

“I called you all here because it was best to be as discreet as possible.” Umesawa said.

Ichino snorted, not even bothering to hide his disrespect, too busy carding his hand through his already messy red hair. “Discreet. Yeah.”

Just when Hifumi was going to ask them all to explain, because these ultimates always acted as if everyone just knows what’s going on instead of learning things like normal people- the door creaked open and someone Hifumi had never seen before stepped inside.

The first thing Hifumi noticed were the gloves. One a perfect, unstained white, carrying a large duffle bag. The other a black that blended into her sleeve. The rest of her outfit was just as puzzling, a bright red tie and a white button up, but with a black cropped leather jacket over it. A black miniskirt and red knee high boots as well completed the outfit. But even then, it was almost at odds with pale violet eyes and long lavender hair, only a small portion of that hair in a braid that she toyed with in her black gloved hand.

“Good evening class.” She said, her voice even and her eyes narrowed.

Umesawa backed away from the podium, staring at the girl. “Who are y-?”

The girl waved off the question, her black gloved hand slashing through the air, making the council president back away further. “Goodness, and they say you’re one of the brightest in the school?” She takes a step closer, heeled boots heavy on the floor. “Pathetic.” She says, a light scolding, a chiming thing that seemed more like a schoolyard taunt than a threat.

But Hifumi could tell this girl was a threat. Maybe she had a dangerous ultimate talent- he knew for a fact that even if an ultimate skill was illegal they could be admitted and given essentially some form of diplomatic immunity while they attended the school.

“Why the hell are you here lady?!” Ikuta snapped, standing fully with her hands on her hips.

The girl put both her hands in the air, as if surrendering, but she was smiling, amusement sparkling in those eyes that seemed to dig into anything she laid them on, ferreting out as much information as she could. “I just want to play a game with my fellow ultimates.” She said, placating and condescending.

Hifumi, who was tired, confused, and could be watching his friend play video games right now, finally spoke up. “Can any of you ultimates ever explain anything, or is being cryptic part of the main course syllabus?”

The girl turned to him and glared, and Hifumi couldn’t help the small squeak of fear that slipped from his mouth when her face twisted into a sneer. It was a dramatic expression, he had seen it in games and shows, but no one had ever looked at him like that, no matter how many bullies he had faced. Like he was less than nothing, his very existence something to be loathed.

“A. Game. That shouldn’t be so hard for a simple reserve course student to understand, right? After all, you don’t spend your time doing anything worthwhile, if you can’t even manage to get into the main course.” The girl’s voice dripped with malice, and she quickly took over at the podium.

Umesawa backed up even more, now close to the window opposite of the door to the classroom, hands tugging her hood back up so she could pull at the fake rabbit ears in nervousness.

“I will keep it simple.” The girl shot Hifumi another look. “Last man standing wins. Go.”

“That doesn’t make any fucking sense.” Ikuta stepped out into the aisle between desks, pointing a finger at the girl as she demanded answers. “Just who the fuck do you think you are, demanding shit from us? Are you some reserve course kid? We’ve had enough from Yamada-”

Everyone’s eyes had been on Kotomi Ikuta, they hadn’t noticed the threatening girl at the front moving at all, assuming she had been just as stunned by the rant, until Ikuta was cut off by a gunshot.

Hifumi had heard guns before, in games, in animes, in movies. There were different patterns to them depending on the type, and when he and Hina became really invested in a game he would bother to tell them apart, the distinct rapid pulses, the blasts and thunderous booms from all different kinds of weaponry. He had never heard one in real life, had never been in the same room as a real gun, even though he knew there was a shooting range up on the fifth floor for those whose talents needed such things.

It was louder than he expected, and the noise was what made him freeze. In the middle of the classroom, Ikuta fell to her knees, then slumped forward. Shrill screams and rumbling expletives filled the room.

It took a moment, to properly process all of the information and connect the dots. When he did Hifumi couldn’t stop the sharp gasp, even though all it did was make him notice the sharp sulfuric stench of gunpowder, as well as the metallic tang of fresh blood. Things he had never experienced before.

An ultimate had died right before his eyes, by something as simple as the handgun that rested like it was molded to be in the strange threatening girl’s black gloved hand. The girl’s eyes were alight with something Hifumi couldn’t understand as she huffed through her nose in what might have been amusement.

She dropped the duffle bag in her other hand, the thing spilling open to reveal an assortment of weapons from knives to swords, hammers and screwdrivers, guns of all shapes and sizes. They were real, the flash of silvery metal, the dull gleam of tools with a new use branded onto them right before their eyes.

“If that’s not enough for you, I’ve got more.” The girl smirked, and waved to the still open door. A cart came rolling in, it’s top shelf littered with larger weapons. A chainsaw, a mace, a sledgehammer, all on top of it, all perfectly clean as if even they didn’t know what a dark omen they were, as if they didn’t know their capacity to do harm in the right hands.

At the bottom of the cart there was a large case which the girl pulled onto the floor with ease after sliding her handgun into a previously unseen holster high up on her thigh. She kicked the case with her boot, walking around it and towards the door. “That holds all the motivation you’ll need.”

“Everyone stay calm!” Umesawa ordered, straightening up from where she had been cowering. “No one touch those weapons- someone could get hurt!” Her voice was as sweet as ever, even with the urgency, she took out her phone and flipped it open, only for her face to fall.

Yokō stood up from his place at the back of the room, turning his flip phone around as if to show it off. “No connection.”

Kubo stood up, gesturing broadly to the class. “She can’t stop all of us, just listen to Umesawa!”

But everyone seemed to be getting up, fourteen students all in one room, some paralyzed by fear, others covering their fear with anger. Hifumi stayed seated, staring, unable to process it all at once, afraid.

A student who had been at Ikuta’s side the instant she fell, trying to help her even after a gunshot wound to the forehead, lunged forward and grabbed one of the spilled weapons at random. He ran towards the terrifying girl who had orchestrated Ikuta’s death. The boy, Someya, was holding a shotgun that was almost too big for him to handle. The little plushies on keychains at his belt jingled slightly, at odds with the cold metal in his hands. Before he could aim, someone grabbed at him.

Ichino tried to grapple the weapon away from Someya, but the small boy clung to the instrument of death with a desperation no one in the room had seen before now in a human being. Someya was frantic, eyes glassy with tears, his distinctive blue bowlcut in disarray as he shook his head, saying how she needed to pay for killing Ikuta.

In the chaos Hifumi finally stood, moving to the wall the door was on, his back hitting the wall quickly as he tried to look around. Umesawa still was at the podium, pleading for order. Gōryoku was shielding some of the others who had broken down into tears with his large muscular body, and some other students had approached the front of the classroom.

Someya was facing the door, facing the girl who had her gun in one hand but was toying with her braid as well, as if bored. She hummed an uneven tune, as if bored, as if waiting for a show to start.

“Please!” Someya cried, tears falling as the shotgun was wrenched out of his hands, the gun making a sharp cracking sound as it hit the floor.

Then the katana entered his chest from behind, skewering him. As the weapon was pulled out with a wet sucking sound Hifumi wished he could never have heard, the girl holding the weapon sobbed. “My mother- they have my mother- I’m so s-sorry, I can’t-!”

With a sob that devolved into a scream, Kisaragi kicked away the file of photographs she had taken from the case, the motive set out for them. It showed a middle aged woman bound to a chair, screaming into a gag.

“Karen! Please, listen-!” Umesawa implored, a hand outstretched. “Put down the-!” She let out a small scream when Kirasagi lurched forward, slashing the katana.

The sword embedded itself into the podium. Most of the class either hung back or scattered to grab the motives, and then the weapons.

Hifumi could only focus on one thing at a time, the sounds. The wet thunk of metal sinking into flesh, into the soft organs of the human body, so fragile even if the person had been deemed ultimate. Gunshots, sobbing, deranged laughter, screams and death rattles.

Hifumi staggered under the onslaught of sensory information overloading his mind with no way to filter it, no way to stop it. All he could do was try to get away.

Blood splattered onto his blazer, up his neck and onto his face as another student died. With a short, faltering yell, he pushed someone out of the way of the door and began to run.

The moonlight streaming into the hallways washed them in a pale ghostly glow, as if illuminating perfection, as if a spotlight was needed. Hifumi didn’t know it, but he looked similar to when he spoke to his friends in late night chats, his lights off in his room and illuminated only by the pale glow of a computer screen, tired and giggling.

Pink marred the walls and floors. In the classroom Hifumi abandoned, a boy he had spoken to, someone in a committee with him, was brutally beaten to death with a chair. A girl he knew was stabbed. Another was strangled. The events tumbled together into one big massacre, one big game, one big show, and the girl who pulled the strings to watch this all happen couldn’t help the grin on her usually passive face as she left the scene into her own lair.

Someone stood at her side now, shorter than her, but even more intimidating. A person in a pristine suit and long black hair, almost ridiculous in its length. Their red eyes seemed to gleam as they watched, but their pointed features never twitched from an expressionless mask of disinterest.

“Satisfied, Izuru?” Kirigiri asked once she reached her control room, one of her lackeys nodding to her reverentially and giving her the seat. Another approached her other side, giggling.

“...” Izuru’s eyes slid to the side, towards where the lackey who had been in the chair now cowered, too horrified to watch what he assisted in causing, pathetic. The girl laughing into her hand was small, and with Izuru’s keen sight and ultimate knowledge, Izuru knew that the girl was thirteen at best, too young, yet still an ultimate. She was enthralled by the gore on screen, delighted by it, just as much as she was enthralled by Kirigiri, who put a hand on the young girl’s shoulder, speaking words but never telling her anything.

With a small huff through their nose, Izuru turned and left to see the scene for himself.

Hifumi didn’t know when someone had got him with a blade. They evidently had, from the wound on his arm pouring blood, pink staining his nice uniform, running through his fingers even when he tried his best to stop the bleeding.

He continued to stumble on, mind overloaded with information, with fear, and he couldn’t help but just blank out on all of it. There was too much to process, too much to bear acknowledging. With a ragged huff, he leaned against a wall of lockers, the cool metal a relief from everything, another nothingness to sink into.

The wall of windows allowed in so much moonlight, for a moment Hifumi thought it was day, that any moment so many of the best students in the country would come pouring out of their classrooms. Maybe his friends would be among them, Hina tapping on her phone or the newest handheld console, Sakura making sure they didn’t bump into anyone.

They would see him, and Sakura would hold him. She was so strong, so steady. She could carry Hifumi to the infirmary, could bandage him up and offer him a lollipop with that slight smile she got when she talked to him or Hina. She would fret over him any time she saw him until the bandage was finally gone, she would insist on carrying his bag or his notes for student council-

Hifumi swallowed down a sob, pushing himself onward. Screams echoed down hallways made to carry the voices of the best, the last cries of those who were dead the moment that girl walked into their meeting. It hurt, to keep moving, to keep acting as if just running away would save him, but everything would hurt no matter what choice he made.

All he wanted was to hang out in Hina’s dorm, his best friends at his side as they all rested on Hina’s bright pink bed, Sakura studying late into the night as he and Hina fell asleep against her.

He wanted so much, and he was never going to get it, not now. Hifumi knew he was going to die here, he just knew it. Was this something other people felt, like a blanket of fresh snow, cold and melting deep into his bones as he realized death was coming for him, an unstoppable force? Was this something that had always been there waiting for him, and he only noticed it now when his head swam and pink dripped from his fingers?

In every game, every anime, every manga, the hero managed to get up and keep going. Whether to escape only to save the day later, or to defeat whatever stood in their way. No one expected that of Hifumi. Maybe they would think an ultimate was capable of it, and there were thirteen ultimates he had left behind to tear each other apart.

He heard a high pitched, screaming cackle and the revving of a chainsaw, the cut off screams of a victim, far enough away that he wasn’t in danger.

Hifumi wouldn’t find any heroes here. All he could do was try his best.

The ones who cared for him, his friends, that’s all they had ever asked of him. To try his best, to keep going, to rely on them if he needed to. Hifumi needed them more than ever, Hina’s endless energy and excitement, Sakura’s quiet strength and support. Hina would be in her dorm, headphones on as she kept talking and talking, playing video games for thousands to see. Sakura was studying a new medical journal, sitting on Hina’s bed, out of view of the webcam.

They were so close but so far, and they were all he could think of. Would they send worried texts when he never messaged them goodnight? Would they wait until tomorrow morning, thinking he had been tired from the meeting? Would they use the extra key to his dorm he gave them, and find his room as he left it, as if nothing was amiss? Would he become another muttered rumor, like the supposed death of a girl in the computer lab of the reserve course?

Would anyone aside from Hina and Sakura notice him gone from campus? He was invisible to the other reserve course students. Maybe they would wonder why there was an extra desk in their classroom, and dismiss it just as quickly as a mistake, never remembering him.

Tears welled up in his eyes. It was all too much, the noises, the things he had seen. Hifumi had never seen someone die before. He had never seen someone kill before. He had never seen carnage, or gore, or death. He wanted nothing more than to calm his racing thoughts, but they all piled up and screamed until he reached nothing, slumped against some lockers. His left hand was in his mouth, and he bit down harshly on the joint of his thumb, his right hand clutching where he had been injured.

He screamed silently, throat hurting, tears finally spilling. He was so tired and scared and lost and he just wanted- he didn’t know what he wanted, he didn’t know what to do, it all was piling up, it was washing over him, a tsunami of panic and blood, bright pink and towering over him, until it finally fell and consumed him without even noticing.

Hifumi continued to dig his teeth into his hand, it was something solid, letting him know that he was here. He brought his knees up to his chest, his legs squishing into his stomach. He let go of his wound, his right hand coming up to pull at his short curly hair as he keened. The wet sticky feeling of blood on his hand, in his hair, was so bad but the grounding pull of pain in his scalp was something that kept him from trying to slam his head into the wall or something equally damaging, because he needed anything to stop his mind from screaming, to stop himself from screaming. He began to rock back and forth, crying.

He didn’t know how much time had passed. The moon watched on, impassive in its pale glow. Was time really passing, or had the world ended the moment that girl shot Ikuta? Was the planet still spinning? Would the moon ever set?

“Get up Yamada.”

Chills swept down Hifumi’s spine, he swore someone was talking, but all he could hear were distant gunshots and screams.

“Yamada! Get up!” A polished shoe kicked him in the shin, and Hifumi finally looked up.

Murasame stood before him, leaning on a pitchfork. The dark grey tines were splattered with blood already, dripping down onto the floor. Hifumi stared at the blood, mind numb, lungs and throat pained by the sobs that had wracked his body.

“I can’t kill a guy who’s crying like a baby. Are you a man or not, Yamada? I know you’re just a stupid reserve course, but c’mon. Get up, die with a little bit of dignity.” Murasame rolled his eyes, a smile playing on his lips. He bent down to look at Hifumi like he was nothing more than a bug on the ground, disgusting. His brown hair shifted to cover his face as he leaned, before snorting wryly and standing up straight again, rolling his eyes.

Hifumi choked on another sob, trying to just breathe. He used both of his hands to brace against the lockers behind him, trying to stand. He didn’t know why he bothered, but it was something to do. Maybe Murasame was joking? Maybe he would help Hifumi?

The moment Hifumi was steady on his feet Murasame backed up, swinging his pitchfork up, an arc of pink that glowed in the moonlight following it.

Hifumi ran again. He turned a corner down the hall, still between a wall of lockers and windows, still in a cold empty husk of a school, and he didn’t stop.

He bumped into something- someone, and stumbled back, looking at them. A short person with long black hair and pointed features, deep red eyes that stared at him with nothing behind them. “Sorry!” He shrieked, the habit converging against his fear as he quickly stepped around the person and kept running.

Izuru raised an eyebrow and deftly hid between the lockers as another ultimate passed, this one full of bloodlust, hunting the boy who ran into them. It was different, interesting, but Izuru kept moving. They had more to see than this.

Every breath seared from Hifumi’s lungs, his body ached as he did his best to keep moving. But he didn’t even make it all the way down the hallway. Hacking into his bloodied hands, he ended up falling against one of the massive windows that made up the outside wall of the school. His injured arm burned with pain against the cold glass.

Hifumi whimpered, turning to keep his back to the glass as he heard sprinting footsteps slow and reach him.

“Everyone hated you, Yamada.” Murasame huffed, both hands holding the pitchfork as if it was a staff.

“What?” Hifumi wheezed out, more confused than frightened.

“You waltz in, a useless reserve course, and start telling us what to do. We had a betting pool going on whether you were just that oblivious that you didn’t notice how annoying you were, or if you really were just that annoying.” Murasame sneered.

“Wh-What?!”

Murasame let go of his pitchfork with one of his hands to point at Hifumi accusingly, the tines of the weapon scraping against the floor loudly, making Hifumi flinch away.

“That. Is exactly what I’m talking about. You’re so annoying and don’t even fucking know, do you? Handing out orders, trying to get us to help a bunch of teenagers who convinced their parents to blow their money just to attend Hope’s Peak- it’s a wonder no one offed you before now.” Murasame swung the pitchfork back up, both hands on the weapon as he pointed it at Hifumi.

“No- please-!” Hifumi begged, trying to dive out of the way.

The sound of cracking glass echoed around the hall as Murasame chuckled. “Really?”

Hifumi wanted to back away, wanted to run again, but fear paralyzed him.

Murasame just shook his head, pulling back his pitchfork and causing the window to fully shatter. “Get up Yamada. I’m not killing you while you cower. Unlike you, I’m better than that.”

Hifumi made another noise, a whimpered plea even he couldn’t understand, and stood up. He trembled and breathed in the cold night air that rushed through the broken window.

Murasame wacked Hifumi in the head with the side of the pitchfork, toying with him.

Hifumi stumbled to the side, now fully in front of the empty window frame, shards of glass still clinging to the sides. Part of him wondered if he should say something cool. Last words were supposed to be cool, right? That was for heroes, and he had always wanted to be one. He had always wanted too much.

Murasame bared his teeth and stabbed forward, the tines of his pitchfork sinking into Hifumi’s abdomen. For a moment all Hifumi could feel was the force of it, like a gut punch, something he hadn’t been a stranger to back in his middle school days. But sharp pain quickly followed, spreading, and he staggered back, the heel of his shoe hitting open air. He grabbed at the long handle of the pitchfork reflexively, unable to do anything about it.

Murasame lunged forward, trying to grab the handle of his weapon, but he missed. The revving of a chainsaw grew steadily closer, as well the unhinged laughter of an ultimate pushed to the edge. Hifumi’s killer didn’t bother watching him fall, instead running in search of a new weapon.

Hifumi gasped raggedly as he tipped out of the window, the world swinging away until all he saw was the sky. The black of night was endless, the faded stars twinkled, the moon still shined. They wouldn’t change with one boy’s death. They wouldn’t care.

As he fell, all he regretted was not giving Hina and Sakura a better goodbye. He felt the slight scrape of leaves and then his body slammed into the ground, rendering him unconscious.

He wouldn’t wake for days. When the school’s security would find him during their sweep of the grounds, it would be an hour after they already found the unresponsive, unconscious body of Aiko Umesawa, her yellow rabbit hoodie stained pink. She would be taken to a nearby hospital, and she would be silenced before she had a chance to wake.

Hifumi was found later, a pitchfork still stuck in his stomach, and that was for the best, as it staved off the worst of the bleeding as it stayed in the wound. He had sustained a head injury and a cut to his arm, but it was better than the twelve dead students littering the second floor of Hope’s Peak Academy. A dozen bright, beautiful students all dead, their lives destroyed before they could truly live.

The school board of Hope’s Peak knew another factor to the puzzling killing game. Their pet project, Izuru Kamakura, was missing. The Ultimate Hope, the Ultimate Ultimate, was gone and most of the staff who attended to the project were dead or had been enjoying a day off in the peace of their own home, unknowing that their colleagues were being slaughtered like animals.

It had to have been Izuru Kamakura that unleashed this bloodshed. The project ensured that the Ultimate Hope had every talent and skill ever recorded, the school board knew how easily their little project could kill, could hide bodies. They assumed it was a vengeful sign to the board, thinking themselves worth the carnage. The school board thought too highly of themselves. They underestimated just how easy it was to bring an ultimate to a breaking point.

An entire life that culminated in a title, and ultimate, until that was all they were known for. They had to constantly one-up themselves, to constantly prove to others, and to themself, that they were the best. Years of effort, years of blood, sweat, and tears. Everything relied on their ultimate. Their world revolved around it, until they became the embodiment of their ultimate, until their ultimate became them.

When tasked with murder, with letting go of any inhibition and just committing violence, just causing harm, something any human being was capable of, they took to the task with an almost inhuman speed. Some would need a push, but even then, their calculating mind would whir and they would frame everything to their advantage. They would come out on top, they had to. They were an ultimate after all.

But the school board only saw the brightest of their students, children. The blame was placed on Izuru Kamakura, and they quickly moved to cover up any signs of the incident.

Hifumi Yamada would have been placed in the same hospital as his student council president, and would have been silenced just the same, two birds with one stone, but that didn’t happen. The Ultimate Nurse Sakura Oogami demanded the school fly her best friend to her clan’s clinic. She would take care of any medical need, or else she and her girlfriend, the Ultimate Gamer, would drop out of Hope’s Peak permanently, and Asahina would use her global fame to ensure that the reputation of their former school was dragged through the mud.

The school board didn’t care much if the reserve course student died, but it was best if the kid died out of their responsibility, so they used the school’s helicopter to fly Hifumi, Sakura, and Hina all to the Oogami clan’s isolated compound.

Days passed where Sakura tended to her best friend’s wounds, and he awoke. His shifting had roused Hina, who had been sleeping at his bedside, and she ran to get Sakura.

Hifumi couldn’t help but cry in Sakura’s arms, crying himself to sleep within minutes of waking, but this sleep was far more restful. He knew he was safe. He knew he would be cared for. He knew he’d never have to go through something so bad like that ever again.

Two weeks would pass from this incident, and Hifumi would find himself locked in Hope’s Peak Academy, working with the 78th class to bolt over any window and make sure they could never, ever escape. He would agree to lock himself into the building where the worst thing to ever happen to him occurred. He agreed because Hina and Sakura would be at his side. He agreed because he knew they would be safe, together.

Hifumi’s memories of the School Council Killing Game were unclear. He would wake from nightmares gasping for air, never fully remembering the faces of his fellow students who died, only remembering the indifferent moonlight and the gleam of deranged eyes.

When Hifumi would ask Kyoko Kirigiri if they had ever met before, the Ultimate Lucky Student would smile awkwardly, shrugging her shoulders and saying that he must be thinking of someone else, and he would believe her, unknowing of the deep, undying loathing she carried in her heart towards him. Unknowing that she had sworn to kill him with her own hands one day.

#my talentswap #writing #Hifumi Yamada #Aoi Asahina #Sakura Oogami #Kyoko Kirigiri #danganronpa talentswap

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