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mysteria157 · 2 months

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Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x Black Fem Reader

CW: Profanity, Light Angst, Alcohol Consumption, Explicit Sexual Content, Missionary, Cowgirl, Fingering, Fingersucking, Cunnilingus, Slight Dom Reader (not much), Car Sex, Bathroom Sex

WC: ~16k (It's long so get some snacks)

Summary:

Maybe you're single for a reason. You’re too outspoken and mean to men, too demanding with your expectations, and you refuse to settle for less. For the ones who aren't worth the air they breathe, you chew them up and spit them out. You savor the taste so you know what to avoid the next time.

So when he looks down at you with that devilish smirk and calls you 'Princess', you're determined to prove that Toji Fushiguro is no exception.

Notes: Hello! This is my first fic with Toji and I'm nervous to get it out here. The setting of this fic and the elements I incorporated connect a lot with my own childhood and the memories (not the interactions in this fic) that I had at family cookouts and get-togethers. Reblogs, likes, or comments are always appreciated! Happy reading!

Dividers: @royallaesthetics @eloquentmoon Header: myself (stability.ai)

Masterlist | Ao3 | Twitter | **Sequel**

**Do not plagiarize any of my works or translate without my permission!**

“Can I get you a drink, princess?”

When you meet Toji Fushiguro for the first time, it’s on the fourth of July at your uncle’s house. It’s a big get-together at a two-story house located in the countryside. Every year he opens up his spacious home for a gathering of your extended family to bring excessive amounts of alcohol, play old school rap and R&B too loudly, devour delicious fucking food, and set off fireworks that have been collected since the beginning of the year.

Your uncle has already made a home by the grill and taken control of the speakers after one of your younger cousins attempted to play something ‘a little too racy’ for his tastes. You’re pretty sure it was an Ice Cube song from the 90s that your uncle hates but is too proud to admit, so he lectures your cousin about ‘what young folks should be listening to’ instead.

The smell of hamburgers and ribs has been teasing your nose for the past hour, and your hunger is borderline unbearable with each sniff. You avoid the allure of the long table of food because if you look, you’ll be three plates in before the meat is done. There’s coleslaw, baked beans, greens, and macaroni and cheese. Your favorite aunt also brought her potato salad and you know she’s going to make yellow cake with chocolate frosting fresh before the fireworks. You love it so much and you were deprived of it last year when you were called in to work at the last minute. You will get some today.

The backyard is expansive and well-maintained, and your cousins and aunts have already laid their claim on swanky cushions of the nice patio furniture.

The one cousin you’re closest to in age and personality sits next to you on a large blanket a few yards away from the rising volume of your extended family. You were able to get a good ten minutes of conversation from her before her fiancé showed up and made a home inside of her mouth.

Your family normally has something to say about PDA—a stupid quip about acting ‘too grown’ even though you are both knocking on the door of thirty. But she doesn’t care—just like you, that’s why you like her so much even though her fiancé is sucking on her face like it’s his last day on Earth.

Shiu Kong is nice—gentle in his own way and carries himself with a bored air that seems to pull your cousin in. He’s enamored with her, practically folds in on himself when she’s around, and worships the ground she walks on. They’ve been together for a few years and you’ve never had a problem with him.

But that just might change today because he’s brought along a friend who has already ignited a flame of arousal and annoyance deep within your belly. From the moment Toji Fushiguro stepped into the backyard with Shiu, your family was transfixed. Your aunts can’t stop ogling, and your uncles and male cousins try to jokingly size him up.

“Oh honey why don’t you sit down, don’t be shy. Lemme get you something to drink.”

“That’s not steroids? It’s gotta be. Don’t play.”

“How much you bench?”

It’s annoying. So fucking annoying but you can’t help but agree. He’s a little older—maybe early thirties—but dangerously attractive.

Raven hair that reaches his ears, looks unbelievably soft and falls over emerald green eyes. A grey shirt hugs him too fucking deliciously for your comfort and dark jeans hug an ass that’s too fucking juicy. He’s a big man—a burly man and unfortunately, that’s how you like them.

Big, burly like a bear, respectful, and capable of making you feel small and protected but also valuing and worshipping you as a woman. Unfortunately, such men are hard to come by because you tend to intimidate them. You don’t tolerate disrespect in any form and quickly put men in their place if they try to undermine, belittle, or confuse protection with control. You know what you want, and you refuse to settle for less.

They can’t stand it.

And right now, you can’t stand Toji. As he looks down at you with a well-worn smirk on his face, a smirk that suggests he has plenty of experience in situations like this, your irritation grows. He’s a smooth talker, confident in almost everything he says. His voice is deep, but melodic in a strangely feminine way that makes his words slide like silk down your back, and the minute you heard it, your thighs threatened to rub together.

Definitely a smooth talker. But the nickname you don’t care for.

Princess.

Like you’re a dainty little thing who will bat her eyelashes and call him Daddy. It makes your walls of self-defense rise even higher, and the gentle smile you had given Shiu when he first said hello moments ago transforms into the beginnings of a frown.

Without hesitation, you rise to your feet, plant your wedges firm into the grass, and turn away from them before muttering, “I’m good.”

Toji simply shrugs; a gesture that annoys you even more because he doesn’t offer any other reaction that satisfies you. He settles into your previously vacated spot, leaning back on his hands. The jacket on his shoulders falls open and the sight of his shirt hugging his muscles is too much for you.

You inwardly curse as your eyes wander over his physique. Thick pectorals that you could easily rub your face against and make a pillow for yourself to sleep on stretch the fabric in a way that you’re sure it’ll rip. Abdominals tease just below the surface of his shirt that clings to him like a second skin. You want to lick between each one, press your teeth into the hard skin to make him wince and beg as you count each one.

Four, six, eight?

Fuck.

You don’t show how you want to straighten your spine against the chill of being caught staring. That smirk is on his face again, tugging at the corner of his mouth. There’s a scar on the right side that slashes vertically over his top and bottom lip and you dislike the arousal that begins to boil between your legs from the sight. You wonder how he got it. If it was a fight, did he win? The thought of him wrestling another man to the floor and taking a cut to the face in the process shouldn’t arouse you, but god it does.

His eyes make you think of moss as you watch them slide up your body, and it almost feels like invisible hands caressing you. They’re large and pale, littered with scars along the knuckles as they glide up your exposed chocolate legs, dip between your inner thighs, and caress the curves of your hips.

“See something you like?”

He’s ogling you but has the nerve to try and put you on the spot? You have enough self-control to let logic worm through the rising lust inside of you. You sneer down at him, sharp enough for Shiu to visibly pale and your cousin to giggle at.

“To be honest, I don’t really see much.”

You don’t give him a chance to retort and you pretend not to hear the soft hum of nonchalance he throws back. You walk away from them, turning just in time to shield the way your eyes widen at the feel of your face and neck prickling with heat.

The moment you close the bathroom door inside your uncle’s house, the breath trapped within your lungs escapes in a rush. You press your forehead against the wood and the coolness of it offers only little relief to the burning of your skin.

You turn your head and press your cheek against the wood so the cold surface can slide along your cheek as you open your eyes to take in your reflection.

Of course, Toji would ogle you. You’re confident enough to know your beauty.

A red sundress that hugs your curves, stops at your mid-thighs. Knotless braids with curled ends are piled on top of your head in a loose bun with a few strands that spill along your hairline.

You’re good-looking. But you’ve been out of practice with a man for a long time. Your last relationship ended when you caught him balls-deep in your coworker. You’re too shy to pursue a one-night stand and not detached enough for a situationship.

However, you could risk it all for Toji and you hate that you’re entertaining the thought. You hate that you’re imagining him barging into the bathroom, bending you over the counter, and taking you from behind with his large hand digging into the small of your back and whispering how much of a good girl you are as you beg him to cum.

God, get yourself together.

To calm yourself down, you find solace in your uncle’s quiet kitchen. There’s only one person occupying it, your favorite aunt, who is heavily pregnant and working on the yellow cake that you’ve been thinking about all day. You use the opportunity to distract yourself and take over for her, shooing her away to relax in the backyard.

You crack an egg against the off-white countertop, fractures splitting up the sides before spilling its contents into the silver mixing bowl in front of you. A self-deprecating thought slithers in your ears, and whispers loudly with wicked intention.

Toji wouldn’t want a woman like you.

You’re too outspoken and mean to men, too demanding with your expectations. It pushes them all away, and although you normally take pride in keeping away those who aren’t worth your time, it can get lonely.

To see your ex actively cheating on you was icing on a cake that was slowly cooking in an oven of your own self-doubt. You have standards, and while your friends consider you the voice of reason in their misfortunes with men, most members of your family think you’re too picky. You’re too much work, ‘you think you know everything’.

“Men will always have a wandering eye, it’s up to you to keep them in check, girl.”

“Honey, I love you, but the more you pick apart a man, the less he will want to be around you.”

“They love it when you cook for them, girl. Take care of your man and keep him fed and you’ll keep him forever.”

Bullshit.

It’s bullshit to take care of a man in the same way his own mother does. It’s bullshit to lose all sense of self and independence, to wait on a man when he gives you less than nothing in return—when he can hardly give you the bare minimum. You don’t mind cooking for a man who takes care of you, who loves and values you, who would never hold you back and would encourage you when you can hardly encourage yourself.

But all the good ones are in relationships now, married with a few kids, and in your resolve to stay strong and weed out the bad to find the good, it’s left you a little bitter.

Most black families are old school, and yours is no exception. They hold ‘for better or worse’ a little too close to their heart. They cling to an ideal that a man runs the household down to the basics in a way that makes you uneasy and in your defense, you snap when you’re backed into a corner.

You love them, you truly do, but they probably will never understand just how aware you are of the world and how little you are willing to put up with the problematic things that others consider normal.

Your ex was great at first. But he got comfortable. And when he got comfortable, he got lazy, a little too controlling, and a little too frustrated when you asked for certain things in the bedroom. The only person who knows about your breakup is your mother, who had the gall to be out of the country for work, leaving you to fend for yourself for today.

You watch as the batter spills on each side of your wooden spoon, parting and then falling back together like sand. In your reverie, you don’t notice a few of your relatives who have now entered the kitchen and are roaming through the fridge. You can hear one of your least favorite aunts—the bitchy one—playfully joking with someone, and whatever drivel comes out of her mouth makes that person laugh. It’s deep and suave enough to make a tingle of electricity stutter down your spine because you know it’s him.

Refusing to look in their direction, you continue mixing the batter until the lumps disappear.

“You been hiding in this kitchen for awhile now,” your aunt begins, Atlanta accent the most grating it’s ever been as she turns her gaze toward you. “You’re normally a little more talkative when your man is here. He not coming?”

There is not a trace of genuine concern in her tone. You and her bicker often; she presses your buttons and then gets mad when you press back. Your ex’s infidelity is ammunition you don’t want to give her, but being caught in a lie is something she would only treasure more to use against you later.

You clear your throat and turn the spoon in the batter once, then twice before answering without looking her way.

“No, he actually came inside of my coworker a few weeks ago. So we split up.”

You can feel the noise before you hear it—a characteristic and sharp ‘mmm’ that seems to be ingrained in your family’s DNA. It makes your grip tighten on the wooden spoon, and you scrape along the bottom of the bowl until it screeches on the metal.

“You gotta watch out for this one, Toji. She’s always been an outspoken one. Too good for ‘em all and likes to be a little mean to her men.”

You scrape harder and then turn to her, a sickly sweet smile plastered on your face.

“You’re right. The fact that I won’t settle for someone who will get bored with me after a few years makes me way too good for them. Should have turned the other cheek just like you did with your last husband. Or…was it the one before him?”

You catch the way Toji pulls his lips in to bite down on them, scar twitching as he fights to hold in a snicker.

Your aunt glares at you, purses her lips, and turns them to the side before pulling in a noise that has been passed down for generations. Her mother and her mother’s mother used the very same tactic to strike fear and insignificance in their children when they talked back. It’s a sucking of air between her teeth and the sound makes years of discipline from your own mother flash in your mind like you’re in the trenches of war.

You know she wants to say something, and you can taste the ‘you always got something to say’ in the air before Toji slides from his perch against the counter and places a hand on your aunt’s shoulder.

“Let’s get you a drink, huh? Didn’t you say you wanted me to try the beer you brought in?” She throws you a knowing glare before letting Toji lead her away; because if there is one thing that will distract her from showing out, it’s letting a good-looking man touch her.

The shaking in your hands helps you sift in the dry ingredients—a mix of sugar, flour, and baking soda—into the batter. The breaths through your nostrils are heavy and thick with anger, and the corners of your eyes sting with heat. You whip the batter harder than necessary, your aunt’s words replaying in your mind like a broken record.

Don’t cry. Don’t fucking cry. Don’t—

The sight of a can of hard seltzer pressing onto the counter in front of you makes the ramblings in your mind stop. Familiar long fingers unfurl from the can and slide on the counter, their fingertips touching the edges of your mixing bowl in an effort to get to you.

“I would have given you a bottle of beer. But I had a feeling you might bash it over your aunt’s head.” He’s not wrong, and in your frustrated state, you consider his defense admirable. “I like a fight, but I’m a guest and the food looks good.”

Your grip on the spoon loosens slightly as Toji leans casually against the refrigerator, arms crossed over bulging biceps that stretch the short sleeves of his shirt. His jacket is now gone, and you can’t help but notice the veins in his forearms that protrude, tempting you to lick against them.

It takes the sheer will to tear your eyes away and focus on pouring the batter into the bundt cake mold, observing as it fills the intricate crevices.

“So he cheated? Most men are pigs.”

“But not you, huh?” you can’t help but retort, shaking the mold to disperse the air pockets that bubble on the surface.

In your peripheral, he shrugs. “I know what I like in a woman and once I get what I want, it makes no sense to look somewhere else unless she wants me gone. I’m a man…but I’m a loyal man.”

When you meet his emerald gaze, you can see a hint of pain and vulnerability that unsettles you, tilts you back on your heels from the force of his honesty. You reach for the can of seltzer and take a long swig to give yourself time to get your thoughts in order. The carbonation is sweet and fizzles along the sides of your tongue and down your throat.

“So what is it you like in a woman, Toji?”

It’s a question that probably should have been left untouched, but your curiosity overpowers your restraint. You don’t want to go back outside, because if your aunt is still feeling particularly petty, she will say something that will only make you leave. And you don’t feel like letting your family win today.

Toji’s strong gaze certainly isn’t helping. Those invisible hands slide along the crevices and dips of your body, stroking the small of your back before pressing featherlight against the back of your neck. The hairs rise in response, your skin prickling with gooseflesh.

Unexpectedly, he pushes off the refrigerator and walks closer to you, and you’re too shocked to back away. Despite his imposing stature, you know he won’t harm you. There’s something about him that’s warm and inviting, soft and tender even though his exterior is hard lines and muscle. The two of you are now mere inches apart, and the air feels thin as if you’ve reached the summit of a mountain and struggle to breathe due to the change in altitude.

Jet black locks graze against a rough cheek, the tips kissing the raised scar on the side of his mouth. Up close you can see his features more closely. His eyes are sharp and intense with deep green between his lids as if hiding a pearl in an oyster. Thin eyebrows make him look more serious and cutting and you’re swallowing back drool because your nose picks up a faint whiff of woodsy amber emitting from his body. It smells cheap—he’s put together in the most basic sense—but it still smells…good.

“I like a woman who knows what she’s about. Independent and doesn’t fuck around. Smart and pretty with curves I can grab and squeeze. Someone with some sass and isn’t afraid to put anyone in their place.”

He steps closer and your lungs heave in a desperate attempt to pull in air. The brush of the wall against your back makes you stutter out your exhale and you press your palms flat against the cool surface to keep you grounded.

“I like a woman with nice creamy brown skin that smells a little like the cake she’s baking…” Through the sea of delirium, you distantly realize that he’s describing you. “The red dress definitely is a bonus.”

That familiar smirk pulls against his lips again and your heart is thundering in your chest. You would be surprised if he couldn’t see it thumping erratically beneath the skin between what’s exposed of your cleavage.

But this is just another trick in their book to get you in their bed. Or in the bathroom. Or over the kitchen counter.

And as much as you want to, you can’t give in. Because you’ll hate yourself tomorrow.

So you tilt your chin up at him and narrow your eyes at his amused expression.

“Describing me in place of your ‘ideal woman’? That’s boring. Go use it on my bitchy aunt, she’s got fillers in her ass so that’s more curves for you to ‘grab and squeeze’ when she throws herself on you after the Hennessey kicks in.”

Toji’s eyes widen slightly before a harsh laugh barks from his mouth. It’s surprisingly nice on your ears and rattles the drums inside in a way that you don’t dislike. He pulls away from you, giving you a few more inches of space and the altitude in the air seems to level out enough for you to take an inconspicuous deep breath.

“Nah, nothing against fillers, but I’m more of a natural man myself,” he admits.

“Cellulite and stretch marks?” you ask with a lift of a brow, teasing but…mildly curious.

You watch as that smile slowly slides on his face, teeth glittering and eyebrows raising. He looks like he’s hit the jackpot.

“The whole package, princess.”

Biting the inside of your cheek to suppress a smile, you push down the lingering arousal in your stomach, refusing to let it simmer. He’s funny and you appreciate a man who loves the raw and often overlooked intricacies of a woman.

His response is disorienting, throwing you off balance, and you’re unsure of what to do next. Your usual response is to talk back, to take delight in a man fumbling when his own cards have been turned against him. But you can’t think of anything right now.

You move around him to place the bundt cake mold into the oven, setting a timer with the plastic buttons above the stove. Snatching the seltzer from the counter, you lean back against the oven, putting a considerable distance between the two of you to think.

Toji mimics your movements, retreating to the fridge to relax against it, folding his arms across his chest, and god he still takes up the room. Even though you’re further away, it still seems like you can smell the cologne as if it’s sitting right on the skin below your nose.

“Do your moves always work on women?” you ask before taking a good swig of your seltzer.

He shrugs in response and turns around to dig a beer from the fridge. You don’t bother to hold back the urge to leer at him. You want to grab his ass, listen to him squeal in surprise, and blush in embarrassment when you squeeze. The thought of digging your fingers into the skin of it as he fucks you nice and slow makes your mind short circuit, a computer rebooting and making a loud noise before frying out indefinitely.

“On the rare occasion that I happen to use them, yes they always work. But…obviously not on you.”

“I’m not easy to win over. You need to be worth my time.” Your eyes flicker up to his face before he turns around to face you.

He takes a swig of his beer and you watch the way his Adam’s apple bobs with each swallow. The column of his throat is long and pale and you want to slide your tongue along the side to taste the saltiness of his skin.

“What’s it going to take?”

His interest in you is admirable, and a small part of you is giddy with the attention. But you’re nervous to give him an inch when most are quick to take a mile.

“I have a name so stop calling me princess. I’m not a royal, so unless you’re offering me land, money, or power, I don’t want to hear it.”

He barks out another laugh, his thick chest shaking and eyes closing as he throws his head back. You despise how good it sounds and you’re reminded of these moments when men seem so beautiful and wonderful before the ugliest parts of them are visible.

“What else?” he inquires, still chuckling as he takes another long sip.

“If you’re expecting sex from me, think again. I don’t do one-night stands or friends with benefits. It’s messy and I just don’t have the strength for it.”

He seems to consider your remark as if he has no choice but to weigh your stipulation before signing a contract. Then he smirks that devilish smirk that makes your cunt pulse between your thighs when you know damn well it shouldn’t. You cannot be this turned on by this man.

“Not even if I have a big dick?” he teases.

He’s annoying and you’re mildly disgusted but still willing to banter with him, so you grimace and roll your eyes. “What, you want me to take a look first before I make up my mind?”

He full-on grins, the fucker. “If that’s what it takes.”

But in true fashion, you bounce back with your own quip. “Public indecency is a crime and I also don’t like to look at cock until after I’ve eaten something. It’s nauseating.”

Laughter erupts from him once again, loud and boisterous that it seems to shake the oven against your back. He probably thinks you’re joking. But you’re not. Dick already looks alien. Looking at dick on purpose without any sense of arousal is pathological behavior.

Your heart flips in your chest when he pushes off the refrigerator again, taking a swig of his beer as he saunters to you and the sight is criminal. Your fingers dig just slightly into the metal can in your hands, a faint pop emanating from it.

“What are you bothering me for anyway,” you can’t help but ask, frustration coating your words as you frown more at yourself than at Toji. “I have so many other cousins here who are single and would love to get their hands on you.”

At first, he doesn’t respond, and in the silence, you struggle to take a full breath again. You don’t like that he’s so close to you, but you also love the way he smells and the way he looks at you as if you’re someone and not something to fucking eat. You’re a fucking mess.

His head tilts slightly, and his hair follows the movement, brushing against his cheeks as his eyes take you in instead of scrutinizing you.

The air feels thin again, and you ready yourself to leave when your pregnant aunt suddenly barges back into the kitchen and stops short at the scene. Toji takes a slow step back, not really bothering to fumble at being so close to you. You’re sure he doesn’t really care.

She’s your favorite for a reason because she understands. She’s not dismissive and mean and she simply smiles knowingly at you both before gesturing with her head towards the backdoor.

“Time to eat. Honey, why don’t you show Toji what’s what before your uncles steal everything.”

***

He stays close to you when you both make it outside, and you do your best to ignore your bitchy aunt’s gaze from her perch in one of the patio chairs. The spread of food makes your mouth water and you waste no time grabbing a plate for yourself and absentmindedly handing Toji one as well.

“I’ve never had some of this before,” he admits, and his voice is a little apprehensive from next to you as he takes everything in. It makes sense, this is probably his first cookout…his first black cookout at least. Strangely, you’re proud to be the one to guide him along.

“What is this?” he asks, pointing to the heavy helping of greens and ham hocks on his plate minutes later. You’re both at a small table alone and away from the noise.

“Collard greens…it’s a cabbage that’s cooked in a pot for a few hours with spices and broth. The ham hocks give it flavor, cook it before you add the greens so the meat falls off the bone better.”

You bite your lip to keep from laughing as Toji gives them a wayward glance, an arch of a thin brow that makes his features more handsome than they should be, and then he takes a tentative bite before moaning sinfully in appreciation. The vertebrae of your spine lock in place, stiff with a sudden chill at the noise as you picture it slipping from his lips while you ride him until the hinges fall off.

You take your own bite to stop anything stupid from coming out of your mouth.

You figure he has to eat to accommodate for his size but to see it in action is something else entirely. He finishes two plates in fifteen minutes and as he makes his way to get another serving, your bitch of an aunt speaks up from across the lawn.

“Why don’t you get up and get him another plate?”

Why don’t you shut the fuck up?

You grip the plastic fork in your hand tightly, digging into your diminishing potato salad and swallowing the vile that you want to throw her way.

Make your man a plate before you make yours, get him a drink, get him another helping so he doesn’t have to, keep him fed.

Maybe this is why you’re single. You want to scream. You want—

“Don’t listen to her. You’re still eating, don’t move,” he levels, and you don’t miss the hint of irritation in his own voice as he gets up. “The same seltzer as before?” he asks, pointing to your drink that you didn’t realize was empty.

“I—”, you fumble before clearing your throat. “I like the strawberry one…if there’s any left.”

He shoots a wink your way and your body ignites with heat.

Your cousin worms her way over when Toji disappears, and you try your best to ignore the sly look on her face.

“Defending your honor from our bitchy aunt? My, my, the perfect recipe for your feminist heart.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you growl, shoving the last of the potato salad in your mouth.

“He’s Shiu’s best friend. Moved here from Japan a few months ago and is living in the same city as you. It could be fate? You want his number?”

“Shut the fuck up,” you snap again, feeling exasperated but knowing that unless Shiu is here to stop her, she will talk until she’s tired or you’re swinging at her.

She giggles, undeterred and gearing up for more. “He’s single too. And you’ve got all our other cousins mad as hell because he won’t leave you alone.” You don’t reply, because you’re mildly intrigued and impressed with yourself. It’s nice to have the attention from someone so attractive; it’s just figuring out if he’s genuine that’s the headache. “When the music gets louder tonight…or when the fireworks go off, take him upstairs and fuck him on—”

“Didn’t I say—fuck you.”

She guffaws, loud and unabashed and it pulls a smile from the side of your mouth. You know she doesn’t mean it, you know that at gatherings like these, you’re the black sheep and she just wants you to enjoy yourself.

“Seriously though, cousin. Shiu doesn’t keep many around, but they’ve been friends since they were kids. That’s a good sign right?”

There’s some merit to it, but you still want to be careful.

And Toji Fushiguro makes it hard for you to be careful because he wants you around him all the time and is unashamed to show it.

Later in the night when the music is booming old school hip hop that your uncle won’t shut up about (he’s drunk), your other uncles—and a few cousins they will definitely con—have a table already bustling with spades. At first, you’re unsure how they convinced Toji to join, but he’s partnered with one of your cousins who has no clue about the game, and you realize they just want Toji to lose so they can feel good.

Feeling curious, you pretend to bring Toji a beer. He’s frowning down at the cards, irritated with his lips curled into a small scowl and your cousin is trying to act like he knows what to do, but his stupidity is palpable even from where you stand.

You offer him a beer and ignore the fact that the one on the table is still full. When he looks up at you, his sharp eyes hold you like a vice, frustration evaporating quickly before opportunity takes its place.

“Help me.” He doesn’t bother to hide the confusion in his voice and you can’t help the way your stomach flips.

One of your uncle’s snickers. “She doesn’t know how to play.” You do. “But she can try.”

You’re so annoyed, and you want to snap at him but Toji is pulling you closer to him with a muscular arm before you can. You’re in his lap before you know it, sitting precariously on a thick thigh with your back pressed against a broad chest and you can’t breathe again. The fluctuating altitudes are making you lightheaded.

Any other time and you wouldn’t hesitate to turn around and knock a man’s teeth in for grabbing you. But against your better judgment, you relax into Toji instead. His cheap cologne smells way too fucking good, he’s so big and warm against your body and your throat is drying up like you’ve taken a big breath in the middle of the Sahara.

“Don’t grab me like that,” you can’t help but grumble, only mildly put off.

“I improvised.” It’s a feeble excuse wrapped around a heavenly chuckle in your ear and you pray to whoever is listening, mentally offering up a sacrificial lamb, anything to ensure you don’t drip all over his thigh. “Now help me win.”

You do. Three times. He's adamant about winning and you're sure he has a gambling problem. And if your legs go a little numb from sitting on his thigh or if you lean into the way his outside hand slides to hold the curve of your waist, you don’t complain about it.

***

“You don’t dance?” Toji asks an hour later, joining you on the blanket that you occupied when you first arrived. It’s almost sunset, and the orange of the sky covers half of the backyard as your family revels in their merriment.

You shrug at Toji’s question, gazing at members of your family who are dancing in the yard. One of your loudest uncles is boasting about the music as he teaches one of your cousins dance steps. That used to be you so many years ago, and the moves are like muscle memory as you watch them. One of your aunts takes over the stereo, beginning what will surely be an hour of reminding everyone of the greatest hits.

You suddenly realize that it’s just you and Toji on the blanket. Your cousin and Shiu are off god knows where, and given her penchant for being a rebellious freak, she’s probably riding him on your uncle’s bed. The thought makes you shudder.

“Are you cold?” he probes, pulling you out of your thoughts.

It is cooler now, but that’s not why you were shivering. You’re ready to tell him no, to start shaking your head even as you watch him pull his own jacket off to place it over your shoulders. His hands smooth over your shoulders and down your arms as if securing it closer to your skin and your blood boils beneath your cheeks. Your skin isn’t light enough to show when you’re blushing, but you’re burning with nervousness.

“Stop being so nice to me,” you hiss instinctively, regretting the words as soon as they leave your mouth. The surprise is evident on his face and you immediately feel guilty. “I’m—I’ll only be mean to you in return.”

For the first time of the night, he looks angry. His eyebrows dip, the scar on his cheek twists with the harsh frown on his lips and he gives a severe ‘tch’ that makes you gape at him. “Why because you’re mean to men?” he snaps, impatient and free of any tease.

It raises your hackles instantly, and you’re talking back before you know it. “Exactly. So why don’t you take a hint and stop trying to get into my pants—”

You feel a rough finger on the side of your cheek turn you further towards him, preventing you from looking at anything else.

“You just don’t like bullshit. Stop acting up and let me be nice to you.”

For once, you don’t have anything to say even though your hand is twitching with the urge to slap the words from his mouth. You want to. It’s easy for you to fight back and push them away, you’re good at it. But you can’t fight the way his gaze seems to calm you down against your better judgment.

You pull your face from his hold and roll your shoulders, sliding out of his sharp gaze and turning back to your lively family. One of your cousins is arguing about why the Cowboys didn’t make it into the playoffs, and now everyone has something to say.

You pull in a deep breath, scolding yourself to relax just a little. He hasn’t been so bad, and you’re not one to make things intentionally difficult if a man is honestly trying. You’re still apprehensive about his intentions…but he is trying without being a beast. So you exhale your frustrations into the July air, calm down so your heart can steady its frantic pounding from the lingering scent of his cologne, and dig your fingers into your uncle’s well-kept grass.

“Fine. If I let you be nice to me…what would be the next thing you would say?”

You can’t look at him, but you feel his eyes on your body as you pluck a few blades of grass from the soil. The strands slide against the pads of your fingertips, rough and threatening to cut, before fluttering in the breeze when you release them.

He’s grabbing you again, tenderly but possessively, sliding you into his embrace so your back is to his muscular chest, his chin rests on the side of your temple and his arms wrap around your waist. Your heart is back to leaping in your chest, pumping loud and fast in your ears, drowning out the music and arguing as if you’re underwater.

“How about you tell me about your family?” he suggests, voice unmuffled through the thickness of your hearing.

It’s a random ask, as if he wants to impress them, as if you’ve been dating for a long period of time and he wants to be prepared to meet them for the first time. The thought doesn’t leave a bad taste in your mouth, even though you know it would never be a reality anyway. You don’t know if he’s just joking and frankly, the feel of him against you is warmer than his jacket on your shoulders and you don’t want to leave.

So, if it means he can stay put, you give in. You tell him about your aunts, uncles, and cousins—where they are from and what they do. You share your traditions when you all get together and the small intricacies you all share. It’s incredibly personal…maybe even too intimate. But he listens, and hums to let you know he’s paying attention, and asks you questions as you talk.

Eventually, his cheek rests on the crown of your head against your braids and you surprisingly don’t mind at all. When you notice his arms wrapped around you, you get a better view of the scars on his arms and fingers, and there is a rising urge to ask how he got each one.

“So she’s been married twice?” his voice is low in your ear so you can only hear him in the noisy backyard. His breath smells faintly of the beer he finished an hour ago, and it slides along the skin of your neck hot and thick. You resist the urge to cant your neck to the side to give his breath more room to roam.

You nod. “She got the fillers after the first husband. Those brought in the second husband. Then he left her for some girl in Cali.”

“Cali?’ he questions, confused.

You snort softly. “California.” You elbow him and the bone slides against hard muscle. Dammit. “You don’t know your states?”

“I’m foreign, not stupid.” The laugh that bubbles from your chest is sharp and you can’t help the smile that pulls against your cheeks from it. “I know my states!” He sounds truly annoyed and for some reason that makes you laugh harder. “Florida, Kansas—”

“I’m not asking you to prove yourself!” you sputter around a giggle, shaking in his embrace. But he’s not listening.

“Montana, New York…there’s another one…the big one.”

You gawk, turning just a little to crane your head up at him. He looks down at you with an embarrassed expression, his cheeks a little rosy even though his lips are flickering with the urge to laugh.

“I beg your finest pardon…the big one?”

The side of his face twists in the nastiest way, and he’s angry at being questioned. “Don’t—it’s the one down below!”

“In relation to what?”

His eyes narrow, emerald barely noticeable between thick lashes. You can sense his hold on you tightening slightly, his chest stutters in a huff and you realize with rising glee that he’s pouting. Normally you would revel in this…but—

“Texas,” you find yourself speaking up at him, voice soft and gentle on the edges. “The big one down below is Texas.”

He simply hums, his chest vibrating against your back, but his gaze is smoldering, taking you in and dipping down to your lips before flickering back up your eyes. You’re too hot now, his jacket against your skin too suffocating, your heart beating too fast against your ribcage.

You hate just how rebellious you like to be. “What, you gonna kiss me?”

The challenge is fleeting across his features and he leans down so quickly that you don’t have time to react. Your stomach flips with irritation at the implication that he would take from you without asking, and suddenly, you no longer want him touching you.

“I wouldn’t take it without asking,” he whispers in the small space between you both as if reading your thoughts. The tips of his raven locks brush against your cheek, there’s a slight kink in your neck from how you are looking up at him, but he’s so close that you don’t care. One of his hands skims up from your waist, caressing the curve of your ribs, and his thumb teasingly runs along the underside of your clothed breast. His touch is reactive in you, and you angle your body further into his actions. His gaze remains locked on yours, absorbing your very being without doing a thing and you’re fighting to stay in control.

“So can I?” he asks, voice deep with temptation. “Kiss you?”

You swallow the bucket of drool that has somehow pooled in the back of your throat in seconds. The thumping of your heart no longer fills your ears, replaced now by a deafening ringing, spurred by your growing desire as you open your mouth to respond.

“I…depends…are you any good?”

He nonchalantly shrugs, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes as his scarred lips twist into a smirk. He’s completely calm and you can tell if you told him no, he would leave it alone entirely. But he’s enjoying this, you can see it all over his face.

“Jury’s still out.”

You don’t trust yourself to say ‘yes’. Some part of you feels like if it comes out of your mouth, it will sound too desperate and you want to stay in control as much as you can. But, you could give yourself this. You’ve earned it. Just one kiss and then you could hide away until the fireworks and then use the noise as a cover to leave. After all, he’s hot. He’s been so nice and honest and the warning siren in your mind has long faded.

You deserve a reward.

So you nod, stiffly but enough for him to notice, and the air seems to thin out again when he leans in a little more.

“Toji!” one of your uncles calls out, severing through the heavy cloud of lust between you both like a knife. You recoil from his touch, his touch now only making you itchy, and you pull from his embrace so that his arms unravel and his jacket slides off your shoulders. The cooler air is freezing this time against your skin. “Come help me with the fireworks, would you?”

You don’t pay attention to his response, because you’re already up on your feet and making your way inside the house. Your body floods with the embarrassment and shame of being caught by your family…kissing a man that you’ve just met. You know you shouldn’t care…but it’s so easy for their behavior to rub off on you when you feel vulnerable.

***

Thankfully, no one is in the kitchen when you finally make it inside. The music dulls down when you close the backyard door and the ringing in your ears is now silent.

You resolve to stay inside until the fireworks go off. No one is really paying attention to you anyway—most of them are drunk, others too absorbed in the music and gossip so it’s a perfect chance for you to duck away and show your face again next year.

Should you tell Toji goodbye?

No.

No, you hardly know the man. Just a few hours in good company and a kiss that almost happened that you probably would have let escalate. You probably would have let his tongue slide into your mouth. Probably would have let him pull you into one of the spare rooms, eat you out until you’re seeing stars, and then bend you over the edge of the bed to fuck you until he—

For fuck’s sake.

You yank open one of the kitchen cabinets in search of a glass. You need water because your body is piping hot. There’s a sheen of sweat on your neck beneath the layer of braids that fell when Toji laid his cheek on your head, and your hands are slick as they press into the counter to give you strength to peek into one of the lower shelves. Of course, the only one in the cabinet would be on the highest shelf. Of course, you’re too fucking short.

You climb onto the counter, knees digging into the off-white surface as you lift yourself up and peer into one of the higher shelves. You spot a glass, and you can have a heaping glass to cool yourself off enough to get you home. And then you can just use your vibrator once and go to sleep. Or twice. Or maybe a third time to get the thought of him out of your mind for the foreseeable future.

Unbeknownst to you, he’s standing behind you. You didn’t even hear the back door open and close. But you catch a glimpse of a long, muscular arm reaching past your ear to grab the glass. You’re frozen, your fingers digging into the wooden shelf, unable to turn around and face him, even though you can feel his gaze hot on your skin.

Your plan is shattered, and you have no choice but to come up with an excuse to leave him. You’re combing through scenarios in your mind as you slowly slide down and perch yourself on the countertop, finally facing him. He places the glass on the counter, away from you, and closes the distance between you until the ridges of his clothed abs brush against your knees. His hands are searing against your skin as they rest on your knees and you watch his thumbs trace an obscure pattern with a touch that is featherlight.

“Your uncle interrupted us,” Toji finally speaks, his voice carrying a hint of hopefulness despite his attempt to maintain a neutral expression. His gaze, so harsh and sharp, is alluring in its own way, tempting you to relax the steady clench of your thighs.

“It probably wasn’t a good idea anyway,” you chuckle, self-deprecation rising to the surface of your skin and prickling against the pores.

“Why not?”

Maybe because you would be too much for him and scare him away? Maybe the fear of being too demanding in bed, of not being able to stop once he kisses you, lingers in your thoughts, making the idea of having him only once and never again infuriating.

“I’ll leave you alone, if that’s what you want. I’ll get you water and let you sneak away when the fireworks go off because I know you want to…even though you shouldn’t give a fuck about what your family thinks…but I would really like that kiss.”

Analyzing his features, you take in the sincerity reflected in the moss-green of his eyes. It’s a last-ditch effort to make sure something else isn’t hiding there, and you find yourself coming up short.

Slowly, you part your legs for him to stand between. His hands slide up your thighs tantalizingly slow, leaving a trail of fire in their wake before pushing the fabric of your red sundress up to your waist. You try to ignore the way the cool air on your panties does little to quell the heat radiating from them. His hands wrap around your waist and a gasp heaves from your lips when he yanks you to him, your thighs brushing the sides of his thick waist.

One of the hands on your waist trails up to the side of your neck, gently tilting your head up, so you can look fully at him as his thumb traces the skin of your bottom lip.

“You better make it good,” you challenge, hoping your faux annoyance can mask the anticipation building in your gut.

He sees right through it and simply hums before he leans down to finally seal his lips against yours. He’s a big man, an overwhelming man, and you feel it in his kiss as his lips take every ounce of breath you have in your lungs. He tastes like the pound yellow cake that everyone got to before you could and a hint of beer and it’s the perfect combination that you want more of.

His hands are under your dress, brushing beneath your thighs for traction and pulling you impossibly closer to the point where you feel your clothed center brush against the zipper of his jeans. You dig your hands into the fabric of his shirt, twisting and silently commanding for him to give you more. You open your mouth to coax him and his tongue is wet and insistent against yours.

You can feel your resolve dissipating in the air, fizzling against the heat that radiates from your body and your self-control is walking on a tightrope, precariously and seconds away from falling. And once it’s gone, you’ll be a woman unhinged.

He yanks you to him again as if its not enough, harder this time with a growl in the back of his throat that makes you gasp into his mouth, then rolls his hips against yours and behind his zipper you feel him hard and bulging and angry and oh—

You pull away with a harsh breath, gasping for air and biting back a moan that gurgles in your throat when his mouth works its way down the skin of your neck. Your skin is sensitive, and it buzzes with the touch of his lips and invokes a fervent need so deep within you that you’re losing awareness of where you are. You’re lightheaded, brain in the fucking stratosphere and you have to lay down, you have to—

He’s guiding you onto your back before you can do it yourself and the cool counter is a balm against the skin of your exposed shoulders and back. He looms over you from his place between your legs, big and muscular and reeking of hunger.

“Toji,” you try to speak into the air, stifling a whimper at the sight of him stretching out your leg to rest on his shoulder.

One of his large hands caresses the canvas of your calf before you watch his lips kiss your chocolate skin. His rough scar scratches against you in the most delightful way as his mouth kisses up your calf, bends your leg to get closer, and then resumes his touch on the inside of your thigh. His face should be melting with the amount of heat emitting from between your legs, but he must relish in the burn because the second his tongue slides thick and wet against your clothed cunt, you whimper pathetically into the air.

You have just enough common sense to break from the desire to be fucked thoroughly to whisper.

“Toji, we can’t,” you swallow against the dryness in your throat. “Someone could see.”

You can feel the impatience on his body in waves but he has to listen to you. If your family were to walk in here right now to see their niece or cousin being eaten out like a gourmet meal, the Earth would swallow you whole.

��Shit,” he hisses, pulling you into his arms and carrying you out of the kitchen. You don’t care enough to tell him where to go; you’re too hot, too wet in your panties, and your need is twisting at the base of your spine in the most irritating way, begging to be soothed.

You hear the beginnings of fireworks being popped off in the backyard and your family is loud, thankfully so loud as Toji locks the door to the bathroom and drops you unceremoniously onto the counter. Though the metal of the faucet digs into the small of your back and you fall into the mirror as you clamber to get yourself in order, you can’t bring yourself to care. He’s on you again, all teeth and lips and sinful tongue in your mouth with equally sinful hands digging impatiently into the sides of your panties.

“Take them off,” you demand, practically whining and in less than a second you can only get one leg out before he’s sinking to his knees, eyes wild and shoulders heaving with untamed breaths.

“God, you’re so fucking wet. So damn pretty,” he whispers in reverence, throwing your legs over his shoulders, and the compliment makes your cunt throb in anticipation.

You can’t be sure if he’s talking to you or himself. Before you can breathe to calm yourself, it’s catching in your throat, hitching against a moan as his tongue licks a long wet stripe up the slit of your dripping cunt. His tongue parts your folds as if it’s the sea, savoring your essence and then sucking your clit into his mouth like it’s the cherry on top and you love it, whine at the feel, eyes crossing and rolling into the back of your head at the exquisite feeling.

He pulls away for a moment, taking a deep breath as if to regain control, and kisses the inside of your thigh before sliding two fingers up your dripping center, collecting your slick before beginning to rub circles on your clit. He’s mesmerized, and you take a moment to marvel at just how little of his green eyes are visible to you, his pupils are dilated with hunger and focused on the way your cunt moves with his fingers.

“Your bitch of an ex ever eat you out?”

You really don’t want to think about him right now, and you also don’t like the thought of someone feeling like they need to prove themselves to you.

But there’s a big man between your thighs who wants to unwrap you like candy. So you shrug, panting softly as you speak, “Every now and then.”

Toji scoffs, eyes seeming to darken like a forest at night.

“Every now and then,” he parrots, voice incredulous as if he’s heard the most insane thing ever, like he can’t believe it.

He increases the pressure on your clit harshly, causing you to buck against him, yelping in satisfied shock when he flicks your sensitive bud hard with his tongue.

“I’ll make you feel good, princess. Don’t you worry.”

The nickname doesn’t have the effect as before. No, this time you moan in response, your guts churning with satisfaction at the prospect of being worshiped.

Slowly the two fingers on your clit slide into you, testing the waters, gauging if you’re okay, and your jaw slackens at the feel of the stretch. Fingering is an art, an act that requires patience and skill. You have to know the right pace, when to curl, how to know a woman’s body to determine what she wants. It’s glorious when it’s done right.

And god, does Toji do it right.

He’s thorough and fluid in his strokes, using the tempo of your moans to curl at just the right time and sucking and licking your clit like he’s ravenous and your head is falling back into the space between your shoulder blades, eyes wide with disbelief as you stare at the ceiling.

The fireworks are consistent outside, popping off every second and it’s loud enough that you have the courage to voice how Toji is making you feel.

“Every now and then,” he hisses again to himself, angry and curling his fingers a little harder. You jerk against him, whimpering like a fool when you feel his tongue flick your clit harder as a reward. “He’s so fucking stupid. You taste so good, it’s unbelievable.”

He’s curling more now, brushing against that spongy wall that zings heat to your belly. Your insides churn, a molten heat popping to splatter against the base of your spine, pleasure coaxing you to reach that precipice that will let you fall apart.

Vaguely you hear him whispering words into the skin of your thighs that you can’t decipher, the thrumming in your ears too loud to hear anything else beyond the fireworks outside, your escalating moans, and the obscene sounds of him slurping you up. The muscles in your thighs begin to tighten, your fingers are sweaty as they slide against the cool marble of the bathroom counter, and you dig your wedges into the muscles of his back, white panties dangling off one ankle. He’s so good, so thorough and your breath is hitching, choking on a moan.

“There you go princess, cum all over my fingers. Get me nice and messy.”

His deep words are accompanied by a sharp bend of his fingers and you’re cumming with a shout, rejoicing in the hot pleasure that puddles along your bones. It’s abrupt and overwhelming, pulling a sharp current down your body that makes your back arch until it bumps into the sink behind you. He’s groaning from his place between your legs, still pumping his fingers and licking your clit to collect as much of your slick as he can.

By the time you look down at him, you’re still catching your breath, your thighs tremble from the sudden chill injected into your muscles. You catch Toji just in time to watch him begin to slip his two dripping fingers into his mouth, but you snatch his wrist, riding off the high of your orgasm to slip his digits into your mouth instead. Thin rings of green widen in surprise and you savor the way his cheeks darken as you swirl your tongue around his digits.

“You’re unreal,” he gulps when you pop his fingers out of your mouth.

You shrug, not willing to show him just how powerful you feel, and wrap your legs around his waist, panties still caught on the buckle of one of your wedges.

“I’m letting you be nice to me, remember? So what’s next?”

With a harsh pull, he stumbles closer to you, his hands slamming against the marble counter on either side of your waist. His breath hitches as you hastily undo his belt, eyes widening as he takes in the way you leer up at him.

“You got me a drink, defended my honor from my bitchy aunt, asked me about my family, ate my pussy…you wanna fuck me now?”

“I—” he starts, caught off guard by your forwardness.

“You want to bend me over this counter, make me look in the mirror while I take your cock? Smack my ass and make me beg for you to fill me up?”

“You’ve got a mouth on you,” Toji chokes on a nervous laugh, hissing when your fingers graze the sensitive skin above his belt.

“Is that a problem?”

The hair of his happy trail is faint and dark just like the hair on his head, and your touch makes his stomach bunch in sensation. He shakes his head in response and you want to laugh so bad at the sight of him struggling to swallow. You haven’t done anything to the man, but he’s sensitive to your touch, and that makes the blood in your veins sing.

“If you’re letting me have you, you can have it however you want.”

Arousal hums to life between your legs, and you can’t help but be turned on at how much he’s giving you. You want him now and while the prospect of being fucked over the counter was what you had hoped, if your family comes in and hears you taking it like a champ, you’ll never show your face again.

So when the door to your truck’s backseat closes, you’re climbing back on his lap, relaxing further into him with the knowledge that you can be as noisy as you want. Your uncle has a seven-month supply of fireworks and land in the middle of nowhere, Hennessey, and classics booming from his sound system… it’s going to be loud for a very long time.

You’re running on your own current of desire at this point, pawing at his shirt so he can finally yank it off his shoulders and you’re drooling. He’s glorious and you don’t hesitate to rub your hands down firm pectorals, between the abs on his torso, and along the musculature of his Adonis belt. He’s cut like a marble statue, something that takes a painstaking process to hammer and smooth over until the result is almost—

“Let me take you out,” he suddenly suggests, voice gravelly with want but insistent.

Huh?

You’re immediately puzzled, eyebrows dipping into a furrow as you try to decipher his words. His hair is wild, black strands splintering and bushy but still giving you a gateway to his eyes and you see that he’s completely serious.

“On…a date?” A lift of his thin eyebrow in reply and the reality of him actually showing interest flags dangerously against your desire to ride him into oblivion. “Just the dopamine talking, I’m sure,” you say, hoping to dismiss the idea. You hadn’t expected him to actually…want to take you out. You can’t think about that right now because your head is too thick with hunger to try and have a conversation.

He hums, low and dangerous, a hand brushing the skin above your clit and you’re reminded of just how wet you still are from his sloppy tongue minutes before.

“You’re the only one here that’s cum, princess. I’m being serious.”

“It’ll pass,” you reply immediately, licking into his mouth to shut him up.

Thankfully he doesn’t try to interject because you don’t have time to talk right now—you don’t want to. You don’t know Toji, not well enough. While tonight has been one of the most relaxed evenings you’ve spent with a man in a long time, you’re unsure if he genuinely wants you or if he’s merely carried away by the thrill of being with a woman.

He tried to come onto you the minute he laid eyes on you, tried to kiss you after a few hours, and pocketed your panties even though you pretended to be oblivious. You just don’t know. If you had a pretty girl in your lap, you would probably say the same things. Ask her on a date, make her feel wanted so she’s more giving when you slide her panties off.

It’ll pass.

And that’s what you tell yourself when you feel his large hands palm your ass beneath your sundress. You are teeth against him, nipping his tongue, biting the skin of his jaw, the meat of his neck, and the sharp groan that you pull from him in response makes you drip like a bitch in heat against his jeans.

“Take off your pants,” you whisper to him sharply, turning around and leaning over the center console to fish a condom from inside. You had discovered them months ago, and they should have been more than enough for you to dump your ex then.

“Shit,” you hear Toji hiss from behind you before your ass stings from his slap against it. You yelp, jumping from the contact and you hope he can see your cunt pulse from between your thighs in response. “Hurry up, baby.”

When you face him again, you freeze, eyes widening at the sight of his cock. As you take him in, he snatches the condom from your hand and unfurls it on his cock.

Surprisingly trimmed with dark hair, he’s thick—not enough to be painful—but enough to enjoy the stretch so you can ride him until he flatlines and enjoy the ache in your thighs in the morning. It’s perfect; pale with a red tip that leaks into the tip of the condom, a vein along the side that you can’t lick without tasting latex. It’s a shame.

He throws you that devilish smirk, eyes twinkling in pride before he taps his thigh and beckons you like the best ride at the carnival.

“Hop on, princess.”

Your fingers grip the hair at his nape when you feel him inside of you. It’s a delicious stretch that you have to breathe through, and the feel of his hands affectionately stroking your back catches you off guard. You don’t hate it; in fact, you want to lean into it, but you don’t want to give him any ammunition for something you aren’t sure about. So you slide down to the hilt and listen to Toji curse sharply through the sudden heat of you before you start a steady rhythm that throws him off.

Within seconds, you increase your pace, riding him with an intensity that makes the air in your throat catch and drag along the sides. He’s got a satisfying curve to him that grazes those magical spots within you to make the grip on his nape tighten like a vice. Your head is foggy with an overpowering mist that makes your mouth loose and your inhibitions low.

“You feel so good,” he whispers, pulling you out of the delirium you were basking in to focus on him. His jaw is relaxed, hot air puffing from between an open mouth and onto the skin of your neck, a few strands of his hair stick to his forehead and the sides of his cheeks and there’s a slight furrow to his thin eyebrows as if he’s trying to concentrate.

You’re giddy with desire. “Let me guess,” you tease, lips brushing against his. “Am I tight?”

“Yes,” he replies without hesitation, eyelids hooded and upper cheeks darkening with a blush that spreads down his neck.

“Am I nice and hot?”

“Yes, fuck yes, baby.”

It’s meant to tease, because every man that has ever slid inside of you in the past says the same shit, but to hear it from him brings a strange sense of satisfaction that you find yourself slanting your lips against his. He still tastes like the yellow cake that you never got, but the flavor is intertwined with the remnants of your essence that still lingers on his tongue that dances with yours.

You plant your knees harder into the seat on each side of him, use your muscles to bear down and give you more control, and then you roll your hips, guiding him in and out in a tantalizing dance that elicits groans from him and makes him roll his head back against the headrest.

“Let me take you out,” he gasps into the air and you refuse to answer him—you can’t. It’s harder now to believe his sincerity because he’s delirious with lust. “Answer me.”

You growl softly and yank your hands from his hair to push down the straps of your sundress. You’re not wearing a bra, and he cusses like he just stubbed his toe as he watches your breasts spill free.

“Stop talking,” you whisper and yank his head forward, beckoning him to you and he catches on quickly, licking and sucking a nipple before pulling it into his mouth. The sensation makes you shudder, a gentle pleasure that your cunt appreciates and you pick up your pace on him again. “Stop asking me. Just let me fuck you.”

He bites down in retaliation to pull a squeak from you and licks over the sting in a half-assed apology. When you look down, his gaze is illuminated by the streetlights, a harsh glare that showcases his annoyance with your deflection, but his eyes droop when you squeeze around him in response.

You’re stuffed full of him, stretching along the sides, punching the air out of your throat with each bounce on his cock and your legs begin to burn with the build-up of exertion. Your nipples are wet and sensitive against his taste buds as he teases each peak into his hot mouth and it helps to mix that pot of pleasure in your stomach to life again.

You can feel it, like a crescendo of waves crashing against a dock, but the waves are coming in quicker and more turbulent with every moan and cry that falls from your lips. You push him off of your chest, dig your fingers into his shoulders for more leverage so you can ride his cock like you have nothing left to lose.

His chest is blooming red, covered in a light sheen of sweat that dips between his pectorals and pools in his collarbones. Your bun of braids came loose when he was eating you out in the bathroom, and now some are heavy on your skin with sweat and plaster over your shoulders and between your sternum and you’re hot and sweaty and trying so hard to reign it in.

He doesn’t buck up into you and you’re unsure if it’s due to laziness or the fact that he simply wants to watch you while he brings himself closer to climax. You hope it’s the latter.

“Do you like this?” you pant into his mouth and nip his bottom lip. “You can tell me, you know. Be a good boy and tell me just how I’m making you feel.”

He groans and lands another smack to your ass that makes you gasp and arch further into him. It's the right amount of pain that makes your pussy pulse in response, the right amount of manhandling that can take you higher in a second.

“You’re a natural, princess. You ever ride him like this?”

You shake your head and he smacks your ass again, harder this time and digs his fingertips into the flesh to let the sting linger. It's so good, and you can't help the whine that you puff against his lips as he smirks up at you with a proud disposition.

“He couldn’t handle it. Probably why he cheated wasn’t it? You were too much for him. You know how you like it and he couldn’t deliver.”

You don’t answer him, but he’s right. He’s so right. He couldn’t stand it when you took control, hated when you asked him to do something that didn’t result in him being dominant, hated when he couldn’t even eat pussy without you having to ask.

The feel of his fingers on your clit makes you jump and you poke your fingers into his nape again and pick up your pace, panting and moaning like you’re running a marathon as the pleasure rocks inside of you like a pendulum.

“Oh god. Oh fuck, oh fuck,” you whisper, stomach burning.

You’re fluttering around him—pulsing and clenching and gushing over the thickest cock you’ve ever had and it’s glorious, you’re in fucking heaven.

The streetlight shines faintly into your truck, painting half of Toji’s face. He’s beautiful; that same annoying flicker of desire that captivated you when his green eyes met yours hours ago glimmers thin and dilated.

There’s a ruggedness to him that exudes masculinity, but glimpses into the depths of his eyes reveal a tender vulnerability that makes you wonder how soft he could be if he allowed you to get close enough.

The thought makes your cunt tighten around him, your thighs tense and fill with lactic acid and his fingers on your clit are unceasing, rubbing in a precise rhythm that makes you hiccup on a moan of incredulity. The hand not occupied with your clit is reclined across the headrest behind him and it makes him look unbearably sexy.

“I’ve never had a woman ride me like this,” he whispers, and you smile into his mouth, your kiss messy as you swallow down his compliment. He yanks you away and breathes that same insufferable ask against your lips.

“Let me take you out.” He rubs your clit faster, using the way you tighten around him as a guide to your pleasure, and his hand leaves the headrest to dig into the meat of your ass. “One chance. One dinner. I’ll give you what you deserve, whatever you want, princess. I promise just—”

“Stop it,” you whine and fight the burning sensation in your eyes. You’re so close, so fucking close and the storm inside of you is out of control but he won’t stop fucking talking. Won’t stop being so damn nice even though his cock is rearranging your guts in the nastiest way. You grip his hair and pull him closer to you so there’s no space between you to breathe. “Stop talking. Stop asking. Make yourself useful and make me cum.”

Thankfully he does. He scowls up at you behind the curtain of his hair but pinches your clit and you squeal, rolling your hips, riding him like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do. The windows have already fogged up, the truck rocks with your movements, and you are consumed with a blissful incoherence that forces you to surrender and let your walls crumble.

Your thighs burn, your dress clings to your sweaty body, and the stimulation on your clit becomes almost unbearable as you whine with the need to cum. He hisses loudly into the car, bares his teeth for a second, and then his eyes roll before he’s slack-jawed and panting into stuffy air, a current of groans beneath.

“That’s it, Toji,” you gasp, voice strained as you teeter on the brink of an orgasm that threatens to overwhelm you. “Be nice to me just like you said and give me everything like the good boy you are.”

The hand not on your clit slips against the sweat on your hips, and you lick up the side of his neck, savoring the salt taste of his perspiration on his smooth skin, just in time to hear him. It’s faint and low, practically a whisper but he chants--

‘Fuck yes, fuck yes. So fucking good. Ride me, sweetheart.’

It’s tilted in a whine, pathetically desperate, but the sound of him does the trick because the flick of his fingers on your clit makes the biggest wave of pleasure crash over you.

You don’t get the chance to tell him you’re cumming, you simply yank his head back from the sudden force, tilt your head up to the ceiling and cum with an exhausted and wrung out ‘fuck!’ that you’re sure your uncle’s neighbors will hear a mile down the road. You’re dumbfounded with pleasure, dizzy with it and your belly is hot and simmering as you gasp and whimper at just how good it feels.

He’s laying you back on the seat before you can catch your breath. You’re still coming down, still moaning to catch up but his large hands are under your knees and bending them towards your chest to chase his own orgasm. The edge of the seat digs into the crevice of your spine, and your hand flies out to smack against the back of the driver’s seat so you don’t fall but it slips with sweat, is hard to hold onto and you can hardly focus with everything that’s going on.

His mouth is on you, stealing your breath that you still can’t control, swallowing your moans as he fucks you with a ferocity that pulls your soul from your body. He pulls away with a deep moan and stares down at you with a look that makes you anxious—like he wants to see you again, like he wants to come to another cookout with your rowdy family if it means he can bother you some more—like he really likes you.

You know he’s going to try and say something that you may not be able to talk yourself out of, so you take the intense furrow in his eyebrows and the stuttering of his hips as a cue.

“You gonna cum?” you purr up at him, moaning weakly from the harsh thrusts that stroke you into overstimulation.

“Yes,” he answers without fail, eyes locked on yours. “Yes, I’m gonna cum. Fuck—”

Reaching up, you cup his cheek, unsure why but feeling an inexplicable need, and the words that fall from your lips help him across the finish line.

“Cum inside me, Toji. Take what you want and fill me up.”

His eyes widen before they roll closed and he’s slamming against you three times hard and rough before the deepest moan you’ve ever heard slips past his lips. He pants heavily stuttering tiny thrusts into you as he comes down, the tips of his hair drip a few drops of sweat onto your neck before he lowers himself to rest on top of you. He’s too big for the seat and his knee digs into the floor of the truck to maintain his balance. His hot breath washes over your neck, slowly calming down, and in your daze, you realize that you’re holding onto his shoulders.

The hard lines of Toji that you noted when you first saw him now feel gentle against you.

He rumbles your name into your neck and you’re cutting him off before the dopamine can speak for him.

“We should get back inside before someone finally notices that we’ve been gone.” He abruptly lifts to look down at you, annoyance etched on his devastatingly handsome face. He wants to argue, you can taste it, but your fear wins. “My bitchy aunt has been at me all night, the last thing I need is her snooping.”

He’s quiet still, the edge of his lips curling into a dissatisfied frown. It stretches his scar in a way that takes away from the beauty of his face. Makes him look more alien and you have to pull your gaze from him. But he doesn’t argue like you think he would. He doesn’t speak or try to talk back or voice how annoyed he is.

He slowly pulls out of you and you immediately miss the feeling, ties off the condom, and pulls you up tenderly from the seat. Your skin is sticky and the truck reeks of sex. The high has worn off and all that remains is the overwhelming unease that rises like bile in the back of your throat.

When you both are finally dressed and creeping out of the backseat, the cool air is a welcome feel to your overheated skin. It washes away your trepidation, if only for a moment. Toji looms over you, tall like a bear that you desperately want to sink your embrace back into, but he still doesn’t speak, and the crease of annoyance between his brows doesn’t leave. He should hold onto it. It will help him get over you.

“Do you mind getting my purse from inside the house? I don’t want to go back inside just yet and I need to check my phone.”

Impatience emanates from his every pore, yet you can sense his anxiety as he shifts his weight from foot to foot. But he still doesn’t fight and makes his way back inside without a word.

You lied.

Your purse is in the front seat of your car—you threw it up there when you both snuck into the vehicle in the first place, but his attention was too busy trying to feel you up than pay attention to the satchel hanging off your shoulder.

Once you see the front door close, you get into the front seat, start your car, and drive away without a second thought. Your hands grip the steering wheel tightly as the temptation to turn back tugs at you.

It may not be right to leave without saying goodbye, and lying to him has left a bitter taste in your mouth. Your family is too occupied with the fireworks and each other’s company to really notice your absence anyway, and you’re sure they’ll have no problem trying to distract Toji when he realizes that you’re gone.

The grip on the wheel doesn’t lessen, but you roll down the windows and let the evening July air wash away some of the sex that still lingers on the seats.

***

“So you did fuck him,” your cousin snickers over the speaker of your phone a week later.

It’s a Saturday night and you’re knee-deep in your wash day routine. It took you all day to take out your braids and the clear shower cap on your head traps the deep conditioner inside. You wipe away some of the excess near your ear.

You have Chinese waiting to be delivered, and you’re ready to finish your routine so you can go to bed. Your eyes are glued to your television playing some sort of nature documentary but your attention is elsewhere, specifically on trying to worm your way out of this conversation with your cousin. She’s called you every single day since the 4th and she’s done nothing but make you feel guilty about your abrupt departure.

As you expected, your family didn’t really notice your absence. But when Toji asked your cousin for your purse and then realized you had lied, he sulked in a lawn chair for the rest of the night before Shiu drove him home.

“Yes, I fucked him. So what?”

“Soooo do something about it. Fuck him again? He lives in the same city as you and is here indefinitely. Make a move—”

“It was a nice night, but he was already trying to flirt with me as soon as he saw me and I still entertained him and fucked him and—I shouldn’t have done that…I should have waited, maybe tested the waters more. He only tried to ask me out because he was horny as hell.”

She’s quiet on the other line, and you look up at the ceiling in exasperation because you can feel her annoying logic rev up before she fires away.

“So you’re just scared? Your ex cheated on you because he was a spineless pissy boy who slithered away because you didn’t take his shit. That’s not a reflection of you, at all. I know you like to have it all figured out before you make a decision, but not everything works out that way. Toji saw a fine ass black woman who talks her shit and he made a move. He’s a nice guy...a little rough around the edges, but truly…a nice guy. Someone for you.”

James Attenborough elegantly voices something about the cuttlefish on the screen while you try to contemplate what to say. She’s right. You hate that she’s right. It’s why you two are so close but still you retort in the best way you know how.

“Girl, fuck you.”

Her raucous laugh vibrates over the speaker in delight and you snort and roll your eyes when the doorbell cuts you off. The prospect of your Chinese food makes your mouth water and you’re rushing to the door.

Only it’s not your Chinese food at the doorstep, it’s Toji Fushiguro. Toji Fushiguro who is protected from the rain under the overhang of your apartment door with one hand in the pocket of his jacket and the other clutching a container. The annoyed look that you last saw on his face is gone, replaced by a neutral and bored look that seems natural for him, even though his eyes don’t convey that specific emotion. Those green eyes are reminiscent of your uncle’s well-maintained lawn as they look down at you with a nervous glint.

“Toji,” you breathe in disbelief. “How did you get my address…”

Your cousin squawks on the other line and swallows a giggle. “I’m gonna go—”

“Your cousin finally gave it to me.,” he replies simply and gestures down to the phone in your tight grip. “I’ve been trying to get it since you fucking left.”

“Damn, thanks?!” she barks at him. “Lemme get out of here, I’m getting another call anyway. Bye!”

You’re going to kill her. Slowly. Painfully and maybe in front of Shiu to get a few tears out of him if you’re feeling particularly evil.

You know she’s right about Toji, but you can’t do this. You shouldn’t have fucked him in the first place and you should have thought of a backup plan on the off chance that your cousin was going to be annoying and nosy as hell.

You ignore his intense and heavy gaze, shifting in discomfort, scratch the back of your neck, and blanch in horror when your fingers brush the edge of your shower cap. You’re wearing a large t-shirt, your feet are bare and your head is covered in a shower cap with deep conditioner leaking from the sides; a stark contrast from the calm and collected woman who snapped at him all day a week ago. Mortification washes over you in a heavy wave, drowning your mantra of not giving a fuck about a man’s opinion, and you step back to grab the door.

“Listen…I’m waiting for food and then I have to get ready for work in the morning. So you need—”

“You have time to spare then,” he cuts off and walks past you. You round on him, indignant in your gaze.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?! Get out, Toji!”

“You want me to leave? Hmm?” he asks, goading you like you don’t know if you’re sure.

You’re not sure, but—“Yes, goddammit! I shouldn’t have left but I don’t do this sort of thing! The moment you met me, you only wanted to get in my pants. And that makes you trying to ask me out while your cock is inside of me, a lot harder to believe!”

He firmly places the container in his hands on your kitchen counter, takes a deep breath to calm himself, and gives you a look that either makes you want to melt into him or slap it off his face.

“Listen—”

You’re on the defensive now, backed into a corner and ready to pull every card you have to just make him go away. “You here for a quick fuck then? Because you got me to let my guard down and because we had such a steamy time in the backseat of my truck, you thought, what? You could just show up and bend me over my couch?”

That flicker of irritation is back on his face and it crinkles the edges of his eyes, makes him look nasty and hostile.

“Fuck, will you stop—”

“Wanna have a little ‘situationship’ while you get acquainted with your new life here? Have me get nice and comfortable and as soon as I ask for something more, you’re jumping ship. Sounds like a good plan, doesn’t it?”

A sharp growl leaves his throat and he glares.

“Girl—” he starts and immediately stops, eyes wide as saucers at the venomous gaze that you shoot his way. There it is, a hint of a name to make you feel small and insignificant. It reminds you of your parents when you used to talk back and they slid the name to you in a warning to stop talking. You hate it and it stings that you have to hear it from him.

“Get out,” you bark, seething with a rage that brings a sting to your eyes.

He throws up his hands in frustration, looming like a bear from his place in your kitchen. “Will you just stop it!”

“I said—”

“Oh my fucking god—I like you!”

His admission catches you off guard, cutting through your anger, and you stare at him in astonishment. His face is red with embarrassment, eyes trained up at the ceiling as if asking the gods to give him patience. He takes a deep breath before meeting your gaze from across the kitchen.

“You don’t do this sort of thing?” he asks, gesturing between the two of you. You can’t find the words to respond, still too shocked, so you simply nod.

“What sort of thing is that? Flirting with you because you looked like the sexiest little thing in that backyard and I wanted your attention?” He’s annoyed, deep voice razor sharp as he speaks, but you don’t miss the step he takes closer to you.

“Me trying to make you feel better because your family is judgmental? Teaching me about the food you like because I’m not from here?”

He’s closer now and the air is thin again just like that night a week ago.

“Helping me win that little card game?” It’s spades, but you’re too lightheaded with how close he is to correct him. “Telling me about your family? What sort of thing is that? Hmm? Tell me.”

You don’t have a retort. You’re too stunned to speak even though you refuse to let the annoyed expression on your face vanish. You want to hold onto what little shreds of defiance you have left.

“You aren’t mean. You don’t tolerate bullshit, you don’t fuck around, and you put people in their place. You refuse to settle for less, and I already told you that’s what I like in a woman…And I like you.”

What do you even say? You never expected to see him again, and your mind is muddled as if you’re submerged in water. Your heart feels too big in your chest, your body too hot and sweaty and you’re nervous. He’s angry with his confession, almost annoyed and you’re beginning to realize that it is an emotion that’s second nature to him even if it’s not as intense as you think it is.

“Is that right?” you can’t help but test him, lifting a brow. You have to crane your neck just a little to look up at him.

He scoffs, the crease in his eyebrows smooths out and the scar on his lips twitches.

“Yea, that's fucking right. So…” he takes one more step closer and his body is brushing against yours. He smells mildly of toothpaste and bergamot from another brand of cheap cologne and the combination makes you weak in the knees. “Let me take you out.”

It’s the same demand that you’ve heard so many times now, but this time, it feels more serious, more meaningful with a hint of desperation. In the kitchen light, you can see just how silky his raven locks are and you grip your phone and the fabric of your t-shirt to resist the urge to run your hands through them.

“I’m listening,” you jest with a practiced air.

That wicked smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth, scar adding a devilish flair to his features, and your stomach burns with the realization that he’s too cocky for his own good, and you’ve unfortunately grown to like it.

“Shiu has tickets for something here called…football? He’s taking your cousin and has two extra tickets. Come with me and show me how to win.”

You can’t help the snort that leaves your mouth and your stomach flips at the genuine confusion on his face. “We don’t participate in the game. We watch it. But it’s fun.”

“All the more reason for you to come with me.”

“I…”

It’s a compelling argument, all of it is. And you want to, you really want to give this a shot and just be vulnerable for once. Because Toji seems like the kind of man who would let you be just who you are and would never make you feel lesser than about it.

The feel of his large hands cupping your cheeks pulls you out of your thoughts, and he tilts your face up to meet his gaze. His eyes are mesmerizing, like the color of pine trees right before the sun sets and you feel yourself weakening completely.

“One date, princess.”

The deep timbre of his voice does little to help you and it’s worse because it’s just how he fucking talks. You’re not a royal, and you don’t have land, lots of money, or power, but you can tolerate ‘princess’ if it’s coming from his mouth.

Just one date. You deserve it. You’ve earned the reward.

You wave away his hands from your face just so you can breathe a little easier. He chuckles but gives you your space, and makes his way to the door that you usher him towards.

“Fine. Make sure you bring cash because it’s easier at the concession stands. I want a pretzel…and a hot dog.”

He snickers as he pulls his hood over his head, obscuring most of his face except for the ethereal glow of his eyes. His teeth shine from his bright smile and you roll your eyes in response before watching him open your door.

“Toji?” you call, your voice softer…apprehensive.

He turns around to watch you shuffle to him, your feet and legs cold against the chill from the open door. You hand him your phone wordlessly and he takes the hint to insert his number. When he’s finished, you open your mouth to speak, lips shaping words that won’t come out—words you want to say. But you can’t. Not yet. Maybe one day.

For now, you throw him an annoyed eyebrow lift and grumble. “Parking is a real bitch, so pick me up early.”

You avert your gaze, frustrated at yourself for sounding so mean as usual. Because that’s just who you are. The bitter, mean—

A finger beneath your chin lifts your gaze to him and he kisses you full on the mouth, slow and reassuring, minty breath sliding into your mouth when he nips your bottom lip. The self-deprecating voice in your head finally quiets, smothered by a pillow held down by his scarred hands.

When he pulls away, that stupid smirk is on his face, but it’s not as teasing, and your heart does something weird in your chest that makes you swallow hard.

“Yes ma’am,” he replies finally to your demand.

You watch his eyes take in your form from head to toe before he kisses you quickly once more and ducks into the rain.

When you finally get your Chinese and place it on the counter to dig in, your eyes land on the container that was in Toji’s hands from earlier.

You peek inside, and your heart does that weird thing again in your chest when you see a heaping slice of the yellow cake that you never got to have a week ago.

Thanks for reading! You can find the sequel here!

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rogueddie · 2 months

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A Spot in My Life T | 953 words Prompt for @steddielovemonth: Love is keeping a spare sweater or blanket in the car because they always get cold

Steve Harrington is a bitch.

It's something that Eddie knew, all through high school, but he had thought that Steve had somehow became a new person- thanks to the Upside Down and constantly almost seeing the world end.

Steve isn't a bad guy, he can admit. He's still trying to keep an eye on everyone, make sure they're ok, even checking in with Eddie in his own way.

But he's very sly about it, hiding it being playful jabs, eye rolls and cocked hips.

It rubs him the wrong way. And it's only made worse by how much Eddie still likes him. It's as if the bitchiness only draws him in more, even as it makes his chest burn with irritation.

He tries to avoid Steve for as long as he can. He knows that finally befriending him like they both want will only end badly, but he knows he can't resist the temptation.

He enjoys the time before as much as he can, reveling in how often Steve will try to corner him so they can hang out, how much he whines and pleads and pushes. He enjoys the illusion that Steve could feel anything for him like he does for Steve.

And, when they finally do hang out, his fears are confirmed.

Steve is amazing. He's funnier than he comes across as at first too. He pays attention to what Eddie says and tries to get him anything he wants.

He's the type of friend that anyone would fight for, Eddie is sure. It explains how he ended up so popular in high school too.

If Eddie had known what Steve is truly like, he'd have been lining up for a scrap of his attention like everyone else.

"They're assholes," Steve explains, when Eddie finally asks about his old lackeys. "Tommy always took shit a step too far. I didn't need them. Probably shouldn't have befriended them in the first place."

"They were your friends," Eddie reminds him.

Steve sighs, leaning back. "Yeah, I guess. Just wish I'd realised sooner, how they were getting."

He never complains about the kids, not genuinely. In the quiet moments, when Steve is honest with an almost painful degree of vulnerability, he talks about how amazing the kids are. He talks about how honored he is to be friends with Dustin.

It only makes Eddies feelings inch ever closer to 'the L word'.

"You should talk to him," Robin suggests. "He really is amazing."

"I know, but... guys that are ok with lesbians still get weird about gay men, you know?"

"Yeah, but Steve isn't like that. Did he ever tell you the full story of how I came out to him?"

"It was after the Russian torture drugs, right?"

"We were in the bathroom, near the cinema. I thought we might have puked it all up, so we decided to test it, ask each other questions. So, I asked him if he was ever in love..."

"Oh... oh no."

"Oh yes. He liked me, told me so, and that's when I came out to him."

"Holy shit, Robin."

"But that's my point. He was a little surprised, sure, but he started making jokes, like, immediately. Didn't phase him at all. He got with it immediately. We're just friends, and that's not a problem for him."

Eddie groans, throwing his head back so it thumps into the wall behind him. "But that just makes him more hot!"

The story plagues his mind, to the point that it's the only thing he can think about when he picks Steve up for their next hang out.

In the dead of winter, Steve feels the cold worse than anyone else that Eddie knows. He runs hot, and the sudden temperature drops brings out the worse in him.

He's shivering when he climbs into Eddie's car.

"Fuck, why isn't your heating on?" He whines.

"It's broke," Eddie reminds him. "It's fine, don't worry."

"Don't worry? I'm gonna get hypothermia, Eddie! I don't want to turn into an ice sc- what is that?"

He takes the blanket that Eddie had reached back to grab, staring at it.

"It's a blanket."

"No shit, I mean... it's yellow."

"Yeah? You like yellow."

"You got this for me?"

"You see anyone else shivering in my van?"

"No, it..." Steve pauses, glancing at Eddie before slowly wrapping the blanket around himself. "Sorry, uh... thank you. This is, um, nice."

"it's nothing."

"It's not. Just- take the thanks, Ed."

"Alright, alright."

They're silent for the rest of the drive. It's so unusual for them that it has Eddie nervous, glancing at Steve every other moment.

When they finally pull to a stop, Eddie turns to Steve, who stays where he is. He stares out the front window for a moment, before turning to face Eddie.

"Are you alright?" Eddie asks.

"Yeah, I am. Enjoying the warmth."

"That all?"

"... yeah."

Eddie rolls his eyes. "You're a terrible liar."

"Wh- hey, I'm a good liar!" He tries to glare, but quickly backs down with a huff. "Alright, fine, but it's really sappy! Don't say I didn't warn you!"

"Oh, no, the horror."

"Shut up. I was just thinking about how, like... there's so many little things in your life that are for me. My tapes in your room, spare clothes in your closet, this blanket... I really appreciate it, man. You've made space for me in your life. It means a lot to me."

"Oh, right. That's... yeah. Of course, Steve. You're always welcome. I love- uh... spending time with you."

"Good. I love spending time with you too."

"Good."

"Great."

Steve's smile is wide and goofy. He's sure that his own is just as cheesy.

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #ficlet #nav.slm

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meownotgood · 2 years

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arrival in tokyo / hayakawa aki

Aki has found you insufferable from the moment you were paired up together. It's bad enough that they're forcing him to work with a damn devil, but you happen to be the most disobedient, irritating devil he's ever met. You seem to have quite the attitude, and brats like you ought to be put in their place.

pairing: hayakawa aki x fem!reader

word count: 23.2k

tags: 18+, smut, exhibitionism (aki fucks you in an alleyway), light degradation, praise, pain play (aki puts his cigarette out on you), begging & teasing, face-fucking, thigh-fucking, spit kink, fingering, choking, 1 (one) spanking, pet names (good girl, baby, etc.), aki is a bit of an ass, he punches you in the face once

this work contains explicit content intended for 18+ individuals. please read the tags and do not interact if you are a minor.

I want you two patrolling the south district all afternoon. I know you're not thrilled about this, but please, try to get along. I better not see you two fighting, understand?

Oh, and Hayakawa, take a back seat today. If anything happens, just let them handle it, alright? Don't worry, I know they are more than capable.

Those words seem to echo inside Aki's head, resounding with every heavy step he takes, with every loud clack of his shoes against the pavement.

Just let them handle it? Why? Is he not fit to do his own job? He isn't helpless or weak, far from it. The squad he leads is one of the strongest in the prefecture, dammit. There's no way a brand new recruit, someone so irresponsible, bothersome, mindless — There's no way someone like you is stronger or more capable than him. That's ridiculous.

You should be listening to his instruction, stepping back and allowing him to handle things, like a subordinate ought to do. Honestly, it's best you just quit right now, because if you're not going to do that, there will definitely be some serious problems.

Speak of the devil, your voice stirs Aki from his thoughts: "Sir? Can you slow down? You're walking really fast."

"No. Keep up or I'll leave you behind." Aki snaps back.

The city is rather bustling today. People walk about, cars on the street inch forwards in the afternoon traffic, and the whistles of trains can be heard in the distance. There's a light breeze that wafts through the air, tickling the hair on the back of your neck. The sun beams down, warm heat radiating off of the concrete sidewalk.

You've never been to Tokyo before — or any big city, for that matter — so the atmosphere is totally unfamiliar to you. Various storefronts are busy with shoppers. The walkway is crowded as tons of people commute from place to place. Skyscrapers stretch into the clouds, to the point where you have to crane your neck to look up at them. Wow, and you thought Public Safety's headquarters were huge.

With the way the man in front of you is rushing though, there's no time to enjoy the nice weather, nor take in any of the sights. You have to keep your eyes glued to his back if you want to stay at his heels and avoid getting lost in the crowd. You definitely didn't expect to spend your first devil hunting patrol sightseeing, but still, it would have been nice not to rush around everywhere.

Aki Hayakawa is who you've been assigned to work alongside today, and he seems… interesting. Besides the woman you talked to earlier, he's the only devil hunter you've met so far, and he doesn't exactly give the best first impression. Respectfully, he's impolite. And to put it bluntly, he's kind of a stuck-up ass.

When you first met him, he didn't even say hello to you, nor bother to introduce himself. He just looked down on you with an annoyed expression on his face that only seemed to worsen the longer you met his gaze. When he spoke, he acted as if you weren't even there, talking to the woman in front of you like he couldn't care less that you're standing right next to him. I'll work with them for now, but after today, I'm done. I'm tired of getting paired up with trouble-makers.

Trouble-maker? You? Oh, come on. You're not that much of a nuisance… Probably.

He's awfully up-tight, too. As you were both walking out of the Public Safety building, you were asking him questions: Hey, sir, what's it like working at Public Safety? Do you like it here? What devils do you have contracts with? There's a sword strapped to your back, is that what you use to fight? Hey, which do you prefer, ramen or udon?

And he gives you straight to the point answers: It's fine. Yes. That's classified. Yes… And can you stop asking me stupid questions like that?

Interesting, inscrutable, and cold: those are the best words you can think of to describe him. Cold like a sharp breath of winter. The type of cold that makes trying to get closer to him feel like trekking through the flurry of a heavy snowstorm. He's kept his eyes forward the whole time you've been walking, refusing to spare you any kind of glance. If you try to talk to him, all you receive in return are dry responses.

You know he's your senior, and from what you've heard, he's supposedly an avid devil hater. It's not difficult to assume why. With these dark and brooding types, it always tends to be the same story. Some kind of complicated revenge plot, or something like that.

The woman from before — Makima, was that what she said her name was? — told you that you were a special type of person, one who isn't human, nor devil. Hybrids, they're calling it. Supposedly, it's a rare sort of phenomenon. Hardly anyone has seen it before, and most people don't even believe it's true.

Before Makima found you, you spent your whole life living out in the country. There's not many devils there, so subsequently, not many devil hunters. Besides what you heard in rumors and passing stories from the city, you were oblivious to the topic. Makima had to explain everything to you, and even then, your powers were still a total mystery.

You still don't fully understand how to use them. Makima told you it'll take some practice, so stick with Hayakawa for now until you're able to get the hang of things.

You might find him difficult to get along with, She said, But he's one of the most talented devil hunters I have working with me. I think you two could learn from each other.

You didn't exactly want to become a devil hunter either, but Makima was the one who convinced you. Actually… she says the only way you'll be given any rights is if you're under her protection. Otherwise, it's fair game for you to be hunted as a devil. So you wouldn't exactly say you had a choice.

Well, it's pretty safe to assume that's why Hayakawa doesn't like you. If people are willing to hunt you as a devil, then you're sure they must see you as one, too. Out in the country, nobody seemed to bat an eye, but the city seems to be full of lots of die-hard devil haters. Unfortunately, you doubt you'll be able to change his mind on that; people from the city are always set in their ways.

Maybe he feels annoyed about being forced to work with a devil, especially one his boss implies is stronger than himself. You can bet he's still thinking about it, fussing over what Makima said, and if it's actually true. To be honest, even though you're sure he hates you, he doesn't seem like the type who's always a dick to everyone, just to those who happen to tick him off. There might even be a sweeter side to him in there… somewhere. Who knows.

Either way, he's definitely interesting, and although he can be annoying, he's fun to observe. You want to find out more about him, if you're able. Besides, if you're going to be working with him, for however long it might be, you figure it's a good idea to try to understand him. As best you can, anyways.

You've noticed that everything about him, from the way he looks to the way he talks screams professionalism.

You threw on your uniform haphazardly, but Hayakawa has his suit buttoned perfectly, tie tucked in neatly, collar of his dress shirt straightened exactly. His hair is tied up nice and tidy, showing off a pair of simple earrings. With every word he says, he sounds sure of himself. His voice has a certain deep, smooth vibrato that makes you feel commanded to listen to it. You haven't seen him fight, but you can imagine how precise he'd be with the sword that's strapped to his back.

He's handsome. He'd totally be your type, if he wasn't so pretentious. He's a smoker. You saw him smoking a cigarette outside the Public Safety building when Makima first led you in. The way he carries himself implies he's decently strong, probably more so than he appears. And he's also —

"Listen up," Your attention is pulled back to Aki when you suddenly hear him open his mouth, "If we see a devil, step back and watch me handle it the right way, got it? I don't need you making a mess for the cleaning crew when your powers end up going haywire…. Are you even listening right now?"

"Mmmmm… Nope," You reply, "You're gonna have to repeat all that."

Aki sighs in annoyance, "When I say something, I'm not saying it because I want to hear myself speak. Listen when I'm talking to you. Can you not even do that much?"

"Geez, I heard you the first time, calm down. I was just playing around."

"Then repeat what I said." Aki commands.

"Don't fight the devils, don't make a mess, blah blah cleaning crew."

There's a few seconds of silence. It's almost like you can hear his eye twitching in irritation, the bridge of his nose knotting up as his temper rises. Finally, he says, "Just… Stay out of my way."

He also happens to be pretty fun to mess with.

You chime from behind him, "Whatever you say, Lieutenant."

There's something about Aki that makes it both extremely easy to get on his nerves and very entertaining to do so. Your existence alone seems to be enough to get under his skin. When you make a joke or poke fun at him, he falls for it every time. If he really wanted to shut you down, he could easily ignore you, but he has this sort of complex about him that makes it impossible.

It's a constant struggle, where he feels like he has to have the upper hand, the authority over you. Where he feels like in every situation, he has to be correct, and you have to be the one proven wrong.

If you say go left, he'll say go right. If you say go slow, he'll say go faster. Someone like him, who's cold, diligent, and sensible should be totally incompatible with somebody like you, and in many ways, you are. But that just makes you want to get closer to him, to shatter the expectation and have him come to understand you just as much as you want to understand him.

Aki Hayakawa is clearly the type of man who strives to achieve his goals by any means necessary. He's determined, but doesn't seem egotistical, which makes him intriguing. You think he seems like the type of person who has his own sense of justice, his own tightly-knit morals. He follows the orders that are given to him and sticks to his principle. In short, he's the type of person who doesn't understand how to have any fun.

It'd be amusing to chip away at that, you figure. To get him to go against those values, to see him choose the immoral route instead. Being forced to work alongside those he swore to kill, to get revenge on, a devil, would probably be the first step.

So as much as he is difficult, and as much as he is a total hard-ass, he's also fun, you conclude. It's fun to wear down his serious exterior, to see him when he strays away from his usual poker-faced expression. It makes you wonder just how far you can push him, what else you can manage to get out of him. At what point would he finally break? When would that stern, rule-following demeanor finally snap, and what would happen when it did?

You've quickly found yourself trying to do anything to create sparks, to bring some sort of heat to that unshakeable cold. Aki makes it almost too easy, because whatever you say or do seems to immediately put him in a bad mood. That's why as you've been walking behind him, you haven't just been sightseeing. You've been formulating a plan.

You overheard Makima when she was giving him orders; Aki was given specific instructions not to kill you, not to fight you, and to let you handle any problems that occur. You're sure he's got to be dying to defy those, to put an annoying brat like you in your place.

You're going to figure out just what makes him tick. You'll find something that'll really piss him off, and then, once he snaps, you'll have won. Even if he thinks he's the one with the upper hand, if you can get him to defy the rules, to live a little, everything will have gone according to your plan. You thought being a devil hunter would be nothing but boring nonsense, but maybe now, things will start becoming entertaining.

He thinks you're some sort of trouble-maker? Then a trouble-maker is exactly what he's going to get.

"Hey, sir, I wanna know something," You ask him, speeding up a little so you're walking closer behind him, "Why do you hate devils so much?"

Aki's reply comes quickly and point-blank. "None of your business."

"Oh, come on. Just tell me."

"No," Aki says firmly, "Stop asking."

Your lips form into a subtle pout. "If we're gonna be working together, we should try to get to know each other, right? Why won't you just say it?"

"I have no intentions of getting to know you."

You pause for a moment, realizing you've hit a dead end. It seems like trying to get him to open up about anything is a no-go. You need something you can work with, something that's gonna give you a bit of leverage over him. If he doesn't want to play nice, that's fine. You have to change your approach, and there's one thing you think will work perfectly.

"Hm, well," You muse, "I want to get to know you. Tell me, would you say you're a strong devil hunter? Or a weak one?"

Aki scoffs, "What's it to you?"

"I just wanna make sure I'm working with someone who's on my level, not someone who's gonna hold me back."

There's a slight pause, before he replies, "The civilian sector is where weak devil hunters operate, not here."

He's avoiding the question. Are you touching a nerve, is he insecure? You might just have him with this.

"I don't think that's true, and you know why?"

Aki doesn't respond, waiting for your answer. You give him a moment to simmer, to try and figure out what you're going to say next. His arms are held uniformly behind his back, and you can see his hands start to tighten, his knuckles start to tense. You're glad he's not facing you, because if he was, he'd see the shit-eating grin plastered all over your face right now.

"I think Public Safety is filled with nothing but weak, useless devil hunters. I know 'cause… I'm looking right at one."

Aki abruptly stops in his tracks, and you nearly bump into his back when he does. He turns around on his heels, and for the first time since you left, you're looking right at him. His eyebrows are furrowed tightly, the bridge of his nose is crinkled up, and he's eyeing you up and down with this look of utter disgust and contempt.

Yeah, you've really done it now, but you can't shrink away just yet. You have to keep pushing, 'til you get him right where you want him.

"What the hell do you know about me?" Aki says, and the tone of his voice is much angrier than before, much harsher. You're aware that you're making a scene now, stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, with people walking around you, giving the both of you dirty looks.

You can't pay any attention to them, you have to keep focused on Aki. Don't look away from him, don't show that you're at all affected, otherwise this won't work.

You reply, "You seem pretty weak to me, and what that lady said before confirms it, does it not?"

"I'm not weaker than you. You don't know the first thing about what makes a person strong or weak." Aki's eyes narrow as he examines you, his posture rigid.

"You sure about that?" You counter, straight-faced. "I heard what that lady said, she told you to let me handle things. So why did you tell me to let you handle it instead? You don't strike me as the type who'd disobey orders."

Aki steps in a little bit closer to you. With the way you have to look up at him to continue meeting his gaze, you're suddenly aware of how tall he is compared to you, his body casting a harsh shadow over your figure. He just about towers over you, in fact. It gives you the feeling that to him, you must be small and meager.

He utters his next words a little quieter than before, through gritted teeth, "Shut up. I'm your superior for a damn reason. If I tell you something, you listen and you don't question it."

"Oh, whatever," You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest, "Superior doesn't mean anything if you're a weakling."

"You've got quite the attitude, don't you?" Aki leans over you, his voice sounding much closer to your ear, "I suggest you start watching your mouth, unless you want to have problems with me."

"Why don't you watch yours?" You keep your gaze locked on his, despite how difficult it is to meet his sharp stare. "You've done nothing but be rude to me since we've met, you know. I didn't do anything, I don't think it's justified."

"And you've done nothing but get on my last nerve."

You shrug, seemingly unaffected by his mood, but you feel the smallest tinge of regret, the slightest feeling of nervousness. For a second, you wonder if pissing him off this much is a good idea, but before you can contemplate it much further, you're already saying, "Not my fault you've got such a short fuse."

Aki brings his hand to your shoulder. He grips you hard, dragging you in. He's so close, mere inches away from your face; you can smell his fancy cologne, see the glimmers of spite that linger in his gaze.

When he speaks again, his voice is a low, strict murmur, "This is the last time I'm going to say this to you. I am your superior, and you're going to treat me as such. Start taking this job seriously and stop acting stupid before it gets you in trouble. Do you think I wanted to deal with your bullshit, to be forced to work with scum like you?"

The way he's scolding you, the deep and resentful tone of his voice: something about it makes heat rise to your cheeks, makes your heart pound impossibly faster. You feel embarrassed. There's a tight cord of anxiety forming in your chest — You feel like shrinking away from him, like you're suddenly the weak one in the situation. You were so confident earlier, but all it took was him reprimanding you like this for you to instantly regret what you just did.

You feel like telling him, I'm sorry, please, forgive me sir, because everything from him telling you off to the way he stands over you, expression unyielding, hand tightening on your shoulder — You feel overpowered, in every sense of the word. At his mercy. The pressure is building, but before you can look away, Aki tilts your chin up a little with his finger, coaxing you to keep meeting his gaze.

He leans forward just slightly more, and you notice now how he's speaking with his mouth mere inches away from yours. His lips look soft, they're parted a little, and although his tall frame in your vision is the only thing you can see, you know there's still people shuffling past. All these passerby, watching you get scolded like a child who's been naughty.

Aki continues, "The only thing I want you to do from now on is sit back, keep your damn mouth shut, and listen when I give you an order. It's not that hard to do, so quit acting like a brat and show me some respect, got it?"

You could do that, you really could step away right now. You could say you're sorry, and that would be that. But as much as the pressure is on right now, you still feel a lingering sense of satisfaction. He thinks he's the one in the driver's seat, but you can see it in his expression — His eye is twitching, his lips are pursed, his fingers are trembling ever-so slightly in frustration — He's going to snap. And you're the one who pushed him this far, who managed to get him this way.

Honestly, being pinned under his thumb like this, treated like you're lesser, getting him really, truly pissed — It gives you a sort of thrill. A certain kind of high feeling, like even though he's in control, he's the one scolding you, it still feels like you've won. You accomplished what you set out to do, did you not? You got under his skin enough to make professional, no-nonsense Aki stop working just to reprimand you and cause a huge scene.

This predicament of yours causes you to ponder the same thing you were dwelling on earlier, that same train of thought. How far would Aki go just to get the upper hand over you? What would he do to prove that he's right and you're wrong?

You know you shouldn't enjoy pushing his buttons like this. You're sure the logical option here would be to fall back in line. Go back to work, follow orders like you're supposed to. But where's the fun in that? You can push him further than this. He's nowhere near close to breaking yet, and you want to find out what happens when he does.

So, you say something you probably shouldn't — No, definitely should not say. Two little words that you know will piss him off more than anything.

"Or what?"

There's a pause. His hand is on you, his grip flexes, his body is so, so close. A brief stare-down, a deadlock that leaves you listening to the sound of your own heartbeat drumming hard in your chest, your mind spinning as you wonder what he's going to do, and what he's even capable of doing. And then —

"How about I show you, hm?" Aki stands up straight, peering down at you with an unreadable expression. He tilts his head, gesturing to the side, towards an alleyway that rests in between the tall buildings and crowded street corners. It's dark, and despite how much you squint your eyes, it's impossible to tell where it leads.

"C'mere."

Before you know it, before you even understand why, you're following him as he leads you deep into the alley. It's quiet, sort of dingy, cast in a dim, cool shadow. Far enough away from people that you can't hear them, but still close enough that you can see their shapes as they pass by the entryway.

You're walking into the alley deeper, further, and you're about to ask, "Hey, sir-" But before you can get out, What are we doing here? He cuts you off by turning around and grabbing you by the collar of your shirt, slamming your back against the brick wall.

Aki quickly has you caged in here, one hand tightly gripping your collar, the other placed firm on the wall beside your head. His knee slots into the empty space between your legs to trap you further, and he pulls you off the wall, dragging you forwards roughly by your collar until you're closer to his face. All you can do is sit there, limp, unable to move as he has you cornered. The impact of your back hitting the wall made your eyes shut involuntary, but you slowly open them now.

You can look at him a lot closer than before; you study his earrings, black and shiny, glinting in the low light. His jawline is sharp, his nose is pointy and defined. He smells like cigarette smoke and cedar, completely intoxicating. Pinned this close against him, with his eyes never leaving yours, you feel like you could drown in his gaze. He's looking at you in a certain way that makes you feel trapped, like he's looking at something inferior, something he owns.

Aki manages to somehow sound even more pissed when he speaks this time. "I don't know why you think it's acceptable to talk back to me, but you need to be taught something about respect, because clearly, you don't get what it means."

You retaliate, "I don't need to be taught shit from you."

"Apparently, you do. You fail to understand something as simple as respecting authority. If I was in your situation, I wouldn't be acting like this, I'd understand my place. But I guess you just don't get it." Aki's eyes narrow and his fist tightens on your collar. He keeps a resolute, level tone. "Miss Makima should have never taken you in, I think you're a lost cause."

It's difficult to speak with your collar choking you, Aki practically holding you up by it, but you still manage to spit out, "Huh? My situation? What's that supposed to mean?"

"You really don't get it, do you? I guess I have to spell it out," Aki scoffs, "You're a fucking devil, and devils are less than human. As long as you're a devil, you'll be my subordinate, that's just the way it is. You should appreciate that I'm kind enough to give you this much."

That word in particular, devil — The way he says it is laced with so much animosity, chewed up and spat out from his lips, like he hates even having to say the word. Like it's something about you, about this world, he absolutely, wholeheartedly despises.

Your hands reach for his, grabbing at his knuckles, at where he grips your shirt, but to no avail; he refuses to let up. His thigh slides further upwards until you're sat between it, and you can start to feel the slightest amount of friction between your legs.

You counter, "Well, aren't you nice. This is what you call kind? Treating me like shit, talking down to me like I'm some kind of animal?"

"The way I'm treating you is all you deserve. I could kill you right now, but I'm generous enough to let you live. If you knew what's good for you, if you were at all smart, you'd ditch the attitude and be on the ground, licking the dirt off my shoes."

"Nah," You shake your head, and despite your situation, even though it would seem like he has the advantage here, you still have a playful smirk growing on your face. This is it, you're winning. "That lady told you not to kill me, and dogs like you always do as they're told."

"Makima told me I can put you down if you try to run or disobey my orders. If you think your insignificant life means anything to her, you'd be dead wrong."

"Put me down, eh?" You cock an eyebrow, a dry laugh escaping your mouth, "Like you even have the balls to do that."

Aki taunts, "Yeah? You think so?"

"I know so."

After you say those words, everything happens in a matter of seconds.

You notice his grip on your collar flex before he twists, still holding onto you. He roughly flings you away from the wall, with enough force that you stumble and fall on your ass. You manage to push yourself up, Aki standing over you and watching, allowing you to shakily stand to your feet. You don't have time to prepare to fight, though, because the second you've got your bearings, the last thing you see is him cracking his knuckles before his fist connects with your face.

Fuck, he hit you hard. So hard you fall back again, all the way until you're on the ground. You can feel blood welling at your split lip, and you taste it on your tongue, where you accidentally bit down. The concrete pavement is icy cold against your skin; it feels good, almost, helping to soothe the stinging in your cheek.

You really didn't expect him to hit you like that… Although, in hindsight, you should have seen it coming. Slowly, your senses start to return, the pain beginning to fade, but your daze is completely shattered when you feel Aki's foot come down on your face.

He steps on your head with what feels like his full weight, grinding your cheek under his foot like you're a doormat, shoving your face further into the floor. It's filthy: the way you're pinned between the bottom of his shoe and the dirty ground of the alleyway. There's the sound of steel scraping metal, his sword being drawn from the sheath, the low hum of his voice — Don't move. — and then, you feel the sharp edge of his blade on your neck. So close, one misstep or tiny movement from slicing into your skin.

Although your state doesn't make it easy, you're still able to see him in the corner of your vision; his expression deadpan, as if he's looking down at something far lesser, an insect.

"You didn't put up much of a fight, did you?" Aki taunts, his eyes examining you, "Only one hit to take you out? If you weren't a devil yourself, I'd say there wasn't a good likelihood of you surviving past your first mission."

You ignore him. "Get your foot off my fucking face."

Aki leans his head down a little. He's silent, and in the corner of your eye, you can see the way his jaw flexes, the way he gathers saliva in his mouth. Then, before you have a chance to react, a glob of his spit lands on the front of your shirt.

"Filth stays on the ground, where it belongs."

You wiggle a little under him, trying to see if there's a way to get up, but Aki responds by pressing the blade of his sword firmer to your neck. Now, if you move even a centimeter, it's sure to cut you. Aki addresses it: "Didn't I tell you not to move? You're going to end up hurting yourself."

Hurting yourself. Like he isn't the one holding the sword that's pressed to your throat right now. Like you're the one who caused this to happen, not him.

You sigh defeatedly, "This is pointless. We both know you're not gonna kill me, so just let up already."

"Of course I'm not. It isn't worth my damn time. Wouldn't be worth it to have to clean up the mess afterwards, either."

With his foot still pressed to your head and his sword on your neck, Aki uses his free hand to rustle through the pocket of his suit jacket. He pulls a thin cigarette from the pack, sticking it between his teeth. He finds his lighter next, and you can hear him strike the wheel with his thumb. One, two, three times, before there's a flame to bring the cigarette to life.

You're still slightly dazed, but the adrenaline is starting to overpower the hazy feeling. Your cheek is sore from where he keeps stepping on it. There's a slight, dull sting coming from your lip, and you can feel the blood starting to dry.

Now this, this is the most pathetic you've felt in a long, long time. Your lip split from where he hit you, his foot shoving your face into the ground, his sword on your neck, all while he nonchalantly lights his cigarette.

This is what it's like to lose against him, to genuinely find yourself beneath him, obedient. However, the most pitiful position you've been in since you met him also happens to be the most exciting.

That thrill from before: you can feel it now, even stronger. In reality, it never truly went away. You're annoyed, but your heart pounds in your ribcage, you feel fire under your skin. Your head feels fuzzy and light, like you're floating in fluffy white clouds, fogging up and obscuring your vision, making it harder to think clearly or rationally.

You should be done, you really should be done with this. The attitude, the quarreling. A sword to your neck should be the final straw. But should means nothing to you. Since when have you done what's correct, what you should be doing?

You said it yourself. Aki isn't going to kill you. The heart-racing thrill: you want it more, you can take more from him. This is the most entertained you've felt all damn day. The exhilaration is so fun to chase, and Aki is so, so easily toyed with.

There's a little smile tugging at your lips when you speak again, and you hope Aki can't hear it in your voice. "That lady told you not to fight me, did she not? I wonder what she's gonna say when she finds out you went directly against your orders."

Aki speaks in between the cigarette in his teeth, grinding his heel a little harder into your cheek, making you wince. "Do you want me to give you another thrashing, or are you gonna shut up now?"

"Tch. You're an asshole."

"Yeah, sure." Aki shoves his lighter back in his pocket, taking a long, drawn-out drag from his cigarette. The smoke spills from his lips as he tilts his head back and slowly exhales. Finally, he says, "What's your point?"

Your point? Your point is he's infuriating, impossible to get along with, and the most insufferable person you've ever had the misfortune of working with. Your point is that Aki is utterly difficult, and yet, he's the most captivating person you've ever encountered.

No-one has put you in your place quite like this before. Nobody has ever made you feel this overpowered, this pathetic. There's something exciting about Aki being the first.

There's elation, a thrill, in the feeling of being conquered by him, of having the power shifted away. And there's euphoria in the feeling of getting closer to him, when his hands were on you, when his mouth was just inches away from yours. There's a certain dizziness to the way he smells, to the way he effortlessly towers over you, to how physically strong you know he is, even though he holds himself back. The low, sultry lull of his voice goes right between your legs every single time he talks.

Perhaps you want to break him just as much as you want to be broken. The idea of getting closer to him, closer than ever before, beating all the odds stacked against you, is absolutely alluring.

Aki is a sworn devil hater, a model for professionalism, dignified and principled in every way. How amazing would it be to see him defy that, to make him want you, even though it contradicts all of his supposed values? He's been putting on this front, acting like he stand you, but the way he touches you even though he doesn't have to, the look of clear want in the back of his eyes that he's been trying to hide — Those things say differently.

So maybe there's something else, something more you can gain from this struggle. Maybe, just maybe, there's another way to go about this. There's a different approach you can take, one much, much more satisfying. It's high risk, high reward. You're really not sure if Aki — straight-laced, goody two-shoes Aki — would ever do something so indecent. Aki, who hates devils, who always follows the rules, and who has no idea how to enjoy himself. A part of you is sure this won't work, but if it does, if this pays off…

"You wanna know what my point is? Do you?" You taunt, finally breaking the silence between the two of you.

Aki fiddles with the hilt of his sword, causing the blade to tap gently against your skin. He replies simply, without any elaboration: "No."

"My point is I think you're compensating for something."

Aki snorts, "Really? You were silent for so long, and that's the best insult you can come up with? You can do better."

"I'm not saying it 'cause it's an insult, I'm saying it 'cause it's fucking true," You argue, speaking through gritted teeth. You're looking right up at him now, your gaze shooting daggers. Aki stares back with nonchalance, but also with a hint of curiosity, taking another lazy hit from his cigarette.

You continue, "Guys like you only act this way because they're compensating for whatever they don't have. Did it make you feel good to take your frustrations out on me? Why don't you toss me around a little more, it might make you feel even better."

"I wouldn't have needed to do this if you just followed my orders in the first place."

"Nope, this isn't about that for you," You wiggle a little bit under his weight, "This is about you wanting to take your anger out on a poor, defenseless devil."

"This is about me teaching you a lesson on discipline. Seems I was unsuccessful. You haven't learned a thing."

The blade of his sword, cool and sharp, presses further against your skin, shutting you right up. Your breath catches in your throat and you stare back at him, wide-eyed.

Aki holds his cigarette idly between his fingers, smoke rising up from the end. "You run your mouth way too much for your own good. For a 'poor, defenseless devil' you were acting real cocky earlier. What happened to that? You're the one who called me weak and useless. Now look at you."

Then, Aki leans over, resting his weight on his bent knee, on the foot still pressing your face into the ground. In a tone much quieter than before, he says, "So, are you going to be quiet, or should I shut you up myself?"

You eye him up and down. It's hard to breathe, hard to speak or even think, but you're just barely able to keep your guard up. You ask, "Are you going to answer any of my questions?"

"I don't think they warrant answers."

"Tell me, are you compensating for something? Or not?"

Aki scoffs, "Are we really still on this subject?"

"The fact that you won't tell me just means I'm right. You're probably a virgin, getting all pissy with me 'cause you're mad no girls will give you any attention."

You can see the way Aki's jaw flexes, partially gritting his teeth as he sternly commands, "Watch your damn mouth."

But you don't: "Is it fun to be Public Safety's measly little dog? I'm sure they keep you on a tight leash, never allowing you to have any fun. I bet you spend all your time running around, doing errands for that bitch, hoping someday she's gonna give you a chance. I'm sure that-"

You cut yourself off with a sharp intake of breath when you feel Aki press his blade into your neck. The pressure is only slight, but it's just enough to prick your skin. A thin rivulet of blood trickles down your neck, pooling onto the sidewalk under you, spilling from the small cut his sword created. Thump thump thump — Your heart beats faster, so hard you can hear it loud in your ears and feel it pounding in your chest.

Sword to your throat, his foot stepping on your head, your own blood spilled; your body is frozen, but your head feels high. And when you peer up at him through blurry vision slowly beginning to focus, Aki looks like he's about to fucking lose it.

Where his hand clasps the hilt of his sword, his grip tightens, his knuckles clenching. His lips curl into a scowl, his eyebrows furrow into a knot. He glares down at you with frustration, with a look like he wants you dead. This time, all he can manage is a choked, restrained, "Shut up."

Your breathing comes out much harsher than before, and your eyes nervously flicker across his form. There's pressure building in the air, in between the two of you, so tense it feels like it's weighing down on you. With a voice that comes out weaker than you intend, you mutter, "Am I right?"

"You're disgusting," Aki flicks his dying cigarette, scattering ash down, where it lands all over your clothes. "That's what you are."

"And you have a small dick."

In a single moment, with those few words, the cord of tension snaps — Aki swings his sword away from your neck and brings his foot off of your head. He takes a few steps back from you, then commands, "Get up, and don't make me tell you twice."

You're a bit weak when you move, your limbs numb from laying on the hard concrete for so long. Hesitantly, you sit up, brushing the ash from the front of your shirt with your palm, the fabric still a bit wet from where he spit on it.

Aki drops his cigarette butt on the ground, stamping it out with his shoe. You catch him sliding his sword back in the sheath strapped around his shoulder, muttering something to himself so quietly you hardly hear it. Something like, Can't believe I got your filthy blood all over it. Then, he grabs your elbow to yank you up the rest of the way, to your feet.

Aki holds onto you tightly, guiding you up against the wall, putting you in the same position he had you in earlier: his height dwarfing yours, his knee caging you in. One of his hands presses flat to the brick, beside your head, while the other moves to grab your chin, forcefully tilting your head up so you have no choice but to look him in the eyes.

There is it again — That sort of possessive look present in his gaze, framed by his messy bangs and heavy eyelids. He's close, so close, even more than last time, it seems like. If he were any closer, you're sure he'd be able to hear how much your heart is pounding right now.

Aki exhales a deep breath, rolling his shoulders back to relieve some of the tension there, before he finally speaks.

"Why don't you say what you said again? To my face this time."

The frustration and anger you felt from him earlier have all but disappeared from his voice, replaced by the smooth, scolding tone you've become plenty familiar with by now. You can hear his breathing, soft and controlled. You can see the subtle rise and fall of his chest. There's that intense pressure again, combined with heat, with the closeness between the two of you. With the warmth radiating off your body and his, made stronger by the animosity.

Once again, the balance has shifted, but not in the way either of you expect, not in the way it would seem. In reality, by bringing the two of you closer, Aki just did you a huge favor.

You answer, "I said you're Public Safety's mutt, and not a very good one, at that."

"And? What else?"

"And that you have a small dick."

Aki taunts, voice deadpan, "Wouldn't you like to know."

"Oh?" You huff a dry laugh, "Is that an offer to show me?"

"Tch," Aki scoffs, his eyes narrowing in contempt, "Don't be ridiculous. Do you think I don't understand what you're getting at? Do you think I'm stupid?"

He's caught onto you, hasn't he?

A grin tugs at the corners of your cheeks. "Of course not, sir. I think you're quite smart, actually. I just think you could stand to live a little, and if you understand what I'm getting at, then you should know what I mean."

Aki keeps his hold on your chin, gripping a little tighter. The pad of his thumb brushes ever-so slightly over your bottom lip, where the blood has nearly dried. You're hot all over, and his hand is cold; his touch causes you to shiver.

Aki continues, his voice low and quiet, "How do you imagine all of this playing out, hm? Acting like a brat isn't going to get you what you want. You seem to believe you're doing something here, but look where your antics have gotten you."

His eyes flicker down, to the shallow wound on your neck. A dried stream of blood still lingers on your skin, and a tiny pebble of fresh blood wells from the cut, threatening to drip down. Then, his gaze flicks back to your face, resting on your lips. "All you did was end up getting yourself hurt."

"Hm…" You muse, tone exaggerated as you feign thinking. His thumb continues to toy with your bottom lip as you talk. "No, I don't think it's what I want. It's what you want, actually."

"You're projecting."

You can't help but chuckle at that. There's a slight, teasing lilt in your voice when you speak again, the words dripping like honey, sweet and saccharine, "Isn't it hard, sir? It has to be so difficult, always following someone else's orders, never having the opportunity to take what you want. Why don't you be selfish for a change? Don't you want to have some fun?"

Aki feels your lips quiver under his thumb. Your pupils are blown, gaze pooling with something he knows, but can't even begin to fathom. And when he moves his hand, faintly cupping your cheek, he feels the warmth radiating from your skin, the fire quickly spreading from you to him, filling his own body with a steady burn.

His touch, delicate and light, is a perfect juxtaposition to his next words: harsh and strict. He replies, "What's difficult is having to deal with you. I'm sick of it."

You feel his fingertips as they start to trail your jawline, tracing the shape, all the way until his hand is able to firmly hold the back of your neck. Your breath hitches, your eyes widen. Aki can see it in your face, in your reaction — The way his intimate touch intoxicates you, instantly sending blood rushing to your head.

"I… I think…" You manage, gnawing on your bottom lip in an attempt to maintain your composure, "I think you wanna have fun, you just don't want to admit it. You don't have to hold back with me, you know. I'm sure you wanna enjoy yourself."

"No, I don't. What gives you the impression that I do?" Aki replies, but he offers a tender squeeze to the back of your neck, and when he exhales, his breath comes out the slightest bit shaky. His eyes narrow, and it's like you can see the way his gears are turning, thought process reflected in his gaze. As if he's wondering, debating back and forth with himself… Does he? Does he want to enjoy himself?

You've been keeping your arms at your sides since he first pinned you here, but with his eyes never wavering from your face, Aki can see your hand start to move in the corners of his vision. You wedge an arm between yourself and him, hesitantly pressing your palm to his chest, over the folds of his suit jacket. The fabric is soft to the touch, smooth. Clearly well-kept, dry cleaned and ironed to make it so.

You can feel the way his heart drums under your palm to a quick, eager rhythm, how his chest swells with every deep breath. The bridge of his nose scrunches ever-so slightly — the only sign that he noticed — but Aki doesn't move, nor does he make any attempt to stop you. He's frozen in place, tentatively waiting for you to take the next action. Entertaining you, to the slightest degree.

And you do just that: with a faint smile on your face, you slowly drag your palm down. Over his chest, fingertips ghosting across the crisp folds in his jacket, over the neatly done buttons. Then, down further, to cup the shape of his hip, to rub circles on his thigh, your hand just barely squeezing.

"You say that you don't, but," Your voice is quiet, your fingers rub teasingly close to his inner thigh, and Aki bunches the hand that rests on the brick wall into a tight fist. "You're here, aren't you? You could get off of me any minute now and leave me here in this alley, but you haven't. You wanna tell me why that is, hm, Hayakawa? You wanna tell me what you're doing right now, why you have me pinned here?"

No, you know why, and you want it just as badly as he does. You want to find out what he looks like with his crisp suit out of place, his tie loose, his shirt unbuttoned. You want to hear his voice when he can no longer maintain his level tone, what it sounds like when he breaks.

You take a deep, trembling breath in. Aki exhales a slow, steady, controlled breath out. Here in this moment, it feels as though time only exists between the two of you. It passes in fractions, in every flicker of Aki's eyes over you, and in every faint beat of your heart.

You can hear a plane as it flies overhead, a distant car horn honk — A subtle reminder that you're still in public, that what you're about to do is incredibly risky, but honestly, you can't bring yourself to care. The risk will make this all the more exciting.

You speak to fill the growing silence, voice barely more than a whisper, staring up at Aki through your eyelashes. "You're so quiet. I bet you're thinking about it."

Aki swallows, his voice lowered to match your volume when he replies, "Thinking about what?"

You smile. "About bending me over and taking me in this alleyway, right here, right now."

Aki sucks in a harsh, sharp breath. You lean in further, and his head dips in a little lower — Perhaps by accident, perhaps by choice. You stand up straighter to bring yourself closer to him, practically on your tiptoes; Aki can feel your warm breath fan out over the shell of his ear when you speak.

"Well?" You ask. The heat from your breath and your soft voice in his ear causes Aki's whole body to shiver. "You're the one who said you didn't want to deal with bullshit or messing around. How about we get to the point, and you go on and tell me what you want to do to me."

"I… I don't…"

Aki trails off; the words are stuck in his throat, unable to form, and he cuts his sentence short with a loud gasp when your lips suddenly press to his ear. Your hand grabs the diamond of his tie, yanking him in even closer. You trail kisses down his cheek, his jaw, so light they can hardly be felt, so teasing they send sparks of electricity through his veins.

You whisper against his skin, "Tell me how badly you wanna fuck me right now."

"I think… I think that's just what you want." Aki tries to keep his voice unshaken, but you can tell how it's beginning to waver, his resolve faltering. There's a warm flush blooming on his cheeks, and he leans his head further into your shoulder, hoping you won't be able to see it. "You're awfully desperate. As if you even have the privilege to be."

"No, you definitely want this, just as much as me. You're the desperate one here, I'm sure."

Aki grits his teeth and chokes out, "I don't fuck devils."

You grip his tie tighter, pulling him in until you're able to press your lips to his neck; Aki's body curls over you, obedient. His heart is pounding — You can feel it, the way his pulse thrums steadily beneath your lips. Your teeth connect, nipping faint love bites, mouth hot on his skin, and he's practically melting at the sensation, his weight starting to slide down the wall. I don't fuck devils, he claims, but when your hand trails from his thigh to between his legs, you can feel where the stiff outline of his cock strains his slacks.

"Ah, s-shit," Aki stammers, "You…"

Whatever he was hoping to say dies out when you squeeze him. Aki sighs deeply, his thigh sliding down from the wall, his hips subtly shifting back to give you better access.

You palm his dick; he's so warm here, throbbing and aching under your touch, so much that you can feel his cock pulse even through the fabric. When you squeeze again, harder this time, Aki can feel precum dribble out, getting his dick messy, his boxers filthy.

You press a long, lingering kiss to his collar. Then, you pull away to admire your work; red smears cover his skin, up and down his neck, and the crisp, white collar of his dress shirt is marked with a vivid lipstick stain.

"Wow, you're so hard," You tease, trying your best to hold back a snicker, "Is this just from me kissing you? I knew you wanted me, but I had no idea you wanted me this badly."

The only thing Aki can manage to mutter into your ear is a quiet, forceless, "Stop."

You retort, "Why should I?"

Aki swallows hard to clear some of the dryness in his throat, then murmurs, "We can't do this, not here."

Yeah, he says that, but his words carry no bite, and his actions betray them; even while he speaks, even while he says we can't, he's rutting his hips into your touch, desperately seeking out more friction. A hushed whine leaves his lips when he grinds himself hard against your palm.

"Oh?" You smirk, "So that's what you want, you want me to stop, huh?"

Abruptly, you take your hand away from him. Aki's breath hitches from the lack of contact. His cock aches even more, suddenly feeling terribly confined in his slacks. So desperate to come free, to feel something.

Aki stutters, "No, I'm-"

You cut him off, "You're so needy, poor thing. All you have to do is admit you want me to touch you and I will. You think you can do that, sir?"

"Fucking," Aki growls, his hand squeezing the back of your neck, "What I want right now is to shut you the hell up."

"Hah, is that so?" You laugh, "And how are you gonna do that? Are you gonna shut my mouth with-" Your hand returns to grab him, palm stroking the shape of his cock through his pants, and Aki can't hold back a groan. "-this?"

The moment you said that, the second your hand began palming him again, it's almost like you flipped a switch. The last of his resolve was finally chipped away, his need for you reached a boiling point, and now, there's no turning back. You can sense it in the way his breath starts to quicken, in how his hand grabs your side with a tight grip, wrinkling up your dress shirt. You know he isn't holding himself back anymore when his lips hover over your neck, his breath warm, and he finally says what you've been waiting to hear.

"Yeah, you'd fucking like that, wouldn't you?" Aki's voice is low and sultry, laced with a hint of annoyance; his tone makes you feel weak, your heart flipping, the breath punched from your lungs. "Bet you're dying to have my cock down your throat. As if you even deserve it, considering the way you've acted."

A soft whimper escapes your mouth before you have the opportunity to stop it, and you swear you can hear Aki huff the faintest chuckle. He runs his hand down your lower back, all the way 'til he finds the curve of your ass, and you gasp when he gives it a firm squeeze.

Your eyelids flutter, and his tongue swipes over your neck — You're like putty in his hands then, instantly yielding. His tongue, warm and wet, licks up the stream of dried blood from your skin, the taste metallic in his mouth. You hastily rub his dick with your palm, and his lips latch to your wound; he sucks fresh blood from it, his teeth nibbling faint impressions, your taste fogging up his head. Somehow, you swear you feel him get even harder.

Aki mutters into your neck, "You're awfully quiet now."

It's difficult to formulate a sentence with his mouth all over you, but you manage to hesitantly ask, "And… And if I say that I do? If I say I would like that?"

Aki presses his lips to cut, placing a kiss so unexpectedly soft and tender it makes your head spin, your thoughts teetering. His fingers thread up through the base of your scalp, sending tingles down your spine. He answers, "I'm not sure you've earned it, honestly. You'd be lucky if I gave you my fingers — No, you don't even deserve that much. The most you deserve is my shoe to grind down on."

You're not even thinking before you babble, "I deserve it, I do. I… I really want you, please."

"Oh, you're so greedy," Aki hums, muttering breathlessly between his lips peppering teasing kisses on your neck, "I know you'd be happy with anything I give you, but you still want more."

You nod, squeezing the stiff tent in his slacks, and Aki sighs into your skin, quickly pulling back so he can look at you. He grabs your chin with his fingers, tilting your face towards him; his gaze meets yours, and his eyes are pooled with lust, pupils blown out wide, swallowing the blue of his iris.

In a low tone, voice smooth, Aki says, "I like it when you beg for me, it's fitting for a pathetic little brat like you. Why don't you beg a bit more, then maybe I'll consider giving you what you want."

This may be the first time you've listened to his orders, but the second you've realized that, pleas are already falling from your mouth and you can't do anything to stop them.

"Aki, please." You whine, and it's the first time you've said his name like this, too. The way you say it so desperately, like you really do need him — Aki feels his heart skip a beat in his chest, and his dick pulses under your hand. You plead, "I really want it, don't be mean to me."

"No," Aki scolds, his eyes narrowing, and he leans in a little further, speaking softly, his lips mere centimeters away from yours, "If you want it that bad, then ask me properly. Tell me what you want, and speak with some respect, otherwise you're not getting it."

You hesitate for a moment, listening to the heavy breaths — yours, and his — as they echo around the alley. Only for a moment, though, because you know exactly what he wants to hear, and that happens to be the only motivation you need.

Finally, you stammer, "I want your cock, Hayakawa, sir," You gulp, Aki's breath hitches, and then, you continue, "I want it in my mouth, want you down my throat."

"Fuck, you think you can take it?" Aki mutters breathlessly, and when you nod your head, he takes one step back from you. He briefly eyes you up and down, and his hand tremors slightly as he brings it to your shoulder.

"Then get on your knees."

You don't need to be told twice.

With his hand on your shoulder, Aki guides you to switch places with him, so that his back is to the wall and you're positioned in front of him, at his feet. He hurriedly pulls his sword strap off his body to make himself more comfortable, tossing it to the ground with a clatter. Then, he holds the back of your head, gently coaxing you to your knees.

His heart thrums hard in his chest, a wave of anxiety rising in his nerves. If he's being honest with himself, Aki still isn't sure if he should be doing this. No, he definitely shouldn't. He should get back to work, stop acting stupid, quit messing around, but he just can't.

Honestly, when did he get this way? Was it when you first laid your hands on him, or was it when he figured out that you wanted him, when you gazed at him with that hazy look in your eyes like you're just begging for him to take you? He isn't sure, he doesn't know when or why or how he became unable to resist you, but right now, he really doesn't care.

He wants this way too damn bad. He needs you so much that all he can do is sit back and let this happen, even if his brain is telling him he shouldn't be.

And when he sees the way you obediently sink down to your knees in front of him, hands promptly fiddling with his belt to get it undone: it makes his head feel hazy, clouded with a certain sense of adoration, and all of his hesitations are quickly tossed away.

You stare up at him expectantly for a second, and Aki chides, "What are you waiting for? You're not chickening out, are you? You're the one who said you wanted this right here, right now."

You're not, definitely not. You hesitated for a moment only because you suddenly realized the gravity of your situation, and you can hardly believe it's even happening.

This is it, you did it, you won. You've got rule-following, devil-hating Aki Hayakawa pushing your head towards him, exhaling a heavy sigh of relief when your hand cups his bulge through the fabric of his slacks, his dick throbbing and stiffening beneath your touch. When you look up at him, you can see he's practically panting, his lips parted as he reaches up and grasps his tie to work it loose. His eyes never leave your figure as he watches you, anticipating your next move with bated breath.

This is really happening, you're going to do this right here, down a dingy alleyway in broad daylight and… Honestly, you want him so badly you can't even begin to question things.

So, you shake your head and reply, "I'm not. I'd never. And I won't change my mind."

"Good. That's what I like to hear."

The metal buckle of his belt clangs as you unfasten it. In this moment, everything starts to seem louder in your ears, more surreal. You can hear the sound of his breathing, shaky exhales quickened with nervousness and excitement. The smell of him fills your lungs: his rich cologne and cigarette smoke.

With his belt undone, hanging in the loops, you pop the button on his slacks next. Your fingers clasp around his zipper, pulling it down slowly, and as you do, Aki shoves his hand in his jacket pocket. He finds a cigarette, placing it between his lips, then his lighter, and he uses his palm to shield it from the breeze. You're edging his pants down his hips when you hear him strike the wheel, flame bringing his cigarette to life.

The outline of his cock is even more noticeable through his boxers, thick and heavy where it sits on his thigh. There's a bit of wetness seeping through the fabric, from where his precum has dribbled out and dirtied it. Aki shoves his lighter back in his pocket, holding his cigarette between two fingers; he brings it to his lips, inhales from it deeply, lazily, and when your palm cups his dick, he groans, puffs of smoke falling from his mouth.

He's so fucking hard, so needy — You can't help but tease, "See, I knew you wanted to have some fun with me, Mister 'I don't fuck devils.'"

"Didn't I tell you to shut up?" Aki snaps, flicking the ash from his cigarette, his eyebrows furrowing up, "God, always such a pain in my ass — Why don't you put that pretty mouth of yours to use, show me it's good for more than just giving me lip."

"Oh? You think it's pretty?"

Aki seems to falter for a moment. "It's-"

He interrupts himself with a shuddery gasp when you press your tongue to his clothed cock, breathing hot air that he can feel even through the fabric. You swirl your tongue around him, getting the fabric of his boxers even wetter. His whole body shivers, and he leans back further against the wall to support himself.

You place a wet, open-mouthed kiss to his stiff bulge; Aki whines softly, and through his heavy breaths, he's just barely able to choke out, "I can't… Don't tease me."

As much as you want to oppose those words, you can't deny that you want this just as badly as he does, and you're getting a bit impatient yourself. So, you simply flash a playful smile in response before hooking your fingers around the waistband of his briefs, gently tugging them down, pressing one last delicate kiss to his clothed cockhead as you do so. You yank his boxers past where his hip bones jut out, then to his thighs, just enough to take his cock out.

It's thick, pale, with a slight curve to it — So damn pretty that you nearly start drooling at the sight. Aki holds his cigarette deft between two of his fingers, reaching down to grab your face with his free hand, just as you wrap your hand around the base of his dick, stroking him to a lazy rhythm.

He mouths something so quietly you almost miss it: Hold still. Then, he shifts his hips until he can lay the length of his cock over your cheek. For a moment, he holds you there, admiring the way it dwarfs your face, a little half-hearted chuckle escaping his lips.

He brings his thumb to the tip of his cock while your loose palm continues to pump him. A faint, wet sound echoes in your ears as he rubs circles over the slit, gathering the sticky precum that leaks from there. He presses his thumb to your mouth, and when your lips part, he shoves it in, smearing his precum over your tongue.

"There we go," Aki praises, exhaling a long, unsteady breath. Your lips close around his finger and you give it a gentle suck. Aki groans, "Yeah, want you to suck on me just like that," He pulls his thumb out of your mouth, grabbing your face and squeezing your cheeks. "Got it?"

You nod, "Mhmmm. Yes, sir."

Sir. His cock throbs just at that. You've been so damn difficult, always arguing with him, always trying to get on his nerves, but now that he's finally figured out what you wanted from him, you're unusually well-behaved. He could get used to seeing you like this, he thinks. Your obedience just makes him want to ruin you.

Aki presses the tip of his cock to your lips, and you feel it throb hard when you kiss it. He pulls on your chin, coaxing you to open your mouth. Smoke wisps up from the end of his unattended cigarette. Punctuated by his harsh breathing, he slurs a string of instructions: Open wide. Stick out your tongue. C'mon, you're gonna have to open wider than that.

Once you take him into your mouth, slowly bobbing your head down on him, your throat adjusting to his size, Aki gulps and praises, Atta girl. Keep taking it just like that. Watch those teeth for me.

God, if being scolded by him makes you feel high, then being praised by him takes you even higher. Your head feels fluffy, and you whimper weakly around his cock. Aki presses down on the back of your head with one hand, bringing his cigarette to his mouth with the other.

He takes a deep inhale before he's mumbling around the smoke, "Oh, that's it, baby." The pet name slips from his lips before he even realizes. His words make you even dizzier, and he tosses his head back, Adam's apple prominent in his throat, "Fuck, don't stop until it's all the way in, yeah?"

Aki groans when your tongue swirls around his length, pushing your head down more, encouraging you to take all of him. It's so much, he's too much, his cock filling every part of your mouth and your throat, to the point where it's difficult to breathe, let alone keep your composure. The only thing you can think about, the only thing filling all of your senses is him, and all you can do is stare up at him, doe-eyed, as he shifts his hips forwards and crams his cock all the way down your throat.

The tip of your nose nudges at his pelvis. Aki holds you in place, his palm rubbing the back of your head, fingers toying with your hair. He can see the way you're struggling to take him, muffled gags sending weak vibrations down his length, but he doesn't let up — He makes you watch as he takes a long, drawn-out drag from his cigarette, smoke falling from his lips as he exhales slow and steady.

With your warm and wet mouth around him, swallowing him up, the nicotine seems to hit his system harder than before — Aki feels his whole body relax, his eyelashes heavy and fluttering, his shoulders slumping.

"You're finally quiet now… I knew you could be good for me." He mumbles breathlessly, and he holds his cigarette between his teeth so he can reach down, wiping the tears welling at the corners of your eyes with his thumb. He feels the heat radiating off of your cheeks, and he carefully brushes messy strands of hair from your face so he can get a better look at you, tucking them carefully behind your ears.

The cock-drunk expression already present on your face, the pleading look in your eyes, the way your mouth feels around him — Aki's breath starts to come out sharp and fast, his heart pounding in his chest, and he knows, he knows he can't restrain himself anymore, even if he wanted to. Not when it's this good, not when you look so needy for him, not when he's this desperate for you.

It doesn't matter if he shouldn't be doing this, he doesn't fucking care if someone turns and walks right down this alleyway. He's going to be selfish, he's going to take what he wants from you. This is what you wanted him to do, isn't it?

Finally, he drags your head back, giving you a second to breathe and your jaw some relief, but the moment is short lived when his hips abruptly rut forward, shoving his cock back in. Aki takes control then, gripping your hair tightly as he starts up a rhythm, fucking himself into your mouth.

The alley quickly becomes filled with the wet sounds of you slurping and choking on his dick. He reaches so deep into your throat, and as his pace gets rougher, more and more greedy, your throat starts to ache, and your mind is a muddled blur, thoughts consumed by the feeling of his dick in every corner of your throat.

His cigarette is nearly spent, and Aki takes one last drag, sighing as the smoke leaves his lungs. He taps the cigarette with his finger, flicking the ash to the ground below, before he asks, "Where do you want this?"

You're confused, at first, but Aki shows you what he's getting at when he hovers his cigarette over the nape of your neck, where exposed skin peeks out from the collar of your shirt. His expression is unreadable, but when you look up at him through your eyelashes, you notice how his pupils are blown out wide, how his face is dusted a warm shade of pink.

"Shit… Should I put it out right here?"

You mumble around him, the vibrations on his cock causing him to inhale a sharp breath through his teeth, and Aki seems to take it as a yes.

He presses the end of the cigarette down, putting it out right on your skin, just above your collarbone. He grinds it in deep, using your neck as his ashtray, and it burns. You whine as an enveloping heat blooms over your skin, across your neck and your shoulders. There's a bit of pain, cold and warm at the same time; it mixes with pleasure, with the ache between your legs, and then, it goes numb. Aki flicks the cigarette away once it's completely out, a slight, satisfied smile forming on his face.

"You're so amazing, God," He praises, exhaling a shaky sigh, "Such a good girl."

The sounds coming from the both of you grow louder and louder, more and more obscene. You're choking on him, and he's panting, his chest heaving with every breath, low whines of pleasure falling from his lips between every gasp. What if someone hears you? Someone could turn down this alley, they'd hear your gags and whimpers, and they'd see you on your knees, your superior's dick in your mouth, Hayakawa's dick — While the two of you are supposed to be working, no less.

What would his co-workers, what would his boss say, if they went looking for him and saw this? Utterly square, professional Aki, getting off instead of doing his job. In a dingy alleyway, his cock down the throat of a fucking devil. He's always so calm and composed, poker-faced, but here, his face is flushed red, his lips are parted, quivering slightly, and his expression is contorted in pleasure as he falls apart at the seams. If anyone saw, he'd never live it down, surely.

Your eyes flicker over to the entrance of the alley. Shadowy figures of people can be seen walking past, faraway and tiny, but still there. You're sure the darkness of the alleyway is enough to conceal the two of you, but if any of them come this way, if anyone walks back here…

"Hey."

Aki's voice interrupts your thoughts, his hand grabbing you firmly by your cheeks, and your gaze immediately darts back to him. There's a slight look of annoyance on his face, and in a resolute tone, his hips stalling, he sternly commands, "Look at me. Don't look anywhere else, I want you to focus on me."

You offer him a shallow nod. Aki starts up his rhythm again, his hand returning to hold the back of your head, shoving you down onto him, and his hips shifting forwards, inching his cock further into your mouth. You force yourself to keep your eyes on him, on his face.

Even though it's difficult to breathe, difficult to take him, it feels good, he tastes good. You begin to match his pace, bobbing your head in tune with his movements, swallowing him up as best you can manage. It's messy, wet tears coating your cheeks, spit dribbling from the corners of your mouth.

His dick leaks warm precum down your throat. The shaft glistens from your drool each time you pull back, smeared a diluted red from what remains of your lipstick.

Aki brushes his fingertips over the cigarette-sized burn mark on your neck, rubbing it with his thumb, making it sting. You whimper, tears streaming down your face, and Aki cups your cheek in his palm, his thumb wiping them from your eyes. He sighs, and with his gaze still locked onto yours, you can see how his eyes become filled with adoration, his expression softening. In a voice barely more than a whisper, he mutters, "So pretty when you cry for me."

His breathing gets a little faster, his pace grows a little rougher, until he's fucking your mouth relentlessly, rolling his hips in an attempt to get himself even deeper inside. Your tongue swirls around his length — Aki whines, his body tensing; the stimulation on his dick is too much to handle, too perfect, too good, and when you force your head down, sucking hard, Aki can't take it, suddenly gasping, "F-Fuck, I'm gonna-"

He cuts himself off with a loud moan, his grip tightening in your hair, his head tossed back. For a moment, he considers pulling out, but when you shut your eyes and take him as far as you can, your lips wrapped around his base, he gives up; he buries his cock in your mouth as far as he can manage.

The pleasure builds, builds, builds, until with one last harsh suck on his dick, Aki feels it all boil over. Beads of sweat form on his forehead. His voice is strained, breaking, words slurred and nearly incoherent as he mumbles, "Oh God, cumming, I'm cumming — Swallow it, pretty baby."

And then, he's moaning through desperate gasps, his cock twitching as he spills into your throat. You swallow nearly all of his cum, reaching up to grip his thighs, your fingers digging into the fabric of his pants. When he's finally spent, sure that he's given you every last spurt of his cum, he relaxes, his body slumping against the wall. His hand softly strokes the back of your head: a subtle form of praise.

When you pull back, you wipe the drool from your chin and the tears from your face with the back of your hand. Aki catches his breath. His bangs stick to his forehead from his sweat, and he reaches up to hastily push them out of the way.

Slowly, he comes down, his eyes fluttering open; his gaze immediately darts to the entrance of the alleyway, lingering for a moment as the stars fade and his vision comes back into focus. No-one, that's good. He blinks away the rest of the haze before his eyes return to you.

You look like a mess, your cheeks tear-stained, your hair ruffled, trying your best to stifle little coughs. Well, he's sure he isn't faring much better. He's got to look pretty disheveled, too, with his tie loose, his face covered in sweat, and his cheeks red hot. And he's still hard, his dick starting to ache again, just at the sight of you.

Fuck, you could barely take him. You were choking on him so much, but still staring up at him with an eager, lust-filled look, like you were enjoying yourself just by pleasing him.

Yet, even though you could barely take him, even though you're still struggling to breathe, you're looking up at him with a wild, excited expression, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. Aki has his gaze locked onto you, and he watches as you open wide, stick out your tongue, and let him see the bead of white — his cum — that lingers there.

Half in disbelief, half in pure ecstasy, Aki slurs, "Oh, God…"

You giggle, putting your tongue back in your mouth, and Aki swears he feels blood rushing to his dick when you swallow. When you speak, your voice is sickeningly sweet, enough to make Aki's heart leap when you ask, "You gonna fuck me now, sir?"

"Shit," Aki pushes himself off the wall, stumbling a little when he stands up straight. He finds his footing, then he crooks a finger at you, mumbling, "Up."

Your legs are a little shaky when you rise to your feet. Aki yanks his boxers up, not bothering to re-button his pants or fix his ajar belt. His hands fist your shirt collar, and before you can say anything more, he's yanking you towards him; his eyes flutter shut, and his lips come crashing onto yours.

The kiss is messy and desperate — You're wrapping your arms around his neck, and he's gripping your sides, dragging your body as close to his as he can get you. His lips feel just as soft and perfect as they look, and when they part, he's licking into your mouth, sucking eagerly on your tongue. You grip his tie to yank him in even more, and he tilts his head to kiss you deeper, bringing a hand to your jaw. His touch is delicate, a perfect contrast to how greedy his kisses are.

He tastes like fresh mint and the rich flavor of his cigarettes. You taste like himself, and the sensation has him reeling. His head goes foggy and light as he melts in the feeling of your lips on his, and just from this, he's already getting hard in his briefs again. You just taste too good, kissing you feels too amazing, too addicting. God, he's going to want to have you again, isn't he?

With his palm still holding your side, Aki carefully twists, switching your position with his. Before he presses you up against the wall, he places his hand over the small of your back, providing a buffer between you and the hard brick. Then, his hand is fumbling to pull your dress shirt out from where it's tucked into your pants. As soon as he's got it, he slips his hand up your shirt. Your whole body shivers at his touch, his hand cool on your warm skin.

Trailing his fingertips over your soft, bare skin, Aki feels the curve of your waist, traces the shape of your spine; he feels you melt into his touch, your body slumping, your back arching into him.

His fingertips are nimble, and his palm is calloused, but his touch feels absolutely heavenly. As his lips press harder against yours, he gropes and squeezes your breast through your bra, and you groan into his mouth.

When he pulls apart from you, you're both struggling to catch your breath, panting heavily, but he gives you little time to rest. You catch a glimpse of his face before he dips down — Pupils blown out wide, his face flushed, eyelids heavy — and then, his lips press softly to your neck.

You sigh out his name quietly, your fingers tangling through his hair, his topknot starting to come a little loose. His head feels fuzzy, his thoughts cloudy, but in a brief moment of clarity, between his gentle kisses and love bites, Aki whispers to you, "You wanna get out of here?"

Your response comes quicker than he expected. "No," You shake your head, gripping his hair tighter, "I can't wait, I want you right here."

Aki laughs dryly, burying his face into the nape of your neck. He should have known you would say that. His soft bangs brush over your skin, and his fingers absently toy with the hem of your bra, threatening to slip under.

"God, that's…" He pauses, exhaling a shuddery sigh, "That's dangerous, you know?"

"We've already taken plenty of risks, haven't we? What's one more?"

A bird chirps from somewhere above. A train whistles from someplace far away. Aki's hand slides down, feeling out the ridges of your ribcage. He rubs slow circles into your side with his palm, lost in thought. After a steady, deep breath, he softly replies, "If we… If I do this, then I'm not gonna be able to stop."

The way he says those words, his tone deep, his voice wavering — It implies exactly what he means. I won't be able to stop myself, I won't be able to hold back, even if someone walks down this alley.

You smirk. "Then don't."

Aki steadies himself with one last shaky breath in through his nose, out through his mouth. Then, he takes a few steps back from you. You see him swallow, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He reaches up, adjusting his askew tie, his eyes giving you a quick once over. He allows himself one last chance, one more moment of contemplation, of considering if he should actually go through with this. If he should really fuck you, you, a damn devil, right here, right now.

Well, should he? He's pretty sure he already established that he shouldn't, he just can't find it in himself to care. Right now, he's listening to his dick instead of his brain, but honestly, who can blame him? The way you're looking at him — It's like you're begging for him to let go, like you need for him to take you right now, in whichever way he pleases. It's absolutely intoxicating.

Still, you can see the hesitation in his gaze, the way he bites his bottom lip, how his fingers around his tie tremble more than they should. His tone seems genuine, softened at the edges when he asks you, "Are you sure, are you certain you want to do this?"

You huff, "Yeah, I'm sure."

"Because I'm- I mean, you can say if you want me to stop, y'know, if you…"

"Aki."

The firmness to how you say his name causes Aki to freeze. He eyes you up and down expectantly.

You continue, voice low, steady, "I'm sure, I've been sure. I told you, didn't I? You don't have to hold back with me." You breathe in, breathe out. A deep, heavy sigh. And then — "Do your worst."

Aki gulps. Do your worst. He wonders what his worst might be. What, exactly, you'd let him do to you. How much you'd be able to take. He supposes he'll find out.

In a strict, level tone, he commands, "Face against the wall."

You follow his instruction immediately, spinning around, and Aki continues, "Bend over. Spread your legs for me. Place your hands on the wall, like-" He steps forwards, grabbing your wrists in each hand and guiding you to press your palms flat on the brick. "This."

One of his hands settles on your waist, while he places the other on the small of your back. Aki guides you carefully until you're arched to fit perfectly under him: his tall frame is leant almost completely over yours, his hips are pressed up flush to your ass. Your arms are bent, your cheek nearly touching the brick wall, your legs spread a bit.

In this position, he's so close, and it's so obscene, your body arched, your legs open. Aki takes a deep breath, and with his chest fitting into the curve of your back, you can feel the way his chest expands, then contracts.

His body is large enough to dwarf your own, casting you in his cool, dim shadow. He wraps his arm under your stomach to pull you closer to himself, and when he does, you can feel the stiff outline of his cock in his briefs rub up against your ass — Already so hard, straining the fabric uncomfortably, dribbling precum out over his thigh.

Aki leans down, his deep voice close to your ear, breathless: "How bad do you want this?"

"Just as badly as you."

Aki chuckles. His palm travels down your back, all the way to caress the swell of your ass. "So, very, very badly then, huh?"

Your response comes in the form of a half-sigh, half-whimper as you shift to grind your ass on him, but to your surprise, Aki grabs your waist with an iron grip. He holds you still, stopping you. "Hey," You huff in frustration, "What's up, did you change your mind? Is someone coming?"

"No. I'll keep going, but there's something I want you to do for me first." Aki replies; his voice is suddenly stern, resolute, and it throws you off a little.

The gears in your head start to turn, and timidly, you ask, "And… What might that be?"

His hips shove towards you firmer as he drags you in, even closer. You can clearly feel his hard cock pressed up against you, but with him holding you still, you're provided no movement, no friction. It's fucking agonizing. His lips ghost over the shell of your ear, and he speaks at barely more than a whisper when he mutters, "I want you to apologize."

Aki nips at your ear; his warm breath and the intense closeness of his body on yours spread a wave of enveloping heat over your back. It's difficult for you to speak, your voice sounding feeble, but you still manage to ask, "...For what?"

Aki replies matter-of-factly, "For acting like a brat, and for your blatant disrespect."

"You… You can't be serious," You huff, rolling your eyes, "There's no way I'm doing that."

Aki's lips graze over your jaw, soft, but barely there. "Then you're not getting fucked. It's a pretty simple request — I'm not sure why you'd decide to throw a fit now, when you're so close to getting what you wanted. I thought you were more desperate than this." His voice is low, the slightest bit condescending, "You're still my subordinate, so be good and apologize like one."

Without a second thought, you snap, "Oh, bite me, you prick."

"I will if you ask nicely."

Aki grabs both of your hips, holding you still. Hesitantly, he grinds his clothed cock against your ass, a small gasp escaping his lips. Even through the layers of clothing: his boxers and your slacks, you can feel him. So thick, so close to giving you what you're desiring, but not quite.

As he slowly humps your ass, searching for whatever bit of friction he can receive, your mind begins to wander. His breath in your ear is heavy, shaky.

You think of when his cock was in your mouth, and imagine what it would feel like filling you up, his dick stretching you out. You imagine his precise fingers on your clit, long digits shoved in your aching pussy. A lump grows in your throat, a knot tightens in your chest. You want him so badly, so much it aches, and judging by the way he grinds on you, starting to rub his dick up against you with a desperate fervor, you're certain he wants you just as much.

Your lips quiver, words on the tip of your tongue, until finally, you blurt out, "Aki, fuck- I can't wait anymore. I really want you, please."

The desperate, syrupy tone to your voice causes Aki to briefly falter, if only for a second. His heart flutters in his chest, blood rushing to his cock, but his daze is shaken when you try to move your hips. He holds you firm, gripping even tighter: A silent command to hold still.

"You're so needy," He teases, his voice cold, but the slightest bit strained. When you yield, going slack under him, his hand slides around to your front, fingers toying idly with the button on your slacks. "We're supposed to be working, you know. But here you are, begging for me, and you couldn't even wait for us to go somewhere more private. You want my cock that badly? Tch, dirty girl."

Growing impatient, you counter, "And you were supposed to show me around the city, yet you're in some dingy alley getting your dick wet instead. I wonder what that says about you."

Aki wraps his arm around your stomach, dragging your body closer to his, making certain you feel the outline of his cock, how hard he is, how much he's throbbing. He mutters, "C'mon. That's no way to get what you want."

Even though he has his dick pressed up to your ass, even though he's grinding against you lazily, each of his sentences punctuated by his ragged breathing, Aki's voice assumes that same familiar, scolding tone. The tone that quickly puts you in the same overpowered, weak state you shifted in and out of when you first began this struggle. You're losing, again. But your head couldn't feel any higher.

Aki continues, his breath hot on your ear, "Talking back to me is going to get you nowhere. I'm sure I told you this before, I thought you understood. Were you not listening again?"

"I know," You slur, and there's heat rising to your cheeks from the embarrassment, from the pressure, "I was listening, I swear."

"I don't think you were. If you had been paying attention, you'd be busy apologizing to me right about now."

"Aki-"

"Be quiet." Aki snaps, "I don't want to hear anything else out of your mouth unless you're doing what I asked."

Slowly, teasingly, he glides his hand down, his palm caressing your inner thigh; when he hears the immediate hitch in your breath, he drags his hand away, further from what you want. You can't help but whine in disappointment.

Aki grinds a little harder against you. His cock is sitting thick and heavy on his thigh, the fabric of his boxers soaked from his dribbles of precum. He's aching, dying to be inside you, to feel your tight walls around his cock, to fuck you stupid. But still, he doesn't let up, refusing to give in. He won't, not until you're compliant. Not until he wins.

Your breathing comes out faster, more uneven, and Aki is panting just as hard. He slips his hand under your shirt, fingertips tracing circles on your stomach, his touch so light and delicate it makes your whole body shiver. The shape of his dick on your ass, his touch on your skin, his large figure caging you in, his warm breath on your neck — Everything reaches a fever pitch, and with your mind in a haze, you finally crack.

"I'm sorry!" You shout. Tears of frustration prick at the corners of your eyes as you continue to babble, stumbling over your words, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, sir, please, forgive me. I really need you, I can't…"

Aki taunts, voice low, "Are you? What are you sorry for?"

You hear the button on your pants pop.

"For…" You gulp, "For acting like a brat, and for being disrespectful to you."

Then, you hear the zipper: drug down agonizingly slowly, the sound and the anticipation that comes with it seeming to cut through the echo of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

You start to speak again — Sir, please, I'm — but before you can finish your sentence, Aki's fingers slip under your slacks. You cut yourself off with a sharp intake of breath.

"There we go." Aki praises, and he rewards you by pressing his fingertips to your clit through the fabric of your panties. He rubs faint, barely-there circles, but it's still enough to give you some of the pleasure you had been oh-so desperately searching for. Your legs tense up, a quiet whine escaping your lips. Your hands, still pressed to the brick wall, tighten into fists.

"That wasn't so hard, now was it?" Aki takes his hand away to grab your pants, gently pulling them down to your thighs. Then, he cups your pussy in his hand. He can feel the warmth there with his palm, and when he speaks, his tone returns to the certain deep, resonating vibrato that always sends a pang between your legs. "Do you think you've been good enough to have me touch you? You think you've earned it?"

"Yes, yes," You reply quickly, but can hardly speak, nodding your head hurriedly. You're so wet, you're practically dripping, and you're certain he must be able to feel it through the damp fabric of your underwear. "I deserve it, I can be good. Just please-"

Aki interrupts, "You wanna be good for me?"

"Mhmm, yessir."

Leaning his body over you all the way, Aki hikes your dress shirt up to your chest, until his hand is able to grip your bare side. He gives you a gentle squeeze, then brings his other hand to hold under your chin. Carefully, he tilts your head upwards, guiding you to look up at him, his face situated directly above yours.

"Open your mouth."

You're following the command as soon as you hear it. You open your mouth slowly, staring up at him through a half-lidded gaze. It's difficult to see from this angle, but you're sure he looks composed, his messy bangs falling to frame his face. His expression serious, but his pupils blown out wide.

Aki taps his finger gently on your cheek. "You need to open wider than that. Stick out your tongue some, too. There we go."

He grips your chin tightly, his jaw flexes. A red-hot fire rises to your cheeks — You're embarrassed, sitting here with your mouth open wide and your tongue out, eagerly waiting for what you know he's going to do. This should be such a pathetic position for you to be in, this should be totally humiliating.

Shouldn't you be ashamed of yourself, of how desperate you're acting? And yet, all you can manage to think of, the one sensation that dominates everything, making your thoughts feel flowery, your limbs feel weak — All you feel is that utter, all-encompassing thrill.

And when he gathers saliva, spitting a glob of it directly onto your tongue, you whine, your thighs shake, your head feels dizzy and fluffy; Aki commands, "Swallow." And you're listening to those instructions to a tee, instantly feeling a rush of adrenaline and an ache between your legs the second you've swallowed down his spit.

Aki sighs deeply. His dick throbs once he sees you swallow, sending precum oozing down his thigh. His forehead falls to press to yours, his bangs brushed over your face. "Oh, fuck… Good girl."

He swiftly hooks his fingers around the waistband of your panties, hurrying to pull them down. His palms stroke your bare thighs, the stiff outline of his cock shoves against your ass — Even less friction than before, and you can feel it pulse with need, the fabric of his boxers a soaked mess.

"Where should I touch you?" Aki asks breathlessly, "Right here?"

Before you even have the chance to answer, he rubs his fingers through your soaked folds, gathering your slick on the digits. You're dripping out all over his knuckles, his hand quickly becoming a glossy, wet mess. Aki chuckles quietly, and he places a quick kiss to your forehead before leaning his head back over your shoulder, speaking close to your ear once more.

"God, you're wet… Did that turn you on, baby? Shit," His dick throbs, he exhales a half-sigh, half-moan, "You like it when I spit in your mouth? You're filthier than I thought you'd be. I love it."

You can't manage a response to that, just a feverish nod. Your eyes screw up tight, and you hear Aki spitting again — This time, into his hand. He brings his hand between your legs, rubbing your clit with the base of his spit-soaked palm, firm and rough.

If you're filthy for this: for wanting him to fuck you right here, in public, for getting wet when he scolds you, when he spit into your mouth — You're filthy, sure, but he's no better than you, is he? His dick is so hard it's aching, and you can feel his heart pounding like a drum where his chest presses to your back. He's the one who has you bent over here, who's getting off on teasing you perhaps even more than you are.

The heel of his palm rubs slow, deep circles on your clit. Aki taunts, "Feel good? I want you to tell me how it feels."

"Aki- S-Shit," The words barely come out, and you're speaking through tiny gasps when you mutter, "It's really good, please-"

You're not sure what you're begging for at this point, but Aki seems to get the hint. He brushes his fingers over your pussy, fingertips teasing at your entrance. "You want them inside?" He doesn't wait for an answer before he's easing two of his fingers inside you.

"That's it," Aki coos, his voice a little shaky. His fingers stretch you out, slowly and carefully. "Can you take them all the way?"

You manage to reply, "Mhmm.."

Your heart pounds incessantly in your ears, your legs threaten to buckle. You take a deep breath, trying to compose yourself, and briefly, Aki stops. His voice in your ear is quiet, calm, seeming to resonate deep in your skull, deep within your chest.

I'm right here. Focus on me. Got it?

You're pinned beneath him here: Aki resting his body weight on top of you, his fingers inside your cunt, holding you up by your tummy with his other arm. You press your thighs together, the inside of them slick and wet, his arm right between them. You can feel the smooth fabric of his suit jacket sleeve rubbing your skin. If his sleeve isn't filthy already, it's going to be ruined after this, surely.

Aki presses his fingers in knuckle-deep: his ring and his middle, the two longest. And they're so long, reaching so deeply inside you, stretching you out perfectly. Gently, he curls them, pressing them right up to your sweet spot, eliciting a needy whine from your lips.

I know it feels good, but don't make too much noise. We wouldn't want anybody to hear us.

You offer him a shallow nod and try to stifle your noises as best you can, but you're unable to hold back a few weak whimpers. His fingers are already soaked, glistening with your slick when he drags them out, echoing a lewd, wet sound when he pushes them back in.

With a soft groan, he shoves his cock firmer against your ass; he can feel it throbbing, aching with need. You're so wet, and he knows if he were to sink his cock into you, it'd slide in so easy — The thought alone is enough to make him feel delirious.

Shit… You want me to go faster?

Aki fucks you with his fingers until your legs are starting to shake. Your walls are so tight around the digits, squeezing them each time he drags them out, sucking them in greedily when he presses them inside — God, you're so desperate for him. Aki wants to give you more, needs to give you more. You've been so good, you deserve it. You deserve to have him give you everything.

He hears your breath start to pick up, sharp and desperate. The pace of his fingers stays steady, controlled, Aki determined to make you cum. His lips press faintly to the shell of your ear.

That's it, keep going, just like this. You're doing so well.

A tight knot coils in your stomach, your edge coming closer, closer — Aki holds you tight, and he pulls his fingers out to briefly rub precise halos over your clit, his fingertips soaked with your slick. You're shaking, gasping, up on your tiptoes as your back arches into him.

I want you to cum for me. You think you can do that, pretty girl?

His words are all it takes to make you fall apart. Your whole body trembles, your moans growing louder and louder; His free hand quickly comes to cover your mouth, his palm muffling your noise. He coos, Shh, shh. That's it. Oh, baby…

You cum hard for him, your whole body trembling, and Aki shoves his fingers back inside; he fingers you through your orgasm, blood rushing to his cock when he feels the way your cunt pulses around the digits. He draws out as much pleasure from you as he possibly can, only slowing when he notices you beginning to come down, and only dragging his fingers out of you when he's sure you're completely spent.

As you catch your breath, your muscles relaxed, the exhilaration in your head starting to fade, Aki removes his palm from your mouth to hold you up, close to himself, your weight supported on his arm. "You alright?" He murmurs, and you offer him a quick nod and a slurred, Yes.

You still want me, don't you?

You laugh. Come on, is that even a question you have to ask?

You're right. With the way you're already shifting your hips to grind your ass on him, a desperate look in your eyes as he grabs your chin, tilting your head up and to the side so he can look at you — It's clear you're nowhere near close to satisfied, and there's no way in hell Aki's quitting now. Not until he's given you all he has, not until you've finally had enough.

With his hand holding your chin, Aki runs his thumb along your bottom lip, bringing his other hand in front of your face. His fingers are soaked, glistening in the low light, and he slowly spreads them apart, letting you see the way your slick and cum sticks between them. "Look at that. You made such a mess, you gonna clean it up?"

His thumb pulls down gently on your lip, and you take the hint, parting your mouth obediently. Aki presses his fingers in slowly, careful not to push you too far, so you won't gag. Your tongue swirls around the digits, licking them clean, tasting yourself.

And once again, just like all the times before, the praise he utters into your ear sends your heart fluttering: That's my girl. You think you can take my cock now?

As soon as he's pulled his fingers from your mouth, still wet from your saliva, Aki makes quick work of yanking down his boxers. He grabs your hips to drag you towards him, his cock sliding in between your thighs. He's so hard, fucking aching, precum dribbling out from the sensitive tip, and it's so wet, messy with the slick that coats your thighs, your cunt practically dripping out onto him.

Aki, please.

The way you say his name so sweetly, so perfectly — He wants to fuck you so badly he's starting to get dizzy, to hear you say it over and over again, to make you say his name. His, because he's the one you're so desperate to have, he's the one you're bent over in a dirty alleyway for. You belong to him and you know it.

So desperate for me. Be patient.

Without even thinking, you counter, stammering, "I'm… I'm not desperate."

"If you're not, then," Aki rubs circles into your skin with his thumbs, holding your hips tightly. He ruts forwards to a lazy rhythm, fucking into your plush thighs, the shaft warm and wet, throbbing incessantly, the friction delicious on his aching cock. "You're fine if I keep doing this?"

He could spend an eternity here, teasing you as much as you can take, making you beg for him again and again, his dick buried between your thighs. But he knows what you want, knows what you need. You need more.

You can hardly speak: "No, I… I'm…"

"C'mon. Spit it out." Aki demands, "If you want it, tell me."

You swallow down the lump in your throat, your heart hammering against your ribcage. Your words come out as barely more than a whisper.

Aki, fuck me.

Aki scoffs. Tsk. Try again. Ask properly.

God, he's fucking difficult, even up until the very end, but you'd be a liar if you said you didn't enjoy it. You'd be lying if you tried to claim you didn't love this: the way he forces you into obedience, time and time again.

I want… I want your cock. Hayakawa, sir.

You hear a quiet whine, a hitched breath, as Aki presses his cockhead to your entrance. His dick throbs hard, and his voice trembles ever so slightly.

Ask nicely. Say please for me.

Then, a deep sigh of relief when he eases inside, pushing past the initial tight ring of your cunt, stretching you out just barely, around the fat tip of his cock.

God, it feels so good — You want him to sink all the way in, to fill you up with the entire length of his cock, to feel him as deep inside as he can possibly get. Without a second thought, desperate pleas continuously fall from your lips: Please, please, please.

Aki sees the way your legs begin to buckle, his arms around your middle holding you up tighter, closer to himself. You're under him, with his body leant over yours, his large frame dwarfing your own — You feel overpowered, owned, and the feeling only seems to multiply when one of his arms snakes under you, his large hand carefully wrapping around your throat. He squeezes, not tight enough to hurt, but enough to make you melt, your head floaty and high, your nerves going numb.

In a tone that's deep, smooth, intense, Aki mutters into your ear, "That's a good girl."

Then, he rewards you, easing himself into you slowly, stretching you out around his fat cock. His knuckles tense, fingers tightening around your neck, his touch sending tingles throughout your head, your shoulders, your spine. Through heavy eyelids, his gaze flickers down; Aki watches, vision hazy and blurred at the edges as the shaft of his cock is buried deeper and deeper inside you. He's so wrapped up in the sight that he almost doesn't catch when you weakly mutter, More.

God, I'm gonna give you all of it.

And he does: he groans when he's sheathed himself all the way in, down to the hilt, gently rocking his hips, burying himself into you as much as he can manage. He's so deep; you can feel his cock in your stomach, all the way inside you, throbbing to a dull rhythm. His hips are shoved deft to your ass, his warm, bare, sweat-soaked skin pressed against yours.

Aki takes a moment to catch his breath. You take him perfectly, just as well as he imagined — No, even better. You feel so damn good around his cock, squeezing him tightly when he nestles in deeper, sucking him back in greedily when he tries to pull out. Perhaps if he knew from the start that you would feel this fucking amazing, he wouldn't have wasted so much time; he'd have you bent over for him from the minute you got here.

You feel his warm breath on your ear, his quiet voice, genuine and strained: You feel so, so good.

Starting up a gentle rhythm, Aki fucks into you with shallow thrusts, each movement careful and hesitant as he tries to give you a chance to get used to the feeling of him stretching you. He rests his weight on your back — You can feel his heartbeat drumming wildly in his chest, even through the layers of his shirt and suit jacket. If it wasn't for him holding you up, you're sure you would have fallen by now.

He gives your neck one more faint squeeze as he shoves his cock in, sending blood rushing to your head, before he drags his hand over to your stomach. With the heel of his palm, he presses down, adding more pressure, and you can't help but whine out his name.

"Aki," You manage, voice threatening to break at the end.

"You want more? Shit, you want me to fuck you harder, yeah?" Aki interrupts, saying exactly what was on your mind. "You gonna keep your voice down?"

In any other circumstance, or if Aki wasn't busy fucking your brains out, rendering coherent thoughts unable to form, maybe you would have considered yourself pathetic. Maybe you would have thought this, what's happening right now, was utterly embarrassing for you. Here you are, in a dirty back alley, with your superior's dick inside you, his hands all over you, and all you can think about is how badly you want more.

Your superior, fucking Hayakawa, who's a total ass, utterly insufferable, and here you are, begging like a little bitch for him to fuck you harder.

Without even considering whether or not you'll be able to fulfill his request, you're babbling, "Uh-huh, yessir, yessir."

Aki's lips graze over the shell of your ear. If you get too loud, I'm going to stop. Show me how well you can take it.

Whispered, slurred, you mutter a promise to him: I will.

After that, once he hears you say those few words, Aki stops trying to hold himself back.

His hands grip your bare sides, his fingers trembling, his palms warm. He starts fucking you like he really means it, burying his cock in over and over. The buckle of his belt jingles, still hanging loosely in the loops of his slacks, and the soft sound of skin hitting skin — his hips hitting your ass — begins to bounce off the enclosed walls of the alley. You can hear him in your ear: his gasps for air, hushed curses, little moans of ecstacy that he's unable to hold back, and you're practically biting on your tongue to shut yourself up.

Aki fucks you like he needs you, like he needs this, like he's needed someone to fuck like this for far, far too long. It's like he's taking out his frustrations on you, all of his resentment, and all of that pent up desperation he's had for so long now, everything building and building until it explodes — Until he fucks you like he's unable to quit.

One of his hands presses to the back of your head, shoving your face into the wall, the brick rough on your cheek. The other glides over your bare ass, where he grabs and squeezes, and when you promptly whimper, he's not sure what overtakes him, but he gives your ass a firm slap — Immediately soothing the sting by caressing your skin with his palm.

Fuck, I can't- You're squeezing my cock so much.

Your hands tighten, grabbing uselessly at the wall, fingertips scraping the surface. Aki suddenly grabs your chin, roughly jerking your head upwards, and you hear him mumble something that sounds like, Open.

You take the hint, opening your mouth wide, and while he's still fucking you, rutting his hips to a desperate fervor, Aki messily spits — The glob drips from his tongue, a string of drool, a total mess of his saliva. When it falls to your mouth, you gulp, and Aki groans, his dick throbbing at the sight, at the way you eagerly swallow down his spit.

He leans back, then, spitting another messy glob of saliva — It drips down your ass, all the way to the shaft of his dick, getting it slicker, wetter when he shoves it back inside and God, it's so damn wet, so soaked, so easy for him to fuck himself into you.

You're both getting louder, despite your attempts to keep quiet, and Aki hastily brings his hand to your mouth, covering it firmly with his palm. He leans in, his voice low and strict when he scolds, "I told you to be quiet. Do you want someone to hear us, or what?"

… Actually, he knows he shouldn't get excited by that thought — He knows he shouldn't feel his dick get harder, his breath come out quicker, and his heart hammer faster when he imagines someone walking down this alley and seeing him fucking you senseless, but he just can't help it. He can't help but feel like he wants someone to see, to know just how desperate and needy you are for him.

But, even if he enjoys the idea, he's still a man of his word, and when you're acting disobediently, something needs to be done.

So, Aki begins to slow his pace. His thrusts are deep, but restrained, agonizingly teasing as he drags his cock out lazily, feeling the way your walls tighten, gripping the shaft. You mumble something incoherent into his palm; perhaps a protest, or possibly a plea for more.

Nevertheless, Aki ignores it, and asks, "Can you hear that?"

You promptly shake your head. Honestly, it's hard for you to even hear anything. His voice sounds like it's been plunged underwater, your head fuzzy with clouds and fluff, your brain practically unable to think. All you're focused on is the intense pleasure you're feeling: warmth that spreads across your entire body, pooling in your gut, causing your legs to shake and your toes to curl. You try your best to pay attention, and you don't notice it at first, but then —

When he thrusts in again, that's when you hear it — A disgustingly wet noise, so loud, the echo seeming to fill the entire alley.

Heat rises in your cheeks, and a low chuckle falls from Aki's mouth. "So fucking wet…" He taunts, "You're still so loud. God, what am I going to do with you?"

Aki keeps his palm deft to your mouth as he begins rutting into you harder again, burying his face into your neck to stifle his noise. He fucks you faster, harder, putting his full weight into every thrust. His pace grows ragged as he chases his own pleasure, his hand shifting, his thumb pressing to your lips, urging you to part them. And when you do, he's shoving his thumb into your mouth, pressing it to your tongue, mumbling the command: Suck on it.

You do as you're told, lips closing around his thumb as you suck gently, your moans muffled, quiet. Aki feels himself start to lose control, his edge growing closer.

He groans, "Shit, I can't- I'm close-" He thinks he can hold out, but when you start whimpering around his finger, shifting your weight on your heels to press your ass into him, urging him to fuck you even deeper, he's pressing his lips to your throat, muttering into your skin, "You want my cum?"

"Yeah, yeah, I want it-"

"F-Fuck… You gonna ask for it nicely?"

Aki thinks, Of course you are.

"Uh-huh," You're stammering, nodding your head feverishly, Aki fucking you to a desperate pace, "Please, I want your cum, Hayakawa, sir, please."

Hayakawa, sir. God.

Aki yanks your dress shirt up to your chest as he pulls out, and he wraps his hand around his cock, jerking it with a tight grip. The tension snaps, and Aki gasps — His cum shoots from his cock, ropes of sticky white covering your back, your ass, dripping down to your thighs, getting you utterly filthy. He lets his cock lay over your ass, squeezing the sensitive tip of his cockhead, making sure everything he has to give you drips out onto your skin.

"H-hah, shit," Aki mumbles, his voice hoarse, breathless, "So messy… Such a good girl. Such a good girl for me."

He comes down slowly, catching his breath, his arm coming to wrap around your stomach when he sees you starting to slip. With a shudder he can feel across his entire body, Aki drags his half-hard cock over your ass, over his cum, and although he's trying to calm down, when he looks at you like this, as you eagerly grind your ass up against him, he just can't.

He's swiftly filled with the imperative to fuck you again, to get more, because he isn't done. There's more he can give to you, more he can take.

Still, the prickle of nervousness welling in his chest causes him to turn and look towards the entrance of the alley. There's more people than ever. He can see their small, shadowy forms as they walk past. If any of them walk just a little bit closer, then…

For a very brief moment, Aki considers stopping. He contemplates whether or not he should ask you if this is too much, if you two should get out of here like he initially suggested. But, all of those hesitations are cast away, all of his nervousness is replaced by a wave of desire the moment he hears you speak.

You beg, "Aki, please. I want more, want you to make me cum- Please, can you?"

It's risky, and only getting riskier. But when you ask him like that, when you beg for him to make you cum, how is he supposed to resist you? You always win in the end.

So, Aki slurs, "Okay, okay, yeah." He places his hands gently on your waist, instructing, "Turn around for me, baby."

As you shakily stand to your feet, he holds you up by your waist so you won't fall. Then, he guides you to twist until your back is pressed to the wall, your weight leant on it, and your arms around his shoulders to keep yourself steady.

Aki reaches up, grasping the diamond of his tie, carefully loosening it until it hangs undone around his collar. You clasp your hands around his neck, and he pops the buttons on his suit jacket next, taking it off and tossing it to the ground — It's filthy already, anyway — leaving him in his crisp white dress shirt.

He hikes his sleeves up to his forearms, exposing his biceps, skin covered in scars from various contracts, and you're reaching down to jerk him as he does it, your palm around his cock quickly getting him hard again.

Aki's eyes meet yours. Gently, he places his arms under your ass, lifting you up until you can wrap your legs around his waist. The metal of his earrings glint in the dim light, the tips of his ears a faint shade of pink.

He looks so different from what you're used to, from the way he normally looks: so serious and poker-faced. Right now, his gaze is deep, filled with longing, his pupils blown wide. His messy bangs stick to his forehead from sweat, his eyelashes flutter, and his cheeks are flushed a light tinge of pink, warm to the touch when you cup his face in your free hand.

He's pretty like this, you think. He's pretty when his bangs frame his face, when his hair is loose and unkempt, close to falling out of his topknot. He's pretty with his soft lips parted, when he's only in his dress shirt, with his slacks pooling at his ankles, when he's so goddamn needy for you. His voice sounds pretty and deep when he slurs a quick, You ready? And when you nod, he's easing back into you — The expression on his face then is the prettiest.

It's warm, wet, tight, especially from this angle. Aki's breath hitches the second he's pressed in, and as his cock slowly fills you, the pleasure starting to build up again, he clumsily grabs your chin, pulling you in until your lips come crashing onto his.

He moans into your mouth as he kisses you, his tongue swirling around yours, your hands fisted in his collar to drag him in even closer. He buries his cock in deeper, all the way, and it's so much, too much — His dick is so sensitive he can hardly stand it, and it's so damn messy when he thrusts in, the shaft smeared with his cum, your pussy dripping with your own arousal. He pulls his lips away from yours to gasp for breath, starting to fuck you to a steady rhythm, as best he can handle.

His head is cloudy, all his limbs feel light, and when he buries himself in the tight warmth of your cunt, he finds himself drowning in the feeling. You feel so good, so amazing — You're so warm, so close, and there's so much pleasure. So much, so much, so much, and, God, he's going to lose his fucking mind.

Your hand holds the back of his head, fingers threading through his soft hair. When he suddenly thrusts into you hard, you whimper, gripping close to the scalp, sending tingles down his neck and over his shoulders. Aki presses feverish kisses to your cheek, your jaw, your nose, and when he pulls back, his forehead falls to press against yours. His words are mumbled softly from his throat, barely more than a whisper.

You take me so well, you know that?

He's forehead to forehead with you then, his topknot coming looser and looser as your hands tug at his hair with every rough thrust. Aki can feel sweat dripping from his brow, can hear the wet squelch of his cock fucking into your soaked cunt.

You want me to fuck you harder, baby? Tell me what you want, I wanna make you cum.

You nod and babble without a second thought, Yeah, Aki, please.

Aki gasps — Oh my God… — His pace growing faster, less contained. It's hard for him to breathe, even harder for him to think, but the way you say his name is so amazing, so perfect, all he knows is that he needs to hear you say it again. He doesn't care who hears anymore, he doesn't care that you're both getting louder and louder, your moans turning into screams. All he cares about is you, you, you.

Aki grips your waist tighter, tight enough you're sure his grip will bruise. He commands breathlessly, "Want you to say my name again. Tell me who's fucking you so good right now."

His voice is all it takes to have you oblige: You chant his name, over and over again, tell him, You are, you are, Aki. Each time it falls from your lips, his heart skips a beat, his dick throbs and holy shit — He needs to give you his cum, he needs to finish with you, more than he thinks he's needed anything in this goddamn world.

With each thrust in, he's hitting that perfect sweet spot deep in your core, pushing you to the edge. You feel it coming, your breath starting to quicken, your muscles starting to tense, the pleasure boiling and boiling and —

"Aki!" You cry out his name, your eyes screwing shut, your arms wrapping tightly around his neck, "I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum…"

"Yeah, h-hah, I'm close too," Aki presses a quick, faint kiss to your forehead, his lips soft, his touch tender. Your high approaches with a rush of adrenaline and waves of pleasure, and just before you fall to pieces, just as you're reaching your peak, Aki's deep and smooth voice mutters instructions that push you right over the edge.

Cum for me. Get my dick nice and wet, pretty girl.

You're falling apart for him then, your whole body tensing, your hands clamoring at his back, grabbing fistfuls of his dress shirt, your cunt throbbing around his dick; you bury your head in his shoulder to stifle your noise, but Aki can still hear your moans, your wobbly chants of his name. Aki, Aki, Aki — Over and over again, so fucking desperate, so pretty, and all for him.

Aki presses a firm hand to the back of your head, holding you there, close to himself. He fucks you clumsily, his hips beginning to stutter, and when he feels you cum on him, squeezing like a vice around his cock, he can't hold himself back from riding the same high.

He shoves himself in deep, fucking you shallowly through his orgasm, his cock spilling inside, filling you with the last of his cum. He gasps out your name as he finishes, incoherent strings of curses and gasps alongside it — Fuck, fuck, feels so- Oh God, babygirl… — his voice high-pitched, strained. His vision goes white, his hands tremble as he holds onto your sides, and his whole body shudders before his muscles relax.

Time appears frozen in place for a few short moments. You begin to catch your breath, your heart rate slowing down, the high you were feeling starting to fade. Once exhaustion hits your limbs, your body slumps, and Aki holds you up, muttering quietly into your ear, "I've got you."

His breath feels warm on your cheek as he exhales shallow gasps. Your eyelids feel heavy, sleepy, the warmth of his body held close to yours just amplifying the feeling. Aki whispers, "You okay?" And when you nod your head, he softly instructs, "Here. I'm gonna set you down. Put your arms around me."

You wrap your arms tightly around his shoulders, and very carefully, Aki puts you down, making sure you've regained your stability before he fully lets go.

Everything starts to become clearer as Aki helps you get dressed, one of his hands kept on your waist to steady you. He pulls up your pants, buttons them, tucks your shirt in so it looks orderly. He brushes messy strands of hair from your face, his fingertips brushing over the marks on your skin, over your neck — Undeniable proof that he was there, that this was real. Even now, he still finds it hard to believe.

Perhaps he should be angry with you, perhaps he should scold you for what happened. But… Honestly, after taking out his stresses on you, he feels too calm to make a big deal out of it.

He fixes himself next: he pulls up his slacks and re-clasps his belt buckle. He bends down to snatch his suit jacket from the ground, pulling it back over his shoulders and buttoning it up. He grasps his tie, straightening it, pulling to make it tight.

His gaze meets yours as he's reaching up into his hair, grasping the loose hair tie to pull it out, dark, messy locks falling around his face. "You're not talking," He says, crooking an eyebrow, "You must be tired."

You groggily reply, "Mhmm… I am. Really tired." You pause, nearly losing your train of thought when you look at him, admiring the way he looks with his hair down, so pretty — But once you find it again, you ask, "Do you think anyone saw us?"

Aki takes a quick glance at the entrance to the alley. The traffic seems to have cleared, with much less people walking by than before. Nothing seems suspicious, nothing seems out of the ordinary, and when he looks towards the other side of the alleyway, he concludes that the two of you are still very much alone.

He shakes his head and replies, "No, no. I don't think so."

Although your brain still feels hazy and muddled, and your body feels weak and weary, you've begun to come to your senses. The reality of the situation, of what happened, hits you all at once, and as if he can read your mind, Aki tells you, "We don't have to talk about any of this, if you don't want to."

With his hair tie around his wrist, he grabs his hair, tying it up neatly into his signature topknot, nice and tight. He shoves his hand into the pocket of his suit jacket once he's done.

"No, it's fine, it's…" You avert your eyes for a moment, trying to think, "It's okay. To talk about it, I mean. I don't regret anything."

Aki hums, "That's good to know."

He finds his cigarettes, pulling one out and sticking it between his teeth. Then, his lighter, and he tilts his head away from you to strike the wheel, a small flame bringing his cigarette to life.

To break the silence, you ask him, "You gonna make me go back to work now?"

Aki shrugs his shoulders. "C'mon," He replies, putting his lighter back in his pocket, smoke wisping up from the end of his cig, "I'm not that mean. You live around here? I'll walk you home, I'll tell Makima you got sick or something."

"No, I don't. They had me staying at Public Safety for now."

Aki takes a long drag in from his cigarette. The nicotine soothes his lungs, relaxing his body and his mind. He feels calmer, more composed, his worries melting away. Perhaps that's why, after he's exhaled the smoke from his lungs, when he opens his mouth next, he's saying to you, "I'll take you back to my place, then."

"What?" You exclaim, "No way, that's not necessary."

"I won't be there, I still have work I need to get done today. I'll give you my keys, you can leave whenever you're ready. Or stay until I get back, it's up to you."

"But-" You're about to protest, but instead, you sigh in defeat. "Alright, fine. You missed a spot, by the way."

"Huh?"

You grab his shirt collar, still smeared with a bright red lipstick stain, and tuck it into his jacket. In the dim light, it's difficult to tell, but you swear you can see the slightest tinge of pink dawn on Aki's cheeks. He says nonchalantly, "Oh, thanks."

Tapping his cigarette with his finger to scatter the ash, Aki brings his free hand to your waist, holding it hesitantly, his eyes scanning your face as if he's waiting for some kind of objection. When there is none, he brings his cigarette back to his lips, taking another drag before abruptly asking, "Did Makima assign you a buddy yet?"

"...What's that?"

"Everyone at Public Safety has a partner for going on patrols and such. It's safer that way, to work in pairs," Aki explains, "You should be mine."

"Huh? Really?" You huff a dry laugh and lean back further against the wall, crossing your arms over your chest. "You're joking, right?"

"Nope." When he answers, his voice sounds stern and serious as ever, true to his words. "My last buddy quit, so now I don't have one."

"That's not what I meant. I mean like… Why would you ask me? I thought you hated my guts." You scoff, "You really wanna be buddies with a devil?"

Aki eyes you up and down, his expression poker-faced. "Considering what I just did with said devil, I don't think it's so crazy." He tilts his head upwards, exhaling smoke into the afternoon sky. "I'll take back my proposal if you're not interested."

"No, I'm…" You blurt out, looking away sheepishly, "I'm interested."

"Good. I'll give the paperwork to Miss Makima. You'll have to sign some things tomorrow."

As seconds bleed into minutes, puffy white clouds passing idly in the sky, Aki finishes his cigarette, dropping it to the ground and stamping it out with the heel of his shoe. He takes a step back from you, looking down, checking to make sure he looks in order.

There's still one more thing lingering in your mind, and so, you ask him, "Hey, Aki."

Aki looks up, "Yeah?"

"Do you think I'm pretty?"

Aki chuckles. He reaches down, grabbing his sword sheath from off the floor. "Yeah, I do. I thought so when I first saw you."

You huff, "Wish you'd have just admitted to that from the start."

"Well," Aki stands up straight, tossing the strap of his sheath over his shoulder. A soft, ever-so slight smile forms on his face. "If I had done that, we wouldn't have had as much fun, now would we?"

He rustles around in his pockets, finding his keys. The keyring jingles when he places them in your open hands. You examine them: there's a couple of silver keys, a metal tag with his last name, and a small label of a three digit number. His apartment number, you assume.

"So…" You start, looking up at him, "I guess this means we'll be working together from now on, yeah? You better not argue with me the whole time. I'd like to do my job in peace, you know."

Aki smiles a little bit wider. "Don't worry. I think we'll get along just fine."

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

The endless lull of the clock on the wall would be enough to make Aki fall asleep, if he wasn't busy finishing up paperwork.

He sighs, learning back further in his office chair, rubbing some of the tiredness from his eyes with his hands. Even though he rushed to the Public Safety building the second he was finished with his assignments, it still feels like he's been here forever. Thankfully, he's nearly done filling out papers. Soon, he'll be able to head home.

As he stares absentmindedly at the ceiling, counting each speckle of popcorn in the drywall, he wonders if you're still at his place, or if you've left already. He told you to make yourself at home, so perhaps you're still there, watching late-night television. Maybe you raided his fridge and ate all his leftovers.

A small part of him hopes you'll be there when he arrives, greeting him at the door as he walks in. Or maybe curled up asleep on the couch, because you couldn't stay awake any longer. He definitely wouldn't blame you.

A gentle knock at the door stirs him from his thoughts. Aki sits up straight, and a voice from behind it quietly asks, "Can I come in?"

"Yes." Aki answers, and he swivels his chair towards the door just as it opens. A woman with long, braided red hair steps in, and she greets him with a soft smile and a wave.

"How was today?" Makima asks, closing the door, then crossing her arms behind her back. "What do you think of our new recruit? Did you two get along?"

"They're…" Aki narrows his eyes. He taps the tip of his pen idly against the desk. "...Interesting."

"Do you think they'll be useful?"

Aki scoffs, "They like to mess around more than they like to work, but it's nothing we can't whip back into shape, so, yes. I would say so."

"Hm, alright," Makima places a hand to her chin, cocking her head slightly. "I saw the paperwork you left on my desk. You made a request to change your buddy, didn't you?"

"Oh, yes ma'am. Is that okay?"

"Of course. I'm just surprised is all. I thought for sure you two would end up hating each other. I suppose I was wrong."

Aki stays silent for a moment. Yeah, that's what he thought too, wasn't it? When this day started, all he could do was count down the minutes until it was over in his head, until he wouldn't have to deal with you anymore. But now, he can't even focus on his paperwork because he's too busy thinking about you, too busy wondering when he'll get to see you again.

Damn, when did he get so obsessed? Was it by your doing, or was it his?

He doesn't know, so he just shakes his head and replies, "I thought so too. But I guess… I don't."

Makima eyes him up and down for a moment. "Well, as long as you fill out all the necessary paperwork, and make sure you get our new recruit to fill it out as well, I can approve your request."

Aki nods. "Okay, thank you."

Makima turns to leave. Aki turns back to his paperwork. The clock continues to tick, and his pen scratches the desk as he checks a box, then messily signs his name in cursive. The door opens with a creak, Makima takes one step out, but then she abruptly turns around.

"Oh, and Hayakawa?"

Aki looks up. "Yeah?"

"The next time I have you two patrol together, make sure you actually get some work done. I'm enlisting you two to hunt devils, not fuck on the job."

And with that, Makima steps out of the office, leaving Aki to stare wide-eyed and red-faced at the door as it swings shut.

credit to @cyancherub 's fic gunsmoke in mirrors for inspiration

#aki hayakawa x reader #aki x reader #aki hayakawa #aki hayakawa smut #chainsaw man x reader #csm x reader

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maitanii · 3 months

Text

IT WASN'T LOVE. He wasn't in love. Ran Haitani, definitely, wasn't in love.

However, as his finger scrolled through the phone screen each night, attempting to delete some blurry photos where only the outline of a smile was discernible, laziness conveniently took hold, allowing those files to continue occupying space on the phone.

On closer inspection, you're not that pretty. He wouldn't even say you're pretty, just an ordinary girl. Those five freckles scattered across your cheeks aren't that beautiful, even though they reminded him of the constellations Rindou always points out when they travel to the countryside. The poorly painted nails, slightly bitten at the corners, are just another sign that you're a mess, although he always brings a nail file for you to use. And the small chip in your front teeth? Nothing out of the ordinary, but he was with you when the fall happened (and watched you cry yourself to sleep while holding you on the couch).

"Are you listening to me?"

"Loud and clear."

"Right." Returning to spear the fork into the salad, you made sure not to pick any tomatoes. Those were left for Ran. "When is the fight?"

"Tomorrow." Reaching for his cutlery, he began to stab at his food. "Are you worried?" he commented before starting to chew.

"Don't talk with food in your mouth, pig." Placing your face in your hands, you turned your head to look out the window.

"Okay."

The red lights from the opposite building reflected on your forehead. In just a minute, Ran had noticed you had gotten new highlights in your hair. He also spotted the small pimple that had popped up near your chin and the poorly applied concealer on it. The tension in your shoulders. And that you didn't want to look him in the eyes.

"What time is the fight tomorrow?" you asked as Ran's slender fingers played with the engraving on the fork.

Ask me not to go.

"At seven. But South always asks us to arrive earlier. Should we order dessert?"

Ask me not to go.

"Okay."

Come on, ask me not to go.

Taking his gaze away from some point on your face, he lowered his head. The ambient music in the restaurant slipped into the silence of the conversation. How could he fall in love with someone who worried about him getting hurt in a fight? Trust was the foundation of any relationship, right? Damn it.

The Mont Blanc and the cheesecake didn't last long on the table. In a fork battle, the desserts soon disappeared. Rindou had always suffered the consequences of stealing bites from his food, so why had he fought with you to accept eating the last piece of Mont Blanc?

"I have exams soon, and I'd like to get up early. Can you take me home?"

"Sure." Smiling, Ran thanked the waiter who cleared their plates (the first time he didn't thank him, you reproached him for it). "But you have to let me pay."

"No."

"Then I guess you'll have to walk home alone."

"No problem."

He sighed. Fighting was pointless. In all the years since your friendship began, you had never let him pay an entire bill. Not even when your ex-boyfriend left you and gave you several jars of ice cream could you avoid leaving some coins on a piece of furniture at his house. Or when he gave you that bouquet of flowers on Valentine's Day, and you left two boxes of chocolates on the backseat of the car.

The way back home was quiet. To no one's surprise, you chose the music, and he chose the topic of conversation. The guys from your economics class. The new mascara that didn't leave many clumps. The scholarship you had applied for months ago. He was so engrossed that he got distracted and ended up driving through several streets, prolonging the journey. Well, what a silly mistake.

"Thanks for bringing me home. And thanks for today." Raising your thumbs, you drew a slight smile on your face. "I needed to get out for a while."

"I know, you took too long to respond to my messages."

"I always do that."

"Not to an invitation to have dinner at your favorite restaurant."

"You know me so well." Pinching his cheeks between your fingers, you watched as he squinted his eyes.

Closing the car door, Ran watched as you began to search for the keys to the gate in your bag. Taking out his phone, he checked the messages he had received during dinner. Two taps on the door prevented him from replying to the meme Rindou had sent him. Your perfume once again invaded the interior of the car.

"Ran." The concern in your voice made him immediately turn his head. "I know it's a lot to ask, but please try not to go to the fight tomorrow. You can come up with any excuse and come to my house. But please, don't go."

A smile began to slowly form on his face.

He wasn't in love. But when he got home and wrote a message to South saying he had a fever, he had done it with immense joy in his heart. And when he went to bed and looked at the photos he never deleted from his gallery, he would write again in his notes the places he wanted to take you. But he wasn't in love because what he felt was beyond any of that."

#ran x reader #ran haitani x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #<3

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natailiatulls07 · 8 months

Text

Fake lovers

Lando Norris x female!driver!reader

Summary - McLaren wants to repair Landos image and Lando just wants to protect the papaya sunshine

Warning - one night stands (not between Lando and the reader), alcoholism, doing drugs, stalking and stalker, violence, sexualising, harassment

Reader drives for McLaren

McLaren had a problem. One of their drivers was creating a bad reputation for himself, partying every night, different girl in his bed every night and same old hangover the next morning. Lando was painting a bad picture for McLaren, making them look like they took on someone incapable of taking care of themselves and those around them.

Yet McLaren had another driver, Y/n L/n. She was their golden girl, new to the formula one business, quickly getting to grips with each car and track. Never was she painting a negative image of McLaren, the complete opposite to her teammate, Lando.

It was similar on track, Lando would always find a way to fumble on track and then would proceed to let out his anger towards the team, the other teams and the press but not his teammates. Headlines filled with his frustration and attitude.

F1 News

Once again, Lando Norris has become unruly to anyone in his way. Will this once golden boy ever get his shine back or is his future in formula one just dull?

But Y/n L/n, oh how the fans loved her. Always stopping to sign anything, to take photos or even to just have a genuine conversation. On track, she’d try to avoid any collisions, penalties or arguments. Even if she didn’t get on that podium, you’d see her sporting a proud and exciting smile whilst looking up the three on the podium.

In contrast to her teammate, Y/n’s headlines were seemingly always positive.

F1 News

McLarens golden girl is back from the summer break and she is better than ever. She is smashing the drivers into the dirt, yet also being very polite. How can anyone be mad at the rookie?

McLaren needed to get the situation under control, get Lando back to his normal self. Everyone could see him losing himself to drugs, alcohol and sex, and McLaren wanted to save him before it was too late.

So that is why McLaren came up with the plan to get the two drivers to 'date'. They planned this to inprove Lando's image.

That’s how’s Lando ending up standing outside Y/n’s apartment. Knocking on the door, he heard a faint call from inside. “One second, sorry let yourself in”

She had known it was him. Clumsily Y/n had lost track of time, and was late getting ready.

Walking in, Lando found Y/n rushing around her bedroom. “Hi..” He was nervous, not used to this old school ‘romantic’ situation.

Usually he’d be getting ready to go to yet another club to get yet another girl that he would sleep with and never remember her again. But he was here, watching his current teammate and soon to be fake girlfriend rushing around her bedroom before their fake date.

“Hey, I’m so sorry! I was reading and sort of lost time” Y/n quickly looked up from her vanity where she was finishing her makeup, she had a genuine shameful and sorry look in her eyes.

“It’s um it’s okay” This was totally not his element, however he felt somewhat comfortable. Anyone who had spent some time in Y/n’s presence could tell you that she had that relaxing aura about herself.

“You can make yourself at home if you want, I won’t be that long” Once again Y/n looked up at the British man offering a kind smile, she was just finishing her mascara.

Lando nodded his head before making his way towards the cozy living room. Fairy lights lit the room with a tranquil vibe.

It wasn’t long before Y/n’s heels started to echo throughout the small Monte Carlo apartment. Lando looked up from his phone to see her walking out of the bedroom.

She was wearing a dainty black dress. “Are you ready?” Y/n sent Lando a small graceful smile, whilst he got up from the the soft couch.

“Yep let’s go..” His voice was still quiet, still apprehensive of the whole plan.

At first he refused the plan; despite not caring about those around him, he felt bad for bring this sunshine of a driver into his problems.

Lando knew of the hate he got for his attitude and his lifestyle. And he desperately wanted to keep her away from those people who looked on him that way.

That evening, Lando swapped out constant drinks for nonalcoholic drinks. He swapped out multiple girls at once for one soft spoken and genuine women who was patient and easygoing.

They spoke openly with each other for hours whilst at the restaurant. Speaking up until a waitress, who was slightly nervous to be waitering two formula one drivers, came over to notify them that the restaurant was closing.

“You know…I don’t agree with what the media or the press say about you..” They were making a slow pace back towards her apartment, when she looked up at him with sympathy.

“To be honest I don’t care, I mean I see them but I don’t take them to heart” Lando had a awkward smile following his comment.

“But you don’t deserve it…like that one time when we were waiting for post race press, you let me borrow your jacket because I forgot mine” It was back when they were in Canada, the weather was horrible.

And whilst they were waiting for their press interviews, Lando had noticed how every so often Y/n would shiver. So he shrugged off his papaya McLaren jacket before pulling it over her shoulder. Of course, Y/n was quick to protest against it politely as to which Lando quickly turned her arguments down.

As they continued to slowly walk back, Lando didn’t reply to her comment. He wanted to agree with her but he knew that his career was on a downward spiral.

The next morning, the two driver woke up in their individual apartments to many articles with several paparazzi photos of their ‘date’

F1 News

McLaren’s resident bad boy and their resident good girl has chemistry brewing between themselves. They were seen in Monte Carlo on a date, different to Lando Norris’ usual evenings in different clubs.

Has the bad boy gone good for the golden girl? What will this mean for formula one’s good girl? Will Norris just dispose of L/n like the many other girls he brought home or is this different?

See picture below 👇

Over the next few of months, both Y/n and Lando started to attend more events together, going on more ‘dates’ and even becoming more and more affectionate in the paddock. It quickly felt normal to have that affection with each other.

Soon enough the media and the press started to calm down on Lando, they saw how his lifestyle changed.

He went from night clubs to cafe dates. Most of Lando’s time was consumed with the sunshine that was his fake girlfriend but he didn’t complain. He loved it!

“Hey Lando..” Y/n called from the living room.

“Yeah?” Lando was in the kitchen, making both himself and her a quick snack.

“The guy in my instagram dm’s just sent me a text…” Over the past couple of months a random guy had been sending Y/n uncomfortable texts.

Some were more concerning then others;

Oh doll, I’d love to see you in my bed

Your boyfriend doesn’t deserve your body, come to me babygirl

I know where you live little lady, you might as well come to me now

Every time, Y/n would block and report him yet he would make other accounts before continuing. Each time Lando would send him a dm, protecting her.

“Okay please give me the phone” Walking back into the living room, Lando was handed her phone.

He quickly sent the older man a message once again protecting the poor driver. Sitting beside Y/n on the couch, but his typing was cut short when there was a knock on the apartment door.

“I’ll get it” Getting up from the couch, Y/n slipped on her soft slippers before making her way to the door.

Upon opening the door, she was greeted with the same man who had been harassing her on instagram. “Hey little lady”

He had a creepy and sickening smile on his face, Y/n could smell the strong smell of alcohol radiating off of him.

As soon as Lando heard the old man’s greeting he was up from the couch immediately, making his way to stand in front of Y/n.

“Sir please can you leave my girlfriend alone both here and in the future, it is very clear that she is beyond distressed” Lando urged the man to leave.

“Why should I listen to you? You want her for the same reasons as me, you might as well share her” He wasn’t listening, just continuing to harass the girl.

“No. I am asking you to leave out of her life completely because she is my girlfriend, not some sex whore, the love of my life and as her boyfriend it is my duty to love and protect her from people like you”

It was when the man started to laugh that Lando pulled forward, colliding his fist with the man’s sickening face.

“Right, I don’t like the way you are talking and laughing about my girlfriend like she is a fucking object! So do us all a fucking favour, fuck off out of her life and my life too!”

It wasn’t long before the older man started to practically run off with his tail between his legs back to the apartment building exit.

Once until he was long out of Lando’s sight when he turned to face Y/n, who had a frightened and bewildered facial expression.

“It’s okay he’s gone..” Pulling her into his chest, Lando let her calm down in his arms, listening to his heartbeat through his thin cotton t-shirt.

After an hour of sitting on the couch watching Y/n’s comfort film, she turned to Lando who was sat close by her.

“You know you didn’t have to do that…I mean I totally appreciate it a lot but I don’t want you to burden yourself with my problems…” Along with being a golden girl, Y/n struggled to let people help her with her issues.

This didn’t surprise Lando, he knew it wouldn’t be long for her to apologise for no reason. “I’m going to stop you right there.” Taking a quick deep breath, Lando looked over at the shameful look in her eyes. “I did that because you are the love of my life…I am here to protect you. You are the sweetest, most pure and giving girl, I know…I love you Y/n”

That shameful look in Y/n’s eyes soon turned into confusion. “Lando, we’re um we’re alone…you know we don’t have to act like this..”

“I’m not acting, what I just said is the truth” Before Y/n could reply to his comment, Lando pulled their faces together colliding their lips.

Y/n’s lips were soft on his, he could taste her strawberry lip balm. It felt like fireworks were going off behind Y/n.

Pulling back, a small smile made its way onto her lips. “I think I love you too” Y/n’s voice quiet but sure.

“Well that’s good to hear, Darling”

It was true, McLaren’s golden girl had fixed their bad boys image and reputation. He was happy to be with her whilst she lost her track of time with her head in a book.

He was happy to indulge in her healthy and easygoing lifestyle and personality. All because he loved her, just for herself.

He was grateful for the early nights and slow bittersweet mornings. Grateful for her.

#lando norris #lando norris x you #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris x y/n #lando norris fic #formula one #f1 x y/n #formula one x reader #formula one x y/n #formula racing #f1 fic #f1 #mclaren racing #mclaren

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the-offside-rule · 4 months

Text

Max Verstappen (Red Bull Racing) - Reconsider

Requested: yes

Prompt: 35) "Can I convince you to stay?"

41) "Do that thing I like"

52) "You looked great out there today"

Warnings: smut, 18+, douchebag Max, teammate x teammate, possessive Max, oral (f!receiving), edging

Christmas Day 7

Y/n smiled as she took her helmet off. P2 in qualifying and it was what she expected to be her last race at Red Bull. While she loved the people there, she wasn't winning and that is quite frankly what she wanted to do. She didn't think she could do that having to play second fiddle to Max Verstappen. When she hopped out of the car, she was met with Lando who congratulated her and joked she should come to McLaren. She laughed along with him until she felt a poke at her shoulder and she knew exactly who it was. She turned to see her teammate with his helmet hair looking as hot as ever and a lazy smile on his lips. "You looked great out there, today. Pity you're not here next season." He said. Y/n smiled back and took her own helmet off. "Yeah, a real shame." She replied and placed her helmet onto the podium table.

Max moved closer and leaned down to her ear. Her heart beat in her chest. "Can I convince you to stay?" Max whispered lowly into her ear. She looked around at all the cameras snapping photos and videos of this moment, yet kept her composure. "Bold move." She replied, still smiling. He looked down to her lips. "I can."

As Y/n went around the media pen, she anticipated finishing up so she could get her convincing to stay by the dutchman. It wasnt the first time they would fuck and it probably wouldn't be the last. Neither of them did this for feelings, it was simply to blow off steam after sessions and it kept them both focused without getting frustrated. The team knew and they didn't care as long as it didn't interfere and it never did. Both drivers did their job, then left for a half hour only to come back as professional as they started the day. Sometimes, they'd even schedule to hook up in between weekends, just because they could and the PR would handle the media speculating about the closeness of the two. Their favourite was when the other would do well in a race or when both would DNF. It was good to celebrate, but it was good to angry fuck too. For today, however, Y/n didn't know which side of Max she would get.

She smiled as her last interview finished and she began walking towards her trailer. Y/n looked around slyly, trying to find where her beloved dutchman was and surely she saw him hanging closely by. She smirked and walked quicker to her driver room, lifting her phone to pretend she was answering a phone call to avoid questions from the fans and paparazzi. Shortly after she closed her door, Max barged in. "New record." Y/n joked. "What can I say? I like breaking records." Max said, walking towards her and almost immediately beginning to kiss her lips hungrily. Y/n unzipped her overall and wrapped it around her waist, her lips not leaving his, both their lips fighting for dominance. That was the problem for her. They fought for dominance both on the track and behind closed doors and that was a dynamic that wouldn't work for her.

"Please stay." Max said, unzipping his overall. Y/n's hand ran down his under armour before her hand lifted it and ran over his toned abs. "Will you let me dominate?" She asked, lingering dangerously close to his lips. "In what way?" He asked. He moved his forehead closer and they ended up touching. "You know what way. I want to beat you." He chuckled and let his own hand drop to her hips and pulled her closer. "And why would I let you?" Y/n turned and looked out the one way glass, before she took her hair tied off and let her hair fall. "Well it's more of a 'you scratch my back, I scratch yours' kind of thing." She explained, moving her hair over to one side, knowing Max was right behind her to begin nipping at her neck and he did just that. She grimaced as her teammate's hands glided up under her fireproof shirt and began caressing her breasts. "You know I can't do that. But I can let you dominate and beat me in my apartment." He whispered. Y/n turned again to look back to him. "That's a pity." She began pushing the driver backwards before he fell back onto the sofa.

Max couldn't comprehend what was happening before Y/n hopped on top of him and began grinding. They both felt his erection growing within seconds. They looked down and grinned. "Are you gonna take care of that?" Max asked, biting his lip and sighing as Y/n lowered her hand cupped the clothed area. "Do that thing I like." Max begged. "You're meant to be convincing me to stay and you want me to pleasure you? I may have to go sign with Mercedes now, I'm afraid." She chuckled. "You're acting like that would change what we're doing." Max replied boldly. "It might not, but I'm sure whoever my teammate is would love to do what you're doing. And maybe they'd do it better-" Max hopped up and lifted her over to the counter and slammed her down with such force, she felt shaken. Max spun her around so she was leaning against the counter before he grabbed her wrists, holding them behind her back and pushing down. "No one would do you better than I do you." He growled. "Prove it." She replied. Max grinned and undid the lower part of his race suit. "You're not going to be able to walk tomorrow, nevermind drive." He tugged at her race suit, chucking down to her ankles and taking his length out and delving into her. She gasped. He didn't give her a chance to adjust to him this time. She was getting angry Max, and that made her smile. His thrusts were deep and hard, just as she liked. He loved the sounds that fell from her mouth. Strings of curses, followed by his name. Heavenly. He let go of her wrists and wrapped his hand around her neck, pulling her back towards him. "Look out there, shcat." He demanded. Y/n looked out at the people walking around the paddock. She even spotted some drivers still doing their interviews.

"You're so loud, I wonder if the media pen knows how good I fuck you yet." He whispered into her ear. "Just keep going." She pleaded. His spare hand spanked her, making her moan in bed pain and please. "Look in your mirror, I want to watch you." He watched as her face contorted with each thrust she took. Her moans grew louder and louder before she crumbled and her knees nearly gave out. Her finger nails dug into the wooden countertop as her mouth fell open. Max leaned closer. "I'm not finished yet." She groaned. "I can't. Fuck me, I-"

He pulled out and pulled her up onto the countertop before dropping to his knees and looked up to her. She looked down to him through hooded eyes. "You wouldn't." She huffed. Max boldly kissed her thighs, inching his way closer and closer to her soaked pussy. "Max, don't tease me." She pleaded. "You wanted convincing, you're getting it." His mouth got to work, making her crumble yet again. Her fingers tangled in his dirty blonde strands of hair, her grip tightening with each swipe of his tongue. He grabbed her thighs and threw them over his shoulders. "Max, Max I'm gonna cum again." She whimpered. Max stopped and looked up at her. "New record." He smirked and stood again, her legs still on his shoulders. He stroked his cock, leaving it at her entrance. "Can you just fuck me?! I don't know what the problem is!"

He pushed in and started a quick pace. Y/n's fingers dropped to her clit, rubbing it to match the rhythm of Max. "Who's my good girl?" He asked. Y/n couldn't speak. She could only hum in response. "I can't hear you, schat." He said, edging her on to answer. "Oh my god, me! I am!" He grinned. "Max, can I cum?" She asked. "Wait for me, schat. You're taking it so well for me." She took her legs off his shoulders and sat up, gripping his shoulders now and kissing him again. She moved her hips to meet his thrusts and in no time, Max began moaning and his thrusts became sloppy. "Can we cum now, Maxie?" She pouted with a strained voice. That was enough for Max to come undone. Her begging and her using his pet name. "Ugh, fuck- yes!" He replied before they both came undone, holding onto eachother. As they rode through their orgasms, they simply kissed before Max pulled out and the pair went to change and get ready to leave the track. "Look, you've been a good teammate." Max said. "Well, yeah. I don't think any other teammate would suck you off in between sessions." Y/n replied. Max smiled and looked back but she wasn't laughing. She was tying her race boots. "Y/n, besides that. I mean this, you've been one of my better teammates." Y/n watched as Max walked towards the door and he looked back. "Just, consider re-signing?" He said, before closing the door and leaving.

A week later, Max scrolled through his phone when he came across an Instagram post.

Y/L/N RE-SIGNS WITH RED BULL FOR 2024 AND BEYOND

Max grinned and opened his messages

Congratulations on resigning. We should meet up to celebrate ; )

#f1 blurb #f1 imagine #f1 oneshot #f1 oneshots #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen one shot #max verstappen imagines #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen #max verstappen smut

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multific · 11 months

Text

More Than

Deckard Shaw x Reader

Warning: PinV sex

Summary: You had a tendency of avoiding your problems, but what if the problems come after you?

Deckard and you had good chemistry.

Both on and off missions.

But you didn't let yourself fall into the delusion that he would possibly want more from you than sex.

Deckard after all was a handsome man, rich and good at his job, he could get anyone, so why would he want you?

You were sent on the same mission as him and Hobbs.

Needing to go undercover, Shaw and you decided to play the part of the rich couple.

You desperately needed info from a computer which was of course in an office where they are holding a gala tonight.

What a coincidence!

So you had to play dress up with Shaw and play the part of the wife.

Of course, this was all Luke's idea because why wouldn't it be.

But you weren't going to lie, the dress that hugged your curves, the high slit which showed off your leg, it all felt a bit too much.

"Stunning." was all Shaw said when he saw you which did give you a little boost of confidence.

The way his arm held you close to his side, the way he smirked at everyone who asked about you, he looked like a proud husband.

"I got the USB let's go." you said as you were ready to dip, but then a man made a comment. The man clearly had enough champagne for that night.

Deckard immediately turned around after hearing the comment.

"What did you just say?" he let go of you as he walked towards the man.

"I said, your wife is nothing but a gold digger. A whore." the man said with probably way too much confidence.

"That's my fucking wife, no one will disrespect her!" Deckard looked mad. As if he really was your husband.

When he threw the first punch you let out a sigh. You just leaned back and waited until you heard the man's jaw and nose break and the security threw both of you out.

"Dickhead." said Deckard as he walked to his car opening the door for you.

"He was drunk." you said as you both got into the car and he started to drive.

"Yeah, now he had a broken jaw and nose on top of that."

"You know I don't care what he said right? I'm not a gold digger or a whore so..."

"He still had no right to say those things."

"Thank you for standing up for me though." you placed your hand on his shoulder as you saw him get calmer.

Mission accomplished.

The World was saved yet again.

Deckard offered to drive you home, which you agreed to.

"Thank you for driving me." you said as you turned to get out of the car but his hand on your forearm stopped you.

"Y/N... I am not good with words," he let out a groan.

"Don't do this please, we both know you don't want anything from me but sex. I feel the tension, yes, but I told you before, I'm done fooling around." his eyes locked with yours as you finally looked at him.

"I'm not-That't not-I don't just want sex from you, Y/N. I want more so much more." you looked at him but didn't say a word. "You don't believe me do you?"

"I'm sorry, Shaw."

"You have no clue how much I need you. Please just give me one chance. I can't keep going on like this. All I can see is you. Whenever I'm with someone, all I can think about is you, Y/N."

"Deckard..."

"I'm serious, I'm not saying this so I could get into your bed." you opened the door as he let go of your arm.

"I-I don't know." you said honestly before getting out of the car and you ran to your home.

You honestly didn't know what to say. He looked sincere, but you had your doubts.

No matter how you felt towards him, no matter how much you liked him, you knew his kind. You ran into this many times in your life before.

You fell for a man who never wanted you as a whole. They just wanted you for one thing and once they had enough of that, they moved on.

And you were done with that.

But if he was like your exes, why did he look so sincere?

---

Deckard punched the wheel, watching the door close behind you, he knew he fucked it up.

He should have been more honest with you. Why was he so bad with words?!

All he could do is curse himself, now he made things awkward on top of the tension.

Great.

---

Later that night, you were on your couch, thinking. Still, trying to figure out whether you should believe Deckard and jump into something that you might get hurt from?

Strangely enough, you could see yourself and Deckard having a happy life.

A knock came from your door and you stood up, finally, your food was here.

Nope.

Of course, it was Deckard.

"Look, I just-"

"Order for Y/N Y/L/N?" both of you turned and saw the guy with pizza in his hand.

"Yes. Thank you. Keep the change." you said as you got the pizza and headed inside. "Come in," you said, turning to Deckard who headed into your home.

He looked around as you went to the kitchen. Your home was very you, with a bunch of collectables on your shelves. He leaned against your doorframe as he watched you prepare your pizza.

"I didn't lie. I have feelings for you that I cannot describe. But I know they are real." you tried to decide what to do. Should you reject him? Or accept his confession and risk getting hurt again? Your eyes looked everywhere but him.

"I don't want to get hurt. I have been, way too many times in the past."

"I know that. And I can't promise that I will never but I can promise you that I won't give up on you. I would burn the world for you."

"The fact that I find your accent extremely sexy doesn't help my situation. The way you protected me when that asshole called me all those names... You make me believe in more than you should."

"You don't believe that I would burn the world for you?" he took a step towards you.

"You don't want you to. I just want you to be by my side. To help me and to be there for me."

"I can do that too. I can watch sappy movies and cuddle on the couch."

"But do you want to? I don't want you to change for me. I don't want you to realize you became someone you didn't want to be because I forced you to."

"You didn't force me. I wouldn't offer if I wasn't sure about it. Sure watching some Disney wouldn't be my first choice but it would do me good to take a step back from action." he watched as you took small steps towards him, you were still unsure but he was confident in what he wanted.

He wanted you.

In more ways than one.

So, when you finally arrived in front of him, his arms moved around you as he pulled you into a kiss, something both of you craved for a long time now.

---

Maybe, possibly, having sex as the first thing you do wasn't the best way for him to prove it to you that he was serious.

But you weren't complaining and neither was he.

You tasted so sweet on his tongue and you kept moaning as his mouth worked his magic on you.

And the fact that he had no hair which you could pull on didn't help. One of his hands was holding your thigh while the other had two fingers moving in and out of you, spreading your wetness as he now focused on your clit.

Your hand found his as you squeezed his fingers.

His name fell from your lips like a mantra.

"I'm going to make you cum with my mouth, twice, then I will pound you into your bed and after I will slowly fuck you like you deserve." his voice and promise rang in your head over and over as you kept inching closer to yet another orgasm.

Your legs shook a little as you came, he guided you through it nicely.

"Up on your knees." he said as if it was soo easy. You just had an orgasm you could barely breathe.

So, he helped you up, ass in the air, head in your pillow as his cock soon found his way into your tight hole.

"Fuck, how are you this tight?!" you heard him behind you but you were far too gone. When he started to move his hips your eyes rolled to the back and you just kept moaning.

You heard how wet you were, you heard how the bedframe kept banging against the wall and you heard his soft moans and groans as he sped up.

You felt like some kind of doll which he was using for his pleasure and you loved it. He grabbed your hair and pulled on it slightly as he moved his lips down your spine, sometimes stopping to bite on your skin.

His pace never once changed or slowed down. He kept on going and he knew exactly what he was doing.

"You good, Doll?" he asked and you could only nod. "Look at you, being so afraid I would use you for sex and now... you can't even speak. Does it feel good?" you nodded again and he smirked snapping his hips and making you gasp. "Good Girl, you feel so fucking good." at his praise you started to move back to meet his thrust. "Good girl." he growled into your hear and you felt another orgasm coming. "You are getting tighter, are you gonna come?"

"Yes." you breathed out and so he leaned back again, moving, watching his cock disappear in you.

With a loud cry, you came as he slowly fucked you through it, praising you the entire time.

At that time, all you could think about is that if he is giving it to you this good, you were okay with being used by him all the time.

"I'm still not done." he said and you nearly forgot.

He moved you to lay on your side as he moved behind you, his cock never left you as he started to move again, holding your leg up a little for better access. He really kept his promise as he was now a lot slower and softer than before.

"You feel so fucking good." he said as he sucked the tenth hickey into your neck.

"Can you come in me?" you asked in your daze, forgetting completely about the condom he put on earlier. But he decided to play along.

"You want me to breed you, Baby? Come deep inside and watch it ooze out of your fucked little hole?"

"Yes." you said and it was as if a switch got turned on in him.

He let go, his composure changed drastically as he now let himself get lost in the feeling. Moving so deliciously in and out of you he kept moaning and groaning, biting and kissing your skin.

He felt like he was melting, as if you two became one and he fucking loved this feeling.

"I'm close." he whispered and you grabbed his hand, giving him some form of leverage as he kept fucking you slowly and deep.

"Deckard, please, I'm close."

And so, both of you came at the same time. Everything slowed down for just a second.

But soon, both of you were taking deep breaths as you tried to calm yourselves.

You could barely stand but he carried you to the tub and let it be filled with nice warm water.

"Maybe, tomorrow we could go for dinner." he said as you run your fingers over his chest, he had you close to his body as the warm water surrounded you two.

"I'd like that. You think my pizza is cold now?"

"Definitely, are you hungry? Or would you rather sleep?"

"Eat, then sleep. We can reheat the pizza and eat it." he nodded.

He held you closer to his chest as he let out a sigh of relief. He certainly didn't expect for this night to end like this.

This was all he ever wanted.

Taglist: @fleursirvart @greenarrowhead @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @destynelseclipsa @spilledinkindumpster @capsiclesdoll @puknow @alwayshave-faith @alex12948 @lxdyred @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @praline357 @trshngyn @avengers-r-us @violet-19999 @top1bbgloak @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou @mandoloriancookie

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT STEAL, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS

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satuguro · 1 year

Text

*ೃ࿐TO FAULT A NET

[ ACT I: KEEP YOUR FRIENDS CLOSE ]

spiderman! ethan landry x black cat! reader

#SYNOPSIS— you stumble across a murder, ethan has daddy issues, you think spider-man's an easy fight, and spider-man makes a deal with you.

#CONTAINS— enemies to lovers, slowburn, antihero&vigilante reader, familial issues, gore, blood, murder, death, sexual/suggestive content (in this part & some other parts), reader is overly flirtatious

#AUTHORSNOTE— is anyone really surprised that i started a new series? no, but i will warn you rn that this series won't be incredibly accurate to marvel and scream (obviously), so if that bothers you, don't read!

your feet moved quickly as you ran from rooftop to rooftop, the sound of distant sirens moving father and farther away from you was like music to your ears. it would've calmed you down— maybe even slowed your running —if it weren't for the fact that you had a shadow. a comically dressed shadow in red and blue.

the continuous sounds of webs being shot at you was the only thing keeping you running towards nothing. running away from the metropolitan museum (which you didn't even steal from, by the way) with some insect man close to your feet.

"hey, wait! lady, stop!"

and he wouldn't shut up. constantly calling at you, trying to catch your attention like some fanatic. it would've almost been cute if you weren't avoiding capture.

you didn't even turn back to look at him, forcing your body to move faster and faster until your momentum was stopped by a web hitting your ankle. you growled in annoyance, reaching down with your unsheathed claws to cut yourself free from the webbing, until you were harshly pulled onto a roof by the masked hero himself.

you laid on the rooftop, staring up at new york's very own spider-man (who was never a problem until a couple months ago, when he seemingly appeared out of nowehere). covering your obvious discontent, you smiled a malicious smile. "hi, spider," you said, before kicking his knee back and forcing him to fall. his groan of pain met your ears as you threw a punch at his face, one he quickly dodged.

"are you another hero?" he asked between kicks and punches, completely ignoring the fact that you were both in a fight. it didn't seem like much of a problem for him, as he was far too focused at multitasking between asking you personal questions and dodging your attacks. "i take that questions back— if you were, you wouldn't be attacking me right now," another dodge, "but you brought that painting back to the museum! but you also stole it so it's a bit of a question of morality, so i think i have to turn you in—"

you grabbed his arm and pinned it behind his back, your other hand coming up to wrap around his neck. your sharp claws dug into his neck, making him hiss in pain as you leant in close to his ear. "do you really think you can turn me in?" your hand let go of his neck but remained close to his face, your pointer finger coming to play with the edge of his mask. you pulled it up, only making it halfway up his face, before he broke free from your grasp.

but once he turned around, you were already gone.

some say that when your father died, the rich people of new york were finally able to breathe. finally, their endless valuables were finally safe, their priceless collections of stolen art, their rows of cars enough to pay any college kid's tuition, and their bank accounts were now all free from his iron grasp. gone was the man who had taken what he wanted and got it, gone was any trace of his legacy or his family; walter hardy was dead.

he always claimed that of all the valuables in his hands had taken, you were his most prized possession. the one person he would lay down his life for, and to have him gone.. it was all too unfair. all too wrong for him to die trying to get back to his daughter.

so that was why you had taken his place. black cat no longer became something policemen and journalists used to reference your father. that title was something you chose to share with him, because as policemen talked over their little radios about the burglary on west 81st street, you were already miles away, listening to their pathetic voices over the radio.

it was halloween in new york, and while many homeowners chose to stay home and tend to their candy duty, others were off partying at their friends' houses, oblivious to the fact that you had already deactivated the alarm to their home. three houses in the span of one night; you were sure that your greed would be your downfall one day.

but as you raised your hand up to the moon, watching how the rays of light danced along your wrist, you knew in your heart that your greed ran deeper than simple wants. you had your reasons.

a blood curdling scream met your ears, making you hurriedly shove the jewels into a pack and unsheathe your claws, ready to attack. walked near the edge of the building, the squelching sound of blood reached your ears, making you all the more on edge as you peered off the side just in time to watch a man shove a mask (the same mask from that one movie, stab) into his bag and turn a corner.

your eyes focused on the woman in yellow, dead and seated against the wall with blood pouring from her chest like a fountain. not a sound was made as you climbed down the wall and landed on your feet, cautious as you stepped closer to the unresponsive body.

"fuckin' asshole," you murmured as you observed the body, eyebrows furrowing. the woman, blonde and pretty, looked familiar to you. leaning down to take a closer look at her face (and careful not to step in the growing pool of blood around her), your eyes widened when you fully took in your features.

that was a film professor at your college.

wordlessly, you pulled out your phone and called a number you've never typed in your life.

"manhattan police department," the policeman stated.

"laura crane was just murdered in front of a manhattan bar." and with a click, you hung up.

the sound of that familiar thwip and landing feet made detective bailey roll his eyes in annoyance. just when they had gotten the reporters and journalists in control— a certain masked individual just had to make an appearance. "you aren't supposed to be here," he said in annoyance, turning to look at the masked hero.

"don't you know my m.o by now? like, isn't that your job?" spider-man asked with a cock of his head, obviously enjoying his teasing. "but you can't really.. not allow me to be here. i'm here to help, after all."

"i'm not letting some kid help," detective bailey practically growled, but the hero was already pushing past him to look at the body.

from beneath the mask, ethan hid his shock at the sight of one of his college's professors, dead and staring blankly into empty space. as if constantly being around his estranged his father wasn't enough; now a professor from his college was dead.

"what? bug man finally ran out of things to say?" detective bailey asked snarkily, making ethan snap out of his stupor.

"no, da— detective," ethan said in a faux matter-of-fact voice, squatting down to look closer at the dead body. he almost cringed at the slip up he just made; if only his father knew. "can't a man observe in silence?"

it wasn't like ethan had planned his superhero life out. he had moved to new york right after his brother's death for college, and being desperate to leave his brother's horrible crimes behind, he changed his last name. calls to his dad and his sister became texts. visits became nonexistent. even after he was bitten and took on the superhero roll he was desperate to move on, and right when he believed he finally was, his dad and sister moved to new york.

ethan didn't tell any of his friends that he was related to richie, nor did he tell them that he was the detective's kid. all they knew was that quinn was his sister, and while it hurt to pretend as though richie never existed, it was for the best. he left that life behind him, and quinn seemed to respect that at least.

"how'd you find her?" ethan asked a nearby cop.

"anonymous tip around the time she was murdered."

his eyes took in the gruesome scene in front of him. his eyes drifted to professor crane's blank face, before following the splashes of blood on the brick behind her. his eyes squinted as he continued to look up the wall, the dots connecting when he saw familiar claw marks above the body. they were faint, so faint, that if ethan hadn't seen them before, then he was sure that the police wouldn't have.

he raised his hand, and with another thwip of his webs, he was gone.

ethan was searching for any sign of you. a part of him hoped that you weren't within the confines of your home hiding behind your civilian name. there was a possibility that you helped kill the professor. maybe you were an accomplice. regardless of your role in it all, ethan was sure that you had seen something and chose to keep it to yourself. you had your own reasons for doing so; you believed you were far more clever than anyone. maybe you were.

the scratches on the walls were something you left behind. ethan knew that; he had literally been choked by those claws of yours when he first took up his job as a hero. he didn't want to believe that you you were quicker than him, but the fact that you had gotten away.. to say that he wasn't annoyed by it would be a lie.

he later learned who you were because of his father during one of their awkward dinners. the black cat.

he hadn't invited quinn this time. it was as though he was trying to strictly have some father-son time with ethan; some pathetic attempt at reconnecting, he assumed. if reconnecting meant taking him out to a thai restaurant and only talking about his job or richie and never asking ethan anything beyond the, "how's college?" question.

but something within his father's ramble about work had caught ethan's attention. home burglaries were a huge problem, that much ethan knew, but this had been the first time he ever heard his father talk about it; much less talk about who he suspects had done it.

"they call her black cat. witnesses have only ever seen enough of her to know she's a lady—"

"who do you think she is?" ethan asked, unable to stop himself as he leaned forward in his chair. so that was who he caught running along the roofs of new york. the one person who had gotten away from him.

"some fan of the original black cat, walter hardy. either that," his father put a forkful of pad thai in his mouth, chewing and swallowing, "or his daughter. there's no record of them, though."

"do you think they're the ones who stole from all those houses?"

"that's all i'm saying about the subject, ethan," his father said sternly, looking him up and down suspiciously. "just eat your food."

it didn't take much for you to catch yourself up on the stab murders. you had only heard a little bit about it; not because you lived under a rock, but because you didn't care. not until now, at least.

tara and sam carpenter. tara was in your psych class at blackmore university; you had talked to her enough times that she was probably the closest person you had to a 'friend,' as off as it sounded. you had a similar humor and she wasn't the type to pry over your past (which made sense now, after you scrolled mindlessly through your phone to catch up on the continuous murders).

that was why you were watching their apartment building from the building right in front of it. you had only seen them through their window, but at least you knew they were alive. on any other day you would've called anyone in your position creepy, but you considered this to be lawful stalking.

truthfully, you weren't sure why you were doing this. maybe you had gotten soft ever since you started college. maybe you were bored.

you toyed with a golden locket you had stolen that night, eyes set on their forms moving in and out of sight. you were so focused on them, something akin to worry thrumming through your veins until a web hit your back and dragged you away from the edge of the building. your back scratched across the roof floor, and as you looked up, you saw the familiar red and blue suit you had only ever seen from afar.

“hi, kitty,” spider-man said, almost smiling.

you practically hissed at the sight of him, your hands making quick work of unsheathing your claws as you narrowly dodged another web. you moved quickly and kicked him in the face, letting him hit the ground for just a second before you were straddling, legs tight around him as you grabbed his hands and held it above him. your claws came close to his wrists, the shining metal threatening to break and hurt his web makers.

"oh, spider. i didn't know you liked me enough to stalk me." you smiled wickedly, pressing the metal closer to his wrists. you could feel something bulky underneath his suit, and your malicious grin only grew as you pressed harder against it.

"i don't like you," the super hero said annoyedly, making you scoff in amusement.

"are you sure?" you leaned closer to him, practically touching your nose against his mask. "then why aren't you fighting back right now?" you sent him one last grin before your hand left his wrists. you stood up, not even bothering to offer him a hand as you let your claws come out fully, one of your hands reaching for your gun. "what do you want?"

"i needed to ask you questions about the murder of laura crane," spider-man grumbled, standing up and crossing his arms at you. he looked at the apartment building before glancing back at you, the eyes of his mask narrowing. "why're you watching tara and sam's apartment?"

"why do you know that tara and sam live there?" you fired back, raising a brow. it was moments like these where you were happy you had a mask that at least covered half your face; the more you heard the spider-boy speak, the more you noticed how young his voice sounded. what if he went to your college? what if he was friends with them?

"because based on their history, they're vulnerable to attacks. i know that— being the friendly neighborhood spiderman ‘n all," he said, and you swore he rolled his eyes. "but it doesn't make sense for a criminal like you—"

"that's unnecessarily rude."

"to be watching them.” he looked you up and down, eyes seemingly lingering on your grappling hook and pack of god knows what that were strapped to your sides. the hero’s head then snapped up to look at you. “did you kill her? laura crane?” even he seemed unsure by his own question, the uncertainty in his tone making you shrug nonchalantly.

"do you think i did?" you asked, "you seem unsure yourself."

a pause. "no, i don't. but you know something, and you need to tell me what it is."

you glanced at the apartment building before looking down at your nails, absentmindedly observing them. "what's in it for me?" you asked, not even looking up at new york's favorite hero.

"i don't bring you to the police."

"as if you could do that before," you scoffed, rolling your eyes. you heard him exhale slowly, a smirk appearing on your face at the sound. you were getting to him; with every snarky comment, you pissed him off more and more. and the sadistic part of you loved it. "don't you remember? you couldn't even catch me the first time. sad, isn't it?"

"i'm not gonna make that same mistake again," he said firmly, walking closer to you. stiffly, he brought his gloved hand out. "you tell me what you know and you help me—"

"well, don't word it like that," you muttered. "i'm only telling you information, spider. i'm not being your stupid sidekick."

"you aren't," he said, "but since you're such a well known felon, you could help me figure out who's the murderer. see if they're a criminal, if they were hired by anyone, anything." he sighed. "you help me, and i let you go. deal?"

warily, you looked at him up and down. you weren't one to make deals with anyone, much less a masked hero who was loved by practically everyone. but you found yourself wrapping your black gloved hand around his and shaking it once. "fine."

ACT II, ACT III, ACT IV, ACT V, EPILOGUE

#AUTHOR'S NOTE— feel free to ask to be on the taglist! i'm also sorry for all the typos lol

#scream 6 imagines #scream 6 smut #ethan landry smut #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry imagines #ethan landry imagine #ethan landry #ethan landry x you #ethan landry fluff #ethan landry x y/n #scream fanfic #scream 6 fanfic #ethan landry fanfiction #to fault a net—!#scream 6 imagine #scream vi imagine #scream vi smut #scream vi imagines

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upon-a-starry-night · 16 days

Text

Number Neighbors Pt.29

Natasha Romanoff x Fem! Reader

Natasha Masterlist Series Masterlist

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: When you catch sight of the newest trend going around you know you’re all but bound to at least try it, it was harmless anyway. What could possibly stem from something so little?

----

There’s nothing like the warmth of a home-cooked meal. Especially in comparison to the mediocre meals you were cooking for yourself. You like to think it heals a little part of your soul with each bite you take.

Your mother doesn't question why you suddenly accepted her offer home after months of refusing but you have a feeling she might know. She’s always had weird physic mom abilities. At first, you thought you could get away with acting normal but the look she gave you when you got in her car at the airport told you you’d been caught.

Since that moment your mother has been doing an exceptional job at distracting you and you’ll never be able to express just how grateful you are for her.

The few days that you’ve been home your mother’s been parading you around town, showing you what’s new and telling you stories of all the crazy things you’d do in every building, playground, and park. When you're home, your mother finds excuses to give you small brushes of physical affection and you don’t realize just how lonely living by yourself has gotten until you woke up to waffles and a kiss on the forehead.

You have a small inkling that she’s behind the occasional disappearance of your phone as well but you don’t comment on it. It’s a welcome break from the chaos of social media but you know you can’t avoid your problems forever and reality hits one afternoon when your mom is out grocery shopping and your phone dings with a notification.

You pick it up to see multiple news outlets blowing up about the upcoming press conference the government will be holding to explain what happened to the Avengers and you all but rush to turn the news on the TV.

There are a few unfriendly-looking government officials in suits and balding hair standing in front of a podium full of microphones and before any of them have even spoken there’s a flash of cameras from somewhere behind the camera.

One of the taller white men steps forward and the room goes silent. You’re on the edge of your seat with anticipation and you’re sure everyone else watching is as well. The man in the suit looks less than excited to be there and you can already tell by the look on his face that you’re not going to like what he has to say. Your stomach sinks in.

“I know this has been greatly anticipated by the public and I’m sure you all have a lot of questions so I'll get straight to the point.” Another camera shutter clicks. “ Around a month ago we approached the Avengers group about the amount of destruction they left behind after their battles. We felt the damage was too significant to let it continue happening, so we came up with the proposal that the Avengers agree to government supervision and limitations to minimize the damages.”

You let out a low hiss through your teeth as murmurs fill the conference room. You’re sure most of the Avengers wouldn’t have taken kindly to that situation. If you’re honest you’re surprised a full-out fight hadn’t started. It only makes you more nervous for what’s to come.

“Unfortunately, a few members of the group didn’t agree with our terms and have since fled to avoid responsibility” Your blood boils at the way he’s talking about the world's greatest heroes, like they’re teenagers who broke the neighbors' window. You’re sure they’re purposely leaving out details of their contract to make the Avengers look bad. “Due to this circumstance,” A woman steps from behind him and hands him a file and he opens it and begins lifting picture after picture “The following Avengers are now considered wanted felons. If you see any of them please contact your local authorities-”

He doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence as the room erupts into chaos. Reporters are shouting, cameras are flashing left and right and questions are being flung at the uncomfortable-looking officials.

You practically shoot up from your seat in outrage. The Avengers are wanted felons? What was the government thinking? Just because they wanted control over the world's strongest and smartest? You hated to think what the world would descend into now that criminals not only didn’t have to fear the Avengers, but could call to get them arrested as well.

Security steps in and the room calms a little but reporters refuse to let the subject go, raising their hands to question such an idiotic decision.

“With the Avengers gone, what are you going to do about the influx in crime?” One asks, and another white man steps up to the podium to answer.

“We will be doubling the police force in every state to ensure the crime rates go back down” The reporters don’t seem satisfied, another raising a counter-question

“What about supernatural criminals and weapons?” The man swallows nervously and you’re sure a cartoonish bead of sweat is about to trail down his forehead when he speaks up with less confidence than before.

“Rest assured our officers are being trained to handle any possible situations, and we will be arming them with state-of-the-art weapons” You practically groan at his words, and your phone dings with notifications from various sites. Your friends from the Stark party are texting you about their outrage, news outlets are blowing up, and your mother wants to know if you want any cereal.

You text her yes and respond to your other texts, tuning out the bullshit coming from the TV until pictures of the ‘wanted felons’ appear on the TV. Over half of the Avengers pictures are on the screen with the words “Wanted” under them and your eyes unconsciously drift toward Nat as a woman speaks

“We haven’t been able to get a hold of any of the aforementioned Avengers so if you have any information about their whereabouts please call-” you practically scoff at the TV. Of course, they couldn’t get a hold of Natasha Romanoff, if she wanted to disappear you’d never see or hear from her again-

Your head spins. A dangerous thought sneaks into your mind and despite your best efforts you can’t block it out. The government official had said they tried to make this deal around a month ago- around the same time Nat stopped responding to you.

With your heart leaping to your throat, you immediately rush to grab your computer. It wasn’t like you hadn’t considered Nat’s name being Natasha but you hadn’t wanted to plaster Natasha’s face onto this total stranger, and you definitely didn't want to project your feelings for your celebrity crush onto a real person who had nothing to do with her.

You never let yourself go down that hole, especially because the more you talked to Nat the less she seemed like the stoic Natasha Romanoff you knew of.

You still refuse to believe it until you can prove it though, so the only thing you can think to do is pull up every single publicized mission the Avengers have gone on and open your phone to Nat’s contact. You ignore the painful jerk your heart gives as you scroll past your pleading and Nat’s last “I’m sorry” text until you find the last time she said she had to go away for ‘work’.

She’d been gone for two weeks but still managed to send you a quick ‘goodnight’ text on one of those days. It made your whole week that she’d been thinking of you even while she was working and still chose to text you even though she could get in trouble for using her phone.

You scroll through the missions until you find one with a similar date. A mission in Eastern Europe that took the three of the Avengers two weeks to complete. It doesn’t state which Avengers so you brush it off as a coincidence and scroll up further, searching for another ‘work’ message.

Half an hour later you have at least fifteen ‘coincidences’ that line up almost perfectly with when Nat would leave you on delivered. You want to believe it but you’re at war with yourself.

Something joyful tugs at your heart and you shake your head to try and get rid of the images of Nat smiling on the other side of the phone.

The other part of you is astonished you’d even believe such a thing. Why would Natasha continue texting you? There was no way she’d trust something as childish as ‘number neighbors’. And if she did believe that… why wouldn’t she just block your number?

Although you suppose she did try and get you to stop texting her, you just wouldn’t take no for an answer. Suddenly all of her threats feel a little more serious.

For a split second, there’s relief. The weight of the fear that she’d ghosted you because she was tired of you lifted from your shoulders. The fear of never knowing her face or what she sounded like was gone. Instead, it was replaced by anxiety. The woman you loved was a wanted criminal AND an Avenger. You don’t know if it’s better or worse that you can read all of the texts in her voice now.

Your brain is screaming at you while your heart is frolicking in a field full of flowers.

The woman you’ve had a fictional crush on for years is actually the woman you fell in love with online, surprise!

Still, you’re worried you’re getting a little ahead of yourself so you try to calm down and scour the internet for more proof. You find an old video from when the Avengers did a live slumber party for charity and zoom in on Nat’s pajamas. Yep, the same gray as the photo of her pants she’d sent you from way back when you first met.

The first photo she ever sent you and it was truly a gift to receive but big deal- lots of people wore gray to bed!

The thought of gifts reminds you of the surveillance footage the restaurant promised to send you months ago when Nat bought you dessert. God, you really should read your emails. After scrolling through work emails and companies advertising their sales you find a very old email from the restaurant with the footage from their back alley.

You can’t believe you forgot to look at this.

Sure enough, as the waiter had said, you can only see a hoodie from that angle but you’ll take anything you can get. You pause and play the video at every millisecond until a sliver of a design is visible and you reverse image search until a picture of that exact hoodie pops up.

You pull up every single member of the Avengers’ Instagram's until you see a picture of Clint Barton wearing what seems to be the same hoodie only two months ago. It’s a stretch, you’re sure anyone could own that hoodie but at this point, you’ve already fully convinced yourself it’s her. You feel like an FBI agent with how deep you’re digging for evidence and the thought reminds you of one of the first things you ever said to her

“What, are you an FBI agent or something?”

“Something like that”

You were truly the world’s biggest idiot at this point. Natasha had been trying to tell you at the Stark party, hadn’t she? You knew the joke sounded familiar.

A sort of mirth sparkled in her eyes as she spoke her next sentence “Well I’m no FBI agent” It feels like an inside joke and you're trying to pinpoint where you remember it from but after a few seconds you shake it off and blame it on the alcohol.

Not to mention how hesitant she’d been to talk to you in the beginning. She was a super spy! Of course, she wouldn’t believe you got her number by coincidence. Did that mean that she knew who you were from the beginning? She probably knew everything about you from your apartment number to your first pet.

But…if she knew everything about you and still chose to stay and talk to you then maybe there was the smallest, tiniest chance she liked you back the way you liked her.

Why else would someone like her spend every day putting up with your antics?

All this time you’ve been wondering who she was and why she left you and now you have an answer you have no idea what to do with. It’s not like she’d be at Avengers Tower right now, nobody knew where she was. And she hadn’t responded to any of your messages. How could you tell her you knew? How could you tell her that you weren’t mad anymore? Will you ever be able to confess how you feel to her in person?

You don’t even realize you're crying until a drop of water lands on your computer. You were overwhelmed with so many different emotions; joy, worry, love. The idea of loving Natasha Romanoff was scary but loving Nat? Loving Nat was easy. And you have to keep reminding yourself that they’re the same person. That The Black Widow was a persona while Nat was her real self.

The sound of the front door doesn’t register in your mind until you hear your mother calling your name. You turn to look at her with your tear-stricken face and her expression softens as she takes you in.

“Y/n, what’s wrong?” she drops her groceries and makes her way over to you, wrapping you in her arms immediately. The way she says your name with so much love reminds you of the last time you heard Natasha’s voice-

“Take care of yourself, Y/n.”

The sentence only makes you cry harder and your mom soothingly rubs up and down your back. She doesn’t know you’ve just had the discovery of a lifetime or that you accidentally fell in love with a superhero. She just comforts you as you cry in her arms.

“Oh honey, it'll be okay”

You hope she’s right.

Pt.30

A/n: This chapter took a lot longer to write because I wanted to really get Y/n's reaction right- sorry it's late! ~ Starry

---Taglist--

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kiwanopie · 2 years

Text

Laptop

boyfriend!kiyoomi part IV!

“So… Where’d you two meet?”

Sakusa sighs.

This was exactly the scenario he was trying to avoid. Sitting on the bed adjacent to his longtime teammate and trying to avert his eyes from the way he kicks his feet from under him like an overgrown school boy. His gleeful - prying eyes sear holes in the side of his head from where he’s got his nose pointed at his laptop monitor, and if his hunch should tell him anything; it’s that little Mr. GossipGirl won’t rest until he’s juiced him of all the mushy details.

But the problems not that he doesn’t like talking about you. It’s the opposite actually, he could start and never finish, it’s just…

It’s embarrassing to get all sweet and blushy in front of this honey-eyed fool or any of his teammates. He hates the vulnerability of it all. Fending off a smile and trying to minimize all of these very big, very honest feelings he has about you. And ever since meeting you he’s been very slowly but surely pushing himself away from his previous dispositions.

Aloof old Omi, safely reclusive - inside his little shell, has peeked his head out and fallen in love with the sun.

This guy’s gonna eat that shit up.

Sakusa grazes his finger along the touch pad, tapping it a few times before grumbling curtly. “Can you go to bed already?”

“Not without a bedtime story,” Atsumu chirps. “C’mon. Tell me all about ‘er! I know you want to.”

Sakusa sighs again as he taps in a few loud keys. White orange tinted light turning his skin a filtered fuchsia as the screen flickers. “What are you five? You’re a little too old to be swapping secrets like a grade schooler.”

“Is she a secret though?”

“She’s not.” And that’s a resolute answer if he’s ever heard one.

“Then why won’t you tell me about her?!”

“Because-“ Sakusa blows out an exasperated breath.

There’s a long moment he spends pointing his nose to the hotel ceiling to quietly deliberate. Longer the few seconds he spends clenching and unclenching his jaw as his eyes fall and his pupils twitch in careful thought. He opens his mouth - closes it again but his lips part on their own. Sakusa blows out a breath until his voice comes tumbling after it, and it pains him to know that his fight for composure was fruitless.

“If I tell you, will you shut up and go to bed?”

Atsumu crosses his fingers over his chest. “Hand to God.”

Sakusa stares at him for a while.

“We’ve been… dating for the past couple of years,” Three years and eighteen days of pure bliss. “She was one of my sister's students so we met through her.”

The uncut version is that Sakusa stormed his sister’s office before her lecture could fully clear to bitch about her saddling him with mom on his only days off. Had to have looked mad as a snake when he walked in there, face twisted up and everything.

And obviously a 6’4 Olympian isn’t what your average college student expects to run into during their four o’clock lecture, especially when he’s calling out to their professor like he’s got a loaded gun in his hand. But you were too busy filling in your last minute notes to care about him or whatever he was doing at the time.

Sakusa sees you but he doesn’t see you. He just knows you’re the only person in this room and there’s a wicked witch on the loose. “Have you seen Kyouka?”

You hum. “Sakusa-san?”

“Obviously.”

Your eyes are the first thing he notices when you raise your head. They’re doey and soft and disarming. You’ve got that kind of look to you that reminds him of a love song; one of those old school radio ones that you hear in the car on the way to work but it’s stuck in your head throughout the day and you can’t stop singing it under your breath.

“You look like someone shit in your laptop and closed it.” You say.

The tendons in his jaw stress as you point your extended arm toward the door. “She’s in Nabuya’s lecture down the hall but, I don’t think she’s gonna talk to you with your face all twisted up like that.”

Sakusa quietly nods before turning his heel for the door.

It took two whole months of silently pining and bringing his sister pickled daikon for lunch to finally get you to agree to go out with him, and since then he’s been living on cloud nine.

“Oh-Ho!,” Atsumu grins. “And did charmin’ ol Omi put the work on her? ‘That it?”

He didn’t anticipate how dry the air would be on your first date so he wound up with a nosebleed that geysered for like a solid five minutes. “Yeah…”

“A’right, a’right, So… How is it that I’m just hearin’ about her now? I mean, from that phone call-“

“Let’s not talk about the phone call.”

Atsumu titters. And he seems genuinely happy to see his friend all settled down and loving someone so earnestly. He knows how difficult relationships can be for a high maintenance guy like him, and it’s refreshing to see his edges softened a little. He kicks his feet until he’s pressed against the headboard adjacent to Sakusa, smiling at him from across the way as he cradles a pillow against his chest.

“You should know that you’re safe to talk about yer personal life with us, Omi. It’s not like we were gonna tease ya too much about it.”

Sakusa blows out a short breath through his nose. “I know that. It’s just-…”

The way Sakusa softens up is quite honestly enough to make him start to blush. “____’s really special to me. So, I guess it’s hard to bring her up without getting touchy about feedback.”

Atsumu throws his head back a little. “Well, it’s flatterin’ that you’re bein’ so honest about it with me.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

He snorts as he rests his head on the headboard with a quiet thump!

And then he furrows.

Atsumu leans in to get a better look at his monitor. “Why ya lookin’ up purses?”

Sakusa hurriedly shuts his laptop.

Physical therapy

#boyfriend!kiyoomi #sakusa kiyoomi #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#sakusa kiyoomi x reader #hq sakusa #bnha x reader #hq x reader #hq fluff #hq #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu sakusa #sakusa fluff #sakusa x reader

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pedgito · 1 year

Text

summary | a new place, a new job, and new problems arise soon thereafter. javier manages to weasle his way under your skin in more ways than one. the first—stealing your designated parking spot. (7.5k+ words)

pairing | javier pena x fem!reader

content warning | 18+ content, as always: no use of y/n, subtle pining/suffering on javi's part, very little reference to narcos plot (so, readable if you've never watched), strangers to enemies to...whatever this is, fingering/oral (f receiving), sex & subtle aftercare, open ended, using my very limited knowledge of spanish (pls feel free to correct me)

author's note | translations are spread throughout. this is my first dip into any character outside of my norm so this is mostly just for fun, but to anyone reading, enjoy!

You liked to think you were as level-headed as they came, always seeing the best in people, always giving them the benefit of the doubt, even here in a place that feels foreign, fresh off the job of a position you were hired to a few weeks ago. Not even a month yet and you were already on the precipice of your first problem.

A situation, perhaps.

You extensively remember paying for the specific parking spot correlating to your apartment number. It was simple, you paid for it, so by those laws, it was yours.

Yet somehow, there’s always a car parked in your space.

The first time isn’t a problem, opting to fill the blank spot next to it that is assigned specifically for visitors anyways. How could they have known?

It’s not a big deal. Until it happens again.

Same car, same color. That Jeep Cherokee was turning into your arch-nemesis, one more day of stealing your parking spot away from your keys digging into the paint of the driver’s side door.

Well, you weren’t that evil. But, you were definitely thinking about it. And maybe part of the problem was how unexpectedly stressful your job actually was, working alongside a bunch of macho, testosterone filled DEA agents with a severe lack of manners and time-management outside of catching the bad guys.

It always left you with a mountain of paperwork to deal with, not to mention that ridiculous errands and goose chases you were sent on for a file, or a can of fucking coffee beans because no one had the sense to replace them when they ran out.

And maybe if the car stood out more you would’ve clocked it earlier, but it doesn’t.

There comes a point where you can’t take the blatant disregard any longer, poised to catch the culprit in the act as you lean against the front hood of the car, jingling your apartment keys around your finger, rehearsing your supposed speech to scare off whoever owns the car.

But, that falls dead on your tongue the moment the owner descends the stairs, appearing from the same floor your own apartment resided on, eyes widening in disbelief.

It was a miracle you both had avoided each other this long.

“Javier?” You spit out, like a bad taste in your mouth.

Javier eyes you weirdly, still speaking calmly, “Hola, hermosa—I think. You live here?”

You nod slowly, wondering why he seemed so calm, so unbothered.

Ah, right. He wasn’t the one worrying about a parking spot, rather, he was the one stealing it.

“Yeah, por un par de semanas.” (for a couple of weeks)

Not that it mattered to Javier.

He laughs under his breath, fiddling with his own keys as he reaches for the handle. You push away from his car, standing steady on your own two feet, arms crossed over your chest and rubbing against the buttons of your blouse, still dressed up from work.

“You’re parking in my spot, Javier.”

Javier eyes the surrounding area, seeing nothing amiss.

“Where’s your car?” He asks, avoiding the accusation entirely.

“Right there,” You point at the car parked beside him, eyes narrowing at his lack of reaction, “beside my parking spot. You know, el que yo pago para.” (the one I pay for)

“Cariño,” and if there was a word that could make your blood boil quicker, it was that, the same condescending tone he always used, “I’ve had this spot for weeks.”

“But it’s mine now, Peña.”

“And mine sucks,” He admits, “this is the only shaded area around the building, it’s fuckin’ hot out, my car—“

“Isn’t my problem!”

He’s never heard you shout before, feeling the frustration radiating from your frame.

It was yours, rightfully so. But, that did change the fact he’s been parking there for weeks now, stubborn as he is. Javier isn’t budging either.

“What’s wrong with that one?” He asks, motioning toward your car beside his.

“I’m not paying for that one. I’m paying for this one.” It really is that simple, but you’re starting to think he had rocks for a brain, nothing rattling around up there besides catching Escobar and cheap sex he could catch on the regular with a bit of cash.

Yes, you knew—most of those men were one in the same, bachelors with a yearning to get off but not enough game to score it for free.

“No te soporto,” It’s a soft mumble under your breath, something meant for yourself, even if it was aimed at Javier, before looking at him, “fuck this, keep it.” (I cannot stand you)

Javier stares for a while, a moment too long in fact, his eyes lingering on the stretched fabric of your shirt, pulled tight over your chest where your arms cross, quickly traversing their way back up to your face, watching his entire trail of eyesight with annoyance.

“That’s it?” Javier definitely expected more of a fight, but you rolled over and keeled so fast he almost wishes you would’ve fought harder. He’s feeling gracious today though, so extends whatever metaphoric branch he had to give.

“You clearly don’t give a shit,” He’s leaning against the side of his car’s front hood now, diagonal to you as you take a few steps back, crossed arms moving until your hands met your hips, “but I’m the one running errands for you dumbasses all day, so we’ll see how long this lasts.”

In most cases that would come off as a death threat, but to you, it just meant smuggling sugar into his coffee instead of straight black like he usually enjoyed—just enough to fuck up his morning a little, throw him off kilter and enjoy the look on his face when it turns up in disgust, amongst other things.

“Eres malvada,” Javier comments amusingly, “are you trying to start a war?” (you are evil)

You shrug, “What’s one more to the one we’re already dealing with?”

You find it as a reason to get under his skin, drive him mad. But, Javier has a different reason in mind, luckily he loves a challenge—he wasn’t giving in that easily.

The office is sticky, the scolding, dry Bogotá heat feeling like you’re sitting in the center of a fire that ignited overnight—and the AC was out, meaning the tiny, measly little fan on your desk had to do.

Somehow, Javier seems unphased aside from the line of sweat on his forehead, shirt unbuttoned enough that you can see the start of his sternum, tanned skin hidden behind the baby blue fabric. His tie was laying on his desk beside his coffee—safe from you, for the time being.

Steve is close behind, not surprising, those two chasing each other’s tails like eager puppies. But, Murphy was sweeter than Pena, that much was clear.

He wasn’t holding your parking spot hostage.

“Hermosa,” Javier nods, tapping his fingertips against the patchy spot of wood on the front desk, “good morning, I hope?”

Not in the slightest.

Your eyes flick up wordlessly, stapling the stack of papers with more force than necessary before sliding it into his other hand, his fingers moving in time to catch the stack as it slides forward.

“Trouble in paradise?” Steve jokes, smiling as the words leave his mouth. “She looks like she’s ready to gut you.”

“She is,” It’s a confirmation that has Javier’s face turning up in annoyance, “can I do anything else for you? More paperwork, more coffee—“

“Actually—” Javier starts, but it falls on deaf ears.

“Good,” You turn away, picking up the large stack of files to head toward the filing closet, “ve a atrapar a tu el malo.” (go catch your bad guy)

His eyes linger as you walk away, Steve’s muffled voice coming into focus as you fade, rounding a corner as the click of your heels become softer.

“You managed to piss of the nicest person here,” Steve comments, whistling lowly, “I’m not gonna ask how you fucked that up, because it seems pretty obvious already—“

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Javier asks, throwing his head over his shoulder as he looks at Steve.

“Either bad sex or you’re just being an asshole,” Steve suggests, wiggling two fingers out suggestively, pushing his index down to flip his partner off, “easily both but I’m guessing it’s probably the second one.”

Javier shoved his hand away, forcing the file into Steve’s chest.

“She wants me to give up a parking spot I’ve had since I got here,” He explains, “not happening.”

Steve squints slightly, eyes narrowing on Javier. There was more to the story, but Javier was conveniently leaving that out.

“I didn’t even know she lived there,” Javier adds, somehow trying to convince himself he’s in the right, “it’s a good fuckin’ spot.”

“Pissin’ her off for it?” Steve shakes his head in disapproval, “Can’t be that good, Javi.”

The week drags on, miserable in the heat and with working piling up by the day, it feels never-ending.

And somehow, Javier always manages to make it home before you, even when you both leave at the same time.

As frustrated as you are, things get a little easier when you start getting under Javier’s skin.

Steve bothers you for a cup of coffee one morning, insisting that you always make it better than him—it’s just a matter of overloading it with milk and sugar, knowing that Steve likes it sweet even when he doesn’t want to admit it.

Most of the men drank it black, out of solidarity or whatever—Javier just enjoyed the bitterness. How convenient.

So, his hesitancy when you hand him a cup is warranted.

“You fuck with it?” He asks suspiciously.

“Steve asked for a cup,” You shrugged, pressing it into his hesitant, waiting hand, “I’m just being nice.”

But, one sip from the cup ensures that you weren’t being nice at all as he quickly spits it back into the cup, much to the amusement of you and Steve, who sips happily from his own mug.

“I lied.” You grin triumphantly, sliding his unfinished paperwork in front of him, “Nos vemos, vecino.” (see you, neighbor)

Steve chuckles under his breath, watching the interaction unfold. When you finally leave, Javier is staring at his desk, cup forgotten.

“Like I said,” Steve repeats, “can’t be that fuckin’ good.”

“Shut up,” Javier replies, chair screeching in protest as he stands, “who fucks with someone’s coffee?”

“A seriously pissed off neighbor, apparently.”

And if looks could kill, Steve would be dead.

And Javi thinks that the coffee incident would annoy him the most, but even more, it’s the blatant disregard of his presence on most instances, holding a complete conversation with Steve in his company, not a single greeting his way.

He still greets you every morning. All the same aside from his occasional switch up of endearment.

Cariño, Hermosa, Querida when he felt particularly snarky—but just as you hoped it would get under his skin, Vecina slices like a knife. You dared to use it first, but the tone of his is nothing but feigned fondness.

That and when he opts for your name instead, sickeningly sweet as it rolls off his tongue.

Either way, he notices your effort to ignore him.

Taking out the trash and running into him in the hallway? It’s like you walk right through him.

Running into him at that market down the road from your complex? He’s practically a stranger.

And work? It was harder to ignore him, but you did your damndest to make him feel less than.

It was working great, until it couldn’t.

It’s dark out by the time you see him again that day, covered by the orange of the streetlight overhead and kicking yourself as you stare at the contents under the hood, not having a single clue what you were looking at, what the problem was or what it could be.

“Staring at it won’t fix anything,” Javier startles you, nearly jumping out of your skin as he approaches, shoulder bumping against his chest at his close proximity ,“woah, easy, vecina. Just me.”

Somehow that was worse.

“Car trouble?” Javier asks.

“Among other things.” You snark back, but your voice doesn’t hold the venom you think it does. “Don’t tell me you know shit about how to fix this.”

“I don’t,” He admits with ease, “heading out?”

You sigh, deep and tired as you finally give up and close the hood, wiping your dirty hands on your jeans.

“Not anymore,” Javier takes a quick look at your outfit, jeans and a low-cut top that shows off the curve of your breasts, soft skin of your chest and a small amount of your midsection where your shirt pulls up as you shrug your shoulders, “what, Peña? What’s that look for?”

Javier shakes his head, rubbing his thumb along the tide of a spare key, “I’m meeting Murphy for drinks.” He doesn’t know why he’s telling you this, but he is—well, he does know. He’s hoping you might tag along, put an end to this back and forth between each other. He didn’t want to be the first to cave, but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t bother him to see you despise his existence every day.

“Sounds miserable.” You comment, throwing a warm smile for good measure, it’s so fake that even Javi can’t help but feel a little more offended than usual. “Tell Steve I said hi.”

Javier doesn’t get the chance to ask if you want to join before you’re sulking away, riddled with yet another inconvenience.

Javier catches you in the same position the next morning, dressed for work and shoulders slumped as you stare down blankly at the engine.

“Get in,” He orders, walking beyond your piece of junk and to his car, one hand resting on the hood, other resting on the door handle until you finally acknowledge him, “I can drive you to work.”

“Vete a la mierda,” You groan, “I don’t want your help.” (fuck off)

Javier doesn’t budge, yellow sunglasses perched on his nose, his thumb tapping against the car, “Get in the car.”

And he’s not against standing here until you were both late, but he’s already on the edge of getting his ass chewed out most of the time and he’s done with this—it, whatever game you two were still playing at.

“Think about it,” Javier jokes, “it’s almost like you’ll finally be putting that spot to good use.”

Okay, that might’ve been too much.

“Look, I’ll give you the fuckin’ spot if you stop looking at me like they and get in the damn car,” Not that it mattered now, with that hunk of metal sitting unmoving and useless beside it, "please?”

Javier’s not the type to beg, but the look on your face is soft, resembling defeat, and he wants to help.

“Why didn’t you just bring it up with management?” Javier asked, fist tightening around the wheel as he pulled to a stop. "If it bothers you that much."

“You mean Theresa?” You laugh to yourself, eyebrows furrowing in amusement as you cross your arms over your chest, “She’s pushing 80–don’t tell me she could actually intimidate you.”

Javier shrugs, “She’s got her moments.”

“Messing with you was more fun,” You shrug decidedly, “but it lost its momentum when you stopped being bothered by it.”

“So?”

“I’m stuck with a shitty parking spot, an even shittier neighbor, and now my car doesn’t work, so.”

The silence spoke for itself.

“I don’t mind driving you.”

“You’re missing the point,” He was just as dense as he was attractive and you hated it, “the least you could do is fuckin’ pay me.”

Javier gives you a wild look behind his shades, Jeep lurching forward as he continues the drive.

“For the spot, Javier. If you want it that bad.”

“Oh,” He nods, “Yeah, I can do that.”

That was…easier than you anticipated.

Things improve slightly after that, still giving Javier the cold shoulder on most instances, born out of your own stubbornness.

But he always greets you with a smile, one that you try to return. Plus, you were in better spirits today now that the building had working air and it wasn’t absolutely miserable trying to get work done.

“Here,” Javi pulls you from the chart on your desk, eyes connecting with the small wad of cash, “for what I owe you and then some.”

And you shouldn’t feel guilty taking the money, but you do.

He lowers his voice slightly as you pocket the cash, palms pressed against your desk as he leans in, “I need a favor.”

You sigh through your nose, threading your fingers together and resting them between his outstretched arms, challenging him with a steely look in your eyes.

He slides a small wad of paper he had hidden in his palm toward your hands, “I need those files, can you get them for me?”

You glance at the list of names, looking up at him incredulously, his face not moving an inch. It seemed serious, but it still didn’t justify the fact that he’s absolutely lost his mind.

“I could get fired for taking these out of the building,” You argue in a hushed whisper, “first you want to take my spot and now you want me to risk my job?”

His eyes soften slightly.

And then there’s that word again.

“Cariño, please?”

“How badly do you need them?”

He gives you another silent look of pleading, the tip of his tongue licking at the corner of his mouth as he nods to Murphy several feet away, looking just as desperate. If it wasn’t for Steve, you probably would’ve said no.

“You’re lucky I like Steve,” You admit, shoving the paper into the same pocket the money was stashed away in, “and that you’re down the hall from me.”

His fingers wrap around your wrist firmly when your arm resurfaces, posture instantly stiffening at that movement. His eyes are wide, staring through you almost.

“Thank you.”

And you can see that he means it.

It’s a strange look you haven’t seen before but it’s real.

“You owe me, Javi,” Under the context of what, you weren’t sure, “I mean it.”

The softness you add to his name is enough for Javier to realize that whatever anger you held toward him was slowly disappearing.

The last thing you’re expecting when you exit the sanctioned filing room is a solid chest to the face, and a surprisingly soft hand gripping your shoulder to steady you.

“Hey, Javi sent me,” Steve says lowly, glancing around the corner to check for an all clear—the place was mostly deserted due to the unexpected raid Javier was leading on a few of Escobar’s men, nothing huge, but enough to need backup, yet somehow Steve got shafted, “he’s caught up in something and my place is on the way.”

“Is he okay?” It feels foreign to ask, but given he’s also in a slightly disturbed state, breathing faster than normal like he’d ran here.

“Yeah, yeah. Peña’s always good. Don’t worry about him.”

“And you?” You inquire, sliding the files behind your bag, keeping them out of view, “Why aren’t you with him? I thought you two were partners.”

“My wife, she’s had this date planned out for weeks,” Steve nods toward the front, asking for you to follow, “Connie, she’d skin me alive if I tried to cancel on her, again.”

“Sounds justified.” You shrug, flashing him a polite smile.

Steve nods knowingly.

“And about Peña—he’s difficult, I know.”

“Understatement of the year, Steve.”

“I’m just trying to say that he’s really involved and sometimes that stress kinda…transfers over outside of work.”

And somehow you find yourself at a stand-off with Steve, talking through the open windows of his car.

“So he’s an asshole, but it’s okay because work is a little hard on him?”

“That’s not what I’m sayin’,” Steve scratches at his forehead in search of the right words, hoping they’ll come to him, “I don’t even know why I’m trying to defend him but he’s surrounded by this shit all day, some of us can leave it here—it’s hard even for me some days—“

“Steve,” You bring him back, urging him toward the point, “is this going somewhere?”

“Javi is this job— but you are the one thing I catch him staring at beside our desk and the gun in his drawer. I don’t know, maybe he really does hate you that much, but I’ve known him long enough to realize that if he’s gonna let anyone’s fuck with his day to day, and his coffee, it would be you.”

“If you’re trying to suggest Javi’s in love with me, I’m going to assume you’re insane.”

“No—god, no. I don’t think Peña’s capable of that shit but maybe he’d ease up on being a hard-ass if you didn’t give him as much shit over the parking spot. Also, not sayin’ he’s in the right but is it really that important to you?”

You sling your bag into the passenger seat, following suit as Steve climbed into the car, “At first, yeah. It’s my first time out on my own, dealing with my own shit, and Javi already acts like he’s above it all so seeing that it was him, it set me off.”

Steve shrugs, turning on the ignition. “I think you two have too much in common, honestly. Maybe just…level with him? Have you two ever had a normal conversation outside of work?”

A subtle shake of your head is all Steve needs, then he’s laughing to himself, pulling out of the parking lot.

“What?”

“It’s nothing—“

“Steve.”

“It’s just—I assumed you two hooked up and Javi was a bad time because you went from mildly annoyed to out for blood overnight.”

“Doesn’t seem that far-fetched.” You admit, earning an even deeper chuckle out of Steve.

“See?” Steve boasts, “Don’t give him the time if you don’t think he deserves it, but I’m tired of him sulking around all the time. It’s miserable to look at.”

“And you think I can fix that?”

“Oh, I know it.”

Two hours and a shower later and you find yourself at Javier’s door wondering if it was already too late to try and knock or if you should just stuff the files underneath his door and leave, ignoring that fluttering feeling in your gut that told you to stay.

But, he’s yanking the door open before you can lift your hand, wondering if he heard you on the other side. He’s half dressed, jeans buttoned around his hips but his chest bare, towel hung over his frame signaling that he, also, had just finished up a shower.

The circles under his eyes were a little darker, the color in his eyes a little dull, and his knuckles looked bruised—whatever he’d been pummeling and knocking away at must’ve packed a punch.

“Hermosa, hey.”

Yet somehow he seems relaxed at the sight of you and you offer him the first real smile he’s seen since you met.

“Uh, got the files.” You force them out of your hands and into his, feeling like if you held onto them any longer they would burst into flames. You weren’t sure of the validity or importance of them, but you didn’t want to hold the responsibility any longer. “Everything…okay? Steve said—“

“Yeah. Bad info.” Javier says simply, “Doesn’t really matter.”

You nod slowly, fidgeting with your fingers behind your back, “You know,” and here was your attempt, “when Steve pulled up I joked about how this has to be the first time I’ve seen that parking spot empty since I’ve been here. Too bad my car is a piece of shit and I couldn’t even move it to take it back.”

Javier opens his door wider, bare feet sticking wetly against the wood floor as he moves. He clears his throat, a small chuckle that feels like a giant victory. But, he seems eager—no, antsy, ready to flee.

“Shit, you were going out, weren’t you?” He notices the quick glance you give to his frame, never lingering for too long on one spot. “Bebidas, chicas—that’s how you guys usually celebrate, right?” (drinks, girls)

“Nothing to celebrate,” Javier replies nonchalantly, “they all went home, so.”

“Oh.”

Javier glances back inside his apartment briefly, wallet and keys resting on the countertop, shirt thrown over the barstool by the island.

You both speak at the same time, his head turning back when he hears your voice.

“Goodnight, Javi—“

“Did you want to come inside for a minute?”

You pause, watching his hard exterior melt further.

“Um, sure.”

Thus, the deafening click behind you as you step inside, watching as he tossed the files along the island, before disappearing briefly and returning without a towel, still also without a shirt.

He looks perplexed, glancing over the files briefly.

“Do I wanna know?” You ask curiously, stepping alongside him before wandering a little further, glancing around his space.

It was polished, covered in dark furniture and normal amenities, perfectly plain. It looked half lived in, blanket thrown over the couch and a pillow shoved up against one side. Yet the open door down the hall showed a perfectly made bed. You don’t pry, but Javier can feel the judgment from a mile away. He switches the subject before it arises.

“It’s just work. Do you want something to drink?” He asks casually, sifting through his fridge, “Tento agua, jugo, cerveza…” (I have water, juice, beer)

“Beer is fine.”

Javier slides the beer into your hand a moment later, “So, what did Steve tell you?”

“Huh?” You ask, startled by his straightforwardness.

“I mean how much did he tell you about the, uh—the raid?” Javier implores casually, taking a swig from the bottle.

“Oh, nothing really. I asked why he wasn’t there and he told me, but I didn’t try to pry.” You tell him honestly, “The less I know the better, right?”

“And here I am pulling you into that mess for the files,” He jokes, “thank you for that, cariño. Seriously.”

You leave out the extensive conversation you had with Steve about the man standing in front of you, and you hear the words haunting you, nagging at the back of your mind like a bad itch.

You take a long sip of the beer, half dried hair falling over your shoulders as you tip your head back. Javier watches with careful eyes, arms leaning against the island, files pushed further aside.

And suddenly, he seems normal.

In fairness, you’ve never seen him in this environment. His home, his safety, but it’s a juxtaposition to the man you see at work everyday, walking past you with a smirk glued to his face.

Maybe it was only ever really directed at you, but there was always that urge to knock him down a peg. But, not here.

Blame it on your softness, your willingness to want to see the best in people, and how Javier was somehow the end all, be all of gorgeous men in Bogota—he sees the switch too.

The first bad decision was taking the job at the DEA office.

The second? Letting Javier Pena get under your skin so easily.

And between you both, there were enough bad decisions to keep you talking for a week.

What was one more?

He says your name, a dangerous word to leave his mouth at a time like this.

“Javi.”

It’s a warning. An opportunity, his last chance to back away before you both did something stupid. He trashes his empty bottle as he makes his way to you, slipping your own from your grip and onto the nearest flat surface, some mantle or shelf, Javier isn’t sure.

“Do you still hate me?”

It feels like the most ridiculous question to ask, but he needs to hear the answer. Because if you did, he’d back off immediately, walk you back to your apartment, and apologize for ruining your life more than he already had.

But, the other part is praying, hoping that you don’t.

“I don’t know.”

“Did you always know it was me?” He asks softly.

You huff out a short laugh, “What?”

“The car—I mean, I drove it everyday. I wasn’t trying to hide it.”

Your eyes narrow slightly, letting him invade your space, a hand ghosting over your hip, under your shirt carefully, fingertips dancing along your hip.

“You’re not the only guy up there who drives that car, Javi—how was I supposed to know? Are you saying you were doing it purposefully, hoping it bothered me?”

“No,” Javier answers honestly, “but it’s a little fascinating to see you so angry.”

“You should probably elaborate on that unless you feel like seeing it up-close.” You tell him out of pure annoyance, perturbed by the game he was playing.

If he wanted to fuck you, he should just say it.

“You smile all day at those guys, even when they make comments about you in front of your face.” And you’ll hand it to Javier, he’s never been that disrespectful. He appreciates women, and he can be severely pissed off with one, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to trash her in front of anyone else, especially not in front of her. “But, I see it—that little scrunch in between your eyes when they piss you off.”

“It’s my job to be friendly.”

Javier watches the expressive lines between your brow start to form.

Javier shifts you slightly, back pressed to his bare chest as his fingertips settle against your skin, just under the ends of your shirt, and despite the ongoing conversation you can’t help but melt against him.

“I saw it that day when you were standing by my car,” Javier continues, “es linda.” (it's cute)

“Javier,” It's a sigh of discontent, of impatience, and he feels the twitch in your body as you turn your head to look at him over your shoulder, feeling like you were seeing him as a completely different person, yet still somehow the same, “we really don’t have to drag this out.”

He hums softly, pressing a slow kiss against the side of your neck, the soft thrum of your heartbeat against his lips as he stays there, lingers.

“I’m not mad anymore , I’m not upset,” It feels like rambling, but you needed to clear the air, “Just—fuck, I can’t do slow, Javi.”

Slow meant more time to overthink, to feel, and you didn’t want any of that.

“Looks like I didn’t need to leave after all,” Javier laughs against your skin, “tengo a mi chica aquí.” (I have my girl here)

And fuck if you weren’t eager to throw every rule and inhibitions out the window for him.

His bed is just as pristine and untouched as when you entered his apartment, his fingers digging into your thighs firmly, keeping you in place where you were spread out over his lap.

Javier’s thrown off kilter for a moment as you grip his chin, tasting the wide expanse of tanned skin, biting playfully at the sharp edge of his jawline, right by the spot under his ear that has him fighting to stay focus.

Game recognize game, Javier had really met his match.

“Gatita mala,” He tuts, the warmth of his palms spreading over your back, top bare as his thumbs eventually meet the underside of your breasts, rubbing gently until he sees you keen into the touch, “more?” (bad kitty)

You nod eagerly, his eyes never leaving you, not even as he leans forward, mouth at your breasts until he finally takes the leap and licks, nipple pebbling underneath his tongue, bottom lip dragging against the flesh until he can take you into his mouth fully.

The warmth spreads like a flood, twisting at your insides, begging for something more.

“Javi,” You release on a sigh, fingers drifting through the hair at the back of his head as he hums, a soft noise of acknowledgment, “I need you to fuck me.”

“You sure?” He murmurs, mouthing up the center of your chest, latching onto your neck gently before pulling away, his teeth grazing against your chin as he bites. “Tu quieres esto, bebita? (You want this, baby?)

“I don’t need you to be kind, Javier.” You tell him forthright, staring down at him through your lashes, his hands still rubbing a hot pattern into your skin, whatever remnants of your sleep shorts that were left already pushed high up your legs. “You weren’t trying this hard before.”

“What are you saying then?” He asks, following your lips as you pull back, eying you inquisitively as you find his gaze, pulling him in.

Your eyes darken under the light, the streetlight outside of his window flickering faintly, “We don’t need to act like we’re friends,” You explain, “we’re not.”

There’s a long, lingering moment of silence as your thumb rubs along his bottom lip, soothing the natural pout he always held.

“We want the same thing, right?” You ask softly, feeling his hands settle against your lower back, a soft nudge as he presses you against him, not enough contact to satisfy but it stalls you a moment, watching him calculate a response.

Everything he feels like he needs to say never comes, only a nod of confirmation, a clear switch in his eyes as you drag yourself down to his level, pushing him even further, deeper into the back of his couch.

“Good,” You speak to him, lips grazing against his own as you speak, “because getting those files was a pain in the ass and I deserve a lot more than a thank you.”

You soon realize that this version of Javier is hard to deny something when he works for it, pulling at the short strands of his hair as he descends down the couch, to the floor, leaving wet kisses along the way, feeling your body quiver as he reaches your inner thigh, face pinching together in conflicting frustration as you shake your head.

“Javi, you don’t need to,” You quickly assure him, yanking his head away gently, his cheek resting against your thigh as he stares up at you, big brown eyes fixated on your face, “I’m not—“

“Humor me?” Javier counters, flashing you a tired smile, barely recognizable under this light.

You sigh heavily, mostly to release the tension of your anxiety-ridden nerves, gasping as his tongue meets your clit with no preamble.

It forces out a small laugh, involuntarily, his tongue lapping through your center before pressing a kiss against the inside of your thigh, fingers replacing his mouth for a beat.

“Tan dulce,” Javier comments absently, working you up easily, moving his fingers at an angle that even you couldn’t reach with your own hands, spine curving up as you pressed your palm out flat behind you, the grip in his hair tightening as he welcome the soft sounds you made, rubbing his thumb along your clit in a slow circle, “como el azúcar.” (So sweet, like sugar)

Your response is feeble, a throaty moan that has Javi’s cock straining against his jeans, reaching down to relieve the pressure as he unbuttons them.

“Why deny this?” He asks curiously, crazy enough to try and hold a coherent conversation with you while his face was buried in your cunt. “It’s the best part.”

He spreads you wider then, thick hands coming up to force your thighs over his shoulder, supporting the lower half of your body entirely as he devours, growling against your cunt.

The sound has you fluttering around his tongue and Javier feels it, bookmarking that for later.

“Fuck me,” You gasp out in a rush when you start to feel the edges of your orgasm creeping up on you, “god, Javi—“

But, there’s something unspoken there as he pulls away, the subtle shake of your legs, not wanting to feel selfish and even a little embarrassed for coming like this, so easy and quick under his touch. Be it experience but he knew what you needed even more than yourself, everywhere to touch, squeeze, linger for just the right amount of time.

“Look at me,” He demands, eyes flicking toward his without question as he slowly pushes a finger inside, filling the loss from earlier, thumb working against your clit until he feels it, “fuck, you like that?”

And as much as you wanted to deny it, he already knew the answer.

You nod quickly, body feeling feverish as your leaned your weight into your hands, steadily pressed behind you as your hips rock up involuntarily.

“That’s right, hermosa.” Javi encourages softly, almost like a purr as the crest of your orgasm rises, flushing over you in waves as you gasp, reaching your hand forward to dig your fingers into his forearm, silently begging him to slow down.

Eventually he does, pulling out gingerly but not before slipping the finger past his own lips, covered in the sweetness of you. He doesn’t make a big show of it, but it’s a small gesture that has your heart fluttering in your chest, a pain that aches deep. He does catch your gaze after a moment though, lazily explaining himself.

“What? I don’t lie.” He shrugs, thumb grazing against your bottom lip until you jerk your head away in frustration—coming here for nothing, but somehow twisting yourself up in the sheets on his couch, his solid figure tucked between your legs, and god, he’s not even wearing anything underneath his jeans. He rises up on his knees, denim hiding everything but the short patch of trimmed hair leading to his still, unfortunately clothed cock.

“Get on your knees.” He jerks his chin upwards and you’re moving without question, breathing a quiet sigh of relief as he moves behind you, shuffling around as he digs in a drawer beside his couch, shifting his jeans down until he can kick them the rest of the way, settling his hand over your hip in a comforting gesture, if anything, as he rips the foil packet with his teeth, pumping himself languidly.

He situates himself behind you, one knee pressed into the cushion while his other leg is planted against the floor, finding that once again, his hands couldn’t stop exploring your body, admiring every curve with us fingertips as he nudges you down and into the opposite cushion, palm pressed against the flat of your back as he lines himself up, pushing inside in one fluid motion, an audible groan breaking from his chest as he finally satiates his own desperate need for pleasure.

He enjoys sex this way, prefers it, fulfilling that need to take and consume and fill his partner with pleasure, tell that it was okay to give up control. It's what Javier enjoyed the most, controlling the situation. But, even as he enters you, he feels at a disadvantage.

“Bebita, talk to me.” Javier speaks up from behind you, his gruff, gravely voice cutting through the silence. “Let me hear you.”

You gasp on a sharp thrust of his hips, the wet sound of your slick as it coats him, feeling perfectly stretched by the size of his cock, grip tightening on the cushion in front of you as you feel his hand explore higher, squeezing at the back of your neck to force you deeper into the surface, head turned enough that you catch his expression for a brief moment.

He’s admiring you with a heated, half-lidded gaze as his eyes wander the expanse of your back, settling over the point where you two meet, watching as he sinks into you again and again. But, it’s the grit of his teeth that drives you insane, fucking you with a ferocity that carries so much more than just needing a release.

“Hablas demasiado, Javi.” You groan, feeling the soft pad of his thumb as it rubs at your jaw, earning a low chuckle in response. “You always talk this much with them?” (you talk too much)

He doesn’t need to pry to understand what you’re referring to—and he could act like it hurts his ego, and maybe it does, but he bites back at you just as quickly.

Your name graces his lips in a curse, a prayer, something akin to heavenly as he grips your hips tight, “You’re not them, bebita.”

It feels like a confession, but for your own sake, you ignore it, nodding blindly at his response.

“Fuck,” He growls, dragging a hand along your body until he settle it in the curve of your shoulder, pulling you back against him until you can’t stifle the sounds anymore, moaning out his name for the first time that night, “otra vez, let me hear it.” (again)

You gasp sharply at the sudden change in position, pulled tight to Javier’s chest in a similar position to earlier when you were standing in his kitchen, ultimately more intimate this way, with his mouthing at the shoulder that isn’t currently occupied by his hand, his arm slipping under yours and around the flesh to keep you in place while his mouth sucks at the skin on the opposite side, his name falling from your lips freely as he brings you to a second orgasm with no preamble, a quiet sound leaving you as the high is a little less intense, his fingers rubbing against the small bundle of nerves until you’re begging him to let up.

His breathing is short, hurried as his own orgasm is right there, free arm wrapping around your waist as he hugs you against him, mouthing at whatever parts of you he could reach.

“Gonna cum, bebita,” He warns, tracing a soft line under your breast with his finger until he’s squeezing the mound of it in his hand, “right here, can I?”

If you weren’t so drunk on your own pleasure you would’ve questioned it, but even then you weren’t sure you could deny him. You nod jerkily, feeling him unwind himself from you and guide you around with a steady hand, tapping at your side until he’s got you where he needs, kneeling a little lower, head lolling into his outstretched hand as he supports the weight, rubbing at the soft, tender spot behind your ear as he strokes himself quickly, head thrown back as he comes, moaning brokenly as the feeling overtakes him, spilling carefully onto your chest, your own eyes threaten to shut out of exhaustion but not daring to deny yourself the sight of him, neck outstretched and straining, veins protruding on the side as he swallows hard, gasping as he finally comes back down.

He feels you move to stand but urges you back down, “Stay,” He tells you softly, “I'll be back.”

And he’s not gone more than a few moments before he’s returning with a small towel, wearing a pair of sleep pants he must’ve grabbed from his room first, taking long strides to meet you as he cleans up the mess quietly, his face a little perplexed as he does so, watching as you move to grab your discarding clothing in the process.

“Any chance this convinced you to give me my spot now?” You joke lightly, catching the grin that spreads across Javi’s face, unconstrained.

“You wish, cariño.”

The silence settles as you redress yourself, mindful of Javier’s heavy gaze as he ascends back toward the work in his kitchen, giving you the space you needed.

“Same time mañana?” Javier asks suddenly, gaze landing on you as he scratches at his cheek, examining a paper within the stack of folders. (tomorrow?)

And you’re mentally cursing yourself for the small moment of hesitation you have in answering before Javier’s grin is growing again, releasing a short laugh in amusement at your obvious confusion.

“I meant for work,” He clarifies, “do you need a ride?”

“Oh—yeah,” You shrug indifferently, “I guess.”

The stare that Javier holds is mesmerizing, the type that freezes you in place and holds you hostage.

“Good,” He nods, “—but you know the other offer still stands if you want to.”

“Goodnight, Javi.” You reply with an eye roll, an empty response that holds no hatred.

Javier steps forward in your path, a subtle smirk on his face as he presses a kiss to the side of your head, a gesture that comforts you more than you’re expecting.

“Goodnight, gatita.”

Gatita = kitten

Cariño, Hermosa = both mostly terms of endearment (ie. beautiful, sweetheart)

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