#tw: teasing

[albionscastle]

Slow Burn and Skid Marks

So its been a really long time since I've written anything at all and I'm not altogether pleased with this tbh. In the last couple of years I've simply lost all the joy that I used to take in writing, the story doesn't come easily, the typing and editing becomes a chore to the point where I'm so sick of the story I hate it. I got this one finished, though and while its not entirely my usual style of spice (and I'm sure the tense is screwed up in a few places) I'm proud that I actually got it out.

Anyway this is a bit of a long winded romance Involving Richard Hammond in all his snarky, idiotic glory. As always any rpf I write is to be assumed to be an AU where spouses and children do not exist.

(I was very saddened to hear about the Hammonds splitting up.)

MASTERLIST

1: A Very Hammond Welcome.

“Well look who made it through the off season without murdering anyone. Or being murdered, though I imagine That's only because no one could see you, what with you being five foot nothing and all.”

It starts the second you step out of the transport van. Our first day on set this season and you are at a gas station in Manchester of all places, the peace you had hoped for dissipating like a rain cloud.

You’re halfway through inventorying the gears when you hear his voice behind you, the unmistakable smug chirp, like someone’s poured espresso and mischief into a Yorkshire terrier.

You don't look up, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing your eyes spark. Or the hurt that his teasing usually causes you. Instead, you simply check the radio transmitters and say flatly, “Still taller than your maturity level, Hammond.”

A beat. Then he grins, you can feel it, not even needing to turn around.

“There she is,” he says. “The Scowl, we’re officially back in business, boys.”

Instead of allowing him to see you flinch at the moniker, you finally glance over your shoulder. He's in sunglasses, a tan jacket, white T-shirt and jeans that have no business looking as good as they do on a man his age. She's also wearing that grin, the one he employs like a battering ram to devastating effect - on everyone else. He looks tanned, rested and already annoying.

“Hammond,” you say calmly, “please remind me what part of the production schedule involves you loitering near the equipment and running your mouth?”

He clutches his chest, the grin only widening. “Wounded, Smalls. Truly.”

You roll your eyes so hard it’s practically cardio. “If you call me that again, I’ll staple your cue cards to your forehead.”

“Oh, I missed you!” He’s practically beaming now, walking backward as you stalk toward the trailers. You can’t help but hope that he trips and falls flat on his arse in front of everyone. “Did you miss me, Scowler?”

You don't answer. Not for the first time a small part of you wishes that you could just once have a serious conversation with the man, just to see what happens.

Instead, He's fueled by your silence.

“Admit it. All those quiet months, and not a single voice calling you pet names and stealing your clipboard. Must have been lonely.”

You stop walking, He's hit the mark a little too closely for comfort.

“Are you trying to get a rise out of me?”

“Trying?” He smirks. “It'd say succeeding.”

And there it is. The blood in your veins surges hotly up your neck. Not quite anger, not quite…whatever else it is, and before you can stop yourself, you turn and snap.”

“You're not as charming as you think you are.”

His brows raise, mock-wounded. “Not even a little bit?”

“Not even,” you take a deep breath. “On your best day.”

You suddenly realize that the crew around you has fallen silent. May, standing nearby with a coffee and a pastry, clears his throat.

“Right,” he says, casual as ever. “How about we save the full-scale domestic for after lunch?”

You bite the inside of your cheek to stop from saying anything else, while Hammond bows.

“As you wish, Captain Slow.”

You turn on your heel and walk off without a word, feeling your pulse thrumming under your skin.

You tell yourself you just need air. That he's just being himself…harmless and playful, not realizing how cutting his jokes are. But deep down you know that this season’s going to be worse than the last, and not because He's gotten more annoying, but because You're not entirely sure why you're so bothered this time.

Finding a quiet spot behind one of the gear trucks, out of sight of the crew, you lean your back against the sun warmed metal. The air smells like dust, diesel and terrible coffee. Your heart’s still racing, which is ridiculous. It’s just Hammond being Hammond.

He's always been like this. In the year that you've known him and all the years that he's been on tv. It’s practically his mating call - not that that's what this was. Obviously.

You squeeze your eyes shut. “Get a grip,” you whisper to yourself. “You’re not a child and you've certainly handled worse than this.”

And it’s true. In this job alone You've weathered breakdowns, travel delays, weather, rewrites and one disgusting day when Clarkson had food poisoning in a moving car. You've handled a crisis that would send lesser crew members home in tears, you are not someone who gets rattled by one man with great hair and a smug smirk.

You pull in a deep breath, let it out slowly.

He’s not singling you out.

That's what you tell yourself, over and over.

He does this with everyone, it's his thing. He pokes and prods, grinning like a puppy who’s chewed proudly through a sofa. You aren’t special, or a target, just the nearest organism with a clipboard.

You tug your sleeves down to your wrists.

If you can’t handle a little teasing then maybe you're in the wrong job.

The voice is cold, echoing from a place you don't let people into anymore.

Don’t be so sensitive. Can’t even take a joke can you? No wonder everyone walks away eventually.

You shake the thought off, sharp and sudden, like brushing away a spider crawling on your skin. That was a long time ago. You’re not that woman anymore.

Pressing your hands flat against your thighs you tell yourself, out loud this time, “I like bantering with him.”

You say it again, firmer. “I enjoy it.”

It’s almost convincing. Because most days, you do enjoy it. The verbal tennis, the sharp little jabs. It’s fun, it should be fun. It reminds you that you're still quick, still witty, still here.

But then your eyes flick toward the corner of the parking lot and you see Hammond…leaning against a stack of tires, grinning at James…no doubt making some joke, perhaps at your expense…and just like that, something tightens in your chest again.

It’s not what he’s doing, it’s what you imagine he's saying. Your stomach twists, the way it used to when he - the one before - would smile that same way across a crowded room, and then come over to whisper some poison into your ear when no-no else could hear.

Standing up straighter, you smooth your expression, forcing your face back into neutral. The face that says, I'm fine, you didn’t get to me. Then you walk back out into the sun, clipboard in hand, and tell yourself one last time:

It’s just Hammond

Perhaps if you say it enough times you’ll believe it.

HAMMOND’ POV

God, it was good to be back.

The air smelled like petrol, dust and the faint chemical tang of Clarkson’s hair products. All of which meant that everything was exactly as it should be. He stood in the middle of chaos: crates being offloaded, camera gear being triple checked and someone yelling about drone clearance. Perfect, glorious chaos.

And there she was, right in the middle of it.

He spotted her the moment she stepped out of the car. Same posture, same purposeful walk and the same clipboard gripped like a weapon against her chest. She had the kind of presence that screamed, I'm not here to charm anyone, now please get out of my way.

He grins, because honestly? He'd missed her.

Really missed her.

So naturally the second he got near her his mouth got ahead of his brain.

“Well, well,” he says, striding up behind her like it’s muscle memory. “Look who made it through the off-season without murdering anyone….”

And just like that he was off.

He expected the eye roll, liked the eye roll. And when it came, along with a jab about his maturity, something warm sparked in his chest. She's always been good at this, verbal fencing, even if she didn’t always look like she was enjoying it. He knows he's pushing it, maybe a little more than usual. He can feel it, the sharp line he’s toeing. But it’s only because she’s….well, her.

She wasn’t like the few other women on set who either flirted shamelessly or ignored him completely. She didn’t make a fuss, didn’t try to impress anyone, she just did her job quietly, efficiently, brilliantly, and she gave him hell like she was born for it.

Which was probably why his usual filters simply vanished when she was around.

He's about to throw another comment at her when she turns, stiff as hell and lets fly with “You’re not as charming as you think you are.”

He blinked before quickly recovering. That one hit a little harder than he would have liked, but before he could keep making it worse, James materialized beside him like a disapproving older sibling with a pastry and a glare.

“Alright, Romeo,” he muttered as she stormed off. “Maybe dial it back a bit before she actually decks you.”

Hammond scoffs, “Oh come on , May. It’s banter, she loves it.”

James raised an eyebrow. “Does she?”

He opened his mouth, closed it again without a sound.

James sipped his coffee. “You don’t see it do you?”

“See what?” Hammond asked, even though his chest had gone a bit tight.

“The way she tenses when you speak, like she’s bracing for impact.” He says it without cruelty, just a statement of fact.

And that landed harder than her insult.

“I didn’t mean to…..” he trailed off.

James sighed. “No one’s saying you’re trying to upset her, Hammond, but maybe your idea of flirtation reads a little…..hostile, yeah?”

Richard bristles, instinctively, then deflates. “I don’t know how else to be with her. I get around her and my brain just….” He makes an exploding gesture. “Gone.”

James looks at him sideways. “You like her.”

He gives a short laugh. “Of course I like her, she's…..”

“No.” James says flatly. “You like her.”

And damn it, he was too old to be blushing, but there it was anyway, creeping up his neck.

He dropped onto the tires with a sigh. “Alright, fine, I admit it, I'm completely….” He gestured helplessly, “smitten.”

James hummed like he already knew.

Hammond rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not just that she’s smart, or that she knows more about vintage engines than any of the crew, or that she carries those ridiculous clipboards like they're armor. It’s…..I don’t know, she makes me feel like a teenager again, trying to impress the pretty, clever girl who's never going to give me the time of day.”

James patted his shoulder. “Well, now you've got the emotional maturity of at least a 23 year old. Progress.”

Richard huffs a laugh and then goes silent.

Because now it’s been said out loud, it's impossible not to replay the look on her face, the flicker of something behind her eyes before she turned away.

Did I actually hurt her?

He didn’t want to, not ever. That was the whole point of his stupid flirting….to make her smile. To get under her skin in the best possible way. Not…whatever this was. He glances in the direction she disappeared and feels that swell of panic in his ribs.

He's never cared this much before and now, he doesn’t have the faintest idea of what to do about it.

2: Peace Offering

It’s been a strange week.

No sharp comments, no smug grins tossed in your direction like pebbles about to start a landslide. Hammond has barely even looked at you except to offer a stiff, awkward smile from across the set. Like He's been….declawed.

At first you were relieved, the quiet was peaceful, productive, even. But by day four it’s just weird. You've gotten used to the noise, the constant verbal tennis match between you, and now it's like someone yanked the net and walked off with the ball. You feel untethered, out of shorts. You almost….miss him.

Then this morning, in the office, you'd gone to your cubby and there it was: a small box of chocolates. Not the cheap corner shop stuff but proper, imported Belgian chocolate. The kind you had mentioned only once, in passing, during a shoot in France last season.

There's a little folded piece of paper on top. Just two words:

Peace offering

You had stared at it for a full minute before shutting the door and walking away like it might detonate. It lingered on your mind all day.

Even now, with the sun beating down on the tent and the crew setting up for the next segment, your brain keeps circulating back to that box like it holds the answers to a riddle you're not even sure you want to solve.

You're leaning against a stack of road boxes, sipping tepid tea and scanning the audience when he finally sidles up beside you. Your immediate thought is that it should be illegal for a man to look that good in a red velvet blazer, vest and jeans.

“No notes, Smalls? Thought you’d have a stronger opinion about the V8 vs V12 bit.” He says casually, like He's commenting on the weather.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Don’t tell me you’re finally trying to start a conversation instead of an argument?”

He grins. “Thought I’d take the scenic route.”

You arch a brown. “Alright, fine. You want an opinion? The V12 was better.”

“You're insane.”

“You're sentimental.” You shoot back. “Which is rich coming from someone who once called the Ferrari 812 a bit too showy.”

“That's because it is too showy.”

“It’s a Ferrari. Showy is literally in the DNA. You’re just jealous that the V12 blew your precious Charger out of the water around the Eboladrome.”

He lets out a bark of laughter, and the sound hits you in the stomach like a warm stone. You can’t remember the last time your back and forth had this kind of energy….lighter, easier, less about defense and more like play. And he's smiling at you, not the smirk, the real one. The one that reaches all the way to his eyes and makes something flutter deep in your guts before you can slap it down.

“Admit it,” he says, stepping closer. “You missed this.”

“I didn’t miss you, if that's what you're implying.”

“You’re very convincing,” he teases, clearly not convinced at all. “It’s the scowl that really sells it.”

You open your mouth, a smart ass retort queued up, but nothing comes out. You’re too aware of how close he’s standing now, how the lines around his eyes crinkle when he laughs and how your own mouth has started curving despite your best efforts.

“You’re infuriating.” You say finally.

“And yet here you are. Uninfuriated.”

“Don’t push your luck, Hammond. Also That's not even a real word.”

You both laugh and it's loud, genuine. It draws a look from the sound guy and a sharp whistle from Jeremy, who’s already back in front of the camera, waiting.

Hammond gives you one last look before he jogs off, something warm and unreadable flickering behind his grin. You’re left standing there, heart thudding a little faster than it should be.

You hate the fact that you keep replaying the conversation when you get home, and that you blissfully enjoy the chocolate while you're in the bath. You especially hate that you noticed for the first time that his hair curls a little at the nape of his neck. But what you hated the most was the fact that for the first time in a long time, you didn’t really hate any of it at all.

Downtime on a studio day means caffeine, bickering and yelling at the coffee machine that appears to hate everyone equally.

Yo, however, are crouched next to a toolkit, pretending to organise some cables while you eavesdrop on the camera crew’s debate about where to eat lunch. You should be eating, or drinking water, or sleeping, but instead You're fiddling with the wires like they might whisper the meaning of life if you coil them just right.

“Still brooding, Smalls?”

You Don't even need to look up, that voice has its own zip code in your brain by now.

“Still annoying, Hammond?”

“That's a terrible comeback,” he says, crouching beside you. “You used to have better material.”

“I also used to sleep, so I'm rationing my brilliance for later.”

He hums, thoughtfully. “Does that mean I get a preview now or are you saving it for someone more deserving?”

You give him a side eye. “Are you trying to impress me?”

He smirks, expression completely unapologetic. “What if I said yes?”

You snort. “Then I'd check your coffee for scotch.”

There’s a beat, just a flicker of hesitation. Then he chuckles, low and warm.

“You know,” he says, plucking a stray zip tie from the ground and twirling it between his fingers. “Most people, when they get a compliment, say thank you.”

“You didn’t compliment me.”

“I implied you were brilliant.”

“You implied you were deserving.”

He laughs again and shakes his head. “See, there it is, that brilliant mind.”

You glance at him, squinting. “Are you alright? You’re acting weird.”

“Weird?”

“Well, weirder.”

“You wound me, Scowler.”

You go back to coiling the cables, ignoring the way his knee keeps bumping yours, the way his tone has shifted into something…softer. Playful but not mocking, it's not the usual poking-the-bear thing he does. It's more careful, measured.

“I put the chocolates in your cubby by the way.”

You pause. “I know.”

“You never said anything.”

“I didn’t want to encourage you.”

Another laugh, this time quieter. “You think I need encouragement?”

You glance at him again, properly this time and something flickers in his eyes. Mischief, sure, but with something warmer underneath.

“Well,” you say, trying to shrug off the strange buzz building behind your ribs. “You've certainly got enough ego to carry you through disappointment”

He places the zip tie on your head like a crown. “Long live the Queen of sass.”

You grab at it, placing it on the ground beside you. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet I suspect you'd miss me if I stopped.”

You shake your head speechless for a moment, and when you come up with a retort, a good one, He's already walking away, that maddening grin on his face.

The car’s interior smells of coconut air freshener and that morning’s McMuffin. You drive with one hand on the wheels and the other worrying the edge of your sleeve, brain fogged with static. The zip tie from earlier swings gently from the rearview mirror.

He was flirting, or at least something close to it. Hasn't he?

No, no, That's not what that was. Hammond flirted with everyone, it was his entire existence, his default setting. And anyway, it's not like he'd ever mean it. Not with you.

You.

Older than you wanted to be, prickly and perpetually tired. Built like a sparrow with a grudge, You're a woman that men flirt with. Your background. Crew. A utility. You'd thought that before, thought it for years.

Your ex had made sure of it.

His voice still echoes in your head sometimes, especially in the quiet moments….low calm and poisonous.

I’m just being honest, love. Don’t dress like that if you Don't want people staring.

God, You're so sensitive, it was just a joke.

No one else would put up with you, you know. You should be grateful.

It hadn't been one dramatic heartbreak, but rather six years of erosion. Words chipping away at your self esteem until you forgot what it was like to be looked at without flinching. You haven’t dated since, haven't wanted to. Or maybe you're been too afraid to try. Either way, you've gotten good at being invisible, it’s safer in the wings. Harder to get knocked over when you're already sitting on the ground.

So no, Hammond wasn't flirting. That was just him. Charming, infuriating and full of hot air and jokes that landed sideways. You're not special. You’re not.

Still, that look in his eyes when you caught him watching you work today, the soft curve of his smile, like he didn’t know he was doing it. That lingers.

It stays with you the whole way home.

3: Top Gun Crash and Burn

The studio is buzzing in a way it hasn't all season . People who usually lurk behind the scenes, cameras and rigs are lingering closer to the main tent, casual as bricks.

All because he is here.

Tom Cruise.

You didn't mean to smile when they told you he was filming a segment today - it just kind of happened. You've been a fan of his since you were a kid and He's flown across the creek with a cocky grin and a sexy plane. You weren’t the type to gush, or fan yourself and beg for autographs but you had to admit that having him there had even you feeling a little giddy. You respected him, to a degree- the work, the presence, the surprising humility, and when he shook your hand with that million dollar smile and said your name like it mattered, it was a nice moment.

He was kind to everyone, charming and surprisingly down to earth if you looked past, well pretty much the whole Scientology thing. He asked you questions about the set and being one of the few women there. He listened when you answered and even offered to help you carry gear when he saw you struggling. He laughed at Clarkson’s bad jokes and encouraged Hammond's childlike enthusiasm. He called you a lifesaver when you found his missing sunglasses and admittedly you blushed a little when he winked at you.

You never saw how Hammond was watching you the whole time.

You and Cruise are standing off to the side of one of the test vehicles while the crew resets the shot. He is drinking water that you fetched, leaning casually against the edge of a toolbox and somehow still looking like a movie poster in repose.

“You've got a great crew,” he says, glancing toward the cameras. “Tight ship.”

You smile. “They know their stuff, even when they pretend not to. It takes a lot of skill to wrangle the terrible triplets and keep them from killing themselves.”

He laughs, then nods toward something, or someone. “Hammond’s been keeping tabs on you since I got here.”

You glance over your shoulder to see him standing off to the side with James, pretending to look at tire specs and failing miserable at subtlety. Your stomach drops slightly.

“Oh,” you say quickly. “He's probably just afraid you’ll poach me to work on a movie set and take away his favorite source of entertainment. He's always like that.”

Tom gives you a sideways look. “Is he?”

You force a shrug. “He's mostly wind up, thinks he's funny, which he is most of the time.”

“He might be,” Cruise replies, smiling. “But he isn’t looking at anyone else like that.”

You look away, heart suddenly beating in an unfamiliar rhythm.

“You probably imagined it,” you say. “It’s more likely He's over there making fanboy eyes at you.”

Tom doesn’t push, just sips his water, that grin lingering like he knows something you Don't.

—--

Hammond has been fine for the last week or so, better than fine.

He's been warm, a little too warm, as though he was overcompensating for being such a pain in the arse. He smirked in your direction more often, throwing compliments at you so casually they never seemed to land. Quiet jokes that danced, just inside the line of appropriate, but without the usual jabs, the constant pushing and prodding. You figured he was just in a good mood, that he's gotten whatever poking stick itch he's had at the beginning of the season out of his system.

And honestly? It was nice. You hadn't had to defend yourself once this week, hadn't stormed off muttering courses under your breath. You were getting things done, efficiently, focused. So now, when he falls into step beside you as you're hauling a heavy box of equipment back toward the garage bay, you assume He's just being helpful.

“I got that,” he says, already pulling the box from your arms as though it weighs nothing.

“Thanks, but I did have it.” You say with a smile, brushing your hands off on your jeans.

“And now I have it, amazing how that works.”

You glance up at him. She's smirking, but not his usual cocky, smug grin. This one’s smaller, tight at the edges.

You narrow your eyes. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, You're doing a thing.”

He shrugs, swinging the box onto the worktable. “Just surprised you didn’t ask your new friend to help you out.”

You blink, confused. “Excuse me?”

“Oh come on, the two of you were practically bonded for life by lunchtime. You could have gotten matching tattoos.”

You frown, wondering where the edge to his voice is coming from after the good week you've had. “If you're referring to Cruise, he was just being polite.”

“You were both fawning over one another.”

You cross your arms. “He was nice, something you could stand to learn.”

“I am nice.”he scoffs.

You send a withering look his way. “You’re…. Something.”

“Oh, you noticed?”

“I…”

“I mean, I get it. You've spent weeks pretending I don't exist and then Maverick shows up and suddenly you remember how to smile at a man.”

Your mouth drops open in shock, where the hell was this coming from?

“I - What are you even talking about?”

“I'm just saying it’s interesting how Tom gets the royal treatment and I get….whatever it is you give me.”

You flinch as though he's physically slapped you and you react instinctively.

“That's because you're you!” You snap, suddenly hot in the face, in your chest. Your fists are now clenched at your sides.

Hammond’s brows raise. “That's a bit harsh.”

You throw up your hands, tears of frustration and hurt welling in your eyes and threatening to spill over. “What do you want from me, Hammond? You've spent months teasing me, using me as your personal joke punching bag. Months. Then this week you're all weirdly civil and now you're mad because I was polite to a guest?”

He opens his mouth.

“No.” You say before he can speak. “You Don't get to play wounded puppy just because I had a decent day working with someone who didn’t treat me like a human chew toy.”

His jaw sets and there’s something darker behind his eyes now. No teasing, no boyish sparkle. But he doesn’t say anything.

Good. Because you are already halfway down the lot.

You don't look back, but you still feel the heat of his eyes on your back the whole way out.

HAMMOND’S POV

The lot is mostly dark now, just the pole lights buzzing overhead in quiet protest. A few tired crew shuffle around cleaning up, but the day is essentially over.

Except for Hammond, who’s been leaning against a crate of spare tires for twenty minutes, arms crossed, jaw tight and chewing on regret. He still sees her walking away storming off, really, her back tense and straight, hands clenched at her sides. He sees the tears in her eyes, tears that he put there. Still hears his own voice, stupid and loud, making snide remarks about Cruise like some jealous prat.

He groans under his breath, rubs a hand through his hair and cleans back harder against the tires, hoping they’ll swallow him up.

“Are you going for broody or constipated?”

May's voice cuts clean through the silence. Richard doesn’t look up.

“Piss off.”

“No seriously, I'm trying to work it out.” James crosses over and perches on the edge of a nearby bench. “Because if it's broody, you need to work on the jawline thing, and if it’s constipated, I’ve got some fiber bars in the boot.”

Richard sighs. James waits.

Eventually. “I said something stupid.”

“That narrows it down to every conversation you've ever had.”

“This was worse.”

James sighs. “Cruise related?”

Richard nods miserably.

“She likes him.”

“She’s just a fan.”

“She smiled at him, talked to him.”

“She smiles at you when you aren’t being a cock. Besides, she works here, it's literally her job to make him happy.”

Richard runs a hand over his face. “I know. God, I know. And I ruined everything because I couldn’t stand seeing her smile at someone else.”

James tilts his head. “Even if that someone was a five foot tall movie Star? Even you smiled at him, Hammond…it’s Tom Cruise.”

Richard shoots him a glare. “Not helping.”

“I'm not trying to help, I'm trying to get you to listen to yourself.”

“I sounded jealous?”

“You were jealous.”

Richard groans again, deeper this time, a sound from somewhere in his guts. “I don't know what’s wrong with me. I Don't act like this. Ever. Around anyone.”

James hums. “Only with her.”

“I know! Thank you Captain Obvious.” Richard explodes, throwing his hands up. “It’s like my brain stops working. All logic just gets tossed out the window and I say things I Don't mean, or I say them in the worst possible way.”

“Or you tease her like a school boy pulling a girl’s pigtails.”

“She makes me nervous, alright?” Hammond blurts. “I like her so much. It's a problem. I'm 55 years old and I’ve never felt like this before. I just turn into a blithering idiot every time she looks at me.”

They fall into silence. The kind that stretches out like a lazy cat, unhurried but heavy.

Finally, James says, “You need to give her space.”

Richard flinches.

“Two weeks,” James continues. “We have a break before we go out on location. Leave her alone for now and let her cool off. Let yourself get your head together.”

Richard starts to say something.

“No.” James says sharply. “Let me finish. She’s not like other women you've had dealings with.”

“She’s smart…”

“She’s wounded, mate,” James cuts in, serious now. “You can see it. I don't know what happened to her, but there's a quiet there that didn’t come easy. And everytime you mouth off, you're landing punches where someone else already bruised her.”

Richard swallows hard.

James softens a little. “I know you don't mean it that way. I know that, but she might not. She may think that all you are trying to do is attack her. All the time.”

“I'm not trying to hurt her.” Richard whispers. “I would never want to hurt her.”

“I know,” James says, again. “But your version of flirting, the jabs and the wind ups, That's not going to work here. It's doing the opposite and we know that's not who you really are.”

He nods slowly. “So what do I do?”

“Start by shutting up.”

A pause, then Hammond huffs a quiet laugh.

“Then, maybe,” James adds, standing up. “Try being sincere, or quiet. Or both.”

“Brilliant.” Richard mutters. “Next you’ll be telling me to write her a poem and grow a bloody beard.”

“I’ve heard her say she doesn’t like beards.” Jame smirks as he walks off. “Poem might help, though. And do something with your hair, you look like an anxious meerkat.”

Left alone again, Richard slumps.

He isn’t good at waiting, or at being soft. But James was right. He'd let the next two weeks breathe, let her forget what complete idiot he's been.

And maybe, if he was brave enough, he'd figure out how to talk to her without hiding behind a smirk.

4: Grecian Nights

Greece was everything you had imagined and more. Blazing sunlight, bone-white ruins perched on cliff sides and seas so blue they bordered on unreal. The kind of place you've dreamed about on grey, sleepless Nights in a shoebox flat, scrolling through photos of vacations you'd never be able to afford.

Now you were here, living it.

Still, for the last week you've done everything you can to avoid him.

You no longer shared cabs or lingered after filming. You kept your radio communications brief and professional, filtered every comment through cold civility. During down time when the boys and the crew flocked together for ouzo tastings, sunset swims or hiking into the hills with cameras and laughter, you simply disappeared.

You took solo ferry rides to islands whose names you could barely pronounce, wandered temple ruins with reverence, a guidebook in one hand, camera in the other. You drank strong coffee at a tiny Cafe and let the chatter of strangers wash over you.

You told yourself you were protecting your peace.

Because Richard Hammond, in all his ridiculous, charming, exhausting glory, was not a man you could afford to let your guard down around. There had been too many jokes, too many sharp edges hidden under soft laughter. It didn’t matter that some moments had felt kind, or real. It didn't matter that you caught yourself thinking about the sound of his voice when he wasn’t trying to be funny. None of it meant anything, he was a born performer, a habitual flirt, and you had learned the hard way, to not confuse attention with affection.

So you stayed out of reach, and for the most part, it worked.

Until it didn’t.

The lobby of the hotel was quiet and golden-lit. Outside, the Gulf of Corinth stretched out in a purple hush, the last ferry Horns echoing across the water. A few guests that had been on the bus tours with you meandered in, Sandals scraping across the marble.

You stepped through the door smelling like dust and sunlight, your cheeks pink from the wind at Delphi, hair falling from where you tried to pin it back and your hands stuffed in the pockets of flowing linen pants you picked up the day before at a market. The ruins had been everything you're dreamed of, and well worth the long, hot bus ride. Your sd card was full of ancient stones and sunbeams, along with a few blurry selfies with columns and olive groves in the background.

You were happy, at least That's what you kept telling yourself. Hate this was the dream….Greece, freedom, a job you loved, that you had worked hard for. And you're done it all today without a single, awkward run in with Hammond.

Until now.

Because there he was, slouched near the lift and wearing some battered shirt and khaki cargo pants that only a man with zero shame could pull off. His hair was fluffy from the sea air and his hands were stuffed deep in his pockets.

He looked perfect.

You paused, considered walking right past and then he straightened.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “Can I…? Just for a moment?”

You give him a tight smile. “It’s late.”

“I know, I promise it won’t take long.”

There was something in his face that was quieter than usual. He lacked the usual cocky gleam, the baiting grin. He looked, dare you say, like a man who was actually trying. Sincere.

So you folded your arms. “Alright.”

He started to take a step forward and then thought better of it. “I just….wanted to say that I was sorry.”

You blinked.

He continued. “For before. For…well, the whole thing. The jokes, the Cruise nonsense. Everything, really.”

You were silent. Not cold, just blank, practiced.

He cleared his throat. “I was trying to be funny, to connect and I did the exact opposite. I know I upset you and I hate that.”

Still, you said nothing, too busy trying to work through your thoughts.

Hammond glanced at the floor. “Anyway, I just wanted you to know.”

Here was a pause, long enough that he started fidgeting. Then finally:

“I accept your apology.”

His eyes lifted, hopeful.

“But I think,” you went on, calmly. “ That we’re best off keeping our distance. At work and otherwise.”

His smile fades from his face.

“I don't want another scene, I don't want this constant tension on set, so it's better if we keep it professional.”

Hammond opens his mouth.

You hold up a hand. “No. I mean it.”

He shut his mouth.

“We don't get along. We rub each other the wrong way, and I can’t kee bracing myself for what version of you I'm going to get every time we are in the same room.”

“That's not fair…”

“It's not about fair,” you cut in. “It's about my peace of mind.”

There was something final about the way you said it. Not cruel, but definitely resolute.

Hammond looks like He's been slapped with a rolled up newspaper and he takes a small step backwards, nodding.

“Right,” he says, voice cracking just slightly. “Sure. It'll leave you be.”

You didn’t say anything else, didn’t trust yourself not to take it all back. Instead you walked past him to the lift.

He stayed behind.

Your hotel room was cool and quiet, with white sheets that smelled like lavender and a half-full bottle of sparkling water sweating on the desk. You sat on the edge of the bed, shoes kicked off, staring at the floor. You should feel good, relieved. That was clean, direct and with no ambiguity. He's crossed lines, you set a boundary. That's what you did when you were finally protecting yourself, right?

Instead, all you felt was hollow.

You thought about the way he looked when he apologized, earnest for once, vulnerable. The same way he always seemed to look, just on the edge of saying something real, right before he cracked a stupid joke. You thought of the times he’d helped you to carry heavy equipment without being asked, the chocolate in your cubby, the zip tie ‘crown’ that still hung off your rearview mirror. The quiet way he'd been trying, lately, to be someone else around you. You hated that you missed that version of him. But it didn’t matter, because people didn't change, not in your experience. Especially not when they were charming, clever and used to getting away with it..

Laying back on the bed you drape your arms over your eyes and tell yourself that you did the right thing. Even if it doesn’t feel that way at all.

The sky over Meteora looked like something out of a travel brochure….endless bright blue touched by golden lights, with those impossible pillars rising from the landscape like something from the romantasy novels you love so much. You’re half tempted to stick your head out the window just to feel the wind on your face, but since you sit crammed in the back of a crew van with a notebook and headset, bouncing over winding roads towards the next stop, you refrain.

They’re filming on one of the twisting mountain roads that coil like a ribbon toward the cliff top monasteries…one of the postcard perfect stretches of Greek countryside that's a nightmare for vintage cars and a wet dream for the boys. When the call comes in you aren’t surprised.

“Uh, yeah. The Alfa's given up the ghost, again.”

Of course it had.

It takes twenty minutes for your van to catch up and when you do you spot them immediately….the three vintage masterpieces pulled off on the shoulder, Hammond crouched beside the cherry red Alfa Romeo gesturing dramatically while the two camera people look increasingly baffled. May and Clarkson are standing a respectful distance away, trying not to laugh.

You hop out before the car fully stops.

“Right then,” you say crisply as you reach the vehicle and its frustrated driver. “What's she doing?”

“Being Italian.” Hammond mutters, raking his fingers through his hair. “Started sputtering like mad halfway up the climb and then died on a downshift. Might be fuel, might be ignition, who the hell knows?”

You glance at the open bonnet, then at the mixture of confusion and defeat across everyone’s faces.

“Mind if I take a look?”

They part like the Red Sea.

You lean over the engine with practiced easel, fingers brushing across warm metal and familiar parts. She’s beautiful…temperamental and dramatic, sure, but beautiful. Just like the ones your grandfather owned when you were a kid. You spot the problem within a few minutes.

“Your ignition coil wire is disconnected,” you say. “Probably rattled free with all the cornering. It'll reconnect it and replace the ignition coil but you might want to carry spares in case it happens again.”

“You're kidding.” Hammond steps closer. “I checked the coil.”

“I'm sure you did, but you couldn't have known to check for this,’ you say, lifting the offending wire with two fingers. “It’s a repop, doesn’t seat well in the terminal. It was a common issue with these. Hand me a flathead, would you?”

He does. Quietly, no jokes.

After the crew finds the part on the truck for you it's just you, Hammond and a camera car. The others have all gone on without you, as they usually did when one broke down.

You work efficiently, grateful for the distraction. It’s been two days since that conversation in the hotel lobby and you've done well to hold onto your resolve. Polite head nods, neutral smiles and concise sentences have been the extent of your interactions. You're gone out of your way to avoid him, and he hasn’t tried to seek you out. Still, here you are now.

“Didn’t know you were a grease monkey, Smalls.” He says, not unkindly.

You think about responding with a smart arse retort but then you glance at him. He's watching your hands, not smirking, not mocking….just curious.

“My grandfather used to race Alfas back in the 60’s.” You say instead. “He kept a couple and when I was a kid I used to sit in them while he worked on them. He taught me a lot before he passed.”

That earns a quiet hum.

“Proper education.” He murmurs.

“Better than school,” you reply. “Though it did make me the weird girl at Uni who corrected the boys about timing belts.”

That makes him laugh, not loudly, just enough that it causes something in your chest to tighten.

“I used to dream about driving one of these,” you say, without meaning to. “The noise, the smell, I thought they were magic.”

“They are, they absolutely are.” He says softly.

For a while you work in silence, passing tools back and forth like two people who’ve always done this. There’s something oddly domestic about it….the sun on your back, the grease on your fingers, the way his arms brush against yours when he leans in to see what you’re doing.

He smells like bergamot, sunblock and motor oil.

When you have him turn the key and the engine roars back to life with a stuttering purr, the camera crew cheers. Hammond grins and your heart skips a beat.

“You've saved the day, Smalls.” He says, voice light, warm. There's no teasing bite to it, just thankfulness.

You nod. “It should be okay for the rest of the climb, as long as you don't do anything stupid.”

He raises both hands in mock surrender. “No promises.”

You don't stick around. Once the card's humming and the cameras start rolling you're back in a crew car without a word. He watches you go, you feel it, but he doesn’t follow.

You spend the evening in your hotel room with your book and a crisp beer. The monasteries are tomorrow, a place you've wanted to see for over twenty years. You should be thrilled, but instead there’s a slow ache settling behind your ribs. You can’t stop thinking about the way his voice softened when he agreed with you about magic. Or the way his eyes lit up when you said your Alfa dreams started in childhood. You liked that version of him, wanted to be around that man again. But you can’t, you know better.

So you close the blinds, turn off your phone and try not to wonder how it is that one stupid, brilliant man has managed to wedge himself so deep beneath your skin you can feel his laugh in your bones.

HAMMOND’S POV

Hammond had always known she was smart, terrifyingly so. She was efficient, focused, a woman who moved through production days like clockwork, able to bark orders one moment and soothe a panicking junior runner the next. Today, leaning over his broken Alfa Romeo with her hair tucked back and grease smudged across one cheek, she was something else entirely.

She was breathtaking.

Not in the typical cinematic way, though he could picture that too, she was breathtaking in how utterly herself she was. In her confidence, the way her fingers danced across the engine like it was an instrument she knew by heart. There was no second guessing, or hesitation. She just knew. And when she talked about her grandfather….the way he voice softened, the wistful half-size that tugged at her lips when she mentioned sitting inside Alfas as a girl…Hammond’s heart had clenched so tightly it hurt.

God, he'd wanted to kiss her. Not just in passing, not some cheeky peck behind a car, no. He wanted to really kiss her, fingers tangled in her hair, her back against the warm metal of the car they'd just resurrected together. He wanted her to pull him in, to want him. To look at him like she trusted him, like she saw him - past the jokes, the bravado, past all the ways she'd tried to cover up how deeply he felt about her.

He wanted her to undo him the way he wanted to undo her.

But she didn’t linger, as soon as the engine came back to life, she wiped her hands, gave him a polite nod and climbed into the crew car without so much as a glance back. He was left alone with the Alfa, the dust and a hollow ache that no amount of horsepower could assuage.

Dinner was winding down by the time the three of them finally ate. Him, Clarkson and May sat at a corner table on the open air terrace of the hotel. Lights strung overhead swayed gently in the breeze and somewhere, off in the distance a dog barked. The sound of clanging plates and laughter floated from the kitchen, even after most of the crew had already eaten and gone.

Clarkson was halfway through his second beer when he leaned back in his chair and drawled. “So, is it just me, or did she look absolutely filthy leaning over your car today?”

Hammond’s fork clattered to his plate. May didn’t blink. “You're a child.”

“Oh come on, the view from where I was standing…..?”

“Shut up, Clarkson.” Hammond snarled.

Clarkson smirked. “Touchy.”

“She was fixing an engine, not posing for a centerfold, and she was brilliant. You don't get to talk about her like that. Not now, not ever.”

Clarkson raised his hands. “Alright, alright. Some one's in love.”

Hammond let out a slow breath and pushed his plate aside. “I'm not….”

May cut him off. “Yes, you are.”

There was no teasing in his voice, just quiet observation.

Hammond sighed. “Fine, maybe I am, I don't know, but it's not a damn joke. She’s not a damn joke.”

“Does she know?” Clarkson asked, breaking off a chunk of bread.

“No, I don't think she has the slightest clue and she doesn’t like me much anyway. She asked me to leave her alone a couple of days ago, and I’ve been trying, really trying. I don't want to screw it up.”

“Why not just tell her?”

Hammond gave a humorless laugh. “Because I don't have the guts. Because I don't want to see that look, you know the one. The polite, confused horror, like I’ve just farted in a lift. I don't want to be a complication in her life, I want to be something better.”

“She fixed your car with you.” Clarkson points out. “She didn't run away screaming.”

“She fixed an engine, not me.”

May leaned forward slightly. “I told you before that I think she’s been through something, something serious. You rush her, you’ll lose any chance you might still have.”

Richard’s face softened, almost painfully. “I don't want to hurt her, God James, I Don't even want her to be mildly uncomfortable. I act like an idiot around her because I don't know how else to deal with what I'm feeling and it's stupid. It's not who I am, not even close.”

There was a pause, then Clarkson guffawing.

“Well, you’ll probably die waiting for her.”

Hammond shot him a glare.

“At least you’ll outlive that Alfa, I suppose,” Clarkson added. “That thing’s a death trap….and I like Alfas, usually.

“Oh for Christ’s sake…”

“My Maserati would eat it alive.”

“That rickety coffin?” Hammond barked out a laugh, successfully distracted. “It wheezes more than May on a hike.”

“I resent that.” May muttered

Clarkson grinned. “Alright, how about we settle it the old fashioned way?”

“No.” James said immediately.

“A race down the Meteora road tomorrow. No crew, no cameras, just us. Three cars, one winner.”

“You’ll kill yourselves.” May grumbled. “Leave me out of it.”

“You can film us for the documentary if we do.” Clarkson said. “Just think of the tribute music.”

“You're both cocks.”

May stood up, sighing as he pulled out his phone. Hammond and Clarkson watched him leave.

“You think he's calling room service?” Clarkson asked.

“No,” Hammond muttered. “He's warning her.”

5: METEORA

You had never seen anything like it.

The monasteries of Meteora clung to the cliffs like miracles. Bright light filtered through the afternoon haze, warming the pale stone until it glowed. The air smelled of tourists, ancient dust and incense, bells clanged softly to mark the passing hour.

You stood still, hands on the iron railing, eyes sweeping across the landscape. Pinnacles of rock dominated the view, breaking up the endless sea of green trees and orange terracotta roofs. You could see the road curving down like question marks through the valley. The height was dizzying, beautiful, sacred.

For the first time in a week you felt almost calm. You tried not to think about him.

Hammond had been perfectly quiet since your talk in the lobby. Respectful, even, which should have been a relief. It was a relief.

Except when it wasn’t.

He hasn't teased you, hasn't pushed, hasn't hovered around you like a storm cloud of cheery remarks and infuriating grins. Somehow, his absence felt louder than his presence ever had. You told yourself you were glad, that you didn’t need the distraction. That Richard Hammond, with his childish jabs and relentless banter, was just a complication.

Still….there was just something about him. The energy, the humor, the wicked glint in his eyes and the kindness that showed up when you least expected it, warm and startling. For you, he should have been easy to ignore. Except he hasn't, he was impossible to ignore. You'd never admit it out loud but there were moments.

Late at night, your mind would wander, against your will. Back to times when you've seen his fingers smudged with oil, the smooth lean lines of his forearms when he rolled his sleeves up, the way his voice dropped when he was serious. Not many people noticed it, but you did. Because you watched, far more than you should.

You'd imagined, foolishly, what it might feel like if he touched you, not in some passing way, but deliberately. A hand against your cheeks, thumbs at the corner of your mouth, lips warm and searching against yours. What if he meant it? In your dreams he'd crowded you against a wall, not in anger but something far more dangerous, that cocky grin melting into something hot and hungry as he cupped your jaw and kissed you like he needed it. Like he needed you. You felt his fingers in your hair, on your hips, your bare skin, everywhere, his body pressing into yours with enough heat to erase every doubt that had settled in your bones over the last decade.

You had imagined that it would sound like if he whispered your name in the dark. What it would be like to let him undress you, sometimes slowly, sometimes in haste. His voice, husky with want in your ear, breath hitching as his mouth traced over every place you've forgotten was sensitive. His focus would be singular and fierce, like you were the most fascinating thing he'd ever touched.

And you knew, without any proof except your instincts, that Hammond, for all his childishness, would know exactly what he was doing.

The thought made you warm in places you didn’t like to acknowledge. It made your breath go shallow and your thighs shift where you stood. You blinked at the blue sky above, embarrassed with yourself and furious too. Hate kind of fantasy didn’t belong to someone like you anymore. You weren’t soft, open or brave. You were someone who'd spent the better part of a decade rebuilding yourself from the rubble that another man had created. Someone who'd convinced herself she didn’t want anything anymore. Not touch, not desire, not any of that.

But here you were thinking about him. Not that it mattered, it was physical, that was all. A passing attraction for an impossible, too charming man who would never want you. Over the years you'd seen the type of women he favored - polished, leggy and confident. You were none of those things. Hammond only teased you because you were easy to wind up, not for any other reason. And you were accepting of that, mostly.

You lean onto the railing again, sighing through your nose. A little ways below, at the top of the road, the light caught something, a glint of color. You squinted.

Two cars, old ones, familiar.

You frowned, there was no filming scheduled for today, it was a rest day. Someone would have called you if that had changed. Reaching for your phone, you realized the screen was dark. You cursed quietly, thumbed the power button and waited for it to wake up. You had forgotten to turn it back on that morning. Just one night of peace had been all you wanted, no noise, no messages.

No warnings.

The phone buzzed angrily in your hand, lighting up with missed texts and a single voicemail.

May.

You played it on speaker, heart dropping with every word.

‘Clarkson made a bet. They’re going to race down the road tomorrow. I tried talking them out of it but you know what a cock Jeremy is, and Hammond isn’t thinking straight, right now. You might be the only one who can get it through his thick skull. If that coil wire goes again, at that speed….”

You didn’t listen to the rest, you were already running.

The stone pathways and steps were uneven and slick with age in places, but you flew down them like the threat of breaking our bones was nothing. Your lungs burned and your heart was a wild, terrified thing in your chest. You managed to reach May, breathless as you reached the base trail that led to the lower viewing points and the road.

“They already started,” he told you, grimly, right as you heard the roar of the engines. You were too late.

“Fuck! Goddamn, fucking idiots!” You yelled, pumping your arms harder.

You didn't stop moving.

The road twisted into view as you pushed through some brushes and a crowd of gawking tourists near the rail. Once your feet hit the asphalt you ran even faster than you would have thought possible. The outcome was inevitable, it was just a matter of when.

A moment later you heard it, that horrible, unmistakable sound of metal and glass shattering against rock. Your heart stops and a fear like You've never known takes a hold of you.

It’s him, you know it's him, the car didn’t make it.

You Don't think, your body acting purely on instinct as you sprint down the middle of the road, several onlookers following behind you. Your heart now hammers in your throat, your lungs and legs burning as you slip, fall and then get right back up again despite the scraped knee and palms. The sting only propels you harder and faster.

You have to get to him, you have to.

When the crash site comes into view, the twisted red body of the Alfa Romeo crumpled against the cliffside, your stomach drops. There's smoke, a crowd forming all looking shaken and serious.

How could anyone have survived that?

Then you see him. You watch as he's pulled from the wreckage, limbs moving, dazed, but conscious. She's actually grinning like a lunatic, trying to wave off the medics with his usual bravado like He's walking off a stubbed toe, not a mangled mass of metal. The relief you feel almost brings you to your knees, you suck in deep breaths of air, trying to gain some control.

But something inside you snaps.

You’re on him in seconds, pushing past the crowds and the medics, your hair a mess, your face red and sweaty from the exertion. He sees you and his face lights up, he opens his mouth - no doubt to make some glib remark - but you don't give him the chance.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You scream, voice shaking, bleeding hands balled into tight fists.

He blinks, confused. “I…”

No! You Don't get to talk right now, Hammond!”

Your voice cracks. “You absolute, stupid, moronic idiot! Do you have a death wish? Is that it?! Cause if it is let me and I'll happily kill you myself! Are you really so convinced you're indestructible that you throw yourself down a mountainside in a sixty year old tin can just to prove a point to that overgrown ape over there?”

You fling an arm towards Clarkson, who looks shaken but also has the grace to look ashamed of himself.

Hammond opens his mouth again, but your rage built from your fear, keeps pouring out, hot and blistering.

“You are a child, Richard! A reckless, selfish, child! You don't care about anyone but yourself, you never think…..!”

You're crying. You know when it started but tears are falling down your cheeks fast and unrelenting, mingling with dust and sweat.

“Do you have any comprehension of what it would have felt like,” you choke. “to watch you die today? To see that car crumpled into a bottle cap and know that you were in it, that you were gone?”

Silence.

Everyone is staring. You feel them like a weight, the crowd, the crew, Clarkson. May has arrived and is standing awkwardly beside you looking grave. Hammond, still sitting on the road, dusty and scraped up with a medic hovering over him, just stares up at you like you've slapped him.

Then he speaks, quietly, without humor.

“I had no idea you cared so much, Smalls.”

You flinch, because to your ears it still sounds like a joke. Still reeks of him brushing it off, like He's found a clever line to wriggle out of the gravity of what just happened.

Your heart clenches, chest aching with the pain, the humiliation of everything That's just spilled out of you in front of half your co workers and a bunch of tourists with camera phones.

You step back, voice like gravel.

“Go to hell, Hammond.”

Then you turn and run away.

6: CONFRONTATION

You close the door to your hotel room behind you and lock it with trembling fingers. The moment the latch slides into place, your legs give out and you slide to the floor, your back against the cool wood.

Your whole body is shaking.

James had called ten minutes ago to check on you and tell you that they were taking Hammond to the hospital to get checked out, but he seemed to be fine. Physically. You'd thanked him, you think. You couldn't really remember what you'd said because your brain had been screaming the whole time.

He's fine.

You're not.

You didn’t know how long you sat there before you got up to shower, but it's dark outside. The room looks exactly as you left it that morning but it feels like it belongs to someone else. A stranger. Someone who hadn’t just realized they're in love with a reckless idiot. Your suitcase is on the bed and you drag it open like you're on autopilot. You don't even bother folding, you just throw things in, clothes, toiletries, shoes. You tell yourself that what you're doing is smart, necessary. You'll find another job, you have plenty of contacts and a little bit of money saved up to bridge the gap. Somewhere quieter, with fewer egomaniacal men launching themselves down cliff sides.

Your hands are shaking so badly that you drop your hairbrush. It thunks to the floor and rolls under the bed. You don't bother retrieving it. You tell yourself that it's fine.

You can't stay, not after that. Not after everything you felt when you saw that car and thought he was still in it. Not after screaming at him like a crazy person, or crying in front of everyone. Not now that you knew, finally, what had been clawing at your insides for weeks.

You loved him.

And it hurts.

Because it didn’t matter, you knew what kind of man he was…loud, cocky, flippant. The kind who would flirt just to pass the time and who played with danger like it was a game. He'd never be serious about anything, not even his own damn life.

There's a knock at the door and you freeze, knowing there’s only one person it would be.

Then his voice, muffled but unmistakable.

“Smalls, I know you're in there.”

Your blood runs cold as you are torn between wanting to get away cleanly and desperately wanting to see him just one more time.

“I'm not going away,” he says. “Just letting you know, you can ignore me if you want, but it'll be more annoying for you than me. I’ve got nowhere else to be other than right here.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, fists clenched.

Another knock, then scratching…exaggerated, deliberate. You can practically feel the smirk through the do.

“Smalls. Come on, open the door and let’s talk like adults for once.”

You bite down on your lip so hard you taste blood.

Ten minutes.

Ten minutes of him scratching, tapping, whining, humming and narrating everything He's going to do until you open the door. Like some demented manchild.

You snap, wrenching the door open with the tinge of satisfaction when he literally falls through it. He straightens with a jolt and then, to your shock, he doesn’t smirk or make a joke. His face is flushed, hair damp and messy, his shirt wrinkled from leaning against the door. His expression is deadly serious.

“You're packing.” He says, glancing past you. “You're leaving?”

You don't answer.

He steps inside and you don't stop him. He doesn't pace, doesn’t strut, just walks slowly to the center of the room like he's walking into a fire.

“You shouldn’t have come here.” You say quietly, your voice still hoarse.

He meets your eyes. “You screamed at me like you hated me.”

“I do.”

“No you don't.”

You laugh, bitter and exhausted. “You think you would know how I feel, Hammond? You have no idea what you put me through today. I thought you were dead. I saw the car and I thought….”

Your voice breaks and you turn away.

“Then why leave if you say I mean so little to you?” He asks softly.

“Because you mean too much!” You snap, spinning back to face him. “And you don't take anything seriously. You flirt, you tease, you joke, you risk your life to win some stupid bet and you think that's how to live.”

He stays silent so you keep going.

“I can't be around that, around you. Not when I feel….” You stop yourself. “It's not healthy, not for me. It….hurts.”

He takes a step closer, then another. You should stop him, but you Don't.

“You're wrong,” he says quietly. “About me, about what you think I feel.”

Your breath catches, your heart hammering madly.

“I’ve never not taken you seriously,” he says. “I joke because it's all I know how to do when I'm scared shitless. You walk near me and I lose my goddamn mind, Smalls. I’ve been trying to make you laugh, hiding behind it instead of blurting out that I-”

He stops himself. Takes a breath.

You stare at him, stunned.

“I didn’t mean to scare you, obviously I wasn’t thinking, I know that. We've larked around for years and it never even occurred to me to remember the issue with the wire. I was trying to distract myself, because the only thing I really wanted to do was talk to you, spend time with you and I knew that wasn’t what you wanted. I had no idea that you actually cared. I'm sorry. For everything.”

You don't speak, can’t speak as your brain tries to make sense of what he's saying. Your heart leaps hopefully, but your head is telling you to calm down, he's speaking in friendship, not affection.

The silence stretches, dense and heavy between you.

Then he finally looks down, defeated.

“If you really want to go, if that's what you know is best for you, I won't stop you.”

He turns to leave.

“Don’t.”

It slips out like a reflex, breathless, quiet, but sharp enough to cut through the silence like a blade.

“Don't…I don't…” You take a deep, shuddering breath, trying to be brave for once as he turns. “I don't want to go, I don't want you to go.”

His eyes catch yours, searching for something. He finds it.

Two strides and he's there, fingers cradling your jaw gently, as though he's afraid if he grips too tightly you'll vanish.

And then he kisses you.

You stop thinking and just feel, the second guessing can come later. Your mouth opens beneath his instinctively, your breath stolen, knees weak. You fist your fingers in the collar of his shirt and pull closer like He's the only thing keeping you upright. His lips are urgent, hot, moving over yours with months of longing and restraint now spilling loose. You whimper as his tongue brushes against yours sending arrows of heat throughout your body. He kisses you like he's been dying to , like He's thought about this every night, like he's not sure he'll ever get to do it again. You feel it because it's the same way you're kissing him back, because you feel all those things and so much more.

It leaves you dazed.

He breaks the kiss to whisper against your mouth, his voice ragged.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry I'm such an idiot, you deserve better.”

You want to answer but you can't breathe properly. Our fingers tremble against the smooth skin of his neck and if it wasn't for the arm around your waist and the hand cupping the back of your head you wouldn't have the strength to stand. He presses his forehead to yours.

“I love you.” He whispers, voice cracking. “I need you to know that. I love you, and I want you to be mine more than I’ve ever wanted anything. Not just like this, but every day, every night, every dinner, every shoot. I want everything with you.”

He kisses your cheek, your jaw, then trails his lips down the side of your neck, goatee tickling your skin and making you shiver.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasps. “And I will.”

You don't even have to think twice. You breathe his name, the first time you've ever used it and you feel him smile against your skin. Your arms wrap around his neck and you press yourself closer.

That's all it takes.

Clothes come off between kisses, rough and greedy at first, but then slower, tender. His hands map the landscape of your body, learning every curve and valley. His breath hitches when you slide off your dress and for a long moment, all he does is stare.

“You're….” He swallows, hard. “You're perfect.”

You snort out of habit, disbelieving, but it catches in your throat when he sinks to his knees in front of you.

“You think I'm joking?” He murmurs, mouth trailing over your ribs, your belly, your hips. “You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted this, how I’ve dreamed of you wanting me back.”

His hands settle on your thighs, parting them as his mouth keeps moving - revenant kisses, slow and maddening. When he looks up at you his eyes are dark with want.

“Let me show you.”

And he does.

Only once you are trembling and panting, your fingers in his hair yanking his head away because it's too much, does he lay you back on the bed with an almost aching tenderness. His mouth moves over your chest, your shoulders, the soft places that no one has seen in years. He murmurs your name like a prayer between each kiss, each touch, as if afraid the moment might shatter. You're never felt so seen, so adored.

Your body aches into him instinctively and his low, breathy groan when you trace the lines of his body, tells you he's feeling every bit of this as much as you are. He touches you like you're precious, finishes undressing you while you touch every part of him you can, memorizing the feel of his hot skin under your fingers. When he finally presses into you, it's slow. A deep careful stretch, deliberate. He holds your gaze the whole time. Your breath catches, fingers gripping his arms tightly as he fills you, your hips adjusting the cradle his.

He doesn't move at first, just stays there while you pulse around him, forehead against yours, chest rising and falling as he struggles to breathe steadily.

“You feel like home.” He whispers.

You exhale shakily, unable to put into words the enormity of what you're feeling, your whole body trembling. Your face, you hope says it all, the love, the desire, the fear of rejection. He watches your face for a long moment, then nods. He sees, he understands. Then he starts to move.

The rhythm is slow and deep, every thrust sending a ripple of pleasure through you so intense you could barely process it. His hands cradle your hips, then your face before intertwining with yours above your head. He watches you. Watches every twitch of your lips, every flutter of your eyes. And you can’t look away from him either - the way his face tightens with every wave of sensation, the way his biceps flex as he holds the bulk of his weight above you, the way his chest flushes with exertion. You tilt your head, pressing your lips against his biceps and the words inked there. He grins down at you before swooping in to capture your mouth again, stealing your breath away.

“You're incredible.” He whispers, moving faster and harder. “You have no idea how beautiful you are, especially when you let go for me.”

And you do let go, his name a sharp cry on your lips. You come apart with a shout, your entire body curling around him, shivering, overwhelmed by the flood of sensation, emotion, relief. Because this is what you always wanted, you were just too afraid to admit it.

He follows, moments later. Groaning low and wrecked into your neck he finishes hard, collapsing against you warm and shaking.

For a long time, neither of you speak. His arms wrap around you, your fingers trace gentle patterns on his back, still trembling slightly. When you finally look up at him, shy and self conscious, He's already watching you, a little smile on his lips, a little fear in his eyes. Like he doesn’t know if you'll vanish into smoke or shove him off you and out the door. You kiss him, softly, without need. Simply because you want to.

He exhales against your lips. “Good luck getting rid of me now.”

You breathe out a laugh.

“I'm not trying to.”

A little later you lay tangled together in silence, your cheek resting against his chest, his fingers stroking lazy circles up and down your arms. You want to stay here, just like this, forever. With him. Your heart feels like it's made of glass, filled with light, yes, but so fragile you're afraid any sudden movement will break it.

Maybe he senses it.

Perhaps he even feels the same, because when you shift slightly to get up, muttering something about needing to put clothes on, he doesn’t protest. He simply kisses your temple and tells you He's going to order food, because ‘you need to keep your strength up, Smalls.’

You roll your eyes but you can't stop the smile. It feels good to smile again.

You slip into one of the tshirts you packed for sleeping, oversized and soft, and tug it down to your thighs, suddenly shy under his gaze even after what just happened between you. You catch him watching you from across the room and freeze for a moment, unsure, but then he calmly pulls his jeans back on and gives you a small, sweet smile. No pressure, just kindness.

It breaks something open in your chest.

By the time room service arrives, grilled chicken, fresh fruit and warm bread with olives and feta, You've calmed down enough to breathe. Richard sets up on the small table out on the balcony without saying a word, and gestures for you to join him.

You sit together in the warm hush of the Grecian night, the lights of the distant monastery flickering gold on the cliffs above like watchful Stars. Neither of you speak at first, it's quiet, easy, safe. Then he sets down his fork and clears his throat, looking at you in a way that feels different than before.

“I need to say something,” he says. “I’ve said I'ma sorry already, and I am. But there’s more to it than that.”

You blink, waiting. He leans his elbows on the table, fingers threaded together. “What You've seen of me - on set, in the studio - it's not the whole of me. It's a character, almost. I've been doing that routine for so long it's second nature. I can be a loudmouth, and yeah, I like a good prank, but it's not who I really am.”

You nod slowly.

He gives you a sheepish, quiet smile. “Thing is, being around you? I didn't know what the hell I was doing, you walked into my life all sharp eyes and wicked smiles and my brain just shut off. I acted like a berk, because I didn’t think I had a chance in hell with you.”

You look down at your plate, appetite vanishing, waiting for him to deliver bad news.

He notices. “Hey,” he says softly. “I mean this. I know I screwed up and I've probably ruined a hundred chances to tell you this properly. But I am serious about you, and I want to be better, for you.”

Your voice is thin when you finally answer. “I didn’t think you even saw me, not as anything other than a pal of shorts.”

He frowns. “Of course I did, how could I not?”

You swallow hard. “Because men like you don't look twice at me.”

He opens his mouth but you cut him off, you have to get this out.

“Because for years I had someone telling me that I was forgettable. That I was crazy to think I deserved more than scraps of affection, that I was lucky to even have him. He cheated, again and again and I was the one who apologized for making a fuss, for not being enough.”

His hand slides across the table and covers yours. You can’t meet his eyes.

“I got out,” you whisper. “Eventually, but it broke something in me. It's taken years to almost feel like I'm enough again, and even now, even after….I'm still scared that you're going to change your mind.”

When you finally look at him, his face is a mask of rage and sorrow. But not directed at you.

“Ten years,” you say. “And you're the only person I've even looked at like that, let alone…..”

He rises without a word and steps over to your chair, pulling you up and then gently down onto his lap. You curl into him before you can talk yourself out of it. With a hand cupping the back of your head, he rests his forehead against yours. His voice, when he speaks, is low and rough with emotion.

“You are everything,” he says. “Do you understand me? Everything. I want to be the man who helps you rebuild all the parts that he broke. I want to show you that love can feel like joy instead of a trap. And I want to see you shine, hell, help you shine.”

You feel yourself start to cry again.

Hammond presses kisses to your wet cheeks, murmuring nonsense…soothing and soft. “If that means I have to spend the rest of my life proving it to you, that's fine by me. I love you, all of you. Especially the part that doesn’t believe it yet.”

You manage a watery laugh. “I thought you’d never want me. That's why it hurt so much when you joked around, why I always got so defensive.”

He leans in closer. “Smalls, there hasn't been a moment since I met you that I haven't wanted you.”

You tuck your head into his neck, breathing in the clean, familiar smell of him. For the first time you feel safe enough to believe it.

EPILOGUE

You hated the cold, with every fiber of your being.

Finland, for all its breathtaking beauty - pristine snow, frozen lakes, pine trees dipped in white - feels like an elaborate punishment crafted especially for people like you, who would choose Mediterranean sun and olive groves over glacial air that bit your face off. Still, there you were, standing beside the cameras, bundled in four layers under your parka, a thick beanie pulled over your years, gloves on your fingers and a scarf pulled up to your nose. Still you were freezing.

Then he glances at you. From across the clearing where this location’s cars are parked, Richard Hammond looks over his shoulder and gives you a gin. Just for you. You see the familiar gleam in his eyes a second before your phone buzzes in your pocket.

From: Idiot

I’m freezing my balls off. Want me to fake mechanical failure so we can sneak off and make out?

You off a laugh, fogging the air inside your scarf, and fire back:

Tempting, but I doubt your ability to keep a straight face. Also I like my job?

He doesn't reply, but when the director calls cut a little while later and everyone disperses for a moment of downtime, he makes a beeline straight for you. Without a word he wraps his arms around you from behind and buries his face in your neck, mumbling about you smelling like violets and woodsmoke. You let him hold you there, uncaring that you are in open view. Everyone knows by now, they have done for weeks because there was no way Hammond could have kept it a secret. Not that you wanted to, no, you wanted people to know that you were his and he yours. And boy did he ever make sure of that.

He presses a kiss to the side of your head. “You okay?”

You nod, you're better than okay. You're happy.

He pulls back slightly, studying you with those eyes that see everything. “Are you really okay?”

That's the difference now, he always checks. He always gives you the chance to answer honestly. He still ribs you relentlessly, as does everyone else, but you can feel the affection, now. And the few times you haven't been okay, that you've been doubting and second-guessing, he's made sure to take care of it.

“I'm freezing, but yeah, I'm good.”

He smiles, squeezes your shoulders and then hands you a little bag of candy he's nicked earlier. Because of course he did.

Later, as filming continues, you catch him watching you again. Not in a smothering way, just glancing over every so often as you worked with the crew. Just enough to let you know that he was there, that you mattered to him. At one point, between set ups, he brushes past you to grab something and murmurs, “You're beautiful when you boss people around.” You flush, both from the compliment and the way he flicks your hip with his fingers as he passes. You make a note to get him back later.

By the time the sun starts to sink, bleeding pink and gold into the horizon, filming is nearly done for the day. You duck into a makeshift warming tent to sort through the last of the notes, shivering. The tent is small, dim and blessedly heated by a noisy portable unit in the corner. You rub your hands together, muttering courses about the cold and stamping your feet when the flaps zips closed.

You don't have to turn around to know it's him. His presence settles around you like a magnetic field - warm, familiar, tethering. Before you can get a word out he has his arms wrapped around you, pressing his mouth to the back of your neck, right below your beanie.

“Jesus,” he murmurs, “You always smell so amazing. I've been thinking about this all day.”

You smile, despite yourself. “This? Being in a tent that smells like propane with someone who’s nose is frozen?”

“I'd take this tent to the ends of the earth if you were in it.” He says, gently turning you to face him.

The look in his eyes robs you of air. He's got snow dusting his hair, his cheeks pink from the cold, but his gaze is all heat. It flickers to your lips, and then lingers there. He doesn’t ask, just leans in and kisses you. It starts soft and reverent, his lips moving over yours with care and patience, like he's memorizing you. But when you lean into him, hands fisting in the collar of his coat, your body sighing into him - the kiss deepens. He groans into your mouth, low and guttural, his hands starting to roam. They unzip your coat and slide up under your shirts, his palms warm and sure along the slope of your back, reacquainting himself with every inch of skin he can get to. When his thumbs sweep under your bra, you arch, gasping softly.

“You drive me mad,” he whispers against your lips. “You know that? I'm trying to be a bloody gentleman and all I want to do is press you against that pole right there and….” He bites off the sentence with a growl and buries his face in your neck.

His tongue flicks lightly just under your jaw, then his teeth. You shiver, but it has nothing to do with the cold.

“Hammond,” you murmur, laughing gently. “You can’t ravish me next to a folding chair and a box of heating fuel.”

“Says who?” His hands settle on your hips, fingers digging in just enough to make you whisper. “You’re warm, you're soft and you're mine. You expect me to look at you all day bundled up like a cute snow bunny and not do this?”

He kisses you again, harder this time, taking his time like he has something to prove, like he can't wait a moment longer to have you. His tongue strokes yours slowly, one hand slipping up to cradle the side of your face, keeping you in place. Your knees feel weak, like they do every time he kisses you, and he kisses you a lot. If the past weeks have shown you anything it's that Hammond is the most affectionate man you've ever met. Every opportunity he gets either his hands or his lips are on you somehow, even if it's just a slight brush as he walks by. He never misses an opportunity to make you feel adored.

“We should….” You pant between kisses, your fingers pulling at the hem of his sweater, just to feel the warm skin beneath. “We really should go back before someone comes looking.”

“Let them.” His voice is rough silk in your ear. ‘Let them see that I can’t keep my hands off you. I want to make it obvious, Smalls.”

The nickname makes your stomach flutter now, knowing it's meant sweetly and you pull him closer until you feel the full heat of him, the hard ridge of his arousal against your hip.

“I want you, I always want you.”

You don't speak, you just kiss him long and deep, letting the friction and the fabric be enough for now. When you finally break apart, both of you flushed and breathing hard, you grin like someone who’s just been spun dizzy. Hammond helps you straighten your coat with gentle fingers, zipping it up for you like you're fragile, then he cups your cheeks again.

“I'm taking you to bed after dinner,” he rasps. “No interruptions.”

“Good, can’t wait.” You whisper, lips brushing his again.

He groans, resting his forehead on your shoulder. “You're going to kill me baby.”

You grin. “At least we'll both die happy.”

Dinner is a blur….cozy, candlelight, laughter and good food shared in a restaurant with the crew. He stays close without clinging, keeping a hand on your back when you walk, stealing a kiss to your temple when no one is watching. You’re still shy sometimes, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the moment he pulls away and leaves you hanging. But he never does.

Something comes up after dinner and reluctantly you have to go back to work for an hour or two to help sort it out before the next day’s filming. When you finally make it back to the room, You're certain Richard is already asleep. You let the door click softly behind you and kick off your boots before shrugging out of your coat. Your shoulders sag with the kind of exhaustion that only comes from standing in the snow all day.

“I swear,” You mutter as you start peeling off layers. “If I never see snow again after this trip, I'll die happy.”

“Bold Words for someone who looked criminally cute in thermal wear,” A wide awake Hammond quips from the bed, lounging in a worn shirt and flannel pyjama pants, feet bare, hair still damp from a shower. “Though to be fair, you did also look like a disgruntled puffin for most of the day.”

You throw a glove at him. “Disgruntled puffin is generous.”

He catches it easily, grinning. “I mean that lovingly, obviously. Puffins are adorable.”

You smirk, shaking your head as you toss the rest of your clothes on a chair and grab a soft T-shirt from your bag. You're tugging it on when you feel his eyes on you, warm and lingering.

“What?” You ask, glancing at him.

He pants the bed beside him. “Come here and I'll show you.”

You arch a brown. “That's suspiciously vague.”

“Isn’t it just?” He says with a wink.

Smiling, you cross the room and crawl onto the bed beside him, expecting a snuggle or a kiss. Instead you let out a sharp squeal as he grabs your waist and flips you effortlessly beneath him, straddling you with a grin.

“Hey - !” You giggle, half heartedly trying to shove him off, but he just smirks and leans down, lips brushing your ear.

“I missed you today,” He whispers. “Kept looking around for you like a lovesick school boy.”

“You were filming,” You protest, breath hitching as his hands slide down to your hips. “And you saw me in the warming tent.”

“Doesn’t mean I don't look.” he says, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Or think about that moment in the tent, or wonder if you'd let me keep that promise I made when I was holding you.”

You meet his gaze then, clear, hungry, affectionate, and something in your chest tightens deliciously.

“Which promise would that be?” You ask breathlessly.

“The one where I said I'd warm you up properly, thoroughly. Every inch.”

“I Don't remember that.” You tease.

“It was strongly implied when I said I was taking you to bed after dinner.”

You roll your eyes but your hands are already under his shirt, pushing it up, your fingers splayed across his chest.

“I'm beginning to think you're obsessed with me.” You chuckle.

He kisses the tip of your nose. “Only completely.”

His kiss tonight is different, it's not a desperate collision like in Greece….its playful, flirty. You're both smiling, laughing quietly into each other’s mouth as he shifts above you, peppering kisses along your neck, your jaw and your collarbone. He doesn't rush, but his hands are all over you….roving, kneading, tugging gently at your shirt hem.. When you try to help him out of his pyjama pants, he catches your wrists.

“Ah, ah, ah,” He says, eyes sparkling. “We’re doing this my way tonight. You're done enough today, Smalls, let me take care of you.”

You start to object, but he silences you with a kiss that meets your spine. His fingertips trail over your bare skin under your shirt and the heat that blooms between your thighs is enough to make you gasp. He teases, takes his time. Clothes don't come off in a flurry - he works around them, pushes fabric aside just enough, like it's a secret between the two of you. His voice is soft and adoring when he whispers against your skin.

“You're everything to me, you know that?”

You nod, forgetting how to speak as he trails kisses lower. When he finally lets his mouth and fingers do the wicked things they want to, it's not sweet - it's heady, focused. You're completely undone by how well he knows your body now, how much joy he takes in your pleasure, how he makes you laugh between gasps and moans like it's the most natural thing in the world.

When you finally collapse beside him, limbs tangled, hair a mess, heart still hammering - he pulls you against him and lets out a satisfied sigh.

“You know what?” He asks lazily.

“What?”

“I think you like me.”

You snort into his shoulder. “It's possible.”

“I'm winning you over, slowly but surely.”

You lift your head to meet his gaze. “I've been won over.”

Something in his expression shifts then, softens, his thumbs stroking your cheek.

“Well, that's it then,” he grins, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Guess I'll have to keep you.”

You nuzzle closer to his chest, eyes fluttering shut. “Good, because I'm not going anywhere.”

And you fall asleep like that - warm, sated and completely loved.

[oh-katsuki]

bird of prey (tendou x reader)

series masterlist | ao3

Pairing: Tendou x Reader, Bokuto x Reader

Series Summary: Satori Tendou is your best friend, but you fuck for fun.

Chapter Title: Act I, Scene 1 — Play Like Lovers

Chapter Summary: Satori likes your current arrangement. You're friends, arguably the best of friends, and sometimes you fuck. Well, it's more than sometimes. Like rabbits, really.

Chapter Content Warnings: afab!reader, college au, friends with benefits, no strings attached, angst, oral sex (m!receiving), teasing, bokuto is in this too, ushijima mentions, mentions of breeding, mentions of pregnancy, slowish burn (?) they're already fucking tho so romantically speaking, teasing, dirty talk

Word Count: 6.7k

A/N: i missed tendou and ended up deciding to write this. i don't have any chapters prewritten so updates will likely be slow, but im trying out a new thing so bear with me. it's probably better read on ao3, but im posting it here too. formatting is the bane of my existence. enjoy <3

next >

Satori likes the cold. He always has. He likes the bite of it. The way it makes his skin feel when he’s been standing outside long enough that the cold begins to feel hot across his cheeks.

There’s a certain solitude to winter that Satori appreciates. It’s as if the world has had a blanket thrown over it and everything becomes muffled and quiet. Sometimes winter makes Satori feel like he’s on another planet, floating through a silent universe in a perpetual winter. He especially feels this way when it snows. He loves the world when it’s like this, calm and quiet and so hazy that he can’t see the street sign a block down. 

Satori blinks winter from his eyes, furrowing his eyebrows as they begin to water to fight the cold. He inhales, tucking his hands further into his puffy jacket as the crisp air fills his lungs. It’s a quiet night. The first snowy one of the season, and snowflakes fall like little diamonds onto a thinly coated sidewalk. 

He doesn’t have a particular destination in mind. Satori is just wandering, savoring the feel of the evening as he strolls through his neighborhood. There are a scant few people outside. It's a weeknight and the neighborhood surrounding campus is eerily quiet in these small hours of the morning. Only the occasional drunk or a couple loved up and leaning on one another, their hands intertwined in the pockets of one of their coats. 

Tendou thinks that he could only become one of those two options. The drunk seems to have far less to worry about, stumbling across the sidewalk before coming to a stop on a slanted curve and letting his head fall onto his crossed arms. Not that Satori would want to be him. Don’t get him wrong. He’s not judging. How one man lives his life is absolutely none of Satori’s business and, in the same way he prefers people don’t mind what he does, he won’t mind what the neighborhood drunk does. Still, on a sliding scale of difficulty, the drunk seems to—for the moment—have it easier in Satori’s eyes. Only one person to worry about. 

It’s nearing three in the morning and the world has taken on an eerily slanted feel to it. Satori likes the world like this, calm and quiet. No one to talk to or worry about, only the sound of his boots against the thin layer of snow. There’s no crunch, as it hasn’t stuck yet, but if it keeps snowing like this, Satori thinks that it might. He looks forward to it, tilting his head up toward the sky and feeling the soft sting of bitter cold snow as it falls on his cheeks. 

—

Teeth, tongue, the press of your body arching up to meet his. It’s hot today, the way you move. Rushed like you’re trying to get something done. Music plays quietly from your computer on the desk and your hands fumble blindly around his body, eyes screwed shut as you let your tongue explore the inside of his mouth. 

“You’re eager,” he coos, detaching himself from your lips. 

“Sh, sh, sh,” you mumble, pulling him back down to you by the back of his neck and delivering a sloppy kiss. “Keep your voice down.” 

“Why?” He asks back, still connected at the lips. 

“My housemates don’t know you’re here,” you answer, pushing on his shoulders. 

Tendou gives in, letting you turn him over on the bed so that his back is against your headboard. You settle over his hips evenly, placing yourself like you belong there. He wouldn’t be surprised if you felt that way. This is regular enough that you end up like this a lot. Straddling his thighs with your hands on either side of his face. 

You tilt your head, kissing your way down his jaw. Your lips press onto the side of his neck and he can feel the way your tongue darts out to taste the salt on his neck. Your hands roam freely up the other side of his neck and across the back of his head, almost like you can’t feel enough of him fast enough. They raised goosebumps along his skin, teasing the parts your mouth isn’t touching.

“And I don’t really want them to find out,” you say into his neck. Tendou feels the hum in his collarbone and shutters. 

“And why’s that?” He breathes out, his lithe fingers coming up to pull your hips down against him. Tendou figures that if you’re going to rock your hips back and forth like that, you might as well do it like you mean it. 

“They’ll give me shit for hooking up with you all the time instead of getting a real date,” you answer through your breathing. “Something about self respect.” 

Tendou leans his head back against the headboard, looking at you over the tops of his cheeks. You’ve pulled up his shirt and your body is curled over itself, your mouth smearing down his heaving chest as far as your posture will let it go.

He supposes that’s fair. 

“Suppose you haven’t told them that the no strings attached thing is mutual?” He teases, tilting his head to the side to let you continue to kiss at his neck. 

He slides his fingers under the fabric of your sleep shirt, cool fingertips hitting your warm back. Tendou presses his palm flat on your lower back and you shiver away from him, pushing your chest up against his. He likes the way you move. Something about it scratches an itch he’s got. Like watching marbles in a chain reaction. 

“I have,” you say, reaching between the two of you to undo his pants. Tendou slips his fingers into the waistband of your sweatpants, cupping your ass in his hands. “They just don’t believe me.” 

“Hah,” he laughs, tilting his chin forward to kiss you again. He likes the way you taste. “That’s funny.” 

“Ugh, can we like,” you pull away from him, your eyes glazed over and your eyebrows furrowed. You keep one hand on the back of his neck, the other splayed on his chest and Tendou idly rolls the fat of your ass across his fingertips.

“Can we like, what?” He imitates through a grin, tilting his head. “Not talk about this?” You say, rolling your hips. “Because I really want to fuck you right now and it’s sort of killing my vibe.” 

Tendou chuckles at the way you drop your head and roll your hips against him, tipping his head back again as he lets out a low groan. 

“If it means we get to fuck then sure thing,” he drawls, guiding your hips over his crotch by the fat of your ass.

You groan, exposing the hollow of your throat to him as you lean backwards. Tendou leans up to meet you, placing his lips near your pulse point. He bites down on your neck lightly and savors the slight gasp you let out, salving the ache with a quick swipe of his tongue. You cling to him like velcro, rocking your hips over his hardened cock through your clothes. It’s so desperate that it’s almost juvenile, though you’re both well past the phase of being too prudish to not take them off. 

He sighs, sliding his hands from your ass and up your back. He cups your shoulders around your body, letting you move your hips against him. Tendou finds that he likes to let you do what you want. There’s really nothing you can’t take from him and as far as he’s concerned, nothing’s off limits. He’s playing a game and right now, letting you win is the most interesting option.

You reach between them to pick up where you left off, fumbling in his pants to palm at him over his boxers, still rocking your hips against the inside of your wrist. Satori groans lightly at the weight of your hand. He likes it. His dick just fucking fits. 

You slide your hand back and forth, teasing him the way that you know he likes it. God, in moments like these, Satori is convinced that you’re perfect. You and that perfect body, that perfect fucking pussy. All of it just sort of clicks. 

The sexual chemistry between the two of you is palpable. It really always has been. Even when the two of you swore up and down that you were just friends, Satori knew that eventually you’d fuck. And of course, he was right. Months later and here he is, leaning up against your headboard after sneaking in through the window while you give him an over-the-boxers handjob that feels better than what he can do to himself for some reason. 

You need it almost every night, and if it isn’t every night, it’s at least three times a week. You’re always together anyways, might as well throw some heavy petting into the mix while you’re at it. That’s just as well with Tendou. Personally, he’s always willing to fuck you if you need it. Especially when you need it. You just get this pretty look in your eye. It’s a lot like the one you’re wearing now, mouth slightly open as you free him from his boxers and swipe the precum from the tip of his dick with your thumb. Satori shudders. It’s perfect. 

“If you’re going to fuck me, you should just do it,” he says, his face contorting slightly as you grip his cock in your hand and begin to shift backward between his legs. 

“Shut up,” you retort, looking at him through your lashes. “I know you love this shit.” 

“Yeah, fuck-” he groans as you take the tip of him into your mouth. “You’re right. I love a tease.” 

Good conversation. Good sex. A good friend. There’s really nothing more he could ask for. 

Satori brushes the hair from your face, holding it back on your forehead so that he can see the way your mouth takes him in. It’s soft and warm and you hollow your cheeks around his cock in a way that drives him insane. You look so pretty down there. So giving and malleable. And get this, you do it because you like it. God, how fucking sexy. 

He likes the way you look from this angle, your eyebrows knitted together and your ass up in the air. He can see the way you rub your thighs together, small pulses that tell him that when he finally gets down there, you’re going to be soaked. You feel good too. Soft skin, soft mouth. 

Satori lets out a groan, reaching forward to play with the meat of your ass. He kneads the skin there, rubbing his thumb back and forth against it as if he were just trying to feel it. It hides your face from him for a moment and Satori is sad for the loss, but your ass is soft and giving and you push it back against his hand like you like the way he touches you. Of course you do, Satori only touches you in ways he knows you’re going to like. It gets him off. 

You swirl your tongue around his cock, your other hand gripping the base of him and moving along with your mouth. When you do try to take him all the way in, you cough lightly around it, raising your head to catch your breath before lowering your mouth back down. His lower stomach ties itself into knots. That familiar swell begins to mount in him and his muscles tense against his will. Your mouth works him until that slow moving wave pushes against whatever barrier it needs to break for him to finish. 

You stop before he gets to cum and Satori feels that swell of pleasure recede into the back of his gut. He pouts momentarily, his chest heaving as you discard your sweatpants and crawl back over him. 

Satori places his hand over your cunt like it's a habit. He rubs over your slick folds with four fingers, evening applying pressure across your whole pussy because he knows that it frustrates you. In response, you let out an exasperated groan and grind down against his hand. That only makes it better when he finally centers in on your clit, two fingers dipped between your lips to rubbing at the throbbing bud. 

He plays with it for a moment, moving his fingers in a continuous circle. You’re so wet that Satori doesn’t even need to lick his fingers, but he does anyway because he wants to taste you. Slowly, he raises them to his lips and sucks your pleasure off of them, eyeing you while he does so. Then, he places his other hand on your chin and gently forces your mouth open, sliding his two fingers across your tongue. 

The muscle gives under the weight of his fingers. Pleasantly, delightfully, you let him mold you. You let him open your mouth further and stick them deeper—all the way into the warm, wet back of your mouth—until you gag around them. It’s an awful sound. Wet and desperate and it leaves you panting when he pulls them out, but Satori likes you messy. He likes you when you’re drooling for it, saliva pooling under your tongue for just a taste of what he gives you. 

Don’t get him wrong, it’s not a power trip thing. It’s borne out of pure fascination. Like the way scientists like to study molecules, Satori likes to study you. You’re interesting to him. The first to follow through on sex only being sex because Satori—well, Satori fucks you like he loves you. And he loves that you don’t get caught up in it. 

You’re desperate for it today. Satori can tell because you don’t even let him finger you before you’re guiding the tip of his cock to your entrance. 

“What? No condom?” He drawls through a sly grin. 

“Not tonight,” you pant, screwing your eyes shut. Satori’s hands move to your hips, squeezing the fat there and admiring its delightful give. “Don’t have one.” 

“What ever happened to safe sex?” He says through gritted teeth, craning his neck forward to get a good view. 

“You worried you gonna get me pregnant?” you give a breathy laugh, sinking all the way down on him. 

“Depends, you gonna let me finish inside?” he asks through a locked jaw as he feels the warmth of you envelop him. 

“Fuck no,” you say, beginning to move your hips. 

Satori inhales through his teeth, leaning backwards and holding you by the hips. You take the lead tonight, rolling your hips forward with slow, almost calculated, flicks. He guides you, his fingers gripping at the side of your ass, pulling it apart as best he can. He likes the way it feels when he holds you like this and wonders briefly what it looks like from the back when he lets you fuck him like this. 

The music from your laptop is drowned out by the quiet sounds of your breathing. The only thing Satori really hears is the both of you, stifling moans to prevent your housemates from figuring out what you’re up to. He grits his teeth. 

Satori has always been on the more vocal side of things. Talking, moaning, laughing, things like that. This though, this is hot too. Like this, he can hear every little change in your breathing. He can hear every time he hits that particularly sensitive spot inside of you. Shit, he can even hear his own breathing, labored and low and mirroring your desperation like you’re both cut from the same cloth. 

He loves being inside of you. It’s comfortable. It always feels good in a way Satori has found is hard to come by. You’ve got a good pussy and an even better attitude about it. 

When you get close, you always take in a sharp and fast inhale. It’s like a tell. Something that gives away just how good you feel. Satori loves the sound of it. Sometimes, he’ll edge you three or four times just to hear it, just to savor that sweet intake of breath. Tonight though, he’s going to let you have it easy. You deserve to have it easy tonight, as desperate as you are, and this is fun for him too. This position makes it easy to feel just how tight you get when you’re close, pussy clamping down around him at a fast interval even with the upward pumps of his hips. 

He’s too impatient to let you fuck him on your own. Satori lets you have it your way, but he wants it his way too, accenting the roll of your hips with subtle pumps. He grips your hips, his fingers sinking delightfully into the fat there and holds you at a good enough angle to fuck. The weight of your breath comes heavy, that little accent and then a slow crawl from your lungs. You shudder, mouth falling open. And Satori, well Satori watches. In fascination, in awe, in sheer pleasure. 

“Oh shit,” you breathe, glancing at him. “Yeah, yeah.” 

Oh, he loves that. Those little nothings that you babble when you’re breathless and climbing towards that high. Satori can’t get enough of it. Your voice, the cadence of it, how heavy it sounds on your tongue when you force out the sex-laced words. 

You crumble quickly. It’s almost desperate the way you push your hands onto his chest and let your head fall forward, cunt clenching down hard around him as you stop the roll of your hips to shudder. Your thighs press harshly against Satori’s sides and he digs his fingers into your hips to keep from cumming inside of you. That’d be pretty bad, though he can’t say that it’s not endlessly tempting. 

You don’t waste a moment pulling yourself off of him, wrapping your hand around is cum-slicked cock and beginning to pump. You squeeze the head of it and Satori lets out a low groan. God, you’re being so quick about this that it would almost be jarring if Satori didn’t find it so fucking hot. You’re like… desperate for it. Christ, he thinks he’s gonna cum. 

“Can I finish on your face?” He grits out. 

“No,” you reply, teasing him by pressing your thumb over the head of his dick. “On your chest. I like it when you make a mess of yourself.” 

Then, a familiar, teasing smile lights up across your face. Your breath is still heaving and it makes the expression feel more genuine. Satori leans his head back against the headboard eyebrows pulled upwards in his pleasure. 

“You’re fuckin’ sadistic,” he laughs out. 

It’s half a groan, his voice strained and thick with his imminent high. He reaches up to toy with your tits, anything really that he can grab. Satori gets handsy when he’s close and he feels the way pleasure mounts in his lower stomach like water fills a bucket. 

Then, he peaks, his cum spilling out over his chest. Satori makes an effort to muffle his voice when he does, gritting his jaw and squeezing the flesh of your tit as an outlet for the pleasure of it all. The mess he’s made is warm, spilling into the ridges of his abdomen and the soft lines of muscle there.He’ll have to shower again when he gets home. For the moment though, he just watches his chest heave as you let go of his dick and reach to put two of your messy fingers in his mouth. Satori obliges, swirling his tongue around them. 

“Hah, you’re disgusting.” 

“You’re the one who likes it, sweetheart,” he drones, reaching to take some tissues from the nightstand and wipe up his mess. 

“Throw those in the bin,” you say, laying down on your bed as he stands. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” 

Satori stretches for a moment, inspecting his clothes to ensure that the mess was minimal. He turns to look at you on the bed. Your eyes are closed, arms above your head with your sleep shirt riding up on your body, revealing a small glimpse of your fleshy stomach. God, he almost wants to fuck you again. 

“Move over,” he says, bullying his way into the bed next to you. 

“Fine, but you can’t stay for long,” you reply, lifting your head and putting it back down on his chest. You face the ceiling, picking at your nails. “I gotta shower and finish up a paper.” 

“You have a paper to finish but you called me over to fuck?” 

“Duh,” you reply. “Needed some sort of stress relief.” 

“Most people just eat a bowl of cereal or something,” he says through a smile, his lips curling up in the corners. 

You huff and roll your eyes, letting out a short and genuine laugh. “Whatever, you just can’t stay too long, ‘kay?” 

“You got it,” he chuckles, rolling his eyes lightly. 

Satori tucks his arm under his head, watching your ceiling fan as it spins in circles. He hates the ceiling in your room. You’ve got popcorn ceilings, something that Satori is particularly disdainful of. It’s why he likes having you over at his place, with its smooth and well painted walls. Plus, you can fuck as loud as you want and there’ll be no one there in the morning to hound you both over it. 

You can’t stay for long. 

He never really understood why you always tell him that. Even without it, Satori never really does. 

—

Satori’s morning routine isn’t really a routine at all. On days where he has nothing to do, he rolls out of bed at whatever time he pleases. Sometimes that’s 12 in the afternoon and other times that’s 5:30 in the morning. 

He tries his best to avoid early morning classes. Truthfully, he tries his best to avoid classes at all, but hey, when you’re getting a degree, that’s not really an option. Satori’s been relatively successful in that endeavor, keeping most of his class schedule well within the 11 am to 4 pm range, except for one pesky little discussion. Once a week, on Tuesdays, Satori has to drag himself out of bed and be in the classroom at 8 am sharp. 

It’s not that he isn’t driven, or isn’t a morning person. Satori just isn’t a rules person, which doesn’t exactly function well within a societal structure. There are always rules. Ones that tell you when to cross the road, where to park your car, when to be somewhere or when not to be somewhere. The fact that he has to get up early on Tuesdays makes him needlessly resistant to getting up, even if he’s awake already. 

Satori blinks away sleep in the quiet of his room. He’s woken up about fifteen minutes before his 6:50 alarm and now stares blankly at the ceiling with his arms tucked behind his head. What a drag, getting up like this and going immediately into the daily slog, not that anything can be done about it. 

He inhales, preparing himself to sit up, before actually doing so. His muscles scream at him, sore with sleep and aching for a good stretch which he gladly obliges with a loud yawn. Cartoonish, almost. Satori laughs to himself as he pulls his body from the bed. 

His room is messy. Clothes are strewn about haphazardly across the floor and various items that he’d picked up to mess around with are out of place. He exhales, shaking his head a little bit and telling himself that he’ll clean it when he gets back. It’s not that he minds the mess. In fact, Satori likes a little organized mess. Like what you and him are doing. That’s messy in the most delightful way. But right now, his room is a little too messy, verging on the precipice of dirty, which Satori hates. 

He tosses on a soft, long-sleeved t-shirt. It’s the kind of shirt that he’s had for a long while, the ones that feel smooth on his skin. The fabric is so worn that it falls over him almost like tissue paper and he loves the feeling. His black jeans are hanging over the back of his desk chair and he grabs them quickly, shrugging them on over his hips with two quick steps and a pull. The ink on them is faded and though they started their life black, they are now almost a dark gray and look even lighter at the knees and backs of the thighs. He thinks he’ll have to get a new pair soon. Gray doesn’t look as nice with other colors as black does. 

The sink in his bathroom is nearly empty, save for one single face wash, his toothbrush, and some toothpaste. He uses all of them in that order, hardly glancing up to look at himself in the mirror except to fix his scraggly long hair. He fiddles with it for a moment, running his fingers through minor tangles that worked themselves into his hair while he slept, before deciding that it looks good enough. The rest of it will sort itself out during the day and fall flat. 

His dish is in the sink from the night before and he briefly loads it into the dishwasher and runs it, chiding himself mentally with an eye roll for not doing it the night before. There’s always a 50/50 chance in the morning that Satori has forgotten to run the dishwasher and it antagonizes him as much as anything can antagonize Satori, which really isn’t much. 

There’s a black puffer jacket hanging by the door of his modest apartment. It’s a size too big for him, but it’s warm and looks nice on his figure, so he sees no use in telling his mother that she’d gotten the wrong size. It was a gift from her at the beginning of the winter season last year, along with a hat that Satori never wears. The jacket, at the very least, gets some use on account of it suiting his own personal style. 

He’s grateful for it when he steps outside of his apartment, shrugging it closer to him as the familiar bite of winter rushes up and under his skin. The sun has only just risen and the world is cast in a familiar orange, pink, and purple glow that makes it feel like a painting. Satori doesn’t mind being out in the world when it’s still asleep. Especially not in the early morning hours just before the sun comes up, when the world is cast in blue as if it were covered in film. Today though, it’s late enough that the world is now wide awake and the bustle of it gives Satori a headache. 

He passes businessmen on their way to work, girls in school uniforms rushing to make it through the gate of their school on time, their loafers smacking the floor with a delightful and intrusive clicking sound. His campus is only a few blocks away, around two corners and a straight shot until he hits the main building. He got lucky with his apartment’s location and sacrificed nice amenities for its proximity to his classes. The apartment itself may be crap, but Satori finds it worthwhile for how near it is to the things he cares about. That, and it doesn’t have popcorn ceilings, thank god. 

The snow hasn’t stuck yet, which means that the sidewalk is damp with melting ice as the sun begins to warm the pavement beneath it. His shoes will get damp like this. The converse do little to repel the water, instead soaking it in like a sponge. He’s careful to avoid puddles, but should he hit one, Satori won’t dwell. They’ll dry at some point. 

He can see the school up ahead. Satori isn’t really a fan of the building style. They’re stuffy and a bit reminiscent of the industrial buildings just outside of the Sendai city limits, but Tohoku University is a good school and Satori thinks it would have been a waste to not accept his admission. As the buildings grow closer, Satori can see the bodies of students wandering. Some talk in small groups and others, the more independent of them, walk hurriedly to their classes with heavy backpacks slung over both shoulders. Their backs curl forward a little, feeling the pressure of the weight.

Right through the quad, through the double doors, and up to the second floor. That’s the path Satori needs to take to get to his classroom, though he’s about 10 minutes early. He pauses just outside of the building, tilting his head to the side as he spots a familiar silhouette. A smile creeps onto his face, lips curling in the corners as he recognizes you. 

You’re having a conversation with someone, though Satori can’t quite make out who exactly it is. They’re standing partially behind one of the trees, their broad figure concealed by the trunk of it. As he approaches, he recognizes the other person to be Bokuto Koutarou, one of the core members of the university’s volleyball team. What an odd pair to be seen together, and so early in the morning too. Then, Bokuto leans down and pecks you on the cheek and Satori is more confused than he’s been in a while. When did you get close? When did you start seeing him? 

A pit forms in his stomach, though not the kind he’s familiar with. Messy, messy. 

“Bokuto, huh?” he says as he approaches behind you, watching with you as the other man walks away. “When did you and him get so… close.” He drags out the last word, hissing out the S through a small smile. 

“That,” you start, “is none of your business. It just sort of happened.” 

Satori gives you a coy smile, tilting his head in your direction. 

“Does he know?” He questions genuinely. 

“Know what?” 

“About us,” he croons, leaving no room for misinterpretation. 

You give him a pointed glance, an eyebrow raised. He knows the look. It’s the one you give him when he’s said something stupid or far too obvious. 

“We,” you emphasize, “are friends.” 

“Oh yeah,” he nods, tucking his hands into his pockets and leaning back as he follows your step. “We’re really good friends. And we fuck for fun.” 

You laugh. It’s a shrill laugh, and totally comfortable. He can’t see an ounce of tension in your shoulders and they’re relaxed in the way they usually are when the two of you speak. Satori looks down at you over the tops of his cheeks and a sly grin spreads across his face. 

“Well,” you say, though it seems to not have any real purpose in your sentence. It’s almost like an admittance that he’s right, which he knows he is. “What does it matter if he knows, anyway? What’s there to know?” 

Satori stops walking, his hands buried deep into his pockets. His head hangs forward and his jaw is open in faux confusion. The strain in his neck posing like this is worth the smile you give him, he thinks. 

“That we fuck,” he states, saying it almost as if it’s a shock to him as well. 

You stop to  roll your eyes and Satori quite likes the way that the expression looks on you. Fed up, but pleasantly so. It gives your features a somewhat light, carefree sense. You look away from him for a moment, almost as if to accentuate just how nonsensical his manner of speaking is, before looking at his face and narrowing your eyes. You size him up and then give a small grin, almost mischievous in nature. 

“He suspects,” you say. “But it doesn’t seem like he thinks too hard about it. I think he might if we were like… ex’s or romantically involved, but we’re not, so,” you shrug your shoulders. “Besides, it’s not serious enough for him to mind yet.” 

“Yet?” Satori raises his eyebrows and gives you an incredulous smile. 

Despite his demeanor, he feels something odd. It’s almost like his stomach is about to drop, and an unsettling feeling of dread begins to loom over him. You turn to look at him over your shoulder, impossibly pretty eyes giving him a very square look in the face.

“Yet,” you confirm, your tone a bit sharp as if to warn him that he’s stepping too close to the line. 

He’s not sure what he’s done to warrant that kind of reaction. Satori thought that he’d come off rather disconnected, aloof in the way that your agreement is, but it’s entirely possible that he’d sounded insecure. He furrows his brows at you, almost like he’s confused himself, and then shrugs in a non committal way. 

“Right,” he says, beginning to spin on his heel in an exaggerated manner. “Well, you have fun with Mr. Center-Of-Campus,” he smiles, continuing his sentence,” and I… will be going to my photography lab discussion.” 

“You do that,” you laugh, putting up a hand to wave. “I’ll catch you later.” 

“I’m sure you will,” he says, to which you respond by giving him a tired look and a shrug, like you’re admitting to the implication that you just can’t go without it. It being whatever the hell kind of sexual relationship exists between you two. 

Neither he nor you turns behind to glance at the other. Satori starts off back in his original direction and you dip into the building next to his. He’s sure that if he looked, you’d have your fingers looped through the straps of your backpack, probably greeting someone or other that you know on campus. 

You’re popular in a way that Satori isn’t. Truthfully, Satori is more notorious than liked and people know him for his strange, roundabout way of speaking and the knowing look in his eye. It doesn’t bother him to think that. He’s heard the way people talk about him, either directly from you or from walking up to a conversation a few moments too early. It doesn’t suit anyone to pretend that he doesn’t know and he doesn’t really mind knowing. It helps to weed out the people he wants to be around versus the people he doesn’t.

You, however, are very well liked. Sociable and blunt in your way of speaking. People like being around you, not just because you’re easy to look at, but because you’ve got a casual demeanor about yourself that makes people feel unjudged and at ease. It’s actually one of the first things that Satori had ever noticed about you, the way that you settle into a conversation as if you’d always been meant to be a part of it. No need to switch subjects or guide it to a more suitable position, you seem to blend effortlessly into social scenes, whether you notice it or not. Maybe it’s because you’re very true to yourself. You don’t recognize yourself as a perfect person and, as a result, you never hold the expectation that someone else should be perfect. 

Satori thinks you’re like-minded in that way, though his interpretation of other people’s flaws is more rooted in his treatment by others. People are quick to judge and in all his years of being judged, Satori has just come to accept that that’s the way things are and he can’t blame humans for simply being human. Still though, he has the same idea that people’s flaws aren’t a reason for judgment. They just… exist and that’s fine. 

He slides into a desk along the wall, quickly glancing around the room at the people who have already filed in. He’s only a few minutes early and most of his class are already in their seats with their cameras on their desk. Satori doesn’t know many people in this discussion and the majority of his class is either made up of girls that are too afraid to introduce themselves, or pretentious boys who spend too much time thinking about what tortured artists they are and too little time on the actual composition of their photos. 

He wishes that Ushiwaka had been able to take this class with him. Satori had suggested that he try to enroll at the beginning of the spring semester, but with the class being an upper division, Ushiwaka didn’t have the previous coursework to be able to do it. Besides, Wakatoshi isn’t really in school for the classes, but rather because he’d been scouted by the campus’ volleyball team to play for them and Wakatoshi had gone because it was a good opportunity to get into the professional division. In that sense, Satori feels that he’s falling behind his friend. After all, Wakatoshi knows what he wants, but Satori only knows what he likes. 

This class is pretty irritating. Not just because he has to get up and leave for it at the asscrack of dawn, but also because he feels that the discussions lack any real insight. Every week, they’re expected to upload their photos onto their computers and bring them to class, then, they spend the entire hour going around and discussing goals for the project and what could be improved with their current techniques. It would be useful if Satori didn’t find that so many people half-assed their photos the day before and then brought them in with some made up philosophy on why the snow in the crack of the sidewalk symbolizes their incessant need for human connection. 

He doesn’t think this way because he’s innocent of half-assing. In fact, Satori half-asses a lot. Sometimes because he can’t be bothered and other times because he finds the work less valuable than something else he could be doing. Still, he likes taking pictures and this is a class centered entirely on developing a personal work portfolio. It’s easy for him to do the assignments because it’s essentially what he does in his free time anyway, so there are times when he feels that maybe these people just don’t care too much about school at all. That’s a fine thought to have, he thinks. Most artists think like that in some way or another. 

Satori wonders if it’s the same in your major. Do literature students phone it in and do you find it irritating? He thinks you probably aren’t bothered by it if they do. It wouldn’t be in your nature to get worked up over the actions of others. You hardly even get worked up over your own actions and he thinks it would be weird to see you get in your head over someone else. 

He sits through his class though, explaining the photo he’d taken of you in the early morning after you’d spent the whole evening talking and touching each other. Your face is obscured and your belly is pressed down against the mattress. It’s really only an off centered photo of your back, displaying the lovely curve of it against the crumpled white bed sheets and a bit of your hair. There may not be anything special about the photo to anyone else, but Satori remembers how badly he’d wanted to photograph you then. 

Intimacy is pleasant to him in small doses. He likes to play pretend when it comes to loving and he’ll touch you like he loves you, let you touch him like you do, but Satori doesn’t ever think he’ll do it for real. At least not right now when he is so consumed by catching up to his peers in some arbitrary way. Still, the picture is a pleasant reminder to him that intimacy exists even in the most mundane of moments. Arguably, it is most present in them. 

He doesn’t say all of this to his class though and someone describes the photo as almost pornographic, which he supposes that it is. It gives the impression of two people just after they’ve gone to bed together and he laughs to himself because that’s exactly what it is. Satori just shrugs his shoulders at the comment. That’s just about what your physical relationship to each other is, isn’t it? Almost pornographic in nature, indulging in each other the way lovers might without ever stopping to think if romantic love factors into the actions at all.

[fanfics4all]

Teasing

Request: Yes / No Kinktober Day 15!

Don’t be shy, request things! <3 Have a nice day/night

Althea Szewczyk-Przygocki x Fem!Reader 

Word count: 2220

Warnings: SMUT

Summary: Al is feeling extra dominate tonight and really wants to make you crazy.

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(Not my photo, credit to whoever made it!)

“Eat my pussy, slut.” Althena ordered. I licked my lips as I gazed at her pussy. Even in the dim light that was coming through the blinds, her pussy was glistening. I wanted to just dive right in, but I needed to warm her up… to tease her. 

I started by kissing her thighs, occasionally sucking on the soft flesh as I made my way inwards. When I finally reached the apex of her legs, I avoided her pussy, moving up to give the same attention to her hips and stomach. I smiled at the moans she made and the feeling of her thighs between my fingers. Her pussy throbbed as I lived and nipped at her stomach. I wanted to bury my grace between her legs so badly, but something made me hesitate. If I tase her more, will she be even rougher with me? I loved when she was rough, so I wanted to see if I could provoke her. I nipped at the skin right above her clit. Althena’s hand gripped my hair and pushed my face down, holding it there. There was nowhere to go. 

“I said, eat my pussy, not lick me everywhere but my cunt, stupid slut.” She half-growled. I suppressed a smile and did exactly as she said. I kissed her pussy and buried my face deeper between her thighs. My nose occasionally brushed her clit. Her taste filled all my senses, making my already foggy brain even more hazy. My pussy was burning with need. I pushed my thoughts about myself to the back of my mind and focused on Althena. I would love to use my fingers, but she didn’t want that at the moment. She just wanted my mouth, so I pulled every trick I knew. 

At first, I couldn’t tell if I was doing well, but once Al gripped my hair tighter I knew. I smiled against her pussy when she closed her thighs, trapping my head. I stuck my tongue as deep as I could between her lips and used my whole mouth to put pressure on her mound. The bridge of my nose was carefully putting pressure against her clit. Her nails dug into my scalp, thighs squeezing my head even tighter. My jaw was starting to get tired, but my pussy was on fire. I wanted to make her cum. 

I could feel her getting close. I kept going, even though my jaw was tired. The feeling of being trapped, held in place by her hands and incredible thighs made me soaking wet. I needed to make her cum, to let her use me to get off. I’m a good slut. 

I gasped at the sudden release of pressure when Al unclenched her thighs and again when she yanked me to my feet by my hair. My body was tingling with arousal and only grew when Althena bit and sucked at my bottom lip. I whimpered with the loss of contact when she pulled away from my lips. My eyes fluttered open and I saw her grinning at me. The glint in her eyes made me even wetter. 

“Fuck you’re fun, slut.” She whispered. She sat back on the bed, grinning, and looked me up and down. 

“Get on the bed.” She ordered. I did as told, my gaze fixed on her. I sat next to her with my legs folded to the side. Al shook her head, and motioned for me to lay back. I did as she said and spread my legs. She kneeled over me, placing a single finger on my throat. 

“Please…” I begged, my pussy twitching 

“Please what?” She raised a brow. 

“Please touch me, I need it so bad.” I begged. Al grinned, then traced a line down my torso. My eyes fluttered closed as a shiver ran through me. My skin was erupting with goosebumps in the wake of her touch. I moaned when her finger finally brushed against my pussy, my eyes going wide. 

“I barely even touched you and you moaned that loud?” She asked and I blushed. 

“We’ll have to do something about that.” She said. She stopped teasing me, bringing her fingers to my mouth. I opened my mouth and licked her fingers clean. 

Once they were clean, she started moving off the bed but stopped when she glanced between my legs, her eyes going wide for a second. 

“You’re wearing a plug.” She said and I nodded with a blush. 

“Was that for me, or you?” She asked with a smirk. 

“A little of both…” I answered quietly. Althena gently tapped the plug and I hardly stifled my gasp. She grinned and stepped off the bed, opening one of her drawers, and pulling something out. My eyes widened when she sat back on the bed, holding up a short, thick dildo with a square base and straps attached to it. 

“This should help you stay quiet.” She said. 

“You think you can handle it?” She asked and my eyes widened more. 

“You mean in my mouth?” I asked shocked. 

“I could get a ball gag or something if you don’t think you can handle it, but I think you’ll enjoy it.” She said. I gazed at the dildo and swallowed the lump that formed in my throat. My mouth started watering as I stared at the thick fake cock, my pussy was already a hopeless mess. I looked back up at Al and nodded. 

“I want to try it.” I said and she grinned. She shifted on the bed and spread her legs, patting the spot between them. I crawled over to her and kneeled between her legs, but she shook her head and twirled her finger around. I turned away from her and backed up until her hard nipples were pressed against my back. I shivered as her fingers ghosted up my back, making my pussy twitch. 

“I’m gonna secure the gag, okay?” She asked and I nodded. 

“If you have any issues, tap my leg three times.” She said and I nodded again. 

I watched as she brought the gag around in front of me. I knew the dildo was smaller than any other dildo I’ve seen, but it looked way bigger this close. I parted my lips and she slid the dildo into my mouth until the square base touched my lips. The cock almost went far enough back to make me gag, but it mainly just stretched my jaw. I blinked when I realized I was massaging it with my tongue. My face grew hot and I was happy Althena couldn’t see. She pulled on the strap, pushing the dildo into my mouth just a bit harder. I nearly moaned when I felt her buckle the gag, leaving me unable to talk. 

“Get on your hands and knees.” She ordered. I did as she asked and she moved off the bed again. I heard the drawer open. I didn’t hear her come back and moaned around the gag when I felt her push against my plug. 

“I want to see how big it is.” She said. I moaned as she gripped the plug’s base, brushing against my ass. 

“Ready?” She asked and I nodded. I moaned louder when she pulled on the plug. I clenched on reflex but relaxed as soon as I realized. The plug stretched my tight muscles for just a moment before slipping out. My eyes fluted and my pussy twitched as the sudden change. 

“Aww, it’s a cute little one.” She cooed. Little? I only had three plugs, but that was the biggest one I owned. 

“I think you can go a little bigger.” She said. My eyes widened at the thought of something bigger in my ass. A moment later a slippery finger pressed against my slightly gasped asshole. 

“Wow, you’re sensitive back here aren’t you, slut?” She asked and I moaned when she added another finger. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure your ass is nice and lubed up before I put your new plug in there. Then I may just play with this slutty little pussy of yours.” She said and I moaned. Both at the desperation and arousal of her words. I almost fell onto the mattress, but somehow kept myself up. 

It was harder and harder to do so as she worked her fingers in and out of my ass. She even hooked her fingers around the rim a few times, making me moan into the gag. Even with the dildo blocking most of the noise, I still blushed at how loud it sounded to me. My pussy quivered as I felt my wetness dripping halfway down my thighs. 

I whimpered when her fingers left my ass without warning. This time I did fall onto the bed, sticking my ass even higher into the air. Al’s soft chuckles sent a shiver through me. 

“Such a needy little slut. You really do need something inside you, don’t you? Something to stretch your little hole?” She asked and I half moaned, half whimpered into the gag as I nodded my head. She laughed again and then felt her weight leave the bed. I heard the drawer open again and a few things being moved around. A moment later and her weight was back on the bed, her hands brushing against my ass. 

“I want you to relax. Be a good little slut and let me plug you.” She purred. I took a deep breath through my nose and it rushed out in a moan as I felt something thick press against my asshole. I closed my eyes, relaxing as I let the plug go deeper. The plug widened, stretching my hole further and making me clench. 

“Almost there, relax.” She said, her finger ghosting over my ass and down my thighs. I relaxed again and the plug slipped all the way in. 

“Fuck, you actually took all of that?” She said and I moaned in response. The plug felt massive. 

“Now, come here.” She said. I opened my eyes and looked back to see her lying against the pillows, her legs spread. I turned around and crawled forward until I knelt between her legs, gazing into her eyes. 

“Turn around and sit.” She said. I did so and moaned when the mattress pressed against the plug. Althena laughed and pulled me a bit closer. 

“Good slut.” She whispered. 

“Now lean back and get comfortable.” She added. I did as I was told, leaning against her at an angle to my head almost resting in the crook of her neck. Al’s hands moved to my breasts first, caressing my sensitive flesh. I gasped, shivers running through my body when she punched my left nipple. The sensation went straight to my core. 

Her hand trailed lower, caressing my stomach. Her fingers were pitching and squeezing my nipples, rolling the nubs between her fingers. I pressed my back into her, her breasts pressing against me. 

“You know, I’ve always wanted to see if I could make a girl cum from just her nipples. Should I try that with you?” She asked. I whimpered and gripped the sheets. 

“Hmmm, that wasn’t exactly a no.” She said, her hand falling a bit further until her fingertips rested just above my clit. I squirmed, trying to get her fingers just a bit lower. I heard her laugh again. 

“You’ve been such a good little slut, so I’ll let you have what you want.” She said, making me more desperate for her touch. 

“Make sure you’re quiet, slut.” She said. Her hand brushed against the sensitive skin right next to my lips before caressing my inner thigh. She was so close… I moaned as she pinched my nipple hard, then gasped, arching my back when two of her fingers ran over my spread lips. She dragged her fingers in lazy circles over my folds and I slumped back against her, nearly overwhelmed by the sudden direct contact. 

“Damn.” She breathed. 

“How much of this is me and how much is this just you being a desperate little slut?” She asked. I moaned into the gag, heat rushing through my body. I was getting close, maybe I really was just that desperate. She wasn’t even fingering me! All she was doing was using her fingers to put pressure on my folds, stroking them in a circular motion. Every sensation felt magnified by a hundred, filling my head with a lusty haze until all I could think of was my approaching orgasm. 

It was slow, but I didn’t care anymore. The fact that I could feel it coming was enough. I melted into her as I desperately thrust my hips up. The attention on my nipples never stopped. The tugging on my nipples created a little spark that made me cum. 

I gasped into the gag as my orgasm washed over me. My entire body grew tingly, slow waves of pleasure rippling out from between my legs as I finally came. I almost felt like I was floating and giggling through the gag, my face growing hot as I realized what I had done. Althena pulled her hands away and gently brushed my hair with her clean hand. 

“Such a good little slut.” She said and placed a gentle kiss on my head.

Tag list: @les-bio-lie @tashy-bear @ashwarren32 @hollie-blogs-blog1 @lover-of-books-and-tea @nerdygaloresposts @teenwolfbitches28 @kmc1989 @drw0301bieber @lady-of-lies @ravenmoore14 @ravenempress101 @cillianchamp @rowanthomasknapp @rachelxwayne @ready-4-fanfiction @chonisbestmistake

[tapekitten]

Cookin' Minx (Bakugou x reader smut)

summary: you and katsuki hadn't been intimate in awhile and you thought it'd be fun to tease him right before dinner.

cw: AFAB!reader, she/her, oral (f and m receiving), fingering, spitting in mouth, swearing, light spanking, bitta blue balls, food? (reader is trying to cook while being eaten out)

wc: 3.8k

(this has been continuously written over the course of a few months so sorry about that lmao)

mdni 18+

You were a good girl through and through, you really were. Your boyfriend could back you up on that any day as he was constantly giving you the positive affirmation. He’d come home after a long day of hero work to find you’d drawn him a bath and had prepped it with some lavender bath salt. He’d give you a side hug (as to not rub off too much of the day’s dirt and grime onto you) and a kiss on your temple and mumble a, “you’re so good f’me. My good girl.”

However, some days you couldn’t help but be a bit mischievous. You’d have a little tickle in your bones telling you to push one of the big man’s buttons. A second voice inside your head encouraging you to tease your boyfriend right before dinner was ready. He just seemed so peaceful as he relaxed on the couch, one arm supporting the back of his head as he used the other to scroll through his phone. His legs were propped up on the cushions as he lay, and your eyes couldn’t help but land on the imprint that shown between his legs. Even when he was soft he couldn’t hide the bulge in his baggy sweatpants.

The thought of his size made your legs clench together as you glanced over your shoulder towards the timer that was counting down. You had meat in the oven and once it was done you needed to finish mixing the ingredients for some cookies for dessert. However, you thought it would be a little fun to tease Bakugou right before you need to finish making dinner.

Eight minutes and thirty-nine seconds.

You tried to hide the mischievous smile that crooked your lips upwards as you made your way towards your boyfriend. You crawled to lay on top of him- belly on belly and your head on his shoulder.

“Mm, sweetheart.” He greeted you, but didn’t take his eyes away from his phone. He was intent on reading some of the news articles that were talking about him and comparing them to other pro’s articles. Something his agency had advised him to do so he could get a better handle on how to act in the public eye-- to make people feel safer.

“Kats..” You muttered in a sweet voice, your lips ghosting his neck as you tried to figure out a way to execute your plan.

“Mm?” The man grunted yet again, not giving you his full attention as his eyes continued to read articles about him and his friends. You turned your head a little to see the screen and saw a glimpse of Red Riot’s hair. You let out a huff of breath through your nose as Bakugo chose to read articles about his best friend rather then pay attention to you (even though his work had given it to him as an off-duty assignment).

You squirmed a little on top of Bakugo to situate yourself better, your elbows now on either side of his head, your upper half looming over him and blocking his view of his phone. His eyes narrowed at your’s as he tried to find the intention behind your action. “What’re ya doin’, woman?” He questioned with a raised eyebrow.

A small smile crept onto your innocent lips as you leaned down to rest your chin on his, staring intimately into his eyes. You bit the flesh of your bottom lip and rolled it through your teeth before answering with a, “Nothin’.” in a sweet sing-song voice.

Bakugo let out a, “Hah,” as he dropped his phone off the couch so he could wrap his arm around the lower half of your back, softly strumming his thumb under your shirt. “like I’d believe that.”

“M’ honest!” You grinned as you gave a quick peck to his lips, once again situating yourself so your head was leaning over his. Your mouths only a few inches apart. “I’m not doing anything, Kats.” The only giveaway that showed your true intentions was the small flick of a mischievous smile that had flashed after you spoke.

He let out a grunt of playful disbelief as he tried to lean his head up to give you another peck on the lips. However, you quickly turned your head to the side and his lips landed on your cheek. You felt him squeeze the flesh on your back as a small warning as he tried to kiss you again. As if he didn’t learn his lesson last time, you once again moved your head to the side and made his lips land on the wrong destination.

“Aye, woman, you think you’re cute, hah?” The man growled as you felt him shift under you. A small giggle escaped you as he placed both of his big hands around your cheeks and squished them together in a pout. You shook your head in response before leaning down to give him a small peck on the lips.

“Sorry, ‘Suki. ‘m just a little needy.” You admitted as your hands cupped his face the same way his hands were cupping your’s. You placed little kisses all over his face before you quickly glanced behind you to check the timer. The doorway to the kitchen gave you the perfect view as six minutes and twenty-seven seconds lit up the screen. You had to act faster.

“I can see that,” He tried to suppress his laugh, but a breathy chuckle still escaped his lips as his eyes darted across your face to take in every detail. He adored you.

You interrupted his adoration as you knelt your head down to his collarbone and ran your tongue from the bottom of his neck to his jawline. A surprised inhale was the first reaction he gave you as he squeezed the flesh of your hips with his hands. He began to lightly massage your sides as you left kisses down the wet trail you just made.

“I knew you were up t’ somethin’. Always are.” You could have sworn his voice was a little deeper as he now spoke and you knew that as a sign of him getting riled up. You kept going. You positioned yourself so you were straddling his hips, one of your legs on the ground to help keep your balance. Your hands trailed down his sides until they reached the bottom of his shirt. You placed your hands under his shirt and began to lightly trail your nails against his skin. It created an almost tickling sensation for him, but you could tell he liked it when he began to twitch underneath you.

“Y’re so pretty, Kats..” You mumbled as you lifted his shirt up and moved yourself further down his body. Your chest was now against his crotch as you began kissing around his stomach. You ran your tongue along the indents his muscles created, occasionally nipping at his flesh before using your tongue again to cool the burning down.

You felt his hands lace in your hair before he pulled your head away from him. Your half-lidded eyes instantly met his. You ran your tongue along your lips and let out a soft moan as he instinctively rolled his hips up into your chest. “Fuck,” He breathed out from his accidental contact. “Kiss me.” He growled as the look you were giving him only made him more horny.

“Which part of you?” You teased as your hand began to trail down his chest towards his crotch. Another of his tugs against your hair made your hands stop in their place.

“Don’t play dumb, woman.” He glared his eyes at you before softening them again. He seemed rather needy and it made your heart swoon. The two of you hadn’t been able to spend too much time together recently and that’s what made your teasing all the more fun for you. “Now, kiss me.” The grip he had on your hair lightened as his hands moved to cup your cheeks.

A soft sigh left your lips and you complied to his wishes. Lips now on lips, your knee slipped between his legs as you pushed against his crotch. He practically devoured your mouth from the amount of neediness his body was feeling. He didn’t know how badly he missed your touch until your hands were all over him and now he couldn’t get enough. However, he always adored kissing you before any other foreplay happened.

You felt the vibrations of his moan against your lips as you slowly began to move your leg against his dick. A coo almost escaped your lips as he began to rut himself against your thigh, so needy for your touch but wanting to continue kissing you.

As much as you wanted to, you couldn't 'waste' your precious time simply kissing him. You needed to move faster. Reluctantly you pulled your lips away and gave him a not-so-innocent smile. "I think I want a little appetizer." You laughed a little at your own stupid comment.

Bakugou rolled his eyes with a huff, "You n' I both know I've got more then a' appetizer down there."

"Sure, babe." You teased as you pecked his lips before crawling back down his body. Your face was finally hovering over his sweatpants and you gave a small kiss to the covered bulge. Bakugou's breath caught in his throat as he eyed you, completely unaware of your hidden mischievous motives but not enjoying your teasing.

You looked up through your lashes at your boyfriend as you stuck your tongue out and gave a slow drag over his bulge. The man gruffed a, "Stop teasin', woman." under his breath as he shifted to stick his thumbs under the wasteband of his boxers. Your hands quickly joined his as you both dragged his clothing down and released his half-hard dick.

His dick was so pretty, a slight curve and a deep pink tip. You've seen other dicks before, but Bakugou's was the only one you would ever call pretty. The blonde hair dancing around his happy trail was always attentively trimmed so it wouldn't bother your nose too much when you attempted to deep throat him.

After staring in awe, you instinctively reached your hand up for Bakugou to spit in before using it as a base to start pumping his dick. You watched him slowly get harder as precum began to drizzle out the tip. You wasted no time in licking up the substance, enjoying the salty bitterness you hadn't tasted in awhile. You hallowed out your mouth as you began to suck his tip, earning a moan from the man below you as he unintentionally rutted his hips into your mouth.

You pulled off to catch a quick breath that had been stolen, before sinking back down onto his cock and taking as much as you could. Your hand pumping where your mouth couldn't reach and your drool now being used as lube. The man above you grabbed your hair, but you quickly swatted his hand away.

If you were going to carry out your plan you couldn't risk having him hold you down.

Bakugou didn't think much of it as he grabbed a fistful of the couch instead. "Fuck, y're so- fuck!" Bakugou threw his head back against the armrest and you looked up to see the bulging vein in his sweaty neck. He is a god among men and you felt so lucky to be sucking his beautiful dick.

You quickly pulled off of him to mutter a desperate, "I love you." before quickly inserting him into your mouth once again.

You meant it as a quick reminder that you do love him even though your about to do something that will upset him. However, he saw it as you just being his sweet, loving girlfriend.

"I- hah - I love you too." The sweat dripping down his neck almost distracted you from your plan as you heard the timer in the kitchen go off. "Fuck– gonna cum," Perfect timing. A few more pumps and sucks and you pulled your lips and hands off of him.

This time you couldn't hide your mischievous smirk as you threw your arms up in a shrug. You had spent the past eight minutes and thirty-nine seconds teasing your boyfriend just to blue balls him. Your mischievous self was curious as to how he would react considering you hardly ever act this teasing and bratty. "Sorry, babe. I need to go pull the meat out of the oven or the house might burn down." You began to crawl off the couch as Bakugou looked at you in lust-filled confusion.

What the fuck just happened?

"That sucks so much, you were just about to cum too? Damn." Your sly voice finally clicked the pieces together in Bakugou's head.

"Aye, you lil' minx!" Bakugou accused as he swiped to grab your arm to pull you back to him. You swiftly dodged with a laugh as you walked to the kitchen, grabbing your apron off the counter and putting it on. You put your head through the loop and tied the two strings around your waist while Bakugou worked on stuffing his dick back in his boxers. You heard him muttering stuff to himself, such as, 'what a minx' and 'who does she think she is?'. You also heard him question whether Kiri, Sero or Denki put you up to this. None of them had. In all honesty, you had just been wanting to try something new and be a little devious.

You pulled out the hot pads and took out the meat from the oven. Bakugou silently stood in the doorway as he watched you work. You could still feel the sexual tension in the atmosphere and you had to stop yourself from rubbing your thighs together to the thought of Bakugou bending you over the counter.

"Fuckin'," You heard Bakugou push off the wall and his heavy footsteps against the wooden kitchen floor. "Y're a fuckin' brat, y'know that?" Bakugou firmly grabbed your ass through your sun dress and you felt your core immediately get hotter.

"I don't know what you're talking about," You tried to play dumb as you slowly scooted over to begin prepping the cookie dough you were going to put in the oven for desert.

"Oh, did my dumb lil' bitch forget?" Bakugou manhandled your ass a little more before he got down on his knees behind you.

Your breath hitched as you stopped mixing the cookie ingredients together. "K-Katsuki.." Your voice shook as you continued to try and play into your little devioua bit. "I'm working on dinner, I ca-"

"'nd I was readin' some important articles for work," Bakugou pulled your dress up above your ass to get a good look at the back of your panties. "Y'thought you could get away with a lil' stunt like that?" Bakugou asked as he stuck his index and middle finger between the waist line of your panties, pulling and then releasing them to snap against your flesh. Your body jolted a little.

You reached behind you to try and pull your dress down, but you were met with a firm slap against your ass. Bakugou fumbled over his words for a second, mesmerized by the way your ass jiggled thought your panties. He quickly collected his thoughts, "Get to work, gotta hurry up if ya wanna eat by six."

"Kats-" you began to protest but stopped when he put his hands between your thighs and pulled you a few inches away from the counter. (You could still easily lean forward and use the ingredients.)

He spread your legs apart so that he had space to slide himself between them and have his back towards the counter. He was now between your thighs and at the perfect height to lean his head back and be face-to-pussy. Oh god.

Bakugou was under your dress so you couldn't see him very well, but you could definitely feel him. His hot breath was against your clothed pussy and it was driving you insane. You felt a slap on your inner thigh, "Make dinner, ya fuckin' minx."

Your hands began to move, shaking in anticipation for whatever Bakugou was planning. Flames grew on your cheeks when you felt your boyfriend stick his nose against your panties and inhale. "Katsuki-" you once again protested and reached under your dress to grab a fist full of his hair. Before you could try and pull his head away, his teeth were latched onto your thigh. "F-uck! Kats!" You let out a pained moan as you released his head and leaned your forearms against the counter, stabilizing yourself.

"Stop playin' dumb, I won't ask ya again. Make dinner or ya aren't cummin' t'night."

"Y-yes, sorry." You let out a shaky breath as your hands began to mix all the wet and dry ingredients separately. Some stuff you had to lean a little bit to grab, given the distance Bakugou put between you and the counter, but Bakugou made sure that he did not let that stop him.

You felt a finger move your panties to the side and another one came up to run a line between your folds. "Y're such a fuckin' brat" Bakugou's hot breath made your hole unintentionally clench around nothing. "Y're lucky I'm feelin' nice t'day." He leaned his head up and gave a small kiss to your clit. "Missed ya." Bakugou bashfully muttered, but before you could respond to his admittance, he began to harshly suck and lick your clit while his index finger circled your hole.

A whine came out of your lips as you tried your hardest to not spill the cup of flour in your hand. You quickly made your hand go to the bowl so you could dump out the contents before you had a mess to clean up. "Katsuki- fucking, Katsuki!" Your chest was already feeling heavy as you breathed in and out. It had been far too long since he had touched you and you were starting to notice just how much your body had been missing him.

Bakugou moaned in response to hearing his name on your lips. Usually he would respond with a snarky 'am I makin' ya feel good? Are ya sure you can take my dick if my finger has ya moanin' this much?' but he was too pussy drunk and did not want to pull his lips away for even a second. He didn't realize how much he missed your taste and now that he had it he wasn't going to give it up until he had his fill.

He added another finger, and the sound of squelching began to fill the room as you got more and more wet. He knew your body inside and out like he was the god who created it. In no time he had found the soft spot inside you that had your legs shaking and your fingers gripping the counter.

"Kats, you feel so good- fuck.." you breathed out as you leaned forward on the counter. You were now bent in half and holding yourself up by your forearms as his tongue flicked and sucked your clit. He would occasionally pull away to nip at your squishy thighs just so he could hear the pain-pleasured moan you'd let out.

Katsuki's fingers rubbed and rubbed that special spot inside you as he added yet another finger. As much as you tried to suppress yourself, you couldn't help but squeeze his head with your thighs as the pressure inside you grew. He pulled away and tapped at your thighs to release them from around his head.

"I didn't tell ya to stop cookin', did I?" You could hear the slight hint of teasing in his gruff voice, but that didn't make you want to tease him back. You were desperate to cum, you felt your legs growing weaker as sweat began to form on your brow.

" 'M sorry," you apologized breathlessly as you tried to straighten yourself once again. Your hands reached for the eggs and you nearly dropped them as Katsuki immediately began thrusting his fingers harsher then before. "Katsuki, how am- how am I supposed to co-ok?" You squealed as you tried your best to carefully crack the eggs over the respective bowl.

He remained responseless as his lips began to smother your clit again. You felt the pressure in your lower stomach build, especially as Bakugou moaned and groaned from your taste. He was so hungry for you and he couldn't help the noises that left his lips. He knew you always enjoyed it when he was vocal. At the beginning of the relationship he tried to hide his moans, that is until he saw the blush on your face and the way your thighs rubbed together whenever he did accidentally slip out a moan.

Now he held nothing back as he devoured you. Every slurp, every moan, every squelch was heard by your ears.

The vibrations of his hands and his mouth had the pressure inside of you finally snap as you gushed and came on Katsuki's face. Your legs were shaking from the pent up pressure you'd been feeling for weeks. The lack of sex had caught up to you and you were for sure that had been the biggest orgasm you'd had since you were together.

Katsuki appeared from under your dress with drool and your juices all over his chin. He spun you around so your back was against the counter. He cupped your face with a beginning-to-prune hand and pulled you in for a deep, sweet kiss. His soft lips so gently pressed against your own. "You taste so good," the man muttered as he grabbed a fist full of your hair and yanked your head so you were leaning back. A small line of drool appeared on his lips as he collected his spit, your spit and your pussy drool on the edge of his lips. He blew out of his mouth and made the wad of spit fall into your open mouth for you to taste. "Fuckin' delicious, right?" He groaned as he brought you in for another kiss.

This time he didn't hesitate to grind his painful bulge against your hips. "Dinners gonna hav'ta wait, darlin'." Bakugou chuckled against your lips as he reached his hand to the side (trying his hardest not to break his lips from you) and turned the oven off with his hand. "I need to fuck ya right now." The man groaned as he began to kiss your jawline with his plump, soft lips, leading you to the bedroom.

[shig-a-shig-ah]

can i req a pt. 2 of that dabi / s/o with chesire cat quirk 🥺

I hope you meant ‘can I get some pure smut of this’ because that’s what you’re getting :D 

» contains: lil’ bit of dubcon + teasing + sex toys + orgasm denial + afab!reader

Part one

Dabi’s hard as a rock, straining in his pants as he watches you squirm, your cheeks flushed and wet with tears as you writhe against the sheets, desperate for relief he’s making damn sure you won’t achieve until he’s good and ready. You sob when he reaches out to tug at your tail, the tip of that fluffy appendage flicking spasmodically every time you shudder.

“Aw, why’s my little kitty sound so unhappy?” he mocks. “I thought you liked teasing.”

The only sound that escapes you is another whine, your hips rocking as you try to create some friction using the mattress beneath you, and Dabi grins. It had been easy enough, once your Quirk was nullified, to get you exactly where he wanted you, face down on the bed with those cute pale blue cuffs around your wrists, ones that match the collar that has already proved to be worth every dollar he’d spent. You couldn’t do much with your hands trapped behind your back, could only let out feeble protests when he’d produced another new toy, an egg-shaped vibe that he’d wasted no time burying inside you.

“Dabi,” you manage to choke out, your throat raw from whining and moaning. “Dabi, please.” Your skin is flushed and sweaty, slick coating your thighs and pooling on the sheets beneath you. You need him to touch you, to move the vibe away from your overstimulated g-spot and let you actually cum, but he’s making no move to. He only strokes his hand over your tail again, sending sharp sparks of pleasure coursing up your spine and making your toes curl.

“What, does my pretty kitty not like their new toys? I got them just for you,” Dabi drawls, hands moving from your tail to pet at your ears. You can’t help the low purr that escapes you as he scratches at their base, even as you’re still trashing with unrestrained need.

“Dabi,” you whimper again. “Please, I need it. Just let me—ngh—just let me cum, please.”

“Okay, pretty kitty, I’ll let you cum,” he murmurs, but there’s a taunting edge to his voice, one you don’t fully understand until he shifts slightly and you hear the click of the remote for the vibe, the intensity of the vibrations against your sensitive inner wall suddenly increasing. “Eventually.”

[mybeautifulbeautifuleternal]

You could hear their laughter still, less with your ears and more with it echoing painfully through your mind. You knew they didn’t mean anything by it, just some friendly humor being thrown around but it still tugged at sore spots, pressure on bruising not allowed to heal.

They were laughing because you still mourned your boyfriend, Billy. He has been a casualty of the summer, dying to save the life of your new little sister, El.

When Billy had first rolled into town, your father Chief Hopper had given you pretty strict instructions to leave the California Bad Boy alone. You listened…for about five minutes.

But Billy had been charming and kind and sweet — only for you, which had its own kind of appeal. To know someone so rough and rude cared enough about you to soften their edges so as to not harm you? You didn’t stand a chance, falling in love quickly and quietly. You had spent what felt like every free moment with him, dreaming of the future and the time when you could see Hawkins in your rear view mirror only.

But Billy had died, sacrificing himself to give El and you time to run from the Mind Flayer.

It was a constant ache for you. You had so quickly structured your life around Billy’s — and his around yours — that his loss, on top of your fathers, sent you spinning. You didn’t, couldn’t find a lifeline, an anchor.

Loving Billy had been easy — but seemingly only for you. The rest of your new friend group had a list of negative things to say about him and were hardly shy in sharing their opinions about him. They couldn’t understand what you had seen in him and they couldn’t understand why you still carried feelings for him.

Today, when they saw you walk into school wearing Billy’s beloved (and very recognizable) leather jacket, the jokes had started flying and hadn’t stopped. They started out pretty innocent, things that might have been said when he was still alive and they were actually teasing you for having a boyfriend, but soon they slid closer and closer to being down right nasty, cruelly twisting the knife stuck in you.

You weren’t sure what was worse — that they didn’t know what affect their words had on you or that they did understand but decided to say them anyway.

Regardless, you fled as soon as you could. You already had Billy’s ghost haunting you — you didn’t want to add their laughter to your burden.

@themerrywhumpofmay

[mymischiefisnevermanaged]

Impressions

In the Slytherin Common Room, students are playing a game of Impressions...

Astoria: My turn, guess who I am!

Daphne: I don’t know...

Astoria: Let’s try this again...

Slytherins’ in unison: MALFOY! 

Suddenly Draco walks in causing the laughter to cease.

Draco: The lot of you must think you’re really funny. Just you wait, my father will hear about this.

Draco angrily storms out of the Common Room, but as soon as everyone is sure that Malfoy is gone, they shout together in unison:

 MY FATHER WILL HEAR ABOUT THIS!

[yourkeeperoftherunners]

Panther!Yoonji Headcanons Pt.2 (Misunderstood Hybrids AU)

Rating: PG-13/R (Panther Hybrid, panther behaviors, language, female intimidation, smut under cut)

Note: I’ve seen a couple of hybrid stories and was inspired to write headcanons for misunderstood animals often see as threats or as scary. This is fictional! Idea was something fun I recently came up with. Since lots of people like to separate Yoongi’s stint as a girl from their school skit as a separate persona, it was too tempting to write a separate hybrid headcanon series for that. Part 1

She is your personal protection squad – anyone insults, hurts, or tries to lay a hand on you, she’ll strike back at the guilty party. Mostly she’ll do this through well aimed insults and comments, but if push comes to shove, the claws come out and she’ll fight like hell. Because you let her into your life and haven’t tried to change her, she feels compelled to do whatever she can to protect you.

Don’t be surprised if she threatens someone at work if you’ve come home looking worse for wear. If you’re being overworked, she’ll call to complain about running you ragged. Someone’s giving you the worst tasks or shifts? She’ll threaten to report them to management for abuse of power. 99% of the time if you go from having the worst day at work to smooth sailing the next, chances are she had something to do with it.

Speaking of protection squad, Yoonji will let down her guard and aggressive edge around you only. She does have a soft, gentle side, as seen in small domestic gestures. (Ex. Cooking dinner, running both of you a shared bath, etc.)

“Yoonji, would you like to go shopping for new clothes?” “That sounds like a lot of work – can’t we just stay home and browse sites?” Despite her protests about shopping taking a lot of time and energy, she humors you when you take her out to buy new clothes. She tends to stick to neutral colors, mostly darks, and items that are comfortable but well made. (The latter is because she would rather have something last for a long time versus having to go out and buy a similar item at a dirt cheap price, only for it to fall apart on her again.)

The lure of coffee in a cafe sometimes encourages her to venture out on shopping trips with you, as she likes the idea of sitting outside, enjoying your favorite drinks, and people watching. (By people watching, it’s really Yoonji commenting about/judging people’s behaviors and clothing choices in a soft voice behind an amused smirk.)

One time you decided to host a live broadcast video via social media (think Periscope or Facebook Live). Yoonji was baffled by your actions and you tried not to laugh at your adorably awkward hybrid giving the camera a blank look. “Live? So everyone can see this now?” “Yes, that’s the whole point.” “But why are you doing this? Surely they’d want to see something more exciting...” (smirks as hand teases at your waistband) “YAH YOONJI! That’s dirty!”

Halloween becomes her favorite holiday – she has an excuse to dress up and scare more people than usual. Sometimes she’ll look so terrifying that the kids who come to your door leave without getting candy. “Yoonji who was screaming?” “Oh the trick-or-treaters. They’re afraid of my costume.” (smirks) “More candy for the both of us.” Cliche costumes are not her favorite – do not suggest she play sexy kitty.

If she wants attention, Yoonji may eliminate/remove whatever is distracting you from focusing on her. She’ll be direct most of the time, with the occasional aegyo attempts sprinkled in. “Yoonji, wait that’s my phone!” “You’ve been staring at it for too long.” (switches it off and slips it into her pocket) “Now, would you please pay attention to me?”

Expect her to invade your baths and showers as you become closer. There’s something about gently touching your skin and hair in a close, intimate setting that makes her feel at ease and quietly happy.

Lowkey turned on by the concept of cam sessions or virtual voyeurism. She hasn’t brought up the idea, but she’s fantasized about having sex with you while others online watch you. (Mostly because she wants people to know that you belong to her.)

Sometimes she likes teasing you in public because it’s such a turn on watching you get all riled up. Best to not try teasing her though – expect her to give you a dagger glare and subtle threats of not taking it easy on you. (Or in the off chance she may ignore you once you’re home.)

Because of her breed, her tongue has a rough texture, perfect for oral sex. She loves watching you squirm as her tongue teases between your legs, your body arching into her touch.