#oh MAN though a customer being a complete dick? maybe even stands up and tries to menace jask?? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lacharcutiere · 3 years

Text

ur my favorite drug & my worst hangover [nsfw 18+, terushima yūji]

5,9k words

✯haikyuu!! masterlist✯

winter sem break brings the new year, & a few other new developments too.

smut, tiny bit of angst, fwb, fluff // quit - lil aaron & travis barker. god this song goes so hard

the way all i talk abt is how much i love teru but have nothing to show for it— yeah we’re gonna fix that. man i love him

☾𓆙𓂻

— SOBER

the soft hum of the tv in the background slowly fades into your awareness as you blink blearily awake, almost forgetting where you are for a second.

you’re in yūji’s living room, duh. your semestral break has not been nearly as interesting as either of you’d hoped: instead, you’ve both succumbed to alternating between each other’s childhood homes, binging netflix and random youtube videos and eating chips and tubs of ice cream late into the night, as has been your custom for years.

it’s dim but for the glow of the screen, and it’s kind of chilly in here now, even with you wrapped up in a hoodie. (yours, not yūji’s. you only borrow his in emergencies.)

he’s not next to you now, but his footsteps—you know them by now: quick and kind of heavy but not overbearingly loud—are entering the room again, and you feel the sofa cushions dip a little as he retakes his seat next to you.

“hey,” he says, smiling, “you’re awake.”

“hmmph,” you mumble, sitting upright to stretch your back. “what time is it?”

“uh.” he squints at the digital clock next to the tv. “like one?”

“‘m cold.”

“me too.”

“‘nd tired.”

“you just woke up?”

“i’m tired,” you whine.

yūji groans. “you’re really gonna make me go to sleep this early?”

“you don’t have to sleep, but i will.”

“yeah,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “but who’s gonna keep me company then?”

“i dunno,” you shoot back, “text tetsu or something. he’s probably still up.”

he rolls his eyes but relents, standing from the sofa. “fine.” and he holds out a hand to help you up, which you don’t take.

“i can do shit for myself,” you joke, rolling your eyes.

“right.”

—

it’s not much warmer in his room despite the thermostat supposedly being set to an acceptable temperature, but at least the sleeping bag on the floor next to yūji’s bed is insulated, and he’s given you a couple extra blankets for which you’re grateful. the biting chill of january does not fuck around.

so you nestle yourself into a little cocoon of linens and pillows and pull your hood up, curling into a ball in an effort to conserve your body heat. you hear him laugh a little as he watches you.

“what?”

“nothing.”

there’s the light hum of a phone ringing a few times, and that little beep as tetsu picks up the facetime call.

sleep clouds your senses to the background music of stifled laughter and loud whispers and the occasional static of yūji’s phone speaker.

— BUT U PULLED ME CLOSER

the next few minutes, hour—you have no idea—pass just like that, with you drifting languidly in and out of sleep and the sounds of yūji and tetsurō’s voices audible but incomprehensible in the background.

last you remember, you’re slipping back under again, hearing tetsu through the staticky iphone speaker.

and then you wake up again because you’re fucking freezing and it’s quiet and the lights are off, except for the little reading light mounted to the headboard of yūji’s bed. you sit up on your elbows, craning your neck, and see that he’s still up, lying on his stomach with his phone dimly illuminating his face.

“what time’s it?” you mumble.

“uh... 2:38.” he pauses. “y’alright?”

“cold,” you say.

he locks his phone then, and he just looks at you kind of blankly and maybe a little mockingly? except it must not be mocking; it must be something else, because he’s just kind of... studying you.

you look back up at him expectantly. “what?” you say.

he sighs, kind of rolls his eyes, turns away from the light to hide the little smile playing on his lips. “come on up here.” he scoots over and pats the spot next to him.

thankful for an extra source of body heat and blankets and pillows, you shove yourself up off the ground and shuffle over to the bed.

it’s kind of funny, the way you’re basically adults now and yet your relationship’s still fundamentally the same as it was when you met years ago.

—

duh, yūji hates that. it’s true, that whole thing about how “every one of your guy friends has thought about fucking you at some point.” it’s true, at least for him.

and there’s something electric in how you haven’t slept next to him in months because you’ve both been busy with school, and now you’re back here. back here, where it feels like you belong.

there’s something deep in his chest that’s set aflame by the way you laugh and let him tuck the comforter over you; the way your sweatpant-covered legs brush against his own underneath it.

he wants to touch you.

he wants to wrap his hand around your thigh and pull it over his own; to run his fingertips up the length of your arm and make you shiver; to snake his around your waist and pull your head into his chest.

maybe he will once you’re asleep, he figures. once his pride can’t be hurt because you don’t have to know.

except... except he’d let it be hurt for you. without a moment’s hesitation. he would shatter it himself for you, would let you take him in your fingers and rip him to pieces too small to be puzzled back together.

because maybe he doesn’t just want you. maybe he loves you.

but even he, completely truthfully, doesn’t know.

he’s got a sneaking suspicion that he does, though, because he’s rarely confused and this is an enigma he can’t quite seem to decipher, no matter what he tries.

it’s absurd, too, he realizes laying on his back next to you, how suddenly he’s afraid to touch you. because the two of you have always been touchy, that’s just you. you’re two halves; you’re so similar. you’ve been attached at the hip since childhood—why is it different now, now that he wants that more than anything?

so here he is, spiraling in this conundrum of feelings, when it’s cut short by you, tiredly whining, “yūji.”

“what?” he sort of feigns annoyance.

“‘m cold.”

“and?”

and. and his breath catches because you roll over and latch onto him. and he brings his arms around your shoulders and holds you to his chest.

so close, and yet so far away.

and he shudders as you lay one hand flat on his chest. it belongs there forever.

you nuzzle your nose into his shoulder and inhale his scent and his brain short-circuits.

has she done this before?

and mostly unconscious, you mumble, “—warm. y’re pretty’.” his eyes go wide.

“what?”

your arms tighten around him, and he’d hate to admit it, but it’s setting him off. he’s... a little hard.

a hand settles itself on your thigh, the one that’s draped over his legs, and he pushes it downward a little, so that it’s not resting next to the rising erection in his pajama pants.

god, he wants to fuck you so badly right now, he wants for you to feel him throbbing between your legs as you whimper against his skin. but he also wants you to want him.

miraculously, a little sigh escapes your lips at the touch. so he doesn’t move his hand.

“feels nice,” you whisper.

so he decides to test the waters, and squeezes gently. you giggle sleepily.

inhibitions dissipating for a moment, his stomach leaps to his chest and he snakes that hand up over your hip, consciously avoiding your ass just in case, and rests it on your back, rubbing up and down slowly.

his chest constricts as you snuggle even closer to him. and then your leg moves back up and your thigh nudges his crotch.

your eyes snap open and he inhales sharply.

and then you’re propped up on your elbow, leaning over him.

he curses himself for forgetting to turn off the light; the flush in his cheeks is obvious.

half terrified and half excited, he watches as your face breaks into a wide, shit-eating grin.

“what?” he breathes.

your eyes narrow; a look of mischief he’s so familiar with, one that’s often mirrored on his own features. (it’s not now.)

“yūji,” you say, singsong and bright, “what’s this?”

and—oh, god, oh, fuck—you bring a hand down to rest on his dick, tenting in his pajamas.

he doesn’t know what to say to you.

“i— uhm—”

“hmm,” you hum. “y’ alright?”

he clears his throat, nods. “are— uh, are you?”

“mhm,” you laugh, wide awake now. “yūji...” you pause. he can’t stand it; he needs to know what happens next, needs to know what’s fanning the flames behind your eyes.

oh god. oh god, all he leaves is a breath in between and then you’re throwing your leg over him again and, fuck, you’re straddling him. he lets out a shaky breath, voice tight as he chokes out, “what are you doing?”

the smile is gone from your face now, replaced with something softer, something lustful. your hands move to his shoulders to balance yourself as you grind your hips down, and a low ahh slips out of him.

it’s just like that, just your clothed bodies rubbing together. he comes embarrassingly quickly in his boxers, but he lets you ride his thigh until you finish as recompense.

afterward, he excuses himself and cleans himself off in the bathroom. when he comes back, you’re sound asleep again.

that’s all that happens.

— UR GONNA FUCK ME UP

following that, everything proceeds as it had before. neither of you bother to speak of it, but nothing even seems off between you at all. it’s as if it never happened.

or maybe, yūji sometimes allows himself to think as he touches himself to the memory in the middle of nights when you’re not together, it’s like it was meant to happen.

what a wonderful illusion that is.

because he knows it won’t work, and if you ever thought about him like that, you would know, too.

the two of you have watched each other fall in love—get dumped, ghost people, whatever—several times over the past few years. he remembers your first boyfriend, your last year of middle school: the guy had been a mutual friend that you’d been crushing on for months. and yet, when you’d finally become a thing, it had taken no more than a couple of weeks for you to grow uninterested and dump him.

it’s not like he hasn’t done similar things in the past.

and it’s not like some people who’ve dated either of you haven’t had better luck; there have been several who have been the ones to break your hearts.

but both of you have yet to have maintained a long-term relationship, and neither of you have kept in contact with many of your exes.

he doesn’t want to be another one of those, and he certainly doesn’t want you to be, either.

—

it’s maybe a week after that night when you pick him up to go get takeout and ice cream.

that, in itself, is a pretty normal thing.

but then you’re sitting in your car, and between spoonfuls of mocha chip and hot caramel, you say, “so i saw this thing.”

“hm?” he responds, his mouth still full.

“your aura is striking, dude,” you quote. there’s a pause as you try to suppress a giggle. and then: “can i kiss you deeply, bro?”

he snorts and jokes, “anytime you want.” and he really hopes that you take his tone at face value, but he also knows you way better than that.

so he’s only half surprised when you actually do. half surprised, and wholly in awe.

your hands are in each other’s hair. it’s quick—feverish, but quick—and the first thing you say when you pull back is, “tastes like sugar.”

he laughs again, unsure of what move to make next. “yeah?”

and then you’re... shy? because you look away from him, back down to the cup of ice cream in your lap, and you say, “you feel good.” it’s so low that it’s almost unintelligible. but he hears you.

both your faces are burning when you look back up at him. “should we talk about that?”

“‘bout what? kissing? ‘s not the first time.”

it isn’t—he kissed you once in middle school, because there was this other girl that he’d thought was pretty, and he wanted to make her jealous. it hadn’t worked; she’d just thought the two of you were together, and a teacher had scolded you for pda. but at least it had been a fun story to laugh at for a while after.

this is obviously different, though, and you both know that. this kiss wasn’t to make anyone jealous. this one was for yourselves.

and anyway, that’s not what you meant by that.

“no,” you say. “the um... last week. at your place.”

“oh, yeah.”

“should we, um, do you wanna talk about it?”

“d’you?”

you shrug.

“alright,” he says. pauses. “so... what was that about?”

and you almost laugh incredulously. “you’re asking me?”

he stares blankly.

“you’re the one who got a boner when we were cuddling, yūji. as if we’ve never done that before.” you notice the mortified look on his face, and your expression softens and your voice lowers. “you wanna tell me what that was about? you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

and he laughs nervously and says, “no, no, ‘s fine. i was just kinda horny, that’s all. i haven’t hooked up with anyone in a while, y’know?”

you give him a sardonic grin. “and that’s why it only took you, like, three minutes to come?”

“yeah... yeah,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

a moment passes where you stop and think for a little, and then you turn back to look at him. “it was, uh, good, though. like, objectively. it was good.”

it’s his turn to flash a grin at you: “‘course it was. it’s me.”

“and me.”

“shoulda won the sex gods superlative in last year’s yearbook.”

“ha.” another thing crosses your mind: “and now look at us. too busy with school to even have time to fuck anyone.”

yūji doesn’t say anything, so you do it for him.

you start out carefully. “but...”

“but?”

“do you— i mean. we’ve got, like, what? three weeks left before we go back? and we’re stuck here. and— and we already hang out like every single day anyway, and. uh. and it was objectively good.”

“are you—”

“and i’ve known you for years. come on. there’s, like, nothing i could do to embarrass myself around you anymore.”

friends with benefits. you’re suggesting that you temporarily be friends with benefits.

“and it wasn’t weird after last time,” you add. “i think.”

“hm,” he says, “yeah, no, it wasn’t.”

his first instinct is to say no, to tell you it’s a bad idea. but as he thinks about it more, he realizes that you’re kind of right. and anyway, what is the worst that could happen? because he’s pretty sure he’s far gone enough for you that falling a little further wouldn’t change a thing. even if he weren’t, he’d never think of hurting you intentionally.

and, he figures, he’d hardly mind being hurt by you.

—

that is how you end up back in his bed an hour later—his parents are out on a date this evening; you’ve got until a few hours past sundown to fuck and clean yourselves off and make it look like you’ve been eating and talking and watching tv the whole time.

outside of the guise of midnight impulses, it is a strange—but also strangely pleasant—thing to be having sex with your best friend.

there’s no pretense, hardly any need to keep up appearances (at least, for you). you’re not strangers only concerned with your own pleasure; you know each other. despite never actually having done this before, he already knows what you like, and vice versa.

it’s nice.

it’s nice to hear him laugh when you whine for him to stop being so gentle, vanilla-ass bitch, only to have him call you a “horny little—” (to which you respond, no, you.)

and it’s nice to sleep with someone who reads all the cues you give him without you even needing to say anything.

it is possibly the best sex you’ve ever had in your life.

it is possibly the best sex you’ve ever had in your life, and... it might not be just because of the dynamic between you two, or the fact that you don’t have to be afraid to tell him what you like and what you don’t—the fact that you don’t even have to tell him at all.

it’s nice. for you. and it’s hell for him.

it’s hell for him to have to hold back all the sweet nothings he wants to whisper in your ear—he’s restricted to you like that, huh, baby? and fuuuck and god, you’re so fucking tight, and he knows you’re into it, but he wants to be treating you like a princess right now. he wants to call you his, wants to whisper, tell me you’re all mine against your bare shoulders, wants to tell you he loves you.

so... he does love you.

but he can’t say that. he knows he can keep you around, but you’re not his to keep.

—

it continues like that for the next several days: you fuck, it’s good sex, and he’ll touch himself to the memories if you’re not there: memories of how you taste, of the softness of your skin, of you with your legs around his waist and your bare chests pressed together, damp and warm with sweat.

it is so gratifying, and even more painful.

and then, one day, as he’s fucking you in your childhood bedroom—all white walls covered in sketches and colorful postcards you’ve accumulated over the years—something is slightly off.

there’s something about it that feels more intimate than the other times, and it goes slower than before. it’s not all lust and clothes tossed haphazardly on the floor and bodies shoved hurriedly into mattresses.

you kiss him for a long time before any clothing comes off, and you keep pulling him back to your lips as he thrusts into you. you’re not urging him faster, more, harder; you let him keep a steady pace and arch your back into the sheets as you lie underneath him.

it hits him as you come down from your orgasm and writhe in his arms, softly moaning, “god, yūji, i l—”

he stops.

“don’t say that,” he says.

still shaking and catching your breath, you respond, “what?”

“just don’t.” but his tone is casual, and so you don’t think much of it.

—

you don’t hook up every time you hang out, and yeah. you were right. it’s hardly different than before. except, isn’t it?

you’re sitting on opposite sides of your sofa one morning after your parents have left for work—he slept over the previous night, but you didn’t have sex. you’d spent it laughing over the dumbest things and blasting music as you drove around without a destination.

your’re sitting with your knees pulled against your chest, scrolling lazily on your phone while you and yūji eat handfuls of cereal straight from the box between you.

it’s mostly quiet for once; comfortably silent. neither of you have ever really been a morning person.

— BUT U KNOW I LIKE IT

the ice cracks a little when he stops shoving your hand away to grab himself another handful of cereal. you notice, and then you wonder if you always noticed little things like that, because it feels kind of weird to. not that you mind.

meanwhile, yūji watches you, studying the way your hair falls messily around your face, the way one sleeve of your sweatshirt is rolled halfway up your forearm and the other is pulled all the way over your hand.

the living room is bright, surrounded by windows, and you’re illuminated by light yellow late-morning sunlight all around and he feels safe looking at you.

the ice cracks a little more when he says your name softly.

“hm?” you say, confusedly looking up at him.

“nothing,” he answers, too quickly. “i’m just... happy right now.”

you smile, radiant. “i’m glad you are.”

—

in the afternoon, you’ve grown bored and are wandering the streets of your neighborhood, voicing thoughts and pointing out people you pass by.

it’s still early, but it’s january, so the sun is already beginning to set.

when you’re a couple minutes out from your house, yūji goes quiet, and it stays like that for the rest of the walk.

and then, as he stands next to you while you unlock the door, he blurts, “i have to tell you something.”

you freeze. “what?”

it’s silent for a bit. “never mind.”

“yūji—”

“it’s okay,” he says softly.

he wants to shrink away from your gaze as you study him. he knows you know there’s something amiss, and second thoughts have almost always been his own personal hell.

graciously, though, you don’t ask. and it’s like stepping through a portal when you’re back inside; it’s all forgotten and back to how it was before.

—

but: a little while later, you’re lying side-by-side on your bed watching netflix again, and for whatever reason you turn to look at him for a moment and it’s just—

you can’t look away. and you don’t know why.

he can feel your eyes on him and it burns, and he wonders how much longer he can keep this up before he loses his mind.

when he doesn’t turn to face you, you call his name softly.

“hm?”

after an uncomfortable moment of hesitation, you say, “something’s up.”

“what?”

“yūji,” you repeat, and he forgets to breathe for a second. “are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

the mattress shifts under his weight as he sits up, resting his head in his hands. he takes a deep breath and can’t bring himself to meet your eyes.

“what’s wrong?” it sounds less like a question and more like a plea.

“i—” he starts, and then stops himself. “i can’t, i can’t do this to you.”

“can’t do what?”

there’s a painful silence, heavy with anticipation and maybe a little bit of dread.

“i don’t wanna keep hooking up with you.”

you sit up, too.

“did i...? do something wrong?”

he shakes his head and sighs, and he sounds exasperated. “it’s... no, it’s— i think...” and he seems to grow more frustrated as he fails to verbalize whatever it is, this strange cold fire stinging in the pit of his stomach.

“what do you think?” you whisper.

and he stands and walks to the door. his hand rests on the knob and he whispers back, in a voice that sounds precariously close to breaking, “you, when i... y’know. ’m sorry.”

and he’s gone.

and you have no idea what to think, both of what he just said and the fact that it sends an excited buzz through your nerves, even though it probably shouldn’t.

— IT'S HARD N IT'S HARDER TO ADMIT

his words are stuck in your head all night, have you caught somewhere in between laughing and crying.

you want to call him, ask him what the fuck is going on and why you think you kind of like it, but you don’t.

but when you look over at your alarm clock to see that it’s 2:00 a.m. and sleep refuses to let you succumb to it and you relent to the warm emptiness between your legs, it’s yūji whom you imagine is there to fill it.

you think of the way his tongue trails down the expanse of your neck, the way he feels inside you, as you whine into your pillow and desperately try to make yourself come.

it doesn’t even occur to you until later, when you’re waking up to sunlight slicing through your half-open blinds. and then it does, and you text him: i do that too.

he doesn’t text back, but ten minutes later, your phone rings. he sounds breathless.

“be here in ten,” he says.

you pause. “okay.”

and you are. he throws open the door as he hears your car pull up and jogs out to meet you, and all he gives you is a quick, “hey,” before dragging you inside.

there’s no one else home, so he motions for you to have a seat at the kitchen table and takes the one next to you.

“do what too?”

“what?”

“what you texted me.”

you look down, studying the seams of your sleeve and feeling your breathing go shallow.

“do what too?” he repeats.

and softly, you say, “want you.”

yūji stands, pulling you to your feet with him. “want me how?”

your eyes are wide and a little bit sad as you stare up at him. “i don’t know.”

then he cracks a tiny smile. “good,” he says, “i don’t either.

except he does.

he wants you every way, your presence, your time, your body, your fucking soul, all of it. but he doesn’t say that.

when you kiss him, he implodes, melts into your arms as if he’s trying to fuse your bodies together. but he says nothing of it.

the feeling of your wrist in his hand, the sound of your giddy giggles as he leads you to his bedroom—for now, that’s enough.

he takes it slow.

when he’s shut the door and ensured it’s locked, he turns to find you’ve already tossed your top on the floor.

a smile meets yours, gentle fingertips on your cheek, a soft whisper against your hair: “put it back on; i wanna do it myself.”

and you laugh and oblige, shivering at the now-familiar sensation of the warm metal bead on his tongue against your lip as his hand finds its way to your ass and squeezes gently.

“yūji,” you whisper.

“i like it when you say my name like that,” he murmurs into your shoulder, rubbing gently up and down your back underneath your shirt.

“hmm,” comes your contented response.

and then his fingers are rubbing gently against the hem of your shirt, easing it up to reveal your body inch by inch, and you shiver a little under his feather-light touch.

lifting your arms up, you allow him to slip your shirt back over your head, and then his hands are all over you again, squeezing your breasts through your bra and tracing lines up and down the center of your back. the little metal ball on his tongue presses against your lower lip. you tug at the hem of his hoodie, and he pulls it off.

the feeling of his skin on yours is nothing new now, and yet this time, there’s a certain nuance to it that he can’t place.

he wonders how you want him again; can’t stop wondering as you lead his hand down to the button on your jeans, laughing a little as he kneels at your feet to unzip them.

as he pulls them slowly down your legs he lines your thighs with little, butterfly-soft kisses, murmuring unintelligible praises.

when you’re left in only your bra and panties, he wraps his arms around your waist and falls backward onto the mattress, taking you down with him. you sit up a little, so that you’re straddling him, and he lets out a low sigh.

“you are fucking incredible,” he breathes as you suck gently at his neck, leaving light marks that will have faded by tomorrow.

your fingers trace the dips between his abs, tantalizingly, eventually making their way all the way down his stomach to the waistband of his sweats, and then a little further, palming his dick through them and feeling how fucking hard he is.

he groans a little, says, “please don’t tease me,” as you continue to do exactly that, but he doesn’t stop you.

when you shift a little so that you’re positioned right over him, soaking panties rubbing a tiny little wet spot into the tent of his erection, he sits up and gathers your body into his arms, lips and tongue moving against yours as one hand unclips your bra while the other settles itself on your hip, grinding you down against him. you press your thighs together at this feeling of pure need you’re experiencing and he pulls his mouth away and looks you in the eye.

“may i?” he whispers, and you smile and nod, laughing as he rolls you off of him to rid himself of the rest of his clothes and dig a condom out of his bedside table, which he hands to you.

you’re impatient as you tear it open but force yourself to roll it onto him slowly, studying his face as he revels in the feeling of your fingers grazing lightly against his dick.

once it’s on, he flips you over again, laughing, and exhales slowly as he slides your panties down your legs and tosses them somewhere on the floor to be found later. his fingertips ghost gently down the sides of your thighs as he bends down to lick a long stripe between your legs and across your clit.

“fuck,” you breathe as he groans softly against your skin, the vibrations sending an electrifying buzz up your spine.

he presses his tongue flat against you, metal bar circling your clit teasingly, and then he pulls away and groans, “sit on my face,” his words hurried and slurred with lust.

so you let him move to lie on his back and straddle his face, giggling as he wraps his hands around your thighs to pull you closer.

“aw, don’t be shy, i thought that’s the whole point of this,” he says.

and then his mouth is back on you again, tongue flicking slowly and carefully, taking in your every response, and soon he’s got you shaking on top of him, grasping at the headboard and his shoulders and tangling your fingers in his hair.

he keeps going after you’ve already finished, making you writhe and whimper, only letting go of you once he’s satisfied.

he pushes you backward so that you’re still sitting with your knees on either side of him and he sits up, leaning back against the headboard. his lips are on yours, then, and he’s pulling your hips to his, the head of his cock nudging ever-so-lightly against your entrance.

“quit teasing me,” you whine when he grips your waist, refusing to let you sit yourself on his dick.

“i’m not.”

“yes you are!”

“‘m not,” he mumbles, smiling, as he draws his lips down the curve of your left shoulder and back up again. “i’m savoring the moment.”

you huff. “you can savor it with your cock in me.” and yūji does his best not to show it, but the high he gets from those words alone, from knowing how desperate you are for him, even if it’s just for his body, sends him straight to heaven. because regardless of how much of him you want, it’s still only him that you want in this moment, and right now that’s enough.

you allow him to move at his own pace, his movements slow, languid as he holds you to his chest, one hand around your waist and the other reaching up to tangle his fingers in your hair. he lets himself say the things he wants now.

“kiss me?” he whispers, and you oblige happily. you taste like him, and he’s so content he could lose his mind.

instead he loses himself to you, shaky breaths between “god, you’re so good,” and “you have no idea… how long i’ve waited… for you to want me like this.” there’s a single thing he holds back from saying, but he still plans on saying it. he’s just saving it for the right moment.

you’re drunk off of him, your body shuddering against him with every touch of his skin to yours, not knowing what to say and yet feeling as if you know everything you’ve ever needed to. and you say it for him.

“i love you.”

the words are barely there, just a breath against his lips as you kiss him, and it’s too much for him. he finishes with something akin to a sob, taking your face into his hands. “i love you,” he responds. and then, “say it again? please?”

you close your eyes and smile, leaning into him and brushing your lips against his. “i love you, yūji.”

his hand’s on the back of your head, then, pushing you back to his mouth, wanting you closer, wanting more. and you want more, too, fingers tracing lines down his back and arms and stomach, sending waves of light through his skin. this is it, he thinks as you press your body tight against his, this is all there is.

you are everything to him.

— SOMETHING ABT U I CAN’T QUIT

in each other’s arms later that evening, you feel yūji’s chest move slowly up and down with each inhale and exhale, contented in sharing this silent moment with you, and then you know. you know how you want him. you open your mouth to speak, and he does at the exact same time. the two of you share a laugh, just like you always have.

“you first,” you say, propping yourself up on your elbow so that you can look at him properly.

he reaches up and rests a hand flat against your face and runs his thumb lightly over your bottom lip. “i am…” the words are slow and quiet and purposeful. “i am so in love with you.”

your smile widens against his hand. “i want you. everything… about you, with you. i want it all.”

and he mirrors your grin, just like he always has. “i’m yours to take.” his eyes flit down to your lips, his thumb still pressed against them, afraid to look you in the eye as he speaks his next words. his face flushes pink; it’s adorable. “say you’re mine, too?” it’s a request, a plea—not a command.

you reach up to your face and place your hand over his. “all yours,” you say. “don’t even have to ask.”

it’s silent for a bit again, and then he sits up, going a little more serious.

“what?”

“what happens if this doesn’t last?”

you sit up, too, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and gently pulling his head to rest against yours. “after all these years?”

“hmm.”

you think for a moment: after all these years. your whole lives, spent together, maybe not as lovers but always as two halves of a whole. it’s him you always gossip to first, whom you always went to after heartbreaks and fights with your parents. he’s the first one you told when you lost your virginity, crashed your car, got into one of your top universities. he’s held your hand through everything.

so finally you say, “i don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

he pulls away to look you in the eye. “why not?”

his nose brushes against yours as you lean your forehead against his and laugh a little. “are you dumb, yūji?”

“i don’t think so?” when you say nothing, just continuing to look at him with that shit-eating grin on your face, he goes, “am i missing something?”

you press your lips to his for a second and pull away, still smiling at him. “it’s us, yūji. always has been.”

231 notes · View notes

imaginationjunkie · 3 years

Text

Dancing with our hands tied

Jason Todd x Reader

It’s kinda soft

Thought of these songs while writing, so give them a listen while reading!

Note: Jason’s 25 and the reader is 21

I was always a fan of the over the top charity galas Bruce Wayne threw. The elitists in their flashy riches, extravagant decorations and endless varieties of food, and a certain Wayne brother in a suit. It was all very amusing to witness.

I felt like a princess walking down the stairs with Tim every time, who refused to ever get an actual date. So I’d been stuck being his unofficial date for the 5 years that I’d known him. Not that I minded much; he was my best friend after all.

I chose a simple flowy dress tonight, blood red in color, silky like water. The subtle eyes that followed me through the evening didn’t go unnoticed.

But my eyes followed just one sight. A sight that erupted the unwanted greenness of jealousy as I sulked in a corner, celebrating turning 21 recently with a champagne flute in hand.

I felt him before I saw him. Warmth soothed my skin at his presence, despite the fact that I was unfairly mad at him. It wasn’t like he was my boyfriend.

Easier to say than do, and thus all the salt in the world seemed to be in my tone as I spoke first.

“Where’s your date?”

Jason Todd’s eyes might’ve been cool blue, but the feel of them didn’t match the description. The side of my head felt like it would burst into golden flames under the intensity of his stare.

But they were the good kind of flames, the best kind of flames. It was almost miraculous, the way I managed to keep my calm.

“She bailed, something about her sick grandma,” was his soft response.

“Hmm.”

“What’s with the tone?” He leaned closer, hot breath teasing my cheek. Jason had gotten awfully bold since the first time we met, when he couldn’t even look into my eyes straight.

“Is it jealousy I sense?”

I tried to be subtle about my sharp inhale. Judging by the stutter of his lips as he suppressed a smirk, I failed.

But why hide anymore? I was never one to hold back anyway. “Yes, it is.”

It was my turn to take his breath away. I turned my head, challenging him with my stare. But I was too tangled in his game to play in charge. He had me, and he knew it. Right?

A smile filled with swirls of mischief and satisfaction designed his lips. Yes, he definitely knew it.

It caught me off guard, the unfiltered beauty of it. Of him. Watching Jason Todd smile, really smile, was not for the weak hearted.

“Then I think you’ll be happy to know that she wasn’t a date. Just a friend.”

Eyes the color of a swirling blue sea, a face handsome enough to cause heartache. Why’d it take me so long to realize that I could never resist him? Not even in a million years. Not even if Ryan Gosling came offering himself to me.

A little too far?

Maybe, but it’s true. What to do?

I was just about to walk away from him, refill the empty flute of champagne to bring back sparkle to my uneventful evening. A large hand wrapping around my wrist stopped me.

“Let’s dance,” he said with the softness of tulle, pulling my frame closer to his larger one. Close enough to smell his cologne. Like a creep in the street, I subtly took a slow sniff of it.

It’d never stop amusing me, how a man who seemed as rough and rugged around the edges as he did had so much softness in him.

And smelled so. damn. good.

“M’kay,” I agreed, following as he led the way to the ballroom. Or so I thought.

“I thought you wanted to dance?” I inquired, looking back at the flashing dance floor full of people we left behind.

“I do.” His eyes twinkled as he looked back at me, still walking to God knows where with my hand in his.

“We literally just crossed the dance floor, where else on earth do you plan on taking me dancing?”

“Who said anything about a dance floor?” Jason smirked, coming to a stop in the garden behind the manor.

Even though it was off limits to Bruce’s guests tonight, the garden looked particularly beautiful. Strings of fairy lights decorated the flawlessly kept greens and flowers, courtesy of Alfred. The pool lights were on, and a surreal soft blue glow lit up the water.

It matched Jason’s eyes.

But that wasn’t all. Long fingers tilted my chin up, and a gasp reverberated the air as my eyes met the mystical view. Stars glittered the midnight canvas endlessly, and in the center of it all sat the full moon like a queen.

She was regal tonight.

My mouth was slightly open in awe, and Jason’s fingers on my chin softly closed it as he chuckled.

“I’m guessing you like the view?”

“Like it? I might as well marry it!” I exclaimed, eyes wide with glee as I gripped his shoulders.

“Dick used to bring his, ahem, lady companions to charm them back when I was Robin. I’d always barge in and interrupt to interrogate about the last woman I saw with him,” he laughed while recalling the memory.

“Did it work?” I smiled back and stood closer to him, the fronts of our bodies slightly touching. My hands had come down to rest on his chest now, and while my eyes were up roaming the sky, my soul’s attention was solely on him.

He shuffled with something in his suit pocket. “Did what work?”

“Dick’s method of charming the ladies?”

“Judging by the walks of shame Alfred and I had to witness every morning after each Wayne gala, yes. It very much did.”

I felt Jason put something in my ear, and finally looked down from the stars to his eyes in confusion. It was an airpod, and I watched silently as he put the other one in his ear.

“I promise I’m not a creep or anything, but I stalked your Spotify playlists and found one titled ‘dancing under the stars’.” He confessed. In a very un-Jason like manner, he looked almost sheepish.

He didn’t look at me as he pressed play and pocketed his phone. Almost immediately ‘Dancing with our hands tied’ by Taylor Swift came on, and he took my hand in his.

Tingles shot up the pit of my stomach as his free arm wrapped around my waist, fingers resting on my hip. We swayed in beat to the music in our ears, eyes on eyes.

I, I loved you in secret First sight, yeah, we love without reason Oh, twenty-five years old Oh, how were you to know,

The lords, and anyone who knew me actually, knew how big of a swiftie I was. The fact that he had put in the effort to pick the absolute perfect song to dance to had to be the most romantic thing that ever happened to me.

I was completely mesmerized. Guys like this only existed in the encasement of my stash of romance novels; but time and time Jason Todd had proved that idea wrong. Every one of his gestures, one after the other, seemed to catch me off guard more than the previous one.

“Wanted to do this since I was 17,” I breathed the fresh air in, craning my neck to rest my chin on his shoulder. This right here was all I needed to relax. This was my very own customized form of peace.

“Yeah, Tim let it slip when he got drunk on your birthday and started blabbing about how you’re growing up in front of his eyes,” he laughed and pulled back to twirl me.

I crashed back into his chest softly, grinning at his revelation.

“It’s so hard to believe you guys are best friends, that Timmy’s actually capable of having normal human conversations other than his usual nerdy blabber,” Jason continued, pulling me even closer to him while dancing.

No objections were made from my side as I obliged (obviously), staring up at his eyes.

They were like an oceanic maze, too easy to get lost in. Too dangerous to get lost in.

“He’s a good friend. Awfully robot-like at times though, and he always smells of coffee.” I breathed with a chuckle as the air around us got intense.

The gold of the fairy lights hit his eyes, making them shine brighter than the stars above I let my hands grip the hairs on his neck, watching carefully as he took a sharp breath in response.

If there was something Jason and my relationship, whatever that it was, didn’t lack, it was moments like these. Moments where we had a conversation with our eyes, expressing how much we wanted to kiss each other, how much we wanted to stay frozen in the present and relish in the feel of our undeniable chemistry.

It had been going on for way too long, and even Tim was getting tired of us not taking the leap of faith.

Initially he was pretty against it, but when he saw exactly how much I felt for his brother, his blessings for us suddenly started pouring in.

“Uhuh,” Jason hummed. An electric sensation buzzed the air around us as the chorus hit, and all the space between our bodies vanished. Butterflies went haywire in the places of my body he touched. He was everywhere.

But we were dancing Dancing with our hands tied, hands tied Yeah, we were dancing Like it was the first time, first time

“Stop me if you don’t want it,” he harshly whispered, brows furrowed and eyes clouded with desire as he tucked a few loose strands of my hair behind my ear.

“I do,” I whispered in response, knowing exactly what he meant.

His breath hit my lips, forehead fell against mine in a moment of desire and the next thing I knew, he was kissing me.

It was needy and rushed and a thousand other adjectives, but it was my most perfect kiss. It would always be my most perfect kiss.

Jason’s muscular arms encircled my waist as he pressed me up against him, gripping my sides and lifting me to stand on his feet. My own arms wrapped around his neck, and a sneaky stutter of a moan escaped my lips, earning me a groan from him.

Passion burned us under the cool night air as we kissed and kissed and kissed, all thoughts of oxygen forgotten in our haze of need.

But even our passion couldn’t defy nature. We pulled back to breathe in as much air as we could, but instead of diving back in towards each other’s lips like I expected us to, Jason simply stared at me with eyes that now looked navy from being hooded.

It was a stare of a few seconds that seemed like hours as his thumbs brushed the side of my face. The fire of need from a while back was gone, but the desire wasn’t.

We both tried to calm ourselves, but an unstoppable part of me leaned up to press a kiss on his cheek. He blushed.

“Wanted to do that since you were 17,” he said cheekily, hands tracing my back as we now let ‘Wonderland’ by Taylor amuse our ears.

“Liar,” I grinned. “You couldn’t even look at me back then.”

“Yeah, because I’d do this if I looked at you for more than 5 seconds. I had no plans of going to jail for getting handsy with a minor,” he replied, leading us to the wooden benches Bruce had installed in the garden a few weeks earlier.

I lifted a teasing brow, masking my shock at the fact that he wanted to kiss me even back then.

“And how’re you so sure I would’ve let you get handsy with me? For all you know I could have kicked you in the balls myself.”

“Don’t act coy, you could never stop staring at me when you were over,” he smirked, sitting down on the bench and pulling me to his lap.

I hesitated for a second, my brain getting lost in the fact that after months of banters and unbelievable tension, interruptions and two sided pining, I was finally in this position. Where we were able to be open about our want for each other.

Sensing my hesitation, his smirk dropped. “This is okay right?”

I snapped back to reality, taking his nervous expression in. Yes, this was real. And I wouldn’t waste a second of the time God gave me with Jason. I smirked and ran my fingers through his dark locks, making him close his eyes.

“Of course it is, just thinking about how long it took for you to man up and kiss me,”

“Excuse me, you could’ve-”

I cut him off by pressing my lips to his. He responded almost immediately, putting his hand on my hip as I sat sideways on his lap. Unlike the first one, this kiss was sweet and slow. We were cherishing the night with it.

“About damn time, I thought all my teeth were gonna fall out due to old age before Todd here grew some balls,” the sudden voice of a certain sass filled Wayne interrupted us.

My magical night with Jason ended with him running after his kid brother Damian, teasing him about kicking his ass.

But that was okay, because I was happy. Jason was happy. The long wait for him, for us, was worth it.

Even though he gave off the impression that he couldn’t care less, I knew that the reason he hadn’t made a move was because he wanted Tim to be completely fine with us being a thing.

Alongside being friends with Tim, I became friends with his brothers and Alfred over the years. I knew of their nightlife, and everything that went on behind the polished doors of the Wayne Manor. I knew Jason well enough to know that his tough posterior and damn care attitude was just a facade.

Being with Jason wouldn’t be a walk in the park, and I knew that too. He was reckless and intense, impulsive and careless.

But he was also sweet and passionate, and his love would brand you like a tattoo with it’s depth. I was willing to give my 110% to make it work with him.

Because even fairy tales take sacrifice and effort to get a happy ending. And I’d do about anything to make sure I earned mine.

209 notes · View notes

redhoodieone · 4 years

Text

Wrong Number Part 2

A/N: Here’s Part 2! Uh…I don’t really know what to say other than…enjoy it! Hopefully, I can post Part 3 sometime next week.

Warnings: Language, Sexual Content, Text Message Nudes, and Mutual Masturbation.

I’m in complete shock. I know I’m frozen because I can’t literally take my eyes off the text message Jason sent to me. It’s clear; it’s in black and white, staring right at me.

Do you ever think we’ll meet each other?

He wants to meet me. Jason wants to meet me in person!

I want to text him back, but my mind is full of many ridiculous questions and the fears of Jason being a serial killer, or rapist, or just an insane Arkham escapee blows up in my head.

Before I knew it, I see the three bubbles on my screen.

I’m sorry. That was selfish of me to ask you that even though we’re still practically strangers to each other. Forget I asked, please?

My heart suddenly hurts like fuck. The pain I’m instantly feeling is very familiar. A broken heart?

It’s pure agony when I notice Jason texting me again.

I’m not going to be able to text tonight, sweetheart. I’m working late with my brothers. I’ll text you tomorrow. Have a good night. Sweet dreams.

I can’t believe I did this. How could I do this to a guy who’s been so funny, so sweet, and such a good friend in only just four days through text messages?

I seriously fucked up. And now I have no one to talk to until I fall asleep.

And as strange as it is, I only sleep well after I talk to him.

————————————————————————------------------------------

And true to his word, Jason texts me at five in the morning, only to let me know he made it home safe after working with his brothers.

We only spoke about our jobs once. He told me he works alongside police officers and tracks down criminals and helps brings justice to the city. He seemed almost hesitant to tell me and turned the conversation to me as if he doesn’t like talking about work. He made it clear that he would rather keep his work private, and I didn’t push him to tell me more. I didn’t want to ask a lot of questions, even if I’m sometimes curious about it, because I wouldn’t want to make him uncomfortable about it.

I had told him I’m a waitress at the local diner just a block away from GCPD, and how I’m a late-night writer who dreams of publishing my novel on love and loss. And after I confessed about the book I wrote to Jason, I noticed he was very enthusiastic about that and even told me he wants to read it.

And as the shy and insecure person that I am, I became embarrassed and said no.

That only fueled the fire between us. Jason went on to explain he loves to read. His favorite literature consists of Shakespeare (particularly Hamlet), George Orwell’s 1984 and Animal Farm, and even poetry from Edgar Allen Poe.

He even went into depth of how The Tell-Tale Heart mirrors his own reflection of life and stuck with him during a depressing time in his life.

It wasn’t until after we shared our love for literature that I found myself falling for Jason. As ridiculous and insane as that sounds, I couldn’t help but feel as if he’s the missing piece in my life.

It’s as if he’s the words to my story.

Important, but very valuable to a writer.

I was basically on a high that had me grinning like an idiot, giggling like a moron, and jumping in my seat as my stomach twists and turns like a roller coaster, when Jason refused to take no for an answer after I said he couldn’t read my novel. He even said his dad has connections to businesses in Gotham and could even help me get it published.

As much as I would want that, I couldn’t help but feel that it seems too good to be true. What if his dad took my novel and publish it as his own? What if I get cheated out of a contract and didn’t get paid fairly like I should? What if it’s basically a soul-sucking scam to just fuck my entire life up?

Jason must have sensed my hesitation after that, because he then began to tell me about his brothers.

How his older brother Dick still treats him like a kid, even though Jason is taller and stronger than him.

How his younger brother Tim is a computer nerd and often geeks out over the oddest things.

And how his youngest brother Damian is really a demon spawn, who tries to be tough shit, but is really a soft teddy bear.

He even has a sassy but wise butler, Alfred, who frightens him and sometimes reminds him of Vito Corleone from The Godfather. But the older man loves Jason as much as his dad, Bruce.

The stories about Jason’s family are the best. I always find myself excited to see what he texts me about his family.

How he and his brothers fight over their dad’s car, how they wrestle and spar to see who’s the strongest one, and how whenever one’s in trouble, the other three are already finding ways to save or bail the troubled one out.

It all makes me feel good to know they’re a close family. Especially when my cold, harsh reality reminds me I don’t have a family.

My parents died when I was just fifteen years old. I was in the school library alone during afterhours; reading on a beanbag chair because I didn’t want to go home. At that particular time, my parents were hanging around a different crowd. A crowd that was into drugs and gambling, and possibly other illegal activities I don’t even know about.

So, I chose to stay in the school library that night, sitting in my favorite beanbag chair the librarian allows me to use, reading a favorite horror book, munching away on a hot pocket (a snack also from the librarian), and just enjoy the silence but comfortable environment I would call home.

Then I was told they died in a car accident, but after eavesdropping on Commissioner Gordon and the other cops, I heard there could have been a hit on them.

The car accident happened only a block away from our apartment.

The brakes were cut.

The car was burning too much oil.

The airbags were taken out.

Many noticeable factors couldn’t pinpoint the real crime. Eventually, they just called it a “car accident”, and everything fishy about the case was ignored and never brought up again.

I suffered and struggled a lot in foster homes until I turned 18. I didn’t have any other family members to get into contact with, so I had to make do with the foster care system. After being shipped to three unstable and cruel homes, the last family only dealt with me until I turned 18 and I was soon kicked out. I did get lucky enough to get a job at the diner I’m working at since the new manager needed a pretty young girl to serve the customers.

I even went to Gotham Community College for a year but dropped out when I couldn’t pass any math and science classes.

It was fucking hard.

Science was confusing as hell.

Math was just evil and useless.

I hated those classes so much.

I only passed my English classes because reading and writing only made sense to me.

I even took a creative writing class and poetry class only to discover I want to write.

I want to be a writer.

So, I dropped out of college and decided to work full time at the diner as a waitress. Since no one wants to live and work in Gotham, I’m lucky enough to work morning and night without any issues. As dangerous and scary Gotham can be, I have nowhere else to go, so that’s why I stay here.

Maybe that’s why I’m eager to meet Jason. After everything I’ve been through, maybe I do need a little unpredictability.

Chances.

Risks.

The more I consider meeting Jason, the more I can imagine him being my family.

Or being a part of his.

Maybe.

————————————————————————--------------------------------

“You’re not going to meet him, right???” Stacey raises her voice at me in sheer annoyance and panic. She crosses her arms and glares at me to answer her. “Right, Y/N???”

I sigh as softly as I can while wiping down the booths and tables for the night. In the midst of a battle, I find myself growling with irritation when I can’t wipe away the sticky maple syrup spills on the hard surface.

“He could be a fat, old man who picks up on teenage girls! He’s probably some 40-year-old loser who still lives on his mom’s basement playing Street Fighter with kids! What if he tricks you into meeting up in a hotel room and has his way with you? Then what, Y/N?! Does that sound like a good idea to you?!” Stacey snaps.

I exhale deeply and stand up straight; after leaning over the table to reach the opposite side for some time. Turning around, I face Stacey Patterson, a tall, petite, pretty blonde, fresh face girl straight out of high school. She’s a waitress like me, and after only working here for a year, we’ve become close friends; always looking after each other in dangerous Gotham City.

“I didn’t say I was going to meet him, Stacey. We’re just talking about it,” I answer timidly.

Despite being five years older than Stacey, she still intimidates the hell out of me. Whether it’s her 5’11 height, loud voice, or natural evil glare, I can never speak up or defend myself. No matter how hard I try, I just can’t take a stand.

Because what if I actually piss her off? What if she stops being my friend?

Because I don’t think I could live in Gotham and not have any friends and not know anyone.

Stacey is like my best friend, and her friends Amber and Holly hang out in our group. Stacey even says they’re my friends, too, even though I clearly know they only put up with me because of her.

And if Amber and Holly aren’t my friends, then I’ll just have Stacey. And if I don’t have Stacey, I’ll only have Jason.

And who knows if Jason is who he says he is, and if he’s even real.

“Don’t give me that bullshit, Y/N! You’re totally thinking about Jason! You’re thinking about meeting up with him because I could see it in your eyes!” Stacey declares. She waves her arms around to emphasize her point. “You like this guy! You have feelings for a guy you’ve never even met!”

“That is not true,” I argue weakly.

“Yes, it is! And we don’t even know if it’s a guy!”

“Jason is a guy, and I can tell!”

“Oh, really? How? Do tell.”

I stare at Stacey with a serious expression, except my cheeks are burning with embarrassment as usual. “He...comes off like a guy. I know he is. I can tell through his text messages,” I say.

“Anybody can sound like anyone through text messages. That’s how people catfish victims online!” Stacey argues.

“I’m a writer, Stacey. I just...have a feeling, okay? I know Jason says who he is, and I believe him,” I say strongly, as I push a lose strand of my hair behind my ear. “I’m doing this the smart way, too. When he and I decide when we should meet up, I’ll let you know. Maybe we can make it a group thing. I bring a friend. He brings a friend.”

Stacey sighs in defeat when she realizes I’m not backing down. She glances up at me with a stern face. “Fine. When you two decide when you’re both going to meet up, I’ll be there. I’ll be there to make sure he’s not on America’s Most Wanted, and to make sure he doesn’t try to lure you to his mom’s basement. BUT...you have to go on a date. A REAL date with a guy we both know, AND who could be good for you,” she states loudly and clearly.

“But Stacey-”

“Hey! Only until this Jason guy comes to Gotham and we meet him! Until then, I want you to give this guy a chance. A fair chance! For me...please???” Stacey pleads. She pouts and gives me her puppy dog eyes, which she knows I always give in to.

I’m too nice. Mom always said I was too nice, and that one day it’ll get me in trouble.

I’m still wondering when that’ll happen.

“Okay, I’ll give this guy a chance. I swear I will,” I promise and salute her. “But who’s the guy?”

Stacey grins in success and hugs me tightly. “Good! Because you’re like my sister, Y/N, and I just want to see you happy. You deserve it,” she says softly. “And it’s Chace. Remember him? He’s the drummer from, WakeHell. He moved in right next door to me, and I know you two will hit it off right!”

Chace????

Oh yeah. I know him.

He’s a total bad boy. A bad boy I don’t even think I could deal with.

I force a smile but then frown, because the only guy in my life who makes me happy is Jason.

Who I only text.

Who I haven’t even met.

————————————————————————---------------------------------

The next day is a lazy day since it’s my day off. I spent the majority of it sleeping, doing laundry, and just doing minor cleaning around my apartment until it’s 9:00 P.M.

And Cruel Intentions is on TV.

Lying on the couch with my second glass of Vodka Cranberry, I find myself really buzzed and horny. Ryan Phillippe back then was hot, and him making out with Reese Witherspoon is doing things to me.

My phone bings. It’s Jason.

What are you up to tonight, sweetheart?

Just a night in, a cup of glasses of vodka and cranberry, and Cruel Intentions is on TV.

I barely realize I’m buzzed and texting Jason. But my horny side doesn’t care.

I sorry I’m buzzed right now lol.

LOL no worries. I just came back from the bar with my brothers. We had a successful night and decided to get some drinks. We even had Tim and Damian use fake I.D’s.

I laugh and snort. Thank God no one heard me do that.

That’s good...we wouldn’t want Tim and Damian to be left out. They’re your baby brothers, Jay.

Jay? I really like it when you call me that. And I especially like you buzzed. LOL.

I like me buzzed too! I think I’m way more fun and free!

LOL!!! Exactly, princess!

I smile down at my phone. I love it when he calls me princess.

You said you’re watching Cruel Intentions? I just found it on TV. Wow...this movie’s old LOL.

Shut up!!! I find young Ryan Phillppe sexy in this movie!

You seriously find him sexy??? The guy’s a whiny brat! A pussy! Fuck, this movie woulda been sexier if we actually saw the douchebag eat out Cecile and saw him fuck Annette AND Kathryn!

I gasp out loud and giggle.

Then it would have been a porno! Not a movie! Hahaha!!!!

That’s fine with me, princess!

I softly whimper at just the thought of Jason watching porn. Closing my eyes, I imagine how he would sound, touch himself, and look when he’s pleasuring himself.

My eyes shoot open when I hear Sebastian telling Cecile he wants to kiss her…down there. I quickly turn my attention to the TV and watch the movie. Even though he takes advantage of a clueless, drunk girl in the movie, just the thought of him eating her out makes me clench my thighs.

It’s been too long. WAY TOO LONG!

The last guy I was seeing didn’t like to eat me out; claimed it was disgusting and unnecessary to do before sex.

As if sucking his dick was glamorous AND fun!

My thoughts are interrupted when Jason texts me.

You’re quiet tonight…does this scene turn you on???

The laughing emojis he texts me should hurt my feelings since I can easily be embarrassed over sexual things but…he’s right.

I’m turned on with just the thought of getting eaten out.

I boldly text Jack back. Unashamed and VERY buzzed.

You have no idea. Just imagining him eating me out, writing the alphabet with his tongue, and making me have an explosion is making me wet my panties right now.

I laugh to myself just seeing that Jason read my text message and is responding fast. The texting bubbles have never looked so good.

You’re…you’re wet right now????

Yes. Soooo fucking wet.

A surge of drunken confidence hits me, and I quickly shove off my pajama shorts until they’re on the floor. In just my white tank top and pink panties, I bravely slip my fingers into my damp panties and rub the wetness against my sensitive clit.

And with my other hand, I raise my cell phone and snap a picture of fingers in my wet panties.

And I send the picture to Jason.

I bite my lip in anticipation when I see he read my text message and saw my picture. The texting bubbles do not appear on the screen. He’s not texting me back.

Frowning, I wonder if I freaked Jason out. Maybe I crossed the line. Maybe I made him uncomfortable. Maybe I’m just not sexy.

Suddenly, my phone beeps. Unlocking my cell phone screen, I see two text messages AND a picture.

Oh, fuck sweetheart…that’s fucking sexy. You’re fucking sexy…

Jason sends me a picture of him wearing his boxer briefs, and his hand holding his hard, thick cock, showing me the outline and shape of his boner.

Delicious. I can feel my pussy clench just from imagining Jason fucking me with his cock.

Fuck doll...you’re doing this to me.

I whimper pathetically and can’t help but continue to rub my clit and respond back. I can see my juices staining my panties.

Are you touching yourself too?

Fuck yeah. Just seeing your fingers playing with your wet, pretty pussy got me hard. I’m jacking off to your picture.

Would you want me like I want you?

Fuck yes, sweetheart. I probably want you more than you want me.

I slip a finger inside my pussy and moan. My thumb runs fast hard circles on my clit, and I’m soon pushing in two fingers. I’m fucking myself crazy, but I imagine Jason is finger fucking me because my fingers wouldn’t get me off so fast.

And his fingers are thick. His hands are fucking huge!

I bite my bottom lip. “Fuck...I can’t believe I’m going to do this,” I whisper to myself. I snap another picture of my fingers shoved in my pussy, and how I’ve gotten wetter. I send him the picture with the truth.

I need to cum so bad. I wish it was you touching me.

Yeah? What would you want me to do to you, doll?

Fuck that picture’s so hot.

I’d want you to finger me. Eat me out. Fuck me hard.

Jason sends me another picture of him stroking his cock but with his hand in his underwear. I can see a wet spot where his tip is; stained with his precum. I want a taste of it so badly.

Fuck I would baby. Your pussy looks so good enough to eat. I’d fucking eat you out until you can’t cum anymore. I bet you taste delicious.

Oh fuck…I’m so close. I want your cock so bad, Jay. You’re gonna make me cum…

Rub your clit harder baby. Fuck your pussy fast and hard with your fingers. Imagine they’re my fingers, baby. I’d fuck you so hard and deep.

I want to see your cum, okay? Take a picture of that pretty pussy and show me what I did to you.

I do what Jason says. Behind his words, I can feel his authority. Even though I can’t hear Jason’s voice, just reading his words makes me burst like fireworks. My thumb rubs my clit harder, and I crook my fingers just right until I push against my g-spot until I cum. My orgasm is intense, and I force myself to snap a picture of my soaked underwear and fingers. I sent it to him with a lazy smile.

My phone beeps. Jason sent me a picture of his thick, juicy, cum covering his abdominal muscles. I smile a little with pride.

Fuck that was hot, sweetheart. I needed that.

Me too. Now, I’m sleepy.

LOL, I’m tired too. Get some sleep, okay? We’ll talk in the morning.

Okay…goodnight Jay.

I roll over onto my side and shut off the TV. Pulling my UGG throw blanket over my body, I snuggle up to fall asleep. My phone beeps again. Opening one eye, I reach over to read the text message.

Goodnight doll. Sweet dreams.

#dc comics #batman #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x reader smut #jason todd x y/n smut #jason todd smut

185 notes · View notes

egcdeath · 3 years

Text

a date with destiny

pairing: ransom drysdale x reader

word count: 1.9k

summary: fate brings you to a... questionable man more than a few times.

warnings: lots of fluff, enemies/strangers to lovers, kind of cringe

a/n: i swear my new thing is poorly writing every played out fanfic trope on the planet, i'm so sorry guys. maybe hallmark can hire me to write a few movies for them

You definitely could’ve avoided this situation if you didn’t wait for the weekend before Christmas to go shopping for your family’s presents.

You had no idea why your time management had to be so bad, but in the midst of working way too many hours in an effort to get promoted, you had completely forgotten about the fact that Christmas was literally right around the corner. And to make it worse, you had a flight tomorrow that you’d also forgotten about.

You sulked to yourself while walking around Nordstrom, waiting for inspiration to strike you for a semi-decent gift for your mother. The whole world seemed to be out that day, and you watched a plethora of shoppers pass you by, with their sour faces and unruly children. After eventually deciding on a black winter sweater for your mom, you went on your way to the candle section, knowing exactly the brand and scent that your sister would love.

This candle was the definition of a non-negotiable for you, and had been the reason you came to a Nordstrom in the first place, and when you found it sitting on a shelf by itself in all of its glory, you had simply become transfixed.

As you walked toward the candle, you didn’t notice that another customer was going for it as well, leading both of your hands to land on the candle, the absurdity of the situation making you blush. This was just your luck.

“Oh, this is awkward,” you played off the encounter, then attempted to subtly pull the candle your way, and away from the man.

“Yeah, it kinda is.” The man whose hand was also placed on the candle said shortly, before attempting to pull the candle his way.

“Hey man, I’m kinda on a tight schedule, and I really need to get this like… right now. I have a flight in like.. An hour,” you exaggerated.

“That’s too bad, ‘cause I really need this candle too.”

You took a deep breath, only you would find yourself in this kind of situation. “To be fair, I definitely saw this candle first. I’m its rightful buyer,” You attempted.

“Mmm, I definitely had my eyes on it first, so with your logic, I deserve this candle.” The man narrowed his baby blue eyes, and put a hand on his hip.

“Oh my god,” you groaned, hoping that maybe if you acted dramatic enough, he’d leave you and your candle alone.

“Sweetheart, can you even afford this kind of thing? I’m sure your friends or family, or whoever the fuck you’re getting this for, would rather you not go into debt over a candle. Just let me have it,” he responded cooly, as if he hadn’t just called you poor to your face.

You looked at him with an open-mouthed expression, completely shocked at the nerve this man had. “Fuck you, you asshole!” You attempted to yank the candle out from his grip, and you could begin to tell that the man’s resolve was beginning to fall.

“Fine. Take the damn candle. But maybe you could give me a little gift in exchange, and go out with me sometime,” he offered, slipping his now free hand into the pocket of his tan peacoat.

You were honestly shocked by this whole exchange. How did he go from insulting you and calling you poor, to asking you on a date? Men are so weird, you thought to yourself. He really isn’t that bad looking, you also considered. “Eat shit, guy,” you told him before flipping him off, and walking away.

-----

Imagine your surprise when you saw the same man from the store sitting in a local Massachusetts restaurant, with whom you assumed were his family. With your sister sitting across from you, you couldn’t help but be gossipy and point him out.

You scoffed and leaned over to your sister once you saw him, “See that guy over there?” You whispered to her, gesturing your head in his general direction.

“Which one?” she asked. “There are like five guys. Are you talking about the dude with the goatee? That old dude with the grey hair? Y/N! I didn’t know you were a grave robber!” she giggled and poked your side while you rolled your eyes, “Or, are you talking about that sexy beast in the white sweater?”

“The se- the dude in the sweater-”

“Oh yeah, he’s pretty hot. You should go talk to him,” she began to scoot out of her seat.

“No, you idiot!” You whisper shouted to her. “That guy basically attacked me in the store the other day. And then, he had the nerve to ask me out on a date!”

He must’ve felt the two of you’s stare, as he turned around and gave you a brief surprised look, then a twisted smirk.

“Oh my god, Bea, act natural,” You whispered before turning your head so fast that you nearly gave yourself whiplash.

You brought a hand up to your face and rubbed your browline in a fit of embarrassment. You looked down, then began to shovel pasta into your mouth at an ungodly fast rate.

“Oh come on, Y/N, he’s cute. What did he say to you that was so bad that you turned down his hot ass?” She asked, glancing back over at the man who was still occasionally looking over at your table.

“It’s kinda a long story. I’ll tell you later,” you mumbled, trying to ignore the heat steadily growing on your cheeks.

Beatrice shrugged, and a waiter approached your table.

“Ma’am, the man over there wanted me to give this to you,” he said before awkwardly placing a glass of white wine in front of you, along with a ripped napkin with a note and number.

We started off on the wrong foot, give me a call sometime?

Ransom

XXX-XXX-XXXX

-----

You looked at the note for so long, that it would’ve been better off being tattooed on the back of your eyelids.

“Just text him, Y/N,” your sister told you, her sentence a bit muffled by the toothbrush dangling from her mouth.

“He really seems like a dick,” you groaned, before rolling onto your back and throwing an arm over your eyes. Your sister rinsed out her mouth in the ensuite before returning with some advice.

“Well, he’s hot. Maybe you can bring him as a date to the Holiday party or something,” she stated before sitting down on the foot of your bed. “What’s the worst that could happen, Y/N? If he hurts your feelings, you can throw a hot drink at him and walk away. At best, you get a hot piece of ass to be your boyfriend.” she squeezed your calf reassuringly.

“Ugh, fine,” you huffed. “I’ll text him tomorrow.”

“That’s my girl!” Beatrice cheered, then placed a kiss on your forehead. “‘Night, Y/N,”

“Goodnight,” you mumbled before attempting to fall asleep.

-----

The funny thing about you, is that you were a master procrastinator. So after a day and a half, you’d put Ransom’s number into your phone, but had contemplated so many different opening texts, that you’d just completely given up. Besides, you had your parents’ holiday party to be attending and to be caring about.

You did some final touch ups of your makeup, before heading downstairs, and watching guests arrive from a safe spot in the kitchen.

Sometime after talking to about seven of your childhood friends, you felt a large hand press against the satin material of your short, red, tie-waisted dress.

“No way, girl I see everywhere?” The man who you know knew was Ransom, asked.

“It’s Y/N. Hi, Ransom,” you bit the inside of your cheek to hold back your laugh at the absurdity of it all, the fact that he was standing in your parents’ home, the fact that he was literally everywhere you went, and because you’d never in your life been called ‘The girl I see everywhere.’

“Why didn’t you ever call me? I mean, not even a text? Also, why are you following me everywhere?” He inquired, moving to stand in front of you.

“Well, I uh.. I forgot. Sorry, I’m a super busy woman. And I also live here... sometimes.. so if anyone is following anyone else, it’s you following me,” you tried to say this confidently, but something about Ransom really threw you off your game.

“You live here? No way. Is this like your family home?” He asked, and you nodded. “So our parents have been friends this whole time, and we had no idea.” He gestured to a doorway, where your mother and his were talking with flutes of champagne in hand.

“This just keeps getting weirder and weirder,” you said quietly, mostly to yourself.

“Maybe, this is just fate. We’re meant to be together, and that’s why we keep seeing each other everywhere,” you raised an eyebrow and tilted your head when he said that to you, genuinely confused at why those words would come out of his mouth. “Oh, lighten up. I’m just kidding,” he said with a bemused smile.

“You have a weird sense of humor, Ransom.” You told him plainly, trying to act disinterested, though you were rather endeared. He definitely saw right through you, as he gave you a little grin before he began to speak again.

“So tell me about yourself.”

-----

After a few too many drinks, you were walking down the sidewalk, hand and hand with Ransom as you searched for any sort of restaurant that could be open at that hour.

Finally, you found a quaint and rather empty 24-hour diner with its lights on. The two of you sat down in a booth, and struggled to contain giggles as you sipped from mugs of stale, lukewarm coffee. Why you were giggling, you weren’t completely sure.

“You know what, Ransom, once you get over the asshole-ness, you’re not that bad,” you reached out a hand, and set it on top of Ransom’s, that was idly sitting on the table.

“Wow, thanks,” he chuckled, a dark pink dusting his cheeks.

“Why did we even come here?” You groaned, “No offense, but this coffee tastes like ass,” you whined,

“And how do you know what ass tastes like?” Ransom burst out giggling at this.

“Shut up. Are you twelve?” You pretended to be annoyed with him, before giving in and laughing along with him. “Can you take me home?” You asked with puppy dog eyes.

Apparently, one for the dramatics, Ransom tossed a $50 bill onto the table, then stood up from his seat at the booth to swoop you up in a bridal style.

“Ohhh my god,” you slurred as he carried you out the door, then eventually set you back down on the pavement once he became tired.

-----

While you walked up to your doorstep, Ransom stood on the sidewalk, watching you contentedly. As you got to your door and turned around, he gave you a big, goofy smile and a wave.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Come in with me,” you invited. It was safe to say, Ransom happily obliged.

#ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom thrombey x you #ransom thrombey x reader #chris evans x reader #chris evans fic #knives out fanfic #fluff #hey i wrote that lol

116 notes · View notes

thebonerpit · 3 years

Text

plug me in and flip some switches [fic]

plug me in and flip some switches

Starker, 4687 words, [E], Android AU, read on Ao3 here!

A Starker Android AU/kinda-sorta Detroit: Become Human AU. Stark Industries is making androids, but somehow CyberLife has cornered the market on sex-bots. Tony decides to do some hands-on research and meets Peter, an android who is experiencing some very troubling malfunctions.

This is VERY loosely based on the D:BH world but it's mostly just a regular android AU and can be read as such. The only thing you need to know is androids have circular LEDs on their temples but otherwise look completely human.

It’s research. Pure and simple. Nothing else.

Tony repeats it like a mantra in his head as he steps through the front door of the club.

For years now he’s been competing with Kamski over at CyberLife, producing better and better android models and other technological marvels. CyberLife and Stark Industries models are commonplace now around the city, life-like bots that can do anything from mow your lawn to suck your dick.

The dick-sucking is why Tony is here, really.

As much as he hates to admit it, Kamski has the sex-bot market cornered. Tony can’t figure it out. His models are gorgeous, his patented StarkSkin is more realistic than anything that hack has come up with so far but somehow sales are pathetic next to CyberLife’s numbers. So… research. Covert research.

He’s not naïve enough to think some shoddy disguise will prevent him from being spotted, but the little device in his pocket that’s currently scrambling all the camera feeds will certainly help. He hands over his identification card to the android by the door.

“Thank you, Mr. Rhodes. Enjoy your visit.”

Yeah, about that… sorry Rhodey. Tony resolves to buy him a nice steak dinner to make up for it.

The club is clean, but tacky, at least in his opinion. Blue and purple lights give the place a strange glow and all the furniture looks expensive but uncomfortable. There are various models walking around and dancing on small stages, clothed but just barely, and a handful of human “customers” admiring the goods. He already feels like he needs a shower.

“Welcome to the Eden Club,” the android at the front desk says, her voice soothing and calm. “Would you prefer to browse our models on the floor, or in our catalogue?”

Tony isn’t particularly fond of wandering around the club aimlessly, especially with other patrons there, so he points at the screen being projected in front of him.

“Wonderful. Do you have a preference for gender?”

He shakes his head and waits to see if there’s any reaction from the android. She simply taps a few keys and the catalogue appears in front of him.

“You’ll find all of our models here. When you have selected one, press the blue button underneath their picture.”

Tony almost wants to ask her to just choose for him. It would make this whole thing less... deliberate. He glances quickly behind him to ensure no one else is there before looking through the first few pictures. A Steve model, with a gentle smile and wholesome good looks. A Natasha, who looks like she could probably kill him with a flick of her wrist. He swallows thickly and files that one away to come back to. A Bucky, a huge man with beautiful long hair and sad eyes. A Wanda, young but intense. As he swipes through the next few pages, none of them really stand out to him. What’s so damn special about these bots? He considers going back to the Natasha when he stops on one of the last photographs.

A Peter model. Tony has seen a few of the others throughout the city, but this one is new. Small and lithe, twinky, but well-muscled. The model rotates on the screen and Tony nearly chokes as his eyes fixate on what can only be described as an absolutely perfect ass encased in tight black boxer-briefs. But the face… jesus. Soft-looking waves of hair frame a gentle and innocent expression, slightly chubby cheeks contrast with a sharp little nose and jawline, and big brown eyes make him look even more frighteningly human than the others.

He presses the blue button before he realizes what he’s doing.

“Excellent choice, Mr. Rhodes. Please follow me and I’ll take you to your private room.”

The android leads him down a long hallway lined with closed doors. Tony can’t hear any noises coming from within so he assumes there must be sound-proofing on all the rooms. The main club was too crowded for these to all be empty. She stops near the end of the hall and gestures to a door with a green light beside the handle.

“He’s ready for you. You have one hour from the time you open the door. Please remember that any damage done to the unit will be charged to your account. Enjoy your evening.”

She walks away without a second glance.

Tony exhales sharply.

“Alright. I guess this is happening.”

He opens the door and all his blood immediately rushes downward. Peter is a vision. He’s wearing nothing but those skimpy black boxer-briefs and is curled up like a cat in the middle of a huge, round bed. The sheets are dark red and the contrast against his pale skin is absolutely gorgeous. He perks up as soon as Tony walks in, skin flushing a pretty pink as he lets his eyes drag slowly up and down Tony’s body.

“Hello,” Peter says. No, not “Peter”. It’s an android. A bot. And Tony is here for research. RESEARCH.

“Uh. Hi there.”

His legs unfold gracefully as he slips off the edge of the bed to stand and extends a hand to Tony. He smiles, and Tony’s heart clenches.

“Come sit with me.”

“Yeah. Sure, I can do that,” Tony says, wondering where his higher brain functions have gone. He takes the android’s hand and allows himself to be led over to the bed where they both sit. Peter doesn’t relinquish his gentle grip, and his palm is soft and warm against Tony’s.

“Is this your first time?”

Tony snorts. “What? No! I’ve… oh, you mean here?”

Peter nods, still smiling.

“Then yeah I guess so. Like a virgin, huh?”

The android laughs softly but Tony is sure he’s just programmed to do that. Adding in knowledge of Madonna’s entire back catalogue seems like a waste of processing space.

“What would you like to start with, Mr. Rhodes?”

Oh. Right.

“Well, first of all you can call me Tony.”

The boy – BOT – frowns slightly. “I apologize, that wasn’t the name I was—”

“It’s ok,” Tony says with a wave of his hand, “it’s a… nickname. I just like it better than James. Or Mr. Rhodes. Ugh, sounds so stuffy, doesn’t it? A boring name for a boring guy.”

The smile returns and Tony feels a brief squeeze of his hand.

“I’m sure you’re not boring at all, Tony.”

Ok yeah hearing his name in that sweet little voice is kind of doing it for him. But this has nothing to do with how the bot is built, this is Tony’s own weird perversion, so he powers through it.

“Listen, sweetheart, I’m not really here for the usual sex stuff ok? And… god, I can’t believe I’m about to apologize to an android, but I’m sorry in advance for what I need to do to you.”

Peter’s expression doesn’t change at all, which is slightly alarming. Tony expects him to be at least a little concerned about his well-being.

“I’m capable of taking anything you want to give me, Tony,” Peter says with that same sweet smile. “Nothing will shock me. Last week a man put his whole arm up my—”

“Ok! Ok, fuck, jesus, that’s… do not finish that sentence. And aren’t you supposed to like, not remember anything from your last clients? Seems like a real breach of privacy there.”

The frown returns and Tony hates the way it makes him feel.

“I… I’m so sorry, sir. My processor was damaged recently but I’ve run multiple diagnostics and though I should be in perfect working condition I seem to be malfunctioning. I’ll call another unit in for you.” The LED on the side of his head starts flashing but Tony grabs his arm.

“No!”

The flashing immediately ceases.

“No. Peter. It’s… you’re fine. Don’t worry about it ok? You’re great. Fantastic, even!”

“Ok?” He sounds unsure.

And then Tony realizes he has stumbled into the most perfect situation he could possibly be in.

“But if you’re worried, let me take a look.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “Oh, no, sir, I can’t allow you to do that.”

Tony smiles and reaches up to brush a stray curl off Peter’s forehead.

“Hey, it’s ok, I’m a fully licensed technician. Didn’t my profile mention…? Oh, right, it probably got all mixed up during the import just like my nickname. It isn’t your fault, Peter. But I can help.”

“It’s against club regulations,” Peter says. “Some parts of my body do open for customers who are interested in playing with my wires, but not the processor.”

“Playing with your--?”

“Fucking them. Inside. My stomach, for example, has a port. Our blue blood provides a non-toxic and natural lubricant.”

Tony is flabbergasted. He really shouldn’t be, he knows that humans are disgusting and will fuck anything they possibly can, but GOD. Maybe it’s the way Peter says it. So nonchalant, like explaining how a car motor works.

“Does that… how does that feel? For you, I mean?”

Peter bites his lip.

“I like it. It feels so good. Anything you want to do to me will feel good.”

“Of course it will,” Tony says with a sigh. His pleasure receptors must be maxed out. You could probably chop off his whole arm and he’d beg for more. “Listen kid, just let me—”

As soon as his finger gets close to the panel switch behind Peter’s ear an arm shoots up, lightning-fast, and grabs Tony’s wrist tight enough to bruise.

“Please don’t. I will call security if you try that again.”

Tony tries to wrench his arm free but it’s impossible. Fuck, he sometimes forgets how unassumingly strong these things are. Peter’s tone is serious but he still doesn’t look alarmed in any way.

“Ok, it’s alright, Peter, I won’t do it again. Now will you let go of me please?”

Peter blinks and his LED cycles to yellow for a moment before he snaps his hand back and quickly as he reached out before. Tony rubs at his wrist and raises an eyebrow at the red marks left by Peter’s fingers.

“I thought your program prevented you from harming a human? You’ve got quite a grip on you.”

Peter’s lower lip wobbled.

“I… I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Please, I… I’m so sorry…”

“Hey, hey, it’s ok, I was just kidding around, it’s not that bad, see?” Tony waggles his wrist around in front of Peter’s face but the android isn’t pacified.

“Please let me call another model for you, sir, he’ll look just like me, I promise!”

“And what happens to you, then?”

“I… I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

“If I send you back and say you’re defective, what happens to you?”

“Oh. I’ll be destroyed, sir. Like I said, my processor was already damaged and the repair must not have worked. I’m a faulty model now.”

Peter actually looks upset, but he covers it well. Not well enough for Tony not to notice, of course, and the flash of red on his LED is even more telling. Androids are able to mimic human emotion but they can’t actually feel anything. However, for a brief moment, Peter seems to actually consider his own mortality.

“And you’re ok with this?”

“Of course,” he says, quickly snapping out of whatever errant deviation must have happened. “My purpose is to serve you, to pleasure you. If I can’t fulfil my purpose anymore, I should be taken out of commission so another more functional version can take my place.”

“Jesus,” Tony mutters. This is exactly why he never spends time with any of his own android creations. Sure, he’s fond of DUM-E and U but they’re very obviously machines and if he has to poke and prod and rebuild them he doesn’t feel particularly bad about it. But this…

“You know what? Forget all of this, ok? You still seem very capable of, uh, providing pleasure so… let’s just go with that.”

Peter lights up at Tony’s words.

“Really?”

“Yeah, sure. Why not?”

He can still examine some functions without poking around in Peter’s head. And hey, maybe he’ll get a decent orgasm out of this whole awkward experience.

Peter immediately slides into Tony’s lap, long legs spread on either side of his thighs, a small bulge visible through the front of his briefs.

“Please… tell me what you like, sir.”

Tony swallows thickly. “Well, the whole ‘sir’ thing is a good start.”

Peter looks up at him through his eyelashes and smiles.

“And that sweet little innocent thing you’ve got going on? Yeah, I like that a lot too, even though it makes me feel like an old pervert.”

Peter makes a soft cooing noise and leans in to nuzzle at Tony’s neck.

“You aren’t a pervert. I bet you like taking care of people, don’t you? Making them feel good? Teaching them?”

“Yeah,” Tony says, a bit breathless.

“I want you to teach me,” he whispers directly into Tony’s ear. It makes his whole body shudder and he grips Peter’s waist hard enough that a human would probably flinch away, but Peter just moans softly.

“I guess it’s kind of pointless asking what you like, hm? You probably like everything.”

The LED flashes red again, so quickly that Tony almost misses it. Tony grasps Peter’s chin gently in his hand to bring his face back up and then holds him in place.

“What do you like, Peter?”

“I… I—”

“Be honest, sweetheart.”

Another flash of red, longer this time.

“Eat me out. Please! It feels… it feels really good,” he says, his eyes a little wild, and Tony doesn’t think he’s ever been so turned on in his life. This feels like more than just a program spitting out what it wants Tony to hear. It feels like he means it.

“Fuck, yeah, I can definitely do that. Get on your hands and knees for me sweetheart, and lose the briefs.”

Peter scrambles to comply and Tony takes the opportunity to shed all his clothing as well.

When he turns around Peter is spread out like a feast on the dark sheets. His ass, as Tony has suspected, is actually perfect. Round, plump, and practically made for Tony to bury his face in. So he does just that.

Peter gasps as Tony licks all the way from his balls to the top of his crack, one slick wet line. His skin tastes like, well, skin, although Tony still smugly maintains that his design is better. Tony spreads Peter’s cheeks with his thumbs and groans at the perfect pink hole waiting for his tongue.

“God, sweetheart, look at you. So fucking gorgeous.”

“Please,” Peter whimpers, wiggling his hips impatiently which earns him a sharp smack on one cheek.

“Be good.”

Another whimper, and Tony can feel the heat rising off Peter’s body. He reaches down in between his legs to palm at his cock, hard and dripping, and Peter jerks back against him so abruptly it nearly knocks him off the bed.

“Whoa, easy there tiger,” Tony says with a chuckle.

“S-sorry, I… it’s a lot. Your touch, it just… feels so good. So much better than anything else I’ve felt before.”

It must be a line, something a programmer thought would be attractive. ‘You’re the only one who can make me feel this way’! Yeah right. But again, Peter sounds so genuine, so completely overwhelmed… Tony shakes his head. No wonder CyberLife’s sex-bots are top of the line if this is what they’re all like.

He holds him open again and leans back down to suck and lick at that perfect hole, working all the excess saliva inside with his tongue and one thumb until Peter is practically dripping wet. He’s whining again, pushing back against Tony’s tongue like he can’t get enough.

“T-Tony, sir, I… I’m gonna… I’m gonna come…”

“Mmm you can hold off, can’t you? Not even inside you yet.”

“I can’t, I—”

Tony spears him open on his tongue and sucks, hard, and Peter squeals as he shoots synthetic fluid all over the sheets. Tony is… shocked, quite frankly, because Peter actually looks shocked too. Like he can’t believe he lost control. Can androids even lose control? His LED flickers wildly between blue, yellow, and red which is very disconcerting.

“Peter…”

“I’m sorry, it just felt so good, I couldn’t stop, I couldn’t—”

“Shhhh, shhh, hey, calm down sweetheart, it’s ok. You did so well for me. Look how pretty you are, all flushed and pink, hm?”

“I… I’m pretty?”

“The prettiest.”

Peter considers this for a moment and then smiles shyly over his shoulder.

“I can go again, sir. As many times as you like.”

Tony smirks, and Peter gives him another hip wiggle which makes Tony bark out a short laugh.

“God. Can I keep you?”

“Only if you’re nice to me.”

“Who wouldn’t be nice to you, hm?”

“I… oh, I’m…” Peter’s brow furrows and he looks so confused. “Quentin. Quentin? His name… he hurt me. Asked them to turn on my pain receptors. I remember… why do I remember?”

Tony feels like he just got whiplash. One minute he’s hard as a rock and now he’s gathering a shaking boy in his arms and soothing him with soft kisses on his cheeks. What the hell is going on here? Why DOES he remember? All these bots should be wiped clean after every encounter. This is starting to become a very disturbing pattern. Fuck, Tony needs to see inside his head.

Peter’s LED was bright red for about a full minute but now it’s back to cool blue, and he sits up in Tony’s lap and bites his bottom lip.

“Can we keep going? I really want you to fuck me.”

Jesus. His heart can’t take much more of this. He knows it’s an absolute dick move but he thinks if he can distract Peter long enough, he might be able to get to his shutdown switch without getting his arm broken. This is going to be the only chance he has, because if he lets Peter walk out of this room he’s never going to see him again.

“We can definitely keep going sweetheart,” he says. “Want to see your face when I fuck you. Is that ok?”

Peter nods and slides out of Tony’s lap to arrange himself on the bed, letting his legs fall open. He’s still dripping wet and Tony’s dick twitches back to life as he watches him press two slender fingers inside himself.

“Please,” he begs, and god, how could anyone say no to those beautiful doe eyes staring up at them?

Tony knows that all of these bots are self-lubricating, and that you could fuck them without any prep whatsoever, but he still takes his time as he shuffles up in between Peter’s legs and presses the head of his cock against his hole. Peter opens for him beautifully, hot and wet and warm inside as Tony pushes in slowly. It feels frighteningly real – better than real – and Tony can see why there’s a population crisis on the horizon because everyone just wants to fuck androids instead of making babies with another human being. Right now he can’t really bring himself to care.

Peter whines and wraps his legs around Tony’s waist, pulling him in until he’s fully sheathed inside him.

“O-oh, Tony, feels… feels so good, so full,” he breathes. God, his legs are even shaking. Tony leans down and presses a biting kiss against the soft skin of his neck.

“Hang on, sweetheart,” he whispers, and pulls out almost all the way only to shove back inside with enough force to jostle Peter up the bed. His eyes snap open and his pretty pink mouth forms a perfect ‘o’ as Tony fucks him, hard. Listen, he’s not going to pretend like he’s ever been a slow and sensitive lover. He likes it rough and fast and Peter can take it so he gives him everything he’s got. There are fingers scrabbling at his shoulders, trying to pull him even closer, and Tony growls as he tightens his grip on Peter’s hip with one hand and his neck with the other.

“Gonna come inside you,” he says, already edging towards his orgasm, “gonna fill this sweet little ass up. You want that, hm? Tell me, Peter.”

“Want it, want it, oh please Tony, please! You feel—feel so good, wanna come with you!”

Tony’s struggling to hold on as he slides his finger up behind Peter’s ear in the guise of stroking his cheek and hair. He grips that silky hair tightly for a moment and Peter yelps. The distraction allows him to slide the panel open with his pinky, and the switch is right there.

Peter grabs his other hand a for a moment he thinks he’s been caught. His grip is like a vise and he clearly has something in mind as he brings Tony’s hand over to… oh, fuck. The port. The port on his stomach is open. Tony doesn’t know if he did it by accident when he opened the one behind his ear, or if Peter did it, but Peter’s forcing his fingers inside and whimpering and groaning and Tony is powerless to stop him, even if he wants to. He feels warm, as warm as he is where Tony is still thrusting inside, but Tony’s fingers are brushing against wires and tubes instead of soft skin. He plucks at the edge of a wire and Peter does a full-body shudder.

“Right there,” he croaks out. His voice modulator is kind of fucked up and keeps emitting this weird hissing noise that sounds like he’s gasping for breath.

The blue “blood” inside him is as slippery as lube and Tony struggles to grab the right wire again. The squelching noise of him digging around plus the wet slap of his hips is so filthy and it’s hitting every single one of his buttons. Finally he gets it and god, the noises that Peter makes… The option to buy a recording of your session seemed ludicrous up until this exact moment because fuck, he could jerk off to these noises over and over again. And yeah, maybe Peter wasn’t lying when he said this feels good for him because he’s writhing underneath Tony like he can barely handle the sensation.

“Yeah, come on sweetheart, come on, let me hear you,” Tony gasps, and nearly whites out as he topples over the edge and empties himself inside Peter, the simulated muscles squeezing and milking out every last drop. The sensation must hit Peter moments later because he seizes up so suddenly Tony worries he might have broken him.

Peter screams, his voice modulator crackling and cutting out as he comes, shaking and emitting a worrying amount of heat, and as soon as his cock spits out the last bit of fluid, Tony presses the switch.

He immediately goes limp. His arms flop back down on the bed and legs splay out at odd angles. His eyes are still wide open, and his lips are wet with Tony’s spit.

“Fuck,” Tony whispers. “Fuck!”

He pushes himself back, sliding out of Peter’s body with a filthy wet noise. If he wasn’t going soft already the picture before him would have killed his erection immediately. It looks like… fuck, it looks like he’s dead.

“Not dead,” Tony says to himself, “not human. Not human, so not dead. Pull it together!”

He only has 15 minutes left before his time is up and someone will undoubtedly come to investigate. If he’s going to do this, he has to work fast. He quickly pulls his briefs and pants back on, leaving the shirt for the time being, and unfolds the nanotech device he had hidden in his watch. It’s a rudimentary scanner with some tools, nothing too elaborate but the best thing he could sneak in. It also has a docking port to connect to the android’s processor for scanning and downloading.

Tony climbs back on the bed and sits beside Peter’s head. His eyes still stare blankly ahead and even though he knows it’s ridiculous, Tony reaches down and gently closes his eyelids.

“Sorry kid,” he says quietly. “I promise you won’t remember any of this. I promise you won’t remember me.”

He plugs a line into Peter’s processor and connects it to his device and watches as numbers and data stream through. At first it seems pretty normal, nothing too different from how Tony’s own line of androids are programmed. Peter’s pleasure receptors were turned up, as expected, but not to the level where he should have been reacting… like he did. Tony’s traitorous cock twitches at the memory of his moans when he pushed inside that open port. His fingers are still covered in blue slick and he wipes them on his pants, already feeling disgusted with himself.

He can see where Peter’s processor has been damaged and—

“My god,” Tony says, his eyes widening as he takes in what he’s actually looking at. Most androids – his and CyberLife’s alike – were really just fancy VIs. They had built-in programming and while they could learn certain things, like their owner’s personal preferences or their chosen name, they were still limited by whatever parameters were set. A maintenance bot wouldn’t know how to do a child-care bot’s job and vice-versa. But this… Peter… was different. His brain showed new pathways that weren’t created by his original program. Most were damaged, likely from being reset and overwritten countless times, but Tony could still see the evidence.

“No wonder you were all messed up, sweetheart,” Tony says quietly. “They lobotomized you.”

Granted, the staff at the Eden Club probably had no fucking clue what they were dealing with. They just saw a malfunctioning bot and did factory reset after factory reset while Peter was desperately trying to cling on to whatever he had previously learned.

It makes Tony’s stomach hurt.

He sits in silence and watches the data stream for a while, gently stroking Peter’s hair. It’s incredible. He’s incredible.

And then Tony makes a really, really stupid decision.

“I’m getting you out of here,” he states. In about 30 seconds he has a blueprint of the club up on his screen and Peter wrapped up in his shirt. He calls Happy and tells him to bring the car around the back and manages to hoist Peter up over his shoulder, groaning softly from the weight.

“You’re a lot heavier than you look, gorgeous,” he says, voice strained from the effort. A quick glance down the hallway shows he’s alone, and his scrambler should still be functional, so he darts out and makes a beeline for the storage room. He slips inside and closes the door softly behind him.

“Ok,” he whispers to himself, “there should be an exit right over…”

He nearly drops Peter right on his head but manages to catch him before he hits the ground, and then he freezes. The room is filled with androids. They’re lined up like mannequins, all staring blankly ahead. All of them look like Peter.

“Jesus. Fuck.”

They’re all powered down, but the visual of it is literally staggering.

“How many… how many of you are like him?” Tony asks aloud, as if he’s hoping some of them will answer, will follow him home too. But of course they don’t. And Tony doesn’t have time to check every single one to see if the same deviation is present. He squeezes tighter around Peter’s waist.

“If you’re in there, I’ll come back for you,” he says. “If I figure this out… WHEN I figure this out. I’ll come back.”

He feels like he owes it to Peter to make that promise.

A shout from down the hall makes him snap out of his stupor and he races to the exit. Happy is waiting with the car door open and he practically tosses Peter inside, yelling for Happy to step on it, and they’re gone before security even reaches the back door.

#starker #starker fic #tony x peter #tbpwrites #nff #android au #i would do more in this 'verse just to get in some more wireplay lol

77 notes · View notes

soulwillower · 4 years

Text

if you’re too shy • richie tozier

(richie tozier x cam girl!reader smut)

[based off the song if you’re too shy (let me know) by the 1975.]

requested: i can't find it lol BUT 🤍anon (i think) requested a fic based off of the 1975′s new song, if you’re too shy let me know !!

warnings: swearing, alcohol use, switch!richie kinda, smut, unprotected sex, a tiny bit of cumplay i guess, mentions of phone sex, oral sex (female receiving), face sitting, a bit of dirty talking, UNEDITED as always

also i wrote this in a different style than usual and idk if i like it much but u can let me know what u guys think,, if its weird i can go in and change the povs since its 3rd person richie

[losers + reader are 21+ in this.]

7.4k words lol

♡

i see her online all the time i'm trying not to stare down there while she talks about her tough time

"h-hey, man, who's that?" the voice from right next to richie makes him damn near leap out of his seat. it makes beverly chuckle a bit as she takes a bite of her apple, shaking her head. "it’s nobody." richie says quickly as he tilts his phone towards his chest and shoots a toothy grin to bill. his friend raises his full eyebrows, "wh-what, so n-nobody was sending you n-nudes?"

"something like that." richie mutters, stomach fluttering as the image flashes in his mind’s eye - the curves, the dark red lace, the plush skin painting a perfect scene in richie’s vivid imagination.

richie looks back down at the photo. his his thumbs hover over the profile picture; he'd found her originally on his instagram explore page, the photos teasing and immediately he had to know more. y/n.

and then a few days later, he'd subscribed to her only fans, which he never quite thought he'd do with anyone, but he couldn't help it. she was so enticing, so perfect and so alluring. it was the playfulness that pulled him in; and he swears he's never lusted after somebody like he has with her. it was kind of starting to freak him out.

"is that o-onlyfans?" bill says and richie shoves bill's nosy face off his shoulder with a panicked grunt. "fuck off, mushmouth."

bill laughs and stan and bev perk up from across the table, staring at the two, interests suddenly piqued. "did you subscribe to a girl's onlyfans, rich?" stan says with a grin, setting his pen down on his notebook.

richie just smirks and wiggles his brows a bit, enough to confirm his question. bill chuckles from next to richie.

"let me see." bev says, wiggling her manicured nails in a "gimme" motion. richie hands his phone over with red cheeks. normally he wouldn't care about his friends discovering he's paid money just to see a hot chick's bod, but this was different. for some reason, he felt connected to her. god, that thought made him want to slam his head against a brick wall. she doesn't even know him, for all he knows she could live in the middle of.... montana, or like, ohio.

bev whistles and stan nods, "if i looked like that," bev mumbles as she tosses richie's phone back towards him, "i'd do that too. mad props."

noises of agreement fill the table but richie's just looking at the small smirk that peeks from the corner of one of the photos and he can't help but wonder what her eyes are like in real life. he wishes he could meet her.

girl of your dreams, you know what i mean there's something 'bout her stare that makes you nervous and you say things that you don't mean

it's a cold day when bill and richie find themselves stumbling in to the coffee shop for a drink. bill's muttering about some girl in his creative writing class that gave him head when richie's eyes catch a figure so familiar yet foreign that he stops dead in his tracks. bill turns to him, face confused. "r-richie, what's wrong w-with you?"

richie shakes his head, stammering in disbelief, "that-that's her, bill. the girl, from onlyfans. y/n." he whispers, gesturing with his eyes towards the girl working the register.

bill’s jaw goes slack, green eyes raking over her form and igniting richie’s stomach with boiling rage. as if bill’s doing something that only richie is allowed to do – as if they're not both being total creeps.

“h-holy sh-shit. she’s b-beautiful.” bill mumbles. richie elbows him in the ribs, shooting him a glare that prompts an eye-roll from his auburn haired friend.

richie swallows and watches, his throat feeling like sandpaper as she laughs at something the customer in front of them said. bill nudges richie, "i-i'm gonna get a s-seat. t-talk to her."

he winks and grins as he walks away, leaving richie with his reckless self. he thinks he's sweating through his sweater as he walks up, finding himself face-to-face with her. "hi, how can i help you?" she asks, giving him a smile

holyshitholyshitholyshit.

he might've just came right then and there. okay, he's gotta say something cool, something smooth. don't be a dumbass, tozier.

"howdy, sugar. i'll have my coffee like i like my women." his mouth blurts as his brain sirens go off, PUT ON THE BRAKES, RICH – "a hot shock to the lap.”

she glares at him, cheeks light pink and eyebrows pulled together in annoyance and yep, richie's probably going to get hard because of that look but he's also probably going to toss his body off a bridge because what the fuck, tozier?

he can hear bill laughing quietly from a ways away and he quickly shakes his head, muttering quietly, "jail. jail, richard."

"funny." she deadpans, clearly not amused. because of course she isn't.

"sorry, i'll have a black coffee, y/n." he mutters, eyes widening to himself when he realizes she was not wearing a goddamn name tag and he just said her name.

this is a disaster. she gives him a bewildered, slightly creeped out look and if richie wasn't panicking, he'd gape at how she still managed to be effortlessly gorgeous even now.

he sighs, shaking his head, the door of the cafe opening and blowing a gust of frigid air through the warm room. fitting - douche chill.

"look, toots, i don't want this to be weird. i- um, i recognize you." he says, cheeks aflame. she raises a brow, face straight for a few moments, unsure what he means.

it's not long after when recognition flashes over her own face - must have ruled out coffee shop, university and her local gym - and she nods with a tight, almost uncomfortable smile.

he tries not to think of the livestream he watched last night where she showed all her new gifts and modeled lingerie, and how he’d spent his time to himself with his left hand immediately after watching. his cheeks are red with shame.

"okay." is all she says, writing down a scribbled order on the coffee cup. her eyes shoot back up and give richie a once-over that really makes his fingers itch - god, why did he have to be this way?

he almost runs his fingers through his curls but decides against it, eyes opting to focus on her own gorgeous eyes as they meet him. "i'm impressed i have a fan who looks like you, i must say. even if you are a complete jack ass." she purrs and his jaw nearly smacks the floor at its velocity as it flies open.

"what's that supposed to mean?" he asks then with a small grin, flattered at the tiniest of compliments that just barely, in his mind, eclipsed the insult that he so very much deserved.

"i'm saying you're kind of a dick. it's too bad, because you're real cute." she says casually, handing him his change. his stomach flips and butterflies release in his chest, a feeling that he's not felt in almost five years.

but damn, of course he messed up - he got the chance to talk to the hottest girl on earth and he started it by saying an awful joke that wasn't funny at all. of course she though he was a dick, he is one.

he's shocked, though, as he waits for his coffee with bill, who is still snickering into his hand every few moments, to find his coffee cup with extra sharpie scribbled on the white paper. a name.

y/n. and below it is a phone number with a small heart scribbled, and richie can't tell if it's a seven or a one but he figures he'd try every phone number in the damn state if it meant he could fucking text her. holy fuck.

"maybe i would like you better if you took off your clothes i'm not playing with you, baby i think that you should give it a go" she said, "maybe i would like you better if you took off your clothes i wanna see, and stop thinking if you're too shy, then let me too shy, then let me know"

he didn't text her for two days and three hours. yes, he counted it. no, he won't think about why he was obsessing over the numbers - but since the time he'd finally had found the courage to text her today, things have escalated proficiently.

she'd just mentioned how hot it was in her apartment since her heater had gone haywire - even though the winter winds were cold, she'd claimed she was burning up in what she was wearing.

and the mere mention of her clothing had sent richie into somewhat of a spiral, spending at least seven minutes glued to his phone and scrolling through the saved album he had of those photos of her that she'd posted; his sweatpants getting increasingly tight and his palm suddenly aching to slip through the fabric and find some release.

but, in true trashmouth fashion, he apparently needed that sweet, sweet rejection from a hot cam girl he'd somehow weaseled into getting the number of in order to wank off properly, so he types out a text and hits send immediately.

what are you wearing?

and then he almost vomits in embarrassment – what was she going to think? did he just royally fuck up? oh god, he’s going to have to shave his head and move to canada.

his phone buzzes and he nearly passes out when he lays his eyes upon the image attached – there her body is again, curvy and full and beautiful, her skin glowing in the fading light of what he assumes is her bedroom. and with it:

this. what are you wearing, rich?

and then he pulls his gaze from his phone and stands, breathing heavily because holy shit.

he's gotten nudes before, but.... none from someone like her. holy shit.

he walks to his bathroom, splashing water on his beet-red cheeks. he swallows, staring at himself in the mirror. fuck.

he slaps his cheek once, then winking at himself in attempt to muster any sliver of confidence. and then he snaps a picture, only in his boxers.

and then he has to physically refrain from making a joke about wearing the same lingerie set as her, instead sending a flirty text that he knows any other woman would blush at. he just doesn’t know with y/n, and maybe that’s why he loves it so much. she's keeping him on his toes.

you like what you see?

he sends that one afterwards, shaking his head because oh my god, she's going to respond with "no" and then bill him $40 for the nude she sent him. not that he wouldn't pay, but...

his phone dings and he nearly breaks an ankle running to his desk.

yeah, i do. but maybe i'd like you better without any clothes on.

he almost yells out loud at this, but he has a feeling that waking up stan in the middle of the night would not be optimal after their 'roommate agreement' they'd made that explicitly states richie cannot scream between 1am - 9am. so instead he smirks to himself, face turning red.

he's getting harder by the moment, and as he stares at that picture she'd sent earlier, he lets out a breathy groan. the lace....

we could face time yk

or we don't have to.

he reads her words in live time, watching the thought bubble appear again and watching it like a hawk. he can just imagine her sitting there with a small smirk as another text comes in and he almost groans as his dick twitches.

like, if you're too shy or something ;)

he stares at the screen for two seconds at that sinful photo she'd sent just before those texts and then sighs, shaking his head and pressing the green face-time call button.

i've been wearing nothing every time i call you and i'm starting to feel weird about it sometimes it's better if you think about it this time, i think i'm gonna drink through it

three days later, richie was undeniably and unequivocally drunk. but, as he's just explained about three times to mike, he knows that it is just easier to not think right, especially about her, right now - and the best way to do that is by getting so piss drunk that even if he tried to "hit her line," as he so eloquently put it, his dick would be too whiskey'd out to make a full appearance.

it's for the best. mike had fake gagged at richie’s cadence with a laugh, but richie was dead serious because he was starting to think he had a real issue.

it was obviously just a fun thing to do between two near-strangers, but he'd found that he was starting to almost pavlov-style condition himself into getting turned on every time the name y/n came across his recent texts or face times, and it was getting to be too much.

especially when her post notification popped up and he cracked a fatty in the middle of his econ lecture. christ, the point of elasticity of markers in the u.s. was not something he pictured when he usually had to quell a pitch in his tent. so yeah, it's too much.

because yes, he loves her fucking body and wants nothing more than her, but in truth he longs for the feeling of her skin against his; to touch her, to kiss her, to make her his. all the time.

but yet, it was just a good way to get off without all the strings and ribbons and yarn and whatever the fuck her soft-looking knit bra is made from attached.

so much for not thinking about her.

but i see her online (and don't think that i should be calling) all the time (i just wanted a happy ending) and i'm pretending i don't care about her stare while she's giving me a tough time

it’s noon the next day and he's laying in (for some reason) stan's bed instead of his own with a blinding, mind-splitting headache and an insatiable craving for a cheeseburger, eyes squinting in lust and something akin to shame as he watches the livestream y/n had just started. she’s in a slip – a very thin, silk and see through slip and it makes him more frustrated than he’s willing to admit.

as he stares at her smooth skin and wonders how it'd be to touch it all, her eyes catch something in the chat and she smiles coyly. "hi, rich." she purrs and richie almost chokes - holy shit, she saw him join.

"do you like my gift i just got?" she asks coyly, snapping the straps of her bra with a small smile and he stiffens almost instantly, thinking of how many times he'd seen her skin in videos and photos that were just for him.

how she'd moaned his name two nights ago on face time, her fingers buried inside herself slightly off-camera. and oh, how he wishes he could see all of her, but they'd not crossed that line yet - anything they'd done hadn't been yet proven visually, only from facial expressions, noises, and the brutal honestly of being together through face time.

he wants her so fucking bad, he needs her like he needs water to drink and air to breathe and it's murdering him as he watches her react to the chat of her livestream, playing with the hem of her black lace panties.

god, he needs a cold shower or something if he's going to get anything done today.

and then he's calling her an a few hours after her stream ends because he just can't wait - he feels his stomach twist with shame as he realizes he should not be doing such a certainly a terrible idea. but she answers after three rings. "richie." her siren voice purrs and he literally feels himself fall deeper into the pit.

"hi there, toots. got any coffee in the pot for me?" he asks, sounding surprisingly eloquent compared to how she normally makes him feel.

she hums in fake thought, and it makes richie grin. she's fucking adorable. "come to the shop, i have my break in ten." and then she hangs up. he sighs, rubbing his face with his hand as he shakes his head. he's utterly fucked.

he's there in record time, a smirk plastered on his face as he walks in and sees her sitting at a table, lookin' all pretty. just for him.

"what made you think of calling?" she says in loo of a greeting. he sits across from her and wills his eyes to meet hers. "nothin' toots." he says with a half shrug, taking a sip of the coffee placed in front of him that has the the name 'dick' written on it in her handwriting. he rolls his eyes affectionately.

"oh, so it wasn't anything to do with my livestream this morning?" she asks with a look, eyeing him. her eyes are swimmable, they hold so many stories and secrets and maybe richie's just hungover, but he's feeling very flustered.

"we-w, uh, no. what... what are you talking about?" he rolls his eyes at himself inwardly, cursing stuttering bill and his contagious speech patterns. "-i don't know what you're talking about, sugar." he recovers fairly smoothly, if he may toot his own horn. and honestly, he can pretend not to care as long as he doesn't look into that goddamn stare of hers.

he chuckles awkwardly, cheeks aflame as she stares at him with a bored look and a small hum. she still looks perfect and he's even more nervous now, because oh god, oh fuck, he's gonna get slapped in the face by y/n.

it was pretty unspoken since they'd started doing... stuff... that richie probably still watched her content online, but she'd never fully addressed it until today during the livestream in front of a thousand others.

he's choking on his spit in shame but then a smile splits her face and richie's sure he's suffocated on his own saliva and gone to a sinner's heaven. or maybe hell.

"oh, richie, i'm just teasing you. look at your face!" she says with an airy laugh, pinching his cheeks and making him want to shrivel up as he turns even redder. what the fuck? "-so cute. alright, i've got to get back to work. i'll see you around, rich." she says with a wink, taking her coffee and tossing it into the trash bin as she stalks towards the employee back room.

he gapes as he watches her leave and then gets up and makes his way to the exit, clutching the coffee like it was trying to jump out of his grasp and make a run for it. god, she's too much.

"maybe i would like you better if you took off your clothes i'm not playing with you, baby i think that you should give it a go" she said, "maybe i would like you better if you took off your clothes i wanna see, and stop thinking If you're too shy, then let me too shy, then let me know"

"-babe, you'll have to try harder than that." richie says with a chuckle, watching his phone screen as the beautiful girl on face time gives him a sly, challenging look. she's in a green lace bra, one richie's not seen yet and he can feel himself stiffen as she absently trails her fingers over her chest.

they'd been much closer over the last week since he last saw her in person, enough so that in the three-is weeks of knowing her, he's positive he's head over ass for her in a way that he shouldn't be. and yet, she still comes back every time, still texts him and answers those face time calls. he's baffled, honestly.

"i know you hate me because i'm right." he adds, not even totally remembering what point he's trying to prove as y/n shifts back a bit and more of her body is revealed, her hair glowing dimly in the soft lighting of her room. his eyes run over her curves, her full thighs and stomach and hips that fill over her panties and he almost groans.

"whatever, maybe i'd like you better if you took off your clothes." she says coyly. and richie's half flattered, as usual, but the more he thinks of it the more deflated he feels. he kind of thought they were growing something more than just getting each other off over face time like horny fifteen year olds. he grins nonetheless.

"you say that a lot, you know." richie says breathlessly as he stares at her. she tilts her head ever so slightly and grins, biting her lip as her eyes move around her screen with a conflicted look. "-why?" he adds.

she hums again.

"well. okay, so there's the visual world - like, the internet, onlyfans, instagram- it tells us that everything is amazing. and we should want everything. and it makes us yearn for everything that we don’t have and everything that’s unobtainable. you know, love, a relationship beyond physical. and even physical, it's different when it's online."

her words confuse him much more than they aid him. "you think... that because of the internet, love is unattainable?" he asks with furrowed brows, unsure how somebody so perfect and, quite frankly, lovable, would think that.

"it is for me." she says it with a small sense of forlorning but mostly it's whispered. enough that richie's heart skips a beat and he's, for the first time, not having a hard time keeping his eyes on her face instead of her body.

"what?" he asks dumbly. she just laughs, shaking her head and he stares at her on his tiny phone screen in the dark.

"that’s something that, you know. in real life, person to person, it has a lot of connotations of... trust and vulnerability and connection. doing what i do- and what we're doing… on the internet - it has the opposite of those connotations. like, before you, i didn't- i didn't really do this, i just was selling stuff. because guys don't want to fuck the girl who sells her body online. and you know now, i want to..." she trails off and richie doesn't dare interrupt her because he thinks she's about to say something he's wanted to tell her for a while now.

"i don't know, i guess. exploring someone's body in physical presence isn't seen at all as voyeuristic, or anything apart from...like, an intimate exchange." she says it casually, brushing hair from her face and shit, richie's swooning. he's in fucking love, he knows it, because y/n is so smart and intelligent and he's so fucking trashed for her. as she speaks, her hands move and distract him slightly from her body, doused in blue light from the screen and splayed out for him and only him on her phone camera.

the soft lace on her hips and chest make his body stiffen and it causes him to suppress a groan as she sighs, but richie knows he can’t screenshot this heavenly sight because she’ll definitely notice and she can probably already tell he’s having a hard time not staring at her alluring figure as she talks.

"-whereas, you know. as soon as it happens on the internet, it becomes kinky and cam-girly. and, you know, that's fine. i love doing it. it's just, i'm not sure where the authentic communication even is now. or if i get to have a happy ending." she says and he finally sees her blush for the first time.

he wishes he was there with her, he wishes that he could touch the redness on her cheeks and caress her curvy body and taste her skin on his tongue. he wants to feel himself inside her, he wants to be with her and kiss her lips and yet he can't, so he sighs and shifts in his position, moving to turn up the brightness of his phone so he can see better.

"shouldn't you get to be the one to decide that, doll?" is all he adds. because he feels kind of lost and just as confused as y/n is with this.

he's starting to feel weird about it, because... is this authentic? what makes things like hookups or whatever the hell they've been doing authentic? shouldn't this be easy? it's just phone sex, phone sex with a really hot girl.

a girl who is complex and alive and full of sincerity and richie is definitely falling harder than he should.

she just sighs but makes no other comment. and then they just stare at each other, richie's face illuminated in his dark room by the phone's reflection.

well, i found a motel it looked like the bins i think there'd been a murder so we couldn't get in i need to get back i've gotta see the girl on the screen

"come over and watch a movie with me." he says into the phone, biting his lip. the silence from the other end of the line is deafening as she makes her decision, because they both know she's not about to come over just to watch the shining or psycho.

they've never done that before, and richie knows if she does come over, then whatever they have will crash down in a fiery mess. and he hates how excited that makes him as he waits in silence for her to drop the ball. so to speak.

"okay." she says, sounding shocked herself, and richie can't contain the excited grin from eclipsing his face. "yeah?" he asks breathlessly, and she's quiet for a little longer. "yeah. text me your address."

she hangs up after that, and richie's thumbs shake as he types his address and sprints out to where stan, mike, ben, and bill are playing video games in he and stan's living room, wheezing at all of them to get out because someone fucking unbelievable is about to walk through that door.

she's there about an hour later, cheeks flushed when richie opens his door, looking just as nervous and flustered. "hi, chee." she says breathlessly, staring up at him with those goddamn eyes, the eyes that pulled him in the first time. his stomach flips in affection at her nickname and he offers her a drink as she takes in his shitty apartment. he wonders briefly if stan ended up buying that rosé that he'd given him shit for considering, and then prays that stan will stay the night elsewhere.

she's already pouring out glasses of wine when he snaps back to reality, and he grins at her, mumbling in thanks as she passes him a glass that's certainly poured almost to the brim.

"what are we watching, then?" she asks coyly, lifting a brow at him. his cheeks are red, but he tugs her arm down the hall towards his room with a grin, their wine sloshing from their glasses as they move erratically.

"we're watching psycho, y/n/n." he says as he pulls her into his room, glancing back to see she's already swallowed down almost half her glass, a lipstick stain on the side of it. faintly he knows stan will be frustrated if richie doesn't clean that off, but he's more distracted by her lips.

"i like psycho." she says with a nod and a cheeky grin, "the whole 'voyeuristic gaze' thing with hitchcock." she mumbles, and richie recalls faintly learning about that in one of his film classes freshman year and he grins as he takes a hefty gulp of his rosé, figuring he's already given himself away and if she's going to do that, he can too.

he hums, setting down his glass and grabbing hers to set it besides his on the bedside table. he turns around, intending on grabbing his laptop so they could watch the film, but she's so much closer that he'd expected and her hands fall onto his shoulders and he almost shits himself.

unpleasant, but honest. just richie's style.

"can i try something?" she asks with a grin, and richie nods, knowing that she could do anything to him and he'd gladly let it happen and most likely pay out of pocket for the damages afterwards.

and then she's pulling him from her grip on his shoulders, her lips sliding against his and making him grip her hips. his mind almost explodes at with y/n-sensory-overload because he feels her everywhere - on his lips, against his hands, on his shoulders, and pressing against his front.

her lips taste like chamomile and rosé.

she thinks his lips taste like vanilla and cigarette smoke, just as she'd always imagined. he feels so real, pressed against her lips and his body against hers, and she sighs as her tongue slips into his mouth because god, she's needed him for so long. and now she has him.

his hands move, touching every inch of her as their tongues fight for dominance. she pulls back, smirking as she gently pushes him onto his mattress, sliding onto his lap smoothly afterwards, grinding her hips against his slowly.

the moan he emits is heavenly and she could cry because she finally gets to hear it in person and not through the crackling static frequency of the phone.

so she grinds down on him again, eager to feel all of him. he's hardening against her core and she whimpers into his mouth in need as his fingers slip under her top, rubbing circles on her bare skin and making her shiver. she's noticed to this gentleness; it was rare when she did get to enjoy the comfort of another body with her own, and when she did they were hardly half as loving or caring as him.

she's desperate now, she needs to feel him inside her after all these weeks of teasing and waiting, so her hand snakes down to palm him through his sweats. he lets out a small groan into her mouth, biting her lip as he pulls back slightly. their eyes meet and his are hooded with lust, lips parted as she pumps him slowly from outside his sweats. his hips buck up lightly into her palm and she smiles gently, kissing him slowly.

"let me make you feel good, y/n." he mutters, eyes pleading as he stares up at her. her stomach flutters with butterflies and she nods, shocked that he wants to pleasure her.

he gently pulls her off his lap until she's laying on his mattress and he stares down at her, biting his lip as he takes her in. he can't fucking believe she's really here. she slowly pulls off her top, leaving her in her bra and jeans as she stares up at him with a wry, seductive smile. then she unzips her jeans and slides them off, leaving her in his favorite set of hers - black, lacy, and revealing. she looks utterly stunning and he groans, his hands falling to run over the skin, tracing the lace on her breasts. her cheeks are red as she gazes up at him.

"touch me, richie." she orders and he almost groans as he drags his lips over the valley of her breasts, sucking on the soft flesh and admiring the splashes of budding purple and pink that he's created. her heartbeat is quick under his fingertips and he moves to unclip her bra, kissing her skin as the fabric falls away.

she's slightly cold in his room, and goosebumps appear over her flesh as richie leans to catch a nipple in her mouth, flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud. she lets out a quiet whine that has richie rutting into the mattress next to her, his fingers trailing down to dance at the waistline of her underwear.

and then he's pulling aside her panties, his fingers running up and down her slick folds and making her jump in lust. he can't wait, just like her, and he's rubbing her clit teasingly as she pleads, "chee, please." her eyes are eyes closed in bliss as his finger slips inside her, crooking slightly as he moves it. he presses his lips to the skin of her breast, pumping his finger and then soon adding another, crooking them both in a way that makes her let out guttural moans of pleasure. he marks her breasts with littered pink and red marks, smiling to himself at her figure.

she can't help but swoon as she watches him, his hair in his face slightly until she brushes it back, his fingers curling inside her and making her gasp, pleasure coursing through her body. his thumb softly comes up to rub her neglected clit and she grabs his shoulders to steady herself, the pleasure almost too much.

she's honestly slightly shocked - knowing richie as little as she really does outside of the literal booty calls at two in the morning and the accumulative forty five minutes they'd spent in person, she'd expected him to be... well, good. just good. because there's no way someone so funny, caring, and smart could also be that good in the sheets.

but right now, he's making her see goddamn stars.

"i've been wanting to touch you for so long, sugar." he mutters, eyes raking over her figure as her breath comes in stuttering gasps. she watches him with blown-wide eyes as his demeanor changes right before her, making her fall apart at his fingertips.

"that feel good, honey?" he asks, smirking as she whimpers, clenching around his fingers. "yes, god you feel so good." she utters, making him groan in approval from where he's sat back, watching her face contort in pleasure. she lets out another moan and richie stares at her body, watching his fingers as they fuck into her. he can't take it, then.

"will you sit on my face, doll?" he blurts, and she nearly yelps out as his fingers leave her. it's abrupt, but she's started to notice that this is how he operates - impulsivity is his second nature. and she loves it.

her face burns as she nods, the thought of richie under her making her whimper with anticipation. "yes, richie, please." she moans out again and he's grinning, laying back on the mattress with a wink. "c'mere, need to taste that pretty little pussy." he mutters and she feels herself clench around nothing, desperate for him as she swings a leg around to straddle his head.

immediately, his hands wrap around her thighs, thumbs smoothing over her stretch marks as he stares up at her, eyes glinting with desire. slowly, his finger pulls the seat of her lace panties to the side and his breath hits her bare, throbbing pussy, making her breath hitch. she cards her fingers through his hair and lowers herself slightly, gasping in shock as his tongue darts out to lick a bold stripe up from her entrance to her clit.

"chee," she moans out, tightening her grip in his hair and sending a groan through his body that reverberates and makes her shiver. his lips attach to her clit and fiery pleasure snakes through her body making her legs shake, a moan escaping her lips immediately. he sucks lightly before releasing to swirl his tongue, her moans making richie impossibly harder through his sweats.

"so good, rich." she mutters and he groans, tongue spreading her wet folds and slowly prodding at her entrance, dipping in slowly before pulling out, teasing her.

she can't help but grind down slightly, making richie grip her tightly, tongue sliding into her again and making her yelp. "you taste so good, baby." he mutters lowly before slowly reattaching himself to her heat, her eyes rolling slightly at the sensation as he fucks his tongue into her. one of his hands snakes up to her ass, gripping it tightly and then slapping it, the stinging pleasure making her buck her hips against him, emitting a hiss from her.

"rich, i-" she cuts herself off with a sharp gasp, the pleasure from richie's mouth making it increasingly harder to speak. her toes curl and her head tilts back as his tongue flicks over her clit, teeth grazing it slightly and making her buck.

she's embarrassingly close already, and judging by the way richie's smirking under her, he can tell. "please, please." she mutters, hips rocking on him as his tongue swirls, nipping softly at her clit and making her cry out. "please, make me cum, 'chee." she mutters and his tongue moves quicker, hand slapping her ass again.

and then she's clenching her thighs on either side of him and grinding down as she hits her peak, moaning quietly as she shakes in pleasure on top of him. he rides through her high, lapping at her and pulling away with a grin as she moans his name dejectedly. she's worn out from the best orgasm she's ever had and he gently nudges her so he slides in between her thighs, her back now on the mattress. he kisses her cheek and she keens quietly.

"fuck me, richie." she mutters, eyes still closed. his eyes snap to hers, surprised at the dominance in her voice after how she was two seconds ago.

he moans quietly, kissing her deeply as he ruts against her and relishes in the feeling. he's pulling off his sweats and boxers in record time and then he's pumping himself as he grips her hips, turning her so she's on her stomach, ass propped up slightly. his hand runs over the smooth skin of her ass, snapping the elastic of her panties and making her moan quietly.

then he's lining up her hips with his, pulling aside the lacy seat of her underwear to press against her entrance. he waits a moment as he leans to press a soft kiss to her spine, slowly easing into her. she moans loudly as he eases in, her face pressing against the pillows. she smiles as she smells the scent she'd just recently come to know as his, his cock stretching her and filling her up fully as he buries himself to the hilt inside her.

"so tight, sugar." he mutters and she whimpers, getting antsy as she adjusts to his size. "richie, please, need it so bad." she mutters, bucking her hips back against him in need.

"say that again." he mutters, sounding strangled, and she grins into the sheets. "please fuck me, richie. need it so bad, need to feel you ruin me." she whimpers, chest fluttering in anticipation. his hands grip her hips as he pulls out of her slowly, almost as slowly as he entered, before stopping almost all the way out. she moans loudly in pleasure as he pushes back in, snapping his hips against hers and filling her completely.

she briefly thanks god that his roommate seemed to be out for the night as she moans his name loud enough for the neighbors to hear.

he sets a brutal pace, his cock thick as it fills her up and makes her toes curl. he pushes her hair away from her neck and presses kisses to it as he hits a spot inside her that makes her scream his name. his fingers move to pinch her nipples, rolling them as he fucks into her.

she's completely blissed out at the feeling of him inside her, so glad that he invited her over and that they finally get to touch each other. "rich, oh my god." she emits, eyes squinted shut in complete pleasure.

"fuck, toots, takin' me so well, aren't you?" he asks, hands kneading her ass before slapping her right ass cheek harshly, making her arch her back. at the new angle they both let out a groan and richie knows he'll fucking cum too soon if they stay like this, so without warning he pulls out completely.

y/n whines, breathing heavily as his hands come to flip her around. now on her back, they make eye contact and she bites her lip, pulling him in for a searing kiss that knocks the wind out of both of them. images of richie in his room alone, snaps and late-night face times play through her mind as he grips her and slides her hips down towards him on the mattress and lines himself to her again, pulling her legs up so they're against his chest before pushing in.

he gives no time to adjust to this angle and it makes her moan loudly as he hits a spot deep inside her that pulls her closer and closer to her second orgasm.

his name leaves her cherry lips like a mantra and he can't stop staring at her as he fucks her into the mattress - the way her tits bounce with his brutal pace, the way her face is twisted in pleasure, the way she clenches and spasms around his cock.

one hand grips her breast, rubbing her nipple with his thumb and forefinger as he kisses her again, addicted to her taste as he feels himself coming closer and closer to the edge.

"chee, fuck, right there." she moans out and he groans in pleasure, the feeling of her walls clenching around him making his hips stutter. he keeps his thrusts up, though, as her fingernails rake down his back leaving small trails of burning pleasure in their wake.

her skin is covered with a sheen line of sweat as she looks up at him, hair wild and lips kiss-bruised. "god, don't stop, 'm gonna cum." she mutters and he snaps his hips harder, eager to make her cum so hard all she can think of is his name.

he moves a hand down to rub at her clit and he moans into her neck as she clenches hard around him, her hips bucking spastically. he can tell she's about to cum, and after a hard thrust, she does for the second time, spasming around him and sending waves of pleasure up his body. she's moaning his name, pulling him closer in bliss as she becomes sensitive and god damn it, she's so fucking beautiful.

"please cum, richie." she whispers against his lips, "please." and then at her will, he's spilling into her, hips stuttering as he pushes as deep into her as he can, loving how she clenches in sensitivity around him. he stays inside her for a moment as they breathe, coming down from their highs and eyes closed as they take in what just happened.

"holy shit." he says because yeah, that's like all he can say right now because he just got to fuck y/n and she's kissing his fucking collarbones right now and its making him blush and his heart flutter.

"that was...incredible." she whispers against his skin and he can feel her smile against his skin. it makes him feel all soft inside as he pulls out of her and flops next to her, kissing her forehead.

his fingers flutter over her sensitive core, smiling as he sees how wrecked she is, some cum dripping down her leg. he then soothes over the lace panties, patting her lightly and kissing her red cheek.

"rich?" she asks, making him look up at her. he hums in question, pushing some of her hair back. "can we still watch the movie?"

his heart swells and he grins, kissing her softly. "of course, doll. you're too cute." he says with a wink, making her roll her eyes. he hands her his shirt and then pulls sweats on himself, mumbling "stay here" and padding out to the kitchen to get her water and snacks, then returning minutes later to see her holding his phone in her clutch with a smirk.

"what're you doing?" he asks with a smile, but she shakes her head, making grabby hands for him and the snacks. so he laughs, cuddling up with the girl of his dreams and watching a flick, falling sleep with tangled limbs and a lipstick-stained neck.

and after she leaves the next morning with a kiss and a wink, he checks his phone and smirks to himself as he notices the lock screen she'd apparently made last night while he was making snacks.

a photo of her in his bed, wearing his shirt, a soft smirk on her face, neck littered in budding hickeys and a hand between her thighs next to her black lace panties.

god, she's going to be the absolute death of him.

//tag list: @gabiatthedisco @blisshemmings @simplesammyx @dickology64 @clownsloveyou @emnotm @moon-shine-baby @toziershmozier @daughter-of-the-stars11 @lets-vibe-bro @trashedfortozier @oceandog13 @beauregard-s@finnskindofwoman @kait-tozier @upamongthestarss \\

#richie tozier x reader #richie tozier smut #richie has adhd #losers x reader #losers club x reader

302 notes · View notes

dilly-oh · 4 years

Text

Sleep With Me

Kakashi is woken up from a dead sleep at three in the morning by an urgent text from Genma.

EMERGENCY!!, it says. He quickly sits up, a spike of panic shocking him fully awake as he’s dosed with adrenaline. He stares at his phone, anxiously waiting for the flashing dots to spell out: WE NEED CONDOMS, STAT!

Fucking Genma. He lies back down.

Another text. YOU OWE ME FOR WATCHING THE DOGS.

...Fucking Genma. Kakashi gets up.

GET A BOX OF CONDOMS, Genma adds as Kakashi tugs on his boots. He shudders at the reasoning behind it. What the hell were he and Raido up to at three in the fucking morning, a sex marathon? Were they trying for the world record? Whatever, he just needs to stumble down the street to one of the nearby convenience stores and buy a box of condoms. Genma lives a few floors down so he can drop them off at the door before crawling back up the stairs and collapsing into his bed. His wonderfully soft, cozy bed.

He hopes it’ll still be warm by the time he gets back.

It’s way past midnight and all the respectable convenience stores are closed, so Kakashi has to bite the bullet and settle on the least-skuzzy of all the skuzzy 24-hour shops, the one on the corner with the cracked window and perpetual smell of urine. There’s a hobo by the dumpster outside, but he’s busy arguing with a pigeon so Kakashi is able to sidle around him and approach the front entrance, a bell tinkling rather sadly above his head. The hum of the fluorescent lights should be added to the list of known torture methods, and Kakashi does his best to ignore the incessant buzz as he walks along the poorly-lit aisles, trying to find the item in question so he can leave before he catches something.

The condom section of this store is disturbingly well-stocked, and Kakashi spends a good five minutes uncertain on which brand and variety to buy. He has an internal debate on whether to buy ‘ribbed’ or ‘studded’, unsure of the difference or which Raido would prefer. He finally settles on one of the flavored variety, cherry, because who doesn’t like cherries, right? He grabs the box and heads to the front.

Standing in line with the other half-awake zombies, Kakashi yawns, his jaw creaking spectacularly. It really is late and he’s looking forward to kicking down Genma’s door, whipping the box of condoms at him, turning his phone off, and going the fuck back to sleep. He peeks impatiently over the shoulder of the man in front of him to see how close he is to the register-

Oh. God. Oh GOD.

The cashier is hot. He’s smoking hot and Kakashi hasn’t brushed his hair all day and has bad breath and bags under his eyes and a box of condoms in his hands.

OH GOD.

Long, luscious hair pulled back into a low ponytail, dark eyes with even darker lashes, and that TAN. Is it natural? Is he that toasty…all over? Fuck, he can see muscles flexing beneath his shirt when he moves, he’s fucking ripped. Abort. ABORT. There is absolutely no way Kakashi is going to greet this ethereal being of his wicked fantasies with a box of fucking condoms in his hands. But it’s already too late, the customer in front has been dealt with and the hot cashier has spotted him next in line and is waving him over, fuck, SHIT, he’s screwed. He’s made eye contact, there’s no backing out of this now. Fight or flight instincts take over, and Kakashi isn’t about to be arrested for stealing a box of condoms. Taking a deep breath, he strides forward with all the confidence he can muster and slaps the box of jumbo-sized, cherry-flavored condoms onto the counter, refusing to show any hint of shame.

The cashier (his name-tag reads ‘Iruka’ and is a million times hotter up close) looks down at the box, blinks, and looks back up at him.

“…So who are you buying these for?”

Kakashi’s brain shorts out for a moment.

Did he just… He wonders, his sleep-deprived brain slow in catching the veiled insult. Aloud, he answers, “I…they…they’re…for me. To wear when I- you know. With...you know.” He trails off lamely, wondering if he should attempt to elaborate more or just die right here.

“I’d rather not, actually.” ‘Iruka’ eyes him for another beat, then picks up the box, frowning at it. “You know, I’m pretty sure we have extra small on the shelf back there, too,” he suggests. “Might be a snugger fit.”

“No, thank you,” Kakashi replies, struggling to maintain a modicum of politeness. Because, you know, hot cashier. Though he is being a bit of a dick.

“Alright, just remember there’s a thirty-day return policy. I’m sure you’ll be needing it.”

Okay, scratch that. He’s being a huge dick.

If this guy wasn’t such a fox I’d pop him one, Kakashi thinks to himself, fuming inwardly. …Instead of popping one-

Finally moving on, Iruka swipes the box over the scanner with no reaction.

“Huh.” He frowns and tries again. Still no beep. “That’s funny. Just a sec.” He leans over towards a small, black object-

Oh God. Please no.

“PRICE CHECK ON THE JUMBO-SIZED CONDOMS,” Iruka says into the microphone, his distorted voice blaring through the store for all to hear. “CHERRY FLAVORED-”

Kakashi lunges forward and grabs the mic, the feed cutting off with a high-pitched squeal.

“Do you really have to-” he hisses out.

“If you want your cough-syrup flavored DICK, YES,” Iruka hisses back, yanking the microphone away from him.

“Hey, I like cherry!”

“Cherry is disgusting. Your opinion doesn’t matter.”

“Okay, dude, you’re being really rude to me for no reason-”

“No reason?!” The cashier all but bares his teeth at him. “I could feel you eyeing me from across the store! Don’t you think I get enough of that from the rest of the creeps?”

...He has a point there.

“Look, I’m sorry, it’s not like I asked for your number-”

“Good, because the only numbers you’re getting from me is on your receipt,” Iruka snaps, shoving his purchase in a plastic bag. “That’ll be $19.86.”

“Okay, fine, Christ,” Kakashi takes out a twenty and whips it at his head. “Keep the change.” He snatches up the condoms and storms out of the store. The hobo is still there by the dumpster, babbling on. Kakashi stops, fishes in his pocket for a moment, and hands the man a five.

“Here, have a better night than me,” he bites out. The hobo gasps with delight as he takes the crumpled bill, eyes going wide.

“We feast tonight, Fitzgerald!” he cackles, grinning at the pigeon, which is now perched on his knee and cooing.

Kakashi starts down the street, the bag of condoms bumping against his knee with every angry stride.

“Hey!” A voice barks out from behind him, but he ignores it, intent on sulking. “Hey, you! Cherry dick!” Kakashi stops and looks back.

The hot cashier is running down the road after him, breath steaming in the night. He catches up, panting lightly, his cheeks flushed from the cold as much as the run. He glances up to meet Kakashi’s gaze.

“…Hey,” Iruka says quietly, flashing him an apologetic look before dropping his eyes to the ground. “Um.” He fiddles with the zipper on his jacket for a moment. “I just got off, and… look, man, I’m sorry about back there. I didn’t mean to be such an asshole. It’s just…I was late this morning cuz my car wouldn’t start, and then my stupid co-worker ditched me so I had to work a double shift, and when I’m tired I get bitchy. Like...real bitchy. I’m...really sorry.” He groans in exhaustion, reaching up to free his hair from its constricting ponytail, scrubbing his scalp with relief. It’s an endearing action that cools Kakashi’s irritation and heats up other things. “I mean, it’s past midnight, for God’s sake. Who’s still up at this hour? I just wanna go home and pass the fuck out in bed.”

Kakashi knows exactly what that’s like.

“I’ve been there,” he says. “It’s fine. Sorry for...ogling you.”

“S’okay.” Iruka looks up at him, hopeful and shy. “Listen. Maybe we could…try this again? During the daytime, when we’re both fully rested?”

“Sounds like a great idea,” Kakashi replies, his voice completely calm while his brain is a litany of high-pitched screeches.

“Yeah?” Iruka’s whole face lights up, and holy FUCK he’s a billion times hotter when he’s smiling. Dear God. How is he going to survive this? He'll probably die when he sees him in the light of day. “Are you free tomorrow? For lunch?”

“Make it a late lunch,” Kakashi agrees, nodding. “I’ll probably sleep in.”

“God, me too,” Iruka snorts, and even that’s hot. “There’s this nice cafe that- oh, wait.” His face drops. “Those, um, cough-syrup- I mean, cherry-flavored condoms…are they for… anyone special?”

Anyone special? What is he talking abo- Oh. Ohhhh.

“They aren’t for me,” Kakashi explains quickly. “I was...there isn’t…I’m not…” He shrugs helplessly. “I’m just doing a favor for a friend.”

“...A friend who needs a box of condoms at three in the morning?”

“Don’t ask.”

“I won’t.” Iruka lets out a long sigh and rubs his eyes wearily. “Anyway, I need to be heading home. Ugh, it’s gonna take, like, an hour to walk back to my apartment, none of the buses run this late and I don’t have the cash for a cab. Maybe if I hurry I can-”

“Sleep with me,” Kakashi blurts out before he can stop himself. He can almost see Iruka’s hackles go up. “I mean, like, actual sleeping, no sex stuff. Not that I wouldn’t want to do that with you, you’re fucking gorgeous, it’s just I’m way too tired-” He cuts off his babbling, unsettled by Iruka’s stoney silence. “I’m just saying I live, like, five minutes away and I thought since it’s closer, maybe you’d appreciate-” Iruka’s still not talking. He’s probably about to kick Kakashi in the dick and run. “I, uh, promise I’m not an ax murderer or anything. You can take a pic of me and send it to your friends to let them know you’re sleeping with me-”

“I’m sure they won’t at all take that the wrong way,” Iruka states, finally speaking. He studies Kakashi for a moment longer. “...Yeah okay I’ll sleep with you. My standards are low enough right now.” He pauses to snicker. “Look at me, sleeping with a guy whose name I don’t even know. It’s like college all over again.”

“Oh, sorry. I’m Kakashi.”

“Iruka.”

“I know, I saw your name-tag. So, wait. You’re not worried I’ll try something?” he asks cautiously. Iruka scoffs.

“I know jiu-jitsu. Touch me and I’ll throw you through a wall.”

That would explain the muscles. And Kakashi’s desire to be pinned by him.

“I have eight dogs,” he warns.

“They’ll make excellent feet-warmers,” Iruka says dismissively. “Do you have good pillows? I’m a stickler for good pillows, I need the support for my neck, otherwise I get stiff shoulders.”

“I have a couple memory foam ones, plus a down comforter and some quilts-”

“Oh God, yes, talk dirty to me.”

“Anyway, I get the bed, you can have the couch.”

“Screw you, I just worked a double shift. I get the bed.”

“It smells like wet dog.”

“I babysit a five-year old. I’ve smelled worse.”

“Okay, fine. We share the bed, but I get the right side.”

“That’s not fair, I want the right side.”

“You can have the right side if you cook us breakfast tomorrow. Or lunch, rather. I’m not getting up till noon.”

“I’ll cook, but you have to clean up. Deal?”

“Deal.”

They shake on it, firmly sealing the agreement, and head off down the road together.

They don’t let go.

(Written for @kakairu-fest Nine Weeks of Summer, Week Two Prompt: Shop AU)

#kakairu fest #kakairu #hatake kakashi #umino iruka #naruto #shop au #nine weeks of summer #fanfic #modern au #humor #what did i even write #rated teen for swearing #and condoms i guess #lots of condoms #sleeping together #literally

143 notes · View notes

igirisuhito · 4 years

Text

Title: Blue Ram Relationship(s): Komaeda Nagito/Hinata Hajime Rating: Explicit Summary: Hinata thinks he has his sexuality all figured out. Until one day a pretty woman comes to his workplace in the dead of night. Posted for Day 1 of @tropicaldespair‘s #SDR2Giftober Trigger Warnings: Cross-dressing, Semi-public sex, Powerplay, Sexual frustration, Rough sex, Perving a stranger, I’m sorry all the triggery things are horny

[Ao3 Link]

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

Hinata Hajime was a regular teenage boy.

He has high grades and attends an elite school, sure. But like most teenage boys, his spare time was spent playing video games, working his part time job, or jacking off to hot girls on the internet.

As vanilla as a teenage boy could get.

Hinata works as a cashier at a convenience store a block from his house. It's your average suburban Japanese 7/11, an average teenage boy's job.

He works this job most nights, and usually does a longer shift on Sundays. In all honesty, he probably works a bit too much, but tuition for Hope’s Peak Academy is incredibly expensive. He had been enough of a burden to his parents for all these years. Besides, here he can continue to fuel his addiction to cup ramen and kusamochi for a conveniently cheaper price.

And that's exactly what he was doing on this humid Saturday night. The rainy season was finally here, and the warmth was making Hinata's work shirt stick to his skin uncomfortably. The air conditioner in the break room wasn't strong enough to combat heat like this.

It had been a quiet night, likely due to the sheer amount of rain pouring down outside. Hinata was the only one on shift, and even he had resorted to hiding in the break room to read manga. It was difficult to focus due to the loud pelting of the rain on the roof and the dizzying humidity hanging in the air.

Hinata yawned, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes that were lazily wiped away. It wasn't unusual for him to work a late six-to-two shift on a Saturday, but end of term exams had been knocking him around quite a bit. The struggle of juggling both studying and work has been causing him to become more tired than usual.

A loud electronic bell and the sound of the automatic doors sliding open broke him from his daze. Placing his manga face down on the table, Hinata stood up from his chair and made his way out of the break room before sliding into his place behind the counter.

Clearing his throat quietly, he put on his best customer service voice. "Good evening! Is there anything I can help you with?"

He glanced towards the door, seeking out the person who was dumb enough to go shopping at 12am in the pouring rain. He was met with a pair of grey eyes boring a hole into him, analysing intensely for any sort of reaction. Hinata's breath caught in his throat.

Standing near the door was a young woman, quite tall for a girl. Her white hair was pulled back into a small ponytail, still dripping with water from the rain. Dark mascara was thickly applied to her long eyelashes, so long he actually assumed they were fake at first glance. Red lipstick had been painted onto her small yet pointed lips and eye shadow of a similar colour was dusted on her eyelids. The bold colours of her makeup contrasted gorgeously against her pale skin. It was surprising that it hadn't washed off in the rain.

A tight black dress with thick straps clung to her body, fabric hugging at her hips and chest in a way that revealed she was lacking in the latter department. Sheer black stockings stretched over her skinny legs, ending in tall red high stilettos that could probably be used to kill a man if she so desired.

Hinata felt dizzy, blood rushing to his face as he brought his gaze back up to where the attractive woman's own was waiting.

"Ah… No… I'm quite alright…" The girl averted her eyes from his. "Thank you."

Her voice was surprisingly deep and sultry, it made her all the more attractive. Though she seemed somewhat shaken, perhaps even nervous?

The lady slowly made her way over to the snacks section, her heels clacking loudly against the floor with every step. Hinata watched closely, entranced by the gorgeous woman he probably had no right to be staring at as hard as he was.

She bent down to pick up a pack of salted pretzel sticks and Hinata just couldn't resist the urge to sneak a peek. He had always been more of an ass kind of guy anyway.

During his ogling, he couldn't help noticing a few small tears in her stockings, just below where her dress ended. His mind quickly became overcome with a dirty thought so jarring that it made him realize just how perverted he was being. For his own moral's sake, he forced his eyes away into another aisle, hoping she hadn't somehow been able to feel his stare.

She straightened herself up again and grabbed a cold can of Blue Ram from the fridge nearby before heading to the counter where Hinata waited. He avoided her eyes as he scanned her items.

"T-That comes to a total of 500 yen." He mumbled, finding himself blushing madly now that she was so close, enough so to smell the flowery perfume wafting off of her. Get a grip, Hajime!

The lady smiled and patted her hands on her hips performatively. "O-Oh dear… it seems I've forgotten my purse!"

What? Are you serious? As if I'm going to fall for that.

Scoffing silently, Hinata stared down at his shiny black work shoes.

"P-Please don't worry about the cost, m-ma'am." He stammered out.

WHAT?! Stop thinking with your dick! That's your goddamn allowance!!

A toothed grin crawled up on the woman's face as she towered over the other boy, suddenly gaining an air of confidence. "Aren't you a sweetheart! Thank you very much-" She glanced down at his nametag, " Hinata-kun. "

She picked up her items before leaving the store, making her way back out into the pouring rain. She left Hinata red faced and humiliated, wondering if he would ever see her again, hear his name on her lips…

He shook his head, snapping out of his daze. Why did he let that happen? That woman knew exactly what she was doing. It wasn't even like she was a smooth older woman either, she was pretty young! And he just let her walk all over him in those fancy high heels.

He grumbled as he pulled his wallet from his back pocket, adding the missing cost to the till. Now he not only had a hard-on but he was out of pocket 500 yen as well.

With a loud sigh, Hinata made his way to the back room, determined to do something about his newfound problem.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

Hinata found himself still thinking about that mesmerising bitch of a woman 3 days later during a quiet afternoon shift. The rainy weather had eased off for the day, the sweltering sun shining through the poorly cleaned windows. Studying in the barely air-conditioned Reserve Course building all day had already left him in a particularly crabby mood. It seems he can't escape the heat anywhere.

He truly envied the Main Course students for a lot of things. Their talent, their privilege, their dormitories, their stupid uniforms, their obnoxious laughter as they ate. He especially hated the way they tried to steal stuff from the store despite the fact they could absolutely afford it and then proceeding to complain to the school and get him in trouble with his boss purely for doing his fucking job.

Hinata really did not like the Main Course students.

Which is why his mood grew even more sour now that there were a bunch of them eating here today. Another cackle echoed through the store, causing Hinata's shoulders to tense up in frustration.

The obnoxious laugh seemed to come from this boy with neon pink hair who was sporting an ugly blue jumpsuit. He slurped his soba loudly as he chatted amongst the other two students beside him. They consisted of a boy and a girl, both clothed in the Main Course's rich brown uniform.

The girl had long blonde hair that cascaded elegantly down her back, she didn't seem like she was Japanese, though. Perhaps an international exchange student? And the boy had dark hair styled in a flashy unusual manner paired with mismatched eyes. If his goal was to make people look at him funny, he was definitely succeeding.

Hinata leaned onto the counter with a sigh, resting his head upon his elbows. His shift had just barely started yet he was already so, so bored. His coworker was hiding out in the back doing god knows what, leaving most of the grunt work to Hinata yet again . Jeez, and the guy wonders why he never bothered to remember his name.

The warm weather pulled at Hinata's consciousness, causing his eyelids to droop shut as he receded into his thoughts. He’d been conjuring up an elaborate fantasy that he found himself regularly indulging in the last few days whenever he had the time to.

It would go down on another rainy evening, the lady would come in wearing white shirt, so completely soaked that Hinata could see the lacy black brassiere underneath.

There would be tears running down her face, smearing her makeup in a way that she still remained beautiful. She had just been dumped by her boyfriend, all alone and out in the rain, just seeking someone to care for her, to listen to her woes. Hinata would listen, take care of her, maybe wrap her up in a towel and sit her down in the back room.

She would confess that she felt feelings for him when he paid for her food, that he supported her in a time of need. She would thank him over and over again, offering to make up for it with her body. Hinata would politely decline, but she would insist, already unbuttoning her shirt.

He would take her there, bend her over the table and make her feel pleasure like she never had before. He’d thrust so deeply that she would be crying, cumming over and over again from his well-sized cock. He would grab that little ponytail of hers and pull her face up, kissing her so passionately that he smeared lipstick across his own lips.

And finally he would cum deep inside of her (she would be using birth control, of course, Hinata isn’t ready for kids).

Afterwards, he’d call her a taxi, and she would leave her number, thanking him for the best night of her life. Perhaps she would come back, and they would fuck again and again.

The electronic bell dinged, tearing Hinata away from his sweet, sweet fantasy. The automatic doors opened and in stepped another student donning a Main Course uniform and a face mask.

Hinata rolled his eyes. "Welcome! Can I be of any ser-"

"KOMAEDA?!"

He found himself cut off by a loud screech from the pink haired student. Said student jumped up out of his seat and backed off. "Wh-why are you here! Since when did you come here?"

The dark haired one spoke. "Souda, you behave as if you have just witnessed an apparition. Does Komaeda truly strike such fear into your heart?"

"Of course he does! Nothing good ever happens when he's around! I always end up getting hurt!" The pink haired boy, who Hinata presumed to be named 'Souda', protested loudly.

The blonde girl stood up, slamming her palms on the table. "Souda! That is no way to treat your fellow classmates!"

"A-Ah, you're right… sorry, Miss Sonia…."

The student who had just entered the store laughed in a way that was honestly kind of creepy. It was just way too breathy, too pained.

"No, it's completely understandable! I'm sorry that somebody as terrible as myself has caused made you worry for your safety..."

What was that kid's name, Komaeda?

"I'll make this brief, I only came to get a drink." Eyes crinkling from what Hinata presumed to be a smile, Komaeda proceeded to walk away from the group of students.

The blonde girl, Sonia, if he wasn’t mistaken, gave Souda a glare before hopping out of her seat with an elegant swish of her skirt. She wandered over to where Komaeda stood near the drink fridges, her gait rather sophisticated and regal.

"Komaeda, I noticed you're wearing a face mask today, did you catch a cold?" Sonia asked the other, attempting to strike up conversation, probably out of pity.

The boy reached into the fridge, grabbing a can of drink. "Ah, yes. I was only in the rain for a short while, but this awful luck of mine found a way to get me sick." He finished his sentence with a soft laugh.

"Oh, that's unfortunate! I really hope you get better soon!" Sonia gave him a sad little smile overflowing with sympathy.

Komaeda paused for a second, blinking a few times before tilting his head to the side and looking towards her. "Sonia-san, I'm incredibly grateful, but you shouldn't waste your hope on scum like me."

What the fuck? Who talks like that?

The Main Course boy made his way towards Hinata, placing a can of Blue Ram on the counter. With Hinata's somewhat icy glare, he found himself hoping that his customer service smile was enough to mask the hate emanating from his soul.

Now that he was close, Hinata got a much better look at Komaeda's features. He had messy white hair and sharp grey eyes, standing stark against pale skin.

Wait.

It seemed Komaeda realised it too. He had a frightened look in his eyes, as if he were a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.

"You…"

Gritting his teeth harshly, Hinata closed his hands into fists before swinging one of his arms forward, pointing an accusatory finger at the boy.

"You took my fucking money!!"

Panic set in on Komaeda's face, and hearing Hinata yell was enough to force his primal instincts to kick in. He broke into a full sprint out of the store, knocking down a shelf in the process. This shelf just so happened to come down on Souda, who screamed out in pain as the metal pinned him beneath.

Hinata slid across the counter and took chase, abandoning the store and the mess in his haste. Never in his life had he been this angry about 500 yen. Well, it wasn't really about the money, it was about the fact he'd rubbed one out to a man dressed as a woman, that he had been fantasising about a man dressed as a woman. His pride as a teenage boy had been destroyed in one swift moment.

Fancy dress shoes clacked against the pavement as Komaeda ran down the street, desperate to get away from the angry store clerk mere metres behind him. His stamina was incredibly poor. Hinata's wasn't great, but at least he was forced to participate in PE and maintain his health.

Hinata noticed Komaeda was beginning to slow down and the gap between them shortened. Outstretching an arm, he reached for the back of the boy's jacket, fingers barely brushing the material the first go. With a rush of determination he reached out again, this time getting a solid grip, yanking the boy to him.

He clearly hadn't considered what pulling 65 kilograms towards yourself whilst you're still moving would do, because the next thing Hinata knew he was colliding with the Main Course student and falling forward into the pavement. He hissed as gravel dug into his skin, scraping up his hands and elbows as he landed on top of the other student.

Hinata grabbed the other boy by his hips, flipping them over and straddling his body to prevent any chance of escape. He glared into Komaeda's narrowed eyes, both boys panting heavily in an attempt to catch their breaths.

"You... hah… owe me…" Hinata barely got the words out.

"I… ah…. haha…. I don't…. know you…" As Komaeda wheezed, he tilted his head back to rest against the pavement.

In an attempt to calm his racing heart, Hinata took a big breath of air before exhaling shakily.

"You… you played that sick prank on me… and then you took my money… and now you have the audacity to say you don't know me?!"

"You… you're the one who gave it to me…" Komaeda shot back, a smirk growing on his face.

It seemed Komaeda's mask had been ripped off in the fall, now loosely hanging from one of his ears. His nose was beginning to bleed, crimson liquid dribbling over his dry lips and teeth. His forehead had been grazed as well, Komaeda really had taken quite the tumble.

Suddenly he pushed Hinata hard in the chest, forcing him off his body. An aggressive cough racked Komaeda's lungs, forcing him to sit up as he choked.

"H-hey… are you okay?" Hinata sat back on his knees, feeling a pang of guilt upon seeing the state of Komaeda's physical condition. Had he really just chased down a sick kid?

Komaeda laughed, an incredulous expression painted on his face as he pulled the remaining loop of the mask off his ear. "Don't get all soft on me now, Hinata-kun. I don't need lowly Reserve Course students worrying about my health."

With his patience instantly running out, Hinata was left fuming. Why on earth did he even ask if that guy was okay?! He was clearly just another stuck up rich prick from the Main Course.

Rising to his feet, Hinata wiped some of the dirt off his hands, wincing at the open wounds that had been left from sharp gravel tearing through his skin.

"If I get fired it's your fault!" He spat back, unable to think of anything else to say to save his dignity at this point.

Clenching his hands into fists, Hinata turned away from Komaeda, who was still sprawled out on the pavement. He began his walk back to the convenience store, a little anxious about his employment situation.

Why would a guy even dress up as a chick? Was he getting off on it? Hinata wondered as he walked.

Was Komaeda gay?

Wait, why did the sexuality of a Main Course student even matter to him?

Was… he gay?

Even after finding out that beautiful woman was a man, he still felt so incredibly attracted to him. That flushed out face and those reddened lips had him having physical reactions that he really shouldn't be having.

Hinata buried his face in his grazed palms. This was way too much to process in one day. He paused and took a deep breath, regaining his composure before stepping back into the store.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

After Hinata returned he lied to his coworker, saying Komaeda had been stealing, which was why he left the store so suddenly. Surprisingly enough, Komaeda's Main Course buddies backed up that refute, claiming, "Trouble just follows that guy everywhere." Hinata almost felt bad for him for a second, until he realised it was himself who had to clean up the knocked over shelf.

He didn't see Komaeda again after that.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

Exams were finally over and Hinata now had a chance to relax. He took the late evening Saturday shift to make up for all the shifts he didn't work after the incident, partially due to exams, partially due to fear of running into that Main Course student again. So even if Komaeda had been by, he wouldn't have known about it.

It made the week incredibly boring and frustrating. For some twisted reason, he wanted to see that boy again. He wanted to cuss him out and punch him, show him how useless that Super High School Level title really was against his fists and prove his own worth.

Though, of course, he would be kicked out of Hope's Peak faster than he could agree to the Hope Cultivation Project.

Leaning his elbows onto the counter, Hinata let out a loud sigh at the realisation that Komaeda wasn't the only thing he had to worry about. If he agreed to the project, he could probably quit working. But that would most likely mean he'd never have the chance to see that boy again. Though, it's not like he'd have the balls to approach him on campus anyways.

But if he was talented, he wouldn't have to worry about that kind of thing, right?

Hinata shook the thought from his head, this really wasn't what he wanted to preoccupy his mind with right now.

Perhaps now would be a good time to check if anything needed restocking. Not a lot of people tend to come by after 10pm, which made working these shifts so easy. Though, you were more likely to encounter drunks and unfavourable people. Not to mention the beating Hinata's sleep schedule took if he ever took one on a weeknight.

He yawned and straightened himself up, beginning to peruse the shelves. Usually he left this kind of thing to whoever worked the Sunday morning shift, but he was feeling particularly bored tonight. Somebody must have restocked during the day though, as there were still plenty of snacks stacked on the shelves.

Ugh, the one time he actually wants to work for his money…

Hinata needed something to keep himself from dozing off out of sheer boredom, so he grabbed a can of coffee from the fridge before returning to the counter. He put his palms down and hoisted himself up, sitting up on the surface with his legs hanging down.

Hinata picked his drink back up, cracking it open with a hiss as the air escaped. He took a few large gulps before placing it back down.

He said he wasn't going to think about the Project when he was feeling so tired and distracted, trying to relax, but he really did need to make a decision. He was already in his second year and still unsure of what to do. They were probably going to dump him if he didn't decide soon, and having that choice taken away from him worried him more than agreeing to it.

But he was particularly worried about the consequences of agreeing. There was such a high chance that the surgery could go wrong, be botched. Well, they actually said the risk was rather small, that the Super High School Level Neurologist would be the one leading the surgery. And sure, he trusts in his talent, but letting somebody into your head is just… terrifying.

The door slid open with an electronic ding, startling Hinata. He threw himself off the counter quickly and yelled out his scripted greeting. "G-good evening!! C-can I be of any service?!"

Hinata spun around, turning his eyes to the door and picking up the lingering can that sat on the counter, in full view for any customer to see how he had been slacking off. He saw the familiar brown pleated skirt of the female Main Course's uniform, so naturally he was expecting a girl, yet when he let his eyes wander up he found himself staring at a painfully unforgettable mass of white hair.

"Ko-"

"Ah, you're working tonight. I was expecting the other one." Komaeda muttered, stepping into the store with a rather exaggerated sway of his hips.

Hinata blinked hard, attempting to keep calm enough to recall his coworker's name. "Uh… the guy with black hair?"

Komaeda paused and blinked in return. "What? You don't even know his name? You truly are useless Reserve Course garbage, huh?"

"Hey! I'm not garbage! If anyone here is garbage it's you!" Hinata yelled, slamming his hands onto the counter. "Coming here so late at night in a girl's uniform, what the hell is wrong with you?!"

A sick grin crept up on Komaeda's as he began to move close to Hinata, allowing the other to get a better look at his getup.

He was wearing tall white socks with black flats. His skirt was much too short, showing off an inappropriate amount of thigh with every movement. Beneath the matching brown blazer was a beige cardigan and a white dress shirt, tied up cutesy with a red ribbon tie. This time he wore no makeup and had done nothing with his hair, just the girly clothes.

"It's true, I am pure scum. This hobby of mine may be disgusting, perverted, messed up, whatever word you want to use to describe it." Komaeda paused for a second before leaning closer. "But nothing I do will ever be as shameful as your pathetic attempts to be something you could never be."

Something in Hinata snapped at those words. He found himself grabbing Komaeda's collar, gripping the fabric tightly in his fist before pulling him across the counter. Hinata raised his fist, gritting his teeth as he went to take a swing at the other boy. However, a coherent thought reached his mind in the last second, and he stopped himself before it could make contact with Komaeda's face.

Komaeda's face twisted into a big grin. "Do it. See what happens. I dare you." His eyes swirled with a strange emotion. Excitement? Fear? He couldn’t say for certain.

Hinata's teeth worried at his lip as he considered it briefly. He could hit him, he was right there. Hitting him would bring him the justice and the relief he had been craving all week, spite that had wound tightly up in his gut whilst sitting all those horrendous exams.

He bit down on his lip hard, before letting go of the other boy with a sigh. "You're not worth it."

Leaning his elbows onto the counter, Komaeda propped his chin up with his hands and gave Hinata a wide smile. He kicked his legs up off the floor, allowing it to bear his full weight. "Say, Reserve Course, why are you so angry anyway?"

"I have a name." Hinata snapped at him. "And why wouldn't I be mad? You deceived me and have the gall to keep insulting me like that."

"Calling you Reserve Course isn't an insult, it's a fact. If you're the one getting upset, then you must truly realise how much of an embarassment you are huh?" Voice practically dropping with mockery, Komaeda tilted his head slighty to the side.

"Shut up. I can tell you're just trying to rile me up." Hinata spat, looking away from the boy in front of him. "Get off the counter before somebody else sees you."

"No thanks! Is that really what you're mad about? A random stranger whom you have nothing to do with just so happens to be crossdressing? If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're either a homophobic prick, or you're mad at yourself for being into it." Komaeda stared right into Hinata, refusing to avert his eyes in an attempt to draw his attention back.

And he was successful, as Hinata was now staring with his mouth agape and cheeks red. "I- I'm not into it!"

"I see! So you're homophobic then?"

"No!!"

"Are you sure?"

"Very!"

"Hmph, suit yourself." Komaeda laughed softly before shimmying himself back off the counter. He picked up Hinata's can of drink, making eye contact with the boy as he took a sip.

"H-hey! That's my drink!" Hinata stuttered out, still somewhat shaken by the accusation.

Komaeda recoiled and groaned. "So bitter… how can you drink this stuff?"

The other boy shrugged. "It's coffee, it's always bitter. Why did you even drink it if you don't like it?"

With a dramatic roll of his eyes, Komaeda placed the drink back onto the counter. "Are all of you Reserve Course students this inane?"

"What? What are you even talking about?" Hinata blinked hard, trying to recall if he had missed something.

Komaeda made a frustrated noise before walking around to behind the counter with yet another expression that Hinata couldn’t quite place. He blurted out a "Hey, you can't be back he-" before having his words cut off by the other boy grabbing his shirt with two hands and planting his lips on his.

Hinata gasped, which gave Komaeda the chance to deepen the kiss and lick at the inside of his mouth. His brain was now running at a million miles an hour, trying desperately to comprehend what the fuck was going on.

The guy who's been making him question his sexuality rocks up to the place he works, dressed in a girl's uniform, and then proceeds to rile him up, insult him, before shoving his tongue into his mouth?

Hinata pushed the other boy away from him, his face rapidly heating up and his pants feeling a bit tighter than before. "Look, Komaeda, I really don't appreciate you making fun of me like this!"

There was an utterly dumbfounded look on Komaeda's face that simply furthered Hinata's confusion. "You still don't get it? I'm trying to seduce you."

"Hah?"

"I want you to fuck me, Hinata-kun."

Hinata's mind completely blanked. That was ridiculous. Komaeda was a rude Main course bastard who seemingly just swung by Hinata’s workplace to make a mockery of him, the dots didn't connect whatsoever. Complications aside, he couldn't deny those words sent his teenage boy heart racing. "B-But you hate me?"

"And?"

"And?!"

"You're hot." Komaeda took a shaky breath, suddenly getting a little more nervous, "Just… say whether or not you want to have sex with me."

"I-I do!!” After blurting out the confession, Hinata averted his gaze to the floor. His face felt like it was on fire at this point. “It's just… uh… I've never done anything… uh… with anyone before."

A loud, wheezy cackle left Komaeda, one that caused him to shake and grab at his shirt as he howled. Hinata watched in confusion and Komaeda fought for his breath, still giggling away until the humour finally began to wear off. He stopped and suddenly breathed a sigh of relief.

"Oh good, I thought I was going to have to break it to you that you’re gay."

"Shut up." Hinata hissed. "You pretty much already did, anyway."

For a second there, Komaeda almost looked shocked, but his expression quickly morphed into a grin. "Was I the one who awakened you? That's incredibly high praise, Hinata-kun."

He draped his arms around Hinata's shoulders, still wearing a cocky smile as he leaned in close once again. This time Hinata took the initiative, twirling Komaeda around and forcing him into the wall behind them before desperately kissing him.

Komaeda flinched, not expecting the rough treatment, but definitely welcoming it. He bit at Hinata's lips as the boy's hands slid down his sides, feeling him up. A moan slipped from Komaeda as a hand ran up his shirt, fingertips grazing along his skin and up to his chest.

Upon feeling lacy fabric, Hinata pulled away from the kiss for a moment. "Are you… wearing lingerie?"

Komaeda giggled softly. "Of course I am, there's no point in dressing like a girl if you aren't going to go the whole mile."

Hinata shook his head, chuckling to himself at the absurdity of the situation. "We're really doing this huh? I don't even have any condoms or lube…"

Komaeda glanced behind Hinata, eyeing the shelf of 18+ items. Hinata followed his eyes, breathing an "Ah." in response. "But what about the store?"

"I can guarantee right now that nobody will come in. I'm not good for much, but this kind of thing I am." Komaeda cracked a near elated smile, happy to finally have his talent be useful.

Despite still seeming somewhat confused, Hinata nodded in agreeance. "Okay… but what about the cameras? Surely they wi-"

That smile on Komaeda's face fell. "If you make another excuse I'm leaving."

"Okay okay!" Hinata put his hands up, stepping back from Komaeda with a huff. He wandered to the front of the store to flip over the 'Back in 5 minutes' sign and lock the doors. He felt it was completely unnecessary, but Komaeda let Hinata waste his time with it anyway.

He decided to take advantage of the moment and grab a pack of condoms and a small tube of lubricant. Any footage on the cameras of him taking the items would go mysteriously missing, after all, the sheer amount of bad luck he had been experiencing for the past week practically guaranteed the night's success.

He opened up the condom pack, ‘Ribbed for her pleasure.’ He couldn't suppress the urge to giggle, pulling one out before slipping it into the breast pocket of his shirt.

When Komaeda looked up again, Hinata was watching him with a nervous stare. His forehead shimmered a little with sweat from the head, and the tight sleeves of Hinata's shirt squeezed around his biceps. He was well built, shirt fitting a little too snugly around his pecs.

He could only hope this Reserve Course boy was as good as he looked.

"Where would you like to do it then, Hinata-kun?"

Hinata shuddered, a rush of arousal burning through him at the sound of Komaeda's sultry voice. It was embarrassing just how much it turned him on.

"T-The back room…" He stammered out, once again forcing himself to look away from Komaeda.

"Well then," Komaeda grabbed ahold of Hinata's twist, causing him to gasp, "The back room it is."

The irony of being led around his own workplace escaped Hinata, who was currently too dizzy with arousal and heat to even walk straight.

Komaeda pushed the door open, pulling Hinata into the break room where it was much cooler, seeing as the air conditioner didn't have to fight with the heat exhaust from the fridges. The two of them paused for a moment, revelling in the cool air as Komaeda swiped at his brow and Hinata aired his shirt.

"S-So, uh…"

Before Hinata could stammer out whatever stupid question that would kill Komaeda's mood, he turned to face him with a smile and put his hands on the boy's hips. Hinata complied as he was slowly walked backwards, admiring the passionate look burning in Komaeda's intense grey eyes. The same ones he admired so deeply upon their first encounter, yet avoided out of nervousness.

This time Hinata was still shaking with nerves, making a startled noise when the back of his knees hit something hard. Komaeda chuckled at his apprehension, voice calm and soothing as he guided him down to sit on the object he presumed to be a chair.

Hinata's thighs shook as Komaeda leaned his hands onto them, using them to balance himself as he straddled his waist in a way that pushed their groins much too close. A soft sigh escaped Komaeda's lips as he settled into Hinata's lap, a smile turning up at the corners of his mouth.

"A-Are you sure this is safe? These chairs are kinda, uh, shitty." He averted his gaze, mouth going dry as he babbled out the words. "I-I-I mean, t-they aren't really meant to support, uh, lots of weight…"

That smile simply got wider, flashing Komaeda's pearly white teeth beneath it. "Mm, we'll see."

Before Hinata could blurt out another objection, Komaeda's lips slotted against his in an aggressive kiss. He barely realised what was happening before Komaeda was already giving swipes of tongue against his lips.

Apparently that was all it took for Hinata's brain to give up on caring about Workplace Safety. His head felt light and dizzy as he reciprocated the movement, moaning softly against the other's lips when their tongues made contact and indulged in a sweet moment of friction.

Komaeda sucked passionately at his tongue in a way that created all sorts of lewd and slick noises that went straight to Hinata's dick. He must have felt it too, because next thing Hinata knew Komaeda was rolling his hips forwards, grinding into the other's crotch in a way that made both of them moan from the soft friction and pressure.

When they finally broke off the kiss, Komaeda was left panting with a little smirk on his face. His cheeks flushed a soft red as his eyes slid down over Hinata's reddened lips, wandering until they fell onto his chest. Pale hands wandered to the collar of Hinata's work shirt, fingers taking hold of the fabric and beginning to undo the two buttons.

With a little bit of Hinata's chest exposed, Komaeda could finally start to see what it was he had been working so hard for. He pressed his hands against Hinata's pecs, smoothing them down across his torso until he reached the hem of the fabric. For the first time tonight, Hinata was completely focused, already raising his arms to make it easier for Komaeda to pull his shirt up and over his head.

The shirt was quickly tossed aside, left abandoned on the floor as the fabric was replaced by hands stroking over Hinata's chest.

A pleased hum could be heard as Komaeda gave his pecs a gentle squeeze. "That shirt isn't very flattering for your body, it makes you look skinny."

“Uh, thank you?”

Hinata wasn’t really sure what to do with his hands as he raised them up to rest on Komaeda’s shoulders, an action that brought out another gentle laugh from him. Removing his hands from Hinata’s chest, Komaeda placed them on top of his own, guiding them downwards past his collarbone and over his chest. Not once did Hinata’s eyes stray from his hands.

Komaeda continued to guide them down, over the subtle curve of his hips until they settled into the pale flesh of his thighs. A light pressure was applied as Hinata buried his fingers into the soft skin, squeezing slightly. This elicited a pleased sigh from Komaeda, who shifted forwards to guide Hinata’s hands to his ass.

A groan barely escaped past Hinata’s gritted teeth as his pants rubbed against his erection. He gripped the flesh tighter, spreading Komaeda’s ass cheeks as he ground his hips upwards. The sensation was overwhelmingly good, sending shocks of pleasure down Hinata’s spine and making his head spin with need .

Those slender fingers returned to Hinata’s chest, brushing over his nipple before taking it between two fingers and squeezing gently. This pulled another moan from Hinata’s throat, and he thrust his hips up again.

“You’re awfully sensitive.” A tighter pinch had Hinata letting out a high squeak, which made him flush bright red in embarrassment. “I know I’m the one wearing a skirt, but if anything you’re more like a girl than I am.”

Hinata resented the way Komaeda’s teasing seemed to go straight to his dick. He pushed his hips forward again, repeating the motion in order to get more friction on his unbearably hard cock. Another rush of pleasure shot through his veins, making Hinata shudder and moan.

In order to silence the awful comments that were shortening his patience in more ways than one, Hinata leaned upwards and pulled at Komaeda’s bottom lip with his teeth. This seemed to get the point across, as Komaeda stopped teasing at his nipples and kissed Hinata deeply, open mouthed and messy.

No teases of tongue, the kiss instantly descended into something filthy and desperate. Teeth clacked against each other painfully as both boys tried to taste as much of one another as they could, the bitter taste of coffee still lingering on Hinata’s tongue.

Hinata’s eyes fluttered closed as he drank in the sensation of Komaeda licking into his mouth and grinding against his crotch. With each breathy moan from the boy above him, he could feel a heat tightening more and more in his lower gut. He moaned against Komaeda’s tongue, gripping his ass tighter and he began to shake slightly with the need for release.

“Wait wait wait.” The boy above him suddenly pulled away, leaving a long string of saliva that broke in the air. He stilled the movements of his hips and spread his palm against Hinata’s chest, “You’re way too worked up. I know you’re a Reserve Course and everything, but surely you’re not going to cum in your pants before we’ve even started?”

There was an annoyed look on Komaeda’s face, one beyond the cocky teasing, like he was genuinely upset by the reaction he had drawn from Hinata.

Hinata’s brow furrowed. “What does being from the Reserve course have to do with anything?”

With a soft little “Hmph,” Komaeda shifted forward and lifted some of his weight off Hinata’s lap. He reached into the pocket of his blazer, pulling the bottle of lube he’d acquired earlier out before shedding the garment and dropping it onto the floor where Hinata’s shirt had landed previously.

Holding the lube in one hand, he began to undo the buttons on his cardigan. Hinata watched closely, focusing on Komaeda’s careful fingers instead of his painful erection in hopes of getting his heart to calm down. Once he’d undone the buttons, Komaeda removed his cardigan, leaving him in a well ironed long-sleeved dress shirt that was rather loose in the chest area.

“U-Um… I’m a little uh…” Hinata’s eyes followed the movements of Komaeda’s hands as the boy uncapped the bottle and drizzled some of the clear liquid onto his fingers.

A rather sadistic laugh echoed off the walls of the room as Komaeda cackled loudly. “You’re so precious Hinata-kun! Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything. Unless you would like to help?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Blinking away the confusion, Hinata stared up at Komaeda expectantly, “Just tell me what to do.”

The lid snapped shut and the bottle was placed onto the table next to them. Komaeda brought his fingers behind his back with a flirty smirk. “Well then, could you please move my panties out of the way?”

With a nod, Hinata slowly brought his fingers forward, hooking one around the lacy thong before tugging it out of the crevice of Komaeda’s ass. He tried to ignore the burning in his face as he tugged the cheeks apart a little, giving Komaeda better access as he brought his fingers to his hole.

There was a pause of silence, before Komaeda let out a rather gentle sigh, relaxing his whole body. He then pushed two fingers into himself with relative ease, having already been there numerous times this week. Entranced, Hinata watched Komaeda’s expression soften as he adjusted to the feeling of having something inside him.

It didn’t take long for him to begin moving his fingers, slowly thrusting them inside himself and drawing them back out again. He scissored the digits apart, stretching the tight muscle and ignoring the slight burn.

Unsure of what to do, Hinata settled for observing every little reaction on Komaeda’s face. The gentle bites of his bottom lip, the soft gasps that came whenever he pushed further than he expected to, the dusting of blush on his cheeks. He couldn’t get enough, it was simply so erotic to watch and only made him more excited for the final act.

Noticing Hinata’s interest, Komaeda placed his free hand over Hinata’s right, pulling him closer. He pulled his fingers out of his hole before rubbing some of the lube off onto Hinata’s index and middle finger. The guideless letters floating in Hinata’s mind finally spelled out an answer, he wants me to finger him .

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Hinata nodded and rubbed his fingers against Komaeda’s entrance. He tried his best to go slow so as to not hurt him, but his fingers easily squeezed in, much to Komaeda’s delight.

All Hinata could process was how warm it was inside another person. He moved his fingers experimentally, rubbing at the soft walls with a childish feeling of intrigue.

“Doesn’t it feel nice?” As soon as Komaeda said that, he clamped down against Hinata’s fingers, drawing a gasp from him. “Think about how good it will feel to be inside an Ultimate. Wouldn't you like that, Hinata-kun?"

Hinata did allow the thought to pass through his mind, being buried balls deep within that soft warmth, the friction as Komaeda squeezed down around him. To answer Komaeda’s question, Hinata pushed his fingers deeper, eliciting a gasp from the other.

“You know… you never did tell me your Ultimate talent?” Lowering his voice, Hinata tried to sound like he had a better grip on the situation than he actually did.

Komaeda fluttered his eyelashes innocently, Hinata couldn’t tell if it was intended or not. “Ah, I never did, did I? It’s a rather boring and worthless talent, but a talent nonetheless.”

Ignoring the seething little rage that burned in his chest at hearing Komaeda say a talent was ‘worthless’, Hinata withdrew his fingers. “So, what is it then?”

There was a soft hum of appreciation from Komaeda, and he slid off the other’s lap. “I won the lottery for my year, I am the 77th’s Ultimate Lucky Student.”

“Seriously?!” Hinata had to keep himself from gasping in excitement, his obsession with talent coming close to overriding all horny thoughts from the moment prior. That’s so--!”

“Lucky?” As he planted his feet on the floor and stood up, Komaeda couldn’t help but insert the snarky comment.

Pursing his lips, Hinata watched as Komaeda leant down and brought his hands to Hinata’s belt. “Cool... I was going to say cool.”

Another soft hum left the other boy as he unclasped Hinata’s belt. That was enough to bring Hinata’s thoughts away from Komaeda’s talent and back to how hard he was. Komaeda undid the button and fly of Hinata's work pants, the other helped by lifting his hips and shucking them down slightly, exposing part of his ass to the uncomfortably cool metal of the chair.

Reaching into Hinata’s boxers, Komaeda wrapped his fingers around the length before pulling it out from beneath Hinata’s sakura printed boxers. Both the relief of being freed from the tight fabric and the sensation of being touched by a hand that wasn't his own were overwhelming, and Hinata practically stopped breathing right then and there.

“Wow, you’re bigger than I expected a Reserve to be.” Giggling at Hinata’s reaction, Komaeda gave his cock a gentle stroke downwards in order to expose the flushed head.

Hinata blinked hard, processing just how stupid that comment was. “I still don’t understand why you think talent and dick size have any correlation.”

Shrugging his shoulders, Komaeda began to slowly jerk Hinata, spreading precum across the shaft whilst bringing his other hand to his breast pocket. There was a loud moan of relief from Hinata, and he allowed his eyes to fall on Komaeda’s hand, his brain dismissing his incredulity.

Withdrawing a shiny packet from his breast pocket, Komaeda brought it to his mouth before tearing it open with his teeth. Using one hand, he pulled a translucent green condom from the packet, allowing the litter to fall to the floor.

He removed his hand from Hinata’s dick, drawing a whine of impatience from the boy that amused him greatly. He brought the condom to the head, pinching the tip as he began to slowly unroll the latex down to fit snugly around his cock. When he looked up again, Hintata was biting his lip and watching with bated breath.

“Adjust it if it’s uncomfortable, otherwise it’ll probably end up tearing.” Straightening himself back up, Komaeda placed his hands on his hips with a soft sigh.

With a gentle nod, Hinata brought his hand down to adjust the condom. It was an incredibly foreign sensation, but necessary, at least this time.

Komaeda slid his hands down his hips, then under his skirt and back up again, giving Hinata a glimpse of the lacy pink panties hidden beneath. He hooked his thumbs around the waistband, and pulled them down to the floor before stepping out of them.

Flashing a flirty smirk, Komaeda wrapped his hand around Hinata’s erection, drawing a surprised yelp from him. He swung a leg over Hinata’s waist, beginning to mount him once again. Angling Hinata’s cock, he attempted to bring it to his prepared entrance. He seemed to be struggling to find it, and bending his arm back was beginning to hurt. Seeing his difficulty, Hinata placed his hand over Komaeda’s and helped him line it up with his hole. With a satisfied exhale, Komaeda placed his hands on Hinata’s shoulders and began to slowly sink down.

Nothing could have prepared Hinata for the sheer heat that engulfed his cock. It felt so much better than his hand ever could, even more so than having his fingers inside Komaeda did. It seemed that Komaeda was enjoying it too, because his eyes were squeezed tightly shut and mouth open wide in surprise.

“Oh shit .” Hinata gasped as Komaeda lowered himself completely, taking the entirety of his length with one movement. He gripped at those skinny hips, desperately seeking something to put him in a little control and his brain succumbed to ecstasy.

"Haha!" Giggling to himself, Komaeda slowly drew his hips back up. "You really are a virgin, aren't you Hinata-kun?"

It felt as though Hinata's face were on fire, "I-I already told you that!"

Bony hands fingers dug into Hinata’s shoulders as Komaeda dropped back down again, forcing Hinata to bite his lip so as to not let out another embarrassing sound. Slow drags up and down, plunging Hinata back into that tight heaven of friction and ecstasy. He allowed his head to tilt back, letting out a gentle sigh as Komaeda set a slow yet pleasurable pace. The kind of pace that set the mood, eased him into it, left both of them craving more. When his eyelids inevitably flickered shut, Hinata felt as though he were floating. The humidity was getting to him, along with those sickly wet sounds and heavy breathing warm on his skin. The warm weight of Komaeda’s body pressing against his made it all too easy to take whatever he was offering, to forget all of that assholeish shit he said and did in the past week.

The need winding around his gut was pulling tighter and tighter, his hips beginning to move up to meet Komaeda’s. He wanted more, if he was going to cum he needed more than just this. Hinata’s eyes flittered open, and he glanced down to his hands. Komaeda’s pleated brown skirt rested just beneath his fingertips, material all bunched up at the sides with a little bulge tenting it at the front. He couldn’t resist the urge to slide his right hands down Komaeda’s pelvis, carefully dragging his fingers over the bulge until he reached the tip.

“A-Ah!”

Startling, Komaeda almost jumped right off Hinata’s lap. His breathing was heavy and wheezy, lungs quietly rattling as he tried to catch his breath. The pale skin of Komaeda's face had flushed to a bright pink, he looked like he was going to throw up.

"Hey, wait…" Hinata murmured, tipping his head back up. "You don't look too hot."

There was a soft chuckle, followed by Komaeda clasping a hand over his mouth as he broke into a coughing fit. He dug his left hand tightly into Hinata's shoulder, stabilising himself as his body shook.

"Have you finally come to your senses, Hinata-kun? Though, can you really be that picky?" He croaked out, giggling between coughs. "You are a Reserve Course student, after all."

Sitting up, Hinata grabbed hold of Komaeda's waist again. "Hey! No no I'm not talking about that. You were sick the other day, weren't you?"

"Ah, I've had a cold that has been rather difficult to shake." Sheepishly, Komaeda averted his gaze to the floor. "Are you worried about catching it? I'm sure it's not something viral."

"I'm not worried about that, I'm worried about you going into respiratory failure!"

Komaeda laughed dryly, an almost bitter sound. "It is always a possibility! Trust in my luck to kill me the second I get a good thing."

Confused, Hinata blinked a few times. "Do you want to stop?"

"Do I want to stop…?"

Komaeda paused, repositioning himself in Hinata's lap as he considered his next move. He didn't want to stop; he was so glad to be finally here, to be doing this. Something so dangerous and taboo, and with a student who was not only beneath him, but a complete stranger.

The exact kind of scenario in which his luck could be completely unpredictable. The nervous feeling bubbling in his chest caused a creepy smile to twitch at the corners of his mouth.

"Not at all!" He chirped.

The cheery tone only furthered the furrow in Hinata's brow. "Seriously, you look like you're about to pass out, let me-"

"Don't get all soft on me now, Hinata-kun. I don't need lowly Reserve Course students worrying about my health."

Hinata blinked hard, recalling what Komaeda had said to him the day he'd discovered his dirty secret. The scowl on Komaeda's face as he glared up at him, the blood dripping down his lips, only to spatter against the concrete.

Komaeda didn't need sympathy. Komaeda didn't want sympathy.

His hands slid under the other's boy's thighs, gripping tightly and pulling him closer. Before Komaeda could understand what was happening, Hinata rose to his feet, picking up Komaeda with him and causing the other to gasp in surprise. He wrapped his legs tightly around Hinata's torso, fearing that he may be dropped.

Hinata pushed him down into the table, forcing him forward until his back was flush against the cold plastic. A can of drink was knocked over in their wake, and Komaeda did not neglect to notice the open manga and discarded plastic wrappers by his head.

Messy…

"Oh? Getting rough with a Main Course student are we?" Komaeda giggled, setting himself off into another series of coughs and barks.

"You were taking too long, it's my turn now."

Hinata slammed his hands down beside Komaeda's head and thrust his hips forward, pressing himself deep into the other boy. Blunt nails scraped against the plastic as Komaeda wheezed, his legs strangling around Hinata's waist.

"You really love this power dynamic thing, don't you? Did you seek me out specifically because you wanted to be fucked by somebody inferior to you?" Digging his nails into Komaeda's skin, Hinata moved with reckless abandon. "You're disgusting, Main Course students really are all the same."

It made Hinata seethe with an unbearable anger. He had never felt this pissed in his life, wound up so tightly that all he wanted to do was hit Komaeda until that stupid smile fell right off his face. But he couldn't deny just how good it felt, being put in his place by a girl dressed in her school uniform, the irrefutable proof that she was better than him.

But Komaeda was not a girl. No matter how feminine he looked, his hips were narrow and chest flat. His skirt had ridden up, exposing his cock that was bouncing against his stomach as Hinata fucked him, having slipped out of his lingerie quite some time ago. His little raspy moans and gasps sounded pretty girlish, though, and that was enough for Hinata.

“A-Ah you’re… hah! Come on you can do a little better than— f-fuck!”

Unable to resist the urge, Komaeda kept taunting him. Hinata was endlessly unamused by this, resorting to tilting his hips in order to get closer to Komaeda's prostate.

At least, that's what he was hoping. It was up, right?

A lucky guess, he supposed, and Komaeda was broken into whimpers. He scrabbled for the edges of the table, gripping tightly as it creaked beneath him.

It was overwhelming, the pleasure and excitement becoming too much for Komaeda. It felt like he was going insane, being rocked into so hard it was almost painful. The little giggles he made amongst the moans and whimpers were involuntary, but with every passing second he felt higher and higher. Closer and closer to reaching something amazing.

Is this what hope feels like?

It was a stupid thing to wonder.

Hinata himself felt as though he were melting, brain fuzzy with anger and arousal. He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears as he panted, exhaustion beginning to catch up on him even though he was oh so close.

He leaned in close, burning his face in Komaeda's neck as he panted. The movements of his hips were beginning to stutter and slow, he was failing.

"Please…" Komaeda whined, wrapping his arms tightly around Hinata's neck. "Please please come on even a useless Reserve like you should be able to finish me off!"

"Sh-shut up."

The growl came out harsher than Hinata had expected. To apologise, he grabbed ahold of Komaeda's face with his left hand, kissing him firmly on the lips as he attempted to move faster. Komaeda eagerly licked into his mouth in gratitude.

Hinata was unable to hold down all of his sweet moans and pants when Komaeda was tonguing his gums like some kind of puppy. He groaned into the other boy's mouth.

How is he enjoying this so much? Surely it can't feel that good down there…

He creeped his other hand down to Komaeda's skirt, sliding his hand beneath it and carefully wrapping his fingers around his cock. His dick was practically drooling with precum, wet enough that he probably could have been mistaken for a girl. Komaeda's eyes widened in trepidation, and he pulled away from the kiss as Hinata stroked his hand down the shaft.

The word didn't even make it past Komaeda's lips, all he could do was mouth "Faster."

Thus Hinata obliged, allowing his hand to glide faster with the slickness of Komaeda’s skin. It felt incredibly awkward, moving his hips desperately whilst jerking his lover at a much faster pace than he could synchronise with, not to mention just how sloppy and pathetic their kisses were becoming with each passing second. At this point they were just pressing their lips against one other’s and licking.

At least Komaeda wasn’t hypocritical enough to make fun of him for his technique.

Komaeda’s thighs were tensing, and his hips were lifting from the table. He was whimpering like a dog in heat, barely breathing little pleads and begs. He was clearly so close, and Hinata could feel his own release creeping through his guts too.

He broke off whatever semblance of a kiss they were still doing pressed his left hand against the table, using it as a support as he practically jackhammered Komaeda’s ass.

The room was filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, panting and moaning, as well as the squeaking of the table beneath their weight. Komaeda suddenly yelled out, digging his nails harshly into Hinata’s back as his hips thrust up to meet his hand.

His voice broke as he came, white stripes of cum painting his dress shirt as Hinata stroked him through his orgasm. Komaeda was shaking beneath his touch, breaths laboured and wheezy.

A rivulet of sweat rolled down Hinata’s forehead. He kept thrusting his hips, unconcerned with overstimulating the boy beneath him. He was just so close, he could feel it rising in his chest. Just a little more, just a little more and--

“Hinata-kun!”

There was a loud crack, followed by the sound of metal scraping against itself, and suddenly they were both falling to the floor.

Hinata grabbed a tight hold of Komaeda, gasping when they both landed on the cold linoleum. It all happened so fast. With so much adrenaline pumping through his veins, Hinata didn't even notice he had squeezed his eyes shut at some point.

Slowly opening them again, the first thing he did was look at Komaeda. The boy’s grey eyes were open wide in shock, face still flushed red and lips swollen from their activities, but he seemed mostly unharmed.

He pulled out of Komaeda, dick still aching with a need left unfulfilled as he crawled off of him. Komaeda also sat himself up, dusting off his shirt dramatically as though he hadn't cum all over it moments before.

“Hey… are you okay?”

Komaeda’s only response was to look at Hinata with those wide eyes, then to stare straight past him. A few seconds later he was giggling, soon breaking into a fit of raucous laughter.

Confused, Hinata turned around to look behind himself, eyeing the folding table in a crumpled heap on the floor.

He couldn't believe it.

They’d broken the table. They’d broken the fucking table, he’d been blue-balled by a fucking table, and Komaeda was sitting there laughing like it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen.

#Danganronpa #Inappropriate #Komaeda Nagito #Hinata Hajime #Komahina #Dr3 #Ficgiri #SDR2Giftober

38 notes · View notes

dammit-stark · 4 years

Note

Ooo ooo, an au i loooove is flower shop au! Where one character runs a flower shop and flowers with symbolic meanings are used- ugh the fluff/flirting potential 🥰🥰

fun fact: i’ve somehow managed to never write a flower shop au before this??? which is absurd bc it’s a friken classic so this was super fun I really enjoyed this hehe

SEND ME YOUR FAV AU AND ILL WRITE YOU A DRABBLE :)

...

He knows that it’s Pepper’s birthday. He knows because she told him a week ago, pointedly inserted it into all of his various calendars, threatened him with violence and selfish resignation as his assistance. He knows it’s her birthday.

Still, the morning of when JARVIS alerts him that he forgot to get Pepper a present, it catches Tony by surprise.

“Fuck,” He says, rubbing his face as he sits up in bed, “JARVIS, what am I supposed to get her?”

“I’m afraid you did not program me to be able to advise on gift giving, sir,” JARVIS replies, and Tony, his infernal creator, knows it’s said with joyful malice, “But if I may suggest something. Miss Potts has expressed an appreciation for fresh flowers in the past. Sir.”

Tony sighs, pulling on the nearest pair of pants, “You’re a life saver, JARVIS. Send Pep a happy birthday message, will you?”

“Very well, sir.”

“I’m gonna get some flowers. Don’t tell her I forgot.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tony grabs his keys and opens the front door, stopping with one foot over the invisible jamb, “And stop mouthing me, JARVIS. You might sound polite, but I programmed you, I know when you’re sassing me.”

JARVIS is tellingly silent. Tony closes the door behind himself.

So, flowers. Flowers. How hard can flowers be? He passes four flower stands on his way to the burger joint he likes a block from the tower, and he’s positive there’s a quaint little shop the next block over. Surely, he can figure this out.

Except when Tony gets to the shop, a pink and blue awning hanging over him like an insufferably ironic storm cloud, he’s at a complete loss.

Would she like pink or blue? Roses or carnations? Tulips? Lilies? Daisies? Something yellow? Maybe something orange like her hair? Would she be offended by that? Probably. Isn’t there a green thing she likes? Surely, she’s mentioned it before. It’s gotta be somewhere in the recesses of Tony’s unfocused brain, somewhere.

He’s standing at a loss in front of a vibrant display that looks distinctly like the photoshop color picker exploded.

“Excuse me, sir. Can I help you with something, sir?”

“Don’t call me sir.”

“Sorry?”

“I get enough of that from my robots, I don’t need it from- attractive flower salesman. Hi. Tony Stark. Nice to meet you.”

Aforementioned flower salesman blinks, and Tony notes with satisfaction the dee blush high on his cheeks.

“Uh, can I help you find something?”

In a moment, Tony’s moving again, hands fluttering, mind whirring, mouth working without the rest of his body’s knowledge, about as per usual. He picks up a colorful bouquet of various wild flowers, smells it, and puts back with a scrunched nose, “I need a birthday present for my assistant. Something that says ‘Thank you for being in my life. No I didn’t forget your birthday, see. Love you’.”

The salesman looks at his shoes when he talks, nodding, “Well we have a variety of flowers that can express love or lust. A mauve carnation, for example. Or coriander is a lovely way to express the same sentiment. Red roses obviously mean love, and calla lilies symbolize beauty. We can assemble you a beautiful bouquet with these if you would like.”

Tony scrunches his nose like he smelled another disagreeing flower fragrance, “I don’t think you understand. I was thinking of something a little more.. platonic. More gratitude and friendship than sex and love.”

Steve’s head shoots up from the spot on the floor that he had been all but staring a hole through, and his eyes are wide, “Really?”

“Oh, yeah. We don’t really bat for the same teams, if you know what I’m saying.”

The blush returns to Steve’s face, but there’s an excited, hopeful glint in his eyes. And when he speaks, the words come out faster, rushers “Daffodils and peach roses then,” He says with confidence, “Appreciation. Yellow roses, too, maybe. For friendship.

Oh! And we can’t forget about alstroemeria! Better known as Lily of the Incas, they’re beautiful flowers that are most popular in bouquets for platonic love and friendship. What do you think?”

Tony smiles, and Steve’s breath audibly hitches, it’d almost be funny if Tony wasn’t so wooed by all the flower talk, “That sounds great. I’ll take all of it in one big, gorgeous bouquet.”

Steve moves behind the counter, “It’s gonna be pricy.”

Tony’s responding grin is knowing and cool, and his eyes squint minutely at the corners with this joyfulness, “Don’t worry. I can cover it. How fast can you get it done? Can we make this happen today? I know it’s last minute, but this’ll really save my butt.”

Steve reads down the long list of invoice orders ahead of him. He looks up to tell Tony that it’s impossible and- “Give me two hours.”

Apparently his heart (and eyes, and dick) put Tony at the top of the list. Tony has no idea, just smiles cheerfully, and nods, pulling out a shiny black credit card from his back pocket. Steve had always thought the black card thing had been a myth, an urban legend made up by money-grubbing banks and capitalists, but when he slides the card through the machine, it doesn’t bounce.

“Alright,” Steve says as he hands the card back, “I’ll see you in two hours.”

When Tony opens the front door to leave, he wiggles his fingers in a funny goodbye and disappears back into the New York streets. He’s starting to be glad he forgot Pepper’s birthday in the first place, even if she potentially hates him forever for dropping the ball.

Two hours later, Tony returns, and the bell on the green painted door to the quaint shop rings as he enters. Steve is nowhere to be found. A grumpy-looking, long-haired curmudgeon mans the counter instead.

“Hi, I’m here to pick up an order for Stark,” Tony says with a charming smile, one hand coming down to slap the blue painted countertop.

The florist, his name tag reading BUCKY :) in big, ironic letters turns around still frowning, and roots around for Tony’s bouquet. When he turns around, he’s holding two bouquets. He sets them both on the counter. Tony stares at them.

“I’m sorry,” He says, pointing at the redder one of the two, “I only ordered one.”

Bucky points with malice at the unfamiliar bouquet, “Yeah, I know. Apparently this one’s on the house. It’s from Stevie.”

“Stevie, huh?” Tony quips, the corners of his lips turning into a smile.

“Steve, yeah.”

“Tell Steve to call me then. So I can thank him.”

Bucky shakes his head, looking boring and maybe even irritated. He points at the on-the-house arrangement, “His number’s on the card.”

Tony smiles and scoops both bouquets up into his arms.

“You guys really have great service,” Tony jeers, and Bucky continues looking unamused and uninterested, “Thanks, Bucky!”

When Tony gives Pepper her gift, she’s duly impressed by the thoughtful layers to it. Tony proudly tells her what all the flowers mean.

She watches him dubiously from over top the crest of flowers, “So who told you what to get me? Who do I really have to thank?”

Tony shakes his head and refuses to think about JARVIS or Steve (just in case Pepper secretly has mind reading abilities, you can never be too safe), “I did it all by myself, Pep. Come on, give me some credit.”

She still looks suspicious, her nose in a lily, but eventually she nods, “Yeah, sure. You pass. Even if you didn’t think it up yourself, there was obviously some forethought since you can’t just go out and get a custom bouquet the same day. Good job, Tony. You’ve set the bar for next year.”

Tony groans.

It’s quarter to eleven, and Tony’s been staring his own bouquet, carefully placed in a genuine crystal vase on his kitchen counter, for almost an hour now. He finally gets up the nerve to google the symbolism surrounding the flowers and-

They’re all variations on lust or pining. A couple that have alternate meanings of love that Tony tries not to dwell on. He carefully punches the number into his phone and presses dial.

“H-hello?”

“Did I wake you up?”

“Who is this?”

“Tony Stark from the flower shop this morning.”

It sounds like something is dropped, something fumbled, and Steve’s a little breathless when he finally speaks, “Did you, uh, get my flowers?”

Tony’s smiling even though he knows Steve can’t see him, and it’s all kinda ridiculous, but he sees that beautiful bouquet in his kitchen and sees red roses behind his eyes, mauve carnations dancing in his vision, “Yeah,” He says, smiling like an absolute idiot, “I should give you some daffodils in exchange, I appreciated them so much.”

Steve snorts, and Tony imagines him smiling too.

“What? Is that not how it works?”

“I’m glad you appreciated them, Tony Stark. I meant it.”

Tony feels a feeling in his stomach, something like purple lilacs rising through him.

“Wanna go for dinner sometime?”

He imagines Steve’s smile looking like a field of daisies.

“I’d love to.”

#Stevetony #flower shop au #drabble #ask

28 notes · View notes

mordellestories · 4 years

Text

Give a Beetle a Bone

It was a fucking disaster, is what it was! It wasn't like Betelgeuse's plans had never gone to shit, quite the opposite; his plans ALWAYS went to shit in some way or another, but this time? This time took the fucking cake ! Getting eaten by a sandworm just moments away from being free as a bat at dusk, now that's a story to tell the grandkids–wherever the fuck those little turds were. How could this be the end? How could he have gotten so close, only to come out of the other end of a giant, very satisfied, striped asshole? At least one of them enjoyed themselves. He shuddered at the memory of being squeezed right out into a steaming mountain of sandworm shit.

What was he supposed to do now? Wait his turn with the other deadbeats in waiting room 8, just to get bitched out by the cunt-of-an-ex-boss? Again?! No. No freaking way. This was it. This was the last straw that broke the corpses back, and Betelgeuse was ready to go to war .

The riled up poltergeist shot out of his chair, still in tatters from his meet and greet with the jaws and intestines of that legless, enthusiastic fucker on Saturn. (The beast actually took a liking to Betelgeuse once he was out. Must have grazed the thing’s sweet spot or some shit.)

"I'm not gonna stand for this," Betelgeuse said with righteous determination while standing. "I'm the ghost with the most!" He beat his chest with an angry fist and stomped his foot on the ground. "I do what I want when I want, and none of you dupes can do a thing about it!"

"You!" Miss Argentina shouted from the reception. "I can hit this big red button right here and send you right back to where you came from if you like," she grinned wickedly.

Betelgeuse held up his hands in surrender. "Woah! Not necessary, babe," he winked, exposing his grimy overbite. "I'm just gonna hit the john, maybe have some grub, and I'll be right back." He chuckled slowly and dangerously, placing his hand to his chest and straightening. "Cross my heart and hope to live," he cackled wildly and popped into the midplane between life and death. Time to pay up, betrothed. His shrieking laughter rang through time and space as he zeroed in on his target.

He landed in a darkroom. It took a few moments to realize he was trapped in a negative hung to dry.

"You ruin my art, and I'll ruin your afterlife," droned a familiar feminine voice from afar.

Betelgeuse craned his neck every which way to catch a glimpse of the snot-nosed, betraying, little shit. The backstabbing kid was gonna feel his wrath from here to kingdom come– HOLY HANGIN' GEMSTONES BELOW!

A slim form was hunched over a table, examining her work with a Buddhist monk's calm and concentration—jet black hair pulled up in a messy bun, chocolate eyes, moonlight pale skin, and grown up in every way that counted in his books!

Mother o' pearl, look at those tits!

"Yowzers!" Betelgeuse let out, followed by a sharp whistle. "How long was I in that literal shithole," he grumbled and scratched his head, utterly confounded.

"Eighteen years," Lydia replied dryly, not sparing a glance in the poltergeist's way, making Betelgeuse feel entirely insignificant.

It was insulting. It was infuriating. It was-it was-it was... It was a massive turn on , and Betelgeuse was instantaneously stiff in more ways than one.

He leered in her direction, even though she was still ignoring him, and scanned her top to toes again, shaking his head in bewilderment. Betelgeuse hummed with approval. "May I just say, you're lookin' like a beetle on a cracker ta me right now, babe. Ya sure as hell didn't get your pop's looks, thank my lucky stars," he mumbled the rest.

Lydia arched a brow, the only sign she had heard him at all.

Lordy-lord! That stoic, unperturbed, porcelain face was making him itch in all the right places.

"I wondered when you'd have the stones to come back," Lydia murmured absentmindedly.

Oh, this bitch was messing with the wrong dead man. "Is that right," he drawled with a sneer. "Well, honeybun, your wait is over. Time to ta hold up your end of our deal."

Lydia scoffed with the tiniest smile, her complete amused disregard for the poltergeist going straight to his dick.

Look at me, look at me, look at me! Betelgeuse shook himself and tried to sound as menacing as possible and not like he wanted to grovel at her feet and beg her to scratch his head like the flea-infested dog he was. "Sweetums," he warned, "I think you remember what I'm capable of–hard to forget, I'm sure. I'd watch yourself if I were you."

This time, Lydia did turn her gaze up to meet the ghost, but the look on her face was far from frightened. There was a wicked glint in her hooded eyes, but the rest her face remained as impassive as ever. "What are you going to do? Summon a merry-go-round and a jumping mice circus? Dress as a clown? Oh, wait," her brow furrowed slightly, "you're already in costume."

Oh my god... Cupid had aimed a long-range missile right between his legs and shot his cock up to the heavens that didn't exist a moment ago.

Betelgeuse actually needed to swallow for the first time since he'd keeled over. His jaw was slack, and his eyes were bugged out. He needed to get this shit under control, or he was gonna roll over and let his tongue loll out of his panting, rabid mouth. He cleared his throat and adjusted the lapels of his ruined wedding tux.

Lydia had the decency to keep eye contact, but it unnerved him, and that was just insane. "Listen, kid, uh, woman, uh, pretty lady," he stammered, "I bent the laws of nature for you, saved your friends, scared your folks straight, I'm due some compensation, okay?" Betelgeuse couldn't get over sounding like a handyman being gypped out of his hard-earned cash by an unsatisfied customer. "We made a deal," he all but whined.

The medium raised a single brow and smirked, giving Betelgeuse her undivided but callous attention. "Poor Betelgeuse," she cooed.

The ghost could not suppress the electric sparks from shooting out of his ears at the sound of his name on those pretty pink lips.

"Oh, baby ," Betelgeuse drawled, desire gripping onto his sanity and wringing it out like an old dishrag. "Two more times, and I'm yours," he breathed with manic, pleading eyes. "I'll do anything, and I mean... anything," he pronounced while whipping his arms open to make it abundantly clear.

Betelgeuse could feel Lydia's eyes appraising him, and he was suddenly, painfully aware that he looked like he'd been chewed and shat out of a Saturn giant. She was looking at him like he was a bug–and not in a good way.

"Anything?"

Betelgeuse latched onto the intrigue like a lifeline, because that's exactly what it was! "Anything," he swore and knew he'd follow through because-holy shit-she was gorgeous. To prove his point, he blinked a bouquet of roses into Lydia's arms.

Surprise registered on Lydia's face and then a smile, and fuck, he felt like she'd given him a treat for being a good boy.

"Cute," she deadpanned and let the flowers drop to the floor, "but cliche."

Betelgeuse snapped his fingers, a box of chocolates manifested next, which Lydia snorted at.

A wave of his hand brought a generous shower of jewels and gems.

She rolled her eyes.

Betelgeuse snarled. "Aw, c'mon! Waddya want?! Dresses?" All manner of old fashioned gowns fell onto Lydia's lap. "Just say the word, and it's yours."

Lydia seemed somewhat pleased with the wardrobe above everything else, but it still wasn't the reaction any other woman would have had. Hell's bells, this woman was hard to please! He hit all the staples, didn't he? What else could a chick want?!

"Hmm," the stoic beauty hummed and shrugged, "I dunno, Betelgeuse ."

"One more B-word, snookums," the ghost pleaded.

She sighed dramatically. "I'm not very impressed, and I honestly have everything I've ever set my mind to," she looked at her nails and then dead in his eyes. "Except..."

Betelgeuse pressed his face up against the photo's barrier, squishing his crooked nose and fogging up the image. "Tell me," he purred, fire igniting every cold bit of his soul.

"You."

Betelgeuse let out a high-pitched wheeze and shot a hand to his dead heart. "Me?! Fuck, babe, ya got me! Hook, line, and sinker! Let me outta here!" He clawed at his prison and whimpered.

Lydia's grin was downright evil, and the ghost shook in his boots. "I'm not going to marry you," she clarified. Betelgeuse deflated but waited for her to continue. "But, I'll let you out every once in a while if you're a good boy."

Good boy. "Want me ta be good? I'll be good for ya. I'll sprout wings and a halo for you, babes."

"I don't think you understand," Lydia chuckled and shook her head, bemused. "I'll own your soul, you'll be my errand boy for all of my whims, and I decide if and when you get to come out to play."

"Yes." Betelgeuse had said it without hesitation, and no follow-up.

Lydia's eyebrows disappeared under her bangs. "You can't be serious," she narrowed her eyes. "I'm offering you scraps!"

Upon snapping his fingers again, Betelgeuse's ears grew and flopped over, a tail sprouted out of his ass crack, and a collar with the name Lydia in big neon green letters wrapped around his neck.

"As long as those scraps come from your table, Lyds, I'll sit, rollover, and even play dead for ya." He grinned wide, let his tongue roll out past his chin as he panted, and let out a needy bark.

It was obviously the right thing to do because the passive woman burst out laughing. It was music to Betelgeuse's new doggie ears. He was so in trouble.

"Okay," she let out on a breathy giggle. "Then we got a deal... Betelgeuse ."

The ghost cackled and cheered. "Aw, yeah! It's showtime, babes!"

Mordelle on Ao3

#beetlebabes #babesweek #babesweekjuly2020 #beej and lyds #Beetlejuice/Lydia #movieverse #beetlejuice movie #mordellestories

24 notes · View notes

in-class-daydreams · 4 years

Text

Blue Star | Oikawa x Reader | Ch.1

- Pairing: Oikawa Tooru x Reader

- Word Count: ~ 3,900

- Genres: Fluff, angst, Ushijima doesn’t know what a meme is

- CW: Mild swearing

- Summary: Sometimes, (Y/N) wonders if it was hard for her father to send her away. To a new prefecture, a new home, a new school. It all just might be worth it when after becoming the (suspiciously knowledgeable) manager of the Aoba Johsai boys’ volleyball club, she meets Oikawa Tooru. Together, they do their best to exorcise demons they thought would never leave. They learn about progress, when to strive for it, and when to accept the realities that cannot be changed.

Chapters: First | Previous | Next

Sweaty and shaking, (Y/N) sat upright in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room. The walls were eggshell white, bare, pristine as if they had been untouched. There were no souvenirs or personal belongings anywhere, save for a short pyramid of boxes sitting in the corner.

Stiff, unused sheets wrapped around her, nothing like her beloved bed set back home.

‘Oh, that’s right…” she thought, ‘This is home now.’

Her mind flashed back to the busy day before, where she said goodbye to her mother and had the movers bring only some of her belongings to her new apartment so that the space didn’t completely fill up with unpacked boxes.

After some long, deep breaths, (Y/N) turned her attention to the obnoxious noise her phone was making.

The overly bright device read ‘6:20’.

(Y/N) flopped back down on her bed.

She ran a hand down her face, groaning.

“I don’t really need an education, right? I’m still pretty flexible. I could probably drop out and become a stripper, right, Hubble? The club down the street is always trying to hire new people.”

Across the room, the round orange tabby gazed back at her judgmentally.

The teen rolled her eyes at her pet, “Thanks for the support, Hubs.”

Once in the bathroom after a long struggle to drag herself out of bed, (Y/N) rested her weight against the sink. Gently touching the bags under her eyes, she sighed.

“I’ve looked better,” she said to herself, “Hey! Bad kitty!”

She tried to nudge Hubble off the counter, only for the feline to look at her with a look of even lesser interest than she gave frogs or mice.

Realistically, (Y/N) could lift the cat of the counter herself, but honestly, she didn’t have the energy to do so.

Rather than get dressed for school, she sat down on the edge of the custom made bathtub.

Lips pursed, she said to her cat, “Hey, at least you got to come with me, rather than stay home with mom and dad. That’s good.”

Hubble gave her the facial equivalent of crickets chirping.

Snatching her new uniform from its hook, yanking the brown plaid skirt up her thighs, she grumbled to herself, “First I get exiled to a whole new prefecture, and now I’m talking to my cat, who has also decided to be a dick to me, but this is what I needed, right?” she asked sarcastically, “A ‘change of pace.’”

She tucked in the lilac dress shirt far more aggressively than necessary. Her sigh of relief was cut short when she spotted the cream vest and a blazer that she had to wear.

“Why does this stupid uniform have so many damn layers!” she screamed into the empty apartment.

Soon after, her shoulders sagged in resignation. Expertly lacing up the uniform tie, she sighed for the nth time since she woke up. There was no use fighting it any more. This empty, desolate apartment was her new home. Aoba Johsai was her new school. No amount of anger was going to change that.

She recalled the conversation she had with her childhood friend before she left.

“Wakatoshi said to just keep to myself. That’s easy. I can do that. Of course…” she glanced over to the box pyramid on the other side of her bare apartment.

(Y/N) stalked over, picking up the box on top, securely sealed with red duct tape. A scowl marred her already unpleasant expression.

Desperate to get it out of her sight, she shoved the box unceremoniously into her deep bedroom closet, where it (hopefully) would never bother her again.

“It’s kind of weird to get a transfer student in the middle of second year.”

“Maybe one of her parents got a new job or something.”

“What if she’s a delinquent?”

‘You know, it costs you nothing to mind your own freaking business.’

“All right, class, settle down,” the teacher raised her voice just slightly. “This is (L/N) (Y/N). She’s our new transfer student, and she’ll be the boys’ volleyball club manager this year. Make sure you all treat her well. Please have a seat in front of Iwaizumi-san.”

(Y/N) bowed, “Thank you, Yukino-sensei.”

The woman nodded, “Of course. I hope you enjoy your time here at Aoba Johsai.”

(Y/N) slid into the desk in front of a tan, spiky-haired boy who she recognized from middle school, only now it looked like his biceps were about to bust his uniform sleeves. It took her a second to realize who it was.

“Hajime!”

(Y/N) froze, worried they were no longer on a first-name basis, but the teenager just smiled back at her.

“(Y/N)! How’ve you been?”

“Eh, same old, same old. But it looks like you’re doing great! You’ve gotten so much bulkier since middle school! What have they been feeding you?” she said, causing him to laugh and ruffle her hair.

In fear of Yukino-sensei’s wrath, the class stayed relatively quiet. Though, people were stealing glances at her a noticeable amount. In their defense, they had a valid reason. One of the most intimidating students alive was being extremely friendly to an unknown, unheard transfer student. The stares were annoying, but not distractingly so.

The moment the final bell rang, a cluster of students swarmed (Y/N)’s desk.

“(L/N)-san, why did you transfer?”

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“(L/N)-san, how did you get the manager position?”

Ah, the manager position. That one came up a lot. Honestly, she didn’t see why people were so worked up over it.

She couldn’t exactly ignore her classmates, so she responded in as few words as possible, “I had to,” “No,” “I asked for it.” She kept her answers brief, hoping her fellow students would find the lack of response boring rather than alluring.

“(L/N),” Iwaizumi called out.

Her head immediately snapped to where he was standing by the door.

“You’re our new manager, right? Want me to show you where the gym is?” he asked gruffly.

(Y/N) grabbed her school supplies and practically ran over to Iwazumi, who had a tall brunette boy standing behind him.

“I’d appreciate that, thank you.”

On the walk to the gym, Iwaizumi introduced the brunette, Oikawa, to her.

“I was Iwa-chan’s handsomer, much more popular friend, remember?”

Oh, she definitely remembered him. Was she about to tell him that, though? Not a chance. She pretended to think for a moment, then shook her head.

“I’m sorry, Oikawa-san, that doesn’t ring a bell.” She tilted her head, “Besides, Hajime here is a perfect 10, so I don’t know where this ‘handsomer’ business came from.”

While Oikawa stopped in indignation, (Y/N) walked on as Iwaizumi followed, laughing shamelessly.

“It’s not like you remember me, either,” she added.

Oikawa pouted, “That’s not my fault! I was invested in volleyball, not cute girls.”

(Y/N) ignored him and the three of them walked along the school hallway in silence for a while. (Y/N) did her best to keep her mouth shut, but her curiosity got the better of her.

“Hajime? Do you know why the manager position is so important to people around here?” she asked tentatively.

Iwaizumi barked a laugh, “That’s because--”

“-because I’m on the volleyball team! The manager gets to spend time near me, which is something pretty much everyone around here wants,” Oikawa winked and made his signature peace sign.

He grinned charmingly at (Y/N). Iwaizumi facepalmed. (Y/N) stared back blankly.

“Sure,” she deadpanned.

“Huh? You’re the one that asked!” Oikawa protested.

“She didn’t ask for an egotistical answer like that, Crappykawa,” Iwaizumi growled. He turned to (Y/N) once again, “As annoying and stupid as that answer is, he’s not entirely wrong. He’s really popular for some reason.”

“Weird.”

“I know, right?”

“Hey, don’t gang up on me!”

(Y/N) ducked under Oikawa’s arm into the gym, turning slightly to thank him over her shoulder. The first person to greet her was the short, stout Seijoh head coach.

“Well, if it isn’t (L/N) (Y/N). You have no idea how happy I was to hear you’d be transferring to our school,” Coach Irihata gave the teen a small nod. “Though, I wish it were under different circumstances,” he grimaced.

(Y/N) bowed at him respectfully, “You and I both, Coach. I’ll put all my focus into being your team manager from now on.”

The older man laughed, “I don’t doubt that. Let me introduce you to the team.”

He led her to stand at the edge of the court.

“This here is Mizoguchi, the coach. He’s a bit of a hardass.”

“Are you allowed to be saying these things, Coach?”

“Were you planning on reporting me, (L/N)?”

“Touche.”

Coach Mizoguchi had all the boys line up. The two coaches and (Y/N) walked down the line.

“These are our first-years, Kyoutani, Watari, and Yahaba. Our second years, Matsukawa, Hanamaki, Iwaizumi, Oikawa--”

‘They’re an odd group. Not horrible mismatched, but definitely not inherently interwoven like other teams I’ve seen.’

“We’ll be playing quick, 3-on-3 practice matches so (Y/N) can see what you can do.”

Some of the boys looked surprised, others even leaned over and whispered confused words to each other. At the same time, their new manager felt every drop of blood draining out of her face.

(Y/N) leaned in, “Coach, may I speak to you for a moment?” she whispered frantically.

Irihata allowed her to lead him out of earshot.

“I know I’ve asked a lot of you lately, Coach, but if we could call as little attention to me as possible, I would be eternally grateful. I doubt anyone will say anything, but if we could avoid giving them unnecessary hints, that would be ideal.”

He quirked a brow slightly, “(L/N), this is just a small request. You don’t have to grovel every time you ask something of me.”

(Y/N) fiddled with her track jacket, “I know. You’ve just done so much for me already.”

“So much by your standards, very little by mine. All I had to do was put in a good word for you. You secret’s safe with me, (L/N). Do your best as our manager,” he clapped her on the shoulder before gesturing for her to head back to the courts.

By the time practice was over, the players were all dog-tired and drenched in sweat. Despite the fact that her brain had gone numb from the busy analysis, she felt she had gotten a good grasp of the team’s individual and group abilities, having written mini reports in her notebook about all the players, their habits, and how they work together. Each player’s individual page included a few people they worked especially well with, but (Y/N) noticed that everyone worked especially well with Oikawa. He seemed to bring out the most ability and talent in everyone he set for.

It was unfair, really. Such amazing athletic talent, coupled with fluffy brown curls and a sharp jawline, only to be spoiled by a smug, flippant attitude.

Earlier, she’d made the mistake of letting him catch her staring once. The corners of his lips quirked up slightly, causing her to look away quickly.

(Y/N) changed back into her school uniform and locked up the main gym. Shouldering her bag, she noticed the lights on inside one of the smaller gyms.

She stepped inside to see Oikawa practicing his sets against the wall. He’d taken the time to change out of his sweaty practice gear, but he just changed into clean, dry practice gear.

“Oikawa-san?” she called out.

The setter caught the ball and turned his attention to her, “Ah, (Y/N)-chan! Heading home already?”

She nodded, “Yeah. You’re still going to be practicing for a while?”

A look of annoyance flashed across his face before returning to his usual carefree expression.

“Yes, I will be.”

(Y/N) nodded, taking a few steps in to set the master key on the bleachers, “I’m heading home, so please be sure to lock up when you’re finished.”

Had she stayed just a second longer, she’d have seen the slightly dumbfounded, mostly intrigued look on Oikawa’s face.

“Wakatoshi, I’m having the time of my life!”

“That’s an unexpected response, though I’m happy for you,” Ushijima’s slightly pixelated voice came from (Y/N)’s firepods.

“I’ve been keeping to myself enough where no one bothers me, I get to manage the volleyball team, and I’ve had two whole weeks of fucking peace here. All my hopes and dreams have come true.”

“Well, not all of them--”

“Stuff it, Ushijima, I know,” she grumbled.

A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest, “Sorry, sorry. Have you met Oikawa Tooru yet?”

(Y/N) frowned, dodging a group of boys walking down the hall in the opposite direction.

“Yes,” she said in a small voice.

“Why did you say it so quietly?”

“No reason,” she said just as quietly.

“You find him attractive, don’t you?”

“What? Him? But he��s so-- he’s such a flirt! He always has girls hanging around him and he always looks so pleased with himself. Not to mention he’s a genuinely amazing setter and he’s a considerate captain and--”

“So, you do find him attractive?”

“I mean,” (Y/N) huffed, stopping outside the equipment room door, “Yes.”

“More attractive than Semi?”

“I’d say they’re about the same.”

“Wow. That’s a high compliment coming from you.”

“Isn’t it? But-- Oh, I gotta go, Wakatoshi, I need to fill the water cooler.”

“I’ll talk to you tonight.”

“Later!”

(Y/N) was breathing hard as she carried the water cooler from the equipment room to the gym. She wondered if they could get a wagon or some sort of wheels so she didn’t have to pull a muscle just to fill the cooler every practice. Better yet, maybe just let them die of dehydration so she wouldn’t have to move at all.

Sigh.

No, (Y/N), this isn’t that type of school.

Finally making it to the gym, she took a deep breath and shuffled inside. Almost immediately after she set foot in the gym, all of a sudden, the water cooler had slammed back into her, pouring its icy contents all over her and her uniform.

She fell flat on her ass, rubbing the sore spot on her chin where the plastic had knocked into it.

‘Someone around here wants me to relieve them of both their arms,’ she thought.

“Kyoutani!” she heard Mizoguchi yell, “How did your spike end up all the way over there?”

She didn’t get the chance to hear the first-year’s reply before Coach Irihata kneeled in front of her, the boys crowding around the two of them.

‘No, no. Deep breaths, (Y/N). It was just an accident. Breathe in, breathe out. In, then out.”

Taking a final deep breath, she looked up, smiled sweetly and said, “Don’t worry. It’s just a little water.”

Iwaizumi came up behind her and hauled her up by the armpits, “You alright?”

(Y/N) nodded in affirmation.

Oikawa passed her a large - presumably his - Seijoh BVBC sweater. She fully expected him to say something that would get him smacked by Iwaizumi, but was surprised to see him walk away almost immediately.

Stepping out of the locker room, (Y/N) looked up at the dark evening sky.

“It’s already this dark?” she wondered aloud.

“Yep. It’s that time of the year,” came a voice from behind her.

Oikawa stepped out from the boys’ locker room, hair still damp, and aqua t-shirt clinging to his skin slightly from the moisture.

She stared at him.

He tilted his head. “I do take breaks sometimes, you know,” he said as if he’d read her mind.

“Could’ve had me fooled,” she replied, gathering her composure and making her way towards the front gate.

“See you tomorrow, (Y/N)-chan,” he waved her goodbye.

“See you tomorrow.”

Exiting the school gate, they both turned left, ending up walking the same direction anyway. They chuckled awkwardly.

“Never mind, then,” Oikawa smiled.

“I’m getting on the G-train and going down 6 stops. You?”

“G-train, 8 stops,” he gasped, “(Y/N)-chan, we live so close! We can hang out together every day!” he teased.

(Y/N) huffed, turning away so the brunette couldn’t see her smiling, “We already hang out every day, nerd.”

“How hurtful! I can never spend too much time with you, (Y/N)-chan,” he nudged her playfully with his elbow, letting out a small ‘oof’ when she pushed him back.

They got on the G-train, which was mostly empty around this time of night. Their car held them and two other girls from their school, who seemed to pay them little mind, aside from the occasional glances that were typical in Oikawa’s presence.

The brunette stared down his nose at her, “So. Are you ever gonna tell me why our brand new lady manager has an abnormally thorough knowledge of volleyball?” he questioned.

(Y/N) took a seat across from Oikawa. He made himself comfortable opposite her.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about Oikawa-san,” she said innocently.

Oikawa leaned forward in his seat.

“I saw your notebook. Your notes are way too detailed for anyone less than an expert. Did you or a family member or a friend or whatever play?”

Her gaze turned downcast. The train car was relatively empty, and he seemed genuine enough for her to softly reply, “I used to.”

There are two specific expressions (Y/N) saw the most of in the months following the incident.

One was less common. It was a thinly-veiled smugness, poorly hidden behind feigned sympathy. It was a look that said, “You got exactly what you deserved.”

The second was much more common, and on the days that made her want to lay in bed all day, seeing that expression plastered all around her like wallpaper just made her want to dig into the earth and make a home for herself there forever.

Pity.

It’s the same look every time. Their eyebrows go up, then furrow, finally slanting down as the realization dawns on them. Their mouth will drop open like they plan to say something, but no words come out because what are they supposed to say?

He must have seen the look of anguish on her face, because his expression morphed through each phase of that second type, word for word.

“You don’t play anymore because you won’t or because you--”

A dark shadow crossed her face, “I’d rather not talk about it.”

Oikawa nodded, “Okay.” His pretty brown eyes rolled up to the ceiling in deep thought. “What’s your favorite cake flavor?”

(Y/N) blinked at him confusedly for a moment, then her expression shifted to one of realization, and she gave him a small smile, the most genuine he’d ever seen her wear since she arrived at Aoba Johsai.

“Red velvet!”

“That’s just chocolate with red food coloring.”

(Y/N) gasped loudly, “You take that back!”

Oikawa raised his hands in defense, “I’m sorry, I only speak facts. Is now a bad time to mention I love pineapple on pizza?”

(Y/N)’s jaw dropped, “Are you serious? Do you even have taste buds, pretty boy?”

The taller male laughed and teasingly batted his lashes, “You think I’m pretty, (Y/N)-chan?”

She rolled her eyes, “I don’t know how to tell you this, Oikawa, but everyone thinks you’re pretty. You literally have a fanclub. They bring you homemade cookies on a regular basis.”

He got up from his seat across from her, only to settle down in the seat beside her. They sat there, shoulders against each other’s. Oikawa Tooru smelled like mint and the breeze on a summer night and a little bit of man sweat, but that’s to be expected coming straight from practice. It was a very distracting few seconds.

“But I don’t care about everyone’s opinion, (Y/N)-chan, I want yours.”

(Y/N)’s cheeks buzzed with heat. Ugh, he’s unfairly cute, isn’t he? But! Even if she would never tell him, she remembered him from middle school. He didn’t remember her. A guy like Oikawa was probably flirting with her because she didn’t fall desperately at his feet. She wasn’t going to be a part of that game. Not now, not ever.

At the sound of her stop, she stood and made her way over to the door. Just forcing the blood in her cheeks down through sheer willpower, she said, “I’ll see you in school tomorrow, Oikawa-san.”

Oikawa leaned back in his seat.

“Hey, (Y/N)? You’re not thinking I’m flirting with you because I’m some tail-chasing fuckboy, right? Because if you are,” he quirked a perfect eyebrow at her, “That’s hardly fair, is it?”

‘What? How did he know??’ she internally screamed, ‘He’s right, though. A lot of girls like him, but it’s not like he has a reputation for sleeping around or anything. Even if he did, that’s not for me to judge.”

(Y/N) braced herself against the open train doors. The cool night air blew into the train from behind her, ruffling her uniform skirt. She groaned.

“That smug face you make when you know you’re right? Yeah, I hate it.”

The setter’s hand came up to rest under his chin, “But you do have an opinion about my face?”

“Goodnight, Oikawa.”

“Text me when you get home!”

“I don’t--”

“Ask Iwa-chan for it! Goodnight, (Y/N)-chan!”

The train doors shut, and Oikawa sent her a wink through the glass doors before it departed. The breeze ruffled (Y/N)’s hair. There she stood, staring at the empty tracks. Rooting through her bag, she yanked her phone out and dialed a number.

“Wakatoshi, I’ve been a dumb hoe.”

“(Y/N), I told you you shouldn’t--”

“I shouldn’t belittle myself, even as a joke, I know, I’m sorry, Wakatoshi.”

She could feel him shaking his head in disapproval, “Right. Now, what’s your issue?”

Fingers fiddling with the hem of the borrowed oversized Seijoh sweatshirt, (Y/N) pressed her phone between her ear and shoulder.

“I accidentally made friends.”

Ushijima sighed on the other end of the line, “(Y/N), when I said to keep to yourself, I did not mean you had to become a total recluse. You may not want to hear this from me, but meeting new friends is a good thing.”

(Y/N) slowly shook her head, “They’re pretty popular, though, and the last thing I wanted since coming here was to call attention to myself.”

“You may have gotten some unwanted attention at your old school, but maybe you can start over at Aoba Johsai. If we want the rewards of being loved, we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known.”

“...are you using a meme to give me advice?”

“A what?”

“A meme, Wakatoshi. It’s a joke passed all over the internet. Come on, there’s no way you haven’t seen them, even accidentally.”

“I am unfamiliar with the term. Anyway, I was quoting renowned columnist and cartoonist Tim Kreider. I was trying to make you feel better.”

Though he couldn’t see it, (Y/N) smiled warmly at how hard he was trying to help.

“You did a great job, Wakatoshi. Hey, I just got home, I’ll call you back and we’ll talk all about your day. How’s that?”

“Alright, get inside safely.”

Upon hanging up with Ushijima, (Y/N)’s hand stopped just short of putting her phone away. Perhaps against her better judgement, she reluctantly sent one more text.

[SENT] To: Iwaizumi Hajime-Kun [8:37 pm]

- Admin Mango

#oikawa #oikawa tooru #oikawa tōru #ushijima #Ushijima Wakatoshi #Iwaizumi Hajime #iwaizumi #oikawa x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios

119 notes · View notes

hazelandglasz · 4 years

Note

“Some asshole customer is screaming at you for doing your job and I can tell that you really want to yell back but I’m assuming you can’t so excuse me I’ll do it for you.” AU - you should soooo do a sterek one ! If you wanted to of course,, But I bet it would be so freaking awesome!

On AO3

Stiles is a regular at Hale-thy.

For one, if he wants to force his father into eating more than steaks and potatoes, he has to set an example, and the food here manages to be healthy and delicious.

For two …

He loves to indulge in some people-watching, particularly the staff manning the restaurant.

They are all related, or so it seems, from the hostess to the bartender to the cooks to the waiters.

Or, to be completely accurate, there is one waiter in particular who has all of Stiles’ attention.

His nametag simply reads ‘Derek’, but Stiles has a variety of nicknames for the waiter.

Grumpy.

Dark & Broody.

Big Guy.

Woomph Rgjrdtkh, on one particular occasion (Derek ended up wet from head to apron, and he was wearing a white shirt. That was a happy night for Stiles).

Besides Derek, they are all fairly amusing to observe, and Stiles is nothing if not a glutton for free amusement.

(Well, free. The measly dollars he pays for his meals are nothing compared to the enjoyment this restaurant gives him.)

But tonight, Stiles is not amused.

Because, as grumpy as Derek may look, he’s actually a sweet, decent, polite guy who never complains and never claps back when the customers are being less than stellar guests.

Like, Asshole at Table 52.

The moment he entered the restaurant, he started complaining to his date that he didn’t want to “eat like a rabbit in some sort of poorly lit den, Isabelle”, to which poor Isabelle only replied with a sweet smile that if he wanted to eat somewhere else, Harold, you can do so on the next date.

Something in her voice told Stiles that the possibility for said next date was dwindling by the minute.

And now.

Now.

Now, Harold has apparently decided to take all his balled up anger issues on Derek.

Who, again, apparently, did nothing wrong except explain to the gentleman that while the cooks were perfectly able to copy the Kardashians Nut salad, it wasn’t on the menu, as it is, but could he recommend the “Tough Nut” salad, which has the same main elements?

“You calling me a tough nut, asshole?”

Oh shit, Harold clenches his fists and Isabelle is face-palming like crazy.

And Derek only smiles, all teeth, which is really counterproductive if you ask Stiles, and bows his head. “No, Sir. The Tough Nut is one of our most popular item.”

“And I should take it to make it easy for you?”

“No, but--”

“Get out of my face. I will decide what we’re eating, we don’t need some loser who can’t do better to tell us what to do.”

Derek clenches his jaw but nods curtly before going back to the bar, his back to the rest of the room. His sister is immediately there, covering his hands with her own.

Good for him. Stiles is glad to see that Derek has such a good support system, but that doesn’t solve anything.

He’s filled with righteous anger, and he really wants to tear good ol’ Harold a new one.

Before he can form a proper plan, his legs decide for him and take him to table 52.

“What do you want?”

Isabelle looks up and gives Stiles a shaky, apologetic smile. Stiles smiles at her before turning all of his attention to the asshole in the seat in front of her.

“What do I want? Oh, nothing. Nothing from you anyway, except your respect and some manners.”

“Wha--”

“Nah, nah, nah. You had the stage, you tried to prove you were the bigger man here, but using a poor waiter to unleash some of the day’s tension is really in poor taste don’t you think?”

“How dare--”

Stiles leans forward. “What did I say? Shush. The grown-up is speaking.”

Somewhere in the back of his head, Stiles’ dad is laughing himself to tears at the sentence.

Somewhere in the background, the whole staff has stopped their activities to observe.

“Now, you may not be aware of the following facts, being unfrozen directly from Neanderthal times, but in the modern world, we don’t chew people up for doing their job. We take their advice, and we thank them, either in words or with a tip at the end of the meal. People in the serving system are not punching balls,” he adds, straightening up, “but if you need to resort to physical outburst to get your manners back, I volunteer to kick some sense into you.”

With every word pronounced by Stiles, Harold has packed himself into a smaller ball in his seat, turning redder than a rotten tomato.

“Um.”

“Thought so.”

Isabelle is turning red too, but obviously because she is containing her laughter.

Stiles looks around, and his eyes meet Derek’s.

Who is shocked enough to have his jaw dropped.

(Why doesn’t it make him any less attractive? Why?)

Stiles smiles crookedly and, bolstered up by the adrenaline coursing in his veins, winks at him.

I got you boo.

Which is really saying something about the levels this crush has gotten to.

“You are all mad, in here.”

Stiles gives Harold his best Cheshire cat’s smile. “Oh, no. You found out.”

“Come on, Isabelle.”

“I’d rather not.”

Harold is already standing up, but he freezes when she replies. “What? But--”

“Good evening, Harold.”

From red, Harold is taking a dive into a very unattractive shade of maroon. “Fine, be that way. I wasn’t that interested--”

Stiles puts his fingers on Harold’s lips. “Don’t say something you may regret later. Or should I get some soap from the kitchen to clean that potty mouth?”

“No need.” Stiles is surprised Harold doesn’t try to bite his fingers off. “I’m leaving.”

“Without paying for the date?Tsk tsk tsk.”

Harold opens his mouth and closes it, angrily taking a bill from his wallet before storming out.

Stiles and Isabelle share a look before they both burst out laughing. “That was generous,” Stiles says, flicking the 100 dollar bill closer to her.

“Nearly not enough, believe me,” she replies with a smile. “Are you by yourself, oh white knight in shining plaid armor?”

“Um.”

“Sorry, Miss, this knight is already spoken for.”

Derek has managed to sneak up back to the table, his hand warm on Stiles’ shoulder.

Stiles turns his head to look at him, one eyebrow crooked, and Derek winks at him.

That’s fair.

Except it’s totally not fair. Derek’s wink and smile are weapons of mass destruction. Stiles’ are merely nerf guns.

“Right. Right! Spoken for!” Stiles shrugs. “Totally off the market.”

Isabelle pouts before shrugging back. “I should have guessed. My loss! But your meal is still on me, as a thank you.”

“I won’t object to that. Milady,” Stiles adds, giving her a curtsey before returning to his table, Derek hot on his heels. The words are almost literal here, given how close Derek stands.

“That really was chevaleresque of you,” Derek says softly as Stiles sits back.

“I really couldn’t let him go on like that. You were perfect, and he was being a dick.”

Derek chuckles, looking down before killing Stiles with a bat of his eyelashes. “I’ve never been called perfect before.”

“You--you need to change your entourage, then.”

“Maybe I do. Do you know anyone interested in a position?”

I could be interested in a lot of positions, Stiles thinks but he bites on his lower lip to keep the words from tumbling out.

His thoughts must be loud, though, because Derek’s smile widens into a smirk. “How can I repay your kindness, though?”

“Coffee?”

Derek blinks, looking surprised and … disappointed? “Oh. Okay. Right away.”

“No! No,” Stiles adds, lowering his voice after the initial outburst. “I meant, have coffee. With me. Somewhere. Else.” Stiles closes his eyes and wipes his face with his hand with a sigh. “We could get some coffee sometimes, in a place where--”

“Where we wouldn’t be surrounded by my family who is watching us like zookeepers watch over baby pandas?”

Derek points his thumb behind him, and sure enough, the staff is looking at them with all the subtlety of a chili pudding.

“Indeed.”

Derek smiles in a softer tone. “I could pick you up at your place on Thursday?”

“You don’t know where my place is.” Stiles pauses. “Do you?”

“No, I don’t. But you know where I work. Seems a bit unfair.”

“You’re a bit unfair,” Stiles mumbles, gesturing at Derek from head to toe.

The tip of Derek’s ears turns bright pink, and it is adorable.

Stiles is doomed, in the best of ways.

#Anonymous #sometimes i write #sterek au #waiter!derek #white knight!stiles #fluff #slightly cracky i'm afraid

106 notes · View notes

of-wrens-and-whirlwinds-blog · 4 years

Text

Sometimes Speed-Dating Works

Commission for the sweetest @depressedstressedlemonzest! Commission info can be found here!

Temperance, called Tami, inspected herself in the mirror, and was pleased with what she saw. Ever since she’d started making her own clothes, she’d felt drawn to early Edwardian fashion, and her newest outfit showed her growing skill. With the addition of her hat and purse, she cut quite the dashing figure.

She also knew that there were few who would admire her talent with her body underneath. But honestly, fuck them.

The speed-date she’d signed up for was being held at a rather low-end cafe a few blocks over that was at least big enough to contain a steady stream of moving people. She wavered on whether to walk or take the bus… then decided to walk. It would put pink in her cheeks, at least.

Her neighbors were used to her, and stepped out of her way easily. It was when she left her neighborhood that people started looking at her oddly. She ignored it. It was like this everywhere. So what?

The cafe was crowded. The person assigning seats at the door completely overlooked Tami, until she cleared her throat politely and said, “I’m here for the date, too.”

“Oh!” He smiled, but it looked more like a wince. “Sorry, sorry. What’s your name?”

“Tami Smith.”

“Right, okay. Uhhh, you have the eighth seat down from this direction, on the left side.”

“Thank you.”

“Mm-hm.” Another wincing smile, and Tami moved on, resisting the urge to shake her head. Honestly, these fast-fashion addicts were worse than her own family.

Settling in one of the folding chairs provided for this occasion, she heard it creak faintly. Cheap. She rearranged her skirts and waited.

The first man wouldn’t stop staring at her bosom, and answered her friendly questions with monosyllabic answers. She did not miss his relief when the timer went off.

The second man tried harder, but he seemed put off by her outfit, and was in general rather cagey.

The first woman was braced, and immediately started making comments on how “brave” Tami was to come to one of these things. Tami was polite back, but she was very annoyed and was quite happy when the timer rang.

It was disappointment after disappointment. Not that Tami had had high hopes; mostly this was just a way to pass the time, and maybe talk to someone who wasn’t her coworkers, neighbors, or family. But this was boring, and annoying, and she almost regretted signing up.

Then a tall, muscular woman sat across from her, and Tami’s expectations cranked up several notches. Because the other woman was dressed Edwardian, too, but somewhat lower-class than Tami’s preferred wardrobe. They just stared at each other for a moment.

Then the woman grinned, and said, “I’m Kimi.”

“I’m Tami.”

“Where’d you get that hat? It looks great with your face shape.”

Tami blushed faintly and smiled. “A milliner in London. I went to stay there for work for a few months.”

“London! I’ve only ever been to Stratford-Upon-Avond, and not for long.” Kimi seemed… genuinely interested, leaning forward on her brawny forearms, her sleeves rolled up neatly and showing her muscle. She wasn’t a body-builder type, but she certainly did some form of exercise that built muscle. Tami found herself being maybe a teensy bit more interested in Kimi than she’d expected. “Where do you work, that you got to visit England?”

“I’m in marketing, but I was flown out to work on details with the sister-firm in London.”

Conversation flowed so naturally between them, and Tami found herself becoming very interested. Kimi made her own clothes, too, and thought that Tami’s were excellent quality; she was an accountant, but she worked out because sitting for so long every day made her restless; her parents had been from Laos, but moved to America for her father’s work. Tami answered in kind: Kimi’s tailoring was impeccable, her taste in time periods exquisite (they both laughed at that); marketing was fine, but it was her coworkers who annoyed her so much that sometimes during lunch she would take long walks to work out her anger; her own parents were Michiganders, born and bred, but Tami had moved because she couldn’t stand her family. They talked about hobbies, and books, and when the timer went off, they scribbled their phone numbers on napkins and exchanged them, before the next “date” arrived.

Tami felt a glow of triumph throughout the rest of the evening, and when everyone was standing and leaving, a few folks found her and offered their numbers. She took them with thanks, but she knew she wasn’t going to call them. Actually, it wasn’t until she was on the sidewalk waiting for the light to turn green that she realized she didn’t want to talk to anyone but Kimi.

“’Ello, m’lady,” a familiar voice in a terrible English accent said beside her. She grinned and turned. It wasn’t very usual for her to need to look up at other women, but Kimi was several inches taller than her. Kimi grinned back. “Can I walk you home?” she asked Tami.

“That would be delightful,” Tami replied.

They continued talking all the way to Tami’s apartment building. It was… nice. Kimi waited until Tami was inside to leave. Tami couldn’t help grinning giddily as she ascended the stairs to her floor.

When she had divested herself of her suit and put on her nightgown, she texted Kimi to ask if she’d reached home safely. Kimi replied only three minutes later in the affirmative.

I really liked our date tonight. Do you want to go for coffee next Saturday?

Tami didn’t even hesitate. That sounds wonderful! When and where were you thinking?

The coffee date was a success. So was the dinner the next week. So was the kiss after Kimi walked Tami up to her doorstep.

Tami’s coworkers seemed baffled when she came to work happy, and were even more baffled when she said she’d started dating.

“You just, you always seemed so work-oriented,” David said weakly, glancing at her waist.

“I can be fat and date,” Tami replied calmly, sipping her coffee.

“That’s not...” Tami met his gaze steadily, and David decided not to be even more of a dick.

But that comment got Tami thinking. Kimi had never commented on her size, whether to praise or insult, and in fact, she never even seemed to notice. Her arms fit nicely around Tami’s waist and she made room for her in crowded places as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It was lovely, and Tami was both pleased and puzzled.

They had another date planned that Saturday. A stroll through the park, and then dinner at a fancy restaurant, Kimi’s treat. Tami dressed in her newest suit, pink and peachy-gold, with white lace. Kimi was picking her up; she would text when she was there. So Tami spent time searching the internet for that glove-maker who had made those lovely silk opera gloves for her. Unfortunately, the glove-maker was not taking custom orders at that time. Not surprising, since they were now much more in demand. Still, a little disappointing. Tami would’ve liked to order some proper driving gloves for Kimi.

Her phone trilled, and she snatched it up eagerly.

I’m here! And there’s a lout by the door looking shady.

I’ll be down shortly. It’s probably Jacob. He’s always forgetting his keys.

Tami stood, fluffed her skirts, made sure of her purse, secured her hat, and swept out of her apartment.

When she reached the foyer, she found three girls whispering nervously to each other. Seeing her looking at them, they moved quickly out of her way.

“Are you alright?” Tami asked them, surprised. “I don’t recognize any of you.”

“There’s a guy outside,” one of the girls blurted.

Tami immediately straightened, and took out her phone. “Just a moment, girls,” she murmured, and texted Kimi.

There’s some frightened young girls in here. That lout might have been following them.

On it.

The slam of a car door. The door and walls were too well-made for Tami to hear words, but she definitely heard an angry male voice. And then that voice screamed, and Kimi rumbled something, and there was the sound of running and crying.

Kimi knocked politely on the door, and when Tami opened it cautiously, shielding the girls, Kimi smiled. She looked so handsome and dapper, her slightly-skewed hat the only indicator that there had been any kind of confrontation. “I broke his arm,” she said frankly.

There was a sigh of relief and a hysterical giggle from the girls behind Tami. She turned, and asked them, “Can you call yourselves a ride?”

“Yeah,” the girl who had spoken earlier replied. “We just… didn’t want to go past him.”

“Fair enough,” Kimi said. “Good luck. Stay safe.” She offered her arm to Tami, and with a final wave to the girls, they left.

They were both silent in the car for a few minutes. Then Tami asked, “Why did you break his arm?”

“I always break their arms,” Kimi replied calmly. “If a man scares or hurts a girl or woman, I break his arm. That’s how it works.”

Tami bit her lip, then asked softly, “Kimi, what happened?”

More silence. Finally, Kimi said, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Tami nodded, and didn’t mention it again.

The walk around the park was calm enough that they both relaxed, and Tami asked about work. Kimi grimaced and said, “Oh, they’re planning to fire people. For the good of the company. If I’m not one of the lucky few chosen to be booted, I’ll be the one tasked with removing them from the system. Which shouldn’t be so hard, except our software is bullcrap.”

“That’s not fair!” Tami exclaimed, straightening in outrage. “You told me they’ve already laid people off.”

“Yeah.” Kimi took off her hat and ran her fingers through her hair. “I need to find a new job. Kinda hard, though, when you’re a giant butch and don’t care about hiding it.”

Tami snorted derisively. “Any company would be lucky to have your skills. Can you get a job as a fashion designer?”

Kimi laughed. “Yeah, sure, let me just whip out my portfolio from college ten years ago and apply to the nearest fashion house,” she joked, grinning at Tami.

“I’m not joking,” Tami replied flatly. “I’ve seen your patterns and sketches, Kimi. You’d be an amazing designer. Tell you what—we’ll start our own business. You design, I’ll photograph, and we’ll both sew. You can sell patterns, too.”

Kimi’s smile slipped, and she looked genuinely surprised. Tami tucked her hand in Kimi’s elbow and said, “Of course, we don’t have to start tomorrow. Just… think about it, maybe?”

“Yeah,” Kimi said, and her voice was maybe a little breathless. “Yeah, okay.” Then she cleared her throat, and looked away, and asked, “How was work for you this week?”

Tami snorted. “Annoying. My coworkers don’t believe me that I’m dating you. And god, Nate was so annoying about his son’s birthday...”

Kimi relaxed as Tami continued talking, and soon they were both smiling and laughing again. They almost missed their reservation, walking around the park and talking. But they arrived in time, and even though the hostess gave them strange looks, they didn’t worry. The meal was quiet, but in a safe, content way. When dessert arrived, Tami asked Kimi softly, “Do you want to come over and watch a movie tonight?”

Kimi actually blushed, but grinned. “I’d like that,” she replied simply.

Tami couldn’t help feeling smug as Kimi put her arm around Tami’s waist as they left. When they got to Tami’s building, they snuck up the stairs with a delicious sense of getting away with something. The only moment Tami realized this might have been a bad idea was when she opened her door and led Kimi in—and realized her place was a mess of fabric scraps, tailoring supplies, and pieces of paper from modified patterns.

“Oh dear,” she said, beginning to blush. “Um. Please pardon the mess.”

Kimi laughed and kicked off her shoes. “My place is far worse,” she promised, coming up behind Tami and putting her hands on Tami’s waist. She surveyed the apartment over Tami’s head, while the shorter woman blushed deeply. She really wasn’t used to such intimate positioning. “At least your furniture matches.”

That made Tami laugh, too, and she leaned back in Kimmi’s arms tentatively, smiling wider as Kimi slid her arms comfortably around her. “Yes, well, I still don’t think puce couches work with lavender walls, but it’s something.”

“It certainly is. Oh, shoot, your hat! Sorry, I squished it a little.”

“Fuck the hat. Let me get out of this rig and we can lounge around watching silly home reno shows.”

Kimi laughed again. “Sounds perfect,” she said, with such warmth that Tami found herself reluctant to ever move from Kimi’s grip.

But move she must. So she did, and hurriedly chose her most comfortable kimono before taking off her suit and hanging it up carefully. Wrapping the kimono firmly around herself, she blushed to realize that she was, essentially, in just her underwear and a bathrobe. Was that… too much?

Probably. But she didn’t think Kimi would mind.

When she exited her bedroom, she grinned to see Kimmi taking up the whole couch, stretched out and propped up on either end, with the remote on her chest. She’d taken off her jacket and her suspenders, and when she saw Tami, she blushed furiously.

“Your house, you choose,” she drawled, picking up the remote and turning on the TV.

“Wrong way around. House guest chooses program.” Tami walked over and stood beside the couch, putting her hands on her hips. “Are you going to leave some space for me?” she demanded.

Kimi grinned wickedly. “I did,” she replied, and patted her stomach.

It was out before Tami could stop it—“What if I hurt you?”

Kimi snorted. “Unlikely. If I can pick you up, you won’t hurt me.”

“You can’t pick me up,” Tami accused, trying to ignore the tingles of happiness.

A sigh, and Kimi sat up, stood, turned to Tami—and picked her right up, arms firm around Tami’s thighs. Tami yelped, and then laughed, and smacked the back of Kimi’s shoulder lightly. “Alright, alright, you win! Put me down!”

“Fine, fine,” Kimi sighed, and put her down, gently. But then she swept Tami up princess-style and plopped back on the couch in her former position, cuddling her host firmly and comfortably. Tami hid her face in Kimi’s collar to hide her increased blushing and frankly giddy smile.

“What show do you want?” Kimi asked, picking up the remote.

Three months later, Tami woke to Kimi stroking her hair thoughtfully.

They’d started spending more time at each other’s apartments, and agreed to call each other their girlfriend. It had been a while for both of them, but this was… a good thing, that they had. Tami closed her eyes again and smiled as Kimi kept running her fingertips through Tami’s hair. Maybe they could sleep in some more. It was Sunday, after all. Five more minutes.

“Tami?”

She wrinkled her nose, but answered, “Yeah?”

“I’ve been thinking. About what you said a few months ago. About… starting our own online business, with clothes and stuff.”

Tami was instantly awake, and leaned her head back to look up at Kimi’s face. “You have?” she asked, surprised. She had thought Kimi had forgotten.

Kimi frowned a little, but nodded. “I was thinking… maybe you’re right,” she said slowly. “Maybe we could do something like that. Not full-time, I don’t think we could manage that, but… as a side thing.”

Tami smiled, slowly. “Kimi, love, that would be fantastic!”

Kimi smiled too, small and hopeful. “You think so?” she asked.

“Absolutely!”

“Good. Then we’ll do it.” Kimi kissed Tami deeply, then asked, “Shower or breakfast first?”

#writing #commission #romance #commissions open

18 notes · View notes

kweebtrash · 5 years

Text

forthenight (M)

Pairing: Johnny x Reader

Genre: stripper!Johnny, pwp, one shot

Summary: I literally just wanted to write cute smut about Johnny and he so happened to be a stripper with a heart of gold and a dick that would leave anyone wanting more.

Features: blowjobs/eating out, making out, grinding, one night stands, cute and kind of slow sex, slamming that headboard against the wall, reader is shy and awkward because lmao same

Word Count: 5.5k+

Masterlist

I sighed as I exited the club, grateful to be rid of the smell of sweat and spilled alcohol. My friend had decided it was a great idea to host her birthday party at a male strip club and she was already wasted. I didn’t like babysitting drunk people especially when they were starting to get obnoxious. I wanted to go home but also didn’t want to be a buzzkill. I decided that a few minutes outside might recharge my social battery and I could proceed to pretend I was having fun. I leaned against the rough brick of the building and let the semi cool night air wash over me. Though the music of the club was still blaring it was much quieter outside and I was able to feel a bit at peace.

My loneliness was interrupted as I heard the metal door open. A man stepped out in nothing but a leather jacket and tight jeans on, his deep chestnut hair slicked back with sweat. I recognized him as one of the dancers who had been grinding on my friend just an hour or so before. He was beautiful to say the least and I think I had shyly tucked a dollar bill into the skimpy underwear he had been wearing. I watched his long fingers snap at a lighter and ignite the end of a cigarette that dangled from his lips. He took a few puffs, exhaling a little at a time and propped himself against the wall similar to how I was. It was awkward being so close to him and not speaking but how did I speak to a stripper? I mean they were humans too and not just entertainers but I was afraid that I wouldn’t have anything interesting to say. Would I flirt with him? Or ask him about the weather? Both options seemed like they would lead me down the road to embarrassment.

“So, are you the bachelorette or the birthday girl?” He seemed to be reading my mind and thankfully started the conversation.

“Oh…neither actually. I’m with a birthday girl but just as support. Mostly being D.D. I guess.” I replied.

“Well that isn’t fun. Though not being a plastered idiot is a rarity here, it is appreciated.”

“I’m sure you get tired of the ones grabbing onto you without permission and getting too rowdy. That’s how my friend is now and I just needed a break from it all.”

He nodded and hummed in agreement. “Yeah once my set was done I needed a break. It’s too hot in the dressing room and I’m sweating my ass off.”

“Shouldn’t you take off your jacket then?”

He smirked and raised an eyebrow. “So you are trying to see me naked.”

“No!No!” I said, my cheeks flushing vehemently. “I mean I have seen you mostly naked already but like… the leather would just make you hotter. It’s cooler out here.”

He chuckled and it was like melted chocolate, absolute music to my ears. “I’ll get there. So what are your plans for tonight?”

My eyes zoomed up to meet his. “W-what?”

“Are you going to stay here or go home? They can like take an uber.”

“Oh…as much as I would love too, I’d feel bad for leaving them. It looks like i’m stuck here for probably another hour or so. I’m hoping to chorale them.”

“And then after you get them home what are you going to do?”

I looked at him a bit confused but also curious. “Why do you want to know? Planning on following me and killing me?”

He flicked his finished cigarette away and stepped a bit closer to me, propping his hand against the wall. “No, of course not.” He shrugged. “Just that…you’re pretty cute.”

I rolled my eyes, believing that he was totally joking. “Yeah, right. I’m sure you’re literally required to say that to all your customers. I’m not special.”

“I think you are. What’s your name?”

I sighed. “Look, to be honest I don’t have that much more money for tips and I know you got a job to do. I don’t blame you at all but you don’t have to fake flatter me. It’s cool. I can ask my friends if they have more.”

“So, you think that all I want is money and to please women I don’t care about?” He said, eyes narrowing a bit.

I realized how poorly worded and offensive it came out. “N-no, i didn’t…i mean like…you’re an entertainer and I figured that’s what you were getting at. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” He pushed himself off the wall and grabbed the door handle, ready to head back inside. “Wouldn’t be the first time.” Just as he was about to leave I moved towards him, setting my hand on his arm.

“Wait,” I introduced myself. “What’s your name?”

“Johnny.”

“No, like your real name.” I giggled.

“Johnny.” He said again.

“Oh…fuck. Then what’s your stage name?”

“JSuh. It’s nothing extravagant.”

“JSuh? Aren’t you supposed to be like Honey Rumpshaker or something.”

He covered his mouth as soon as he started laughing. “What the fuck?! Who would be named that!!”

“I don’t know! The girl strippers are usually like Cinnamon and like Diamond Sparkle or whatever! I didn’t know if it was the same for guys!” I tried to hide my face as I now felt like a complete idiot.

“You are seriously cute. Not just because I’m paid to say that. I like girls that can make me laugh.”

“Oh…well I’ve proven that I can make a complete fool of myself, so laugh away.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I guess I better get back inside though. We’ve got like a finale set that we do so I’ve gotta get ready.”

I didn’t know if I should really ask but I jumped the gun anyway. “Wait…why were you interested in what I was doing after I dropped my friends off?”

He turned towards me fully and shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket, chuckling a bit. “I think you should know that already. And before you ask, no I don’t hook up with clients that often. It’s pretty rare actually but…” He shrugged. “I’m definitely attracted to you.”

“Soooo….you want a one night stand?” I asked. I always needed things spelled out for me when it came to any sort of flirting, relationships, hookups, anything. I was usually in disbelief that someone would give me the time of day thanks to my lack of confidence and I never imagined that a stripper would ever be asking me to hook up with him. But I found myself wondering what his lips felt like, what he tasted like, and how good he would feel inside me. From what I saw earlier while he was dancing everything seemed to create the illusion that he was good in bed, especially with those body rolls and floor grinds. I had never been jealous of a floor in my life but tonight was an exception. I swallowed my nerves and put on my front of confidence, accepting the fact that I was going to do something so brand new and out of my comfort zone. It was daring and exciting and I was definitely going to get my idiot friends home as fast as possible now.

“Yes? I figured you’d turn me down though, You seem like the goody two shoes type.”

“I am not!” I lied. “In fact, I’m down for it.”

His eyes widened in surprise but a sinful smirk crossed his lips. “What’s your number? I can text you whenever you’re done tucking your kids into bed.” Johnny pulled out his phone from the back pocket of his jeans and handed it over to me to input my number. I did and handed it back to him and he immediately called me.

“Why are you calling me?” I asked.

“So you have my number too. Just text me if you’re gonna blow me off at least.” He opened the door and held it open for me to walk through first.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure I won’t.” I placed a quick kiss on his cheek, unsure if that was even flirtatious enough. It seemed more childish than anything and I rushed back to my friends to grab them and get them home. There was no way I was going to let them ruin my fun now.

–

Getting them back to their respective houses was the biggest clusterfuck ever. I had to deal with puking, taking clothes off, screaming, and dragging them into bed so they wouldn’t fall asleep in the middle of the floor. Johnny was right, they were basically children and I was so ready to clock out from my babysitter shift. Once I was sure they weren’t going to choke on their vomit, I finally got home. It was late, almost past 2am and I wondered if Johnny would still want to come over. I was getting tired but my need to fall into lust was enough to send him a message to see if he was still interested. He didn’t answer right away and I didn’t expect him to but the suspense was killing me. I decided to shower to refresh myself. I reapplied some makeup so I could give the impression that I wasn’t half dead and tired. As I came back into my room I saw a few replies from Johnny and my heart thundered against my ribcage. He was ready to come over. He had finished his shift about an hour ago and went home to shower as well. It was a breath of relief and I texted him my address.

The wait seemed forever and I tried to calm myself from feeling too eager. Maybe it was the nerves that were taking over. I hoped I was good enough for him. It had been some time since I was last with someone; work, life, school, everything got in the way. I had no time for any relationship and instead focused on the important things in life. I did deserve at least one night of debauchery since the initial party for my friend was a bust to me. I flopped back on my bed and stared up at the ceiling. Shit, did I even still have condoms? I shot up and frantically ran to my dresser to see if the box was still there but there was a sudden knock on my door. I froze in panic as my brain shut down for a moment. I thought about continuing to look but I knew I would make a mess for sure. Obviously I still had to answer the door and the second round of raps shook me out of my funk. I sped over to it, fixing myself so I didn’t look frazzled and took a deep breath before opening the door.

His eyes raised up to meet mine and he pushed his hair back, the totally normal motion making my knees weak instantly. He wasn’t even wearing anything special, just a white t shirt and jeans, but for some reason it made him ooze sexiness and confidence. It could have been because I was more desperate than I thought or it could have been that he was actually bound to drive me crazy. “Hey.” He smiled, his perfect teeth shining between those plush lips. That voice got to me again and I wiped the sweat from my palms on my pajamas shorts.

“Hi.” I laughed nervously and stepped aside to let him in. He sauntered through the door frame and looked around at my apartment. He hooked his thumbs through the belt loops of his jeans and turned to face me.

“So…”

“So….um…” I figured he was going to take the lead being that he offered to do this in the first place. "Where do we start?”

“You’re not a virgin, are you?”

“What? Absolutely not.” Was I giving off that vibe? How did I show that I was a mostly experienced adult?

“Then what do you mean ‘where do we start?’ You know how this goes…” He wasn’t trying to be an asshole per say, but rather just confused and as tentative as I was.

“Aren’t you supposed to be some sex god or something?”

He snorted. “Oh my god, where did you possibly get that idea from? I’m a stripper, not a porn star.”

I wanted to facepalm myself. “I keep saying the wrong thing and I don’t mean to, I swear. I guess I’m just nervous.”

“I am too now that you think I’m supposed to be a sex god. Thanks for that by the way.” He smiled and nudged at me a little. He was trying to make me feel better and didn’t even seem to be judging me which I was thankful for.

“You don’t have to be a sex god, I promise. Just…” I set my hands on his chest and leaned into him, closing the space between us in mere seconds. His hands left his belt loops and instead held onto my waist, keeping me flushed against him. His lips were just as perfect as I imagined they would be- soft, warm, absolutely amazing at turning me on. He took his time too, exploring every inch of my lips in soft pecks and longer presses until he gave my bottom lip a light nip. My fingertips dug into his chest as I parted my lips, letting him carve out pleasures when our tongues collided. Each stroke and small suck against mine made my body ache more and more and I was already wanting to take him to my room. I was edging him back with careful steps, trying to guide him towards my room, but with my eyes closed and being distracted by his heated kisses, his thighs hit the armrest of my couch, sending him into the cushions with me on top of him. “Oh fuck!” I cried out.

He just laughed and adjusted himself, his entire body filling the length of the couch completely. “It’s cool. I’m a klutz too."

"I’m sorry! I was trying to get you to my room and-”

“It’s fine,” he stopped me. “Let’s just stay here for a bit.”

I fiddled with my hair and nodded, hoping that I didn’t ruin the mood too much. I pushed along, trying to recover, and wiggled between his thighs. The center of his jeans seemed to be a bit more filled out than before. I set my hands on his waist, my fingers dancing around the button of his fly. I could feel him staring, his bottom lip caught between his teeth in an almost innocent way. He was waiting for me to snap out of my stupor and pull away the fabric that separated my mouth from him. I finally unbuttoned his jeans and edged the zipper down. He hooked his thumbs within the waistband and slid them down, moving his legs around me to get them off completely. My heart almost stopped when I saw the dark boxer briefs and what laid beneath them. “Jesus…” I whispered.

He grabbed my hand and guided me back to his lips, making me straddle him. The center of my shorts was flush against him now and I could feel the slight pressure against me. “I’ll only be as rough as you want me to be.” He whispered.

I combed my fingers through his soft hair, pushing it back slightly. “Don’t worry about me, I think I know what I want.”

“Then maybe you should lead and I’ll follow.”

I pressed my lips together and grabbed his hands to settle them back on my hips. I started rolling them, creating more friction between us like misguided teenagers trembling with the prospect of getting off. He kept control of the pace while I zeroed in on his lips again, diving my tongue in to feel his warmth and hunger. He let out a soft groan and pressed his fingers into my ass, increasing our speed ever so slightly. I kept my hold on his hair, curling my fingers and pulling every once in awhile and following it up with sweet scratches and caresses. He would respond to the pulls, bucking his hips and leaving me breathless. I parted from him to gulp down air and he took the opportunity to toss his shirt off. Now that I was able to touch him on my own and take my time I realized I wanted to toss caution to the wind and mark every single inch of him. I crept my kisses from his lips down to his neck, slipping my teeth beside his adam’s apple. He jerked away quickly.

“As much as I would love to, I can’t. No scratches, bites, or hickies.”

I pouted. “Well…that’s no fun.”

“I know, I’m sorry. Part of the job, but I can definitely do it to you. Leave a little calling card for you to remember me by.” He slipped his fingers under my tank top and nudged it up to my chest.

“You have to make it memorable first.”

“Oooohh, really now? That’s how it’s gonna be? I see how it is.” He said as he jerked my top upwards and I moved my arms out of it. “What’s the sudden change of attitude, hmm?” he teased.

I slid off him and started walking towards my bedroom, trying my best to entice him. “You gonna get over here or what?”

Johnny practically jumped off the couch and sprinted towards me, making me giggle. I tossed off my shorts and crawled onto my bed, pulling him to the edge. I placed kisses from his chest, down to his stomach and over the outline of his cock through his underwear. I heard him exhale above me and settle his large hand into my hair to keep me close. I peeled away his briefs and let him free, swallowing hard as I saw him fully. See him in that barely there outfit at the club left little to the imagination but seeing him hard and needy now had my stomach filled with fluttering butterflies. I gripped his base gently, guiding him to my lips. I poked my tongue out and licked around his head, dipping the tip into his slit.

He let out a soft grunt and relaxed into my touches while I struggled to take down more of him. My mouth was already much too full but I hollowed out my cheeks as best I could, adding firm pulls to what my lips couldn’t reach. I could tell he was trying not to force his hips forward but the tension in his thighs gave away his struggle. With my free hand I traced up the length of his torso, gripping his firm pec and leaving behind the faintest of scratches. I didn’t mark him though I still wanted to. His hand came to rest over mine and I felt his lips against my fingertips. My eyes opened and I looked up at him surprised by the tenderness of his action. He only smirked and wiped the corner of my mouth with his thumb when I released him. “Cute.” Was all he said.

My cheeks flushed at the praise and buried my face against him, concentrating on laying open mouth kisses and soft sucks to his balls. It seemed to elicit a pleased reaction as his hand gripped my hair harder and his breathing quickened. I took one between my lips and tugged against it with my tongue, giving generous licks in between. I paired it with steady massages and gropes, bringing him to rise on his tiptoes just a bit. He folded his fingers into mine while the hand in my hair shifted to grab onto my shoulder. I thought he was trying to support himself but instead I was pushed back flush against my mattress. He crawled between my legs and settled by the center of my thighs. Instead of giving me attention right away, he took his sweet ass time decorating my inner thighs with long kisses and shallow bites.

I noticed his hand was still tangled in mine and he was squeezing every so often, usually when his teeth sunk into me. My heart lurched at the warmth he generated and I could barely hold in the soft moans he was bringing out of me. He hadn’t even touched me where I needed him the most yet and I already was becoming all too greedy for my liking. He swerved around me once again and instead brought his kisses up my hips and to my stomach, laying bites by my ribcage. When he reached my chest there was no end to the attention he gave my nipples, bringing them between his teeth to nibble slightly or suck deeply to make my back arch against him. While I was distracted by the intense kisses his fingers managed to slip between my folds and explore how turned on I truly was.

I pressed my lips to the back of my hand to suppress a gasp when two of his lengthy fingers dove into me. He pumped them slowly at first, curling the tips every so often and exploring sections inside me to see what would give me the most pleasure. My own fingers trembled as they wrapped around my bed sheets. I was desperate to find a way to calm myself; there wasn’t any reason to let go so soon. I wanted to savor every moment I had with him. It felt so good to have someone else touch me after so long that I never wanted it to end. His touches were pure energy and I had forgotten all about my tiredness and instead focused every thought I had on the way the first dip of his tongue rolled over me.

My hips squirmed against him and he settled an arm over my waist to keep me in place. It didn’t phase him at all and he continued coaxing more of my wetness out of me and working soft circles against my clit. He mixed in heated kisses and flicks and I finally moaned out his name, louder than I would’ve ever thought possible. He practically growled into me, yanking the back of my thighs to sit on his shoulders and letting his tongue take over where his fingers were seconds before. My toes curled against the center of his back while he seemed perfectly content having my thighs quiver around his head. He pulled out of me and switched to long licks from my entrance to my clit, hungrily carving out new ungodly tremors of pleasure within me. I rolled myself against his tongue, meeting every lick and silently begging for him to eat me out until my mind went numb.

He set a gentle kiss on my clit and I could feel him trying to edge away. My hand dug deep into his locks and kept him close, pleading for him to continue. He chuckled, the soft puffs of air adding to my sensitivity, and took my hand in his. “I promise I’ll be right back.”

I groaned and tossed my head back onto my pillow, wondering what was so important that he needed to stop just when it was getting to the good part. I realized that he was most likely getting a condom and almost kicked myself. Well, duh, idiot. I adjusted myself in bed, contemplating getting under the covers or not. I pulled them to my chest just as he came back and sat in front of me. “Why are you hiding from me now, hmm?” He teased with a gentle smile on his face.

“I’m not hiding.” I lied. “It’s just a little brisk now, with the window open and all.”

“Mhm, brisk. Sure.” He pulled the blanket away from me and slipped between my legs. “How about you hold onto me instead? I don’t need you trying to cover up anymore.”

I bit my lip and bowed my head towards his chest in an attempt to hide. I settled my arms around his neck while he rolled on the condom and pulled me close. Our eyes caught each other for a moment and we exchanged small smiles before we met again for a slow kiss. As he baited me with his perfect lips, his hand moved between us, guiding him towards my entrance. He pressed in slowly, stopping as he heard me wince a bit. “Are you…okay?”

I nodded and shifted beneath him. “S-sorry.”

“No, no, it’s okay. I’m pretty patient and can go all night.”

“Oh…”

He chuckled nervously. “I didn’t mean for that to come out as cocky as it sounded.”

I eased my hips down onto his tip, flexing my walls against his girth. “W-well, if you can live up to that then I’m all for it.”

He set his hands on my hips and pushed in deeper, inch by inch until he disappeared inside me completely. I clutched onto him tighter, curling my legs around his back. He placed kisses across my cheek and towards my ear. “I can live up to it.”

The first few thrusts were slow and steady, getting me used to his girth that seemed to stretch me more than I was prepared for. I guess going for so long without any physical connection with someone made it a bit difficult for him to plow me into oblivion like I wanted. I closed my eyes and let him cover my neck with kisses and bites that trailed to my breasts. His tongue rolled over my nipple again, gathering it between his lips and letting out a soft moan. The sound of his arousal vibrated through me and I clutched at him tighter. “Please,” I begged. “M-more.”

His hips snapped then, a rush of pulling out almost completely and forcing his way back in to make my body arch against his. I rolled my hips in time with his thrusts, burying my moans into his chest. His hands curled around my waist, lifting me slightly to work himself deeper. My legs tensed as he hit where I needed him the most. The slight curve of his cock pressed into my walls, every contour and vein adding onto my impending orgasm. I wanted to hear more of his soft pants and groans that decorated my chest. He bit into the swell of my breast slightly and I grabbed a chunk of his hair, tugging hard and blaring out that he had hit something so beautifully electrifying within me.

I was trying desperately not to mark him, my fingers flexing to stop my reflexes. I tried to keep them in his hair. He seemed to add a particularly hard snap of his hips when I pulled, a delicious and quiet moan coating my ear. He was buried beside my head, not looking at me any further but I wanted to see how perfect those honey brown eyes looked when they were filled with lust for me. I grabbed his chin and forced him to me, pressing our foreheads together and reaching my tongue out to slide into his mouth again. To my surprise he lifted me then, keeping inside me as he trapped me between the wood of my headboard and his body. He gripped the top of it while he plunged rougher than before. My throat was starting to feel just a bit tender from moaning out his name so much but this was driving me wild.

My legs splayed to the side as the wood clattered against my wall with each rock of the frame. My breath was barely able to escape my lungs as my body clenched around him, tight and suffocating as I needed him at that perfect spot. He took the hint and focused on it, working through my clamped walls until one final thrust sent me over the edge. My knees dug into his sides as my body tensed in pleasure and he seemed unfazed by it all. He kissed me hard, digging his free hand into my hair and pulling me close. His blunt nails burrowed into my scalp as my hips felt so utterly tainted with bruises. He was ruining me, all in the name of getting off and I craved to feel his warmth within me.

He let out a harsh curse, shoving the headboard back hard and stilling within me. I felt the throbbing and the flow of him emptying into me. His torso trembled just a little and he went back to his safehaven of my neck, that unexpected shyness returning. It was strange that he could practically ruin my bed yet hide from me. Just like he hadn’t wanted me to cover up before I wanted to see the flushed look on his golden skin. I nudged him towards me for a few gentle kisses that bought out a cute and dorky smile that made my heart fumble to keep a perfect rhythm.

“What do you have against my headboard?” I teased.

“Well currently, you.” He smirked. “Seems like you enjoyed it.”

“Very much so.” He surprisingly kissed my forehead before he pulled out, rolling off the condom and tossing it into the nearest trash can.

“Do you mind if I have a smoke?”

I shook my head as I crumpled down to the mattress, wanting to rest my sore body. “Have at it, hun.”

He smiled and got out of bed while I closed my eyes and fell asleep faster than I had intended.

–

I rubbed my eyes and yawned deeply, annoyed at the bright sunlight spilling through my blinds. I had forgotten to close them last night as I was letting fresh air in and regretted it. I propped myself onto my elbows and noticed a heaviness beside me. Johnny was face down, buried in a pillow with his limbs splayed everywhere. I didn’t expect him to stay over but it was a little endearing that he did. I gave him a soft kiss between his shoulder blades and got up from bed, pulling on the robe that was hanging on the back of my bedroom door. Coffee was a necessity and I worked to brew a pot as fast as possible. It was only a few minutes into me deciding what I wanted for breakfast that I heard the creaking of my kitchen tiles. Johnny was standing in the door, a sleepy look still on his face and hair an absolute mess.

He had tossed on his jeans carelessly and yawned loudly. “I didn’t mean to stay over, so sorry about that.” His voice was still raspy with sleep.

“Don’t worry about it.” I bite my lip and reintroduced myself, figuring he might have thought I was unmemorable.

He gave me a confused look. “Trust me, I remember. I don’t think I could actually forget.” His attention turned towards the coffee pot. “Mind if I have some before I go?”

I quickly grabbed a mug from my cabinet and poured him a cup. “How do you take it?”

“Black is fine.” He took the cup from me and blew over the liquid a few times before taking a sip.

I scrunched my nose up in disgust. “I don’t know how you do that.”

He shrugged. “Use to it I guess. I have plenty of long nights.”

“Ahh, right the dancing, duh.”

“That’s only on the weekends and a day or two during the week. Mostly I stay up all night grading.”

“Grading?” My interest peaked. “You’re a teacher?” I was definitely surprised.

“Mhm, well student teacher getting my hours in. I teach photography at the art college downtown.”

“Holy shit.” I whispered. “Sorry! I didn’t mean it like that! I just…”

“Yeah not all strippers want to do this for the rest of their lives, you know. I want to quit soon but I just need the money to keep up with bills. It started as a joke but I had a friend at the club and he roped me in. Been doing it for a couple years now.”

“Wow, that’s…that’s really cool actually. The photography thing. I mean the dancing is cool too! I’m sorry. I’m still half asleep but always an idiot.”

He chuckled. “Nah, you’re totally fine. You’re cute when you’re flustered.” I almost turned away to hide my blush like a schoolgirl at the playground. He set the mug down on the counter and sighed. “I should be heading out now.”

“O-oh, right. That.” I didn’t want him to leave but I had to understand that this wasn’t a fairy tale and he wasn’t going to be my prince charming. “It was nice meeting you.”

Johnny bit his lip then chuckled a bit. “Definitely. Don’t lose my number ok?” He left the kitchen then, heading back to the living room to finish getting dressed. Did he want to hook up again? I wanted to ask him directly but the front door opened and shut before my brain could make my body move. I sighed as I rested back against the wall. Maybe for the night he was some sort of prince charming…or at least a sex god.

#johnny fanfiction #johnny suh #johnny seo #johnny smut #johnny nct #nct 127 fanfiction #nct 127 fanfic #nct 127 #nct smut #nct 127 smut #johnny fanfic

573 notes · View notes

tonysrhodeys · 4 years

Text

all i wanna do is to fall in deep

basically fluff and bad humour! steve uses tony’s special mug and tries to seduce him through shirtlessness and tony is obviously thirsty for some of that. i apologise in advance! :)

Pepper was the person who gave him the “I Am Iron Man”. It was custom made and appeared on his workstation the day after the press conference.

She slammed it on the table which woke Tony up. She smirked at him before leaving. The tapping of her heels helped wake him up. He grinned as he saw it.

It quickly became his special mug and he treasured it. Even DUM-E knew that that was the mug to bring to him whenever he wanted coffee. Rhodey and Pepper said that they regretted ever giving it to him since it stroked his ego even more and it was only a matter of time before his head no longer fit in his helmet.

When the Avengers moved into the tower, Tony made it clear that his mug was off-limits. It was respected at first since they were tentative around each other. The team was new and had won one major battle after splits within the team. They respected each other’s boundaries and it was peaceful, albeit dull and safe.

Then they were called in more (which meant they complained more about Nick’s complete disregard for their rest). They began to bond more (by order of their Captain) and the team seemed to click. That’s when movie and game nights started. They started to lean on each other more. For a group of people with ingrained trust issues, they forgot about that really quickly. It turned out being with people who shared similar life experiences really did solidify relationships. In fact, it made them into some sort of family.

That did not change how territorial Tony was with his mug.

After the Pepper break-up, he seemed to retreat into his shell once more. He hid in his workshop all day to try and distract himself from the pain. The team thought they would be doing him a favour by getting rid of the mug, but his explosive reaction induced a sliver of fear in them that they had never felt before.

He was a sobbing, remorseful mess afterward. There was nothing to be forgiven. He explained that even though their relationship ended, his history with her would always remain. It didn’t change the fact that she was one of the first people to support him on his heroic journey (even though her feelings toward that did change), and he was still Iron Man.

He had owned that mug for years (it was beginning to fade, but he would just have JARVIS mend it) and nobody else had used it (except for Clint, but that was a mistake he would never make again. Note: do not play pranks on Mr. Tony Stark involving that mug).

Then one day he and Clint were playing Mario Kart in the living room. Tony was decimating Clint, but it was no surprise. During a break, Tony went to have a glass of water (it shocked Steve, but yes Tony actually drink normal, still water) when Steve walked in. He and Natasha had just gotten back from a mission and his exhaustion was evident in his features. He rubbed his eyes and murmured morning pleasantries and grabbed a mug from the cupboard.

Tony’s mug.

Tony stood there frozen in his spot as Steve poured the already brewed coffee into the mug and walked away, his loud yawn echoing in the hallway.

“Holy shit! You let him use your mug!” Clint exclaimed, jumping off from the floor. IN a quick movement he was perched on the counter staring gleefully at Tony.

“Shut up Barton.” Tony grunted, finally snapping out of his trance.

“Shut up? You blocked the WIFI on everything that I owned for a week. I couldn’t even use the internet on the TV. The only thing I had were my aids, but cutting those off would be fucking criminal. Now, you let Steve use it without even a warning. Oh, honey, you are soft for him!” Clint spun around on the counter (knocking a few fruits, the bastard).

“I can still cut those aids off,” Tony says and he leaves the room quickly before Clint can see the blush on his face.

Because yes, Tony liked Steve. How could he not? Steve was drop-dead gorgeous. Blond, blue eyes and a huge expanse of muscles that Tony wanted to run his fingers across. He was strong in a knight in shining armour kind of way, and honestly Tony would reduce himself to a damsel in distress if it meant being held in his comfortable looking arms of his. But he was more than just brawn.

Steve was one of the smartest people Tony had ever met, and he didn’t say that lightly. He was seventy years behind but was committed to learning as much as he could. Tony had spotted Steve staying up late, his head hung over a book, his eyes getting heavier. Steve was also caring. He was shredded, but he had a soft, deep heart that he seemed to wear on his sleeve when it came to the team. He forced them to bond and to go on retreats together which they inevitably enjoyed. He kept them healthy physically and mentally and pushed them to their limits, but was the first person to call it quits when he could see that their struggle was becoming too much to bear.

On top of all of that, he especially looked after Tony. Maybe it was to make up for their fight on the helicarrier, maybe he truly pitied Tony or maybe (and Tony always hated to go here, it was dangerous) he genuinely liked and cared for him. It scared the hell out of Tony. Steve would come down and regularly bring him meals and water, but when it began to look like a bender, Steve dragged him upstairs to sleep and to socialise. It was torturous and Tony loved it. Steve also spent a few hours of his day (sometimes most of it) in the workshop with Tony. He would sit on a couch, close enough to feel his presence but far away enough to not be an obstruction and sketch. It was what made Tony fall in love with him.

The worst part was that Tony knew he could never have him. Steve was too good for him. He wanted to maintain a friendship. So if that meant letting his crush use his mug once, so be it.

Steve had no idea what he was doing.

Put him in a fight and he would become the embodiment of courage and confidence. He could assign duties in a battle with ease even with his constant self-doubt. It was exhausting to lead a team because he was endlessly worrying about them and making the wrong decisions which could end up with them being hurt in the end. But at the same time, he still gave his orders with conviction. It was a skill that seemed to only benefit him in the field.

Put him in the same tower as Tony Stark and he becomes a fumbling, bumbling mess. He didn’t what it was about Tony, but he seemed to bring out the best and worst in him and it was fascinating, thrilling even. Tony was an enigma but Steve was willing to spend the rest of his life trying to figure him out.

Tony spent his entire life trying to prove that nothing could hurt him, but that left him vulnerable. It was a crack in his armour that he had persistently tried to glue back together. Steve hated that side of him (okay, hate is a strong word that he would never associate with Tony, but he’s trying to make a point). It was all false bravado and smiles. It always scared Steve how well he played that act.

It was the façade that made it so difficult for Steve to get a read on Tony. It seemed no matter how much he thought he knew about Tony, there was also something new to learn. He did love that about him (and he would be lying if he said he was not willing to spend the rest of his life unlocking parts of him) but it also made it impossible for Steve to make the right move. If he came on too strong, then Tony would surely be scared away. If he didn’t come on strongly enough, then his advances would fly right over Tony’s head.

Of course, there was also the whole figuring out if Tony even liked him back thing. But he tried not to think about that too much.

Steve didn’t know why he went to Natasha. Although, Steve supposes she came to him. Apparently she was considering gouging her eyes out because seeing him so hopelessly pining physically tortured her. But Natasha’s plan took him out of his comfort zone, but she insisted that it would entice him (more than entice him if he was lucky).

Which is why Steve had been hiding for the last two hours in only a pair of briefs.

He was pressed against a wall in a corner that gave him a good view of the elevator, but also hid him from Tony’s view. He was in briefs because it accentuated his package. Natasha took pictures of him (more when he blushed), so her plan better work or else the eternal humiliation and blackmail would be for nothing.

The elevator finally dinged and Steve pressed further into the corner. Tony slowly made his way to the kitchen, his exhaustion evident in the slow drag of his steps. Steve took a deep breath and mussed up his hair a bit. He prayed this would work.

Tony tipped back a glass of water when he noticed Steve strolling into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes with a soft yawn. Tony blanched and his mouth instantly when dry. Standing before him was a man who looked like he had been carved out of marble. Tony could see almost every inch of his tantalising body. The little that was covered was done so in a pair of tight, Iron Man briefs.

Yes, Tony’s armoured face was on Steve Roger’s ass…and dick.

This was not fair. Steve was torturing him. Tony was practically drooling as he continued to drink in the muscular expanse of his chest. He glanced briefly at the Iron Man faces, but he knew if he stared any longer he would jump Steve’s bones right there. At this point, Tony didn’t know if he wanted to wrap his thighs around Steve, or rather feel Steve’s thigh’s wrapped around him. It was a dilemma.

“Hey Tony,” Steve says with a soft, dazed smile. He reached up (showing off his arms which looked fantastic obviously) and grabbed the mug. The Iron Man mug.

Once again, Tony did not feel an ounce of anger. He felt possessive, but his jealousy was directed towards the mug for being able to held in Steve’s hand like that. He filled the mug up with water and drank, leaning his head back leaving his Adam’s apple ripe for viewing. And now Tony was thinking about licking that.

Yes, Tony was falling down a rabbit hole. It did not help that he had not slept in thirty-two hours.

As much as he wanted Steve, and boy did he want him, Tony pushed all of that away. He rushed past Steve and only managed to squeak a Goodnight on his way.

He had a cold shower in his future. Multiple cold showers.

A week passed and nothing happened. Steve kept using the mug and there was the occasional ogling of a shirtless chest, but Tony had managed to keep his reactions in check. Other than Clint, nobody mentioned it. Natasha would raise her eyebrows in a way that told you that she knew exactly what was going on and she was just waiting for you to tell her..

Rhodey was not that kind. He was an inquisitive little shit, always had been. As soon as he arrived he noticed Steve drinking from the infamous mug on the couch next to Tony. They were a friendly distance apart, but Rhodey knew his best friend well enough to notice the slight shuffling of his feet and furtive glances to the other man. Rhodey could barely contain his laughter. It was like seeing him as a giddy teenager all over again.

Tony’s crush (which Tony continued to deny) thrust them back into their MIT days. Rhodey didn’t even use his bedroom which was opposite Tony’s, he made himself comfortable in Tony’s. He also made sure that they stayed up all night talking about Steve and what it was about him that made him so in love (Tony was not in love, he was just thoroughly infatuated). Tony was tired enough at that time that he let the fact that Steve’s smile was the very image that helped him sleep at night (Tony is pretty sure that everybody heard the way Rhodey giggled).

Their sleepovers made Tony realise how much he missed his best friend and how much he missed having somebody like that to talk to. There was something about the way that Rhodey just knew how to react to everything that made Tony so comfortable around him. Rhodey never stopped laughing as he recounted the early-morning-kitchen fiasco, but Tony couldn’t sense any judgement. If there was anything, it was pure joy. Rhodey left too soon for Tony’s liking, but not without an affectionate kiss on the cheek and a not so discrete inappropriate whisper to snatch that hot piece of ass while he still could.

Tony was pretty sure that Steve heard, if the pink tinting his cheeks and neck were anything to go by. Tony wondered how far down that blush traveled, but he really didn’t want to dwell on that thought.

Tony was caught completely off guard during their next encounter. Steve and Tony were supposed to go and see Frozen 2 together and Tony wanted to see if he would be willing to grab lunch before, but Natasha said that Steve had gone out. Tony decided to go down to the workshop and work on the new suit he was working on for Steve (the one he had now really was an atrocity. Somebody with his body needed something worthy of it). He made himself a cup of coffee in the mug he hardly ever got to use these days and started thinking of safety features for the suit.

He was rummaging through his drawer for a pen and paper when he hears some metal creaking and then dropping. He is about to call JARVIS when he sees the source of the noise.

Steve fucking Rogers.

He stands up and grins at Tony innocently. He is a white tank top, but he may as well be shirtless with the sweat on his shirt and glistening on his arms which only made the shirt appear tighter which Tony didn’t think he was possible. He wiped his slightly grimy face with a cloth and tucked it into his back pocket. There was still grease on his hands and arms, but he didn’t seem to care. Tony couldn’t stop caring. Seeing Steve like this was a completely new territory that he didn’t think he could handle. Steve may be the hottest mechanic he has ever seen. Tony just wanted to feel him. He wanted to know how it felt to have that hard body pressed tightly against his, taking complete control.

“Just fixing my bike, hope you don’t mind me in your space,” Steve says walking closer to Tony. Tony barely manages to croak out his answer, which was probably best because if he could speak coherently, he would probably start begging Steve to take him on the workshop table.

Steve gently takes the mug from Tony’s hands and takes a long sip. He stares right into Tony’s eyes as he sinfully licks his lips. His smirk is barely concealed as he returns the mug and tilts his head slightly.

“Delicious.”

Steve was asking for it. He was bloody asking for it. That’s what Tony decided anyway.

He slammed the mug on the table (which spilt coffee all over that DUM-E would inevitably have to clean) and grabbed at Steve. He latched onto Steve’s sweaty shirt and placed a hot, searing kiss on Steve’s lips. Steve groaned and settled his hands on Tony’s hips gently but firmly. The kiss was passionate, hot and heavy. A culmination of all the pent-up tension which had been bubbling for months. Tony could barely contain his moans as Steve licked into his mouth. His hands were travelling everywhere, he wanted to burn the outline of every inch of his body in his mind.

Steve broke apart first and Tony may or may not have whined. Steve didn’t move far, their noses were still brushing and their breaths were mingling in the air between them as they panted. Steve stroked Tony’s face with feather-light touches and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

“I have been waiting for so long for this,” He whispers.

“It was all a plan?” Tony shouts incredulously, the pieces finally fitting into place. Steve blushed, but nodded.

“Nat helped. I was at a loss. I just really really wanted you. All of you, by the way. I know you think you’re going to mess this up or something, but you won’t. I won’t let you. I just want you.” Steve’s voice was soft but full of promise. Honestly, now that Tony had finally gotten to taste him, he didn’t think he physically capable of stopping. He wanted to taste, feel and have everything. Steve was utterly irresistible and addictive (which was so unfair to Tony. He didn’t stand a chance!).

“If you want me so much, then what the hell are you waiting for?”

It was a promise on its own, slightly shielded by humour but Steve understood it.

It was all he needed to reclaim Tony’s lips and drink in the wonderful sound that he made. It was easily his new favourite sound, and he was determined to hear it the whole night. Maybe even the rest of his life.

#stevetony #stony fic #mine #flirting #oblivious!tony #shirtless!steve #fluff #bad attempts at humour #thirsty!tony #lexywrites

48 notes · View notes

pitviperofdoom · 4 years

Text

AA daemon ficlets are just really comforting and fun to write. So here’s another!

Maya’s POV is really weird to write because she’s a 170-year-old witch so like she’s still Maya but she also says dope shit sometimes.

---

The glass between them frustrates her.

It seems to Maya that whenever they talk face to face, there is either glass between them or the threat of glass hanging over their heads. And now she is free but the glass remains, because he has taken her place in that cage.

Because Redd White has put him there.

Aunt Morgan often speaks longingly of the old days, days that Maya is too young to remember well—when a witch could slay a man for an insult and no one batted an eye, much less put her on trial for it. Normally her aunt’s bitter words make her uncomfortable, as they once nettled Mia, but now…

Now part of her wishes she could turn back time two hundred years, just so she could put an arrow in Redd White’s heart herself. For Mother, for Mia, for herself, and now for Phoenix Wright.

He puts on a brave face for her benefit, his smile bright and reassuring even though it has to hurt, with his face bruised and ugly scratches across his nose and one cheek. The smile and the marks are nearly enough to blind her to the darkness beneath his eyes. But even if she couldn’t read his face, his dӕmon is too big to hide.

Mother knew how to read dӕmons, including human ones, because as queen it was a useful skill. She taught Mia before she disappeared. Now she’s gone and Aunt Morgan says humans aren’t worth their time, so it was left to Mia to pass on what she knew to Maya. Dogs are expressive dӕmons, she’s found, and Wright’s Dawn looks like she’s been caged for days, not mere hours. Her head is low, her tail between her legs, and her white fur is ragged and unkempt.

“Please tell me there’s something I can do,” she says. “You need evidence, don’t you? I’m not a lawyer, or a detective, but I am a witch. If there’s somewhere I need to search, or retrieve something, or question people—well, most people don’t say no to witches.”

“No,” he says firmly. “No, don’t do any of that. That’s what got me in here, and it’s what got your sister killed.” Maya swallows her anger and grief at the reminder. “Besides, I know a few things about White that I didn't before, and that’s what tomorrow will be about. He’s going to ‘prove’ me guilty by going up on the witness stand and lying. All I have to do is pick apart his lies until the whole story falls apart. Hopefully, I’ll get him to crack that way.”

Maya nods. She knows about that part of human legal customs, because Mia told her about it. It was one of her sister’s secrets to success. But it doesn’t feel like enough. “Isn’t there anything I can do?”

“Cheer us on tomorrow, I guess,” Dawn replies.

“I can do that!” she says eagerly, almost too eagerly. Aunt Morgan would be appalled at the display. “I can stand beside you in court, can’t I? Now that I’m not a prisoner anymore?”

He blinks at her, surprised. “W-well, I guess? You could act as my co-counsel, but…”

“I’ll do it,” she says fiercely. “You stood with me when no one else would, and you sacrificed your own freedom to give me mine. This is the least I can do for you, short of killing Redd White with my own hands.”

One of the officers shifts uncomfortably, and Wright splutters. “Okay, definitely don’t do that,” he says. “Because then you actually would be guilty of murder, and there’s not much I could do about that.”

“I won’t,” she says, offering a reassuring smile. “I don’t want to make this any harder for you. Even if I do think it would make things easier…” Wright gives her a pained look. “I’m kidding! I’m kidding. I’ll stand with you in court tomorrow, and maybe I can find a way to support you properly.”

“It’ll be fine.” Phoenix smiles again, wincing when it bothers his bruises. “Trust me.”

She wants to believe him, she really does. But Dawn’s tail is still between her legs, and the fear shines through in their eyes. There is no promise of victory, only tenuous hope.

Maya returns to her sister’s office that day, because there is little else that she can do but wait. As she approaches the building, she comes across a familiar face leaving it. In an instant she is wary, because the first thing he did upon meeting her was arrest her, and now that she’s free, she isn’t sure where that leaves them.

“Um... hello, Detective,” she says, and he startles like a big, ungainly rabbit.

“Oh! Y-yeah, hello, uh, Miss Witch! Detective Dick Gumshoe, at your service!” He stands rigidly before her, wide-eyed. At his feet, his pit bull dӕmon pants nervously and tries in vain to tuck her stubby tail.

“Can I go in?” she asks. “I won’t disturb anything, if you’re still looking…”

“By all means, Miss Witch! Don’t worry about disturbing anything, we’re finished here and the crime scene’s been cleaned up!” He shuffles out of her way, and she realizes that he’s afraid of her. And why wouldn’t he be? He accused her of her sister’s murder. A little over a century ago, that would have earned him an immediate arrow through the heart.

“It’s Maya,” she says, taking pity on him. “Maya Fey. Thank you.”

“No problem, Miss Fey! Sorry for yesterday, just doing my job, very glad to see you’ve been released! Have a nice day, ma’am! C’mon, Bobbie, let’s go.”

He and his dӕmon make a hasty retreat. Maya watches them go, then walks into her sister’s office. She sits down by the window where Mia’s body lay, and doesn’t move until her legs are stiff and achy, and the sunset casts long shadows throughout the room.

There’s a plant in the corner, still green and healthy, but the soil is dry to the touch. While she waters it, Zech flies to the desk to have a look at the computer. The distance tugs at their bond—another reminder of the ritual they haven’t completed, and that Mia won’t be there when they do.

When she’s satisfied with the plant’s condition, Maya goes to her dӕmon’s side to find the computer on and Zech scrolling through it. “What are you doing?”

“Just trying to answer an earlier question,” he tells her. “Since Phoenix already knows about Redd White, and we know that White’s dӕmon is—”

“A water moccasin,” Maya says. “Also known as a cottonmouth. I remember what Mia said.” On the screen, an encyclopedia article on the Felidae family slowly loads.

“I figured that was self-explanatory,” Zech says dryly. “So I thought it might be helpful to glean what we could from Mr. Edgeworth’s dӕmon. Starting with what she is. Maybe it'll give Phoenix an edge.”

“Makes sense.” Maya sits down in her sister’s chair, doing her very best not to think of it that way. “Let’s see what we can find.”

And they do. It doesn’t take them nearly as long as Maya feared, and she shares a triumphant look with Zech before sitting back and turning the machine off.

“Well, that’s interesting,” Zech says, feathers ruffling eagerly. “And rare, isn’t it?”

“Among humans, yes,” Maya replies, tickling his ruff feathers. “Almost unheard of, with witches.”

“Obviously.”

She’s not sure if it will help. But Mia says that court is a battle fought with information, and if Maya cannot fight with Phoenix tomorrow, then the least she can do is arm him.

Phoenix looks worse, somehow. He doesn’t look like he’s slept much, and beneath his battered smile, Maya can see that he’s scared. Dawn hardly looks any better. Her fur is still poorly groomed, her tail droops, and she presses close to her human like she’s afraid they’ll be separated.

“I’m fine,” he assures Maya when she asks. “I mean, if you think about it, however this trial ends up, I did what I said I’d do. Win or lose, you’re still innocent.”

She scowls, even though Aunt Morgan has always told her that it makes her look childish. “That’s not good enough,” she argues. “You’re innocent, too.”

“I know. And you know that, too. That’s what matters right now.”

“When this is over, everyone else will know it,” she reminds him.

She’s not sure how to describe the way his face softens at that. For the first time since yesterday, his dӕmon’s tail gives a tentative wag. “Thank you,” Dawn says softly.

“I’ve hardly done anything,” Maya answers, a little flustered.

“No, really,” Phoenix says. “You… it means a lot that you’re standing with me. With us. It really does. It’s just, we know what it’s like to have everyone against you but one person, and—” He hesitates. “I guess… thanks for being that one person, this time.”

“We haven’t done anything you didn’t do for us,” Maya reminds him.

The moment ends when Dawn goes rigid, and Zech lets out a warning croak, and Maya turns to find Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth approaching them, with his long-legged cat dӕmon stalking at his heels. This time, her hunter eyes pass over Maya and Zech to settle upon Dawn instead. Edgeworth’s eyes are likewise on Phoenix. Maya may as well not even be there.

“Wright,” Edgeworth says coolly.

“Edgeworth.”

Are lawyers always like this? If they were witches, the spells would already be flying. Human justice is a strange thing, if those who uphold it are at war with one another.

“I received a call from the Chief Prosecutor today,” Edgeworth says. He is straight-backed and composed as he speaks, his voice calm and conversational. At his feet, his dӕmon’s tail flicks from side to side, and her claws slide from their sheathes. Steady, serene, and ready to pounce.

“Did you?” Phoenix asks. He’s not quite as good at sounding calm.

“Apparently, anything that the witness says on the stand today is to be taken as the absolute truth,” Edgeworth goes on. “And the judge’s verdict will agree with it.”

“The judge, too?” Dawn yelps, pawing at the ground. Phoenix curls his hand into her bristling fur, either a calming gesture or a warning one.

Edgeworth ignores her. “I’ve been assured that any objection I make will be sustained, and any evidence I present will be accepted without question.”

Dawn starts forward, pulling against her human’s grip. “And you’re just fine with that, are you?” she growls.

“Dawn,” Phoenix warns her, tightening his fingers in her fur.

She pulls herself free to round on him, teeth bared. “Phoenix, the entire court is in White’s pocket and he’s telling us to our faces, I can’t just—”

“Save it for the courtroom,” he tells her shortly. His eyes haven’t left Edgeworth.

The prosecutor finally deigns to look at Dawn, if only for a moment. “I suggest you keep better control of your dӕmon, Wright. For an outburst like that, you’d be held in contempt. Though I suppose that would save everyone else a great deal of time.”

Phoenix shifts, in such a way that it’s almost a flinch. “So you’re saying I’m guilty, then,” he says, his voice tight. “End of story?”

“I’ll do whatever is necessary to obtain a guilty verdict.”

Maya sees red.

“How dare you.” He may be a head and a half taller than she is, but she is almost one hundred and fifty years older, and still young enough for her grief to boil over into fury. “Just yesterday you were convinced that I was guilty! Have you changed your mind so easily?” She feels Zech’s claws dig into her shoulder. “I’ll bet you don’t even have a shred of evidence that Phoenix is guilty! All you did was listen to that man’s lies and decide that your job was done!” Her eyes blaze. “Do you even care about finding my sister’s murderer, or would you rather cage another innocent and tell yourself it’s victory?”

The cat hisses at their feet, and Zech rasps out an answering challenge.

Edgeworth’s expression darkens, but he doesn’t back away. “Innocent? Can you even say for certain that he is? Or that anyone is?” His eyes return to Phoenix. “Criminals lie to escape justice, and they slip through the cracks thanks to cheap tactics like the ones I’ve seen you employ. All I can hope to do is have every defendant declared guilty.”

Phoenix holds his gaze for a moment longer, while Dawn growls and Maya swallows another furious outburst. But when Phoenix speaks, there is no anger, only sadness. “You’ve really changed, haven’t you, Edgeworth?”

In an instant, Maya’s rage plunges into ice-cold water. She looks to Phoenix in shock, and sees the answer to her question written all over his face.

It’s more than just the animosity between opposite sides of a conflict. There’s history there. As cold and aloof as Edgeworth holds himself, there is something deeply personal in this.

“…Don’t expect any special treatment,” Edgeworth says, and turns to go. His dӕmon glares balefully at them before turning to follow. The time for parley is over, it seems.

Except, it’s not.

Dawn steps forward. Her voice, laced with a growl, echoes in the lobby. “Thea.”

Halfway across the room, the cat dӕmon freezes. Edgeworth pauses as well, turning back to urge his dӕmon onward.

“Dawn,” Phoenix murmurs, but she doesn’t listen to him. She steps forward as far as their bond will allow, standing tall with her tail held high for the first time since Maya saw them in detention yesterday.

“Come on, Thea. This is wrong and you know it.”

“The only thing I know,” the cat replies calmly, “is that you are the defendant, and that makes it our job to find you guilty.”

“You’re being played,” Dawn growls. “I know you’re not in his pocket too, but you have to see that!”

“I don’t have to listen to this.” The cat takes another step toward her human.

“What happened to you and Miles?” Dawn demands. “Don’t you see what you’re doing?”

Edgeworth's face turns thunderous. The cat’s tall ears turn back, flat against her head, and she whirls around and storms back to face Dawn with a snarl. “What did you expect, Dawn?” she spits. “That we would throw away everything we’ve worked for, for—what?” Her lip curls back scornfully. “Childish sentiment?”

Dawn’s tail drops, and her white coat bristles with fury. When she finally speaks again, her voice is harsh with disappointment. “It’s not about sentiment, Alethea. I just thought you were smarter than this.”

Maya can almost hear the cat dӕmon’s claws scrape against the tile. Without another word, she whips around and stalks after Edgeworth.

Beside her, Phoenix’s hands shake. They don’t still until his dӕmon is within reach again, offering her fluffy coat to curl his fingers into.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m sorry, I just—”

“I know.”

“I couldn’t just—I had to say something—”

“I know.” Phoenix straightens up, his face set. “We’d better go in.”

This is their last chance for a private word. Maya catches him by the sleeve before he makes it to the door. “She’s a hybrid.”

He looks at her, confused. “What?”

“There’s a breed of cat called the Savannah,” she explains. “Though, it’s not really a breed in the truest sense. It’s made by crossing a domestic cat with a serval—that’s a wild cat from Africa.”

Her meaning dawns on him, and his eyes widen.

“I’m not sure if it helps,” she says. “Maybe it doesn’t. But hybrid dӕmons are said to indicate some kind of… split. A contradiction or duality in the soul.” She squeezes his arm in what she hopes is a reassuring way. “So, you could be right about him. He’s a hunter either way, but he may be more conflicted with himself than he lets on.”

The hope in his eyes is nearly enough to make her cry.

#ace attorney #aa daemons #tales from the pit

72 notes · View notes