note: alcohol consumption! and also lowkey suggestive :DD
“will you go out with me?”
the words are slightly slurred when they leave akaashi’s lips. his eyes are a little hazy as they stare down at you, trapped between him and the wall behind you. your gaze darts up to his at his question, widening slightly.
“what?”
and this is why you should never let keiji akaashi consume alcohol. one minute he’s sitting and observing the party around him, nursing a small drink, the next bokuto, who was rather inebriated himself, is begging him to do a shot with him before dragging him away from his little corner and into the center of attention. he begrudgingly followed his best friend, who consistently told him to “loosen up ‘kaashi,” and that “you never go out anyway, we gotta celebrate when you do.”
curse his decade long friendship with bokuto. if it weren’t for their prior history, akaashi wouldn’t have given in so easily.
you came up to him with the same grin you always gave him, the one that always made his heart flutter, before laughing at bokuto’s antics. he begged you to get him out of this but before you could save him, bokuto’s held another shot in his hands, whispering that akaashi looked a bit too nervous standing before you.
the shot was gone before he could even register what kind of alcohol it was.
vodka, the really shitty kind too, the one that people buy for $10 and drink to ensure they don’t remember the rest of the night. akaashi had a coughing fit after, which prompted you to bring him back to his little corner. akaashi swore the world was spinning around him, not even registering that you were holding his hand, eyes full of concern. “are you okay?” you question, the noise of the party dying down slightly.
“i think so,” he mumbles.
“you drank a lot pretty quickly,” you tell him as you hand him a bottle of water, “this should help you for now.”
he only nodded as he took the drink from your hand, the surprisingly cold bottle acting as a wake up call. you were standing in front of him, taking care of him, making sure he was okay. and he, well, he was unfortunately drunk, moreso than he had been in a really long time.
“thank you,” he tells you.
you wave it off, “not a problem.”
“it is a bit, though,” he sighs, rubbing at his eyes. he begins to walk forward, a little hazy.
“keiji, are you okay?”
you never call him by first name.
“keiji?” he questions softly.
“sorry, you mumbled. “accident.”
“no no,” he replies walking closer to you. “it’s fine, i don’t mind.”
“oh,” he keeps walking, and you find yourself matching his steps backwards. “if you say so.” your back hit the wall behind you, a shock going down your spine at the slight presence.
“i actually,” his hand rests on the wall behind you, caging you in as your heart beat picks up. “kinda like it.”
and that’s how you both ended up here, eyes locked on his as his question lingers in the air.
“i never even knew you liked me,” you mumble to akaashi.
“i have for awhile,” he tells you rather candidly. “i hate that i’m telling you like this though.” you shrink in slightly, not really realize how close he was to you. his face mere inches from yours. “especially in a position like this.”
you meet his gaze at that. he’s never been this close, you swear you could see every detail, even in the dim lighting.
your heart races. “akaashi i-”
“keiji,” he cuts you off.
“keiji,” you correct softly. “i-”
“if you don’t feel the same it’s fine,” he tells you softly, “especially after this, i would understand. i mean who am i to drop this on you so suddenly?”
“someone drunk,” you can’t help but laugh.
and akaashi shakes his head, “i’m sorry, i really wanted to tell you at a different time,” he explains. “but i think that’s why bokuto was making me down shots.”
“you never party,” you tell him.
“neither do you,” he counters. “did he make you drink?”
“yeah, right before he pulled you in,” you sigh. “but i don’t think it’s really hit yet.”
“why are you here?”
“probably for the same reason as you,”
and a certain boy with silver spiked hair pops into akaashi’s mind.
“he set us up,” he sighs before his hand leaves the wall behind you.
but your hand reaches up for the collar of his shirt, pulling him in back into you. akaashi’s eyes widen as both his hands reach for the wall this time, hoping to save himself from fully tripping. “what are you-”
“don’t go yet,” you tell him, the party around you being drowned by your heartbeat. “we don’t want his efforts going to waste.” you must’ve jinxed yourself in that moment, as the world blurs out slightly.
“besides, i like having you this close.”
his lips are inches from yours, and it’s all he can find himself staring at. “how do you feel about me?” the questions slips out before he can think.
“let’s see,” you start. “bokuto invited two of his closest friends who never really party out, he got them both drunk around the same time, and now we’re standing here.”
akaashi blinks.
and you cant help but shake your head, your grip on his collar, slightly tightening. “for someone who’s normally so smart, you’re being really stupid right now.”
“i-”
you pull him in, as you stand up slightly on your toes, his lips crashing into yours. one of his hands slips off the wall to find the small of your back, holding you steady as the hand on his collar reaches up towards his neck. he pulls you off the wall and closer to him, his other hand traveling up your figure to your cheek. akaashi finds himself chasing your lips as you pull away, a slight smile curling in your lips when you notice.
“does that say enough?” you tease.
“one more,” he tells you before he pulls you back in. you can’t help but smile as you kiss him, hands beginning to travel to his shoulders before you lead him backwards. he follows your lead, his touch remains light as his hands move to your waist. your back rest on the wall once again as he pulls away, eyes meeting yours. akaashi kisses your cheek, and then your jaw, and you can’t help the sigh you let out as he kisses the column of your neck. “you never answered my question,” he tells you between kisses.
“what was your question again,” you tease slightly. he kisses up your neck before pulling back to meet your eyes, face inches from yours.
“you’re gonna make me repeat it?” he questions. akaashi’s slightly out of breath, eyes hooded and as dazed out as ever.
you can’t help but laugh, “i’m dense, i truly can’t remember.”
and he shakes his head, “you just want me to say it again.”
“maybe,” you sigh. “it’s me, i know you will.”
and you’re right.
“go out with me,” he tells you.
and you nod, “okay.”
the things i'd give for keiji to pin me to a wall like that...i mean whaaaat who said that???
thank you for reading, this is so self indulgent, so i hope you like it :DD
cw nsfw under cut, noncon, dead dove do not eat, female reader, degradation, car sex, use of degrading names (fucktoy, slut, cumdump), choking, overstimulation, heeseung cums inside.
“what did you fuckin’ expect?” heeseung grunts, your hair wrapped around his fist as he pulls your body up against his, breath hitting your ear. your eyes are squeezed shut, small whimpers escaping your mouth the harder heeseung slams into you. “going around and wearing shit like that? wanna go show off your ass and tits to a bunch of horny fuckers, might as well give you what you wanted.”
“hee—heeseu—” a loud cry leaves your lips when he gives a swift but just as hard smack to your ass, barely even able to feel the sting from the millionth time he’s done this.
“shut the fuck up,” he pushes your head back down into the backseat, “fucktoys don’t talk.”
squeezing your eyes shut tighter didn’t do anything for your tears, just pushing them out even quicker. if you could think of something happier… but the feeling of him stuffing you full was overwhelming, making you lose grasp of reality.
“you can’t fool me,” heeseung hisses your name through gritted teeth, as if he’s even disgusted to say your name, “saying you’re a virgin… no virgin would be easily sucking me in like this.”
your head turns to the side, revealing your teary eyes with tears rushing down your cheeks, “heeseung, p-please, stop. i-it hurts!”
“‘cause you like it like that,” he huffs, hips snapping into yours at a brutal pace. “like all dirty sluts do. you like to be put in your place, you like the pain. i know you do.”
you gasp out in a mix of mortification and pleasure as the head of his cock kisses your cervix. heeseung notices, chuckling as he pulls out without warning and flips you over, quick to push himself back in your wet, puffy cunt. you whimper at the intrusion, blinking back tears as you keep your eyes on the necklace that swings from his neck in your face.
“see, i knew you liked it,” he whispers, leaning down to press his lips to yours only for you to turn your head to the side so his mouth was against your cheek. his brow raises, slowly thrusting in and out of you but with enough force to make your entire body move. “i suggest you let me kiss you.”
with tears streaming down your cheeks, you turn and keep still as he moves his lips against yours, not all caring that you weren’t responding to the kiss. he was right. you were a dirty slut, weren’t you? you had to be— how else could you be this wet?
heeseung pulls back, glee in his eyes, “i’ve always wanted to do that.” his eyes then darken, “but you never gave me the time of day, did you?” you didn’t notice his hand had moved to your collarbone, slowly increasing your anxiety as his hand finally rests on your neck. his rings are cold around your burning hot neck. he doesn’t squeeze, not yet. “stupid slut was always busy fucking around with her friends’ boyfriends and giving fuck me eyes to all the wrong guys.”
your eyes widen, “no, no,” you attempt to shake your head, but his hand tightens around your neck. your eyes dart to his necklace again, trying to copy the calm swing and repeat it with your breathing. up, in. down, out. but it’s your mistake— heeseung’s grip keeps getting tighter and tighter.
“i told you, you can’t fool me,” heeseung says, eyes burning a hole straight through you. you’re letting out choked gasps, but it only has his cocking twitching inside you.
dots begin to blur your vision, chest tightening with the squeeze on your neck. your walls tighten around his cock in retaliation, making him groan before letting go of your neck and lifting your leg up over his shoulder. there’s a burning in your thigh, but it doesn’t matter when your vision isn’t just colors anymore and all you see is a blurred heeseung over you.
“i’m going to ruin you and that perfect fucking image of yours,” he snaps his hips up, immediately slamming into your g-spot. your hands clutch at the top of the car seat, squeezing your eyes shut and biting down on your lip. think of something else. not his cock hammering repeatedly into you, not the tightening in your stomach or your legs trembling. you wish you could focus on the necklace again.
you cream around his cock, a weak whimper finally leaving your mouth. but heeseung continues to fuck you, his thick cock dragging against your walls. the pleasure soon turned into pain again, grunts coming from his lips as your hand weakly tries to push him away, “ah, ah, heeseu— stop! ‘t’s too fast, please—“ you weakly sob out, but not a tear leaves your eyes. you wonder if you’ve cried all your tears out.
“shut up,” he groans, hips snapping up to hit the soft spongy spot with each word, “and lay there and fucking take it.” his hand comes to grip your jaw, pulling you into a kiss as his thrusts become weak and sloppy. “f—fuck, i’m go—going to fill you up with my cum,” he grunts making your eyes widen.
“wh—what?” you stammer, fists trying to punch him away again. “heeseung, don’t—”
“ruin y—you for all oth—other guys,” he continues like you’re not even talking, writhing under him for him to get off. “no guy wants a fucking cumdump as their girlfriend,” he grits out, bottoming out in you with a low groan and releases inside of you with three quick squirts. his head is thrown back, ecstasy shown on his face as he pants above you.
you watch him through lidded eyes, hoping this was it. he was done with you. you could go get plan b, and forget this day ever happened.
heeseung’s head lowers, dark eyes settling on you and dread begins to fill your chest again. you can feel his cock hardening in you again, a squeak leaving your lips as it stretches out your abused walls.
“i’m not done with you yet,” he whispers in your ear, pressing a soft kiss under your jaw. it feels misleading. “i told you i was going to ruin you.”
Top Gojo Satoru, Bottom Getou Suguru, Possessive Behavior, Insecurity, Jealousy, Anal Fingering, Prostate Massage, Blow Jobs, Sexual Overstimulation, Spit as Lube, Premature Ejaculation, Established Relationship
"You planned this, didn't you?"
Satoru nips his lip again. Huffs a laugh. Sinks his hand into the shorts.
"Been touching myself to the thought—" He freezes, wrapping his hand around the soft cock. It's—unusual. "Oh, you're not…" he swallows. Shy suddenly. Feeling thousands of miles away.
"I can get hard in your mouth," Suguru nudges him with a smile.
OR
Satoru's insecure about his boyfriend and them sneaking around so he… takes it out on him in esoteric ways.
@somewhereonneptune and I are eroticising fetishizing normlizing and romanticizing suguru getou's soft cock on his beautiful wednesday!
all the things yet to come (are the things that have passed) | ch. 1
Not naming names, but someone’s rogue curse during the battle at the Department of Mysteries got both Harry and Voldemort shot through time to 2018—and for the record, Harry certainly wasn’t the one attacking Voldemort.
2018 is strange because with it comes Evan, a green-eyed man who swears he’ll get them home. 1996 is even stranger when they return to it because Evan is there now too, only he’s a baby. Strangest of all, this becomes Harry and Voldemort’s problem, as it seems he is their baby.
This changes some things.
(This changes everything.)
prompted by @stolenviolet through the @quantumquilltomarrymort fest <3
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
um ok what about ford is explaining some science thing to you and you are trying to listen but he just looks SO cute rn so you need to kiss him. but hes in Science Mode n cant process the kissies so hes like hey. stop that.
or something
falls to my knees SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG......tysm for requesting, this was incredibly fun to write. (this can be read as part of Concentricity-verse if you'd like but it's otherwise stand alone!)
Rating: SFW
Words: 980 (i CAN write short things!)
Type: Drabble, request
Tags: Ford Pines/(gender neutral) Reader; Kissing; (Unintentional) Scientific Foreplay (but this is still SFW promise)
"You’re cute, you want to tell him. I like it when you talk science to me. But by this point, he is hardly going to hear anything you have to say."
“— certain threshold needs to be reached to trigger the depolarization required for electrical propagation along a neuron, but a neural signal is just an electrical transmission, so it stood to reason if you could rig some kind of cranial device to manipulate membrane potentials —”
Ford is hardly paying attention to your physical presence as he continues on his well-trodden explanatory path; your role as a willing and curious audience member is more than enough permission he needs to ramble on. You hardly mind: you had been the one to ask him why the spaghetti strainer in his office was patch clamped to a mainframe…
So, he had unearthed several thick files on Project MENTUM, overstuffed with diagrams and cranial MRIs and EKG readings (so many EKG readings) and spread them out across the shag of the living room floor, like he is trying to solve some kind of puzzle. Maybe backtrack his way from the end product to where it originally started.
Truthfully, you could care less about neuroscience. You just like listening to him talk.
You two are as close as you can physically be without you fully climbing into his lap, sides pressed together with your legs tucked under you while sitting on the carpet. He jostles you every so often to reach forward and snag another aged paper — half in faded typewriter ink, half in the slightly smudged looping scrawl of Ford’s distinctive handwriting.
Ford is hardly ever still when he goes into lecture mode; even sitting, he gesticulates when he talks, restless in his movements. He’s waving his hands through the air, counting points off his fingers, using them to create rudimentary shapes to demonstrate a point, pushing his glasses up his nose, running a hand through his hair. Once he gets deep enough down the proverbial scientific rabbit hole, a special kind of gleam enters his eyes, too — intrigued and eager and proud all at once.
You’re cute, you want to tell him. I like it when you talk science to me. But by this point, he is hardly going to hear anything you have to say.
So, you decide to take action.
“— Of course, further improvement can then be effected via repetitive stimulation, in a manner conceptually akin to the neuronal phenomenon of long term potentiation — mmph!”
Perhaps in some kind of well-trained response, he kisses you back, but only for a few seconds before rearing his head to break the kiss. Incredulously, he asks, “What are you doing?”
You blink at each other for a few more seconds, the tips of your noses pressed in such close proximity, before you say, “Seems kind of self-explanatory.”
“I am trying to explain translating brainwaves via innovative patch clamping to —”
“And, you’re doing a good job,” you tell him, steadying a hand on his knee to balance yourself better, then kiss him again.
He has the audacity to make a frustrated noise in return, although he still kisses back.
Soon, you pull away again, giving yourselves a little more breathing room. “You’re doing too good of a job,” you elaborate further. His eyebrows furrow, a deep crease forming between them. “It’s attractive. I wanted to show my appreciation.”
“It couldn’t have at least waited until after I got around to covering how the helmet manipulates membrane potentials into a more excitable state?”
“It couldn’t have,” you confirm.
You fully intend to return to the kissing, but you must have sent him careening into some kind of mood, because he continues to gripe. “I fail to see how any of this is particularly, or even overwhelmingly, attractive.”
Realizing this is going to be a whole thing, you sigh and settle back down next to him, although keep your hand on his knee for good measure, to remind him of your end goal. “Your attractiveness factor spikes whenever you devolve into science jargon,” you tell him. “I like it. A lot.”
Ford turns his head and looks at you skeptically. His glasses are slightly smudged from being pressed between you, and there is a blush smeared across his cheeks. “Really?”
You roll your eyes. It is entirely possible he is being purposefully obtuse here, because you know this is a two-way street vis-à-vis what your foreplay usually looks like. He likes to goad you into these things, sometimes.
“Yeah, watch, I can do it, too.” You clear your throat. “I know we were trying to jump the hurdle of carbon-based plasma being rendered too dense from leukocytes and thrombocytes — among the other mineral ions and glucose, yes, I know, don’t give me that look — to be aerosolized. But there is some burgeoning evidence from a scientist who will remain unnamed but whose last name starts with P and ends in ines that shows silicone-based plasma has a higher potential, and in some instances, can even permeate filter-based respirators, leaving a toxic —”
“Okay,” Ford interrupts, audibly strangled, and the close quarters affords you to see his pupils dilating as well. In a telltale sign, he shifts his sitting position a little and drops both hands to his lap. “I get it.”
You nod. “Can we go back to the kissing now?”
“I thought the science jargon was what is attractive here?” he asks, a little cheeky. “Having my mouth otherwise occupied seems like it would make any attraction levels decrease.”
“Eh. It’s apples and oranges.” You trail your hand, slowly, up his jean-clad thigh, while you maintain eye contact. “The kissing is like, the result of the attraction levels passing a certain threshold.”
He nods, as if this is a run-of-the-mill hypothesis stage for any ol’ experiment, and not a situation where a few well-placed touches might make this no longer an innocent teaching session. “Where’s the threshold?”
“I don’t know,” you huff, shaking your head with a fond smile. “I haven’t ever quantified it.”
And, because of who he is, Ford sneaks an arm around your waist and tugs you flush against him, with a grin. “Would you like to?”
