resident fanfic writer

~𝔯𝔲𝔩𝔢𝔰 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔯𝔢𝔮𝔲𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔰~

i only really write self insert

my fics are mostly gender neutral or fem centered, but you can request whatever

be mindful i may not be the best at writing from some povs so i might choose not to

my fav genres are fluff, smut, angst, and hurt/comfort

i’m allowed to refuse requests that i don’t like or am not comfortable with.

if you sent me a request and i didn't answer, assume i couldn't think of anything for it or didn't want to write it (nothing personal!)

will take characters from: bnha and jjk

Celebrating New Year's at Gojo’s. What could go wrong?

It was, in Gojo’s words, supposed to be a chill hangout, just a few friends and plenty of booze. But the frat boy in him never died, even long after graduation, so naturally, he invited everyone he’s ever known.

“Of course,” you muttered, shoving your way through Gojo’s friends, young and old, mostly people you’ve never seen. You always arrived fashionably late, never one to come to a party before everyone’s wasted. 

When you finally made your way inside, the smell of alcohol hit you like a truck, giving you a splitting headache almost immediately. After snagging a solo cup from the kitchen counter, you finally spotted some familiar faces. 

“Hey, guys,” you said, walking over to the couch that sat off to the side of his living room. It was a rare occasion for you to be here without flashing lights and bass-boosted music, but in the daytime, this place seemed so much smaller. Too small for all these people.

Geto sat off to one side, with Gojo beside him on the arm of the couch, dramatically telling a story. It was hard for you to ignore the way Geto would gently place his hand on Gojo’s cup, preventing it from dumping onto his lap as he would gesture emphatically. It was as if this sort of thing had happened so many times he learned to predict his moves, wordlessly keeping Gojo in check like a married couple. That sort of thing went unnoticed by your other friends, so you never spoke of it. 

On the other side of the couch sat Choso, spread out over the middle of the couch, effectively taking up the rest of it. Your breath hitched at the sight of him. You hadn’t seen him since college, and Gojo knew that.

Spending much of your college career at parties much like these also meant that everyone knew of your unrequited feelings for him. It was the kind of thing only whimpered between cacophonies of vomit to your friends as they held your hair back, only murmured to those you were closest to as a drunken confession. Everyone also knew you were too afraid to confess to him. Your feelings caught in your throat every time you spoke to him, something like a poorly mixed drink threatening to bubble up to the surface. 

But they never did, and you swallowed them whole. 

It had been a year since you saw him last. So long since your last late night soiree had led the both of you to find your way to each other on the dance floor, or whisper stupid things to him in the secluded corners of a house party. You were so close, inseparable even. No one ever saw one of you without the other. It was the one constant thing in your life, the one part that remained by your side.

But after you both walked that stage, he moved to be closer to the family he left behind. You knew he missed them so much.

Graduation meant your friendship came to a close. 

And tonight, on New Year's Eve, he sat on the couch with your friends. Just like he always used to. 

You glanced at Gojo in a silent prayer to please let you leave. You didn't want to face everything you left behind all that time ago. Not here, not now.

You wished you were enough to make him stay. It was stupid of you. You didn’t want him to choose anything over his family, and especially you. Even so, that little voice in the back of your mind begged him to never leave you. To stay your constant. To be something more than that, like you always hoped he would.

Gojo caught your gaze. “Oh, yes, I invited Choso! I figured since I invited everyone else, he might as well come too, and imagine my surprise when he actually showed up,” he said with a laugh.

The grin on his face seemed to beg your fist to connect with it.

Choso didn't look at you, his eyes permanently transfixed on his cup. “Hey,” you mumbled.

That made him look at you. In your haze of emotion, you missed the way his eyes lit up at the sight of you, trailing over you like you were shining gold and silver, glittering in the spinning lights of the room. “Hey, yourself. It's uh- been a while, huh?”

“Yeah, it has been,” you laughed. Never enough in your cup, you downed it during your catchup, trying to ease any awkwardness that may have developed.

All you could think to yourself, however, was how much cuter he got. He had become someone totally different, and yet, as you talked to him, it was like nothing had changed. Like you were still two juniors shit-talking the crazy freshmen. Like there was still that spark between you that it seemed only you had felt. God, you missed him so much. 

His quiet voice was so out of place amidst the loud music, so jarring that it drew you in deeper. One of the many things you loved about him. The way he always seemed so relaxed, so serene.

You left to get another drink and prayed no one would follow. What the hell were you doing? Pretending that he would feel the same way as you, even though it had been so long? You never once reached out, and neither did he. Did you really think things could be like that again?

When you returned, many of the party-goers had formed a circle on the floor, clearing out part of the dance floor to place an empty bottle in the center.

Whatever was in your cup wasn’t strong enough for what came next.

“Hey, there you are! I was beginning to think you had wandered off,” Gojo said from his place in the circle. “What do you say to ‘seven minutes in heaven’?”

You groaned. “How old are we, Satoru? Yeah, hard pass.”

It was hard to ignore that Choso had been dragged into the circle, seated cross-legged beside Gojo. He stared meaningfully into his cup again, almost as if the answers to the questions in his head would be answered from the liquor inside it.

He thought it would be easier to pretend he didn’t miss you. Easier to hide the fact that he swore off talking to anyone else in fear that they could never begin to compare to you. 

It was almost sad. He couldn't imagine the way you felt about him, had no idea that the depraved thoughts he pushed so deep down were the same ones you stared at your ceiling every night to try to avoid. And there would be no end to his perversion, it seemed, constantly creeping its way into his mind as he imagined what you looked like underneath the dress you wore tonight. He felt vile. It made him sick to look at you, to see how pretty you stayed, and how much prettier you had gotten, and the way his wandering mind showed him images of everything he's ever dreamed of.

Why did he do this to himself?

He wanted you so badly it consumed him. He always has. It was so hard to admit to himself, and even harder to think about admitting to anyone else. To imagine your touch was overwhelming, to look into your eyes made him yearn for something he could never have. Every shred of his soul ached for you, and he had no idea how to tell you.

He knew you'd be here tonight. Knew that he probably wouldn't have come if you wouldn't have. And that made him want to tear himself to pieces. It was almost certain that in his absence you had found someone else, even though he selfishly prayed you never would. Prayed that you would feel the same things he did.

In reality, of course, you tried to focus on your future, and that nagging thought in the back of your mind that he would come back. That you'd get to say all those things you wished you had the strength to so long ago.

He had no idea.

“C’mon, everyone's playing!” Gojo whined.

The ‘everyone’ in question was lost on you. You could only imagine what would happen if you got locked in Gojo’s closet with Choso. Imagining everything you'd say. Everything you might do. Or would you be too scared to, just like before?

Liquor burned through the pit in your stomach, and despite yourself, you sat down. You prayed your cruel God would have mercy on you.

“Fine. But only until my drink is gone, and then I'm done playing.” It was a bold-faced lie, and you were sure everyone could tell. Games like this were a guilty pleasure of yours, and you would do almost anything to get your way.

“Who wants to go first?” 

Geto nudges Choso. “I think he wants to play, Gojo.”

Choso’s up first? How much more could go wrong?

Much more, you found out. The bottle skidded on the carpet before landing on you. “Fuck,” you muttered. But this was what you wanted, wasn't it? Of course it was, but you hadn't expected to get it so soon.

Before you could say anything else, you found yourself yanked by the wrist into Gojo’s bedroom closet with Choso, the door cruelly barricaded behind you. It was pitch black, save for the moonlight that filtered through the cracks in the doorframe, and it took too long for your eyes to adjust.

What in the hell was happening?

You blinked to yourself before losing yourself to the silence of the room, party music softly thumping outside. His breathing matched with yours, the steady rhythm a reminder of everything you lost.

It felt like you were whole again, being here with him. Like the year it had been was erased and things were back to the way they were, the way they were supposed to be.

“I’ve missed you, Choso.” Blurted words rang loud through the small closet.

The sound of his name on your lips was something he forgot how much he loved. 

“You have no idea how much I’ve thought about you,” he admitted.

“I’m so sorry. I never even tried-”

He stopped you. “I don’t care. I’m not exactly good at this whole… friends thing. I don’t really know what I’m doing a lot of times. So… I think I’m mostly to blame.”

“I don’t blame you for anything. And you shouldn’t either.”

He didn’t know what to say. So he did the first thing that he could think of. He crawled his way to you and he wrapped his arms around you, hands gently placed on your upper back as his large frame encompassed yours.

You could feel the tears welling in your eyes. “I’m so sorry,” you repeated, fingers grasping at the back of the band shirt he wore. 

His voice was soft against your hair, a whisper to calm the torrent of your mind. “Me too.”

It felt like an eternity before he pulled away, pale face inches from yours. The moonlight cast shadows on him that made him look so unreal, so beautiful. Red eyeshadow drew attention to deep purple eye bags. Stray strands of chocolate brown hair traced patterns in ink across his smooth skin. His chest heaved as your fingers traced lines on his back, nails softly digging into the skin when it suited you.

He became aware of his hands on you, the way your soft skin felt underneath his fingertips. He was a mess, and he prayed you wouldn't notice.

“So… what exactly are we supposed to do in here?” he breathed.

You whispered back. “You’ve never played?”

“...No.”

A laugh escaped you despite yourself as he returned to the other wall of the closet. “People usually expect kissing. Or something else…” The tension was palpable at your words. “But I usually settle for a deep, dark secret,” you added ominously, earning a soft laugh from him.

How was it possible for you to be so much like you used to be? Choso couldn't understand it. He was sweating through his clothes and you seemed totally composed. It seemed like you were always leading him through every situation, like you had lifetimes more knowledge than he did, and that made him nervous. 

“A secret?”

You nodded, even though he couldn't see you. 

“What kind of secret?”

“Anything. Something you've never told anyone.”

He swallowed hard. Even with the minimal light, you could see him run a shaky hand through his hair, styled in iconic pigtails as always. “Something I've never told anyone?”

“Or not, it’s-”

“I’ve never had a New Year’s kiss.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Never?”

Shame flooded through him, running him cold as he pulled further away from you, covering his face with his hands even though he struggled to see you. “Don’t laugh…” he mumbled. It was stupid of him to feel so humiliated, knowing you wouldn’t think of it that way.

“Sorry!” you said between giggles. “It’s just- you’re so… I can’t believe it.”

“It’s true. I didn’t even know it was something that people did until a few years ago.” He felt so exposed in front of you, even the tamest of his inner thoughts being laid bare scared him beyond comprehension. Something in the back of his mind told him you could see through him, see that he wanted you to be the one to change it. And yet, you feigned innocence. Even if you knew his deepest desires, you never once showed it. He hoped you couldn’t see the blush on his cheeks.

It took a while for your laughter to cease. “But you’ve, I mean… you’ve kissed someone before, right?”

“Will you please tell me your secret now?” he frowned.

“...Does it matter?”

“Oh, come on! I swear I won’t tell!” you pleaded. It made your chest hurt to think of all of the possible answers to your question. Was it immoral to hope he said no? Was it bad to think you could be the first?

You tapped thoughtfully on your chin with a sigh. “Let me think of one…”

“Don’t tell me you’re an open book,” he joked.

“Trust me,” you said with a playful eye roll. “There’s plenty of secrets I could share.”

You couldn’t tell him, of course, that you wanted to spring from your seat on the carpeted floor into him and show him all the things you wished you would’ve done a year ago. No, that would be far too bold, far too reckless for an impromptu reconnection.

You played with the hem of your dress as you thought, trying not to get distracted by the man in front of you, knees brushing yours as you sat on your ankles. His pupils were blown, and you told yourself it was just the darkness as he looked at you expectantly. Or maybe it was the alcohol in his system, bogging down his brain just like it did yours. The haze made it difficult for you to think of anything but him.

“I want to kiss you really bad right now, Choso.” Oops. So much for not being reckless.

As soon as the words left you, his eyes widened, lined eyes becoming two white rings in the moonlight. His whole body, every fiber of his being, froze. He managed to stutter, “You- I… want to- what?”

And then the door opened.

“Time’s up, lovebirds!” Gojo’s voice sang out. 

The thick air of the closet dissipated as you scrambled out. Like a weight lifted off your chest, you could finally breathe clearly again.

“No way that was seven minutes,” you said with a frown.

Even though the moment had passed, Choso found himself repeating your words in his head. 

He should’ve taken the chance then.

Just like he should’ve a year ago, when he laid in your bed in your dorm room after walking you home after graduation. You both had reeked of alcohol, but something in him sobered up when he was with you. Instead, he just laid there motionless, as your head rested on his chest. You were still awake, he could tell by your breathing. Still in your party dress, on top of your covers, his hands gingerly placed on your waist like you were made of porcelain. He left early that same morning, and that was the last time you saw him.

It seemed like his life’s mission to ruin things for himself.

He just never quite knew what to do. Especially not when you looked at him like that. Like he meant something to you.

Gojo’s voice brought him back to earth. “Nah, seven minutes is just a suggestion!”

“...Satoru, it's in the name,” Choso sighed.

Back in the living room, there was no sign of the circle for the game you were playing before.

Did they seriously only play it to get you and him to talk? Those bastards.

A few more drinks later, you were just a bit past tipsy. Choso stood beside you, looking like your bodyguard, casting sideways glances at anyone who got a little too close to you.

You didn't even notice.

Something was so freeing about being near him. You pulled him to the ‘dancefloor’ by the hem of his shirt, yanking on it with newfound confidence. He didn’t dance much, but he loved watching you. No part of him could deny that.

Hands connected, he spun you around, laughing at your cheers of excitement as the room spun around you. You were dizzy and breathless, and having the time of your life.

Your other friends had an easy time hunting you down, targeting Choso who stood well above everyone else. “Guys, it's almost midnight,” Geto said, prompting Gojo to usher you into the kitchen. 

Already? This night was going by so fast. You didn't want it to end, afraid of you and Choso going back to the way you were before, no matter what he said.

From Gojo’s phone sitting in the center of the counter, everyone watched the clock tick. It was almost midnight. People started chanting from fifteen, loud even over the din of the music.

You looked around and realized he wasn’t beside you like you thought. Ten seconds to find him.

Head frantically whipping from side to side, you scoured the crowd.

You shoved through people as you spotted what you sought, the pale face sticking out a head above everyone else’s.

Seven.

The mob seemed to get bigger the further you got, slowing you down and blocking access. Those who were outside apparently found their way in for the countdown.

Five.

No, you thought. It can’t end like this. It’s not over.

Frustrated, your elbows swung to clear your path and your feet shuffled forward. You lost your drink somewhere along the way, and empty-handed, you braved the crowd.

Four.

Someone stepped on your foot, making you stumble, but you were so close, just a few feet from him now. You pressed on.

Choso was lost in thought, eyes glazed over as he stared. He was grateful to be off to the side, away from most of the commotion. Briefly, he wondered about you, wondered if he should just slip out of the party and never come back. It was in his bones to want to run.

Three.

Your hand met his wrist and his head snapped to look at you. It didn’t seem to register with him yet.

Two.

And then your palms were on his face, cupping his jaw and pulling him down to you. Time seemed to slow, inches turning to miles as you drew him in.

One.

Your lips crashed into his.

“Happy New Year!” the crowd rejoiced.

His eyes were wide before he realized what you were doing. Lids fluttered closed as his hands met your waist, gripping it firmly like he was afraid you'd disappear. Your lips were so soft, softer than even his dreams could've imagined. You were soft, hands on his face gentle like summer rain. It felt like every planet was suddenly aligned, beautiful syzygy working to fill his body from head to toe with a warm buzz.

Confetti from who knows where rained over you. Music blared and cheers erupted. You couldn’t hear any of it over the ringing in your ears.

The moment would be etched in his memory forever, he decided. Spit tasted like alcohol and your jaw quivered as it opened for his tongue. Atavistic instincts took him over, and even though he had little experience, it was divine. 

It wasn't long enough before you pulled away. 

“I don’t want you to leave again, Choso,” you murmured against his lips.

He hummed. “I can’t leave you.”

“Promise?”

Your arms found their way to the back of his neck and held him close to you. The look in his eyes was nothing short of tender, like he couldn’t bring himself to care about anything but you right now. 

“Yes. I promise. I want to be yours.”

You giggled, “How’s that for a New Year’s kiss?”

“Much better than I thought,” he said. “Kiss me again.”

And you obliged.

“Guess they finally figured it out,” Geto said from behind you. When you turned, his arms were folded and he leaned casually against Gojo.

“Thank God,” Gojo groaned. “I was getting sick of all the sappy pining. It was getting painful.”

You told yourself you’d hit him later, but for right now, you just looked at Choso, both of you bursting into laughter. You sighed, “You guys suck…”

“Whatever you say. Now, let’s get shit-faced!”

Your friend dragged you to another party tonight. It's not like you didn't enjoy going, in fact, you liked them a lot. What you didn't like, however, was the awkward rides home after your friend ran off with another guy she hardly knew. The action didn't bother you, rather the fact that you were left by yourself for the night and were subsequently forced to go home alone. Your friend was generous enough to pay for your ride there, but would leave you high and dry for a way back. It wasn't like you couldn't go home with someone yourself, of course. You just wanted to sulk a little.

And sulk you did. While your friend was off on the other side of the room, on a stranger's couch in a stranger's lap, you stood awkwardly near the corner, unsure of whether you should bother socializing with people you wouldn't see again.

The empty solo cup in your hand prompted you to go refill it. At the counter, frat boys worked hard to fill solo cups with liquor fast enough to keep up with the growing demand. To you, it didn't matter what was in it, you always drank it anyway. Not that anyone else knew either, of course. So you grabbed a random cup off the counter to escape the throng of people as quickly as possible, deciding to return to your unofficially claimed corner. A man stood there in your place.

Standing at an average height, his black hoodie and black jeans didn’t exactly make him stand out from the crowd, yet you couldn’t seem to take your eyes off him. You're not sure why you decided to go over there anyway. Every part of him screamed ‘bad idea’ but with the alcohol in your system and the cup in your hand, you didn't care. “Nice hoodie,” you said, casually taking a sip of your drink. Whatever it was, it was strong.

The hoodie he wore had white letters printed onto the front of it, long trails coming from the shaky letters and connecting with each other. To anyone else, it might have been difficult to make out what it said in the dim light of the house, but you knew those words better than anyone else. Your favorite band. “Thanks. You a fan of the band?” he said, a small smile forming on his lips. His dark and raspy voice caught you off guard.

You laughed. “The biggest. Have you heard their latest album yet?”

“Nah, I always preferred their earlier stuff, not this soft shit they’re putting out now.” His large hand found the back of his neck, black painted nails dragging over scarred skin. He was covered in burn scars, large and irritated, held together by surgical staples. You couldn't care less.

“That’s fair,” you conceded. “But they returned to their roots with this one. I think you’d like it!”

 He took a sip of his drink, black spikes of hair falling back as he tipped his head. You stared at him, the way his vast multitude of piercings reflected the minimal light. Most striking were his three nostril piercings, small silver studs forming a triangle, and the countless rings and studs adorning his ears. He raised his brows. “Oh, yeah?”

Only through the alcohol in your system were you able to ignore your shameless ogling. “Definitely! Did you get that at the concert a while back?”

“Yeah, I did, actually. You get to go?’

You shook your head sadly. “Nah, I wish! I couldn’t get off work in time. But, I heard they’re coming back. You better believe I won’t miss out twice!”

He laughed with you, and took his time admiring you while you weren’t paying attention. You remembered how your friend begged you to wear a tiny black tank top out of her closet, one that showed far too much skin to allow for a bra. Paired with the dress pants and strappy heels you wore, you felt like a spectacle. And this man was your main spectator. “Dabi,” he said, holding a hand to you. You took it eagerly. “What’s someone as pretty as you doin’ in a place like this?”

“My friend brought me, as always,” you said with a soft sigh.

“Not a fan of the party scene?”

Your drink burned as it went down. It was almost halfway gone at this point, your quick drinking a result of your desire to keep the conversation going and the need for a bit of confidence. “It's not that, I just-”

“Oh. My. God!!” You turned to see your friend running up to you. “I see you've been busy! And he's cute.”

Dabi laughed at your embarrassment. “Wait, it's not like that! I was just-” you protested.

She giggled to herself, placing her arms on your shoulders. “Shh, I understand…” she slurred, putting her finger to your lips, mashing her full plastic cup against your face.

“You need to go home,” you said, glancing at the man behind your friend. “Alone.” You grabbed her arms in an effort to show her you were serious.

“Aww, no way!”

You groaned. As you tried to hold your friend up, Dabi just watched from beside you, snickering into his own drink. You were grateful he stayed quiet. His interference would have made it harder to convince your friend you had just met him.

As she talked loudly over your pleas of her returning home, someone bumped into your friend from behind. And your very drunk friend lost her balance, her very full drink tumbling out of her weak fingers, the liquid finding its way into every fiber of your shirt, soaking the front of it to your skin. 

It left a puddle of liquor and ice cubes at your feet, somehow missing your pants and only dampening your feet slightly. “You've gotta be fucking kidding me,” you muttered. It wasn’t that you were mad at her, of course, just mad that the man she was with was nowhere to be seen. A lot of help he was. You left your corner quickly to find another friend you approved to take her home. 

And in defeat, you walked back to your corner. “Well, it's been great, Dabi, but I'm headed home. I think I've had enough fun for one night,” you sighed, glancing down at the puddle on the floor. It was impossible to ignore the fabric clinging to your body, making a tight top even tighter.

He sighed. “Don't tell me you're gonna let that ruin your night. Come with me,” he said, before grabbing your hand and yanking you up the stairs, weaving through groups of people as you stumbled blindly behind him.

Before you could think to ask him what he was doing, you were pulled into a small bathroom with the door shut behind you. The cramped space barely fit one person, let alone both of you, and with Dabi’s imposing presence, you couldn’t help but feel small.

“Here.” And you swore you saw the heavens just then.

If you blinked, you would’ve missed Dabi setting his drink down onto the counter and yanking his hoodie over his head, revealing nothing underneath. As he reached up, you saw how low his jeans hung on his hips, the black denim a sharp contrast to the large expanse of pale skin, littered with even larger burn scars.

Tossing the hoodie to you, he smoothed his hair with his palm. “You want me to-”

He looked at you expectantly. “Why not?”

Your face reddened. 

But, of course, your lack of critical thinking at the moment allowed you to do it anyway. Sliding your arms into the sleeves and tugging it over your head, it covered your soaked top entirely. And, god it smelled divine. A mix of cigarette smoke, cologne, and something else that you couldn't place. But you knew for sure it must just be the way he smelled naturally. 

“Thank you…” you managed, barely managing to tear your gaze away from his chest, two pierced nipples holding your attention.

“Anytime.” His smug expression was hard to miss.

“It… it smells really good.”

Oh, god, did you say that out loud?

He snickered. “Does it? That’s interesting,” he said. He then leaned in close to you, forcing you to press against the counter, his hips against yours. A devious grin appeared on his face, his shirtless body so close to yours you could feel the heat he was emitting. “Tell me what it smells like.”

You stared at him, eyes wide like a deer in the headlights. His piercing blue eyes stared back, showing no intention of letting up. You sobered up quickly, your previous confidence nowhere to be found, especially not since you were alone with him in a tiny bathroom. “It’s- well, like…” you stammered. Somehow, he smelled even better than his hoodie did, and it made it hard to think. 

It was evil the way he just laughed at you, leaving you to stumble through a response. Desperate to get yourself to stop talking before you embarrassed yourself more, you did the first thing you could think of.

You kissed him.

He kissed back, rough but inviting, his large hands meeting the back of your head and tangling in your hair, effectively ruining the style you had it in. The metal of his lip rings left small dents in the skin of your mouth. When he pulled away, his eyes were dark and filled with a villainous lust. “Your shirt is gonna get my hoodie wet,” he pointed out. “Take it off, yeah?’

“Dabi…” You swallowed hard as he stepped away from you, knocking back the rest of his drink before tossing the cup onto the floor. 

The air was thick with tension. Somehow, Dabi always knew how to keep you going, and somehow, he always knew you’d do anything he asked you to. You obliged him, of course, taking off the hoodie you just put on and revealing your wet tank top again. Shaky fingers peeled it from your skin, tossing it into the convenient bathtub off to the side. The air hit your damp skin and made you shiver, and you averted your gaze from Dabi’s.

It never got less embarrassing being partially naked in front of someone, especially someone so… hot. He made you nervous, to put it simply. 

You felt his body against you, his bare chest touching yours as he grabbed your chin with his fingers, turning your head to face him again. He pulled you into another kiss, hands roaming freely on your body. This was about the only form of reassurance you would get out of him.

When his tongue entered your mouth, you gasped softly. What you didn’t expect —although in hindsight, you shouldn’t have been shocked— was the barbell through his tongue. What else could this man do to surprise you?

He smiled against your lips, pleased that you had a reaction. In all honesty, he didn’t get his tongue pierced to impress anyone else, but it was shocking how well it worked regardless. Your arms wrapped around his neck to pull him closer, and with your proximity, you could feel him getting hard through his jeans.

Rough hands found your hips, grabbing at your flesh and imparting his heat onto you as he pressed your crotch into his. He tasted like liquor and smoke, no doubt a result of the mysterious drinks being served downstairs. A distant thought in your mind panicked that you forgot to lock the door, but the rest of you couldn’t have cared less. Not with this man in front of you. No chance you were going to pass up this opportunity. 

He pulled away from you to unbutton his pants before reaching for yours. “Are you a smoker?” you asked. It seemed your ability to keep thoughts to yourself was dulled by the few drinks you had. You let him pull them to your knees, along with the thong you wore. 

But he just laughed before responding. “Yeah. Smell kinda lingers, huh?” His own underwear had been pulled down too.

“Not in a bad way,” you said as his hands met your waist, effortlessly lifting you onto the sink countertop. You could only imagine the last time it was cleaned, if you're honest. He hummed in response, running his hands up and down your thighs, before his thumb met your clit, rubbing soft circles on it. Your head fell back as you bit your lip to conceal your moan. Clearly experienced, he knew exactly how to push your buttons and leave you soaked in the span of about a minute.

You looked down to see what he was working with, and, pleased with what you saw, you hummed. But something shiny caught your eye.

“H-hang on,” you panted. “What is that?”

He tilted his head as his hand slowed to a stop. “What’s what?”

Your eyes widened as your brows knit together, staring right at Dabi’s cock. If he had the ability, he might have felt self-conscious being scrutinized like that. “Jesus, don’t tell me you- you have your dick pierced?”

It was hard to keep his laughter contained in his throat. “Yeah, I-”

“That shit is gonna hurt so bad…” you whined. “No way.”

He shook his head. “Nah, it’ll feel great. I’ll go slow, yeah? Just, uh- let me know when you’re ready to pick up the pace.” You could hear the laughter in his voice, barely kept under wraps by his gravelly voice. 

How presumptuous, you thought, to assume you’d enjoy it that much. 

Using his long fingers, he guided himself inside you. Squeezing your eyes shut, you gripped the counter shakily. Bigger than average, the thickness was what was difficult for you to manage. Your hands twitched and glittered from place to place: the counter, his stomach in an effort to slow him down, your hair, his bicep, every place your hands could reach they grabbed in any attempt to ease the stretch.

He bottomed out after what felt like forever, and you sighed shakily. “Holy shit,” you muttered.

You sat there for a few moments, before nodding and telling him he could move. He was gentle at first, but with every slow drag his hips made, you could feel each barbell rubbing your insides, a feeling you weren't used to.

He was right, you realized. “F-faster…” you whimpered. It was borderline overstimulating to you, so many things to focus on as his pace quickened. Thumb against your clit, he found his perfect pace, each thrust forcing you back against the mirror behind you and shaking the sturdy countertop.

It was hard to miss Dabi’s smug expression, the way he gloated over you knowing that he was right. You should've known, but a part of you assumed he was just being egotistical. You couldn't have been more wrong.

“Oh, fuck…” you groaned.

“Yeah? You like that?” His dirty talk was sublime, muttered against your neck as he weaved a hand through your hair, pulling tightly at the root and forcing your head up. He sucked bruises onto your neck and chest, dark purple and pink splotches reminiscent of the burns that littered his body.

It was obvious he knew what he had and he knew how to use it. Your body shook helplessly in his grasp, his arms wrapping around your waist as he held you down. Addled thoughts resulted in slurred speech, no longer able to form a coherent string of words as he fucked you through your first orgasm of the night.

It ripped through your body like a tidal wave, but Dabi never slowed. His pace was fast, and you were sure to have bruises from how hard his hips slammed into yours.

“It’s- so much,” you whined.

He, of course, selfishly chased his own high, caring little for anything you had to say to him.  “You’re taking it so well.” 

You could barely hear the music through the door anymore, nor the other people you were sure were outside the door, only Dabi’s words and the squelch of your pussy. Your second orgasm came much quicker than the first.

Your hands found his shoulders, your fingernails dragging long lines down his skin as your body lost control of itself, shaking and shuddering as you rode out your high. He just laughed at you, a cruel disposition settling over him as he used you.

Your legs went numb, no longer able to hold them up over his arms as he brutally pounded into you. Hands ran up the length of your back, grasping at your neck and pulling on your hair. You could hardly get words out anymore, besides swears and pleas, his cock finding every space inside you to make you scream. 

It was just so much. A sick and twisted dance he had you locked in, and it was obvious who was leading.

“Does that feel good?” he asked. It wasn't a genuine question, of course. It was a smug and egotistical question he asked you as your third orgasm found its way through your body.

You had no words left, just delayed nodding and slurring of sounds that were supposed to be a biting remark.

He just laughed.

It felt like an eternity before his hips began to stutter, his head lolling back with a throaty groan. “Fuck…” 

Pace finally slowing, he pulled out, leaving your body to pulse with heat and soreness. He showed no signs of exhaustion, meanwhile you had been reduced to a sad puddle on the counter, unable to move as his cum spilled out of you and dropped down your throbbing pussy. “Think you can handle another round?” His words were masked as kindness, and you would have seen through them if you weren't so exhausted. 

You hummed lazily. “Maybe…” 

The remainder of your beach trip went smoothly. It wasn’t easy to pretend you didn’t just suck your friend off in the bathroom not forty feet away from all your friends, but with plenty of avoided eye contact between you and Tamaki, you managed. The ride home was also without any abnormal activity. One of your friends ran into someone they knew, and elected to hitch a ride with them instead, which left you with an appropriate amount of seats for everyone.

Of course, you were grateful to have your own seat. But, it did leave you with no entertainment on the way back to Nejire’s house. By the look on Tamaki’s face, a relaxed expression you hadn’t seen him have all day, he was just happy he wouldn’t embarrass himself again. 

Nejire, while narrowly avoiding the other cars on the road, had the idea to have everyone go to dinner afterwards. “I just want to have more fun! I’m just not ready for you guys to leave…” she sighed.

“Well, we definitely still have to go home to change, but I’d love to go out!” you said, leaning forward between the passenger and driver’s seats.

Mirio laughed. “It sounds like a good time!”

Back at Nejire’s house, you all decided on where to go. Your other friend had other plans so that left you, Mirio, Nejire, and Tamaki. A quick drive to your place, a shower, and a change of clothes made you ready to go. Honestly, it didn't matter much to you what you did or where you went. The time spent with your friends was enough to satisfy you.

But, the opportunity to watch Tamaki squirm was just as enticing. And with the short skirt and the off-the-shoulder sweater you wore, you hoped that would be more than enough to get what you wanted. Even without showing much skin you were sure he would take you up on your previous offer.

When you got to the restaurant, you saw Nejire’s car parked at the front. Next to it was Mirio’s. You went in and found their table: a small booth near the center of the restaurant. Tamaki hadn't gotten there yet, but you weren't worried. The space next to you remained empty as you sat, joining in on their conversation and taking some of whatever appetizer they ordered for the table. 

The lights were dim aside from the large TVs that adorned practically every corner and empty inch of wall space. Crowds of people huddled in booths and crouched around the bar made it especially loud, and you couldn’t imagine Tamaki would be pleased at the commotion. 

As if you had summoned him, he turned the corner and came into view of your table. Now dressed in a dark blue crew neck front-tucked into a pair of jeans, he scanned the room awkwardly, wincing at all the noise from the mob. With his hands shoved deep into his pockets he weaved through the people, mumbling apologies as he made his way to the table and sat down next to you. The way he looked at you was not lost on you. Even though he tried to hide it, it was obvious as his eyes trailed up and down you, lingering on the expanse of your thighs completely free of any material, your already short skirt becoming even shorter when you sat.

“You’re finally here!” Nejire exclaimed, leaning across the table to give him a weirdly positioned hug. You scrambled to catch your glass of water before she tipped it entirely over into your lap. You instead held it hostage between your hands, not wanting it to fall victim to Nejire’s lack of spatial awareness.

He laughed softly. “You… just saw me an hour ago…”

“I don’t care!” she sighed, slumping onto the tabletop. “I don’t get to see you guys much anymore.”

Mirio grinned. “Aw, Nejire-”

“Quit being sappy, guys,” you groaned. “It’s gross.”

That earned a laugh from everyone. Even Tamaki, who struggled to find much humor in anything, was laughing. For some reason, looking at him just made you replay previous events in your mind. It irritated you. You just wanted to forget about what happened, at least for the time being. You wanted to protect your friendship. But if he took you up on your earlier offer, you weren’t sure you could keep things platonic in the future. 

And of course, you couldn’t be sure of anything at this point. You were convinced he wasn’t into you by the way he behaved around you. He always seemed to have an excuse to avoid you, and if you were able to spend any time together, he had a hard time meeting your eyes. It made you positive he disliked you, at least to some degree. But if he didn’t like you at all, he wouldn’t have agreed to your bathroom escapade, right? And, would it be possible, you thought, for the way he looked at you now to be indicative of something?

You decided it wouldn’t hurt to find out. 

Throughout dinner, you simply had a normal get-together with your friends. Underneath that, though, was your real mission. Not that you didn’t enjoy hanging out with your friends. It wasn’t that at all. The problem was that your previous interaction with Tamaki had left you with a little pent-up energy. Energy you were dying to release. Nejire chatted mostly about embarrassing stories and stories from work, which filled any silence that may have arised. 

Afterwards, you all left together, electing to walk everyone out. The night air was thick with cigarette smoke and the smell of alcohol, the real day beginning. In the city, the days were of course busy, but the night life was much more present. “We should totally do this again sometime!” Mirio said, unlocking his car.

“We so should!” Nejire said. Even in the dark, you could practically see the shimmer in her eyes. 

Tamaki hummed quietly. “We should.”

“Definitely. It’s always nice seeing everyone! And we need to keep in touch!” you agreed, leaning on the passenger door of Tamaki’s car, which was right next to yours. “Tamaki, hang out here for a minute, yeah?” You kept your voice low.

His gaze immediately met the ground. “O-Okay.”

“Anyway guys, I got work tomorrow,” Mirio said with a yawn. “I’ll catch you later!”

Nejire groaned. “Ugh, me too… I better go.”

With the other two gone, you whirled around to where Tamaki stood on the driver’s side. You pinned him against the car between your arms, and even though he had the size advantage, he made no move to escape. Instead, he practically cowered in front of you, eyes wide like a prey animal. “W-What are you-”

You interrupted him. “Relax, Tamaki.” He swallowed hard, but nodded anyway. “I wanted to see if you wanted to continue what we were doing earlier.”

He tilted his head to the side. And then it hit him. His eyes widened. You actually meant what you said? You really wanted him to…? He couldn’t help the heat that crept onto his face. It was true that he wanted to forget about what happened, and he really tried. But, not because he regretted it. It was because he knew it was a one-time thing. It wasn’t like he regularly had casual sex, and especially not with the one person he’s liked since high school. However, he still knew, or thought he knew, that you said what you said in the heat of the moment, and to try to keep his embarrassment at bay.

And while he appreciated the sentiment, nothing could keep his anxiety under wraps, especially not around you.

You stayed still, patiently waiting for him to catch up. Your breasts pressed against his chest, and even through the sweater you wore, he was painfully aware of the way you were squishing him to the car behind him. How did you always know how to make him so nervous?

In truth, it wasn’t always intentional. Sure, it was right now. And it definitely was all day, too. But, you didn’t even think about what happened in the car until he said something. It just wasn’t something that crossed your mind. Once you figured out what made him tick, which happened to be pretty much anything that involved close proximity and a lot of touching, it turned into something you did for fun.

“What- what do you, um… want me to do?” For Tamaki, saying words like that in a moment like this was like eating glass. 

You hummed. “I want you… To get in my car, and let me take you to my place. And when we get there, that’s when we’re going to find out how you can use that big dick of yours. Sound good?”

If it were even possible, he shrank smaller in your grasp, his face getting redder by the second. It was bad enough to consider the compromising position you had him in. And now, here you were, telling him that you were taking him to your place. 

He didn’t think he could nod faster.

“Tamaki…” You said his name in such a gentle voice he could hardly take it. Your hand moved to run through his hair, soft between your fingers as you inched your face closer to his. “Do you want to do this?” you asked again.

“Y-yes…” It was about the clearest he had spoken all day, and while he didn’t meet your eyes, you still released him from the prison of your body.

You found your keys in your purse and unlocked your car. “Then, get in.”

It wasn’t very far from the restaurant to your apartment, but those few minutes, those few miles, felt like hours. You were tense, and the silence of the car ride didn’t help. Keys jangling echoed against your door as you hunted for the key to the door. It felt like a lifetime of heavy breathing, muttered curses, and awkward claustrophobia as you fumbled for the key among a multitude of keychains, refusing to back away from the door to look and instead pressing your whole body weight into it. When you finally found it, you grabbed Tamaki by the hand and pulled him into your apartment as the door swung open.

You kicked it closed before immediately taking him into your bedroom as pushing him onto the bed. Your lips met his as you straddled him, working your hands underneath his crew neck. His soft skin was just as pleasing as it was before, and you couldn’t wait to feel every inch of him. You helped him pull it over his head with some prompting, and the sight before you was incredible. Hard muscle under smooth skin laid below you, marred only by a few silver scars on his stomach. It was disappointing to restrain yourself earlier, to keep your friends from having any idea what happened, but now you could roam free. 

And roam you did.

His neck was sensitive, you found out, taking care to bite and suck little marks onto his pale skin. He whimpered and writhed in your hold, but you held him tightly, only allowing his hands to cover his face in shame.

Intimacy wasn’t what he was ashamed of, though. It was the fact that you, his friend and nothing more, could get him so worked up so easily. And the fact that you seemed to be able to control yourself. He clearly could not. 

His hips bucked up into yours as you gave him so much attention, your lips and hands finding every inch of his skin they could reach. Having all the focus on him made him nervous, making him wish he could return the favor, but you were so skilled he could hardly form thoughts let alone actions.

“You're such a pretty boy, Tamaki,” you whispered into his ear, your hand pressing to his throat. Your fingernails carved gentle indents into him.

He moaned in response. “P-please… I can't take all th-the teasing…” His voice was quiet from your hand on his throat, but he made no move to take it off.

“Aww,” you cooed. “You're just too cute.” Even with your mildly patronizing tone, you obliged him, instead yanking your sweater over your head and throwing it to the floor. Now in just your bra, you trailed your fingers down his stomach, dragging them over scars and skin alike.

Your hips began to rock against his, and he moaned, shuddering to meet your hips in their movement. It was cruel to continue your foreplay, since you knew neither of you needed it. You were soaked. And Tamaki could feel it. His dick pushed against you, and he whimpered at the contact. Even through the few layers of clothes, he could feel how hot your skin was, and the fact that the thin underwear you were wearing didn’t do too much to preserve your modesty.

The hand on his throat tightened, forcing a choked whimper out of him as his chest heaved. His hand shakily reached for yours, but stopped short, instead resting on top of it. You released your hand a bit, and were about to ask him if he was okay, but his fingers wrapped tighter around your hand and squeezed it. You got the hint, your fingers digging into the sides of his windpipe.

The way your hips ground against his was so much for him, almost too much. He shook under you, jolting slightly with every movement you made. Your bed creaked and it embarrassed him, the thought of your neighbors knowing what you were doing making his throat dry. You, on the other hand, were more concerned about the fact that Tamaki was looking like he was going to cum. And you were starting to lose control yourself.

Your pace slowed and you unbuttoned his jeans. He didn’t care much about what your hands were doing, instead trying to keep himself from making a mess of himself. You were just so perfect that he couldn’t hold himself back. He barely noticed when you took his jeans off, but he was transfixed on you as he watched you remove your skirt, sliding it down your legs and revealing a pair of lace underwear. Although, he didn’t get much time to marvel at them, because soon they, along with your bra, made their way to the corner of the room, leaving you fully bare on top of him. He only had it in him to look away, embarrassed about staring, as if he hadn’t been this whole time.

“No need to be shy…” you whispered, leaning into him. You pressed against his chest as your fingers found the waistband of his underwear, and soon those too were gone. You sank back down onto his hips, lining him up with your entrance. “You ready?”

He nodded, his eyes wide. With little warning, you pushed him into you, bottoming out quickly. Tamaki swore he saw stars, black creeping into his vision as he tried to keep himself from crying out. You had meant to go slower, but the desperation in you was growing, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep yourself from starting at a breakneck pace.

It was everything you had been imagining all day. He filled every part of you as you began to move, slowly but surely, trying so hard to be gentle with this sensitive man underneath you. Even with you doing all the work, he still met your hips with every thrust, his own need outweighing his intentions to let you set the pace.

As much as it was satisfying for you, the feeling increased tenfold for him. He was unable to think clearly, barely kept on earth by your consistent thrusts. Just getting head from you was enough to make him a different person. It turned him into someone needy, someone who was a slave to his passion. That was the power you had on him.

But this? This was even better. He could no longer believe in any heaven or angels beside the one on top of him right now, the one who’s hands scratched lines onto his hips and abdomen where they held.

You bounced with everything in you, the muscles in your legs beginning to burn as you kept chasing your high. Your other hand reached your clit, hoping your fast circles would be fast enough. You needed more. And you were about to get it.

“W-wait… Slow- slow down… I’m gonna-” he protested, hands clawing at your wrists as your pace increased.

Your face softened. It was so cute seeing him so frantic, begging for you to stop and let him cum somewhere else. His breathing was rapid, chest heaving as his back began to arch off the bed, drooling and dripping sweat as he pleaded. “Cum for me, then, Tamaki.”

“Oh god…” he moaned. He grasped at the sheets, whimpering as he came. Your hips never slowed, even as his release dripped hot and white out of you. Not even the squelch could make you slow, urgent to reach your own peak.

Seeing the look on his face, the glossed over eyes, the strings of spit trailing from his sharp fangs, the way his hair fell over his face in messy tresses, the sweat sheening on his body, the way his hands shook and his fingers became unable to hold the sheets anymore, was enough to push you over the edge. And it did. After a day of torture, you finally found release, a shaking orgasm ripping through your body as you continued to ride him.

“What are you doing up?”

You had tried to keep quiet, but the sliding glass doors far beyond their prime gave you away. You sighed at being caught and padded barefoot onto the balcony. “I could ask you the same question, Dabi.” Leaning up against the creaky wooden railing, you placed your face into your hands, looking out over the desolate parking lot of the apartment building. It was almost laughable how the only signs of life were a single street light flickering in the lot, and the two of you, on the balcony alone. 

“Couldn’t sleep.” Dabi’s forearms were pressed to the railing, hands dangling over the edge as he rested his body weight against it. His black pajama pants blended in with the shadows of the balcony, and his faded band t-shirt bore a few holes that exposed scarred skin.

You sidled up to him, relishing in the way his warmth enveloped your body. Wearing only one of his shirts, the cool night brought chills across your skin. He slung his arm around you, bringing you closer as he reached towards the box sitting on the railing. With dextrous fingers, he pulled a cigarette out of the pack, bringing it to rest between his lips before he dug in his pocket for his lighter.

A sharp click echoed on the balcony once, then twice as he lit up his cigarette, inhaling deeply with a sense of satisfaction. You coughed when he blew the smoke at you, waving a hand in front of your face to waft it away. Smoke clung onto his skin and his clothes, filling your lungs with the dense clouds and filling your eyes with tears at the sting in the back of your throat. 

“That was mean,” you said with a pout, turning to face him. Your hands found the hem of his shirt, sliding underneath the thin fabric to press your cold palms against his stomach. Scars and surgical staples ran under your fingertips as you used his body to prevent yourself from freezing. 

“Yeah, maybe.” He took another drag of his cigarette. “But you look so pretty with tears in your eyes,” he said, taking your chin into his fingers. 

Your face went hot as you looked away from him. “Shut up…” you mumbled.

He laughed, letting go of your face and tapping ashes over the balcony. Your hands continued to wander under his shirt absentmindedly while he stared at you, a much better view than the unimpressive landscape before you. His broad arms trapped you between the ledge and his body, overpowering you. “I'm serious. It makes me want to do anything to keep you looking just like that.”

You shook your head with a soft laugh. His lips wrapped around the end of his cigarette and he held in the smoke, thinking for a moment before he roughly pressed his lips to yours. Smoke poured out of both of your mouths as he pushed it down your throat and into your lungs. His hand found the back of your head, pulling on your hair as you groaned. He used his strength against you, holding you in place as his tongue forced its way into your mouth.

Coughing up thick gray smoke, you managed to pull away from him, tears escaping your eyes as you tried to catch your breath. “You know… There are other ways of making me cry,” you wheezed, wiping your eyes with the hem of your shirt, avoiding the burned holes where ashes had been dropped. When you lifted it up, it revealed nothing more than a pair of lace underwear, hugging your hips tightly. 

“Oh yeah? Like what?” He tapped more ashes onto the ground, ignoring the ashtray that sat on the ledge beside him. It was hard for him to pretend he didn't know what you were going to say, or that he was thinking anything different. It was also hard to pretend that he didn't love the way his shirt clung to your body in the perfect places, hanging loosely from your shoulders, or that you weren’t wearing his favorite pair of your underwear.

You hummed softly, reaching under his shirt again, hands searching for every inch of his skin. You found your way to his pierced nipples, playing with each barbell in your fingertips as he stared at you, cigarette balanced between his two fingers over the ledge of the balcony. It seemed like every time he went out for a midnight smoke break, you always joined him. It wasn't on purpose, or that you had any devious intentions, but it was just something about the way the smoke poured from his lips and his nostrils and the way he looked so at peace when he had a cigarette in his hand. It showed you another side of him, one that he tried to keep from everyone else, and especially you.

“You didn't answer my question,” he said, leaning down so he was mere inches from your face. With the distance between you minimal, you could smell the smoke on his breath and caught in his clothes, mixed with the scent of his body, intoxicating and hypnotizing you into feeling like you couldn't get enough of him. 

You both had gone to bed several hours prior, but it took a long time for you to fall asleep. Clearly, Dabi had the same issue and you woke up to an empty bed. You knew where he'd be: out on the balcony, smoking a cigarette. Tonight was one of the rare nights he wasn't shirtless, something that irritated you beyond reason. You always preferred him to be only in sweatpants or pajama pants, hanging low on his hips and exposing his abs and the small trail of hair that ran on the undamaged skin of his stomach from his belly button below his pants. 

“Don't make me say it,” you said, placing your hands behind you on the ledge for balance, the worn wood beams groaning as you leaned against it.

“Use your words.”

That made you look at him, his eyes cold and boring into you like daggers, standing out atop deep eyebags and dark purple scars. He moved his hand to your hip and gripped it roughly. You shook your head. “You know what I'm talking about.” 

He looked irritated, taking another drag of his cigarette before the last of the ashes crumbled away. He pressed the remainder to the ashtray on the ledge. “Maybe I do,” he said with a shrug. “And maybe I don't.” He was addicted to toying with you, insistent on pushing you to your limit before relenting. He fed off of your inability to say what you wanted, and the more sexual your thoughts got, the harder it was for you to communicate them. And you knew he could play this game for as long as it took.

You also knew you wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

“I want you to fuck me until I cry.”

He laughed at your tenacity, making your face flush with embarrassment. “See, now was that so hard?” he said, his tone patronizing. 

Kissing you, he ran his hands along your body through your shirt. Every time he touched you it was like fire on your skin, trails of heat rising where his fingers made contact. In moments like these, it was as if the world had stopped, like the sun could explode out of the sky and you wouldn’t notice. The only thing you could focus on was his lips on yours. It was heavenly.

But you were getting desperate. Your hands made their way to his pants fervently, untying the drawstring before sliding into his waistband. You began to push him towards the door, attempting to leave the balcony.

“Nah, I don't think so,” he said, pulling away.

Your eyes widened. “You don't mean… Here? Anyone could hear us!”

Grabbing you by the shoulders, he pushed you to the railing again before whispering in your ear.  “I'll stay quiet. Can you?” 

You nodded. In fact, you couldn’t be positive, but you were convinced Dabi wouldn't care either way. He was all you needed, to hell with your neighbors.

With your ass against the railing, your fingers urged Dabi to remove his shirt, sliding the fabric up his abdomen until he yanked it over his head and tossed it to the side. Large hands grasped at your thighs and hips, kneading the soft flesh between his fingers as his lips found yours. You whimpered softly into him, nails catching on the metal in his skin as you ran your hands on his chest. 

He pulled on the hem of your shirt, helping you slide it off and revealing your bare breasts to the night air. Goosebumps formed on your skin as Dabi marveled at you, your tiny black lace thong the only thing still covering you. You panted, desperately trying to regain your breath while you turned your face away, avoiding eye contact. Somehow, you never got used to being mostly naked in front of him, just as embarrassed as the first time he saw you this way. 

Instinctively you reached to cover yourself, but he was quick to restrain your wrists in one hand. “Don’t do that,” he said. “I want to see you.”

Having gotten his fill, his lips met your neck, sucking on the sensitive skin while you writhed in his grip. He left love-bites along your neck and chest as his hard cock pressed against you through his pajama pants. Even from a small amount of contact, when his hands met your breasts you moaned, biting your lip to keep quiet.

“Already going back on your word? That didn't take long…” he goaded into your ear.

You scowled at him. “Shut up.”

Your words didn't have much bite when his fingers wrapped around the thin fabric covering you and yanked it down, exposing you entirely. He couldn’t even take the time to stare before his fingers found their way down your stomach. Your head whipped backward when his thumb brushed your clit, and it took every ounce of control in you to grab his wrist and pull it away. He tilted his head at you before leaning in, his face an inch from yours.

“It’s not fair,” you breathed. “I’m naked… And you’re still decent.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, you’re right. But that can wait.”

While you wished you could argue with him, as soon as his thumb returned to your clit, every thought you had about protesting went out the window. His eyes never left yours, even when they squeezed shut when his other fingers teased at your opening. Lip caught between your teeth, you groped wildly at his back, fingernails dragging long scratches into the skin.

His fingers entered you, your head hitting his chest as you whimpered. His other hand grabbed your face, and in a low voice, he said, “Look at me.”

You nodded and did as you were told. Skilled fingers shot waves of pleasure through you. Your hips bucked into his hand, and as his pace quickened, your knees went weak. He stabilized you, arm wrapping around you and his chest meeting yours to hold you up. But he was relentless, and even at the awkward angle he was bringing you closer and closer to your orgasm. Thumb pressed harshly against your clit and rubbing circles at a rapid pace, it became almost overstimulating as he refused to let up.

“Don’t… oh, don’t stop…” you whimpered.

Never one to deny you, he continued, your orgasm ripping through you, turning waves into riptides. But still, he didn’t stop. You squirmed, somehow feeling too much and not enough as your vision went spotty. Shaky hands tried to grab at his wrists, but they fell uselessly to your sides, strength subsiding as his fingers found their way in and out of you.

A long whine escaped you as he finally removed his hands, letting your feet find their way underneath you again before he let go completely. “Dabi…” you groaned, placing your weight onto wobbly legs. The night was no longer cold, heat trapped under your skin and your body pulsing with need. No matter how much he gave you, you wanted more. You needed more.

His pants joined the pile of your clothes off to the side, and your foggy brain finally processed what he was doing. You could hardly bring yourself to notice his boxers were gone, focusing on holding yourself up on the rickety balustrade.

Chest heaving, you watched him run his hand on your hips, other hand retrieving the pack of cigarettes and the lighter next to you. Using his teeth, he pulled one out, pitching the box onto the wood paneled floor. The click of the lighter was like a cleaver through the silence, the light burning your eyes like the singed paper at the end of Dabi’s now lit cigarette. Gray flared orange as he inhaled, and with no warning, you found yourself sitting on the railing, mostly held up by Dabi as the wood creaked under your weight. You gripped onto his shoulders, trying to steady yourself.

The sound of the structure beneath you managed to clear the haze in your mind enough to say, “Dabi, I don’t think this thing can-”

“I won’t let you fall.”

His words reassured you enough to relinquish control again. He worked you closer to him until his cock pressed at your entrance. Your previous orgasm provided plenty for him to begin to push inside with no trouble. A moan escaped you, almost causing you to fall backwards. But he held you strong, his cigarette casually between his fingers.

Sharp eyes cut into yours, illuminated by the dim light of the street light below you. His nose piercings reflected in the light, along with bright silver staples. “Y’ready?” he said.

You nodded vehemently. With that he bottomed out, pressed flush against you as you groaned, and somehow you could still think enough to keep yourself from being too loud. He wasted no time before moving. Every nerve in your body could feel him and your brain couldn’t keep up with so many signals. His thrusts accelerated, your body rocking with his. Occasional grunts and groans were the only sounds he made, meanwhile you had to cover your mouth with your palm to keep yourself alerting your neighbors.

Another drag from his cigarette had him blowing smoke out before his fingers met your clit. The feather-light touch from his single index finger had you over the edge, your head slinging back in a silent moan. Your knuckles went white from how hard you gripped onto the railing, one hand trying to keep your balance as your toes curled.

Dabi snickered to himself watching you try to keep yourself from falling off the balcony and also from letting the entire apartment complex know you were outside doing nefarious deeds. That’s not to say, however, that it was easy for him to keep from making noise, but he had a goal to achieve and he would do anything to ensure his accomplishment.

“Dabi, holy fuck…” you slurred, your words barely enunciated enough to be discernible.

His pace quickened. “Oh, yeah?”

You whimpered, placing a hand on his chest to try to slow him down. “It’s… mmm, it’s too- much…”

“Nah,” he said, shaking his head. Sweat made his hair clump together and stick pieces to his forehead. He ran a shaky hand through his hair before placing them on your clit, the sudden contact making you gasp. The slow circles he rubbed shouldn’t have made much difference, but you were so sensitive right now you probably could cum just from talking to him. “You can handle it.”

It was like every time he fucked you, he got bigger. Obviously, it wasn’t possible. But, god, it felt like it. The way he stretched you out was like no other feeling, and you were sure the sheer size of him already had caused permanent damage. Not that you cared, of course, now or ever. It was so worth it. He filled every part of you like two halves of a whole. It would’ve been beautiful at this moment too if you didn’t cum for a third time when he took a mouthful of smoke and blew it straight at your pussy, watching the way the smoke clung to your skin before dissipating and disappearing forever. 

“No… no, I can’t…” you whined, tears stinging the corners of your eyes. His lips pulled into a smile revealed sharp pointed canines at the sight of you. If it were even possible, his pace quickened. Your muscles ached but he didn’t relent, determined to make the tears fall from your pretty eyes. Hard and fast was his specialty, and you swore you could feel your insides bruising. 

One particularly deep thrust forced him to hit your g-spot with such force your vision went white, your whole body tensing in Dabi’s hold as your fourth orgasm hit you. This was the final straw that caused your eyes to squeeze shut, forcing tears out onto your cheeks as you began to sob.

“Aw…” He reached to wipe a tear off your cheek. “So pretty,” he taunted. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care, your body limp and abused. He continued to buck into you, your hips no longer rising to meet his. The only energy you could expend was through your tears, and through the effort of choking down your sobs to stay quiet.

His lips met yours again and his hips stuttered, rutting up against you as he finally reached his peak. He rested inside you, neither of you having the energy to move. “You okay?” he said, brows raised.

You nodded, your neck barely able to hold up your head without collapsing. “Yes,” you murmured, wiping tears off your face. He hummed, placing his cigarette between his lips. “Dabi, you really should quit smoking…”

When your professor told you about your upcoming project a few classes ago, you sighed in annoyance. You loved being a nursing major, and medical labs came easily to you. But those labs were always done with classmates, and your professor supposed you needed to work with fresh patients, ones you hadn’t gotten accustomed to. A valid suggestion, although it then tasked you with finding six willing participants. And as one can imagine, those were few and far between, and tracking down a sixth person was proving to be much more difficult than you had hoped.

You had already done the lab on your two neighbors you shared a kitchen with, your roommate, Kyoka Jirou, and also her boyfriend, Denki, who was just happy to be there. However, you were still one short. Denki offered to ask his friends to help, and although you were grateful, you couldn’t imagine any of them would be willing to be a test subject for a stranger, and you can’t say you would feel much differently in their position, so you declined. Of course, you could always fake it and just make up random data, but your professor was monitoring how many people you brought into the lab via a sign-in sheet, so you had to use real people.

After class, you went back to your dorm to mope about your future bad grade on your assignment. “Hey,” Kyoka said from her bed, back against the wall with her boyfriend’s head in her lap. 

That was when you saw him. Slouched down in your twin-sized loft bed filled to the brim with stuffed animals was Denki’s hot blonde friend, Katsuki Bakugou. You had gotten only a few chances to speak to him at Denki’s dorm parties, but from what he told you, aside from his general lack of complaisance, Bakugou was a fun person to be around. Aggressive, but still good company, apparently. He was your party crush that would sometimes talk to you. You were too scared to ask for his number, and he always disappeared promptly after every party. But while he was there, his eyes never left you.

Today, he wore an oversized black hoodie, and his baggy black pants had multiple straps hanging from them. One leg dangled over the edge of your mattress, his clunky black boots on the floor by your desk, buried in the fur of your fluffy rug. He didn’t seem to notice you, his eyes glued to his phone screen with his other arm casually behind his head.

You were embarrassed, both by your messy side of the room, and by all the stuffed animals on your bed. He clearly didn’t care, however, squashing quite a few plushies under his body, their plastic eyes bulging out of fluffy sockets. 

Dodging wads of clothes and cords from musical equipment, you made your way to your desk to set your backpack down, dodging his leg as you ducked under the loft bed. “You, um… You didn’t tell me we would have company…” you said to Kyoka, wishing you had dressed up a bit more for your previous class. You always expected her boyfriend to be over, but this was definitely a surprise. She knew you found him attractive, but you’re not sure she grasped the real gravity of the situation.

She laughed sheepishly. “Sorry… But I do have good news.”

“Go on.” You kicked off your own shoes onto your rug before trying to gather up some of the papers on your desk to help with the mess.

“Well, it took a bit of convincing, and a bit of bribery, but Denki found you a final person!” You turned to see her doing jazz-hands from her bed. 

Your eyes widened. “You don’t mean-”

She nodded, a devious smile on her face. “You got it. Meet Denki’s friend from high school.” If you hadn’t been staring right at her in shock, you would have missed the wink she shot at you. 

“Nice to see you,” you said after taking a moment to regain your composure, looking over the edge of your bed at him. He gave you a nod in acknowledgement, eyes snapping to yours and trailing downwards. You looked away awkwardly, feeling like a museum exhibit.

“I know you told me not to ask my friends,” Denki said, sitting up with a yawn. “But I couldn’t help myself.”

You wished you could be mad at him for going against your wishes, but you were just glad to finally be able to finish your project and to not have to scrounge campus for a semi-willing participant. Even though his choice of victim seemed to be a challenge to see how professional you can keep yourself. “Well, thank you. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.” You leaned against one of the wooden posts of your bed frame. “I definitely owe you one!”

His eyes darted from yours nervously. “Let’s wait until after you do your thing to decide that…” Denki just hoped you wouldn’t kill him when you got back to your dorm. In fact, he was already running through ideas and excuses to not be there when you did get back.

“What do you mean?” You tilted your head with a suspicious squint.

An aggravated sigh drew your attention to your bed above you. “Where are we going for your little experiment?” Bakugou said.

You frowned at the thought of it being an experiment. While technically your project was science, as all nursing is, this assignment wasn’t anything more than gathering data and practicing your application of the techniques you learned. An experiment would entail a hypothesis and more focus on the science aspects. You almost made the clarification, but you lost your nerve when you looked at him again. “The lab is right by building B,” you said. “It’s open now, if you want to-”

“Fine.” He jumped off your bed before you could react and yanked his boots on. “Let’s go,” he grumbled, pulling harshly on the side zippers as you took a few seconds to process what had just occurred.

You hurried to put your own shoes on before he walked out the door, almost leaving you in the dust as you rushed to catch up to him after grabbing your backpack. Once outside, you were grateful you wore your jacket, the brisk air whipping around and stinging your cheeks as the sun went down. You walked next to each other, and you were determined to make this as transactional as possible, no matter what the heart threatening to erupt out of your ribs was saying. And it had very much to say, you found out. You didn't want to be presumptuous, and he was only supposed to help you with your assignment and be on his way, but it became increasingly difficult to keep the heat out of your face. You hardly noticed Bakugou’s soft jangling, the chains and straps on his pants rattling together, or the way his eyes occasionally fixed themselves on you, yours stuck down at the sidewalk under your feet. 

Building B was the building closest to your dorm, to which you were extremely grateful. It only took a few minutes of awkward silence to get there. You fumbled to grab your keycard out of the pocket of your jeans, the beep of the machine echoing through the small alcove as you pressed your card against it.

The large glass doors slid open soundlessly and you walked in, the stuffy room between the next set of doors so insulated from any sounds all you could hear was your own breathing. Through the second set was the medical lab, the large panels of windows casting a sunset glow over the equipment that had been left out. Community lab coats hung on a hook by the door. Several small doors lined the circular room, each door leading to a separate room for practicing medical exams. The sign-up sheet for your class was posted on a clipboard on the countertop beside a sink. 

Boxes of latex-free rubber gloves were lined up on the central counter, next to piles of stethoscopes and blood-pressure cuffs. As you signed in on the clipboard, writing your name and Bakugou’s in one of the tiny boxes, he wandered the lab, picking up random things and putting them back down after turning them in his hands a few times. You were grateful for the spray bottles of alcohol scattered about the room and in every smaller office, which you sprayed on the equipment you chose.

“Okay. Let’s see…” you said before scanning the small rooms, peeking into each one to check for other students. All of them were deserted, so you chose a random one, Bakugou following you inside. A table and a small chair were the only things in the room, aside from the counter and sink. “All I have to do is take your blood pressure and we’ll be done!” You set your backpack down and pulled out your lab sheet.

He rolled his eyes with a scoff. “You brought me all the way here, just for this?”

You nodded. “Yes. Now, please sit down.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, dumbass,” he said, but he sat down anyway, the wooden chair creaking under his weight. 

Your back was to him as you put your stethoscope on, scanning your paper’s instructions. When you turned back around, your eyes immediately widened and your face went hot. “What, um… What are you doing?” you stammered. Bakugou was in the process of removing his sweatshirt, revealing a plain black tank top and a muscular frame you weren’t expecting, although you tried not to imagine what he looked like under his baggy clothes.

“What’s it look like? Can’t take my blood pressure with my sleeves in the way. I thought you, a nursing major, would’ve known that.” His snide tone and his condescending smirk made you embarrassed. Admittedly, you didn’t even think about it. It irritated you that he somehow did, and it irritated you even more that he was right. You tried not to stare, not at the way his blond hair stuck out in every direction, or the way his tank top stretched over his broad chest, or the way his hand lay relaxed in his lap, palm up and waiting for you to begin.

The velcro of the sphygmomanometer was loud in the small room as you peeled it open, nervously taking Bakugou’s arm to wrap it around the thick muscle. He was so attractive you couldn’t help but look away, busying yourself with finding the inflation bulb. From this distance, you could smell his cologne, strong and masculine, and it filled your lungs like dense smoke. You had to will yourself to stay focused, to prevent yourself from fainting where you stood. “Can you hold this for me?” 

“Fine,” he said, and you placed the pressure gauge into his other hand. When your hands brushed, you took notice of how sweaty his palms were. You also noticed how he flinched slightly when you touched him. His breathing was even, but he looked at you intensely, like he had to think about each breath to keep himself alive. It was nerve-wracking being so close to him. So many times you tried to gain the confidence to talk to him, but you always chickened out as soon as you made eye contact across the room. Sometimes, he would talk to you first, but one of his friends always ruined the moment by begging him to do a keg-stand.

Staring straight at the gauge in his hand, you filled up the cuff, rapidly squeezing until it was thirty millimeters above resting. You pressed the stethoscope into the crook of his elbow, not noticing the beads of sweat on his skin, careful to keep your fingers off the back of the stethoscope bell. 

When the heartbeat stopped, you slowly twisted the dial on the side to release a bit of air. The heartbeat resumed, and you mentally wrote down the number on the dial. It stopped again, so you released the rest of the air out of the cuff. Pulling your stethoscope out of your ears, you reached to remove the cuff, velcro ripping from itself. His eyes never left you, watching the way your hands moved to slide the cuff off.

“Can I ask you something?” you said, abruptly, fingers fiddling with the tubes of the sphygmomanometer as you took the gauge out of his hand. He shrugged. You turned to set your equipment on the counter and write your data on your paper. “Do I make you nervous?”

“What kinda stupid question is that?” he snickered.

You laughed nervously, eyes meeting his as you turned around. “Well, it’s just that… You’re really sweaty.”

His smug expression had never left so fast. His hands grabbed his hoodie, scrambling to pull it over his head with a muttered, “Shit…”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything!” You scrambled to fix your mistake, but the words had already left you.

Adjusting the hood of his hoodie, he avoided your gaze. He didn’t seem like the type to feel shame, but the expression on his face made you think otherwise. “Just forget it!” 

You shook your head, suddenly feeling like an idiot. “I shouldn’t have pointed it out. I’m sorry.”

“I just… I forgot to take my medication today. I’ve got, uh… this condition…” He trailed off as you began gathering your equipment, going back into the main lab to clean it again with alcohol.

“Hyperhidrosis?”

He blinked a few times. “Yeah, how’d you-?”

“Nursing major,” you reminded him, placing your tools in their respective piles. 

He rolled his eyes. “Ugh, whatever. Anyway, just don’t… Just don’t tell anybody, okay?”

You placed a hand over your heart. “Your secret is safe with me,” you swore. You looked around the lab for anything else you needed to take care of. “So anyway, what did Denki have to do to get you to help me?”

He looked at you, a self-satisfied grin on his face. “He told me you’d go out with me if I did.”

You froze. “He- He did what?” Oh, you were so going to kill him. Knowing him, he’d make himself scarce, but he couldn’t be hard to track down.

“So, how about it? I never do anything for free.” Bakugou walked backwards into the door, pushing it open for you.

You were beyond excited to take a road-trip to the beach with some of your friends from high school. But, nothing could’ve prepared you for what was in store.

A text came through your phone from Nejire. An invitation to the beach about a half hour from the town you were living in. She said she invited Mirio and Tamaki, as well as two others, but because of the exorbitant prices of parking, she offered to drive everyone herself. A few days from now, you would all meet at her place. She promised to borrow her older sister’s minivan so everyone could fit.

Only an idiot would say no, and you wanted to make plans to catch up, anyway. A beach day would be the perfect excuse to see everyone, and get some sun. And to not have to pay for gas or extremely expensive parking on your own? Even better.

A brand-new swimsuit was in order, especially since your old one didn’t fit. You and Nejire decided to go shopping together. It only took a couple stores to find one that was perfect for her, a teal bikini top with a matching ruffled swim skirt. It was a little more difficult for you to find something you liked. You settled on a plain black string bikini that you tied so tightly it carved dents into your skin out of paranoia of it coming untied. Nejire approved, but she also approved something skimpier only held together by a prayer, which you turned down with an embarrassed flush, so her approval meant hardly anything.

The day of the get-together, you drove to Nejire’s house, parking outside behind your other friends’ cars. You walked up to her front door, tote bag with all your beach essentials in hand. 

Nejire opened the door, glowing with excitement as she wrapped you in a hug. “Yay! Everyone’s here!”

You went inside to greet everyone. It was a shock to see them after so long. Nejire was the only one you made regular plans with, and the others hardly kept up with their social media. Mirio and Tamaki sat on the couch, and you can’t help but wonder what the others had to do to convince the latter to join the group. Everyone looks so… different.

“Is everyone ready?” Nejire squealed. She barely waited for anyone to process her question before ushering everyone out to the driveway. 

She stood in front of her lavender car. “So… my sister wouldn’t lend me her car…” She glanced sheepishly at the dent in the fender of her own car. “So we have to take mine. But it’ll be fine! Someone can just sit on somebody’s lap or something!”

You froze, eyes flickering to each of your friends. Tamaki stared straight at you. “Why doesn’t someone just drive on their own? I can just take myself instead…” you said. 

“Yeah, but parking prices are so expensive at the beach now,” Mirio said. “It would be more for the parking than the ticket for having too many people in the car.”

You sighed, but you agreed. Tamaki stayed silent, eyes wide and now staring down at the ground. The others didn’t say anything either.

You weren’t exactly sure how you ended up in the backseat of Nejire’s car in Tamaki’s lap, and judging by the fear in his face in the rearview mirror, he wasn’t either. Acutely aware of your own body, you regretted not putting a shirt on over your bikini top, settling for just a pair of short denim shorts as your coverup. Now, your back, bare save for the single string of your halter top, pressed against Tamaki’s chest through his shirt, his hands underneath his own thighs in an effort to keep things from getting any more awkward than they already were. Oh, god… 

Kneecaps glued together, you kept yourself in as small of a space as possible, the muscles in your legs trembling as you tried not to put your full weight onto his legs. You didn’t want to crush him… You kept your eyes down at your feet, your hands folded in your lap, fiddling with the frayed edge of your shorts. 

Nejire’s music, maxed out bass pushing her stereo to its limits, covered the heartbeat in your ears and almost prevented you from thinking. 

Almost. 

The music couldn’t drown out the sensation of Tamaki’s breath down your neck, or his heartbeat pounding against his ribs. It couldn’t drown out the sweat gathering in your palms, or the way your tongue felt like sandpaper in your mouth.

This would be a long thirty minutes, you decided. You instinctively went to grab your phone from your back pocket, but stopped short, dropping your hand back into your lap. With the way you were sitting, your phone was flat against Tamaki’s lower abdomen, a place too intimate for you to feel confident enough to get it out.

Even with the car’s size, Nejire didn’t hesitate to speed and whip through traffic, erratic lane changes forcing everyone to sway wildly, clinging onto the doors and the seats to keep themselves balanced. You instead had to brace yourself using only the seat in front of you, to avoid sliding around too much. Tamaki’s hands never left the seat under his legs. 

You adjusted yourself gently after your pelvis began digging into Tamaki’s lap, trying to keep your fingers from grazing his thighs as you used the seat to pull yourself up. He tensed underneath you as your hips wiggled on his, the motion causing your shorts to ride further up between your thighs and expose more of your soft skin.

He couldn’t even bring himself to look at any part of you. Not the back of your head, not the curve of your back, not the gap in the back of your shorts where your black bikini bottoms were just barely visible, not the sweat forming on your skin from the sun shining through the car, not any of that. If he did, he’s sure he would’ve burst into flames from embarrassment. Instead, he stared out the window beside him, busying himself with the rolling landscape outside.

His face reddened even deeper when you adjusted yourself again, evidently still uncomfortable on top of him. Not that he could really hear over Nejire’s music and his own blood rushing in his ears, but he swore he heard you mutter an apology, which only made him push his fingernails into his leg to keep himself convulsing in anxiety. When he glanced down at you, he took notice of your phone against him, the hot battery forcing sweat out of his skin. He wanted to tell you to take it, to have at least something to do on the drive, but his dry throat wouldn’t have made any noise if he tried. He settled for continuing to stare out the window.

God, he wanted to go home.

It felt like it had been hours since you stood in the driveway at Nejire’s, but judging by the clock on the car display, you still had fifteen more minutes. Even from your position behind the driver’s seat, you could see Nejire frantically checking her mirrors, her gaze oscillating between them. “Oh, shit…” she muttered.

You tried looking to see what she saw, but as soon as you turned to look out the back windshield, you saw Tamaki, still refusing to look at you. You turned back around immediately.

“What’s wrong?” Mirio asked from the passenger seat, reaching to turn the radio down.

“It's a cop. They're just driving past, but, uh… Get down,” she said, turning her attention to you in the rearview mirror. “And, Tamaki, put your seatbelt on. Hurry!”

You did as you were told, placing your hands flat on the floor beside your feet as you bent down, thighs finally pressing flush against Tamaki’s. With your chest against your legs, it was hard to breathe in the small foot space. You prayed you were down far enough. Your blood rushed to your head and you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed at the way you were crotch-to-crotch with the man under you. The only way you could describe it was hot. Like flames surrounding every fiber of your body, not to mention the heat coming off his body. 

Tamaki scrambled for his seatbelt, shaky fingers trying to avoid touching you as he tried to buckle it around himself. He now had a view of just your ass with you bent in half at the hips. God, this was embarrassing. You and him were close friends and had been for years. He always tried his best to hide his crush on you, never wanting to impede your future. It was, however, getting increasingly more difficult to ignore, especially with your compromising position. He tried not to look. But even he couldn’t avoid the way you were pressed up against him, your bare skin against his swim trunks. And god, every cell of his body seemed to be working against him. His skin was flushed, but all his blood was going to one place and one place only. The only thought that ran through his mind was, ‘Please, don’t notice…’

Everyone stayed still for a minute as the cop came up behind the car and passed you, driving off into the distance. “Okay, we’re good! Sorry guys…”

You sighed in relief as you came back up. Tamaki unbuckled his seatbelt, letting it dangle uselessly beside him. Using the seat in front of you as leverage, you pushed your hips further backward, trying to slide yourself into a comfortable position again. It didn’t seem possible to. The palms of your hands found the tops of his thighs and used them to wiggle yourself higher. He tried to stop his own body from jerking into yours, but his control was weakening, and if you didn’t stop moving, he was going to orgasm.

The near constant maneuvering of your body went unnoticed by everyone else. But not Tamaki.

A choked groan escaped him as his hands found your hips. Fingers dug into your flesh, forcing your body still. Your head whipped around, turning in his tight grasp to face him as best as you could. “W-what-” you started. 

Until you looked at him. For the first time today, he looked in your eyes, his pupils blown out, creating two black holes. With his face flushed red, he looked at you with a pained expression. His chest heaved but his breathing remained quiet, trying to keep anyone in the car from realizing what was going on. “P-please…” His voice was strained, quiet to keep anyone else from hearing.

You tilted your head, still confused. What was his deal?

And then you felt it. Heat rushed to your face as you looked down to process what was happening. He was hard, and you felt him between your thighs. You remembered all your shuffling, all the small movements you made trying to situate yourself. It must’ve been torture for him, and he couldn’t keep it up any longer.

When you figured it out, your eyes went wide, slapping a hand over your mouth to avoid saying anything to make him feel bad. His face dropped and his own hands left your hips to cover his face in shame. He intended to make you stop, but he hadn’t anticipated you noticing the reaction his body had. Guilt swelled in his chest, closing off his lungs like his airways had been filled with cement. He couldn’t even apologize. The only thing that came out was a whimper, shaky and hoarse. It was wrong to be a sweating, nervous mess in front of someone who hardly did anything, especially not intentionally.

The other two next to you didn’t seem to notice anything was amiss, engaged in their own conversation and faced away from you. You sighed in relief. After seeing the pure humiliation on his face, you got over your own, reaching to place a reassuring hand on his leg. “It’s okay…” you whispered to him.

You turned to face the front again, leaving him to calm down. Meanwhile, your thoughts were loud in your head, even over the music that Mirio turned back up. What should you do? Should you acknowledge it after you get out of the car? Or should you spare him and yourself from that humiliation? What will happen on the way back?

Nejire’s car finally pulled into a parking spot. You were quick to get out, to unstick your legs from Tamaki’s and stumble into the gravel parking lot. Once you regained your footing, you adjust your swimsuit before waiting on all your friends. 

You pick up your tote bag from the floor of the car. You would just pretend it didn’t happen, you’d decided, putting on your sunglasses. Unless he says something, you would forget about the situation entirely. Well, obviously, it wouldn’t be that simple. But you would forget about it in terms of today, and continue to have fun like nothing was wrong. That’s probably what he would want you to do.

The problem was, what was wrong? Why did you find yourself continuing to think about what happened? You thought back to the look on Tamaki’s face, his fingers pulling on your skin as he tried to stop your hips from moving. You’d never known him to be so rough. It shocked you. A shy and reserved guy is how you always saw him. Always polite, and always quiet. Never one to make eye contact let alone physical contact. Your heart raced just thinking about it. The agony in his eyes was clear, and somewhere in the back of your mind you wondered what would’ve happened if he hadn’t stopped you. He seemed really worked up. Almost like if you had kept going, he would’ve climaxed without warning. 

 It wasn’t often you sat in the laps of your friends —especially your male friends— and Tamaki had gotten so cute over the years. He was cute to begin with, of course. But since you last saw him, his hair had grown a little longer, and he had grown a little taller. His face became more defined, a stronger jaw and sharper features than you remembered. Muscles you had never seen before now showed through his clothes, even through a simple shirt and swim trunks. His older appearance made it difficult for you to forget the effect you had on him back in the car. Not to mention his demeanor and the way it shifted to sheer desperation as he silently held you. His every thought was written on his face. He was ashamed of himself, clearly. Ashamed to be so turned on in a car full of his childhood friends. Ashamed to be so turned on just from someone else sitting in his lap, let alone one of his friends. 

You found yourself wondering how the seating arrangement was decided in the first place. Mirio had said something about you being the lightest, you think, but you were too busy thinking to hear what they were saying. You supposed it didn’t matter, but you were incredibly grateful for the turn of events to allow you to see something so beautiful.

Tamaki stood next to you, fidgeting with his hands. He wanted to say something to you, maybe to apologize, but he couldn’t even think clearly, let alone speak. The swimsuit you wore, paired with plain shorts was still too much for him, your exposed skin seeming to outweigh the amount of cover you had on. 

 While the others went off to pay for the parking, you hung back, following slowly, grabbing Tamaki by the shoulder gently to keep him behind the group.

“Tamaki.” Face red, he turned to you, eyes still on the gravel as you walked. “Do you want me to help solve your… problem?”

That made him look at you. You bit back a laugh at how his face somehow got redder, the tips of his pointed ears burned a deep scarlet. Obviously, you hadn’t intended for this to happen, and you felt somewhat responsible for giving him an erection on a supposedly innocent beach day. So it was only fair you help him out, right? And of course, any excuse to see him like he was in the car was a good excuse to you.

His eyes were wide as he looked at you. “L-like… You- you want to…?” He couldn’t even get a complete sentence past his lips.  

“It’s kind of my fault this happened, so… Why don’t we go into those bathrooms over there?” You pointed at a small building off to the side.

After a few moments, as if he was waiting for you to change your mind, he nodded. 

The others finished up paying for parking, and headed for the beach. You and Tamaki caught up with them. “Hey, Nejire, me and Tamaki are actually gonna stop by the bathroom real quick. Pick us a good beach spot!” you said, before immediately running off.

The bathrooms were clean, aside from the sand on the floor tiles, and you practically dragged Tamaki inside. You haphazardly checked for people inside, and once deciding it was clear, you picked a stall and shoved you and Tamaki into it before locking the door.

He swallowed hard, standing nervously in front of you. “Are you sure about this?” you said, pushing your sunglasses to the top of your head. 

“Y-yes…” he murmured, nodding.

That was all you needed. You grabbed his face in your hands before pressing your lips to his, your tongue running against his sharp canines. He moaned softly as you tangled your fingers in his hair and pulled gently. His hands met your waist, your lips moving down to his jaw and to his neck, pressing soft kisses to the skin. Even though you would have loved to cover him in love-bites, the others would’ve definitely caught on.

He smelled divine, a deep earthy scent topped with a subtle vanilla, and you couldn’t get enough. His whimpers fueled you as your hands ran under his shirt, up all those muscles he worked so hard for, feeling every inch of his skin and bringing your lips back to his. 

“You’re so pretty,” you said against his lips.

His only response was a needy whine and an involuntary thrust of his hips against yours, reminding you what you came here for. Fingers gripped your hips, and you pressed your chest against his, his eyes darting down to see your breasts spilling out of your bikini top. He was getting restless, his hips bucking against you as you kissed him, grinding on you with minimal shame, his mortification replaced with sheer desire.

You sank to your knees before running your hands up his thighs. His eyes squeezed shut, and while you wanted to tease him more, you were certain the others would start to worry if you took too long.

So instead, you pulled his swim trunks down, his cock painfully hard and red, leaking precum from the tip. His head hit the wall of the stall as you took him into your hand, and he almost collapsed when you licked a stripe along the base of it, leaving a trail of spit.

“Oh god…” he whined.

He barely fit entirely into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat as you tried to take it all. His hands grasped at your hair, and he was a mess, his hips shaking as he bit his lip to hide his moans. “Oh- oh, I’m gonna… please, don’t stop-” His words were broken, but you understood, hollowing out your cheeks as you sucked him.

It only took a few more thrusts before he came, white and hot down your throat. A few tears spilled from his eyes, his breath hitching in his throat before escaping as a whimper.

You pulled your mouth off, wiping drool from your lips. “T-thank you. That was… wow…” he panted. Once he was dressed, you placed a soft kiss onto his cheek. 

“Maybe later you can return the favor?” you whispered into his ear before you both left the bathroom to rejoin your friends.

The winter was supposed to be over; snow turned to slush as the sun did everything it could to melt it all. But night came with freezing temperatures, turning slush into ice underlayers for the new snow to pile on top of. At the start of the winter, it was soft and powdery, but as the season matured, it became thicker, denser, piling into nigh impenetrable snow mounds and filling up every driveway and street until plows came to get rid of it all. They weren’t always successful, so UA elected to cancel classes for the week, deciding it would be better to allow the students a break, both for morale and to prevent any issues from the snow.

Back at the dorms after extra training, you shook ice and snow off your clothes as you left your shoes by the door. Changing clothes was your first task, replacing a sweaty gym uniform with a clean shirt and plaid pajama pants. Even with the cold outside, the dorms stayed warm and the heating system worked overtime to combat the falling temperatures as night came.

Now, you join your classmates in the common area, tuning in to whatever movie they were watching after squishing yourself onto the couch among Mina, Tsu, Jiro, and Hagakure, at Mina’s invitation, trying not to bump Denki, who sits on the arm of the couch right beside you. The others are scattered on the floor beside the couch, engrossed in the action movie on the screen.

A hand bumps your foot as you try to get comfortable. “Oh, sorry.” You look down to see Todoroki sitting below you, back up against the arm of the couch, his arm grazing your leg. He doesn't look at you, so you stay quiet, ignoring how hot your face gets.

You’re the first to admit the movie’s pretty lame, bad CGI paired with a weak plot, but to you, getting to spend time with your classmates is more important than the movie. Everyone else seems to enjoy it, even with Denki’s stage-whispers of, “What just happened?” and, “Who is that guy again?” that somehow make the movie more entertaining. 

Snow falls in thick, wet flakes outside the windows, piling onto the small ledges until everything is covered in white as far as the eye could see. You glance again, but you can’t see anything through the flurries whipping around in turbulent circles just outside the building. The lights in the common area flicker a few times, earning a few groans from the others as the movie flickers along with them. 

The movie wraps itself up, a satisfying enough ending even for an unsatisfying movie. Mina shuts off the TV, leaving the couch to stretch. “Well, guys, I’m beat! I’m outta here,” she says, wandering down the hall to her room. “Night, everyone!” Most of the others follow her, yawning as they say their goodnights and leave to their rooms.

You and Todoroki are the only ones left, you still on the couch, and him standing about a foot away, stretching with a sigh. His plain black shirt rides up as his arms reach above his head, exposing the waistband of his own pajama pants just below his toned stomach. You’re thankful he stays turned away, embarrassed by your own inability to keep your eyes to yourself. His training has done him justice, He checks his phone and puts it back into his pocket. “I’m heading out, too. See you tomorrow,” he says, always polite. 

You yawn in response. “Probably smart. I’ll see you in the morning. Night, Todoroki.”

“Goodnight.” He disappears down the hallway, leaving you to your own devices, alone in the common area. 

Your face is hot, even now that he’s gone. Most of the girls in class 1-A agree Todoroki holds the spot for the most attractive boy in the class, and his polite yet relatively aloof demeanor keeps him there. It isn’t like you aren’t friends, so conversation between you isn’t out of the ordinary or shocking, but it still makes you nervous to talk to him. And it especially makes you nervous to be alone with him.

Heaving a sigh, you take the elevator to your room. It’s not very productive to stay awake just thinking about a classmate, so you decide to do some reading, taking a seat on your bed, grabbing your blanket and draping it over yourself. 

A low hum echoes through your room as the lights flicker before cutting out completely, leaving the room in pitch black darkness, save for the faint moonlight coming through your small window. 

Oh, shit. That’s not good. 

You scramble for your bookmark and set your book down, still wrapped in your blanket as you chew on your bottom lip, trying to decide what to do. You continue to wait for the power to turn back on, eventually pulling out your phone to pass the time. 

But as the minutes tick by, it’s impossible to ignore the chill in the air. The heat turned off, judging by the silence, and left the dorms with no source of warmth to protect against the bleak weather. That’s really not good.

With no signs of the power returning, you groan, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders. What should you do? You can practically see the frostbite forming on your skin as the cold makes its way through your thin blanket. It’s too bad Denki already went to bed a while ago, so you doubt he’s still awake to restart the power. 

The dark doesn’t help, and you’re frighteningly alone in your quiet dorm. You turn on your phone flashlight, but you know the weak battery won’t be enough for even another hour. You wish you brought something battery powered to light your room, but you didn’t think that far ahead.

You shut your door tightly behind you as you tiptoe down the hall to the stairs beside the elevator. Hardly anyone ever uses them, but there’s a first time for everything, you suppose. The icy tiles freeze your slippered feet as you walk. Crisp air burns your nostrils as you grip the railing, fingers turning white as the frozen metal draws heat from your skin. The flight of stairs to the fifth floor is much more tedious in the dark, your phone flashlight illuminating every step up.

Reaching your destination, you knock gently on the door, hoping your target isn’t asleep.

No response. You turn to leave, but to your surprise, the door opens, revealing Todoroki. Behind him, soft orange light flickers onto the walls. “Yes?” he says. 

“I, uh- was just wondering if you had a candle you could spare me? Because the power, y’know… Well, I figured if anyone would have one, it would be you!” The chattering of your teeth apparently makes you talk a lot, and you have to clamp a frozen hand over your mouth to get words to stop falling from your lips.

He shakes his head, much to your dismay. “No, I’ve only got one, and I’m using it.”

A shiver runs down your spine in the cold hallway. “Oh, that’s okay! Sorry to bother you!” You move to leave, but a warm hand on your shoulder stops you.

“If you want, you could stay here,” he says. “I don’t have any idea how long we’ll be without heat. Or lights. And, I think we’re the only ones still awake.” He steps back into his room. 

Your eyes widen, but you go in regardless, feet padding on the tatami mats. It’s still chilly in here, much like your dorm. You’re grateful, however, for the light from the candle and also for his hospitality. He motions to the bed in the corner, gesturing for you to sit. “Thanks, I really didn’t want to just hang out by myself all night,” you say, perching gently at the foot of his bed. “It’s scary with no light.”

“No plans on sleeping?”

You breathe a laugh, fiddling with the hem of your plain shirt, though your fingers are sluggish.  “Can’t really sleep when blankets won’t do much for an eternal cold.”

He sits down on the bed too, but cross-legged at the other end from you. If you weren't so tense, you might have laughed at his respectful nature.  Nodding in understanding, he says, “Ah. I guess it is quite cold.” 

It makes sense he didn’t notice. “What about you, Todoroki?” you say. “Burning the midnight oil?” 

It’s hard for either of you to ignore the chills that wrack your body, even as you try to stabilize yourself. His eyes widen momentarily, and he stares at you, head tilted. To deny that his room is becoming colder would be impossible for you. It’s like someone opened a window to let more air in, because there’s no way the rooms should lose heat this quickly. You rub your arms, trying to bring any amount of blood flow back. And not to mention the flutter in your stomach at the fact that you are sitting on Todoroki’s bed, at night, alone, something that your female classmates would squeal at. 

He seems largely unaffected by the temperature and you being here, but that look on his face remains. Why is he looking at you like that? But he still doesn’t respond to your question, leaving you to clear your throat and try to avoid his gaze. “Are you okay? Is it too cold in here?” he says.

Your head snaps up before you shake it vehemently, waving your hands in the air in front of you. “No! No, I’m fine! R-really, don’t worry about me.” Your feeble attempt to reassure him is admirable, but he’s not convinced.

“Come here,” he says.

You laugh awkwardly, your breath forming a cloud of condensation in front of you. “W- um, what?” You stumble over your words, and you pray he thinks it’s just the cold. 

“You’re losing a lot of body heat, and even without light I can see your lips are turning blue. So, come here.” He holds his hands out to you and stretches his legs, staring at you expectantly. 

All the remaining heat in your body goes to your cheeks.

Every thought in your head runs rampant as your stiff body crawls over to Todoroki. His hands meet your shoulders, pulling you between his knees with your legs slung over his right thigh. Your side presses into the left side of his chest and his arms wrap around you.

His heat pervades your body, and you shiver in his grasp. Jesus, he’s so warm. Even in the dead of winter, he’s burning hot like sand on a beach in summer, and you couldn’t be more grateful. 

“Is this better?” he asks, breaking the silence. Probably an obvious question, but you’re sure his polite nature made him ask anyway.

You nod, swallowing hard. “Yes. Thank you.” Your body warms up, heat blossoming beneath your skin where his body meets yours.

But, as you bring yourself to look up at him and your eyes meet, you’re acutely aware of his hands on your waist, and the way the light from the solitary candle dances on his face, illuminating the jagged, reddish-brown scar that expands over the left side of his face. And his smell — warm and intoxicating, it infiltrates your brain until it short-circuits. Becoming bold with your newfound warmth, you reach a hand up to touch him, but something flashes in his eyes and his hand grips your wrist in an instant, pulling your hand away and making you gasp softly.

His eyes widen and he releases you. “I’m- I’m sorry…” he murmurs.

Hesitant fingers reach again, and this time, your hand connects with his face. His breath hitches reflexively and his eyes dart away from yours in shame. You swear you’ve never seen him like this, so unguarded. You run your fingers over the edge of his scar, where smooth skin meets raised. It’s mesmerizing you think, the way the discoloration feathers out, harsh and delicate edges alike making up the left side of his face. Your palm moves to his cheek and his gaze meets yours again. 

The sight is like a punch to the stomach, leaving you breathless as he stares into you, your hand on his face. One brown eye, dark like freshly-brewed black coffee, warm and inviting. The other, blue and glacial, like a cold winter’s night, much like this one. The dichotomy was almost laughable as his blue eye was more akin to night and the other, like day. 

Your other hand meets his face and you bring him closer to you. Inches apart, your eyes flitter around his face. Your fingertips slide into his silken hair, making his grip on your waist tighten, palms sweating over your shirt. 

“You’re beautiful, Shōto,” you say, and that’s all it takes.

His lips meet yours, unexpectedly gentle, and you can’t help but sigh. Your lids flutter closed and you’re ascending, heart beating out of your chest as you’re convinced heaven is real. Tangling your fingers into his hair, he groans into you and his hands leave your waist for the first time in a long time. You try to keep track of them, but they’re all over you, leaving trails of fire in their wake. No inch of your skin goes untouched, he makes sure of that.

Oh, god. This can’t be real. You can’t help but think of what your classmates would say if they knew you were here tonight. But, on the other hand, what they don’t know can’t hurt them, right? 

It’s like he’s a different person, his usual detached persona gone in favor of a gentle, kind boy. He’s careful with you, hands never straying too far downwards as if he’s afraid you’ll brave the frigid halls just to get away. You wish you could tell him you wouldn’t leave, that you won’t, but your desire to keep his lips on yours is all-consuming. He’s addicting, and you can’t seem to get enough. His scent, his taste, everything about him is addling your brain, your only thoughts of this moment, right now.

You move so you’re facing him, kneeling between his legs, no longer in need of the warmth he so graciously gave you. His fingers grab at the hem of your shirt, snaking underneath it to feel your bare stomach, lingering on your hips. You whimper softly into him, and you move to take your shirt off.

Lips leave yours. “Stop,” Todoroki says, and your eyes snap open. 

“What’s wrong?” you say, wiping drool off your lips. Did you do something? Did you misread him? Oh, god…

Hands on your shoulders, he sighs. “I don’t want you to think this was my intention.”

You tilt your head at him. “You mean you didn’t… want to kiss me?”

He shakes his head. “No, it’s not that. I… I just feel like I’m taking advantage of you. You didn’t come here for this. I was only supposed to keep you from freezing to death and now-”

“Stop it,” you say, your arms wrapping around the back of his neck. “I don’t think that about you. I came here for a reason, yeah, but… you are keeping me from freezing. But, if you want to stop, we can.”

“I don’t want to.”

Your phone rang, forcing you out of the shower as you quickly found a towel to wrap haphazardly around your body before picking up. It was Charlie Walker, a boy in one of your classes this year. He never called, only when he needed to talk about a project for your class, and against your better judgment, you picked up. “Hello?” 

“Are you busy? You should come by Kirby’s house. I want to show you something.” He hung up before even giving you a chance to respond. He sounded flustered, like he was calling while he was in the middle of something. You remembered that tonight was supposed to be the Stabathon. When given the invite, you had mumbled something about homework, but in truth, you just wanted a Friday night to yourself. Until Charlie called, apparently. 

It took a while for your brain to toss around the idea of seeing what he wanted versus the idea of staying home by yourself. The murders in the town didn’t surprise you, but they did scare you, and the thought of leaving home to go to someone else’s house, likely amid all the suspects, wasn't appealing either. While you tried to rationalize it in your head, you quickly towel-dried your hair and put some clothes on, a simple t-shirt and jeans. 

You decided to go. He probably just wanted to show you some new horror movie he bought from the video store. You were probably the only one in town who would care enough to humor him. He was a nice guy, albeit a little weird, his obsession with horror movies putting you off. He wasn’t ugly, in fact, quite the opposite, but his hobbies made you think twice about even giving him a second glance. 

It wasn’t a long walk to Kirby’s house, though it took you a little longer than usual because of your nervous glances into the night in every direction you heard a slight sound, and as you stepped into her driveway, you realized how odd it was that she didn’t invite you herself. Odder still was the fact that he invited you. You only had a few conversations in passing, or during class about how much you hated the teacher. The only reason you had his number was because you had to work together on a project, and since then you only called or texted with assignment questions. Nothing more. So it was odd for Charlie to call out of the blue, especially so late at night.

You knocked on the door, shifting your weight between your feet awkwardly as you waited. No one came to answer the door, so you stood there, hesitantly. Should you leave? Should you try the door? It was unlocked, you found out. You walked in, leaving the door ajar in case you had to make a quick exit. You heard a muffled sound from upstairs. “Hello?” you called out. “Is there anyone there?” No response.

As you walked into the entryway, down the small hallway into the living room, you found it empty. Carpet scuffed behind you. “Charlie?” You whirled around, back now to the couches.

“Hey, you made it.” Charlie stood in the entrance to the hallway you just came down, the front door open more than how you left it behind him. He held his hands oddly just behind his legs, jeans stained dark with something, though he was still too far away for you to see clearly. “I’ve got something to show you.”

“Charlie, what’s going on? Where is everyone?”

He stepped closer to you. “Expecting a party? Nah, they all, um… They’re all out on the patio.” Visible now was his white shirt that was splattered with red, right down to the sleeves.

You nod. “Oh, okay. Um… Charlie? What’s that on your shirt?” No answer. Instead, he closed the distance between you, and you reacted too slowly to step backwards away from him. He grabbed your hand, then the other, holding them both in his. With him so close to you, you could see the blood that smeared around the wound on his forehead, the blood caked into his hair, strands sticking to his sweaty face. “You’re hurt… Charlie, you’re scaring me.” 

“Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you…” His voice trembled almost as much as he did, his hands shaking around yours. 

“Charlie… What did you do?”

He smiled shakily, blue eyes boring into yours. He led you by your hands out onto the patio, opening the glass sliding door and stepping down the stairs. It was hard to see much of anything, but Charlie grabbed your chin and angled your face downwards to look at the ground where Kirby laid, covered in blood, convulsing from multiple stab wounds. Your eyes widened as you tried to wrench your hand out of his grasp, trying to make a run for the door, but Charlie stopped you and stood beside you, watching with a sick sense of pride on his face. He didn’t let go of your hand. “You didn’t like her, remember? You always gave me this look when she would talk in class…” he said. His eyes never left her body.

“Is she still alive?”

“For now. Not for much longer.” You swallowed the lump in your throat. You had never been more terrified in your life. Your hand began to sweat around his, but when you looked down, you saw it was not only sweat that made your hand wet. His hand, covered in blood, left smears of red all over yours. A part of you wanted to run, to avoid the psychopathic killer that held your hand next to you. The other part though, was petrified, too afraid to do anything but stare at your classmate.

“The others too?” Your voice was hardly loud enough for you to hear. He nodded. “Why, Charlie? Why did you kill them?”

He said nothing, instead leading you back into the house. From behind him, you could see the hunting knife in the back pocket of his jeans, the blood that coated it soaking through the denim. He kept leading you through the house, up the stairs into Kirby’s bedroom. Jill’s body lay at the doorway, her blood seeping into the carpet, but he stepped over her, shutting the door behind both of you. Her bedroom was still spotless, Jill having never made it into the room before he stabbed her twice, once in the stomach and once just beside the heart, leaving her still alive, her breath slow and short, as likely there weren’t many left. 

A mirror hung above Kirby’s vanity desk, and Charlie led you to stand in front of it. He released your hand, pulling out the chair at the desk and motioning for you to sit. He left a bloody handprint when he let go. You sat down gingerly. He ran his hands through your hair, moving it to expose your neck on both sides. “Charlie,” was all you could manage to say. He pulled the knife out of his back pocket, pressing it against your neck. You inhaled sharply, eyes wide and breathing heavy like a rabbit running from its predator. He didn’t move the knife though, simply resting it against your skin. 

“This is the reason. This is why I did it. For you,” he murmured against your neck, face buried in your hair. “You hated all these people more than I did.”

“They didn’t deserve to die, Charlie. I would never have wanted this. You’ll go to prison for what you’ve done.”

He swallowed hard, his grasp on the knife tightening. “But I did this for you. And now that they’re all gone… We can finally be happy. Just you and me.” His voice shook, tears wetting his face and your hair as he quietly sobbed into you. His eyes were squeezed shut, leaving you to look at yourself in the mirror, face ghost-white. You sat paralyzed at the sight before you.

“Charlie…”

You could smell the blood on him, his hand leaving trails wherever it touched. And touch it did. He ran his hand over your face, down your neck, down your shoulder, reaching around his knife to touch you. He caressed every part of you he could reach, a sharp gasp escaping you when his hand reached your breast. 

He snapped his eyes open, cheeks wet from crying, face red with emotions you couldn’t decipher. He looked at you in the mirror, holding his hand stationary over your body. “Will you let me make you happy?”

It wasn’t as if you had a choice, you told yourself. It was this or death, and he didn’t have a track record of killing someone on the first try, if Kirby and Jill were any evidence. That didn’t seem like a merciful way to go. So you nodded. He dropped the knife onto the vanity, the remnant blood on it leaving small puddles on the white wood. He grabbed your body and pulled you out of the chair into a kiss, one that was sloppy and slightly off-center. His hands gripped the sides of your face and tangled into your hair as he refused to pull away, as if he was afraid if he did you would run. 

You reached for the buttons on his shirt, fiddling with them as he pulled on your hair harder, making what felt like all your blood rush to your head. Except it wasn’t all your blood, you noticed as Charlie pulled away, gasping slightly for breath. He stared into your focused face as you unbuttoned as many of the buttons as you could, your ice-cold fingers making him hiss as they grazed his flushed skin. 

“Are my hands cold?” you whispered, eyes still locked on the shirt button beneath your fingers. He nodded and looked away from you sheepishly. “Sorry… I’m a little nervous…” 

With the last button, he left the shirt on and pushed you backwards onto the bed. You sat at the edge of the bed, the plush duvet beneath you matching your form as you waited. Pulling at the edge of your shirt, he quietly told you to remove it. You did, yanking the black shirt over your head and tossing it onto the floor. He knelt in front of you. He ran his hands up your calves, up to your knees and back down again. Pressing soft kisses into your jeans, he gently unzipped your boots, pulling them off and dropping them onto the ground with a thud. 

He looked up at you from his resting place on the floor, eyes dark and filled with lust and something else you couldn’t place. You gazed at him, hand reaching for one of his. Once you found your target, you brought it up to your face, placing kisses along his blood-covered palm, running your tongue along his fingers before returning it back to its original place. 

Charlie leaned over you, pushing you back onto the bed. His face was inches from yours when he mumbled, “You’re beautiful…” He pressed you into another kiss, biting your lip softly before pulling away again, his fingers running down your stomach to the waistband of your jeans. 

He unbuttoned them, kissing along the skin of your hips as he pulled your jeans lower and lower, kissing down to the waistband of your underwear. He slid his hands under your hips, lifting them up before yanking your jeans to your knees, and finally pulling them off entirely. You gasped softly as his lips connected with your inner thigh. His hands never stopped moving, running themselves up and down your legs, up your stomach to squeeze at your breasts through your bra, as he left bite marks along the soft flesh of your upper thighs. 

His fingers slid under the waistband of your underwear, and you flinched, pulling away from him as he pulled them down and off of you. He shushed you softly. “Don’t worry… I’m not gonna hurt you…” You whimpered faintly, out of a mix of fear and arousal. Never thought those two emotions would overlap, you thought, but being naked save for your bra in front of a homicidal maniac wasn’t something you thought you’d do either. Although, he was much less frightening now that he no longer held that hunting knife in his hand, now just a regular man ready to please you. It was almost romantic. Almost. But each time you attempted to think so, your brain showed you images of the bodies throughout the house, skin running cold as yours grew hotter with lust as if to prove you were wrong. They could likely hear you, at least you were sure Jill could, hearing your shaky whispers of his name, the name of the man that killed them all. Guilt ran through you, feeling horrible for even slightly enjoying yourself while the others died instead. It was almost too much to bear, even knowing that this was your only choice lest you ended up like the others.

He looked up at you, eyes holding yours like he was trying to reach into your head to find out what was behind it. “You okay?” he said, his breath fanning between your thighs, leaving goosebumps in its wake and forcing your thighs to close together involuntarily. Hands firmly held them apart, awaiting your response. 

You simply nodded, and with your acceptance, he finally ran his tongue along you, making you shudder in his grasp. You groaned, your hands twitching in their hunt to find his hair, and when they did they pulled against it. He hummed into you in approval. His tongue was on a quest, it seemed, to find every nerve and sensitive spot it could. Whimpers and pleas of his name were all you could manage, his tongue running over your clit like a starving man who was eating his first meal in months. He hummed against you, your hands twisting into his soft brown curls as his thumbs ran soft circles around your skin.

He released your leg, instead using his fingers to slide along your opening, forcing a moan out of your lips. The sheets were your hands' next target, gripping the duvet so hard your knuckles turned white as he pushed two fingers into you. His tongue continued to explore you as his fingers began to pull in and out of you, picking up the pace as your needy moans got louder and louder.

"Charlie, don't…. Don't stop…" you murmured.

He didn't listen. Instead, he immediately pulled away from your body, strings of fluid connecting him to you. He stood up, and you simply watched him as he wiped his mouth with the hem of his bloodied sleeve. "I can't take it anymore… I have to feel you," he whimpered, jittery fingers fidgeting with the buckle on his belt. "Fuck, I can't get this goddamn thing-"

You sit up with a start, gently pushing his hands away and pulling his belt out of the buckle yourself. With his belt unbuckled, you ran your hands down his stomach, down to the button on his pants as you pulled him into another kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue. His jeans came unbuttoned easily, but he didn't seem to care at that moment, instead focusing on his tongue working into your mouth with his hands tangled into your hair.

He cared, however, when you pushed your hand into his pants, causing him to gasp and pull away, staring down at his crotch where your hand was caressing him through his underwear. His hands left you and he removed his jeans, shaky hands struggling to grab the waistband at first. 

Hardly giving you the time to even see what color his underwear were, he pushed you back down onto the bed, getting on top of you, his knees on either side of your legs. He was almost naked now, save for the blood-stained button up he still wore. 

You couldn't help the thoughts of stopping, wanting so badly for it to just be over so you could go home. Alive. But another part of you wanted this, wanted this boy from class so badly you went to a borderline stranger's house, even that pit in your stomach knowing what he had done before you even left your house. Hair falling around you like a curtain, he stared at you incredulously, face red and panting, as if he could not believe that it was you that was beneath him. He took himself into his hands, groaning at his own touch, before leaning down to your ear. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this…" he whispered before filling you.

Charlie moaned loudly, his stomach pressed into yours, chest to chest as he began to move slowly into you. Eyes squeezed shut, your lip was stuck under your teeth as he kissed your neck, leaving small love bites along the soft skin. "Oh, god… Charlie, please…"

He took the hint and moved faster. You whined at his speed, clawing at his back through his shirt with your fingernails. You were sure you left marks, even through the thin fabric, just as he left marks on your body, lips and teeth moving to your chest to leave bruises there too. His brows furrowed together, eyes sealed shut like an envelope containing whimpers that were meant to be words of satisfaction. He trembled atop you, moans becoming louder and needier as his pace quickened. “Oh, my god… I’m… Fuck…” Words spilled out of his mouth like an unbridled river, rushing and wild as he spoke to you, words full of no meaning at all. Most of them were your name, mixed with anything else that could come to his addled brain as his hips snapped into yours.

The pace was brutal, leaving you convinced he left bruises against your hip bones as he chased his own orgasm. He continued to pound into you, your body begging for your own release. You gripped his shoulders, carving half-moon shapes into them as your nails dug into his soft skin, your orgasm ripping through you as his pace increased, if that was even possible. "I'm… Oh, shit…" were his last words as his high washed over him, his release filling you as he reached deeper and deeper into you as if he wanted your body to remember his shape for the rest of your life.

His brows were knit together, with no intention of separating again. His hips stilled and tears began to escape his eyes, wetting his lashes as he cried. "Oh, shit, Charlie. Are you okay?" you said, placing a gentle hand on his face.

He just nodded, though the tears didn't stop. Pulling out of you, he stood up and started getting dressed again, offering you a sweaty and red stained hand to help you up. You took it, picking up your clothes off the floor.

As you turned your shirt inside out, you looked at Charlie, who simply stood in front of the mirror, staring at himself, his face red and stained with his tears. The knife still rested on the desk. "What now?" you said, still trying to figure which side of your shirt was the front.

"We get to be together now… Forever."

Your face turned sad, a pained expression on your face. "Charlie, I have to call the police."

"No, you don't. We don't have to tell anyone."

"I have to. They might still be alive. You could plead guilty and get a reduced sentence." Your voice broke as you spoke to him. "Please, you have to understand."

"Don't you dare fucking call them," he warned, still staring into his reflection.

You set your shirt down on the bed before walking over to him, placing a hand on his arm. "You won't have to be in prison for long, Charlie."

He grimaced, turning to face you. "I'm not going to fucking prison!" 

In a split second, he lunged forward, the knife in his hand again. You didn't have any time to react before it was plunged into your stomach. All the air escaped your lungs as you fell to the ground, convulsing and gasping for any oxygen you could get. "Charlie…" you choked.

He pulled the knife out for a few seconds, simply staring at the sight of your blood on it before stabbing you again, right next to where he did so the first time. When he yanked the knife out again, you scrunched your face up in pain, more so than before. He stared at you for what felt like a lifetime before dropping to the ground next to you. He grabbed your face with both of his hands, gently shaking you. "Fuck. Oh, fuck. Shit, what have I done?" He muttered the same things over and over again, running his trembling hands through his hair as he knelt beside you. "Fuck, I didn't mean to! I'm so sorry!" 

All your other friends are entirely drunk. There aren't many options for you, except him. You’re sure he hasn’t had very much to drink; he likes to stay calculating, and he can’t do that if he’s drunk, so he's at least available to drive. It’s not like you don’t want to ask necessarily, but you know nothing with him ever comes for free. You swallow your pride and go up behind him, tapping him on the shoulder. He turns around, still laughing at something someone else said, until he sees your face. His face drops, a slight scowl appearing instead. “What do you want?”

You glance down at the drink in his hand, less than half full. “How much have you had to drink, Anasui?” you ask, even though you know the answer.

“Two, counting this,” he says, gesturing with the cup in his hand. “Why?”

A sigh escapes you. He knows, you’re sure, what you need from him, but instead he’s choosing to make your life difficult. The other people he was originally talking to have returned to their conversation without him. “My friend drove me here, and she’s gone now. So…” you trail off.

“Where is she?”

You squint, and say, “To the house of some guy she just met. Which leaves me here. Without a ride home.”

He takes a drink, thinking hard about something. “And you need me to drive you home, is that it?”

You nod. “Yeah. Can you?”

“Of course I can. I’m just not sure I want to. What’s in it for me?”

You cross your arms. “You get to spend a car ride with me, isn’t that enough?”

He shakes his head. “Not even close.”

Becoming more desperate, you scramble for something he can get in return, racking your brain for everything you can think of that costs money. He won’t settle for a nice dinner, you’ve tried that once before. No, he wants something more substantial as payment. But what could you give him that he doesn’t already have? 

“How about we make a deal, as to your payment?” you say after a long while. You fidget with the edge of your dress, one that’s far too short and shows far too much skin to be comfortable in, the one your friend made you wear. It’s hard to ignore the feeling of everyone’s eyes sliding over you, especially the man in front of you.

His brows raise skeptically. “I’m listening.”

You can’t meet his eyes any longer, your last resort coming out. “If I can’t think of an acceptable payment, you get to pick. And… I can’t say no.” 

He laughs. “What?”

“You’d be able to take whatever payment you felt was necessary, if I can’t think of anything in the meantime.” Your eyes finally flick back up to his, the hard unwelcoming stare almost too much for you. He’s silent for longer than you’d like, and your inability to make eye contact with him while he contemplates your offer leads you looking elsewhere, analyzing the rest of him.

His fishnet top draws your attention to his toned stomach, and the pierced nipples just above it. You can’t help but stare, each plain silver barbell glinting in the harsh lights of the house party, like the several necklaces which hang between them. When you can finally draw your eyes from his chest, you trail them downward, immediately flicking them away from him entirely at the sight of his extremely low-rise flared pants, which barely cover much of anything, clinging to his hip bones for dear life, a black g-string riding high above them. Large stars are printed into the purple velvet, adorned with rhinestones around the edge of each one. His black, sparkly, star patterned platform boots make him a solid four inches taller than he usually is, making this whole conversation even more intimidating.

Anasui frowns. “Fine,” he finally says. “Let’s go, then.” He dangles his car keys in front of you, quickly putting them back into his pocket. He passes off his drink to someone else who takes it gladly.

You sigh with relief. Honestly, you weren’t sure that would work at all. “Thank you, I’ll-”

He cuts you off by grabbing your wrist, expertly weaving you through the throngs of people, careful of the drinks in everyone's hands. He pulls you back down the stairs, avoiding the couch in the living room, and pushes past the people standing near the door. When it opens, the rush of the cold air hits your skin, brushing it with goosebumps within a few seconds. Anasui lets go of your hand, letting you walk side by side to where his car is parked in the street. The pink Mercedes is easy to spot, the rhinestone studded hubcaps shining in the porch lights of the house.

You can't think of anything to say to him, the awkwardness settling between you as you open the car door. There's a few things sitting in the passenger seat. "Oh, sorry. Just put it in the back," he says. 

You do just that, putting the jacket, the phone charger, and the bag of chips onto the backseat. His car is very clean otherwise, no crumbs or dust to be seen. It smells like perfume, the particular perfume he wears all the time. As he puts his key in and starts his car, you realize that it's not his car that smells like that; it's him. Now that you're out of the party, his scent is no longer covered by the stench of alcohol, and in the small space of the car, it's all you can smell. Your face reddens as his hand wraps around the gear shift, pulling it out of park and into drive. "A picture would last longer," he says.

You look away from him faster than he can blink, unaware you were even staring. Your face feels hot, but you're certain it pales in comparison to him. "Sorry… It was an-"

"I know it's hard not to stare," he says smugly, his pink lips pulling into a conceited smile. If you weren’t terrified to touch him, you're sure you would smack him.

But as you trail your eyes down his body, you’re reminded why you choose to keep your hands off him. If he never spoke, you’re sure, he would be much more attractive than you can currently admit. 

As if he could sense your wandering thoughts, he speaks again. “Which way do I turn now?”

It serves as a reminder of why you’re even in his car in the first place, a reminder you apparently need to have written on the inside of your eyelids to prevent you from forgetting you aren’t here to makeout with him. “Left at this light, and then you turn right a little ways after.”

He makes the turn, going even though the light has already turned yellow, hands deftly moving around the wheel, his pink acrylics softly clacking together as he makes the turn, taking it at least fifteen miles over the speed limit, causing your breath to hitch and your hand to grab the handle on the door to stabilize yourself. Anasui laughs. “Relax.” He straightens the car back out. “Is it this street or the next one?”

“The next one,” you say once you’ve caught your breath again. 

“So,” he says, turning down your street. “What is my reward for doing this?” Your face pales. You hadn’t really thought about it much, hoping he would forget, even though you knew better. “Aww, does that mean it’s my choice?”

You sigh, closing your eyes in frustration. “It does. What do I have to do?” 

He avoids your question. “Which house is yours? Is it 1202 or 1203? I can never seem to remember.”

“It’s 1203, Anasui, stop fucking around. Answer the question.”

A satisfied smile on his face as he pulls into your driveway, putting his car into park. “No need to be rude. I did give you a ride home. And so far, it was for free. I think that means you owe me another payment, don’t you?”

 “No, it doesn’t. The deal was one payment. You never set any conditions on my treatment of you, so that doesn’t count. Now, what the hell do you want?”

He frowns. “Fine, one payment.”

“What do I have to do?” All you want is for him to get to the point. He’s just playing with you, asking questions he already knows the answer to. Anasui’s been to at least a hundred parties at your house too, so he knows where you live better than he knows the way to his own house. Your roommate is the one that always throws them, and Anasui always ends up there, invited or not. He wants to make you wait. He wants to push you over the edge in anticipation, refusing to say what he wants. 

“I seem to have been put in a predicament. See, I’ve been pulled away from a party before I wanted to leave. And that means that I didn’t get to do what I went there to do,” he says, turning to face you. It’s hard for you to look at him, his half-lidded violet eyes peering straight into yours. 

You swallow the lump in your throat. “And what does that mean?”

“It means you have to help me.” He reaches across the console and places his hand on your chin, angling your face downward. It’s at that moment you finally figure out what he’s talking about. His already tight pants look even tighter with the growing erection underneath them. 

Your eyes widen at the sight of it, face reddening and pulse racing as you push his hand off and move as far away from him as you can. “You don’t mean-”

He shakes his head. “Just use your mouth.”

“Anasui, I- I can’t do this. My roommate’s right inside… What if she comes out and sees us? My neighbors-” You rattle off excuses, but your eyes can’t stay locked on his face. Not even his lengthy false eyelashes under shimmery lavender eyeshadow and penciled on pink brows are enough to keep you focused there. “Anasui, I can’t…” you whisper.

“They won’t see…” he murmurs. “Please…? Or at least use your hands.”

You frown. You did say that he could pick what he wanted from you, and that you couldn’t say no. And he’s right, you did make him leave the party much earlier than he wanted. And you can’t lie to yourself; he looks incredible right now, especially so desperate. “Alright, Anasui,” you say, leaning over to him. “I’ll help you. But there’s one rule.”

It’s so strange. It seems under the streetlights and sitting in your driveway, he’s a completely different person. The stern and unfriendly exterior he usually shows is nowhere to be seen, replaced with a softer and more submissive side of him. Even at the house parties your roommate throws, everytime he spoke to you, or anyone else, for that matter, he was always in control. You never would’ve guessed he would relinquish that so easily, although maybe he’ll put up more of a fight. “What is it?” he says.

“You can’t touch me. If you put your hands on me, I stop and I go inside, and I go to bed, and you deal with it yourself. Deal?”

He nods. “Okay, deal.”

You get as close to him as you can with the console in the way, reaching for the button on his pants. He sits up further to help you unbutton them, letting you undo the zipper. “Pull them down, Narciso.” He whimpers at you using his first name, but follows your instruction. His pants are at his knees now, his black lace g-string visible to you. You’re not necessarily surprised that he wears things like this, and you saw it above his pants before, but the lace covering his soft skin draws heat to your face anyway. 

Placing a soft hand on his lower stomach, he gasps at your touch. He doesn’t really need the foreplay, but you don’t want him to have the satisfaction of getting what he wants yet. Your face is inches away from the lace of his underwear as you run your hand up and down his stomach. You can see he’s looking right down your dress, and a part of you wishes he wouldn’t, but the twitch from his underwear changes your mind. “Don’t tease me…” he mumbles.

You roll your eyes and lift your head up until you’re eye level again. Running your hand through his hair, you press your lips against his. “Don’t be ungrateful, Narciso, or I’ll stop.”

“Fine,” he says, but you cut off the rest of his snide comment with a hand on his erection. He moans, biting his lip to stop it. 

The lace doesn’t stop you from feeling the heat coming off of him as you run a finger on his tip, his eyes squeezing shut as the fabric becomes damp. You don’t stop, continuing to rub him back and forth through the lace until you’re sure there’s tears in his eyes. “Take this off…” you say, snapping the string against the skin of his hip. He wastes no time pulling it down to his knees. 

You take him into your hand, your thumb rubbing his tip again. He twitches in your hand as you begin to move it up and down. He groans, his hands ghosting above you, unsure of what to do with them. “Don’t stop…” he begs.

The thought crosses your mind, of how evil it would be to stop now, as he writhes beneath you, his hands behind his neck to hold himself back from touching you. It would satisfy you immensely to feel his hand on your back, just to leave him to do the job himself as you go into your house. But he doesn’t touch you, and he’s breathing heavier now, so you decide to keep going. You bend your head down to his crotch, your breath against him causing him to moan again. The rise and fall of his chest is erratic, like his hips bucking up into your hand. He moans breathlessly, his head hitting the back of the seat as you finally take him into your mouth. You’re sure he’s almost finished right then, his eyes squeezing shut as you run your tongue along him, feeling every vein and every pulse of his racing heartbeat. 

He holds on a little longer, though, an expert at maintaining self control. You want to tell him to just let go, to let himself finish, but your mouth is a little busy at the moment. His hips continue to slam into your face, begging you to keep going. You oblige, humming softly with your lips around him. He groans shakily as his breathing becomes less consistent by the second. “I’m- I’m close… Don’t stop…” he mumbles.

You laugh softly and continue, your hand rubbing what doesn’t fit in your mouth, although you’re sure it would if you really tried. Your other hand slides up and down his thigh, the smooth skin receiving red half moon indentions as you dig your nails into it before continuing to caress him. He groans and his hips stutter. His hand hits the passenger seat, gripping the side of it so hard his knuckles turn white. “Oh- oh my-” he can’t form a complete thought as his orgasm rips through him, his head pressed back into the seat. Soft pink lips are parted into an eternal moan as he comes down from his high.

Your tongue slides over his entire length, licking up the mess. He sighs as his body relaxes, but he still doesn’t touch you. He follows your instructions so well you consider rewarding him for his patience. “That was a fantastic reward, you know… Maybe I should give you a ride home more often,” he says as you sit up, trails of spit and everything else connecting you to him. His usual persona is back, and you can’t tell how you feel about it. 

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “I’d say anytime, but I don’t know about that.”

“Oh, really?” He pulls his pants back up, buttoning them back up as he becomes decent again. “You mean to tell me you didn’t enjoy it?” he sighs, his hand reaching toward your face, only to stop short.

“You can touch me.”

He tilts his head, but doesn’t retreat his hand. “You said-”

You rub your thighs together, hoping he thinks you’re just getting more comfortable. “I know what I said. But, I don’t think I mean that anymore.” The whole affair had really gotten you going, actually. It’s not every day you get to suck off an incredibly hot man in his pink Mercedes, no matter how much of an asshole he is. The way his face is still flushed from your previous escapade and the way his breathing isn’t quite back to normal puts heat to your skin. You’re grateful for the dim lights of the streetlights in the late night sky. “I would actually… I’d actually like it if you touched me,” you say.

His hand connects to your face, resting along your jaw as he pulls you into a kiss, one that smears his lipstick onto your lips. Your arms wrap around his neck, and he says, “You’re evil, you know that?”

“I know. I’m sorry,” you say between kisses. 

He smiles against your lips. “It seems I don’t have anything to do for the night, if you felt like continuing this inside…?”

You hum. “My roommate’s probably sitting in the living room, Narciso.” His hands snake under the hem of your dress, sliding up your thigh until he’s met with your underwear. It’s a very tempting offer, and you would very much enjoy not spending the night alone. “But-” You cut off with a gasp as he kisses your neck, sucking hard on the sensitive spots. “I’m not sure I care…”

The snow crunches under your boots, footprints left behind with each step you take. You sigh, pulling your coat tighter around you and watching your breath melt the snow flurries that drift through the air. The sidewalk is entirely white, along with the ground around it, the grass that used to be there no longer visible. 

A bench catches your eye. Children yell and play in the snow in the center of the park, building snowmen and having the times of their lives. Their parents pay them no mind, chatting with each other while they avoid their kids. 

Just like everything else, the bench is covered in snow. You brush a gloved hand along the surface, sweeping away the mountain of powdery snow that rests upon it. The chill runs through your body, starting in your hands as the snow melts through your gloves. When you finish, you sit down, your long coat protecting you from the freezing cold seat.

Your phone dings in your pocket, prompting you to pull your glove off to see the message. Just a spam email. 

You texted him before you left the house, making sure he was still planning to show. He never responded. Against your better judgment, you left anyway, leaving you sitting by yourself on this park bench, watching the happy couples walk past you, hand in hand, laughing and smiling and having fun. You can't help but feel jealous of their happiness, of their time spent with ones who truly love them.

Nevertheless, you stay, a shred of hope in your soul that you’re wrong. 

A man walks towards the bench, the only person you’ve seen by themself, aside from you. His hat is speckled white with snow, catching it as he walks through the park, and his black coat is no different. In fact, most every part of him is covered in snow, save for his long blond hair, resting neatly down his back. A large scar runs down his cheek, breaking up his face with a long pink line.

He sits on the other side of the bench, a comfortable distance away from you, leg crossed over the other. Silence follows. You look at him, then away, and back a few more times, trying to decide if you should say something. 

“Are you waiting for someone?” he says, before you get the chance to say anything.

“Sorry?”

He turns to look at you. “Forgive me for saying so, but this is an odd place to come alone, unless you don’t plan to be alone very long.” His statement should have hurt your feelings, but he’s right. It is an odd place to be alone, especially on a day like this.

You sigh. “Yeah, I am waiting for someone… Or, I was. I don’t think he’s coming.”

He shakes his head. “Any person that would give up someone as lovely as you is a fool in my book.” You laugh, shaking your head. He holds a hand out to you. “The name’s Speedwagon.”

You shake his hand. “Right. Are you waiting for someone, then?”

“No, those days are long gone for me. I simply came to enjoy the snow. I hardly make a habit of going on dates anymore.” He takes his hat off as he stands up, dusting himself off and brushing stray hair out of his face. “However, I might make an exception for you, my dear. Care to join me?” he says, offering you his arm to help you up. 

With a heavy sigh, you set your phone down, hearing it clatter against the tabletop. The number is already dialed, except the last number. You hold a frame in your hand, a creased picture set inside. Abbacchio watches you from the photo, his dark eyes watching each part of you tear the other apart as you pick the phone up again. Putting in the last number, you call again. Sixth time’s a charm? It rings once. You grip the frame tighter, almost shattering the glass inside as you pray you don't hear his voicemail again. Twice. Three times. You bite your lip, crossing your other arm under your chest as you anticipate the fourth ring. 

It doesn't come, instead replaced by silence for a split second. "Hello?" you say, standing up out of your chair and pacing around the kitchen.

"This will have to be quick, I don't have much time. Is everything okay?" he says, his voice low.

You breathe a sigh of relief. "I just needed to hear your voice. I worry about you. I hate when you have to leave home like this."

He stays quiet for a few moments. "You made the choice to marry a gangster… I didn't want this life for you, but I can't change it," he says. 

"I did it because I love you. But I wish that I didn't have to worry about whether you're going to make it home every night."

There's the sound of a gunshot on the other side of the phone. "Listen, I gotta go. See you when I can."

Your eyes fill with tears, threatening to spill over at the slightest provocation. "Okay. See you. I love you," you say, but he hangs up before you can finish.

The phone hits the floor, and you don't pick it up. Collapsing into your chair, you rest your forehead in your hands. You don't know what you expected, but at least he's alive. That's more than you could have asked for. 

You wait around for him all night, waiting for him to come home and hold you again. The hours tick by, each one feeling slower than the last. You spin the ring he bought with someone else’s money around your finger, becoming paranoid that you’ll never see him again. Tears fall from your eyes, splattering onto the tabletop below you. 

The hand on the doorknob a while later startles you, whipping your head around to see him. The door swings open towards you as he walks in. His shirt is dark with blood, but you don’t even register it anymore. You signed up for that. He sighs and pulls up his chair next to you at the table. “I’m scared, Leone,” you say softly. “I don’t think you see how this hurts me. I love you, and I can’t stand the thought of losing you.”

“I know. And I’m sorry. I hate having to leave you, but I don’t have a choice,” he says, looking into your eyes. He pulls you out of your chair and into his, your back against his chest as he wraps his arms around you. 

You’re sure there will be blood stains on your shirt later, soaking from his shirt to yours, but you melt into his touch anyway, just glad you got him back tonight, even if he’ll be ripped away again soon. “Can you do something for me?” You look up at him, meeting his eyes again.

“Anything.”

Your voice trembles slightly as you say, “Leone, let me know I’m your only one. The only man that I need in this gangster world is you, and I worry that you’ll forget me when you leave.”

“You’re the only one for me. Even when I’m out there, you’re the only one I think about. Nothing matters to me but getting out of there alive to come back home to you. I work hard knowing that you’re still by my side. You’re the only person I’ll ever love.” His voice is quiet, as if he can’t bring himself to tell himself the truth, let alone you. His phone rings, and he looks at you apologetically. “I have to-”

After a long day of work, your first priority is to get home. Today is no different, but you can feel in your gut something isn’t right. Something tells you that you’ll arrive home to find Johnny passed out in his seat at the kitchen table, practically right where you left him the night before.

You pull into your driveway and sit for a moment, Joy Division humming through the radio and filling the empty spaces between your thoughts. Should you even go in? It won’t be a pretty sight. And you know it’ll just end in tears for the both of you, like it always does. Just you, actually. You’re not sure if Johnny can even cry. Not anymore.

Maybe you’re wrong. There’s a chance, but that gets slimmer by the day. You shut the car off and press your forehead against the steering wheel before going in. Keys jingling, you walk into the house. It’s frigid inside, producing goosebumps along your skin as you move into view of the kitchen. A part of you hates always being right. The other part of you outweighs it, making you pull up your chair next to the cold body at the table.

The same routine, every time. His pulse is loud, which calms you. The two bottles next to him do too, evidence of a remnant of self control. A hand on his shoulder is next, and he picks his head up with a start. “Oh, god…” he mumbles. “I was gonna wake up before you got home.”

“I know, Johnny. That’s always your plan,” you say, with a gentle tone. Even though your words are everything but.

He meets your gaze, but can’t manage to hold it, playing with his fingers on the tabletop instead. “I’m… sorry… I don’t want to keep putting you through this.”

You take one of his hands. “I know, Johnny,” you repeat. “It’s not your fault.” Your eyes well up before you can finish. He sighs shakily. He wants to say it, the same words he says every day, but he can’t bring himself to say them today. So you say them for him. “‘Yeah, it is.’ You can’t control it, Johnny.”

His head hits your chest as he pulls you into a hug. Your eyes can’t hold any more, releasing the tears down your face while you push his head to you, clutching him like he’ll disappear if you let go. “I really am sorry.” His voice is muffled by your shirt.

“I know. I want to tell you that it’ll get better. I want to tell you tomorrow won’t hurt like today. But you know better than anyone that it isn’t true,” you say, your words catching in your throat before releasing with a choked sob.

“Be ready to go out for dinner by seven. Don’t keep me waiting, dear,” he told you before he left for work. 

A dinner date. Perfect. Knowing Bruno, that means reservations. So while he’s away at work, you spend all day fixing yourself up, just for him. You paint your nails, a dark red that you know he loves. You put on your makeup, in a way that you know will entice him to make it run down your cheeks. You smooth down your hair, hoping that it will only get messed up again later. 

You put on your favorite black lace set, easily disguising it underneath a simple black dress. You finally put on your favorite jewelry, one long pearl necklace and one shorter one. A low-heel boot and a spritz of perfume are your final touches, and now, you sit and wait. The clock reads 6:56. Poised on the edge of the bed, you fidget with the hem of your dress, glancing behind you at the clock. You know he’s never late, and today is no exception. The door unlocks, announcing Bruno’s arrival throughout the house.

He steps down the hallway, much too slowly for your liking, before gently knocking on your door. “Come in,” you say. He opens the door, the soft creak of the hinges the only noise in the room as you hold your breath before standing up to meet him.

No surprise, Bruno is already prepared to leave, already dressed in a nice suit, perfectly tailored to his body as it always is. It hugs his waist gently, although you can’t help but imagine what it would look like with your hands there instead. “How do I look, Bruno?” you murmur.

Sighing lovingly, he reaches for your hands, gently spinning you so your back presses into his chest. “Absolutely breathtaking,” he breathes into your neck, running his hand down your hips. You smile, knowing his next words before he speaks them. “You’d look better on the bed, but I suppose that will have to wait, now won’t it?”

A nod is your only response. Together, you walk out of the house and into the shiny black car Bruno called to pick you both up. The interior is spotless, likely a brand-new car, with not a single thread loose on the upholstery.

The chauffeur is silent, of course. He wouldn't dare ruin Bruno's good mood. "How was work, dear?" you say, crossing your legs.

Bruno sighs, reaching for your hand that rests on the seat between you. He lifts it, placing his own underneath, and turning your hand around as if he's examining your fingers. "Long. And boring. I would have preferred to stay home with you. But, then, I suppose that makes this all the more rewarding." He smiles softly.

His fingers intertwine with yours, tracing his thumb over your knuckles. It's like he's envisioning what is to come. You look at him longingly, almost wishing he would just cancel this dinner and take you back home and give you what you really want. But he doesn't meet your eyes, unsure of what he might do if he did.

The car stops, outside one of your favorite restaurants. The chauffeur lets you out, and hand in hand, you walk into the restaurant. Candles are scattered in chandeliers and upon white tablecloths on flat wooden tables.

Bruno walks you to the front table. "I have a reservation for Bucciarati."

The hostess's eyes widen ever so slightly before she leads you to your table. Bruno pulls your chair out and lets you sit first. "Thank you," you say, placing a hand on your chest for emphasis.

He sits down across from you, and you take note of the distance between each side of the table. He takes it upon himself to order a bottle of wine for the both of you. You thumb through the menu for a few moments before deciding on what to eat. 

While you wait for your dinner, you talk about mundane things, like the file on a certain person that Bruno was accused of losing this morning, only for it to turn up a few hours later, still on the desk. It’s hard not to notice his eyes wandering over you as he talks, the way he looks you up and down with a look that reads almost predatory while his fingers run over the back of your hand in the center of the table. 

Your food arrives soon after. You eat quietly, instead focusing on trailing your foot up Bruno's leg. His eyes widen instantaneously before narrowing at you. "Don't do that," he says. There's no anger in his voice, just a tinge of authority.

"Do what?" you say, relaxing your fork in your hand. You continue to run your leg up and down his, focusing more and more on his thigh and what lies above.

"Don't play coy, now."

You tilt your head. "I'm not, Bruno."

He scoffs, a sense of humor in his tone. He waves the waitress over to the table. "Could we get our check please?"

She glances at your half eaten meals. "Was it not to your liking?" 

"Oh, no, it was well made. Unfortunately, I'm afraid we have some… business to attend to." His smile scares you, but the pit of your stomach says otherwise.

He pays and grabs your wrist, pulling you out of the restaurant, where another car waits for you. Releasing your wrist, he leans in close to your ear. "I'm going to make you regret that." 

The ride back to the house is silent, the air filled with the tension between you. Bruno's face is stern, but a hint of amusement lies behind his eyes. You move to touch him again, but he grabs your hand and pushes it back to you. He's hard, you can see, but his restraint surprises you. "You don't get to touch me," he mutters.

You nod obediently, biting your lip. Your plan worked, and Bruno's not happy about it. The car stops and Bruno pulls you out of the car, hastily unlocking your front door as the car leaves. Once inside the house, your shoes are gone and he drags you towards the bedroom, but stops short, pinning you up against the wall with his hand on your throat. "You'll be punished for your misbehavior, you know," he says. You nod again, attempting to choke a few words out, but his grip is too tight. "That was your plan all along, wasn't it? To have me punish you?"

You look down, unable to meet his eyes. "You're filthy," he murmurs into you. He pulls you into the bedroom, letting you go just before the bed. You don't move, waiting for his directions. "On your back. Now."

Doing just that, you climb onto the bed, laying before him, your arms at your sides. He kneels on top of you, his knees on either side of yours. He grabs your chin, pulling you to face him and runs a thumb over your lips, smudging your lipstick down your chin. Bruno presses a soft kiss to your cheek, and he begins to work your dress up your legs. It sits at your hips, waiting to be pulled off as he runs his hands over your legs. "What's this, hmm?" he says, inching your dress up further. He pulls it off of you with a little help, your lingerie fully exposed. 

"It's a gift for you, Bruno."

He smiles. "How thoughtful." He works it off of you, taking no time in making you completely naked. His tongue runs down your stomach, leaving you gasping at the sudden feeling. His arms wrap around your knees, breath hitting your inner thighs. 

Always one for teasing you, he pulls away again before touching you where you want. Hands run over your chest, caressing and grabbing every inch of your skin. When his hands have gotten their fill, his tongue replaces them, leaving pretty purple marks all over you. 

"Bruno, please…" you murmur.

He scoffs. "Why should I give you what you want? You don't deserve it after the stunt you pulled." He sits up and puts his hands outside your shoulders, leaning over top of you. 

You whine in response. Unbuttoning his suit jacket, he shrugs it off, tossing it onto the floor. His shirt is next, and that's on the floor soon after. You reach to touch him, but he stops you, placing your hands back by your sides. He shakes his head and cups your cheek with his hand. "Brats don't get what they want, darling."

He continues to touch you, teasing you more. His hand slithers down your stomach and up your thighs repeatedly, causing you to sigh in need. His pants are gone in a few seconds, left in just his underwear. “Bruno… I need you…” you beg.

His eyes squint for just a moment before licking a long stripe up your inner thigh. You instinctively reach for his hair, making him pull away. He grabs the piece of lingerie you were wearing moments before and wraps it between your wrists and the headboard, effectively pinning them in place. “There. Now you’ll have to behave,” he says, returning to his previous mission.

He finally runs his tongue softly over your heat, making you cry out at the sudden warmth. You pull at your restraints as he runs his tongue over you again, painfully slow. Bruno avoids your sensitive spots intentionally, just to make you writhe underneath him. When he finally does press those buttons, your legs tremble as you begin pressing your thighs into his head. Your necklaces slide off your chest as you toss your head back, moaning, your high getting closer and closer already. 

Much too soon for your liking, he stops, pulling away with trails of spit connecting the two of you. You groan at the loss of contact, attempting to push your hips back towards his face. “I don’t think so, dear,” he says softly. He pulls his underwear off, revealing how much his teasing has affected him.

The sight of him like this almost makes you wish your hands were free, just so you could show him how you feel. But this way is just as good. He takes himself in his hands before lining up between your thighs. His hands grip your hips as he slowly pushes into you. You moan, pulling at your restraints out of instinct. 

When he starts moving, your moans get louder, unable to even bite your lip to conceal them. He smiles, his hand grazing your jaw. “You’re so cute when you’re underneath me.”

“S-shut up…” You move your hips against his as his pace picks up.

Bruno’s brows furrow together. “What do you think you’re doing?”

You look up at him. “I- I didn’t-” you start, but you’re quickly cut off. Bruno’s hand reaches for your pearl necklace, wrapping it around his fingers and pulling it taut against your neck, cutting off your breathing. Your face begins to go red as he pulls tighter. His pace never slows, in fact you’re sure he’s speeding up, pushing you closer to the edge. Mascara stains your face as tears spill out of your eyes, dripping onto your pillow.

There’s no doubt that seeing him inside you and using your own jewelry against you turns him on, and you can feel it in the way he gets harder inside you. He yanks the necklace again as he thrusts harder into you as you reach your high, and the string snaps with a loud twang, pearls fluttering over the bedsheets beside your body. “I liked that necklace,” you cough out, coming down from your orgasm.

“I’ll buy you a new one.” His voice is strained, and you aren’t sure how much longer he can hold on. 

You clench around him as he mercilessly pounds you, orgasms reaching you for a second and third time. His hips stutter but never slow as he twitches and his breathing runs ragged. Your moans drive him over, forcing him to thrust everything into you, most of it spilling out around him. “D-don’t stop… I’m almost there…” you beg him, hoping for a fourth.

He obliges, continuing to run along your insides, caressing every inch of your body. The wave crashes over you and he slows, pulling out of you and untying you. “I hope you learned your lesson now,” he says. “I wouldn’t want to have to punish you again.”

A = Aftercare (What they're like after sex)

he's strangely caring. he's not the greatest at aftercare, but he won't just leave you in the dust either. he'll help you clean up and help you fall asleep afterwards if you need to.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner's)

on himself, he prefers his arms, since they're so muscular. he loves using them to pin you down and demolish you. on you, he likes ass, especially in doggy style. he's fond of every part of your body though, thick or thin, he loves it.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically... I'm a disgusting person)

prefers cumming inside you rather than anywhere else. but if you're not into that, he's content with your mouth instead.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

whenever he's alone, he likes to go back through all the pictures you've ever sent him, just to get him going. whenever he jacks off, it's always to a picture of you.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they're doing?)

with his age comes experience. he's been with his fair share of partners. he definitely knows what he's doing, and he knows just how to cater to your needs too.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

definitely prefers to be on top. he LOVES pinning you up against the wall, a table, wherever he can. he likes missionary and doggy style, but also loves any position where he can press you against him.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

he's definitely more serious, but he's not boring. he doesn't like to make jokes, and probably won't respond to yours if you make any.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

he keeps it well trimmed, but there's still a substantial amount of hair. he's not fond of the totally shaved look. overall, it's usually a little longer than he prefers.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect...)

he's not what you would consider intimate. he's not one for emotions, especially not during sex. he's pretty good with romance and passion, but he definitely prefers more sexual sex than romantic sex.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

he masturbates often, but less now that you're around. it's one of the ways he releases his bottled up emotions. he's also into mutual masturbation, sometimes preferring just to watch you.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

breeding. as he's gotten older, he's realized how much he loves filling you up. he plays around with light bdsm, but nothing too drastic. he's neither here nor there about bondage. however, he loves overstimulation, on your end. he is very into the dom/sub dynamic too, but he prefers for it to stay strictly in the bedroom.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

the bedroom. or his home office. or the kitchen. anywhere in the house. he's not much into the public aspect, since he believes that your pleasure is something only he gets to see.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

he loves it when you come into his office while he's working. sit in his lap and beg him and he's all over you. he loves it when you cling to his arm when watching something scary or something. that's a surefire way to get him hard.

N = NO (Something they wouldn't do, turn offs)

he's definitely not into the ddlg dynamic. and he hates seriously hurting you, more than just a few smacks here and there, so no blades, nothing that draws blood.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

he prefers receiving over giving. he loves blowjobs. he's not usually into giving much, but on occasion he will.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

almost always rough. he's not afraid to push you around a bit. but, on special occasions, or when you or he are feeling a little emotional, he's much more gentle, taking much more time with your pleasure and getting you to cum more than once.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

he prefers proper sex, so he can really destroy you. he likes to take his time making you cum a thousand times. he's okay with quickies, since sometimes that's all that he has time for, but it doesn't release much of his pent up tension.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

he likes experimenting, as long as he's the one in control. he prefers to call the shots. he doesn't like public sex, but he does like sex in hotel rooms or places like that where other people can hear you.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last...)

he can last for as many rounds as you can handle. probably around 3-6 times is usually his average. he lasts quite a while, so you usually cum two to three times before he does.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

he doesn't own any, and he doesn't prefer to use any either. he believes that his cock is so much better than any pleasure a toy could ever give you.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

he's not much into teasing. he would rather keep it simple and just fuck you until you can't move.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

he's not very loud. he doesn't moan much, so usually it's just grunts and groans.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

he loves giving hickeys. and getting them. it's a way to remind both of you that you belong to each other and no one else. he also wastes no time lighting up a cigarette after you're finished for the night.

X = X-Ray (Let's see what's going on in those pants, picture or words)

omg he's big 🤤 around 7 1/2 to 8 inches, and pretty thick. not too thick and not too long, about even ratios. he has big balls too, just for you.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

pretty high. he's not constantly horny or anything, and he's usually not the one to initiate, but that's only because he's usually so busy he doesn't have the time to think about it.

Z = ZZZ (... how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

i think that she definitely has her moments of just going straight to sleep afterwards, but usually she's pretty caring. she'll wipe you off and help you wash and help you get dressed if you're on the receiving end.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

her boobs. 100% loves you to touch them, grab them, suck them, anything you can do to them. on you, i think she likes really thick legs, ESPECIALLY thighs. like, fat or muscle, she's down.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

she likes it messy. cum in her, on her ass/stomach/ face, in her mouth, wherever you want, she loves it. she loves to eat it. when she sees you shiny with her cum, though? that gets her off more than anything.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

jolyne loves to go through your dirty laundry when you’re away from home. she just loves the way you smell. she’s a thief, pairs of your underwear mysteriously going missing. and if they return, they have strange stains on them you don’t remember being there...

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

she's had her fair share of partners, with every kind of anatomy. she's experienced, but can still cater her knowledge to your personal preferences.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

she definitely prefers being on top, but if you bend her over the table, she's putty in your hands. her other favorite is missionary, if she's on top. but don't think she won't pin you against the wall given the opportunity.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

she would be a mixture, leaning on the more serious side. she’s into dirty talk, but if it catches her the wrong way she’ll laugh and tell you it was stupid.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

keeps it well groomed, not too long, but a substantial amount still there. sometimes, she shaves it into little patterns just for you.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

i think she’s really sweet, but not necessarily in the usual way. of course, she’ll litter your skin with fervent kisses everywhere she can reach, but she’s always one to help you chase your high no matter what.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

she definitely uses your dirty clothes when you’re not around to help. i don’t think she masturbates often, usually preferring your face to her hands.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

she’s a sadist (nothing too extreme, usually just involving orgasm torture), bondage (you or her), edging, voyeurism, and lingerie (lace, silk, etc. you name it, it’s off in seconds as she devours you.)

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

mostly the bedroom, since she’s into some kinkier shit. but she’s not opposed to the kitchen, bathroom, shower, living room, wherever there’s a flat surface for one of you to be put on. not to mention public places...

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

definitely lingerie. if you come out of the room wearing something lacy she’s pushing you right back into the bedroom to get wrecked in it. if you didn’t stop her, she would have no problem ripping your expensive lingerie just to taste you. another way to flip her switch is to ask for something she’ll say no to. your puppy dog eyes are enough for her to pound you right then and there.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

she wouldn’t hurt you enough to scar you or make you bleed (no knifeplay, gunplay, etc) she also refuses against ddlg dynamics, or cuckolding (you are hers only. and vice versa.)

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

she prefers giving over receiving, but she loves receiving too. she’s incredibly skilled, her experience coming in handy to please you. she won’t stop until you’re writhing around her, your thighs coming together to squeeze her tightly as you moan.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

she definitely prefers hard and fast, rough sex is her favorite. but on special occasions she can enjoy slower more passionate sex, like on valentine’s day, or your birthday.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

she likes quickies, but likes proper sex better. jolyne wants more time to please you. she wants you to have more orgasms than you can count, losing track of time as you melt into her mouth.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

risks are a big part of your relationship. with her being very into voyeurism, she enjoys any public place where you might get caught. bathrooms, subway stations, etc. she loves the idea of getting caught. and, she’s very open to any sorts of kinks. if you want to try something new, she’s all for it. 

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

she can last for around three rounds usually prolonging her orgasms until after yours. she has an impressive amount of stamina when she wants to.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

she owns far too many toys, honestly. she loves vibrators, dildos, butt plugs, strap-ons, anything else you can think of. she loves using them on you or herself. she especially enjoys you or her wearing vibrating underwear in public and seeing how long each of you can last.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

she LOVES teasing you. to the point it’s unbearable for you. tears stream out of your eyes long before she finally decides to let you cum. your skin turns red and blotchy from sweat as she mercilessly fucks you, with no chance of gratification.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

she’s very vocal. her moans can be heard through the whole house, but she knows when to be quiet too, especially to avoid getting caught. she loves to hear you, loving your loud moans as opposed to whimpers and groans.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

she loves cock-warming, especially when you let her use her biggest strap-on. she always “accidentally” moves around, just to get you writhing again. it never lasts long, though, before she starts pounding you again. she’s quite impatient, but she knows the importance of foreplay. especially if she gets to tease you in the process.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

she has a tattoo of the north star a few inches above her clit, so 'you can always find your way back' she totally has a piercing too, probably on her clit which she always keeps adorned with sparkly jewelry.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

pretty high. she's not constantly horny or anything, but she's usually the one who initiates sex, and does so as often as you both can handle.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)