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punk-in-docs · 2 years

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🕷Was it Love or Nicotine?🕷

Eddie Munson x Reader, one shot.

12k words

Summary: Eddie brings you comfort when you’re sick-

You’re two seconds from bolting out to grab the baseball bat your mom kept in the upstairs closet.

But a familiar voice slithers on in. You catch onto snippets.

“Shit. Motherfucking,sonofa- betch.” Comes unsmothered curses from the underside of your window. There’s another hiss, shaking of a shrub, and a knock. A growl. A stab of a foot hooking onto wood.

That would be Eddie.

Or;

The one where you’re sick, and who should show up at your window, with a can of Campbell’s stuffed in his pocket? That’s right. Eddie Munson.

In case you wanted an Eddie MASTERLIST to peruse-

It starts out along the lines of this; Eddie does keep an eye out for you at school. Of course he does.

His cool chick with the choppy-flicky hair. Self proclaimed music snob with one hell of a sense of humour. His pencils. The one with the magic lips. With that taste of sugar-strawberry lip smacker skated on them.

He couldn’t get over it.

Mind flicked back to thoughts of you over and over. Faded film reel in his head bleached to sepia ghost tones the amount it played out. The way your hands tugged in his lapels for more. That flash white of your smile in the half dark that turned his knees to quivering water.

That gorgeous way you’d pressed an Alice Cooper tape in his hands and told him sternly what tracks to listen too. How hungrily you’d kissed him back like he was your new kind of air-

Remembering the soft press of your fruit sweet lips has all the blood in him racing south. Fuck.

And he can’t help it and he’s more than aware that it might be overstepping the mark. Him looking out.

Fuckin’ Christ. He feels like the Norman Bates character from that movie. Like some perverted creep combing crowds, just hoping to see you dotted among them.

He thinks about you, laying, chainsmoking in his bed with a cigarette wonky to his lips. He stubs it out and lights another. There’s no removing you. You’re like another rush of nicotine in him right now.

You are running bond deep and he can’t reach in and pull out your influence. He lets it stay cause it’s fucking magic. Better than weed and he doesn’t say that lightly-

He thinks about you on the drive to school. He stops to pick up Gareth and Jeff. They chat on the way about the new issue of Daredevil.

Eddie, hard as he tries, has one ear tuned to them, and the other to the stereo in his van. Teeth grit, bumping it with a clenched fist to get it to behave. Metal rings clacking on the dash.

Alice sneers his venomous vocals to a shredding guitar, it just tugs a smile out of him that threads back to you, entirely. Jeff comments on the new tape that wasn’t the same thrashing Metallica or thundering Motörhead.

Nice music man. This new?

His resulting grin is silky smooth.

Yeah. Just picked it up.

They arrive at school and collectively brace themselves, for classes and the picky snide words of their peers. Another day of not fitting in, shouldering the hassle of being an underdog, in Hellfire clad armour.

Instead of a chip on his shoulder, Eddie may aswell have a grating two tonne boulder on there, at this point.

They pile out of the van and split ways for their classes. They say goodbye and he only just finds his tongue to answer.

Simply because he’s half invested. He’s scanning the school parking lot a little more studiously than usual.

He knew you drove a capri. He knows it’s kinda a muddy-mustard colour with a few rust marks eating away at the passenger door.

He recalls that he saw you arrive yesterday with thunder faced Malibu Barbie in the next seat.

She checked her nails whilst you unloaded an armful of sketchbooks and heavy textbooks from the back seat. He wanted to hot foot it over to help you, but the crowds of people milling around made his courage shrink down.

He actually started to step to you- that’s how much he wanted to eat up that distance. But then his brain just hammered into his skull like a fist on a car roof, that he should stop.

Not yet. Not here. Too early. Too keen, you lunatic.

He vaguely recalls hearing Linda bitching at you about the fact you played Billy Idol all the way there on the drive. Makes his smile crawl across until teeth show. Sounds about right. Atta girl.

He couldn’t hang around. He couldn’t. But he wanted too. It’s a saw tooth edge all mean and scraping into his belly how much he wants too. But he can’t bring himself to act.

He wants to possess the bravery to scamper over there, push Linda out the way on her teetering heels, grab your goddamn face with ring clad hands and kiss you, hard.

Push you up against the side of your car to do it. Like he is the is the picture perfect, shiny haired golden boy in some sappy John Hughes movie.

Feel you squeak against the cup of his mouth in surprise. Kiss you with his tongue flicking at your teeth. Cupping the back of your head. Get the smell of your hair in his nose again. The juicy fruit taste of your lips.

Make out with you, devour you, right here with the whole damn school able to see, and every filthy as sin intention of letting his hands wander over all of you.

Wrap leather arms around you like vines and never, ever let go. Pull you into his chest like he wants you under his skin. He wants to pull a Judd Nelson and punch the fucking sky.

But he’d caught your eye. Just a flash. The sunny gold skate of your resulting smile when you saw it was him makes his insides warmer. Feels better than any pill.

You lock eyes, and it’s like someone has struck cupids red fucking arrow through the meat of his heart. Thud-thud-thudding like it’s climbed up the back of his mouth and clung to his tonsils.

He waves. You wave back. It’s that easy.

For now, just that smile and wave of acknowledgement was enough.

A gorgeous burst of you for just a second across the lot. That was yesterday.

He looks around today, as he jiggles his van keys in his hands. Keychains scraping together all jagged in his palm. Scanning for anything that resembled you or the Capri. Or, heaven forfend, the poofy cloud of blonde curls that belonged to your greek harpy of a friend.

He can’t see either.

He chews the inside of his lower lip. Eyes flick to the lot entrance. Nothing there still spilling in resembled you, either.

A grainy brown station wagon lumbers into park not far from him. Lurching clumsily onto a space. He watches a beefy letterman jock climb out and scrape his ridiculous golden Rob Lowe mullet back on his head.

The other side, the passenger door opens and a poodle bouffant of spilling blonde starts bouncing out.

He watches your friend get out. Join hands with her ape of a boyfriend, and flounce on into school. All legs and those maraschino-red heels, in another one of her short denim skirts. Hot pink jewellery hanging off her ears and wrists.

And you’re nowhere to be seen. That doesn’t square well on him. It sticks like something lumpy in his throat.

He hot foots it to class cause the last thing he needs is another tardy mark against his already pretty dashed reputation. But you cycle on loop through his head way more than any of his schoolwork probably should.

He’s never really been any good at staying still, or paying attention to much in his life. He is too erratic. Too lost to fantasy at times. Busy elsewhere.

He bounced his knees. He fiddled with his rings, doodled DND character concepts, or horned skulls on the margins of his schoolbooks, rather than actually turning his eyes to the board at any point. Some things really have to hook his flighty interest to warrant earning it full time.

He’s always had half his head stuck somewhere else. Even worse now you’d snatched up the rest of his already limited attention span.

It might be that you’ve hitched a ride to school. Car troubles? Maybe you overslept? Some shit like that. Some circumstance that had delayed you.

He drifts through his day. Decided to shake up his usual route after the bell rings for lunch. He doesn’t drift straight to the canteen, probably in time to hear a braindead slur aimed his way from Jason and his goons. Or he’d have to listen for the tenth time as Jeff argued with Sinclair about armour classes.

He swings by the clay scented halls of the school art department. A place - it had to be said - he never really had a lot of cause to go. It’s definitely new territory to embark on.

The walls are pinned with cork boards full of charcoal drawings and art history posters. Seurat, Poussin and Van Gogh’s twisting almond branches on midnight blue. Sad pot plants droop on a low table by a sun drenched window. The scent here is all stale paint and dried claggy clay.

He idles past a couple classrooms. Armies of easels in one where students are happily settled. Drawing a bowl of plump fruit on a goddamn podium. The room at the end is dusty and he’s guessing that’s where the potters wheels and reeking scent of clay is coming from.

He dodged a wall of students armed with wide flat sketchbooks and charcoal stained fingers. They frown at him in bewilderment like he doesn’t belong. A cat amongst the pigeons.

They’re not wrong-

He shoulders past them and ignores the way they turn to gawp at him. Wondering why he was in the Art Department, rather than his habitual canteen table soap box, or his weed stoop in the woods where people rarely dare to tread.

More rooms crammed with easels and painters and you’re not one of them. He weaves past even more classrooms. Collects more stares. He feels them land on his back as he walks past. Burning into his DIO patch like bleach.

He’s used to stares. Always been cool with not caring what other people’s problems are with him. And it always falls into the category of instant dislike. He’s sure they have a list at this point.

His hair is too crazy curls and straggly. He’s a super senior who lives in a trailer park. Out of fashion the way he dresses, in his Judas Priest pins and his beloved band tees and his ripped denim knees. He doesn’t listen to Abba, or give a shit about Madonna. So what?

He quickly came to realise during his misspent youth and at the height of his not so brilliant rollercoaster through puberty, that it was their issue. Not his.

He cut himself plenty of slack long ago. He won’t be crammed into stifling neat little moulds, expected to fit, like so many others just fall into. His denim and leather shield against the small small world of Hawkins remained spiky.

Because he doesn’t come from that well classed upbringing of stuffy family dinners, posed holiday photos, minivans, and mom and pop curfew.

He isn’t destined to go on and smile, and be a good shiny haired little athlete boy, off to make good grades, at an Ivy-smothered, brownstone college.

It’s dangerous for the kids to conform, you know? Toxic man.

Besides he’s on a more urgent mission here, than the craggy in’s-and-out’s of squalid pissy disapproval.

Every classroom in this building comes up empty. He sighs and proverbially kicks himself in the shin for being nosy and creepy.

Let’s that feeling eat away a while at his belly as he heads to join his usual crowd. Where he belonged. On a sticky plastic table as they squabbled about shit and kept to their geek corner.

He tucked tail. Chided himself all the way back to the canteen. Smacked his hand on the doorframe coming out the department. A harsh rap to his knuckles that flared with pain.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid, Munson.

Sat down with a sour face at the head of his table, picked idly at his food. A bag of half eaten chips and a probably out of date Twinkie. Not even the tater tots on Dustin’s plate break him out his funk like they usually do. He’d normally snatch a few. Not today.

Dustin seems to be eyeing him like he would try and snaffle them up. He’s watching for the sudden dart and silver-flash of his ring clad hand. It doesn’t come.

Jeff chucks him a juice box. Like he’s a fucking stray pigeon in the park they’ve all grown used to feeding.

Eddie stares at it too much, as he punches the straw in and repeats the motion. Twiddling with the chilli red plastic as he kept to himself. Fiddling. Fidgeting.

Also something he rarely did. Keep to his own crazy scarecrow head.

Stab and lift. Stab and lift.

Lost his appetite anyhow. Somewhere along the line.

He was being a moron. Presumptuous. Wouldn’t be the first time and on all his metal gods, it certainly won’t be the last.

He feels fully pathetic. One morsel scrap of attention and off he goes like some lonely pervert. Trailing after you like a rabid dog. Frothing at the mouth for the crumb of affection he thought could turn into something more.

Something hopeful that started to unfurl, blooming open in his chest. A delicate rare flower he’d never have the brains to know the full name of.

He’s just dumped a load of choking weed killer over that frail bloom. Because when should a freak’s dreams ever come true

Maybe you didn’t want to be found. Not by him. Maybe you’d come to your senses-

Maybe you realised what he truly was; not some stud athlete on path to play football for a fraternity in the big leagues and make his parents proud.

He is a scrawny loser. A jagged little freak. And as this school reminds him on a daily basis; he’s a nonconforming creep who won’t amount to so much as a piss stain in his life. And now you know that.

That snake bite of a realisation stings way, way, more than he thought it would.

Day two. Hour 48. Eddie still finds himself looking.

Maybe he’s a sadomasochist after all. The harder the hit, the sweeter the pain. And it burns so good he can’t tear away from it.

He waits by his trusty van. Others drift off for class. Frowning at the time when they realise how ridiculously fucking early he’d picked them up this morning.

Also something else Eddie doesn’t gel with; punctuality.

Gareth shook his watch hand and lifted it to his ear to check it was still ticking. Henderson seemed to be looking at him the whole ride here, waiting for some rational sort of explanation to announce itself out the metalhead’s mouth, with his usual dramatic fanfare.

It definitely wasn’t anything to do with schoolwork. No final, or test paper could intimidate or worry him. Maybe it was a deal he was anxious to speed too.

Eddie, was your bed on fire this morning or what?

Huh?

You owe someone money or something-

Are you tripping out on me, Henderson? Seriously man. Making zero sense here, y’know.

Eddie didn’t miss the way Dustin slumped back into his seat, tugged at his science baseball cap and muttered something like “Well, that makes two of us.”

Shut the hell up, and let me so graciously drive you to school, you little shrimp.

He says it with thinning patience. But the thing is, Eddie doesn’t really get ever mad or mean with his insults. Never nasty. He doesn’t have a nasty bone in him.

The only thing that works him into being revved up, is the thought of postponing Hellfire. Heaven forfend.

When he parks up, he’s still keeping his mysterious reasons clutched close to his denim chest. He tells them to scram. Beat it.

Get lost, you losers, as he ruffles Dustin’s hair.

His bemused flock wanders away from the parking lot, and wonder how they’re gonna kill some extra time.

He leans against the side of his van, and lights up a cigarette. And there he stays. His skin itches with paranoia. Pushing needles under his veins. Bouncing back from if this is a good idea, or still just him being a creep. Back and forth.

Really he talks himself in and out of it. He jumps out of negative thoughts. Banishes them. And then dives right back in not five minutes later.

He sees Barbie arrive at school in her clunky dream car. (Not pink, shocker) On her own this time. No meathead to speak off. But she is wearing his letterman jacket. It hangs off her.

Today’s heels are sapphire blue. Lilac eyeshadow packed heavy on her lids. She stops and chit-chats to a couple of cheerleaders, all three with standard issue bouncy scrunchie ponytails, that he’s sure is a requirement to get in the squad. Linda lugs a very thin looking binder into class with her.

He hates that he’s taking notice of her footwear. Of all fucking things in this place to notice. But she’s garbed in so much neon brightness, in the full sunshine, she’s a hard one to miss.

He skims his eyes across crowds and pulls on his cigarette. One hand in his pocket. His sneaker toes tap on the loose gravel.

She sashays off to class with the cheerleaders. He’s taking note of an awfully you shaped absence at her side. The negative space unfilled where you should be. Garbed in your paint flecked jeans, with that look of cynical boredom on your face when Linda says something bitchy.

It’s preying on him all the more. The bell goes and he must tear himself away, yet again. Drudging through more classes til lunch comes rolling around, way too slowly.

It’s a nice day - buttery sunshine spliced with a cold stab of spring. Hellfire club convenes outside. They run through character sheets in readiness for Friday night’s campaign. Eddie in his usual spot as king of the heap. Sat table top. As per.

Hands folded from his elbows resting on his knees. Eyes speared across the crowds. Little frown kinking his dark brows in the middle. He looks more intense than usual.

Going this long without glimpsing even one sight of you? Something’s gotta to be up.

He really doesn’t want to look, and he’s not really. It’s quite a repulsive sight happening across the way.

Blondie and her golden haired ape are stood making out, leaning against the brick wall opposite. All wandering hands and tonguing each other’s tonsils. Swapping spit and lusty grins. Not giving a shit.

He’s waiting for his moment. For the opportunity to strike out, like a ready coiled viper.

His knee jiggles and it bounces the bench seat. He barely notices. Too preoccupied. His bracelet jingles on his wrist. Blondie breaks away and the ape goes off in another direction. She walks into the shade of the hallway.

His moment sails right on into his hands. He snatches it.

He bolts up and bounded off the table like it had gone up in flames. Eyes dead ahead. Feet stomping the table top and then down to the bench with precise heavy steps.

The guys around him were fairly used to his outbursting displays of movement. It seemed all Eddie ever did was burst out of control and be unpredictable. Scamper around with that odd sort of scurrying way he moves. Other people walked: Eddie frolicked.

“Hey, where you goin?” Wheeler asks.

“To do battle with a fire breathing dragon.” He calls over his shoulder with a wry little grin.

That typical Munson wild-boy look he gives that’s all big bourbon eyes the size of dinner plates; grin dipped in craziness. Usually the expression that proceeded a whole shit tonne of poor decisions.

As he scurried off the lot after tweedle-dumb, he did feel like he should have armed himself. A sword maybe. A heavy duty shield. Something to bat the curling tongues of flames away when they rise- and oh, they will rise.

He scampers away. Leaves his friends stunned as to what the hell he means. They all share crumpled and vacant looks behind his back as he leaves them crashing about in his rushed wake.

W-was that weird guys?

When is he ever not weird?

Fair.

Eddie rounds the corner and catches her alone. In a partially empty hallway. Lockers sit gleaming either side. Fierce metal red in the lowlight as sun slanted its angry gold across the dull lino. The grey breeze block walls that he really really hates, lining the dour hallways of this freedom crushing institute, of conformity and misery.

He catches up with Linda as she’s slamming stuff in her locker without care, and pouting, to touch up her waxy pink lipstick in a little mirror on her door. Wiping ape drool off her chin and checking her permed hair still bounced and shone. Scrunching the back of it with those pink talons she calls nails.

Claws. Eddie noted. They were definitely claws.

She pushes her locker door closed. Actually recoils back when she sees him walking towards her.

She grimaces like some flea ridden stray has bounded up to her. Covered in mange, and with matted fur. Eddie grits his teeth. Steels his resolve.

“You gotta sec, Blondie?” He asks all casual. Actually tried to keep his voice in neutral territory.

“I have a boyfriend.” She sneers out.

“Yeah. Well. He’s really not my type. You’re safe.”

“Too much product in his hair for my liking.” He adds with a sickly grin that he hopes turns her stomach.

Off the bat with his fists raised for this. Poised. Ready to block side swipes and hurl back a few of his own.

He stands there with his hands on his pockets a safe distance away. He doesn’t risk getting too close.

She’s likely to spray pepper in his face. Or screech and shout that the school freak was harassing her. Eddie keeps distance because he knows full well what people like her, think and say about him.

And if it goes sideways he’s the first one knee deep in the shit.

No matter who throws the first punch, it always sticks to Eddie. That’s where the trouble lands. Cause why fucking not- easy target. He may aswell pin a bullseye on his back. He can’t decry innocence. No one would believe him.

Her frown shifts into something fully venomous. Those baby blues of hers turn Nordic-chilly with icy rage. Gaze packed with frost. Hatred and annoyance blasted his way. What’s new.

“Why are you even talking to me, freak?” She asks. Voice unimpressed, and very much revealing her lack of patience. Scrunched her nose up she was stood near a foul smell. Like he hasn’t showered this morning, or put on deodorant.

That little word he detests stabs into him. Pin pricks on a wiry bed of exposed nerves. He clenched his teeth so as not to open his jaw and retaliate.

Oh, but its right there on the tip of his tongue. It was tempting. He swallows it down.

“Pure desperate dumbassery on my part. But I did wanna ask you something...” Eddie explains.

“Nice.” She spits out at his dig. Making a face that encouraged him to get the hell on with it.

She stands and kinks out a hip. Raps her nails in a slow rap-tap-tap on her locker door. Bag slung off her other shoulder. She looked bored of him already. Had her laser eyes set to bitch-

“I uh, noticed that your friend isn’t around. Something up with her, or what?” He asks in as casual a way as he can allow.

She frowns. “What the hell is it to you?”

Here’s where thinking on his ever shuffling fearful feet comes in handy.

“Was supposed to drop her some stuff yesterday in the woods. She never showed.” He shrugged like it was easy. Kept his voice a tad quieter for obvious reasons, as he explained.

Somehow his cowardly little heart can’t tell her it’s because he has this huge boiling, raging crush on you.

He has a feeling she’d make a huge show of that. For both your sakes, he pads out the truth for now with a little harmless lie. Packs it around the truth like bubble wrap.

Linda looks like she buys it. Her brow quirks. He was the best route to good stuff around here. Whether she liked to admit it or not.

There were several far creepier guys out of school in town who could hook kids up with weed - for a price if girls were pretty or rip them off for way too much money and inferior stuff. Eddie was almost preferable in the vein of supply compared to those letchers.

Yeah, Munson is a total psycho. But his shits good. Strong. And he doesn’t ask you to flash your tits, or give him a handjob, like the others.

“She didn’t tell me she was buying shit from you.” She narrowed her eyes like it was his fault. Flicking her long lashes and blue doll eyes up and down him in blatant distaste.

“Honey, I sell reefer. I don’t to ask too many questions about how or why it’s used.” He charms.

“All I know is, she wanted some of my product.” He comes completely clean and hope he’s selling this lie. Big brown puppy eyes giving off what he hopes comes across as honesty.

It works.

“She usually scores Mexican stuff off the guy she works with.” She added. “Sal.”

“Who?” Eddie asks. Confused like he hadn’t just met the guy just two days ago.

“Why would she start buying off you?” She frowns. She says it like his name is worse than mud.

He feels like he’s having to sneak past Cerberus into the gates of hell. And those three heads with slobering teeth, and talons just keep coming back round to bite him in the ass.

“My stuff is primo. And plus I don’t know if you heard, but I’m easy on the eyes, and give discounts to pretty chicks.” He shoots her a playful wink. Clicks his tongue at her.

She scoffs. “Whatever, Munson.” She picks at her nails. Done with him.

“Look. I don’t have enough time to stand here through all the centuries of the Spanish Inquisition, Blondie. I just wanted to know why I lost out on making fifteen bucks yesterday. S’all. Kay? Thought you might know. You look tight. I see you guys hanging around with each other.” He offers.

Hands in his jacket pockets jerking up as he spoke. Playing the disinterested weed dealer. Like he’s nothing more to you. When really he wants to be so much more it’s an aching cavernous pit in his stomach, suspended in hope.

He twirls like he’s gonna step away. Mission failed.

“Forget it.” Shaking his head. Making his curly hair fly. Turning his DIO patch back to this and wondering what the hell he’s going to do now.

He smiles like it’s nothing, but something deep down inside is all twisted and mangled sad. Hitting rock bottom. Scraping razors down the blunt edge of his hope.

“She called in sick.”

Eddie turned back and looked over his shoulder.

Sick? What?

That little warm golden beam of hope starts to fizz in his stomach again. You weren’t avoiding him? Holy shit.

The sunny sense of giddiness comes slamming into his gut so hard he has to remember to try and breathe normally. His lungs feel too small.

It was spliced with curiosity now. He was happy as fuck, but now he knew the truth, he couldn’t put aside that you might’ve been on your own. Being sick.

With this skinny slutty drill sergeant as your lone pillar of emotional support with your mom away, now he worried about you suffering on your own, without any sort of kindness, or help.

“Said she had stomach flu, or cramps. I don’t know. I had to borrow my dad’s car to come to school.” She said like it was the biggest travesty of the 21st century for her with, you being out of action. Rolled those eyes over.

“Sick. Right.” Eddie nods. “Well, that explains it.” He grins.

And back out comes the school jester slash freak-

“Bless you for your time, your majesty. I am most obliged. I will let you go back to your embroidery, and having the peasants flogged.” He mock bows and rolls his hand as he does. Hair flipping over his neck. Chain hitting his leg as he moved.

“Creep.”

“Only the finest, sweet cheeks.” Shooting a blasting finger gun at her. Cocking his thumb as the trigger.

She gave him a look that was half venom, and all hatred.

“I have mace in my purse, Munson.” She warns. Popping a stick of juicy fruit in her mouth. Not that it would make her sour words any more bubble-gum sweeter.

“Man if I had a nickel-“ He quipped.

“Tell your friend to get well soon, alright? I gotta look after my prettiest newest customer.” He smirks like anything.

“Babe?” Comes a way too gruff voice. Mr. Blonde Ape lumbers up behind Linda and scrunches his big neanderthal forehead up at Eddie. Placing his huge mitt on her hip. Knuckles dragging along the ground.

He had a sad little George Michael earring dangling off one ear. Behind that, the ridiculous lion gold mullet, shiny with whatever celebrity endorsed product spray he caked on his perm.

The jokes floating into Eddie’s head right now are just too rich. He’s gonna burst-

“Uh oh. The cavalry?” Eddie asks. Smirking as he walks backwards, backing off. He knows its a jab. It’s a goading comment that’s meant to invite retaliation.

He’s never been very good at keeping his mouth out of wandering him recklessly into trouble.

“He bothering you?” Her boyfriend grunts. Looking like he wants to crack his beefy knuckles and slam Eddie’s curly head into the nearest wall of lockers, till his brains spilled out his ears.

“What do you want freak? Quit harassing her.”

“Wow. Sharp as a brick.” Eddie smiles in mocking as his eyes flick back to Linda. Ribbing her for being so stuck up to him, when she was going out with a guy who looked dumber than an actual box of rocks. Dry sponge for a brain.

Ironically, Eddie would trust a box of rocks more than any brain dead amoeba wearing a letterman. Bring on the box.

He points at the ape with his hand still in his pockets. “Really? IQ of 2, and it takes three for him to grunt right?” He goads.

“Fuck off.” Linda barks at him. There’s that mouth again.

Eddie remembered how you’d both cracked jokes about it. Her big mouth. Lifted his spirits a little. Facing down the dragon when entwined with memories of you? Suddenly not so scary.

“Gladly, Mi’lady.” He spins on his heel and bolts away.

He makes it back outside and it isn’t lost on the guys how freaking wide his smile is. Renewed whirling sort of energy to him again. Less antsy. More Eddie.

He stomps his feet heavily back up onto the bench and then the table top. Back to his rightful place.

On the way up he pinches the moon pie right out of Dustin’s grasp. Doesn’t even break his stride.

At least he says ‘thank you’ when he tears the food out of his young friends hand.

Henderson protests all squeaky, but then he had another one stashed in his backpack. Well learned by now. Eddie was like a scrounging feral coyote with stealing his food.

A feral coyote always chewing on a cigarette. That may well have been Eddie’s spirit animal.

They had all learnt that Eddie existed on seemingly nothing. Gas station burritos, cigarettes, and a few cold ones.

He doesn’t know where he draws the energy from to be so hyper for Hellfire. For thrashing and head-banging his crazy hair to deafening rock in his van. Rings clacking hard on his worn steering wheel as he drove and drummed along a beat. Spouted hardcore rock lyrics and made a face with that curling tongue hanging out his mouth.

Eddie chews noisily and splits his maniacal grin at Henderson as he eats. Waving off Dustin’s protests. That grumpy little frown coming forth from under his curls and hat brim.

Now Eddie needed to break even more bad news-

“By the way, you little shits are gonna have to make your own way home tonight.” Eddie says through chewing as he peers down at his Casio.

The table descends into pissy uproar. Eddie rolls those brown eyes over. Gareth throws a balled up piece of paper at his back. Eddie tosses it back, harder, with a leer. It bounces off his head.

“What are we being ditched for this time?” Wheeler asks.

A damsel in distress caught in her tower. Is what Eddie wants to say.

Eddie the brave has dared face the fire breathing dragon, and the meathead ogre. All that remains is seeing to the fair maiden in her hour of need.

“House call.” He tells them.

“Find your own wheels, folks.” Patting his pockets and calculating how much he had left over from his last couple of deals. It was a fair chunk. He liked to kid himself he was saving it for a rainy day.

He puts a cigarette between his lips. Maybe it’s to hide his grin.

He has a definite feeling he’ll be literally skipping out his last class.

You felt like hell.

Mind, hell was supposed to be considerably warm. Licking brimstone and red hot flames and all that. You were flipping between corpse cold clammy, and blazing hot. All the blankets pulled tight over your shoulder, and then the next minute, kicking them free.

You’d woken up two days ago with awful pains all squirming nausea in your belly, and a pounding head.

The glories of stomach flu. You spent the entire rest of the day hugging the toilet and hurling your guts out til there was nothing left to give. Retching til you were empty and your stomach cramping.

You then laid in bed shivering with fever for a whole day. Having to drag yourself down the kitchen wrapped in a blanket and fetch yourself a glass of water and something with a little sugar in.

Out of date orange sour juice was your lot. There wasn’t much else in. A few scraps of leftovers, 4 old eggs and a wilting bag of salad.

You weren’t in any kind of mood to stand and cook. You’d nibbled on a few graham crackers. Something dry. You’d kill for a ginger ale to kill the lingering nausea right now.

You rang your sister at the Diner and told her you weren’t so great. She promised to check in after her night shift with supplies. She’d be back around 6am. Mom was supposed to be back in three days’ time too. You’d be back to normalcy by then. With any luck-

You struggled with all your energy to get your miserable carcass in the shower and freshen up. Raking product through your ratty lank hair. You’d been sweating so much with it. The cool water sluicing over your skin felt so reviving.

You got out and pulled on snoopy sleep shorts and a faded Billy Idol tour tee. You’d plucked it out from the dollar store rack for three bucks. It was huge but your favourite shirt to sleep in. You vividly recall Linda going gaga over buying a pink faux leather skirt at the same time. You couldn’t be more opposites if you tried.

You twisted your hair in a towel and managed to scrape together the energy to drag your sheets and pillowcases into the basement to wash them.

By the time you schlepped your way back up the stairs with gargantuan effort, your bones rang with ache for the energy you’d expended.

You flopped back into your remade bed and shoved the small TV in your room on for some soothing noise. The tape you rented from Family Video was still in there from the other day. John Carpenters The Fog. One of your all time favourites. You could happily tune in and out you’d seen it so many times.

You watch the Poe quote about dreams, and the old sailor dangling the pocket watch to some kids around a campfire, before he claps it in his hands and says with that gravelly voice of storytelling doom, “11:55.”

You let it play in the background as you lazed there and in your freshly remade bed. Dragging a thin blanket over your legs. Settling in and feeling drowsy as a milky blue began to wash over the room.

Your small bedside lamp was on, staining your room gold. Window open and your white and pink striped curtains pulled back. They sway gentle on the meagre breeze. Spilling in scents of your garden at a dewy periwinkle sunset. The little white flowers climbing up the trellis smelled so sweet. All rolled in the flavour of cooling night air.

You finally let yourself sag down and drift in and out of sleep. Blanket tangled between your legs. When you blearily stumble out of sleeps cosy swallow again, the film is halfway through. Nick and Elizabeth trying to haul ass and get Andy to safety.

You woke hearing a slamming car door down the street. One of your neighbours coming and going. The sound drifting through your open windows and batting at your curtains. The Anderson’s’ chunky pit bull started barking it’s head off at the noise too.

You yawned and shoved the pillow under your tilted head to watch the film through hooded lids. You were damn hungry, but not hungry enough to move to rectify it. You’d survive til morning on water. Despite the way your belly gripes and growls for something more substantial than crackers.

You turn the film up and get lost in it. Laying back, until you hear a scuffle outside. Knocking up against the wall of your house.

You sit right up to listen better. Ears tuned for more. There’s definitely the telltale rustle and shake of the shrubs below your window. The scrape of something hitting the trellis.

You pause the video with a hurried click.

Some idiot was climbing up the side of your house.

You’re two seconds from bolting out to grab the baseball bat your mom kept in the upstairs closet.

But a familiar voice slithers on in. You catch onto snippets.

That would be Eddie.

Who just fell ass first into a long neglected rose bush. Hissing and cursing at the scrape on his back.

Risking thorns, undeterred, he’s back up. Trying again on the trellis, with more success. Graze burning mean at his back where his t-shirt had ridden up.

You twist around in bed to see leathered elbows knock ungracefully into your room. Bracelet rattling around a skinny wrist. Faded sharpie phone number scrawled on his hand.

Waterfall of hair cupping that face and framing those bourbon-black eyes, and the wicked bright grin. A brown paper bag dangling from between his teeth.

When he sees you on your bed his brows raise in greeting. Muffled smile and sounds coming out his mouth. Spit soaking dark into the brown paper.

He thinks nothing of unfolding his lanky limbs into your bedroom. Shoving the window open wider and clumsily throwing himself inside. Tumbling in so his long legs kicked out. Stomach crawling onto the cushioned window seat. Zips and chains clinking from his jacket and jeans.

He dumped the bag onto the floor to free his mouth. Shiny teeth smiling blinding white right at you. This boy shines brighter than a blazing Indiana summer.

“Heard you were sick, Pencils.”

You blink and laugh cause it’s just so absurd.

You could just kiss that grin off him- sickness bug aside. You had to hold back your itching palms from reaching out for him. He was here. Come to see you.

You stand at the edge of your bed and struggle to know what to say to this sudden and bewildering sight.

Eddie Munson crashing into your room in an explosion of curse words and his on brand maniacal grin. Scaling the side of your house with his bare hands like a spider monkey. Grocery store bag clamped between his teeth.

“What the hell?” You ask him laughing. Shaking your head. Your chest bounces with it.

He stops dead in his tracks. Face falling. “Shit. This a bad time?”

The boy was really hanging there, dangling his legs out your window, asking permission to climb aboard.

You help him by pushing your curtains out his way. “God. No. No bad time. I just- wasn’t expecting a house caller at this hour.”

He finishes hauling himself fully inside.

He slipped into a deep southern Belle voice. Grinning. “Ah do declare ma-self a gentleman caller.”

“How did you know I was sick?”

“Little mean birdie with a blonde perm.” He rasps as he army crawls rest of the way inside.

“You talked to Linda?” You asked him, impressed. Your belly all buttery and mushy. Flipping over like it was trying to qualify for gymnastics Olympic gold.

“Jesus. How in the world did that go?” You asked.

“Goddamnit. That girl scary as hell.” He tells you as he hauls himself upright and snatches the paper bag off your floor. Groaning as he stood tall.

“John Houston in slutty red heels.” He describes her. Makes you chuckle. Appt description.

As he talks, he jerks an arm across his forehead to disturb the dewy sweat and the leaves caught in his shaggy mane he can feel itching at his forehead. Panting to get his breath back.

“Thank god you don��t have a three story house. Don’t think I would’a made it.” He says, winded. Smokers lungs you imagine.

You smile more just seeing the bits of leaf and broken twig he brought in. Like a stray cat. Coming in with parts of garden trailing after him.

You stand close and reach across to pluck them out. Teasing the little white petals out his fluffy strands of hair.

“Hang on now. I just have to check something…” He reaches for your hand and his warm, over-accessorised fingers seek your pulse. He darts his eyes off to the side and listens a moment.

“Yep. I definitely diagnose you, as not dead.” He laughs. You do too.

Then you wince.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t get in touch. You had my number but I didn’t know how to reach you. Couldn’t see a Munson in the phone book.” You said.

He scuffs his toes against your carpet. Holding the grocery bag against his thigh looking sheepish.

“I uh, I did call your number. Couple times. Rung out. Thought maybe you were avoiding me.” He goes all twirly, and fidgets.

Eyes not meeting yours all vulnerable for a second. He instead takes in the state of his scuffed thorn scraped shoes. The moment overwhelming him.

Your heart sputters pathetically at the thought he’d been hurt and left doubting you. That’s perhaps the last thing on this earth you wanted.

You’d heard the house phone go yesterday. But you couldn’t risk taking your head out the toilet bowl to run and answer.

You put your hand on his elbow where he stands. Step closer. His eyes raise to meet yours. Peeking unsure out under that choppy fringe.

“I’d never ignore you.” You say so honestly it makes a grin burst onto his face. He couldn’t help it.

He believed you.

“Fucking stomach flu. If I knew who it was calling I would have run to it if I could. Sans vomiting down the phone to you.” You joke.

“Sexy.” He quips. Then he looks you over. Cute PJ’s. Your hair is all smushed. “How you doing now?”

You melt as he reaches across and runs his thumb slowly across your chin and your jaw. So tentative. So sweet.

“Better. Just tired I guess.” You fiddle with the hem of your Billy shirt. His eyes don’t dare drift from yours. You really don’t want him to stop touching you.

“That’s good. Good to know I won’t have to suddenly side step to avoid you puking on my feet. I’m not ready for a 360 exorcist move here.”

You laugh bitterly cause that’s not the most flattering image you wanted him to have of you.

“No projectiles. I promise.” You cross the space over your heart with a fingertip.

His hand is still stroking your jaw softly. Hair still a little damp and soaked in the fresh fake coconut scent of your shampoo. You stand there near each other and Eddie’s heart is just growing wings of its own.

He’s smitten.

You look as cute as ever. A little drained maybe. Eyes a touch glassy, bags under them dark, splotchy neck like you’d been asleep.

“I wouldn’t get too close. I might still be contagious or something.” You warn him.

“And I look like shit right now.” You add. Putting your hand flat on the front of his jacket.

He doesn’t think you do. He unsticks a curl of hair off your cheek. You don’t even breathe too loud in fear it might spook him away.

“I’m willing to risk it. But we may wanna shelve the intensely hot making out tonight. Much as it pains me to say it. Wouldn’t want you to keel over on me, now.” He flirts.

God, that tone of his sets something in your knees quivering.

“Keel over?” You raise a brow.

“Uh-huh. I’m just that good babe.” He winks. But he gets his desired goal. Which is to see you smile and laugh at him.

He switches up the subject before you notice how much your proximity could make him blush.

“Now. Snoopy shorts. Get back into bed pronto. You’re not well.”

He snaps his fingers and points at your bed with a stern smirk. The bag rustles in his other hand.

“Bossy.” You remark as you turn and climb back into your sheets. A little wary and feeling girlish that suddenly, you’re noticing that he’s in your room.

Your room. He’s going to see your Bauhaus, Billy idol, and Bowie posters. He’s gonna see the pile of dirty washing shoved in your hamper and your messy artists desk, stuffed with pencils and paint smeared onto your sketchbooks.

Your walls that are still skated in pretty lilac paint from your childhood. Your pinned up life drawings and your lumpy arm chair with your blue bra and dirty jeans strewn on the arm of it. And you’d not shaved your legs or anything. Oh Jesus Christ. You should’ve tided up a bit.

He’s stood near your bed. He’s gonna be able to see the ratty old dog toy guarding the shelf over your desk. He’s already remarked on your snoopy shorts for heaven’s sake. You try not to let your mind go there with that last one-

He lets you settle in. Flips the blanket over your legs and smooths it over your knees. “There you go.” As he tucks you in like you are actually a patient.

Then he drops down onto his knees, on your carpet, crouching at the side of your bed.

“Now. Call me Florence fucking Nightingale, but I bought you a few things…“ He explains. Hands shuffling for his pockets. Which you suddenly notice are hugely bulkier than normal.

He fishes through his jacket pockets and all the compartments in his leathers. And those ring clad hands are bringing out goods for you.

A can of Sprite on one denim pocket. “Good for healing anything so I hear. Particularly hangovers.” He tells you with a grin.

“I won’t ask how you know that.” You simper.

“I’m such a paragon of virtue.” He insists all salacious and sugary.

A Canada Dry ginger ale is withdrawn from his other pocket. He puts them both on your nightstand. Pats the tops of both of them after he sets them down. Then he’s back to fishing in his pockets.

He brings out two twinkies, a three musketeers, and a single Reece’s cup.

“We can fight over that one later pencils.” He says with a grin.

“Patients’ bill of rights. Shouldn’t I get dibs you know- I am sick.” You stick out your bottom lip and bat your lashes at him.

“That’s playing dirty and you know it.” He shakes his head at you as he dives into more zipped pockets. His tongue tipped out between his teeth as he looks.

He produced a cereal box toy, one of those sticky gummy Alien things. Two DND dice “Huh, been looking for those.”

Along with a handful of some peanut butter crackers, and a mini bag of chips ahoy, and a DND figurine of a Hydra. Followed by a can of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup.

“Should have a tin of Campbell’s when you’re sick, you know, It’s the law. Cure for the soul.” He insists.

You smile wider.

This crazy metal head who half your school hated and swore was dangerous, here he was climbing through your window with a can of soup stuffed in his pocket, just for you.

He’s not some satanic devil freak. You’ve decided he’s actually a ray of pure fucking sunshine. A human ball of kinetic energy.

“I think that’s about it…” He says as a red sharpie, an eraser, a couple pennies, and a seven eleven receipt end up crumpled on the bed next to you. He did manage to find a fruit roll up too. He adds it to the ever growing pile.

“What’s in the bag?” You ask. Nodding to where he dumped it by your bedside table.

“Aha!” He turns and snatched it up with a huge grin and a flourish. “Flaming hot Cheetos and Funyuns.”

He brings them out and lays them on the bed, along with a marlboro packet.

“And a pack of reds, buuut, truth be told those are for me.” He smiles and stuffs them in his jacket pocket.

You wouldn’t fight him for those anyway.

You’d stolen a Newport gold out moms purse once, and smoked it in the girls bathroom at school with Linda, and that was enough. Never again.

Horrible taste of tobacco burning richly as you gagged for breath. Acrid taste on your tongue all day. You’d rubbed it away drinking way too much Pepsi.

“This is a lovely display of domesticity. Munson. Thank you.” You beam at him. Picking through the packets of candy and the crackers. And you meant it too. He noticed you do this curled little half smile when you’re being sincere.

“Gotta look after one of my top ten favourite people.” He winks.

Now he’s done unloading, he shrugs off his jacket by shimmying his shoulders, and toes off his sneakers. Your garden was dry as a bone. But he didn’t wanna be tracking too much dusty mud into your house.

He leaves his jacket and vest behind him on the bench seat. White socked feet squishing into your thick green carpet. Hellfire shirt on his skinny torso. What else?

He comes back to kneeling by your bed. Looking ridiculously cute as he hooks his hands over the edge of your mattress.

It’s pathetic how much it woos you.

“Top ten? I am touched.” You wisecrack, as he pats your knee over the covers. Before he reaches off for the can of soup. Clutched it in his hand. Twirled it up into the air.

“After Lemmy from Motörhead, but you’re definitely before Slash.” He says. After catching the tin in his other hand like he was juggling with it. His dimples come up where he smiles.

“Good. I like to know where I stand.” You nod along.

“Now. You stay there. I’ll go and heat this.” He scrambled up not at all elegantly and whirled away, loping to your bedroom door.

Oh christ. You sit up straighter. “Please try not to set fire to my kitchen.” You call after him.

“No guarantees.” Gets called cheekily up your stairs as he clatters down them. Leaping down the last few.

You can picture him bouncing around down there. Human pinball. Opening drawers, faffing with the cupboard doors trying to find your pots and pans.

No smell of smoke you can detect so that was a positive. He returns promptly and without fanfare, carrying a steaming mug in one hand, a spoon in the other.

“Couldn’t find your bowls. I improvised.” He speaks before he’s even in the room.

Treading carefully on white socked feet into your room. He crouches and hands you the piping hot mug and the spoon. You sit up and balance it on your knees. Thanking him again.

Your cheeks warm. You don’t think it’s from the soup though.

“What we watchin pencils?” He asks as he snaffles the packet of Cheetos onto his hands as he slumps down onto your carpet, and crosses his legs to sit there quite happily.

“You seen the Fog?” You ask as you start to slurp a mouthful of hot soup. Blowing on it first cause it was lava-hot.

He crunches Cheetos so loudly. speaks with his mouth full.

“Lock your doors. Bolt your windows.” He leers in a gravelly voice. Throws another Cheeto into his mouth. “Absolutely. A damn classic.”

“Wanna watch from the beginning?”

“Go for it. I got all night man.” He beams up at you. Wiggles his toes like he’s an excited little kid. You rewind it. Watch the screen slice to monochrome ribbons over the jerky picture as it does.

He seems content to stay there. On the floor. Knees up and hands clasping his kneecaps, as he plucks at the Cheetos and opens one of the peanut butter cracker packets.

You swirl your spoon into the soup. “You can come up here y’know. I mean. If, if you wanted. It’s much comfier than the floor.” You tell him.

“You missing me already?” He smiles all wide. Flashing his straight teeth. Tipping on his ass to lean right up against the bed. Beaming at you. Dimples on that mouth and wrinkles around those eyes.

“You hand delivered me soup. Doesn’t seem right you should sit on the floor.” You scoot over without jostling your dinner, and pat the space next to you.

Your bed was a spacious double. Plenty of room to be had on your blue and pink faded rosebud sheets. Couple of flowery throw pillows against the headboard. You could gladly make space for a little black leather and a splash of Hellfire on those prim sheets of yours.

“Alright, Pencils. But you gotta keep your hands to yourself. Alright?” He leers. “I know you’re at deaths door, and I’m irresistible and all…” He spreads those long guitar strumming fingers across his chest.

His rings gleam in the low gold light from your cheap yellow lamp. Limning him in gilded gold. Creeps across his cheekbones, his jaw, his neck. The curls that wave down his shoulders.

Does something particularly stunning to those deep dark eyes. Like a gold shooting star is bursting across them glittering, as he looks at you.

He’s utterly gorgeous. And it turns you inside out all over again how much you like him.

He pauses as he’s got his knees on the bed. Leaning over to ever-so-slightly invade your personal space. Because when around Eddie, not even your own personal space remained fully yours. Truth be told, you kinda liked that about him. He somehow made it the least obnoxious thing. Invading your space.

His hair hangs over his shoulders. As he stays on his knees at your feet. Grinning like a joker.

“Never fear. My hands shall remain on this mug at all times.” You promise. Cupping the warm sides of it.

He crawls past with a nod to prop himself up against the pillows next to you. Shuffling around to get comfy.

Your stomach goes all wooed and sentimental, cause that amalgamation of drugstore apple shampoo, powdery laundry detergent, cigarettes, and old leather is drifting over your bed as he clambered past on his hands and knees. His guitar pick on that ball chain necklace sways into his chest.

The scent of him and the closeness is chucking you back to memories. Living back through the yesterdays

That sensation of being wrapped around him the record store closet. Your cheeks heat again and you take another sip of your soup to have something to blame it on.

It’s not two seconds of silence and he piped up again. Unable to leave gaps so it seems. “I like your room, by the way.”

You look at him and he’s got this smile on as he’s scanning around at your posters, and your books. Your messy clothes, your shelf unit stuffed with cassette tapes. The assorted minutia of your life crammed all around.

It’s real. It’s cool, it’s somehow intimate. Seeing this inner space all splashed in influence of you. It’s like pulling out wires and cogs from something cause you just want to see how it functions. How all the stacked things that build you, take shape.

Your little habits. Quirks, pinned and hand painted on the walls. History and childhood, all thumbtacked and hanging off picture pins. Your adolescence tucked into drawers, shelves stacked with it.

Wooden paintbrushes stuffed into an old enamel jug that the cream paint is flaking off. Your crinkly cornered art posters above the desk, ticket stubs faded on the far wall, pinned to a busy cork board. Pencil shavings scattered across your open sketchbook that he definitely peeked at when crossed the room. A deep sea blue stroke of an Indie State pennant flag.

“Thanks, it’s uh, not much but-“ You shrug. Modest.

“It looks like you.” He says softly.

“Disorganised?” You laugh.

“Cosy. Artful.” He decides. And he makes a mental note to check out your collection of cassette tapes before he leaves. You had quality taste and he wanted to unwrap more about it. Spool it out and study it.

“I see you’ve ultimately customised the bed space.” He swivels around and catches the scowling slashing red and black of a Billy Idol poster above your headboard. Shirtless and moody, Rebel Yell.

You smile as you dig your spoon into the broth. Swirling it around. You definitely felt your cheeks glow with that one.

“What can I say. I’m a fan.” You tell him openly. Twisting to meet his eyes.

Nods at your poster. “I can see that. He sure is one lucky dude.”

You frown. Confused. Lucky?

He gestures to your band tee.

“Listen I’m getting jealous. He gets to be close to your tits, and above your bed.” He winks.

You laugh. A loud laugh and you try not to snort.

“Maybe so. But you’re the one currently in my bed, Munson.“ Your tone dipping into lovely silky flirt.

You side eye a look at him and he tilts his head all quirky. Dimples in his cheeks rise again. “I guess so.”

He turns and makes a big show of twisting over and flipping the bird at the poster. I win you loser.

“I actually think he’s kinda cute-“

“He is a pretty hot dude. I’ll give you that.”

“You’re cuter though.” You tell him.

His brain stutters through the fact you paid him a compliment.

“You’re only trying to butter me up so you can steal the Reece’s cup. I see right through that facade, sweetheart.” He nudged your knee with his socked foot. Sprawled out on the bed with his hair fanned out crazy over one of your pillows.

You lock eyes. It feels like an electricity pulse. Stinging and sweet. He’d lean in and seal a kiss on your lips if he could.

“Yeah. You got me.” You play. And you’re not even playing at all.

You smile and eat more soup as the movie clicks back to the beginning. You point the remote and hit play.

When you finish your very satisfying mug dinner, you set the mug aside and curl down in your bed. Sliding under the blanket.

This move brings you closer to where Eddie is laid out. Brown eyes fixed on your small glowing tv screen. But his attention is screaming and shrieking and so tugged to you and the way you’re moving next to him.

You fold both hands up under your face and rest down on a pillow near his shoulder.

He swallows when your head sinks close to him. Flicks his eyes down and across to you. He sits with one arm folded behind his head. Legs kicked out every which way. His knee brushed into yours. You don’t shrink away. You stay put.

In fact, where you relax down, your cheek brushed against his shoulder and still you stay. Eddies smile curls a little at that.

There’s a rustle and when you look he’s shaking the Cheeto packet at you. You smile and reach in for some.

The silence is comfy somehow. The film blares on. He opens things and offers them to you. Crackers. The chips. He slurps the sprite. You hog the ginger ale. It’s nice.

You feel in on his chest when he speaks when he laughs it rolls through him in the shake of his steady bowed ribs. The way you smile makes the walls of his heart go all warm, gooey and slippy.

Eddie Munson is the type of guy to celebrate with his fists punched in the air like a roaring frat champion, when you throw a cookie that he catches in his mouth. Crunches crumbs all down his shirt front as he grins.

Your sides hurt with laughing, you nearly snort and send fiery ginger ale out your nose. How is he more amusing than the film you’re both pretending to watch? He just is.

He gossips to you about school. Of all mad things. He tells you about what happened in the canteen when Tammy. H on the cheer squad found out that Debbie C kissed her boyfriend after the basketball game. Tammy apparently dumped a carton of milk over her head. A slapping fight ensued. It was a mess.

You chuckle at the fact he doesn’t give a shit about any of the popular assholes. Except when something funny happens in the lunchroom in front of everyone. Then, it’s worth a chuckle over. They were both catty girls anyway, fighting over some boring ass jock. There was no love lost there from you guys.

He tells you he got a D on his Spanish paper which no one could understand how.

Dustin told him to stop eating his body weight in plastic wrapped jerky from the gas station. Chucked a syrupy yellow fruit cup at him and told him about a balanced diet so he wouldn’t end up getting scurvy.

“Honey, honestly I swear that kid is like the voice of my conscience. If that voice was like, an annoying little gnat yammering on, buzzing in my ear.”

“It’s sweet. He cares about you so much.” You defend.

“So sweet.” He mocks. “Little shrimp.”

But he can’t hide the clasp of affection that settles in his voice. Even in his mocking. The kid worships him. Looks up to him. You just know that puffs up some part of Eddie’s chest. This genuinely sweet and weirdo kid had found his hero in the freak. Always grinning up at the metal head with great gleaming stars in his eyes.

Eddie who was always unapologetically himself and hurled away anyone else’s distaste in him, with the contempt it deserved. Eddie who always told Dustin to be himself and like what he likes without shame.

You hit Eddie upside the head with some hardcore truth. See if it doesn’t sink in that crazy scarecrow head of his. That hard skull and his impenetrable skin, that both grew over double thick to keep out unwanted opinions. Wrapped his vulnerabilities up in razor wire and didn’t let anybody trespass on it.

He’d let you trespass though. Just a little.

“I think Henderson seriously looks up to you Eddie. You’re who he wants to be when he grows up. You’re a literal rockstar to him.”

He blows a raspberry.

“Nah man. He’s got Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington for that. He’s who kids look up too. And more importantly, he’s who their parents want them to be. Straight laced. Shiny hair. Chicks dig him. Prom King. Going to college like a good little boy and will have your daughter home by 9.” He rolls his eyes.

He doesn’t say it to get mean at you. But he’s twisted all the jagged edges around and pointed them in at himself.

You know this is coming from the well of his insecurities. And it plunged down so deep it didn’t see the light of day anymore. You peel off a few of those self deprecating cynical layers, and you hurl some honesty at him.

People aren’t usually… honest, with Eddie. Not really. They don’t get close enough. They don’t care enough. When it seems all be gets is bad press and horrible hard spitting truths. You wipe that away and decide to dare put something else there instead.

“I’ll bet you that Reece’s cup your scrawny ass is so wrong on that. Munson.”

His hair flicks out when he turns to look at you. Sat there and those inscrutable brown eyes looking all melty and puppyish.

“You think it’s scrawny?”

You bite a cracker and grin. Shoulder to shoulder with him.

You’re slumped on each other as the film progresses. Drifting on. Eddie lifts his arm up to stretch out his shoulder, purely by chance, this leaves you curled up. Practically pasted onto his ribs. Hearing the full whump-whump of his heart push through his warm Hellfire clad side.

Underneath all that stiff denim and cold leather, he’s all softness. Mush. You’d never have suspected that. You end up resting your palm flat to his stomach.

He has to blink and revel in the way that touch of yours makes his stomach fizz with squirmy awareness. He begs begs begs his dick not to react cause that would just really shallow and cheapen this moment. He doesn’t want that.

He’s eating the gummy fruit roll up. He bites down on it, maybe too hard. Because he just tested, resting his palm down across your shoulder and stroking the dry ends of your hair. The raised bone of your shoulder blade through the washed black of your shirt. You smell like coconut and so do your pillows and he wants to bury his head in that sweet tropical smell. Wants to take a chunky bite out of it.

You nuzzle into him and make this soft noise at the back of your throat that has his body transcending on through this bed.

Flipping around in giddy idiot joy. It makes him bite his lip. He has to pull himself back to the ground from bumping the ceiling with every touch that you lean for- you fucking lean in for touch of him.

You fill his belly with warm fluffy pride. Euphoria. You stud his angry rocker heart full and silly with red cupids arrows.

And you sat there tonight with rose pink cheeks and didn’t pussyfoot about. No games. Straight laced honesty. Pure and unfiltered. Something hard and punchy like a vodka shot or a stick of dynamite.

Look at him with those eyes that just beckon him to taste your lips again, so he can chase the flavour of his name coming out your mouth.

And best of all, the pièce de résistance, you certainly don’t mince your words about what you think of him-

You admire him. Laughed and joked with him. Chucked Cheetos, cookies and crackers for him to catch with his mouth and laughed so crazy, like it’s insanity and it’s catching.

You tell him his friends love him, and somehow you heal over that ragged wound in his heart, that tells him he isn’t lovable. That little rift in his body that had been there since the day mommy abandoned him, and daddy got thrown in jail again.

It stitched up that little gaping hole. He felt it soothe and heal over. Closed a bit and it felt good.

When his head tips forwards, his eyes burn when he blinks them. Cause apparently you’d both fallen asleep. Lulled by the movie and the snuggly warmth from each other’s bodies all rolled up in the blankets.

The films credits are rolling on and on. His mouth is dry with peanut cracker dust and the sourness of sleep.

He didn’t know how long he’d been out. He rubs a dry knuckle onto his eyes until his world slants and bursts into popping static. He blinks and registers where his limbs are splayed.

Would you believe they’re curled around the shape of you. He doesn’t find that hard to discover.

His arm slung over your belly. Your hips are nestled back into the cradle of his pelvis cause you’d twisted and he didn’t even feel it.

His shoulder tingles, pins scrape to the bone, your hands are curled around his arm that’s over your pillow and down by your side.

His chest was crushed to your back and he’d wondered why his dreams smelt so good- He’d been nuzzling in to chase that sweet coconut smell entwined into your hair. Some added warmth of your skin and the feel of your body making him all dozy.

“Pencils?” He whispers. His voice is shrouded and raspy. He flicks out his free arm and reads his watch. The blinking square numbers tell him it’s 2:04 in the morning.

It feels wrong and mean, peeling the blanket off the corner of his thigh that he doesn’t remember pulling over himself. The new air that rushes over him is cold.

He slips his arms out carefully so as not to disturb your sleep. You looked serene, the way you breathed deep and even, had him leaning in and tucking a hair away from your warm cheek.

He carefully scoops the used packets of food as noiselessly as he can, into the waste paper basket under your desk that’s filled with scattered pencil shavings and crumpled up paper. He leaves the pile of food he gathered stacked neatly on your bedside. Nestled around the pool of gold still being cast around by your lamp.

He shoves his shoes on. Pulls on his jacket. Tiptoes across your squishy carpet and scribbled a note on an empty page of your sketchbook with his red sharpie. The soft skate of pen on paper as he wrote.

He did sneak a glimpse at your sketches. Some of the pen and ink ones you’d do that were better than some comic books he’s read (talented, brilliantly amazing and so nuanced)

Took one very quick spurring survey of your cassettes too. Colour him curious. (Really pencils? Kool and the gang?) Reminds himself to tease the shit out of you for that later.

He pulled your blanket up to your chin. switched your light off. Threw the room into darkness save for the steady sleepy burn of orange that flowed in via the street. Slanted across your carpet. He closes the curtains for the window across from your bed. Let you get your sleep.

He can’t resist brushing a thumb across your cheek before he leaves. Nestled a tentative kiss on top of your head. Takes a lungful of you. You are better than nicotine.

“Goodnight Pencils.”

Before he climbs out your window, and probably falls face first in that fucking prickly bush again, he leaves a note slotted on your bedside table. Your nickname unmissable in scrawled red slashing letters. A squiggly funky little doodle of him in a nurses costume. And another one of him, Eddie the Brave, battling with a sword against a permed and very cross dragon in high heels and lipstick.

He signs it with his phone number. And love, and a whole row of wobbly kisses. from, Florence fucking Nightingale.

He grows all warm with the thought of you waking up tomorrow and smiling at his dumbass note. That was the best feeling. He wishes he could bottle that and get drunk on it. Sip it like a pocket flask of whiskey or gin and he’s got DT’s like an alcoholic. High on the nearness of you.

It was worth the scrape and dig of rose thorns. That damn bush below your window that he falls into - again. It’s so worth it.

🕷Don’t wanna brag or nothin, but the next part is just sat here🕷

#eddie munson #eddie my boy #EDDIE DESERVED BETTER #EDDIE MY BELOVED #stranger things #stranger things season 4 #eddie munson x reader #eddie baby #eddie munson imagine #stranger things season 4 x reader #eddie munson headcanons #send me anything #send me anything eddie pls #comfort #comfort character #eddie looks after sick reader #angst #angsty vibes

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archduke-enver-gortash · 7 months

Note

For Zeke: 💍 🚫 😊 please!

💍 RING — does your oc have any piercings? do they want any (more) piercings?

yes!! so many. here you can see them all. i could see him getting a few more for sure, especially around the mouth area. but y’know. tadpole and all that so there’s not really time lmao. he probably sloppily pierced himself tbh

🚫 PROHIBITED — does your oc drink/smoke? do they do it regularly, or is it more on occasion or for special events?

zeke is a disgustingly heavy chainsmoker yes. smokes when he’s stressed, which is pretty much 24/7, so you can imagine how that goes lmao. i think he started super young, so probably can thank this habit for his super raspy voice lol.

😊 SMILING FACE WITH SMILING EYES — what are your oc's career/general life desires? what do they want to get the most out of life?

there’s three main things!

what he’s supposed to be striving towards: ending every single living being and then slit his throat in the name of bhaal.

his personal passion: being a private investigator, solving cases.

and what kinda overtook those other two: killing gortash.

while he has a very nihilistic edgelord worldview, i think that isn’t the reason he pretends and tells himself that everything he does is for his father—he simply wants to please him so desperately, like a regular child wants from approval from their parents, bhaal’s drop of gore wants his love. of course, zeke understands that he won’t be loved if he isn’t perfect, if he doesn’t make him proud, so he works desperately to be deserving of his father’s approval every single day.

but there are cracks in this passion, leading to him eventually convincing the temple that he should be able to, under the supervision of sceleritas, leave for assassin work, which is his only a half-truth, as he starts his detective career too. this is his first act of defiance against bhaal, even if he doesn’t perceive it as such.

and of course, there’s someone who would love digging his claws into those cracks and ruining zeke even more. zeke’s obsession with gortash is absolutely insane. his desire to kill him overtook everything else. he stopped sleeping in fear of him, stopped eating, his entire room is probably just filled with gortash related articles, things that he stole from him, etc. it’s truly sick. orin and sceleritas both notice this of course but can’t really do anything to stop it as gortash has essentially made zeke believe that he is completely alone in the world and can’t trust anyone. he severed his connection to the person who raised him and ruined what little good things were still between zeke and orin too. gortash believes that zeke ought to belong to him first before bhaal, and while he is a delusional megalomaniac, he sadly seems to be right in that aspect to zeke’s absolute terror.

which is also why that “prayer for forgiveness” is so fitting for zeke. he tries to do anything to be rid of him, to clear his mind, but that obsessive rage, gortash’s venom flowing through his veins is overtaking everything else. that letter was written in zeke’s own blood—he ripped his arm open and dipped his pen in there to show Father his devotion.

#oc: zeke #thank you for the ask!!#dujour13 #sorry if this is like worse than usual but my brain is completely fried lmao

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stirringwinds · 1 year

Note

hey, love your art and all your headcanons, I was wondering if you think all the nations smoke a little bit or if most have stopped the habit except from Yao... Like do you think Kirkland, Kiku and Alfred smokes? Idk why I care, but I'm just curious ^^ There are people in my country for example, but not many statistically

hey! glad you like my art. and heh, that's an interesting question. as i see it, most of them today don't smoke as much as they do in the past.

sir lord arthur bloody kirkland: was an addicted serial chainsmoker until after WWII where he got a kick in the arse from the newfound NHS to get healthier in all ways, including cutting back his liquor. it wasn't overnight for sure (a lot of the drop is from the 70s onwards), but i think by the present day, he doesn't smoke as much (which mirrors how much smoking has declined in england). probably still enjoys an expensive cigar now and then, but he is trying to go clean, with nicotine gum and all. universal healthcare is very convincing.

alfred: similar story, i reckon! so many people used to light up— i see him as smoking a fair bit, but being nowhere as much of a chainsmoker as his father—a lot more of a social smoker. like you'd always find him cigarette in hand in the 1940s when chatting with someone. he's also cut back nowadays; i see him as the sort of person who really gets into all kinds of health kicks. now you're more likely to find him guzzling some kind of fancy new bottled water rather than holding a cigarette, lol, because hydration is IN!

kiku: not as big a smoker as 50 years ago too (it was a whopping eighty percent for men at one point) but he does light up a bit more often (the govt owning a huge share of japan tobacco is kind of a conflict of interest in how smoking culture has evolved; cigarettes aren't as pricey as in other countries). japan is one country with a fairly big gender divide re: smoking too with a lot more men doing so then women. i think that like alfred, he's more of a social smoker nowadays though, and he can be fairly disciplined about limiting it personally.

yao: ah. my great grandpa. 100% a lost cause right now. he goes through so many packs of zhonghuas. it's a habit he should kick he knows, but he isn't too fussed right now. it's still far more ingrained in socialising; offering people cigarettes at a social gathering, or as gifts to show appreciation, in a way it's really not so in say, england nowadays. so that's why i see the old man still being a heavy smoker.

#hetalia #hws england #hws china #hws america #hws japan #hetalia headcanons

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quickhacked · 4 months

Note

late to the party a bit BUT! pick three questions for both isaac & heavenly answers of which u think would surprise people :3

oc asks!

🩹 ADHESIVE BANDAGE — does your oc have any physical and/or mental disabilities?

heavenly has tourette's and adhd! as said in an earlier ask, most of his tics are little gestures he does, usually repetitive as well. for example, he can be seen holding his own thumb a lot when idling around, or running his hand over his neck which he usually has to repeat three times on the same side or once on both sides of his neck. other than that he has a few vocal tics which double as vocal stims for him :^) they help with focusing better but also when he's on a job he will try his best to control them because he has to be quiet

as for physical disabilities, he once broke a bone in his left shoulder badly on a job and it's healed by now but it's still giving him some chronic pain issues, which is why he can't really carry very heavy things with that arm or handle heavy firearms against that shoulder

🐷 PIG FACE — what is your oc's favorite animal?

heavenly loves wolves :^) he likes to joke about it a lot by going "i always preferred werewolves anyway" when talking about vampires LMAO it makes isaac very >:^| because "werewolves don't exist heavenly you should know this"

🤩 FACE WITH STARRY EYES — is your oc a planner, or are they more spontaneous in their actions?

heavenly loves planning stuff out beforehand and will do this in very detailed matter but once it's time to execute the plan he will throw it aside SO fast and just do whatever feels right to him. it's always worked better for him this way because it gives him a solid framework to fall back to if necessary but also allows him to just see where the job takes him and if he can get shit done by just doing whatever. gives him more freedom that way

🩸 DROP OF BLOOD — what is your oc's blood type?

isaac's blood type is O- which makes him a universal donor :^) he's very upset that vampire blood doesn't work too well on humans as actual human blood because he would want to donate blood but also doesn't want to take the risk, knowing it could not be enough to save someone's life

🚫 PROHIBITED — does your oc drink/smoke? do they do it regularly, or is it more on occasion or for special events?

isaac doesn't drink because it doesn't do anything for him anyway plus he doesn't really like the taste of alcohol, but he used to smoke a LOT. eventually stopped since it does still affect your lungs as a vampire and he didn't want to have to deal with that for the rest of eternity. it was very much a chainsmoking kind of situation because of stress and it helps surpress feral sense, but eventually he realized it wasn't worth it and instead found other ways to deal with it

💛 YELLOW HEART — how many languages does your oc speak? what language(s) are they learning, if any?

isaac speaks english, spanish, french, italian, latin, japanese and arabic! he also knows a bit of asl and he's still learning several other languages including finnish, german, dutch, irish, and korean :^) he loves languages a lot and has plenty of time to teach himself new ones anyway so why not right

#asks #hibernationsuit #ask:heavenly #ask:isaac #oc asks #THANK YOU :] i have so many thoughts about these guys. but now it's lunch time

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toasteaa · 3 years

Note

I really like your LS smoking hcs! Do you have any thoughts on if any of the Bucci boys smoke?? I always see art of Abbachio smoking but not much of anyone else. Thanks for answering!

I have a few thoughts about the destructive tendencies of the Bucci Gang, but on the terms of smoking...hmmm, I've got a few!

Bruno smokes on occasion. He, more like Abbacchio, has a habit of drinking his stresses out - even if he doesn't mean to. He was a heavy smoker for a few months, but he really hates the way the smell of cigarettes would cling to his clothes and the feel of the smoky residue against his teeth. Genuinely hated when he felt like he was losing his breath more frequently at the gym and when he started getting a few rough coughing fits, he decided to stop smoking as much. Now, if you catch him with a cigarette, it's because something really bad happened. Though, it's still much more likely that he'll drown out his sorrows with a drink more than with a few smokes. Wine goes down easier.

Abbacchio doesn't smoke as much anymore, but he's still technically a smoker. He smokes more when he's stressed (which apparently is all the time based on the rate that he goes through a pack). During his time in jail and awhile after getting out, he was more aligned with being a chainsmoker since a pack was easier to get than a bottle of wine. After awhile, he decided smoking wasn't enough and also picked up drinking and it wrecked his system for years before he started pulling back a significant amount on both. You can still catch him around with a bottle or a pack of smokes, but now that he has a purpose in life again, he doesn't really smoke as much. He'll still excuse himself at night for a quick smoke or smoke alone before bed, but it's nowhere near as bad as it had been after he got his partner killed.

Mista swears he doesn't smoke. That's not entirely true - he smokes pot. Not to the extent of it being a necessity (Bruno refuses to let him get that far) but just every once in awhile whenever he's got some time to himself. And even then it's extremely rare. He's more the type to have an edible than to smoke a blunt because the smell bothers everyone else. He uh, he isn't allowed to make edibles without properly labelling them anymore since Abbacchio accidentally got into them and was out of it for the whole day. Also because Abbacchio just...doesn't like it in the apartment. He'll come around to it one day...maybe. But Mista doesn't bet on it, so he'll only make them or smoke when Abbacchio isn't home or when he knows he won't reek of it by the time his roommate does get home.

Fugo does not smoke. He tried it when he was younger after seeing Bruno smoking, but the taste was unappealing and reminded him of the pipe tobacco that his father used to smoke and the residual smoke that would linger in his former professor's home. They're discomforting smells and can often send him into a bit of a sensory overload. Abbacchio and Bruno have made an active effort not to smoke around him and in turn, it's made them smoke less overall. Fugo sees it as a double win.

Narancia is not allowed to smoke, Bruno's orders. It's kind of unfortunate; Bruno sees himself in Narancia and doesn't want him ending up with the same addictions that he has, so he tries to steer him away from a few things, smoking being one of the biggest things. Outside of that, Narancia isn't actually too interested in smoking outside of the "cool factor" aesthetic. But even then, falling into that "you'll look cool if you do this" kind of habit got him into that bind with people he thought he could trust. He knows he can trust his team and they wouldn't abandon him if he ever did anything like that, but it's still something that keeps him away from smoking more than Bruno's firm and careful guiding hand.

Giorno does not smoke. Does he look like the type of guy to ever even look at a cigarette? No, absolutely not. However, Giorno has constantly been around people in his life that do smoke, so he's gotten in the habit of keeping things around him to help them when they need a break. Forgot a light? Giorno made a lighter. No ashtray? He can make that too. He never judges any of his smoking colleagues and only makes a few comments here or there about them, maybe asking if they're alright (especially Bruno, but he doesn't always respond truthfully), but is never invasive. Various people find their comforts in different ways and he's not one to judge anyone for it. Though he will admit, the day he stops seeing Bruno and Abbacchio smoking will make him a very, very happy man.

#jjba #vento aureo #golden wind #bruno bucciarati #bruno buccellati #leone abbacchio #guido mista #narancia ghirga #pannacotta fugo #giorno giovanna #jjba headcanons #smoking cw

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bobathots · 3 years

Text

smokescreen

i wrote the first draft of this in a lust-fueled haze in less than 24 hours a few weeks ago and then i watched a movie where tem was just absolutely off the rails h word and my brain went “haha smoking kink go brrrrr again” so literally this is just an excuse for boba to smoke. @jon favreau give him a cigarette u coward mob boss! boba/female reader. smut 18+ ~10k tags: pwp, smoking, oral sex, shotgunning, at one point u give boba a blowjob while he smokes also on ao3

He wasn’t expecting anyone — or at least, he wasn’t expecting you , that much was clear from his body language. You weren’t even sure it was him until you got close enough to see the dim streetlamp cast a familiar shadow across his face, until you could make out his staple leather jacket wrapped around his form. The tip of his cigarette stood out cherry-red in the evening light, hanging loosely between his index and middle finger. He tensed and turned his head as you approached.

“Boba!” You kept your voice light and even; you didn’t know how to talk to the man at work, much less in a situation like this. You hadn’t exactly expected to come across him in the middle of the night, in a dark alley situated neighborhoods away from where you both worked. But, then again, it wasn’t as if this was part of your normal schedule.

He dipped his head toward you in greeting, then brought his hand up to his face to take a drag from his cigarette. Your gaze remained transfixed on the motion, how he rested his index finger on his tip lip while his hand remained splayed, as if he was trying to hide the action. You spoke before you could think, the words tumbling out of your mouth, “I didn’t know you smoked.”

His inhale sounded like a sigh. Dropping his hand back to his side, he courteously turned his head away from you and exhaled billows of ash-grey smoke from his mouth. “Meant to keep it that way, too.” Oh. You winced. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…”

He shook his head as if to waive away your concerns. “Don’t. I’m the one smoking outside in public.”

“At midnight,” you added, knowing that he probably chose this time and place specifically for privacy. Privacy that you were now infringing upon.

“...At midnight,” he echoed, the beginnings of a wry smirk on his lips.

The conversation died out there, but you remained standing next to him, casting your gaze out onto the buildings. Distantly, you could make out drunken conversations from the surrounding busy streets so filled with nightlife, mixed with the occasional prickle of Boba puffing his cigarette. A cool breeze swept through the leaves and across your skin, causing goosebumps to pimple out in response. You hugged yourself tightly, palms wrapped around your bare arms, as if you could chase away the evening chill.

“Speaking of midnight —” You glanced back at Boba; he pinched the end of his cigarette between thumb and forefinger and dropped it to the ground, crushing it underfoot with his heel, “— you shouldn’t be out alone this late.”

“It’s not so bad in this part of town.” It felt weird having your boss express concern for you, as subtle as it was, even if it was in his nature to take care of his own , as he put it. You figured you were more like a blimp on his radar; it wasn’t like you were a crucial employee. You hardly ever needed to interact with him at work. “The streets are always lit,” you continued, “and always crowded.”

“Right. Which is why you decided to go down a dark alley in the middle of the night.”

Heat rose to your face. “Because I thought I saw you!”

He let out a sound which might have been a chuckle — god, it was so hard to tell with him — and he pushed off the building he had been leaning against. “Let me walk you home, then. An apology for causing you to make a stupid decision.”

You can’t tell if he’s being mean on purpose, but regardless, you didn’t want to impose on him. “Boba, it’s okay, there’s no —”

“Start walking,” he ordered. His voice was stern, commanding; the tone he took when giving instructions at work, and that meant there was no room for argument, no wiggle room to barter or bargain. The words yes, sir sat on your tongue, burgeoning with desire, but you swallowed them down back to the pit of your stomach where they belonged.

Another breeze blew in. You shivered, both from the temperature and from Boba’s intense presence, but finally nodded in acquiescence. “It’s not far,” you assured him, turning to walk back the way you came. “Maybe like five minutes or so.” Then, something heavy and warm draped itself over your shoulders and you paused, turning back once more to look at Boba.

A now jacket-less Boba.

“I...oh. Um. Thanks?”

“Don’t mention it.” He kept walking the direction you set out, leaving you to play catch-up. You took a moment to slide your arms through the sleeves, and it thrilled you to find out just how much extra fabric hung past your hands. Even bunching it up at the wrists caused it to slide down from how loose the jacket sat on your body, so you simply clutched the hems in your palms to keep the fabric from slipping over your fingertips. The rest of it draped over you, his frame much larger than yours, and you felt weirdly protected in his jacket. It smelled like leather and faintly of cigarette smoke, but most importantly it smelled like him, a scent you had no other words for. It was the same smell that lingered in his office long after he’d left, something masculine and oddly comforting. Wearing your boss’ jacket was like being wrapped in a second-hand hug, and you were ashamed to admit how much you liked the idea.

You had to do a little jog to catch up to Boba. Maybe it was the night air, or maybe it was the fact that you had genuine one-on-one time with the man you’d been admiring for so long, but you were suddenly emboldened to nose into his personal life. “So...am I allowed to ask why you don’t smoke with the others?” The “others” you referred to were a sizable group of Boba’s underlings that you often noticed smoking together by the backdoor.

“Not a social smoker.”

You wouldn’t call Boba a social anything , to be honest. “Okay, so why not in your office? I mean, you spend a lot of time alone there anyway.” You would have remembered if he kept an ashtray or a pack of cigarettes anywhere visible, and his office never smelled like smoke.

Silence stretched out between you. You thought maybe he was done with your invasive line of questioning — after all, this was the first “real” conversation you had had with him that didn’t involve work-related topics — but he spoke up after an elongated pause.

“It’s a nasty habit I can’t kick. I try not to indulge if I can help it.” If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that Boba almost sounded embarrassed at having a vice. “My turn to ask a question.”

“Hm?”

“There a reason you’re leading me through back alleys instead of taking the main streets?” He cast a sidelong glance at you, and even with the glint from the streetlamps you couldn’t place whatever subtle emotion danced in his gaze.

“Oh, uhm. It’s just a faster shortcut,” you said, hesitating despite your honesty. “I...normally don’t feel safe enough to do this at night, but…” The implied since you’re here hung heavy in the air between you. You drew his jacket tighter around your body, relishing in the shield it provided against the chilly evening air.

Seemingly satisfied with your explanation, Boba lapsed into silence beside you. You lead him around a corner and stopped at the base of a sloping hill, turning to face him. “Um, the house I’m renting is just up the road from here,” you started, nerves sitting at the base of your chest. The thought of Boba — your boss , who you were crushing on hard — knowing where you lived? It was almost too much to bear, because you were certain you’d do something stupid like invite him in for a drink, which would naturally lead to you into shamelessly begging him to do unspeakable things to you. You couldn’t.

Instead, you shrugged off his jacket, internally mourning the loss of warmth and security it radiated. “Thanks again. And thanks for walking me home.”

Boba acknowledged you with a slight dip of his head as he pulled his jacket back around his own shoulders. You gave him what you hoped was a natural and normal smile that didn’t let your nervousness show, and turned to walk up the long sidewalk that led to your ramshackle house.

His gaze burned on your back the entire time, only letting up when you unlocked the door and stepped inside the safety of your home.

The second time had to have been a coincidence, an alignment of your schedules, because you found him at the exact same spot at the exact same time a week later. The only difference was that this time, he was grinding out a cigarette and raising a zippo to light another in the same moment.

You never took him for a chainsmoker.

“Boba —”

“What did I say about walking alone at night?” His tone wasn’t accusatory, necessarily, but neither was it condescending or patronizing. It was almost concerned, if you could call it that.

“I only have the same excuses as last time,” you admitted. He made that noise again, the little huff you’d taken to mean he’s amused, and your chest did a funny little skip in response.

“Means I’m responsible for walking you home again, then.”

“I - no! Not if it’s some sort of imposition. I’ll be fine on my own.”

“I’m sure of that, kid. But,” he paused to inhale, and deeply: his chest visibly expanded to fill out whatever room was left in his leather jacket, and he held it there for a beat, savoring the burn, before he breathed out in one fell swoop. “I’d like to see you safe with my own eyes.”

The white smoke obscured his gaze for just that moment, and all you could see was the bright burning end of his cigarette like a wine stain on a white tablecloth, like a gunshot wound through a white shirt.

You swallowed thickly. “Y-yeah, okay. Thanks, Boba.”

Something like gratitude settled over your shoulders, but there was also something else there, something you didn’t know how to describe. It meant enough to your lovesick heart to know that he cared , at least in some capacity, about your well-being. Enough to walk you home twice .

Even when Boba looked away, gaze on some distant point down the alley, you couldn’t keep your eyes from him. He looked so good , so imposing at all times, and the cigarette only helped add to his appeal. He was every bit like an intimidating mob boss, like he might decide to put his cigarette out on some thug’s eye for mouthing off — and you were only a little ashamed to say that the mental picture made you want to squirm.

At the same time, you could tell there was a different edge to him tonight. Something more coiled and tense, like he had a bundle of energy he needed to burn off and burning a cigarette was the closest he could come.

If he had been savoring it that first night, he was flat out devouring it now. It was aggressive, in a way; how he’d barely let his lungs take in a full breath of oxygen before he filled them with nicotine and tar again.

“You smoke?”

His voice startled you from your thoughts, bringing you clear back to the current moment. “N-no. Why?”

“You keep staring. Made me wonder if you wanted a puff.” He had caught you red-handed in your shameless oogling, and you supposed you should’ve felt embarrassed, but you were too enraptured with the way he spoke with his cigarette hanging from his lips, how the smoke leaked out in little wisps with every word. Deftly, he thumbed the filter to flick ash from the butt and immediately brought it back to his lips again. Your eyes followed every movement. “But it’s a good thing. Don’t start.”

“I hadn’t planned on it,” you said, which was the truth — the truth that existed before you knew Boba was a smoker, anyway. It wasn’t like you had a craving to smoke for smoking’s sake. Instead, you wanted to taste from the same filter that sat in Boba’s mouth, imagining it stained with the imprint of his lips; you wanted to inhale the same smoke that he exhaled and pretend that you were sharing breaths like lovers, or fuckbuddies; you wanted to kiss him and taste the nicotine on his tongue —

— but he was your boss, and a good deal older than you, and he’d never be interested in the first place. Instead, you had resigned yourself to watching him in the act with the hopes that you didn’t give off creepy vibes and that he’d fire you. It’d be best if you could turn your mind away from more unsavory thoughts, you decided. You would rather be a friend to him than someone he cast aside. You figured his stress came from the current negotiations between him and a potential business partner, but said partner was well-established in this area and, to the best of your knowledge, kept raising their “prices.” You didn’t know much about it because it simply wasn’t your job to know, but word did get around. “Are the talks not going well?”

He let out a derisive snort. “Hardly.” He exhaled and smoke escaped through his nostrils, giving him the momentary impression of a dragon. “It’s that obvious, huh?”

“It’s just…” You paused to search for the right words. “You seem very stressed. I thought it might be because of that.”

Boba grunted in response. He held his little nub of a cigarette between forefinger and thumb as the smoldering end continued to eat away at the filter. For a moment, it seemed like he was honestly considering trying to finish it off, but then he breathed out a quiet sigh and tossed the butt to the ground.

“....So it’s a stress thing, then, huh? The reason you smoke?”

Boba crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his full weight against the building behind him. “Supposed to be,” he answered. “But then I got addicted.”

“You picked up smoking to cope with stress?” You couldn’t keep the incredulity out of your voice if you tried. Your response to stress was just to cry, something arguably way healthier than what Boba was currently doing.

He breathed in deep, then out, and caught the tail-end of a worrisome cough as he exhaled. “Stress used to make me angry,” he explained, taking a moment to clear his throat. “When I was younger, I picked a lot of unnecessary fights, broke a lot of bones.”

“Yours?”

“And others’.” You didn’t miss the uneven slant of his mouth, the slight grin he wore at the admission, as if he was proud . “But it was a dangerous outlet, so I found something else.”

“Like smoking is any less dangerous,” you pointed out.

“A cigarette kills slower than a bullet, kid. And besides, you’re...what, half my age? Maybe more?” He lifted himself off the building and beckoned you to follow him with a jerk of his head. “I’ve been smoking longer than you’ve been alive. There weren’t many other options beside violence or drugs when I was younger.” “Oh. I’m...I’m sorry,” you said lamely, not really knowing how else to respond. “Don’t be.”

He was leading you home, you realized with a start, both amazed and terrified that he remembered the route you showed him exactly once. As you walked, you stayed close to his side; the evening was no less chilly, and even though you were wearing a thin windbreaker of your own, you were still cold. Boba radiated body heat, and you tried to soak up some of his without being in direct contact with him.

“You don’t look stressed,” you offered after a minute of companionable silence.

He turned to look at you fully, an obvious cue to continue, but his unwavering attention made you nervous, and you started to blabber. “I-I mean, like… just in case you were worried that you were projecting the wrong image. Whenever I see you on base I just think you look so cool and intimidating, so even if these talks are stressing you out, it doesn’t show, and you still look as powerful and scary as ever, and so —”

“Thanks.” His voice made you shut up instantly , though there was no harshness or anger behind his tone. You were glad that he stopped your rambling; you were certain that if you had continued, you would’ve said something you couldn’t come back from.

You stopped at the same place last time, at the base of the hill, and turned to Boba with a slight smile. “Well, thanks again —”

“No, kid.” His hand fell to the small of your back, so big and solid and warm , and for a moment your brain short circuited as you tried to process the contact. “I said I wanted to see you safe with my own eyes. I’ll walk you to your door.”

“Uhh, y-yeah, okay. Yeah. Good. Sounds good to me.” To your surprise, as you started walking again, Boba’s hand remained a constant on your back. Were he any closer, you could pretend he had his arm slung around your waist as if he were a lover, or your boyfriend, your partner — but, desperately, you attempted to put a stop to those thoughts. They were all fantasies, anyway, unreachable things that you were never meant to hope for.

You stopped in front of your house steps. They were shoddy and showed more tear than wear, and the building clearly needed some love and care. It was, however, home , for the foreseeable future.

“Um, this is me,” you said awkwardly. Boba’s hand finally fell from your back, unfortunately not stopping anywhere on the way down, and he glanced up to take in the state of the building. You couldn’t tell if he was impressed or not — his expression was virtually unreadable — and you didn’t want to imagine what he was thinking, or what information he could extrapolate about you based on your residence. “I wanted to say thanks for walking me home. Again.”

“You shouldn’t be walking alone in the first place,” he said in lieu of acceptance, his brows furrowing ever-so-slightly.

“I know, I know, just —” You shuffled awkwardly, half-wanting him to leave, half-wanting to invite him to stay. “Thanks.” You hoped it was obvious that you weren’t just thanking him for seeing you home, but for sharing pieces of himself with you, for allowing you to see the bits of himself he never showed at work.

For a moment, his eyes seemed to look you over, top-to-bottom. He dipped his chin slightly in response. “Get some rest, kid.”

And then he was gone, the phantom touch of his hand hot and heavy on your back.

You formed a ritual together after that.

You’d meet him at the same place every week, always around midnight, and he’d smoke while you had an easy conversation. He smoked depending on his mood: sometimes, it was just one cigarette, enjoyed slowly, the stick held between his fingers more often than his mouth. Other times, he’d smoke multiple in quick succession, never more than three, but always with a sense of quiet urgency, like he wanted to finish them as fast as possible. He’d usually smoke them down to nothing, too, leaving barely anything left to count as litter.

Consequently, you grew closer to him than your schedule at work would ever have allowed. Some nights, the conversation would stick to work or work-adjacent topics. Other nights, you’d talk about more personal things, like when Boba revealed how his father died and you stepped in to overshare about your own sob-story childhood — but no matter the topic, there was a general acknowledgement that your relationship had Shifted, with a capital s . The dynamic between you two was no longer strictly boss and employee, but neither was it just a friendship. It was something precarious, dangling over the edge, desperate for something to disrupt it.

And you were desperate to keep it there. Sure, Boba had gotten a little more physical with you in the sense that he always had a hand or an arm touching you as he took you home, and maybe he gave you his jacket more often than not these chilly evenings, but otherwise he was still...Boba. Still kind of hard to read, still a little emotionally closed off, and most definitely not into you. It sucked, but you had learned to be content with the crumbs you got, and it came with the added bonus of having a secret together that no one else at work knew about. It wasn’t scandalous, or taboo, but it definitely felt a little gratifying knowing that you got to see a side of the boss that most everyone else wouldn’t know existed.

Your weekly meeting was a ritual. A sacred thing.

Until it wasn’t.

One night, Boba simply wasn’t there .

His silhouette was missing . There was no figure leaning against the building, there was no cherry-red glow of cigarette embers, there was no one.

You checked your phone: just a little past midnight. Was he sick? Or busy? He had your number for work-related reasons, so surely he would have texted you if —

But why would he? It wasn’t like this was anything serious , right? It wasn’t a meeting he needed to cancel, or a failed date you could excuse your way out of. This was just… a thing . A repeated thing with a date and a time and a place, sure, but…

Nonetheless, you found yourself drawn to your phone, the screen casting a soft blue glow across your face as you waited for a notification to pop up over your messaging app. You wouldn’t call yourself a romantic, but surely expecting a courtesy message wasn’t beyond whatever little ritual you had going on, right? At least, as your employer, he could treat it like —

A hand grabbed your shoulder. On reflex, you twisted around and flailed your arm wildly, hoping to hit whatever would-be assailant in a place that would hurt.

He caught the fist you carelessly slung in one broad hand, his fingers wrapped around your wrist tight to hold it in place.

“ Boba! ” you gasped, both relieved and irritated at the same time. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

He let your hand slide from his grasp, and if you were in the right mind to pay attention, you would have noticed how he purposefully let his fingertips ghost longer on your skin, how they ran from your wrist to fingers instead of dropping away outright. “Don’t stand oblivious in an alley. At least keep moving if you’re alone.”

You slid your phone back into your front pocket. “I was waiting for you . I didn’t think you were coming.”

At that, he raised an eyebrow ever-so-slightly. “Wasn’t aware I could be late.”

And, well — he was right. This was his thing, after all, his late-night smoke break that he just happened to be so kind as to let you participate as a spectator. Of course he could change his mind, of course he wouldn’t think to let you know. It was your fault for getting attached and thinking it was something more —

“You should stop walking alone so late at night.” Boba was close , you realized. The brief panic earlier had drawn you two together and you hadn’t parted very far, your chests merely inches from each other. It was closer than you had ever been to him before, at least face-to-face, and as a consequence he spoke quieter, his voice coming out as more of a husky rumble than an actual vocalization.

“I’ll stop when you stop smoking,” you countered, your mind too focused on your proximity to Boba to filter your words properly. You were worried he might pick up the true meaning, that it was the act of Boba smoking that lured you to him each week, but instead he huffed out a chuckle.

“We’ll see about that, princess.”

Princess . That was... oh . It sounded like a proper pet name, and the realization made a rush of heat go to your face.

“P-princess?” you finally squeaked out. “Really?”

“You’re spoiled often enough,” Boba said plainly, though the hint of a grin pulling at his lips made you realize he was teasing you.

Something overwhelmingly warm and pleasant tugged at your heart, replacing practically every negative feeling you’d experienced in the past ten minutes. “I’m spoiled, huh? How am I spoiled?”

“You usually get what you want.”

You hummed at that, trying to think of something he might be referencing. He didn’t interact with you much at work, and typically it was usually the opposite in your experience. “I don’t think so,” you finally said, drawing up blanks.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

Oh.

You hadn’t considered that maybe he kept up with the ritual for your sake. Maybe he didn’t smoke at the same time and at the same place on a weekly basis, but instead decided to show up because you expected him there. Because that made sense.

Guilt ate at your heart, replaced quickly by a sense of affection.

It meant he enjoyed your talks, then, right? That he at least enjoyed your company? You couldn’t think of anyone he might just hang out with other than Fennec, and even then, you couldn’t picture him going through the trouble of all of this just to talk with her.

“Boba…” Tentatively, you reached out and placed your palms against his chest, looking up at him. He smelled like leather and smoke and himself , and you were so close that if you wanted, you could… you could….

Thunder crackled sharply overhead, and you jumped back in pure surprise. Boba’s hands came to settle around your elbows, keeping you from fully peeling away.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathed. Ozone filled your nose — the threat of rain.

“Didn’t think it was supposed to storm tonight,” Boba admitted, and the change in weather made disappointment surge through your veins. You doubted he was the type to enjoy smoking while soaking wet, meaning you’d likely have to call it quits for tonight.

Unless…

“You could…” Oh, god. You already knew that the offer would be a mistake, but you swallowed down the nervous lump in your throat. “You could smoke. In my house. If you wanna.”

He regarded you quietly. “If I want, huh?”

“I-if you want,” you repeated. “But would a ‘please’ help influence your decision?”

“No.” And oh, that made your heart drop in your chest — but then he curled a finger under your chin and applied enough pressure to keep you gazing up at him. “But I want to hear one anyway.”

You couldn’t look away if you wanted to. There was something in his eyes that had you absolutely mesmerized , something burning like the smoldering end of a cigarette. God , you wanted to fucking kiss him. “Will you please come to my house?”

His lips curled into a small, self-satisfied smirk that bordered on a grin. The way he allowed you to see a flash of teeth seemed almost predatory , and it made you want to run away, or run toward him. “I’m not in the mood to get soaked,” he finally said. “Let’s go.”

You thought he would pull away from you entirely, leave you wanting and waiting, but instead his arm curled itself around your waist to pull you against the warmth of his side. The gesture was so obviously possessive that it made your heart swoon . You tentatively leaned into him, a hand braced on his chest, but he took your weight easily, as if it were nothing.

The walk to your house was usually a quick affair, a five minute walk at most . Yet, now it felt like you were getting there at a snail’s pace, your body and brain hyperaware of your surroundings, dragging the walk out into one long punishment. Boba’s hand had slipped underneath the hem of your shirt to touch bare skin and it burned with promise. His body was so warm, and so solid, and he smelled so good that you just wanted to bury your face in his chest and just breathe.

To anyone else, you would’ve looked like a typical drunk couple enjoying the evening together. You were invisible, and that knowledge made you almost giddy . He was no longer your boss and you weren’t his employee. The circumstances of your relationship didn’t matter, and for a moment you could pretend that you two were just —

Well, that you two were something together. Something with a future.

Too held up in your thoughts, you didn’t notice the pebble in your path, and you caught your foot on it and stumbled. Boba’s arms wrapped around you before you could pitch forward and he dragged you up to hold you against his chest, one strong arm braced around your middle. “Easy.”

His lips were right by your ear, so close that his voice had come out as barely more than a low rumble. You instinctively tensed in his arms, one hand resting atop his own, and turned your head back to look at him.

Christ , you were impossibly close. The angle meant that there were scant few inches separating you from him, and that a small adjustment would be enough to allow your lips to brush his, to allow you to have a taste of him that you’ve craved these past few months —

Thunder boomed overhead and you startled in his arms, enough so that you jerked away from him. You gave a nervous laugh moreso to assure him that nothing was actually wrong than anything else. The first few fat drops of rain splattered your skin, shockingly cold, and you both looked up at the sky in unison.

“We’d better hurry,” you suggested, knowing how easily torrential rain began in storms like these.

You reached for his hand this time, settling your small hand in the palm of his own, but it was Boba that pulled you along to your house with a renewed sense of urgency as rain began to darken the concrete in small splotches. The clouds threatened to open up and drench you both, but there was something a little more primal in the way he handled you, like it wasn’t just the rain on his mind.

By the time you reached the steps leading up to your door, he was practically manhandling you up them, and instead of allowing you to stop and fish your keys from your pockets, he kept himself in your space, crowding into you, forcing you back against your door. He braced an arm over your head, the other settling on your hip, and when he pressed his knee between your thighs you parted your legs willingly for him.

Boba stared at you. Water droplets dusted the shoulders of his leather jacket, shining dimly in your porch light. The same light reflected warmly in his brown eyes, eyes normally so hard and closed off, but soft for you , like he was sharing a secret, like he was barring some hidden part of himself just for you. Only you.

His thumb skimmed your bare skin where your shirt had ridden up, drawing slow and smooth circles that didn’t match the intensity of his gaze or the way your heart pounded in your chest. When he swallowed, you watched how his adam’s apple bobbed and longed to put your mouth there, to feel the motion against your lips.

“You gonna invite me inside?”

You wanted to hit him. You wanted to give him a snarky reply for all but forcing you up your stairs, or call him something that involved the words cheeky and asshole — but his breath kept ghosting tantalizingly across your lips and his damned smirk was so attractive and you felt like you had been waiting for this for literal years, desire and want and longing all bound up fit to bursting in your chest. “Only if you kiss me,” you challenged breathlessly.

Boba surged forward, hands sliding to cup your face between his broad and calloused palms, and he kissed you with more teeth than lips, something ferocious and desperate . His knee slotted itself higher between your thighs, purposefully rubbing against your center, and you moaned into his mouth, clutching desperately at his wrists. Against the awning, the spattering of rain turned quickly into a flood and for a moment you couldn’t differentiate between it and the blood rushing in your ears.

You never thought you’d find the taste of cigarettes appealing, but you did — at least, you liked them combined with whatever it was Boba tasted like. Maybe it was your attraction to him warping your senses but you couldn’t get enough. You licked into his mouth, sucked lightly on his tongue, teased his lip with your teeth — literally anything to keep him pressed against you.

His hands left your face which made the chilly air feel all the more cold against your cheeks. Instead, they ran down the length of your torso, mapping out the curves and planes of your body. You arched willingly into his hands as they reached around to your backside, sliding into the pockets of your jeans —

— only to be met with disappointment when you heard the jangle of your keys as he pulled them from your pocket. “Could’ve — asked ,” you managed between breathless kisses. Boba hummed into your mouth as he reached for the doorknob to your side. Reluctantly, he pulled away just long enough to slot the key correctly into the lock, and you busied yourself with tasting the expanse of skin on his throat that the new angle provided.

One hand still remained cupping your ass, and you squeaked when he suddenly grabbed a handful and squeezed. As he turned the doorhandle, he used his hand to pull your weight forward against him so that you wouldn’t fall backward into your house, which had the added advantage of pressing your chest to his.

“C’mon,” he murmured lowly, playfully swatting your ass. “Inside.”

You barely registered the sound of your keys hitting your tiled floor as he ushered you indoors, because the moment you both were safely inside you fell on him again, lip-to-lip, hands trying to work off his leather jacket. He took the hint and shed it quickly, letting it fall to the floor, and immediately he urged off your own shirt, breaking away from you long enough to pull the fabric up over your head.

His hands felt so big against your body like they were everywhere, his rough palms a stark contrast against your smooth skin. He thumbed just under your breastband, one hand settled on your back to keep your pelvis pressed to him as his other hand groped your chest over your bra, rough and demanding, and you whined into his mouth. The pleasure threatened to sweep your thoughts away, to turn you mindless and dumb and completely receptive to his whims. You turned your head away from his lips, trying to find the words to speak as he continued to grab handfuls of your flesh. “Boba —” you started, cutting off abruptly with a whine as he teethed at the delicate skin of your neck, each nibble a promise of a later bruise. “W-wait, Boba, I thought you came here to smoke?”

In an instant, his hands fell to his sides, leaving you completely untouched. If you weren’t keyed up and desperate, you might’ve appreciated the gesture, but now it just left you feeling frustrated and unfulfilled. He looked down at you in concern, brows slightly furrowed, but all you could focus on were his lips . They were slick with saliva, kiss-swollen, and you felt a twinge of regret that you had pulled away at all.

“....Do you not want —”

“No! No, I do, I just thought that maybe, y’know…” You gave him a sheepish grin, aware of how hot your face felt. “I thought that maybe you could...do both?”

Concern gave way to slight confusion, then he chuckled in amusement. “I should have guessed.” Boba reached back into the pocket of his jeans. He pulled out his lighter and a carton of cigarettes and carefully shook one free. “You have a thing for smoking, huh?”

“No!” It was a gut-response to deny; smoking was gross . It was yucky . It did awful things to people’s bodies and it stained clothes and fingers and yet — “Or at least, I didn’t,” you amended, voice softening. “Not until I saw you that night.”

He paused, lighter halfway to his mouth. The cigarette dangled attractively from his lips. “You should have better taste.”

You choked on nothing. “Wh — you should have better stress relievers!” “Are you offering?”

That made you stop, heat rising to your face at the implication. Sure, you wanted him — but the thought of being his little toy , someone he came to when he needed a quick fuck to ease his frustrations — you liked the thought of it a little too much. Boba was smirking at you, but he seemed to understand to leave well enough alone, at least for now.

There was a flash of light, steel hitting flint, and then the familiar smell of smoke filled the air, more potent in your tiny house. He motioned his head toward your couch as he breathed out a mouthful of smoke. “Go sit.”

The command was almost unneeded; Boba practically steered you there himself, hot on your heels, his hand right back on your lower back like it belonged there. You settled yourself on the cushions, half expecting him to sit beside you, or maybe cover your body with his own — but when he sunk to his knees in front of you, nerves bubbled up in your stomach.

“Oh, Boba, I’ve never...No one has...gone down on me before.”

He grunted, deft fingertips already at the button of your jeans. “Don’t see how that impacts me.” You raised your hips to help as he tugged at the hem of one pantleg, and he slid your jeans off in one smooth movement. He placed your legs over his shoulders and jerked you forward so your ass was off the couch, hips suspended in midair by his arms hooked underneath your thighs. It left you trapped and pinned in place, your back slouched awkwardly against the back of the couch. He puffed on his cigarette before transferring it between his first two fingers, the burning tip pointed away from you as he gripped your thigh. Smoke escaped his mouth as he spoke, “Unless you want me to stop?”

You shook your head, and whatever nervous thoughts you had about tasting or smelling weird, or not looking the way he expected, or not being groomed the way he liked instantly left as Boba ran the flat of his tongue against your clothed cunt, so hot even through the fabric of your panties, and you jerked your hips both in surprise and want .

“Be still ,” he growled, so close that you felt his breath against your center. “I don’t want to burn you.”

“You won’t,” you breathed. You trusted him not to even accidentally harm you, like accident wasn’t a word in his vocabulary. Instead, you felt his arms clamp down on you harder, giving you even less potential wiggle room than before.

A moment later, his mouth was on you, his tongue licking broad stripes against your panties. It felt good even without direct contact; you had never had someone’s mouth on you before, and it had been a long time since you had anything but your hand to pleasure yourself with.

“You’re already so wet.” He turned his attention to your inner thighs, and pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses to your heated skin. His free hand rubbed you through your panties, spreading your slick into the fabric, and you moaned . “Is it because of me, or are you just excited?”

“You. It’s you.” He hooked his thumb under the edges of your panties and pulled the fabric away from your crotch, exposing your heated core. Your breath came in short puffs as he finally touched you, skin against skin, his thumb dipping into your folds to collect your slick on his fingertip. “I’ve — thought about this for so long.” “About me eating you out?” You were so wet; you could see how your juices glistened on his thumb as he brought it to his mouth, letting his tongue loll out lewdly as he licked your taste clean from his finger. You whined at that sight alone and imagined his tongue tasting you for real, imagined how wet and hot it would feel against your bare cunt. He brought that same hand down onto the meat of your thigh, slapping you light enough to get your attention but not enough to leave a lasting sting. “I asked you a question, princess.”

“About this,” you repeated, as if it clarified anything. “About you. About — Boba, please —” You tried arching your hips off the couch to tempt him, tried to explain without words what you wanted as your voice died off into a needy whine.

His hand returned to your cunt, fingertips grazing over your clit through your panties. They were so soaked with his spit and your slick that it was barely a barrier at all, made translucent by all the fluids. “Don’t make me guess what you want,” he said. “Tell me, and I’ll give it to you.”

Frustrated, you groaned and covered your face with your hands. “It’s embarrassing to say it.”

“It’s embarrassing, huh?” Boba teased the edge of your underwear, flicking it against your skin as a reminder that his fingers were right there , that you could have what you were desperate for if you only asked. “Is it embarrassing if I say that I love how you taste?”

“Boba….” you whined weakly.

“I want to taste more of you,” he murmured, voice growing husky. He nosed against your clothed mound, breath fanning hotly against your core. “I want to bury my tongue in your little cunt and take everything from you. I want you to come undone on my mouth, princess.” He pressed an oddly-sweet kiss to your thigh, his lips lingering on your skin. “But I can’t unless you tell me what you want.”

You felt hot and extremely bothered by the casual way he said those things, how he just uttered his desires as if they were nothing. It wasn’t embarrassing to ask him to eat you out, but you found it embarrassing that you wanted it. You swallowed thickly, and when you finally looked out from under your hands you found Boba looking up at you through hooded eyes, just waiting. Watching.

“Please,” you whispered. “Please eat me out.”

“ That ’s it." In a blatant show of strength he ripped your panties right from your hips, tearing the cloth with one strong pull. You didn’t even have time to articulate a response, because a second later his mouth was on your bare pussy, his tongue eagerly lapping up the liquid that glistened on your folds.

“ Boba! ” You jerked hard in his grasp but he pinned you down with his hands alone, his grip on your thighs so tight you knew that there would be ten marks in the shape of his fingers the next morning. He was relentless, lapping and slurping at your cunt like a man starved, and the sounds were so lewd and so pornographic that you’d have found them gross were you not so aroused.

You wanted to snap your thighs closed and rut against his mouth so bad , but his hold on you was unforgiving. He kept you spread and held in place, completely at his mercy as he licked and sucked and devoured you. Little gasps and moans kept escaping your lips, mixed in with mindless repetitions of Boba and please and yes, yes, like that. This was the loudest you had ever been; months of pent-up desire and sexual frustration had you quickly approaching an orgasm, vastly helped by Boba’s skillful tongue. The urge sat heavy in your gut and only grew with each passing second until you were frantically trying to grind into him, hips moving minutely in his iron grip.

And then he began to pull away. Your hand shot out to grab the back of his head to hold him in place, a desperate whine leaving your throat. “No! No, Boba, please, I’m so close, please —”

“Shhh.” He turned his head to place a soft kiss to your inner thigh. “Relax, princess. I’m not going anywhere.” His assurances were enough to cause you to let go, and he rewarded you by peppering more gentle kisses to your slicked skin. “You got an ashtray?”

You had to think through the haze of want that clouded your thoughts. “A... huh? Why?”

“Don’t want to burn you.” He motioned toward the cone of ash on his cigarette, which had been steadily burning the whole time his mouth was on you. Carefully, he unwound his arms from around you and you slumped, boneless, back into the couch. “Unless you want me to use the carpet?”

“N-no, god, my landlord would kill me.” You spotted an old mug sitting on the endtable right next to the couch and reached for it, almost spilling the scant liquid left inside as you haphazardly handed it to Boba. “Use this.”

Sitting back on his haunches, he flicked the excess into the mug and then brought the cigarette to his lips, inhaling deeply. You watched the fabric of his shirt stretch across his chest as he breathed in, how his shoulders seemed to broaden with the action. When he exhaled, he blew from the side of his mouth, keeping the smoke from reaching your face.

Which was considerate and all, but… “ Boba .” You stretched your lower half toward him in need, letting your thighs fall open. “Please?”

“You invited me here to smoke,” he reminded, even as his free hand slid up to brush tantalizingly close to your slit. “You gonna make me waste a cigarette?”

“N-no, but…” Tears pricked the back of your eyes; you had been so close , and the longer you went without his mouth on you the more you worried you wouldn’t get to come at all. “ Please .”

Boba flicked ash into the mug again and set it aside on the floor, out of reach of flailing arms and legs. “Spoiled little thing,” he said, so affectionate, and then he was upon you, his head back between your thighs. And, fuck, maybe you were spoiled, but it was his fault for indulging you and giving you an inch so you could take a mile. His tongue just felt so good, and without his arms pinning your legs open you rutted freely into his mouth, moans and pleas rolling off your lips anew.

Boba turned his head to the side as he took another drag from his cigarette, holding the little nub a safe ways away from your skin. He exhaled before he wrapped his mouth around you again, hotter than before, and his lips latched around your clit.

“Fuck!” Pleasure shot up through your spine and you moaned shamelessly, your eyes shutting tightly against the feelings that threatened to overwhelm you. “Fuck, fuck , Boba, please, oh my god —”

“Gonna come from my mouth alone?” His lips barely left your cunt as he spoke, his hot breath only serving to further tease you. “Wanna come for me, sweet thing?”

“ Yes ,” you hissed. “Yes, Boba, please , wanna come on your tongue —” You weren’t even wholly aware of what you were saying, just babbling mindlessly as he kept torturing your clit with attention. The urge you were chasing earlier came back full-force, leaving you teetering on the edge. “Please, please , Boba, Boba —”

“Then come,” he ordered. “Come for me.”

It might have been his voice, it might have been because his teeth skimmed your clit, but you came and you came hard . You think you screamed, or blacked out, or screamed and then blacked out — and when you finally relaxed, body no long tight and taut, you opened bleary eyes to find Boba’s face still buried between your legs, his tongue lapping at your sensitive pussy in slow, languid movements.

“Boba,” you whimpered, pushing at him weakly. “‘S’too much, please …”

He peppered hot, open-mouthed kisses on the heated skin of your inner thighs as he pulled away, settling back on his knees. To your embarrassment, his mouth and chin shined with your juices; he turned his head to wipe himself clean on the sleeve of his shoulder and replaced his cigarette back between his lips. It was evident he’d enjoyed himself, too, because there was a sizable bulge tenting the fabric of his jeans.

“Hey.” You stretched a leg out, brushing a toe across the top of a clothed thigh. “It’s not fair you’re still dressed. Take off your shirt.”

He exhaled slowly, smoke drifting lazily upward from his mouth. “Take off your bra if you want it to be fair.”

You had completely forgotten that you were still wearing it, and you realized how ridiculous you must look: stripped nude with your bare pussy on display, but still wearing your fucking bra. It wasn’t even cute .

Sitting up, you hesitantly reached behind yourself and unclipped your bra. You let the straps slide down your shoulders but left the cups covering your chest, suddenly very acutely aware of everything: the couch beneath your bare thighs, the drying slick on your skin, Boba’s warm eyes focused intensely on you .

“Don’t get shy on me, now.” Gentle and slow, he reached a hand up and helped ease your bra the rest of the way off your chest. He palmed your bare breast, pebbling your nipple underneath his thumb. “Beautiful.”

You flushed at the compliment but gently pushed his hand away. “Your turn. Fair’s fair.”

He extended his cigarette out to you as he stood up from his knees, and you didn’t miss the quiet noise of exertion he made at the effort. “Hold this.” It was burned down to almost nothing, wasted, but as you took it from his fingers you remembered how often you’d imagined holding the filter between your lips, how often you dreamed of tasting him second-hand.

“Want to try?” He must’ve caught you staring; when you glanced back at him, he was bare-chested, and you marveled at the power that flexed underneath his skin, at the tattoos that spanned his chest and upper arms. You’d have to ask about them later.

“I thought you didn’t want me to start?”

“You’re an adult. I’m saying the offer’s there, if you want.”

You considered it — you really did — but then you thought about how sweeter it would taste coming from his mouth, and you passed it back to him.

“I...can we try something?

The end of it burned red-hot as he inhaled. “What?”

Your earlier shyness came back, your nerves sitting heavy in your chest. “What if...you kissed me, right? But with your mouth full of smoke? And then...y’know….” You wrung your hands in your lap as your confidence died out.

But Boba merely chuckled and took a seat on the couch next to you, the cushions dipping under his weight. “You won’t like it,” he warned.

“I don’t care.” Half-surprised he agreed, and half-giddy with desire, you crawled loose-limbed into his space, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth as you settled into him. “If it’s from you, I don’t care.”

You had tucked yourself into his side, but Boba hauled you into his lap instead, swinging your legs across his own. His clothed erection pressed into your hip and you had half a mind to ask if he wanted his pants off, too — but then he grabbed your chin between one large hand and held you in place as he puffed from his cigarette. His lips ghosted across your own, soft and tentative, and then he kissed you for real.

Unlike before, this was gentle and sweet, the slow molding of his mouth to yours, until he urged your lips to part. On instinct, you inhaled, and the smoke that entered your lungs was hot and spicy . You coughed once against his mouth before you had the chance to turn away. Your lungs and throat burned and tears quickly filled your eyes as you coughed away the sensation.

“I told you,” came Boba’s smug reply, and you narrowed your leaking eyes in a glare even as small coughs wracked your body. Gently, he smoothed his hand up and down your spine. “Wanna try again?”

“So you can —” you stopped, coughing, “— laugh at me?”

“Not laughing.” He wiped away some spittle on the side of your mouth. “It’ll be easier if you just hold it in your mouth. Don’t breathe it in.”

You nodded. After he took another drag from his cigarette, well and truly burning it to the filter, he kissed you again. This time, when you felt smoke fill your mouth, you fought off the urge to inhale. It almost tasted sweet beneath the bitter burn. You forced yourself to breathe out, the smoke pouring from between your connected mouths, but despite your best efforts you ended up inhaling a little anyway. You pulled away and coughed to clear your throat.

“Better?

You shook your head. “Not really,” you said sheepishly. “At least I know there’s one fantasy I don’t want to try again.

Boba extinguished the nub of his cigarette between forefinger and thumb and tossed it to the mug he left on the floor. “You fantasized about this?”

“Well, duh.” You sunk down against his chest, resting your head on his shoulder as he drew you close. “What else am I supposed to think about at work?”

It was a tease, mostly, but Boba pinched the soft skin of your thigh. “Naughty thing,” he admonished. “I pay you to fantasize, huh?”

“You occupy my thoughts even when I’m off the clock,” you admitted. As you shifted a bit in his lap, his erection pressed into your side, and you remembered another worktime fantasy and spoke before Boba had a chance to reply to your honesty. “Hey, you brought a whole pack with you, right?”

He huffed out a chuckle. “You trying to give me lung cancer?”

“No! No, no, just —” You squirmed. “Do you maybe want a blowjob? While you smoke?”

He answered you by reaching into his back pocket to pull out his lighter and cigarette carton. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“W-well, I mean, I thought you might like it. It’s supposed to be every man’s fantasy, right? A good blowjob and a smoke?” You eased yourself onto your knees before him as he lit up another cigarette, smoothing your hand over his broad thighs.

“Never considered it before,” he said as he began to undo his belt, “but I won’t say no.”

Your deft fingers helped undo the button on his jeans, and you pulled the waistband down just far enough to free his aching cock. “Oh, fuck ,” you breathed. He was big . Bigger than anyone else you’d taken, and you felt a phantom twinge of pain in your jaw just imagining him in your mouth.

“Like what you see?” Boba grinned down at you, his freshly-lit cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth. Oh, he knew he was big. He knew it, and he knew you liked it.

You wrapped your hand around him and almost moaned when you realized you were barely able to touch your thumb to your middle finger around his girth. “Holy fuck , Boba.” You had never wanted to suck a dick as badly as you did now, even if you were questioning how any of it would fit in your mouth. Would he even fit in your cunt? If things escalated to that point, would you be able to take him, or would he just split you in half?

You subconsciously squeezed your thighs together and leaned in, pressing kisses up along his shaft. He smelled good , like musk, like Boba , the scent that you could never name. You parted your lips and dragged the tip of your tongue along his shaft, feather-light, stopping to take his leaking head into your mouth. He tasted salty on your tongue and you braced your hands on his thighs as you leaned in farther, relaxing your throat as his girth stretched you mouth impossibly wide. Already, it was almost too much, your jaw threatening to ache, and you worried you’d have to give him a handjob instead.

“‘Atta girl,” Boba praised, and oh if that didn’t make you feel like you could do anything . He ran a hand through your hair and settled a palm on the top of your head — not pulling, not pushing, but a comforting weight that held promise. Potential.

You pulled off his cock, tilting your head to look up at him through your lashes. “You can be mean,” you breathed, cognizant of how his hand tightened in your hair. “It’s okay.”

Boba hummed low in his throat, as if he were considering it. “Some other time,” he promised. “You have to learn to take me. I can’t break you on the first day.”

His words made you whimper automatically with want as your brain immediately filled in the gaps. Boba exhaled a mouthful of smoke around his cigarette and applied a little pressure to the top of your head, encouraging you to bend down again. “C’mon, princess. Take me into your mouth.”

You held his gaze for as long as you could manage as you wrapped your lips around his cock again, sinking down on his length. Despite his size, you wanted to take him deep in your throat and feel his jeans rub against your chin. You tried to relax as much as possible as you sunk lower but he was just too much , and you ended up gagging audibly.

He gave a sharp tug on your hair, pulling you off his cock. “Go easy ,” he stressed. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

Spit dribbled down your chin. “I want to take all of you,” you whined.

Boba’s hand cupped your jaw, his thumb smearing your saliva across your lips. “Be patient. I’m not a small man.”

“You make it sound like I’ll get another chance to do this.”

“You will. If you want.” Ash fell from the end of his cigarette and onto the cushion below, but in that moment you couldn’t care less about your stupid couch. “I’d like to have fun with you again.”

You hid your grin behind kisses as you peppered them along his shaft. “Okay,” you finally said. “Okay, I’ll go easy.” Boba made it sound like you’d have all the time in the world later to train your throat to take his cock — and hopefully there’d be time to train other things, as well.

No longer focused on deepthroating his entire cock, you worked on fitting as much as you could comfortably handle into his mouth and settled into a rhythm as you sucked and licked. You stroked the rest of his shaft with your hand, aided smoothly by your excessive saliva that drooled down his length.

You took a chance to look up at Boba, and found him with his eyes closed, an arm thrown over the back of your couch. The cigarette bobbled in his mouth as he inhaled around it. “ There you go,” he murmured, smoke trailing from his lips. “Just like that. Easy.”

You swallowed around him and his hand tightened in your hair. The taste in your mouth grew saltier with each passing second as his precum leaked from the tip of his cock and mingled with your spit. Boba groaned above you, something guttural and almost primal , and you felt the ache between your own legs grow in response.

“Want my cum, princess?”

Grateful for the chance to give your aching jaw a break, you lifted from his cock and licked a broad stripe up from where your hand had been. “ Yes ,” you plead. “Yes, please, will you come in my mouth?”

“Gonna swallow me, huh?” At your enthusiastic nod, he grinned. “Good girl. My good girl. Scoot back.”

He moved to stand up from the couch and you realized at once what he intended to do as you shifted backwards, sitting pretty on your knees. He towered over you in this position and you couldn’t take your gaze away from him; at this angle, he seemed larger than life, intimidating and scary and huge , and the cherry-red of his cigarette burned brighter than ever.

Boba cupped your jaw in his hand, tugging at your bottom lip. “Open your mouth.” You whined and clutched at the fabric of his pants as you obediently parted your lips, moving your head so that the tip of his cock was pointed at your mouth.

He fisted his cock in one hand, jerking himself hard and fast, and with the other he gripped the back of your hair and held you in place. “Gonna come, princess. Stick your tongue out for me.”

You stretched your tongue out of your mouth as far as it would go, lips parted wide, and stared longingly up at him. Each of his exhales contained a mouthful of smoke, and it gave him the impression of standing in a translucent cloud, the tip of his cigarette standing out amongst the white.

He grunted something unintelligible and you felt something warm and thick land on your cheek. The next one hit your upper lip, and Boba drew you forward so that the head of his cock sat on the tip of your tongue. The rest of his cum landed hot and salty on your tastebuds.

Boba jerked himself from base to tip, coaxing out whatever droplets he could give you. “You look so good,” he murmured, voice husky. “Good girl. Swallow.”

You obeyed, opening your mouth wide after to show him. His thumb came up and helped guide the mess he left on your face into your waiting mouth, where you sucked his tongue clean each time.

“You did so well,” he praised, and even though your jaw ached and there was a dull throb between your legs, you beamed . You pressed your face into his clothed thigh and sighed happily as he rested a hand in your hair, stroking down the strands he’d mussed earlier. He took his cigarette from his mouth and tapped the ashes off into what you hoped was the mug.

A sort of quiet peace settled over you, and even though you were completely nude and it was late and you kind of wanted to invite Boba to stay the night (or forever), you were content to just sit there on your knees as he ran his fingers through your hair.

Besides. He told you there would be a next time — there was no reason to rush.

#boba fett #boba fett x reader #star wars #writing #this is extremely vanilla #i am surprised at how vanilla it is #i mean. theres some other stuff i would have written that wouldve immediately made it not vanilla #but no one ele would be into it but me #and i want my stuff to be read <3 #also i did say its a modern mob au but u can disregard that if u want #theres not like. any actual backstory or plot i just needed a way to have boba smoke actual cigarettes instead of Space Cigarettes #wtf is a death stick. its a cigarette #also i personally dont smoke so if any of the desc seem off like abt taste let me know LMAO im going off of second hand knowledge

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cali-is-my-canvas · 3 years

Text

MHA RAVE AU HEADCANONS

Part 1

Ok so I had started artworks for this idea because being a weeb and a raver, it only made sense to me.

So here’s a list of the MHA characters (all 18+) and what I think they’d be like as ravers including the genre, style and uh….. “party favors” they’d indulge in if they do indulge.

Izuku Midoriya

You can’t convince me that Deku isn’t a baby raver. He’s one of those that starts off wide eyed and so excited to start raving.

Definitely a budding Kandi Kid. He loves making kandi and trading with other people and he definitely takes videos or pics of his trades to add to his scrapbook.

Is the kind of baby raver that scrapbooks for his memories of each show/festival he goes to. He saves the admission bands and takes tons of pics.

Is fairly mainstream with his taste is DJs but will go to check out other sub genres if he goes with other groups. Mostly along the lines of Zedd, The Chainsmokers, David Guetta. Very house/pop vibes.

He’s very comfy style. Is big on merch shirts. Has a Fanny pack and a camel pack with essentials like gum, water, hair ties, a mini first aid kit, power banks, a couple fans and Vick’s.

Is the kind of guy that is very sweet so girls flock to him to either treat him like baby or flirt with him cuz he’s good boi. Will lift people on his shoulders, guy or girl.

Light show caretaker. He’s the one who holds your hand, fans you, will probably sit you in his lap whether you’re a guy gal or non binary pal.

His rave name is either Deku or Broccoli.

Izuku isn’t one to take any kind of “party favors”. If anything, he’s the one making sure everybody else is staying hydrated and safe. Usually the designated driver.

OFA gives him great strength which proves very useful when going to 3 day festivals as he ends up as the pack mule. Along with the multitude of other quirks attached ro OFA, he uses them as needed.

Shoto Todoroki

Wasn’t really ecstatic about raving but also didn’t hate the idea. He kinda just tagged along because Izuku wanted to go.

Also very big on house/pop/mainstream stuff. Will listen to trance on occasion but he has to really be in the mood.

Only really takes pics if he remembers or if Izuku tells him to. He likes to enjoy the shows in the moment.

Because he’s from a rich family, he usually gets to have VIP passes and will either sneak his friends in or just flat out walk them in. No fucks given.

Also very comfy. Will take his shirt off only if it gets too hot. Very little kandi but faithfully wears the one Izuku gave him.

Gets hit on a lot. Gives the strong silent type vibes so he lures in the girls but he’s kinda clueless. Will help put people on his shoulders if they ask but he’s not one to offer.

Not a big “party favor” person so he’ll just drink every now and again.

I feel like his rave name will be IcyHot, Peppermint, or something along those lines.

His dual-quirks of ice and fire help tremendously in warming people up or cooling them down.

Katsuki Bakugou

Katsuki took a bit of convincing but when he heard the boom of the bass, he was hooked. He loves the heavy beats and drops and loves to mosh pit.

Is a kandi kid but focuses more on head banging and rail breaking. The ones he trades kandi with are usually the ones he liked head banging with or got good vibes from. Will infamously wear his kandi gauntlets to festivals.

He is HEAVY on the bass. Very into hard style, dubstep, deathstep, drum and bass and moombatah. Sullivan King, Excision, Dion Timmer, etc.

Loves doing that headbanger thing with Kirishima where they lock hands and headbang at each other. Will also break his neck with Kirishima.

Absolutely is the type of guy to be shirtless the entire time. Will vary between bandanas, face masks, kandi masks or gas masks. Camel pack is a necessity and so is gum and vicks.

Does get hit on but his aggressive nature is off putting to most. Takes pics with a lot of people because of his Kandi gauntlets. If he does click with somebody he’s very possessive and the “party favors” make him very flirtatious and grabby but he’s v respectful.

Gives amazing back/shoulder rubs. Will usually put a girl in his lap when she gets a light show so she’s not uncomfy on the floor. For guys, he’s very selective but good vibes unless you give off Chad energy.

If he didn’t click with anybody at the show/festival and is feeling touchy feely, Kiri is his go to. Even if Kiri makes a connection, you’ll often see Katsuki close by and being the “tag team top” to Kiri.

Definitely uses “party favors”. Prefers E and acid. Big on Kandi Flipping. Will try Jedi Flipping but doesn’t wanna overdo it.

His rave name is either Dynamite or Grenade. Was almost gonna be Kacchan when he went with Izuku but he shut that down real fast.

His explosion quirk comes in handy with hyping up the crowd with mini explosion. They also double for giving light shows. Likes watching faces melt.

Kyoka Jirou

I definitely think she’s one of the ones that introduced everyone to raving to open up their music taste.

She listens to a little of everything but prefers house, trance, techno and probably a little psy-trance.

She’s definitely a budding DJ/Producer. Has her own EPs out on SoundCloud and shit. Definitely invites everyone she knows to her shows.

Not so big on kandi but she loves spreading the PLUR vibes. Will give hugs, braid hair, have spare hair ties, etc.

Super into hearing different types of music so will definitely wander around different stages.

Style is very lax but also very rocker. Ripped tank tops, fishnets, leg wraps face masks, boots.

Sometimes partakes in “party favors” but very low doses. Mostly E or molly water

She’s the kind that will give amazing massages when someone is getting a light show. Does get hit on but usually ends up befriending everybody.

Her raver name is tricky. I feel like she’d get something Joane Jet or something very rocker.

Her quirk is tricky for this environment. It can be a hit or miss. Because of the volume she obviously can’t amplify the sound. Because her ear jacks can move on their own, she usually is the one catching people’s stuff, getting a better grip on them etc.

Ochako Uraraka

Very bubbly and upbeat. Definitely pop-ish/mainstream vibes. Will randomly be on a bass kick and it’s frightening.

She was super excited to go to a rave and was very baby raver but she loves it now.

She’s definitely the type to wear the cutesy outfits with tutus and bright colors and patterns and the body glitter everywhere and jewels. Probably leg warmer floofs.

Loves Kandi and trading kandi. Super friendly and bubbly. Makes friends with everybody.

Carries a fanny pack with the basics. Usually relies on Izuku for water and stuffs.

She’s a molly water chick. No debating. She can’t take a whole dosage. She’s gotta take it in Gatorade or water. Has to be watched cuz her bubbly nature makes her wander off so she’ll usually be tethered to somebody.

Usually hyping up the light show artist while they melt your face off. Will fan you off, hold your hand, give you shoulder and scalp massages.

I feel like her nickname would be something like Pinkie Pie or Bubbles. Very fitting for her personality.

Her quirk is definitely a god send for the other vertically challenged ravers. She’ll use her quirk to help float up to get a better view. Izuku is usually nearby keeping Ochaco and whoever she floats in his hands so they don’t float away.

Eijirou Kirishima

Is good boi himbo who wanted to be included. Listened to dubstep and loved it.

Very much into dubstep, hard style, deathstep and moombatah. Drum and bass too because of Katsuki.

Is a headbanger and rail breaker. Loves doing the hand holding, head banging thingy with Bakugou and is always ready to dive into the moshpits. Is totally that guy that’s crazy in mosh pits but then profusely apologizes after.

Trades kandi like it’s water. He’s so cute and always down to make trades.

Is absolutely big good himbo boi who drank his respecc womens juice. He will happily give them a lift on his shoulders and will fight everybody who disrespects any girl at the raves. Douchebag Chads beware.

Relies on Katsuki for stuff like water and gum and shit.

Will partake in some “party favors” and makes sure he doesn’t dose too high so he can keep an eye out for the females in his group. E, Molly and Acid are a yes. Shrooms scare him

His rave name is totally Daddy Shark or Jaws or something shark related.

Unbreakable gives Kiri great strength which, much like Izuku, makes him one of the packmules for festivals. Also keeps him unscathed by moshpits and makes him a terror to Chads that are quick to throw hands.

Tsuyu Asui

Was invited to a show by Jirou at first but always tags along with Izuku and Ochaco and Shoto. The bigger the crowd the better.

I feel like while she’s very cute and bubbly, her outfits are more on the conservative side. Still cute and slightly sexy but she’s heavy on the frog aesthetic. Lots of greens and Froggies. Braid to keep her hair out of the way.

Also very mainstream. House heavy. Pop main.

Comfy shoes are a must. Has a camel back that is always filled with water. Carries a giant fan and always has Kandi. During the day, she likes to carry an umbrella so the sun isn’t such a pain.

Has tried “party favors” and every now and again she’ll partake. Prefers super light drinking around her group tho.

Is hit on but is always very nice to turn people down. She’s more focused on the fun and her friends rather than hooking up or anything.

Her froggy quirk isn’t of too much in the rave environment other than using that long tongue to reign in her wander friends.

Denki Kaminari

Was introduced to raving by Jirou and loves it. He’s definitely her hype machine, promoting her shows, pushing merch and even volunteering to use his quirk for lighting during her sets.

Will definitely join the Bakusquad at the hard style and dubstep stages. Also loves techno and moombatah. Loves the high energy stuff.

Neons and glow in the darks are big in his rave wardrobe. Can and will rock fishnets with pride. Tank tops are more common but will go shirtless if it gets too hot or he gets too touchy feely. Kind of a cyberpunk feel sometimes.

Is a die hard kandi kid. Usually has them in the theme of video games or anime. Basically his arms are covered in kandi but the ones from his friends stay safe in a Fanny pack.

As an avid raver, he knows what you need and has it when you need it. Chapstick? Check. Gum? Tons. Lighters? Honey it’s a sin that you’re even asking.

Absolutely partakes in “party favors” and gets very handsy and flirtatious. Is respectful but can be a handful. Usually ends up being babysat by Jirou. E, Molly, acid and shrooms.

Is a huge flirt. I personally feel like he’s Pan so the whole crowd is fair game for his flirting. Hella good kisser with guys girls and non binaries. Uses his quirk for minimal stimulation.

His quirk is definitely a raver’s delight. He’s usually the one helping power people’s phones, helping keep machines running in the off chance the power surge is too much. Uses it for stimulation during make out sessions or light shows. Will also give light shows. Can’t do it for too long though because the light shows require a lot of focus on maintaining the output to smaller levels.

His rave name is Pikachu and I’m not taking any arguments/complaints/criticisms.

Tenya Iida

Was invited a rave and didn’t mind it but too chaotic for his taste.

He’s usually the guy working the rave at the water stands, merch stands or medical tent.

Rave dad vibes. Yells to not run, drink water and highly discourages use of “party favors”.

Has been hit on a couple times but is a dork and it usually goes over his head.

T-shirts and cargo shorts are his staple outfit. Always with a camel pack

His engine quirk helps him get from one end of the festival grounds to the other in no time flat so he has a specific path for him to run through cuz those speeds will knock a bitch out.

Even though he doesn’t really rave he was given a rave name and it’s Sonic.

Mina Ashido

The epitome of a fucking rave queen. She’s one of the other reasons that everybody else got into raving.

Is everywhere. She listens to a bit of everything. Loves the energy of dubstep, loves shuffling to techno, can and will throws elbows in a mosh pit at a hard style stage and will sing with you at the mainstream stages.

She’s definitely a brand ambassador and wears all the cutest outfits with the coolest patterns and most awesome styles. Tastefully sexy outfits that show off just enough.

Absolutely a kandi kid. Very alien friendly themed kandi. Full arms of traded kandi and kandi that is yet to be traded.

She’s a super bright personality that draws people in. She gets equal attention from guys and girls and non binaries and will gladly make out with anybody that gives her a good vibe.

Definitely partakes in “party favors”. Loves Kandi Flipping and Jedi flipping. Is the kind to chew her cheek raw so she needs either a pacifier or lots of gum.

For obvious reasons, her quirk is a no no. Shooting acid everywhere? Yea let’s not.

Her rave name is Alien Queen or ET Babe

Hanta Sero

Absolutely loves raving and I’m gonna stick with the Latino HC. He is a moombatah and trap king. Also loves artists like Deorro that have a lot of Latin fusion in their stuff. When “Bailar” came out, he played it for hours on end.

Very lax clothes. Very much stoner style. But on rare occasions he goes with the Chad aesthetic. Has that undercut but with longer hair up top style and will often swing it it up in a man bun.

He’s a promoter for sure. Usually has access to backstage because he gets in good with DJs.

Does use “party favors” but is mainly 4/20 friendly. Loves shotgunning. Is usually the guy that carries extra “party favors”. Will def go on an acid or shroom trip with first timers.

Very sexually fluid so good vibes are pretty much all that are required. Hella god dancer and uses that to his advantage.

Has all the essentials. Especially lighters. Is the one that remembers the eye drops.

His rave name is definitely Papi or Rey (Spanish for King).

His quirk is another one that doesn’t have much use other than to wrangle in his wandering friends.

Momo Yaoyorozu

Wasn’t keen on going at first but when she saw that even Shoto was going, she thought she’d give it a try. Is another rich kid so does have the VIP access for the sake of having a good/comfy place to sit and rest.

Mainstream for sure. Very pop heavy vibes. Some house and trance

Very much the rave mom. Keeping everybody hydrated and safe.

Given that her quirk relies heavily on her energy and all that, she doesn’t partake in party favors

Tries to keep it cute but usually ends up looking more on the sexy side.

She’s been convinced to be a brand ambassador for the sake of modeling the clothes. But she always asks for the more covered up options.

Is too busy taking care of everybody to worry about meeting people.

Her quirk is perfect for raving. Being able to create anything certainly has come in handy. Makes her a god send to those who forgot something like lighter, chapstick, hair tie etc.

Her rave name would probably be Mama Momo.

Hitoshi Shinsou

Now this guy is heavy into psy-trance. Think more along the lines of artists like Infected Mushroom.

He’s the connect that everybody goes to. Meaning yes, he partakes in party favors. Particularly the psychedelics like shrooms and acid.

Very cyber punk/street wear vibes. Comfy but still fits that aesthetic. Absolutely uses either his voice mask or a gas mask.

He gives the mysterious vibe so he has a lot of people drawn to him. I feel like he gives major Pansexual vibes. He’ll mainly go make out with Denki if he’s solo.

Just a basic Fanny pack with a few things in it like gum, chapstick, lighter.

Definitely a glover. Loves giving light shows because it almost feels like he’s using his quirk.

Can use his quirk in this type of environment but the loudness makes it tricky. Will mainly use it for the purpose of making sure people take care of themselves.

Fumikage Tokoyami

I feel like Tokoyami would definitely be into more dubstep and psytrance.

He was very open minded about raving and definitely wanted to try it at least once.

Occasionally partakes in party favors but likes to be lucid.

Is also a glover like Shinsou. But with Dark Shadow, he can go all out with the tricks and visuals.

Very casual and comfortable. Baggy t shirts and sweats. Will sometimes dress with a cyber punk aesthetic if he feels like adding a little extra oomf.

Trades some kandi but not always.

Dark shadow is a conversation starter and the darkness proves to be particularly tricked but because there are constant sources of light (glow sticks, laser light shows, etc) it’s easily tamable.

Won’t put anybody on his shoulders but Dark Shadow will definitely help hoist somebody up for a better view.

Rave name would probably be things along the lines of ominous authors. So probably Edgar Allan Crow, F.T. Lovecraft, or just Lovecraft.

Keigo “Hawks” Takami

Oh this man? This man eats, sleeps, raves, repeats. He breathes PLUR.

He does partake in party favors but is responsible. He’s the one making sure you keep dosage to a minimal. E and Molly water. Acid sometimes. Shrooms make him feel funny

Can definitely afford the VIP tickets but would rather be in the crowd. Especially because he loves big groups. He’s definitely the kind of guy that gives Chad vibes when you first see him but he’s the complete opposite. Will definitely be the kind of guy to start shit with a Chad that won’t leave girls alone.

Totally shirt off the entire time. Will purposely do some subtle flexing just cuz he can.

Is totally hit on by guys gals and non binary alike. He is a looker so that’s to be expected. Usually cargo shorts are a go-to and he rocks bandanas.

Is a kandi kid for sure and loves to trade. He’s even made a few with his feathers attached but those are especially for people he REALLY vibes with.

He’s got a good mix of music taste. Will totally throw down with the hard stylers but definitely get lost and philosophical with the trancies.

Is a HELLA good kisser and uses his wings when he wants a little privacy.

Speaking of wings, those definitely come in handy at raves. I mean for one thing, they work like an umbrella when it’s hot out. Secondly they’re basically built in fans. Thirdly, they work for privacy. And he’ll totally fly you up and get you a better view of the show.

His charisma is definitely at 100 and I can totally see him getting you backstage to meet your fave artists.

The rave name is tricky but maybe Hawks will be the basic one. His friends use KFC or Red. No wait. Fuck it. Maverick or Top Gun. Something like that.

Alrighty my thirsty gremlins. I’m gonna stop this here. I’m getting a tad lazy so if there are other characters you wanna see from MHA as ravers, blow up my asks and I’ll make a part 2.

#my hero academia #mha headcanons #mha au #mha au idea #mha aus #MHA Rave AU #bnha #Boku no Hero Academia #boku no hero headcanons #raves #EDM #EDM festivals #anime #husbandos #waifus #headcanons

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suna-reversed · 3 years

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“Go ahead and cry little girl”

College!AU Suna Rintarou x F!reader

Suna Rinatarou: popular; confident; handsome; occasional chainsmoker.

Little does everyone know, that the ever so nonchalant middle blocker has always thought of himself as the antagonist of his life.

Trouble ensues when he finds himself not able to get the girl in the crimson dress off of his mind. But little does he know of the scarlett wounds she hides behind her smile.

———

-based off “daddy issues” by the neighbourhood

warnings/tags- tw language, mentions of drugs/smoking/alcohol, fluff if you squint really hard

“It’s crazy what you’d do for a friend” (PART 1)

“Take you like a drug

Taste you on my tongue”

The first time you met Suna Rintarou was at some random frat party your friend had dragged you to after you had been cheated on by your boyfriend of 2 years.

In all fairness, you saw it coming from a mile away. But then why did you stick around? Maybe it was because you knew you couldn’t do better? Maybe you deserved it? Maybe you were not enough for him in the first place?

All those thoughts were thrown out the window as your head got struck with a rock heavy wave of dizziness. Everything around seemed to be in hues of lilac and lavender as you threw back your head laughing at the incoherent mumbles of the people around you. They most definitely were not incoherent. One moment you were laughing, the next you were melding your lips against the brunette next to you.

His lips somehow felt sickening but addictive at the same time. You couldn’t tell if your high was from the smoke he inhaled and released down your throat each time he pulled his lips away from yours, or if it was simply your wanton need for the strawberry-like taste of his lips. You felt him mumble against your lips, something about you looking like a goddess in the crimson dress you wore. In that moment, you didn’t care. As long as you stayed up high in the clouds with his tongue exploring your mouth and far away from the reality of everything, you were content.

—————

‘Ask me what I'm thinking about

I'll tell you that I'm thinking about

Whatever you're thinking about’

“Hey, what you reading there crimson?”

You snapped your head up at the unknown voice, your eyes locking onto a pair of catlike brown eyes. You narrowed your eyes at the stranger. That seemed to force a chuckle out of him.

“Don't remember me do you?”

A sudden burst of memories seemed to slam right into your mind as you recognised that all too familiar smirk from two nights ago. Your eyes widened as your mouth formed an “O” shape, and to further your embarrassment, that just made the boy burst into a bout of laughter.

“Well, at least answer my question, since I assume that we’ve already gotten quite a bit familiar with each other.” He said while pulling a library chair out from across you and plopping down in it with a smirk that made your knees wobble a little.

Still too shaken up, it took you a moment to realise what he had asked in the first place. Lifting the book in your hands a little, you mumbled out the name of the manga you were reading.

“Ah, that’s a good one but the main character gets a little too cocky by the middle, don’t you think?”

Quickly overcoming your surprise of him actually having read it, your reply comes out before you even realise it,

“ Oh he absolutely does, but that’s the whole point of it isn’t it?”

He tilts his head, signalling for you to continue,

“Well, you see, that’s the whole trope- the main character has flaws and always sees himself as the bad guy, but he realises just how much of an unreliable narrator he himself was when the female lead ends up accepting him and loving him for who he is anyways.”

“But why would she still accept him after all the pain and hurt he caused?”

“I don’t know...maybe she thought she deserved it.”

His eyes narrowed into slits as he stared at you with a gaze sharp enough to cut through diamond.

Just then, his phone notification rang, and he let out a sigh before getting up. “I hope to see you around crimson”

You scrunch your nose up at the strange nickname but he simply laughs as he ruffles your hair and walks away.

-----------------end of part 1

no this is totally not me projecting my issues onto a fic

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

PART 2 PREVIEW-

“Why’d you only call me when you’re high?”

The constant buzzing of your phone wakes you up. Checking the time on the clock next to your bed, you notice that it’s 2:37 am. Your phone buzzes again and you groan.

“someone better be fucking dying” you murmur to yourself sleepily. Ready to use the person on the other side as a punching bag, you answer the call without even checking who the caller is.

“I’m outside, can you please open the door crimson?”

It takes you less than a second to realise who that husky voice belongs to. Before you know it, your feet are carrying you to the door as you open it slightly, half mad- half worried about the boy standing in front of you with a bleeding cut across his cheek. His eyes seem to droop more than usual but his head perks up as he sees you and that all too familiar, but still intoxicating grin graces his features as he takes a step forward towards you, crashing his lips into yours.

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10millionyearsdungeon · 4 years

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Kinktober #5 - Public

A/N: Okay, so anyone who has followed or knows me has heard me proclaim my affection for the put-upon, chainsmoking Karasuno coach Keishin Ukai. His characterization leaves a lot open for interpretation, and I think I like him best as a smirking, snarky, scheming asshole who can’t keep his hands to himself regardless of venue... ======================================================== Cold metal dug into your lower belly with every grope. The roar of the crowd behind you left you dizzy as nicotine-stained fingers worked their way along your backside and between your jeans for a taste of his prize. You should have known better than to wear something so tight, so classic to the national match. Keishin couldn’t resist grabbing a handful of muscled buttock and smirking in your ear.

“Eyes up, little girl. Don’t wanna miss anything, yeah?” It was embarrassing how well he knew you, how easily he could get you to fold to his whims. The bittersweet headrush trapped you in a cloud of tobacco smoke and neroli cologne, and the fire in your belly only burned hotter as you felt stranger’s eyes undressing you with every stifled whine. Keishin stood behind you, blocking his work from prying, unworthy eyes as you gasped with the return of a particularly difficult serve. Big brained setter habits never die, and he knew well enough to time his escalation tactics. He lowered his lips to your ear, tongue darting between them to wet his chapped skin before dropping that whiskey and chocolate voice to an octave that left you trembling.

“Doesn’t this take you back?” Keishin stepped closer, the hardening outline of his cock through his jeans resting sumptuously in the cleft in your ass. “Smaller venue, fewer people,” he mused, grinding at an agonizingly tepid pace against your clothed backside. “But the thrill is still there.” Your mouth fell open as his hand slipped further down, fingers teasing the sopping hole welcoming the attention. He chuckled, unsurprised by how slick he found you-- almost getting caught, the adrenaline rush that came with fighting that urge to scream his name in a crowded room with your head thrown back in ecstasy was a fantasy that kept you awake at night. He knew all too well how to play your body like a finely tuned piano, how to coax the whore out of the lady. Hips bucking back into his covert molestation, you couldn't bite back the moan that bubbled up your throat.

"I seem to recall you enjoying being laid out on display, miss manager…" His free arm wrapped sinfully around your waist to hold you firmly against his lithe frame. He dug deeper inside, needling that ridge that left you blinded in spite of the continued flashbulbs from the court below. Coil tightening, his breath fanned over your ear with a sardonic lopsided grin and Keishin continued reminiscing all the while grinding his aching cock against the curve of your clothed ass.

"Especially after a high stakes match...something about the roar of the crowd always got this pussy wet and ready…" The slick drenched your thin panties and coated your thighs as he continued to work those tight rings of flexing muscle open with practiced, patient strokes. It wouldn't be long before you were bent over the rail, body tense with raw want, still fighting in vain to silently peak in front of an audience of hundreds.

Your skin prickled with the sensation of being dissected, undressed by foreign eyes, attention pulled from the match below. You squirmed against your lover's hold and let out a pained whine, hardly escaping the voyeur's heavy gaze or Keishin's vice-grip on your aching cunt.

"Keishin," you whimpered, earning a swift bite to your earlobe. He redoubled his efforts and grinned into the bite. You knew he could see the spectator shuffling closer to get a better vantage point on your extra-curriculars during the match. "Keishin we can't." Your voice was a hiss in a sea of white noise, the subtle shuffling of clothing and sudden cool air hitting your bare skin a warning of what was to come. It was plunging into an ice bath after a marathon, and you ached at the sudden loss of his busy hands.

"We can and you'll like it," Keishin purred. With a muffled groan and a crooked smirk he easily slid into your gaping heat. Mutual moans were buried under the collective screaming of the home crowd as the Jackals scored another point to tie up what you guessed was a close game. He thrust deeply into that abused bundle of nerves, grip on your hips hard enough to bruise as you arched back into his every thrust and grind.

"C'mon, little girl. You know you wanna give that perv a real show. Really give him something to stare at and jerk off to later."

Whether it was the tension finally snapping in your loins or the way his voice ripped across your eardrums in a way that made you crash toward your end it didn't matter. All that existed was the roaring cheers and the flashing of a hundred cameras capturing your ecstacy and the cocksure grin of the crow who brought you there. Blown up and lit for the arena to see was your flushing cheeks and rolled-back eyes, a face twisted with unbridled joy and desire greeted the rowdy crowd on one hundred feet of plasma-screen suspended above the court. The sight of yourself blissed out on screen earned another gush around Keishin's twitching cock, and a dark chuckle as he twisted your face to meet his in a sloppy, crowd-pleasing kiss. He left you breathless, sticky, and exhilarated as he pulled away, tongue lingering on his lips at the taste of you.

"How's that for a kiss cam?"

#keishin ukai smut #haikyuu!! smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x reader smut #haikyuu kinktober #hq!!#keishin ukai x reader #keishin ukai x reader smut #ukai smut #Kinktober in the Dungeon #let's get dangerous #tw: public sex #tw: exhibitionism #the smut pile #the smut pile server

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yeojaa · 4 years

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blame it on me.

prompt: “i know we're just friends but you're sitting on my lap and i’m so sorry if i get hard.”

read part two! *inserts spiel about how much i love @hobi-gif and her beta-reading, prompt-sending self* but also, i’m back at it with the kook drabbles because i am weak as hell.

pairing. jjk x f!reader. rating. general. tags. college!bangtan featuring a lil bit of accidental body shaming to deflect blame, fluffiness, and jin and his girlfriend being the parents of the group. also, jeon jungkook is an idiot. wc. 0.6k.

You’re packed like sardines in a can, three overgrown boys stuffed into the backseat of Jin’s peppy little Honda Civic. Taehyung’s poor head keeps bumping against the window, Jimin’s doing his very best to take up as little space as possible - a surprisingly easy feat for the slim dancer - and well, you’re just trying to ignore the way Jungkook’s hands feel on your hips.

It’s bad enough that you’ve harboured a stupid secret crush on him since the beginning of second year, but this is something else. Like the world is laughing at you, pouring rain all over your parade.

“How much longer?” The poor boy acting as both seat and seatbelt sounds strained, an almost whine carrying his words over your sister’s song of choice. It pumps through the car, buzzing loudly in your ears. You can hear Jimin humming along to it, silver-adorned fingers tapping a rhythm against his denim-clad thigh. You’d be dancing, too - shimmying and shaking - if you weren’t acutely aware of the body curled around yours.

You expect Jin’s response - boisterous and loud and easily heard over the music. “We’ve been in the car for five minutes!” His voice cracks a little, as it always does when he’s left to deal with four of his youngest friends without the aid of his fellow oldies.

He was really regretting agreeing to ferry your bunch of idiots across town. At least he had Yerin.

Why couldn’t Namjoon and Yoongi and Hoseok live closer? Why had they moved after graduation and why had he not?

“Just have some patience,” comes Yerin’s voice from the passenger seat, gravel-coated and unaffected.

“She’s heavy.” Jungkook’s words are met with an astounding chorus of disapprovals, overlapping voices nearly drowning out the sound of The Chainsmokers. Taehyung’s even peeking around Jimin to glare at him, brow knitted in consternation.

“Don’t be mean!”

“Ya - that’s rude!”

“Don’t make me kick you out of this car!”

While you appreciate the support that pours out, nothing can quite lessen the initial sting. It needles beneath your skin, pricking at all the areas you’re self-conscious about, and you’re tearing a hole through your bottom lip in efforts to alleviate the discomfort.

You meet your sister’s eyes in the rearview mirror and you can see the sympathy there, little twinkles of it against the backdrop of brown that makes up her irises.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, barely loud enough for anyone to hear. Surely not even loud enough for Jungkook to hear - and yet he does. It’s obvious by how he suddenly stiffens, grip tightening over the softness of your thighs.

When he repeats the words back at you, you almost think you’ve misheard. They’re so quiet - almost whispered and absolutely inconsequential against the funky track your sister’s popped on now - but he’s far too close for it to have been your imagination.

He’s sorry? That’s a new one.

While you’re mulling over this revelation - in disbelief, in surprise, in appreciation - Jungkook continues in that same subdued tone, the feel of his breath drawing goosebumps across your neck and up and down your arms. He’s so close - almost too close, even with your forced proximity - and he sounds so apologetic you want to twist to look at him. Instead, you let him speak to the side of your head, directly into your ear and more intimate than he should be.

“You’re not heavy.” As if to drive his point home, one hand squeezes gently at your side, a little gesture that makes you wiggle in his lap. Whatever he’d meant to continue with hitches to an abrupt stop then, firm hands gripping you tight. “But when you do that…”

You understand why he’s whispering now. It dawns on you - the sun splitting through the rain clouds.

You imagine your eyes are the size of saucers. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” he grumbles, with a laugh that eats up the sound. “I know we're just friends but you're sitting on my lap and...” The warmth of his mouth intensifies, heat nearly burning you alive when his chin drops to your shoulder. “I'm so sorry if I get hard.”

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illneverrecover · 4 years

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call you mine (M) | changkyun

➛pairing: Im Changkyun (I.M.) x reader ➛genre: friends with benefits!AU, non Idol!AU, angst, smut, fluff. ➛word count: 2,741 ➛rating: M ➛warnings: idk this is truly some sweet soft shit, mentions of alcohol, friends with benefits, standing sex, slight rough sex, biting/marking because clearly I have a kink, unprotected sex, creampie, mentions of Mingi!!, lots of kissing, soft clown Chaingang truly. ➛summary: Changkyun knew he ruined your friends with benefits arrangement when he let his feelings be known, and now you’ve left him on read for weeks. So he does the only thing he can to stay sane - he religiously watches your Instagram stories. ➛notes: Another first for me - my first Monsta X fic! I’ve played around with writing Changkyun for a while now, mostly because I live to torture @taetaesbaebaepsae (which she deserves from all the PAINFUL and RUDE Baekhyun shit she’s written for me). However, she decided to actively commission her own demise, because she stays not listening to Namjoon and refuses to love herself. I’m glad I finally got a chance to take a stab at writing her ult, and I hope I did him justice! Enjoy your tomfoolery, Kristin! 💖 ➛song: Call You Mine - The Chainsmokers & Bebe Rexha | Horizon - I.M. & Elhae

It’s pathetic, he knows.

The way he can’t stop watching, the way he seeks your face out in an app full of millions of others. The way he can’t get you out of his bed, his head, his thoughts.

He fucked up, scared you off, and now he’s left with the aftermath of his own stupidity. Watching you through a screen to fight the withdrawals off, to keep his heart beating.

Changkyun knows you would laugh at him if you saw what he was doing.

Watching your Instagram stories is the only reason he’s heard you laugh in over two weeks, the only way he’s been able to see your eyes light up, your lips curve into a salacious grin. Things he fucking missed, thought he would have plenty of time to indulge in - until he couldn’t keep his mouth shut and ruined it.

He had taken you back to his place after a few shots of whisky at the dingy local bar, hands and mouth unable to leave your skin - just like the hundreds of times before. It had been four months since you had started this friends with benefits relationship, and despite having freedom to see whomever he wanted, Changkyun found himself only starving for you. So hungry that he couldn’t stand another moment in that place, watching you share your smile with anyone other than him. So he had tugged you close, nipped at your ear, told you that you were so damn beautiful that he couldn’t stand there another minute without you coming undone around him.

You had smirked, slid your hand down the front of his pants, grabbing his cock like you owned it, purring out the words “prove it” before following him outside, just like the hundreds of times before.

Pressed up against his wall, his pelvis flush with yours, Changkyun whispered filth in your ears as he ground up against you, swallowing your moans in greedy kisses. Desperate fingers had pulled at your top, freeing your breasts for him to worship as he worked your skirt up around your waist, thrusting his clothed length against your core until you were whining.

Changkyun always promised to take his time with you, to work you over until you were drunk on his touch and pleading for more - but you never let him, always knowing the right thing to say to get his gaze to go dark and lust to turn frantic, to unzip his jeans and press inside your dripping cunt right there in the hallway.

Just like the hundreds of times before.

You had come around him, digging your nails in his back so hard it left marks, made him growl your name against your collarbone as his thrusts picked up speed to fuck you through the high. You urge him on in the way only you can manage, begging for his release, whispering how much you want his come deep in your cunt. Biting down against the skin, he had spilled inside you with a final groan, hips twitching as he pumped you full of him, forehead resting against your shoulder.

Instead of pulling away immediately, Changkyun remained collapsed against you, breathing heavy. You had smacked at his shoulder, but he just chuckled, arms adjusting to continue a firm hold of your legs as he stayed inside of you, trapping you against his body and the wall.

“What are you doing, Kyun?” scoffing, you had grasped his jaw, forcing him to look at you. “I let you fuck me dirty against the wall without even demanding you buy me food after. Least you can do is let me get cleaned up.”

He had gazed up at you then, eyes piercing as they looked through you, and your heart clenched tightly in your chest.

He knew he shouldn’t say it. Knew it would scare you off. And yet….

“I would, you know.” Swallowing thickly, his tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Take you to go get food. If you - I mean, if you wanted. If you’d let me.”

It was like he could see the carefully crafted defenses go up, the pain etching your brow and making your eyes go cold. Anxiety flooded his veins as you wiggled out of his grasp, sliding your clothes back into place as you moved towards his bathroom.

“You don’t mean that,” you murmured, faking a smile. “You know what this is, Kyun.”

“I do mean that!” He knew he sounded too eager, too pitiful, but he couldn’t stop himself. “I’d take you out to dinner. Or,” following you, he paused in the doorway, watching you appraise yourself in the mirror. “We could just get take-out and go somewhere private, drive to a park, bring a blanket and some booze, eat somewhere no one would know or bother us.”

Your answering laugh had sounded wrong, like it had cost you something - like it was the last thing you had wanted to do.

“Like a picnic? Changkyun, you’re saying you want to take me on a picnic? Like a proper date?”

Stuttering, he tried to explain himself, but you had cut him off with a single wave.

“Listen, we both know I’m not that kind of girl, and you don’t want me to be.” Leaning forward, you had pressed a kiss against his mouth, your eyes somber when you had pulled away, moved towards the door.

“What if I do?” His voice broke, wanting to reach out but his arms remaining stiff at his sides. “What if I want you to be that kind of girl, with me?”

Tears stung your eyes, your stomach sinking like you had been punched. You couldn’t do this, couldn’t handle the inevitable disappointment that would come when you got your hopes up.

“I’ll see you around,” you threw over your shoulder before shutting the door, and shutting him out.

Just like the hundreds of times before.

It had been two weeks now since he last saw you in person. It wasn’t for lack of trying; texting you at all hours had proven fruitless, even when he tried to send the usual ‘you up’ message like he didn’t just lay his heart out on the line. You responded airily, non committal, and he knew what you were doing.

You were trying to let him down easy.

So here he was, phone glued to his hand as he scrolled through to find your picture, clicking on it to see if there was any update. You didn’t post a bunch in your feed, but you had a tendency to update your stories often - filling them with silly memes and cute selfies, little videos of you going about your day. Cuddling with your cat, attempting to cook something for lunch. His favorite was when you would do tarot readings for your followers; the way your face would turn serious as you read the cards, passionate fire in your eyes as you helped deliver the message to its owner.

Seeing you that excited and genuine did something to him, made his chest feel like it was going to explode.

He knows you can tell that he’s watching, can see the icon of his profile showing up at the bottom of the video under “seen by.” He can only imagine what you’re thinking when you see it - that he’s a loser, this friend with benefits who turned lovesick puppy, but he can’t make himself care. It’s the only way he feels close, can pretend you’re still in his life.

He never thought that he would need you, now all he wants is to see you - for you to answer him, to come back to him.

Changkyun still sends texts, unable to stop his fingers from reaching out, despite knowing you’ll shut him down. He calls sometimes too, late at night when his blood is more whisky than plasma, though you never answer those. Instead he listens to your voicemail, eyes closed to stop the world from spinning, letting your voice lull him to sleep.

He convinces himself he’s fine with this arrangement, that things would be alright. He can just miss you from afar, observe you live your life through the pixels of a screen. That watching your stories is enough for him, will keep him afloat.

Until he sees you with someone else.

It was another Friday night he was spending alone, half drunk and on his phone, looking for your picture. Taking a deep breath, he had felt his heart stop when he saw the rainbow ring adorning your profile photo, meaning you had updated your story. Sighing, he tapped it, hoping that it would be a few videos so he could pretend for just a moment that he was beside you instead of wasting space on his bed.

The first clip was a selfie, your heavily lidded eyes staring seductively at the camera through your lashes, making his pulse jump and pants tighten. The caption “gonna get drunk tonight!” scrolled across the image, right below the pout of your lips. The next was a small video of you making a drink, giggling about the mixture of tequila and soju you were tossing in your cup, whispering to the camera how it was going to get you ‘all the way fucked up’. But it was the third clip that had his chest heaving, his lungs forgetting how to work.

You were walking out your door, a few people cluttering your front porch as you asked if anyone had a light. Some tall red headed kid - Changkyun refused to acknowledge him as anything more than that - had shouted out, and you squealed as you ran up to him, sliding directly onto his knee before switching the camera into selfie mode to capture the two of you. The next clip was you in his lap, one of your delicate hands sliding through his hair as he gave you a big dopey grin, a cigarette perched on your lips as you cooed at him and told him just how cute he was.

Fuck. He knew that look of yours, knew those moves. Knew exactly what you were doing, what you were hoping to do with that fucking Mingi kid, and he couldn’t stand it, not anymore.

Taking a few deep pulls directly from the liquor bottle, his fingers flew over the keys of his phone, sending you text after text - all of which were ignored. He knew calling would be pointless, that you would rather light yourself on fire than answer your phone - especially at a party - and he felt desperation creep up his throat, choking him.

Changkyun couldn’t let this happen. Couldn’t let you just forget about him.

Clicking back onto Instagram, he started sending you responses to the story video as he got dressed, throwing on the nearest pair of jeans and sliding on his boots.

<Baby?>

<I’m on my way. Don’t take that kid to your bed.>

It took painfully long for the Lyft to show up, and he gritted his teeth the whole route there, knee bouncing to stop himself from demanding the driver to go faster, to just hurry the fuck up and get to you.

When the car had pulled into your neighborhood, he tried to send another message, instead clicking a video. Too frustrated to change it back, he lets it record, his voice low and pained.

“I’m on my way, please let me in.”

You were alone on the deck when your phone started vibrating, the ding of an Instagram direct message making you click the app, eyes widening in surprise when you saw the number of notifications.

Changkyun, all from him.

Awestruck, you scrolled through every line, your heart throbbing with each word he had written.

You didn’t think he cared, not like that. Sure, he missed the sex, but that’s what you expected. That’s what all of them wanted when they sent you late night texts, when they called your phone at three in the morning. Empty promises and broken vows were what kept you company in the dark, when they’d predictably leave you alone with an ache between your legs and in your chest. None of them really wanted you, cared about you. After a few weeks of ghosting, they’d all disappear into thin air like expected, and your heart would harden just a bit more.

But now…

Another chime pulls you from your thoughts, eyes flicking back to the light of your phone. Instead of another direct message, it’s a notification that Changkyun had updated his story for the first time in months.

Shaking fingers slide against the screen, your vision blurring as you take in the shadowed back seat of another person’s car, the only light neon pink from the sign of the Lyft drivers decal. For a moment, all you can hear is the quiet chattering of a distant radio, of someone breathing heavily.

And then his voice croaking over the speaker, raspy with need.

“I’m on my way, please let me in.”

The video fades just as a car pulls up to your curb, a flurry of movement as Changkyun climbs out, stumbles towards you. He all but collapses into your arms, his breath dripping with liquor, eyes reddened but burning fiercely.

“Y/N,” he mumbles, hands coming to cup your face, thumb dragging against the smooth skin of your cheek. “I want to take you on a picnic.”

You laugh, though it comes out more like a sob. “What? What are you talking about? Did you call a Lyft and come all the way across town to tell me that, you clown?”

His finger taps against your lips once, twice. “Shh. Just let me-” he sighs, stomping a foot. “Let me talk.”

He waits until you nod before continuing, words surging from his mouth as if he couldn’t hold back a second longer.

“I came all the way here because I want to take you on a picnic. I want to buy you food and take you on cute little dates and do cheesy things that make you smile at me like you are right now,” he grins, pulling you until your chest rests against his own. “I’m here because I couldn’t stand you ignoring me anymore. I meant everything I said - that I miss you, that I want to be with you, if you’ll give me the chance. I want to call you mine.”

Pressing his forehead against yours, his eyes fall shut, his voice fervent and barely more than a whisper.

“I love you, Y/N.”

Tears brim your eyes, and you fight every old wound that tells you to shove him away, to call him a liar. Instead you allow yourself to follow your gut, your heart for what feels like the first time, leaning back to give him a watery smile in return.

“I love you too, Changkyun.”

His mouth immediately lands on yours, tongue eagerly tracing the seam of your lips until it’s slipping inside, tasting every inch of you, ravenous and unsatisfied until your knees are shaking. He’s walking you backwards towards the door, tugging at your clothes, and you giggle at his impatience.

Pulling away, you gasp for air, palm pressing against his shoulder to hold him back for a moment. “But listen, if I give you a chance, that means you have to stop stalking my Instagram, you creep. And don’t try to deny it, I see you all over my stories, lurking around.”

He chuckles then, nipping at your bottom lip as his eyes darken. “Please, don’t act like you don’t love the attention,”

Pushing the door open, he guides you inside, mouth working over your neck, arms wrapped around your waist until your back is flattened against the wall.

“Plus, there’s no need, now that I got you,” he confesses, his nose swiping against yours gently before he captures your lips between his own, hitching your legs to drape around his waist as he grinds against you, humming words of praise.

Just like the hundreds of times before, but now as his.

#changkyun x reader #IM x reader #changkyun smut #IM smut #monsta x smut #monsta x scenario #changkyun scenario #I.M. scenario #I.M. smut #I.M. x reader #ksmutclub #plotsofpastel #im changkyun #monsta x #monsta x fanfic #taetaesbaebaepsae #my writing #fic: call you mine #fic: cym

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violetnotez · 4 years

Text

Dabi x reader

This is loosely...LOOSELY based off the myth of Persephone and Hades-honestly, I tried to do the fic based off the legend and it just turned into a yandere Dabi, so enjoy!😘😘

⤷ Genre: Yandere, angst+fluff

⤷ Word Count: 2898

⤷ Warnings: cursing, abduction, mentions of spicy themes 🔥

⤷ Synopsis: You wake up in a new place, feeling tired, achy, and not understanding a single clue of how you got there-until you realize you have been taken prisoner by non other than Dabi, who has seemed to take a strange liking to you.

Song Recs: ⤷Tourniquet-Evanescence⤷Hollywood’s Bleeding-Post Malone ⤷The Reaper-Chainsmokers

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ

You groaned, your eyes barely opening to slits as your mind awoke from its foggy state.

Everything felt numbingly painful: your joints ache as if they were rusted metal, unmovable and thick with time. Your feet tingled with exhaustion and your arms were heavy with fatigue, your forehead throbbing slightly from your uncomfortable nap. Your chapped lips parted, the skin detaching itself from being molded together for so long as you began to try and awaken yourself.

Feet-then legs- then hips-then arms- then head.

You began to pick apart each piece of body, the connection running slowly as you moved each ligament and limb, awakening them from their ill rested sleep.

What the hell had even happened to you?

Nothing was familiar to you- this room you were able to slowly piece together was foreign and solemn, almost akin to a warm dungeon with its steely brick walls and frugally decorated exterior. The only thing that seemed remotely comfortable was the bed you were laying on, the cool black sheets chilling your bare skin.

Your heart skipped a beat as your heavy head lazily looked down at your body: these were not even your clothes, if you could call it even that

You could sense on your skin that you were still wearing your undergarments, but the only thing covering you was a thin white shirt, the fabric charred at the top with gaping holes and flowing just past your upper thigh.

Everything was so strange-this foreign scenery, these clothes that were hastily thrown on you, your aching body....

The shock of the newnness couldn't seem to feel frightening. Your senses and survival instincts were cloudy and murky, your mind slowly trying to piece together the situation in front of you.

But it was like trudging through a river upstream-the rush of the water was too powerful, slowly pushing you as you climbed desperately to fight your fatigue and understand your situation.

“Oh good, your finally awake-thought you’d be out for another hour,” a voice drawled out from the shadows, sending a shiver through your thoughts.

Your body stiffened instantly at the sound, your heart beating against your chest like a hammer pounding against a nail. The voice seemed to speak from the shadows of the room, a body less phantom, it’s voice low and bored sounding as it slowly came closer to your fragile body.

“-seems your body didn’t like the drug Kurogiri made- youve been out for a while now,” it continued, a smile eminent in the voice’s tone as it creeped in the darkness.

What the hell was going on? Who was Kurogiri? And what freak drugged you?

And why couldn’t you remember anything from the last night?

Questions swarmed your brain, each one more complex and confused than the last. You were completely awake now, your eyes wide with shock as they darted across the room, trying to find the source of the voice.

You took a deep swallow through your dry mouth, coating your tongue with thick saliva as you willed your beating heart to squeeze out any courage it could.

“Who-who’s there?,” you stammered, your voice craggily and thick like sleep, “Who are you? Where am I?”

A low chuckle tumbled against the room, turning your blood ice cold.

“Slow down dollface, introductions first. Cant be demanding things when someone welcomes you into their home,”

“I never asked to be brought into your home-”

“And I never asked to like you so damn much, but here we are,”

Like...you? Your shocked eyes turned into confusion, trying to decipher the meaning of that sentence.

Who even was this guy-and what did he want with you?

Steel boots on wood floor pounded against the wall, small details finally being able to be seen. Fear pooled in your stomach, making it difficult for you to look and see who your captor was.

You started gazing at the bottom of his tall stature: boots, black and worn….black pants to match, a trench coat inky and dirty in spots with dirt…..a white shirt, looking painfully identical to yours…silver details glinting like knives as it wrapped around your captor’s lean forearms, strangely scarred purple skin….

“the name’s Dabi,”

He gave you a crude smile, those piercings digging into his skin with the motion as his eyes light up with amusement.

Fear gripped your stomach and flooded your whole body, squeezing your lungs painfully and forcing you to be unable to breath. You knew who this was, he was hard not to miss, with his marred skin and piercing blue eyes.

A Villian of the LOV, a dangerous man with an even more dangerous quirk.

You gulped, noticing how the scars ran against his skin for the first time, covering most of his body in a thick film of painful markings.

“Telling by our face, your already know me, dont ya doll?”

If he had those marks because of his own quirk...you shivered at the thought, knowing full well it would be 10 times worse for yourself if he used his fiery power against you.

You had to be careful with this one if you wanted to come out if this on one piece...extremely careful.

His face turned down slightly in annoyance, his blue eyes squinting as he peered at your shivering form.

“Answer me, I don't like being ignored,” he chided, his tone extremely calm and dangerous.

You gulped, shifting quickly so you could sit up and talk to the man directly.

“Yes, yes I know who you are-you're part of the LOV,”

“So you already know? Such a smart girl,”

That thin smile returned, almost like a grimace by how wide it was. He stepped closer, those boots like the ticks of a bomb, ready to explode at any moment.

You couldn’t fathom why this-this Villian, wanted anything to do with you.

You were no hero or sidekick, just a frugal girl going to college in the city. Your quirk wasn’t anything special: it was called Plant Growth, which allowed you to grow plants by merely touching any part of it exterior. You had been told it was strong, but you had never really paid any mind to it, only using it to grow your own garden or help others who couldn’t seem to grow their own.

Was this why you had been kidnapped?

Did the League see something useful in your quirk, something I’d use to them?

“What do you want with me?” You asked, hating how terrified your voice sounded compared to his prideful, calm tone.

“I-Im not going to be apart of your League’s plans if thats why your kidnapping me,”

Dabi chuckled, the sound sending shivers down your spine.

“Oh, the League doesnt know I have you. They think Im still trying to recruit more members at the moment. No, you, you are my dirty and innocent little secret, dollface,”

This was wierd-too wierd.

Why did he sound so possessive, As if he was a child protecting his favorite toy from the other kids? What was wrong with him-you had never talked to this man a day in your life, only knowing him from the occasional news reporting about him.

So why did he treat you as if he owned you?

You grimaced at the way he described you, the words making your skin crawl.

“Please dont call me that-”

“I gonna call you whatever I want to call ya,” he snarled, that disturbing grin still plastered on his face, “youre not in a position to be calling the shots.”

“Can you at least call me by my real name?” You asked, your voice timid and begging,” It’s-“

“Y/n, I know,” he smiled as you stared at him with terrified eyes, your mouth slightly agape.

So you were right-he did know you.

But how?

“How do you-“

Dabi chuckled again, the sound rich and deep rumbling out of his chest.

“Damn, you have hell of a lot of questions“, he sat himself down on the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his added weight.

The smell of burning wood and whiskey floated to you, your senses going into override from the smell. It confused you how comforting it felt, but the fear was still growing in your stomach.

You instantly brought your feet close to your body, your knees hugging your chest as you tried to grow distance from you and this man.

“Well, you did just kidnap me, so I kind of deserve a few answers,” you remarked, your eyes trained on him.

He seemed so calm, so collected, staring at you with patient and waiting eyes.

“So you wanna bargain with me?” He drawled out, almost sounding bored as he leaned his head forward.

You swallowed, the blood rushing to your ears. That shit eating grin he was sporting seemed so menacing, as if he was secretly playing some cat and mouse game with you.

“What’s the bargain?” You asked hesitantly. The thin shirt pooled against your thighs, sending shivers against your skin.

Even with the strangely warm room, the fright from this situation and this Villian sent up your spine.

You had to admit it to yourself-there was a strange charm to him. He radiates pride and commanded power, from his messy black hair to his piercing blue eyes. His marred skin rippled like infinitely connected rivers, the purple wine color quite pleasing once you got adjusted to the shock of it.

The only thing that showed weakness were the staples: they seemed so painful, the way they pulled taught against his smooth skin and stretched it agonizingly against his skin. A small part of you felt empathy for the Villian and these crude marking adorning his body, but he didn’t seem fazed by them.

He continued to grin, even with those staples stretching his skin to ungodly lengths.

His piercing blue eyes racked into your body, gazing you up and down with a hungry gaze, like a lion looking at a lamb.

“You ask one question-and thats it,” he instructed, his low tone commanding.

One question?! You stared at him in shock-He can look as pretty and ethereal all he wanted with his pale skin and sultry voice-but no way in hell was he going to allow you one question after he kidnapped you-he was out of his mind!

“But that’s not-“ you argued back, your face clearly annoyed by his proposition.

“Not fair??” He cut you off, his voice taunting you, “Well wake the hell up Princess, your under possession of a Villian-‘fair’ doesn’t mean anything,”

You pursed your lips, hating how smug he looked as he peered at your clearly irritated face.

If he wanted to play that game-fine, you could play too.

You turned your head defiantly to the side, your hair cascading across your face as you looked away from Dabi.

It was a risk to be so openly resistant, but if he liked you as much as he seemed to, he might break slightly.

An exasperated sigh came from the Villian, the weight in the bed shifting as he moved slightly closer to you.

“Fine then,” he said exasperatedly,” three,”

A wave of relief flooded your system, a small smile tugging against your lips as you looked again at the Villian. Dabi looked back at you, a change flashing across his face.

He almost looked-relieved? Peaceful? Dreamy?

You couldn’t quite place it, but before you could fully understand it, his expression turned back to its lazy default.

“Now go, before I change my mind,” he instructed, his eyes trained on you as you shifted in your spot.

Three questions? Better but still-not that much.

“How much time has passed?” You asked first, your voice soft and tentative as you stared at the Villian with expecting eyes.

“Time?” He repeated, a grin on his bi-colored lips, “ That’s a short one…it’s been 2 days.”

Your breath caught in your lungs-2 days since you’ve been gone? You felt a small bit of panic flood your system, realizing your life had been unattended to for a whole 48 hours...but you quickly brought yourself from the intial shock. 2 days isn’t that long...it could be worse.

“Okay…” You sucked in a deep breath, willing your body to calm itself “How did I get here?”

“Now that’s a long one….

You watched him sigh slightly, his marred hands rubbing the back of his neck. He seemed slightly vulnerable like this, almost, well, sweet, as he tried to find the right words.

“I’ve been watching you from afar for a while now, and figured out you like to go into your garden before you go to bed for the night.

It was simple-I drugged you with a little sleeping serum I got from another member of the LOV, Kurogiri. Your currently in the LOV headquarters, in my room. Your clothing got dirty getting here, so that’s why you're wearing my clothes.”

Well hell-that was a lot to process. You instantly looked at him with worrying eyes, unable to process all the information. Hes been watching you? And drugged you? And, on top of all that creepiness, saw your in just your underwear and bra? Oh god, maybe even more-

He seemed to already read your mind, a dark laugh coming from his lips.

“Oh don’t worry dollface, I didn’t do anything,” he joked, his voice sultry and dangerous, “you’d feel it if I did,”

You gulped, letting those words register.

So he was a stalker and a flirt-great.

You licked your lips, clearly not finding the remark funny as you continued to stare at him with terrfied eyes.

The room seemed extremely quiet, Dabi’s dominant exterior faltering as your body language oozed fear.

“Why do you want me?” Your voice wa s barely louder than a whisper, your legs wrapped close to your body.

Dabi was the quietest you had seen him from this intial meeting, his inky black bangs cascading across his face and obscuring his eyes.

“Ya know…” he finally said, his voice vulnerable and quiet, “shit, I wish I knew that,”

“I just know that you-you are so whole and innocent, so loving...I-I fell for that. Not many are accepting of me, not just because I’m a Villian. They see my scars and instantly want me gone-but your not like that.”

He turned to you, that sultry smirk framed on his lips as he leaned in slowly, his digits resting gently on your knee.

You stared at that hand, the soft embrace on your bone making your heart jump. He was so gentle with you, so soft and endearing-you knew that he wasn’t like this with everyone. There was something inside him that longed for you, and it made your head spin in confusion.

“I’m not as good of a person as you think I am,” you replied, as if desperately trying to convince him,” I’m sorry people treat you so horribly, but-but I’m not your savior from it.”

He continued to smile at you adoringly, his blue eyes sparkling like diamonds.

“See, your sorry for me. Your-naive like that, and that’s why I like you so much.”

“But I barely know you, I can’t care for you as much as you want me to-“

“But isnt that people like you do-learn to love everyone, for all their traumas and flaws?” His voice became louder, more passionate as he shifted even closer to you. His hand grabbed yours, the staples digging into your cold skin.

He was so warm, his palms radiating a comforting heat as that smell of burning firewood filled your shocked lungs.

“Your so naive to everyone, to the people who dont deserve it-,” he continued, “you love everyone and everything.”

“I promise doll, if you just care for me like I care for you...I won’t hurt you,”

Your breath hitched in your throat, fears and defiance filling your body.

“You took me away from home. That’s hurting me,” you remarked back, desperately trying to fight yourself from leaning into the naturally warm man.

“Falling in love with someone and having them not love you back is hurting too,” his face contorted into anger and some pain, as if your words cut into his ego as his blue eyes pierced into you.

Your lips pursed again, your eyes forming into angry slits.

“I’ll never love you. Never,” you spat back. He may be pretty, and in some ways endearing, but no way in hell would you be his personal side girl, kept against your will to satiate his needs.

But something in your tone flipped a switch in him-no more was the patient, flirty Villian in front of you.

Something changed inside him, a dangerous personality took over, his hand swiftly reaching for your throat and wrapping around it.

All you could see were those expanse of blue, the irises dilated with anger as the staples in his hand dug painfully in your skin. Your eyes blew out in fear, his palm warm and suffocating as your skin became hotter and hotter, until the point of pain as you stared at those icy blue orb.

A sadistic smirk flashed again Dabi’s marred skin, causing a intense chill to spread along your spine.

“Aw you sweet thing, you scared?” He taunted, his voice dripping with amusement and anger,

“ You should be,”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ

Taggings:

@sergeant102105 @weebartistinc @orokayagi @leeeah-loooser @bakarinnie

#bnha #bnha x reader #bnha dabi imagine #bnha dabi x y/n #bnha dabi #dabi x reader #bnha dabi x reader #mha dabi x reader #yandere dabi #yandere dabi x reader #bnha dabi x reader imagine #mha dabi x y/n #mha dabi x you #mha dabi #bnha dabi x you #bnha dabi x y/n imagine

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