❥ combustion kink pt. 2 - deidara x reader
you said it was a one time thing. he said you were full of shit.
cw: smut. 18+. rough car sex, degrading language, possessive behavior, fwb/frenemy dynamics, slightly toxic tension, and power play. reader is down bad. deidara is worse.
mdni.
──── ୨୧ ────
you swore it was a one time thing.
backseat mistake. party haze. horny rage fueled detour.
but now it’s been three weeks and he won’t leave you alone.
he texts you like it’s a sport. never anything normal—just shit like “still feel you wrapped around my dick lol” or “made a sculpture based on your throat. wanna see?”
he sends selfies, too. the worst kind. post-shower. shirtless in the studio. middle finger up with his lip ring between his teeth and your torn panties dangling from his rearview mirror in the background.
you try your best to ignore it.
he airdrops you a sketch of your fucked-out face during lecture.
he’s insane.
and you hate that it makes your thighs press together under the table.
──── ୨୧ ────
you run into him again at a gallery night.
he’s showing some installation made of melted mannequins and old tvs looping footage of fireworks. he’s calling it “the moment before impact.”
“subtle,” you mutter behind him.
he turns, slow and smug. “look who showed up. did you miss me or just your gag reflex?”
you grit your teeth. “i came to see actual art.”
“aw, babe. just say you wanted round two.”
he leans in, too close, voice low and filthy:
“i’ve got a studio key and a drop cloth with your name on it.”
you roll your eyes. walk away.
he follows. obviously.
──── ୨୧ ────
somehow, somehow, you end up back in his car. again.
you’re pressed up against the door, breathing hard, his hand already down the front of your jeans and his tongue in your mouth like he’s trying to steal the air from your lungs.
“couldn’t even last a month,” he groans against your neck. “fuckin’ knew you were addicted.”
“shut up,” you pant, grinding down on his hand. “you talk too much.”
he grins, bites your shoulder.
“then shut me up, babe.”
you climb into his lap without hesitation. this time, you’re the one grabbing his hair, yanking it back as you sink down on him with zero warning.
he chokes on a moan, hips jerking up.
“jesus- fuck, okay. okay. so we’re doing that tonight.”
you ride him mean. fast. using him.
“what’s wrong, deidara?” you hiss against his ear. “can’t keep up with your own mess?”
he laughs. wrecked, breathless, obsessed even.
“you’re gonna kill me,” he groans, grabbing your waist and slamming you down harder, his tip kissing your cervix. “gonna fuckin’ die in this car and it’ll be your fault.”
you yelp, caught off guard.
“good,” you snap. “you can explode on impact.”
he loses it. flips you onto your stomach across the seats and rails into you like he’s got something to prove.
because of course he does.
and so do you.
──── ୨୧ ────
you don’t say a word when it’s over.
he lights a joint with shaking hands. you dig your nails into your thigh trying not to ask when he’s free next.
“so,” he says eventually, glancing at you through the smoke. “studio next time?”
you pause.
then nod once.
just once.
