Maybe If Someone Wore A Little Heart Pendant With My Picture In It Id Be Fixed
maybe if someone wore a little heart pendant with my picture in it id be fixed
More Posts from Scumvillains
oh sanzu self conscious of his scars please...
he never says he is, but youre no fool you notice the way he tends to fold into himself, the way a tiny frown makes its way onto his pretty face when hes removing his facial mask in front of a mirror
you know this, so you always pay extra attention to them
pressing feather light kisses all over his face and especially right on his dual diamond shaped scars and hes burning, blushing so quick at the attention he feels dizzy. he tries to lean away from you or even gently push you away because its too much but its useless because you wont let him feel as damaged as he believes he is
yeah ran is definitely that boyfriend that goes into the dressing room with you and it actually is ruining my life
like hes taking you shopping and he cares about how something will look on you, hes the one that picked out more than half the little pieces that dangle over his forearm for you, of course he wants to see how they sit on your skin; aesthetics are his thing
and so as soon as you slip your form into a slinky little number of a dress hes right at your nape, zipping you up, soothing down the material, never greedy with his words of praise to your appearance and this process repeats for hours until you're walking out with a sleek black bag (or two) in hand while your hand is cradled in his <3
discord mod rindou is actually so SO good idc idc if i walked in his room and i see 3 monitors and neon lights im sitting right on his lap as hes playing valorant <3
one text away - hanma shuji.
synopsis ✰ with an itching craving at the back of your mind, you hit up your dealer after months of no contact. The problem? The only dealer you know is your Ex-boyfriend, Hanma.
genre ✰ 18+, weed, smut, MDNI
word count ✰ 9k
content warnings ✰ female reader, aged up characters, hanma is a horny bastard, & your ex bf, drugs (weed), smoking, shotgunning, high/intoxicated s3x (unprotected ptv, fem f*ngering, hanma is a lil mean (soft & mean pet names), mating press, pull out method, light choking.)
authors note ✰ i haven't posted writing in ages pls forgive me TT. but this has been my wip for several weeks now and ive recently had the time to sit down & properly edit it lol. im happy with how it turned out! ty @/utahimeow and @/shinachiro for beta you guys saved me <3 enjoy!! don't forget to let me know if you liked it :) 💕
You [10:23PM]
> Hanma?
It feels like you’re swimming in a pool of shame as you grip your phone tighter. In all honesty, you would have never thought it would come down to this. You look up, staring blankly at the laptop screen in front of you, sore eyes glazing over in dizziness at the jumbled words and documents.
The night had been long, draining you of every last drop of energy until your eyes burned and muscles ached. Your back is stiff and your shoulders sore after the countless hours spent sitting on your dining table writing your midterm paper. And what does fatigue do to a person? It makes them do very, very stupid things.
With your back slouched and head lazily thrown back, you called it a night. But there was an itch at the back of your mind—one you could not decipher at first. It felt like a deep seeded craving for something that you hadn’t tasted in months.
Through the sleepy haze, it finally hits you. You know just the thing you might need.Your fingers move quicker than your mind can process, and even though you knew there was something very wrong about clicking on your ex-boyfriends contact, you didn’t do anything to stop yourself.
Maybe it was a mistake, a lapse in judgment, but the pang that you felt in your chest as soon as you clicked on the shared chat and saw your old messages between him couldn’t have been ignored. Still, it wasn’t enough to change your already made up mind.
This was a bad idea. But there was nothing else you could’ve done. It’s not like you know any other dealer that you’d be comfortable with. At least you know that your Ex can be trusted— even if begrudgingly so. He wasn’t the best option, but he was the only option. And at this point you were beyond desperate for relief.
So that’s what brought you here. Your phone dings with a notification from Hanma, and your heart skips a beat with excitement that you’re all too familiar with—butterflies bubble in your belly.
It feels so wrong, but so right at the same time.
DO NOT ANSWER‼️ [10:27PM]
> oh?
> look who decided to reach out
His response makes you grit your teeth — acting like nothing happened between you two and being overly casual. But then again, who would Hanma be if not casual and irritating? He won’t let you live this down, ever. Dangling it over your head like a student bullying his classmate, Hanma will never let go of this. Texting him first? It's like handing him the victory trophy without him accomplishing anything.
You [10:30PM]
> i don’t wanna hear it
> it’s been a long night for me
You tuck your head in your hands, groaning like it physically pains you. If there’s one thing you’re sure about Hanma, it’s that he’s the ultimate definition of insufferable.
You remind yourself that there is no other safer option you could go with, and so you swallow down the bitterness of the shame in your throat. Instantly, as if sensing your pitiful attempt at getting rid of your own humiliation, your phone buzzes with another text.
DO NOT ANSWER‼️ [10:32PM]
> aw baby’s tired :(
You could almost hear the teasing tone of his honeyed voice through the screen.
DO NOT ANSWER‼️ [10:32PM]
> what does baby need
The pet name boils frustration inside of you. And before you could think twice, your fingers move swiftly over the keyboard on your screen.
You [10:32PM]
> don’t call me that.
DO NOT ANSWER‼️ [10:33PM]
> what are you gonna do about it
You [10:33PM]
> shut up
DO NOT ANSWER‼️ [10:33PM]
> answer the q
His response comes quick, like he had been waiting for your text back. Suppressing the unexpected giddiness inside you, you bite the inside of your cheek. Remembering how impatient he used to be whenever he waited for a response, you decide to wait a few seconds before answering.
You [10:34PM]
> if you have anything on u right now,,,
> n ur nearby
> could you drop some off?
As if the room has dropped several degrees in temperature, you shiver in your seat, tugging the sleeves of your sweater down and hugging yourself. There was really only one thing you wanted from him, the reason you even texted him in the first place, and you hope this would go by quickly so the both of you can move on with your lives and pretend it never happened.
-
On the other side of the screen, Hanma giggles.
He sits in his parked car, hunched over the steering wheel and holding his phone in one hand.
There’s a lot of unpredictable shit that can happen anytime in Hanma’s life. Being a delinquent, and also actively avoiding the police, he expects anything at this point. Hell, he could even get jumped by a group of teenagers—stupid enough to test him—and that still wouldn’t phase him.
But what he didn’t expect is to receive a text from you tonight.
It threw him completely off guard. Even with half the people in his phone muted, he still left your chat notifications on after the initial split. The itching feeling that you may need him at some point stayed at the back of his mind. He’d never admit that though.
It wasn’t a harsh breakup. There was no arguing, yelling, or anything of that sort. Yes, it hurt like a bitch, he won’t deny. Hanma wanted you in his life more than anything, but deep down he understood when you told him you couldn’t handle it anymore. He could never say it, but he left a piece of himself at your apartment that night.
He sat there and listened to you as you talked through your tears, telling him how you loved him like you’ve never loved anyone, but there is only so much a person could handle. He remembers the late nights where you would stay up, worrying whether he’d be safe or not; knowing there could be a possibility that he’s out there either laying dead or getting shot kept you up at night. The anxiety wouldn't let you sleep, or eat, or function properly — and you were willing to suffer through it regardless, because you loved him.
But apparently to you – enough was enough. And you called it quits right after he shows up at your doorstep all beaten and bruised at three in the morning. Like a tight rope that had already been on its last strands, you snapped. You sat him down and told him it was over.
He doesn't remember much after that—still had been shocked at the way you reacted so quickly. But in a fit of burning anger and confusion, he ended up beating the first group of boys he found until their heads were battered on the sidewalk.
In other words, he did not take it well. But you don’t need to know any of that.
Hanma looks down at his cracked phone screen, huffing under his breath.
DO NOT ANSWER‼️ [10:35PM]
> i thought you said you were gonna quit
–after we broke up, he wanted to add, but the words don’t ever make it across the screen to you.
You [10:35PM]
> it’s none of ur business
He furrows his brows dumbly.
DO NOT ANSWER‼️ [10:35PM]
> yes it is
You [10:35PM]
> ur not my dad
DO NOT ANSWER‼️ [10:35PM]
> u sure ;)
A hint of a smile on his lips, Hanma remembers how easy it was to play around and get you all hot and bothered. If there was one thing he loved the most—it was to purposely push your buttons; seeing the way you react to him has always been amusing.
You [10:35PM]
> i’m gonna kill you
> just tell me if u can drop by or not.
DO NOT ANSWER‼️ [10:36PM]
> well that’s new
> you never smoke alone
You [10:36PM]
> and? i wanna now
The back and forth between you two makes excitement bubble inside him. This is one of the many things he liked most about you—you’d never shy down from bantering. You’re still as stubborn as always; he laughs to himself.
DO NOT ANSWER‼️ [10:36PM]
> a bit busy right now
> but i’ll make time for you, princess
Hanma looks up from his phone to peer outside his window at the empty parking lot. Yeah, so busy.
He scoffs lightly at how you two immediately go back to texting like you used to. As if nothing had happened. He can’t say he’s mad about it though.
You [10:36PM]
> k
> and don’t call me that
DO NOT ANSWER‼️ [10:36PM]
> sure, sure whatever you want ♡
An unexpected occurrence on this dull night.
Well, not so dull anymore. There’s a sick sense of adrenaline pumping through his veins as he makes his way to an apartment that he knows like the back of his hand.
What do you do when your ex-girlfriend texts?
You answer.
-
If you keep circling your living room like this, you think you might pass out. As if it was instant, your heart rate shot up too quickly at his last message. A cold sweat beads at your temples, and the tight cotton shirt you wear starts to cling uncomfortably to your sticky skin.
Oh, God. What’ve you done?
The weight of your actions finally dawn on you, and you stand, dumbfounded, with a hand clasped over your mouth in the middle of your living room.
There are people who would do things like this while intoxicated, or during an emergency — but, here you are, completely sober and fine, except that it only took a simple craving in the midst of night for you to text him. If you could. You’d punch yourself for being so stupid; and for breaking your ‘no contact after the breakup’ rule.
This was a bad idea. This is terrible. And there's no way you could take it back now.
What is done is done, you figure, slumping back into the cushions of your worn out couch. There's not much to do now, as he might as well be on his way here. Even if you promised yourself that you’d never let him back into your apartment ever again, you still caved in, and the anxiety nauseates you to no extent.
If he weren't a cocky bastard, you think it would make the situation a tiny bit better. But who is Hanma Shuji if not exactly that? That being said, his cockiness will be unavoidable once you finally face him.You know him too well, he'd never let you get over this—get over how you reached out first.
Being on the receiving end of his smugness always has you gritting your teeth and biting back your words. He always knows precisely what to say to get a person going, rubbing it in their face, pushing buttons he knows are off-limits, and brushing over sore bruises like it's nothing to him. Once, back when the two of you were still together, sitting right here on this exact couch, you turned to him, and told him jokingly that he’d be nothing without his egotism and pride. That statement still stands till this day.
You’re snapped out of your trance by the buzzing of your phone with another text. Shivers are sent down your spine and your stomach flips on itself, you don't even need to check the text to know exactly what he’s sent you.
DO NOT ANSWER!! [10:51PM]
> open your door
Straight to the point, like he’s always been.
Your legs feel shaky and weak as you walk to your door, pausing for a moment to really accept the fact that you did this to yourself. Sighing deeply, you wonder why you ever put yourself in situations like this.
The door is swung open, and immediately, your heart flips in your chest, beating erratically within the boundaries of your ribcage.
Hanma wears a bored look on his face, a slight smirk plastered on his lips.
“You don’t look very tired to me.” his eyes scan you up and down, analyzing every bit and taking you all in.
You grit your teeth, “seriously? No hi? Hello?”
He waves you off, smiling as he rests his forearm on your door, “I think we’re past all that.”
“No, we’re not, actually.” your grip on the door tightens.
“Yeah, yeah, okay. So you gonna let me in already or what?” His hair falls in straight strands at each side of his face, and it looks like he’s grown it out a little bit since you’ve last seen each other. You resist the urge to run your fingers through them – and internally, you cringe at the fact that he still dyes the two front strands blonde.
“Um, no…”
He furrows his brows, “why not?”
You stare him dead in the eyes. “Are you serious?”
“Of course, I am, c’mon just lemme in,” he moves as if he wants to push your door open, but you stop him before he could take another step.
“No! Hanma, get out of the way.” You almost get to slam the door back in place before it’s suddenly being ripped away in the other direction.
“Nah, c’mon. Who the the fuck is Hanma, baby?” He drawls, face nearing yours with his signature smile, “you know what I like you to call me.”
You furrow your brows, staring him down while rooted in your place. You won’t let him get his way.
“We’re not together anymore.” You simply say. “I think it’s best if we stay formal.”
In the corner of your eye, you think you see the harsh grip he has on the top of the door frame tighten. Large hands tensing around the worn-out wood and veins bulging out.
He pretends to think, tilting his face up and pouting his lip, “Fine, fine. But—”
“No buts!”
“Nuh-uh. My weed, my rules.” he smirks, and you wish you could slap that dumb smile right off his face. Still, your heartstrings tug at the familiar look in his eyes, and you start to feel a sense of comfort bubble inside you.
You throw your head back and groan. As much as it feels nice to talk to him again like this; you still really need the high right now, your patience is wearing thin.
“What do you want?”
“No need to look so bummed out,” he brightens, slouching over you and resting his elbow on the doorframe, “I’ll give you the weed, pre-rolled too, only ‘cause I care about ya’.”
“Huh, sure, okay,” You raise your eyebrows sarcastically.
His smile drops. “I’m not kidding.”
Your face flushes, and you bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from reacting. “J-just, hurry up.”
“Under one condition…” he continues, dangling the little clear baggie in front of your face as he would to a dog with treats, teasing you. There’s a few beats of silence as you wait for him to finish. The two of you don’t break eye contact, and you’re left eagerly waiting while staring into the golden flecks of his eyes.
“…I get to smoke the first one with you.”
Your jaw drops at his audacity.
“Absolutely not.” You cross your arms.
There is no way you will let him easily walk into your life after what he did to you. He’s trying to ease himself back in, slowly sweet mouth you until you give in to his teasing and welcome him with open arms.
Not after all the shit he put you through last time. There’s a reason why you two broke up, and you will not humiliate your past self like this by letting him get his way.
He stares down at you, hard. Golden eyes glinting in the fluorescent lights of the corridor. His jaw tenses though he tries to hide it with a nonchalant hum, “That’s too bad then..”
As soon as he tucks the baggie back into his pocket, you can feel your body reacting quicker than your mind can stop it, and you jump in half-surprise and grab his wrist before he can fully retreat.
“Wait! No no no no,” you wave your arms around in the air, not expecting him to be so serious about
“Oh?”
“That’s not fair, y’know,” you pout instinctively, and his eyes follow the movement, “why can't I just pay you, and you be on your way?”
He smirks, eyes half lidded, “Now why would I do that?”
“‘cause that’s how a deal works.”
He laughs lightly, tilting his head and mocking you, you’re telling him this as if he doesn’t deal with drugs everyday, “yeah? ‘n what would you know about deals, huh, baby?”
“First of all,” you click your tongue, raising an accusing finger at him, “don’t call me that,”
“Sure, princess–”
“Hanma!”
“Go on.” He waves you off, if anything, he finds this whole encounter amusing—can't help but smile at your naivety.
“Second,” your pointer finger presses against his sturdy chest, even when you add pressure, he still stands as still as a statue–and his eyes never leave yours, “I know enough about deals, thanks to you.”
“Ah,” he raises his eyebrows, “really now?
“Yeah,” you nod your head, feeling confident in your answer and what you’re about to say next, “so, I think you should just let me pay you, and then leave.”
The silence from earlier is back. You think the inside of your cheek is sore because of how much you’ve been toying it out of anxiety. It is exactly moments like these — ones where he leaves your words hanging in the air, as if to give you time to rethink and start doubting yourself — that have you fidgeting with your fingers and lightheaded.
He breathes, almost sighing as his eyes make their way back to your face.
“I’ve never met someone as stubborn as you.”
“Well, clearly you don’t know yourself well enough.” you clap back.
He moves away from the door, letting go and taking a few steps back as if he’s getting ready to leave, “‘guess you don’t want it bad enough then.”
“No, c’mon–”
“Listen,” he cuts you off, and you look up only to see nothing but sincerity in his eyes, almost as if there’s a hint of nostalgia mixed with pain behind them; you almost melt, “It’d be fun, no? For old times sake.”
“Plus, it's kinda cold out here, baby. You gonna let me in already?”
You sigh, defeated, and your heart churns in your chest. You’ll only feel worse about this situation tomorrow, and the scars that have finally started healing over will start to bleed once again. Yet, you still can't find it in yourself to completely deny both of you the company.
One time wouldn't hurt.
Just one time.
“Fine.” you finally say, and his signature grin is back on his face. “We’re smoking one, only one, and then you’re out.”
“Sure, sure.” he waves you off, but it doesn't convince you. The door is pushed open and you move to the side to let him in, silently glaring daggers at the back of his head when he places his shoes the same place he always does.
He moves like he owns the damn place, and you can’t help but scowl at how the familiarity takes over. All signs of a breakup disappear when he flops his lanky body on your couch, legs spread wide open and inviting. Sometimes you forget how big Hanma really is.
Naturally, you sit next to him, making sure to leave a good amount of space between the two of you—it's not like you should be getting comfortable anyway.
No words are exchanged as he pulls the joint from the clear plastic bag, and oh, you could almost salviate at the sight of it. Now that it's in front of you, the craving for the high felt a hundred times more intense. Hanma notices the dumb look on your face, the same one that’s been engraved in his mind, one that makes your eyes grow big and needy with your mouth slightly agape. Reminders of hot and dirty nights flash in his mind; and his dick twitches involuntarily in his pants.
“Eager, are we?” he smirks.
“Shut up,” you furrow your brows, crossing your arms over your chest, a smile creeping on your face, “it's just been too long.”
He hums like he understands, pulling a lighter out from his pocket, the movement ingrained in his subconscious. Hanma thinks he could light one up in his sleep, letting the muscle memory take over for him.
The flame hovers over the end of the joint, lighting it, and Hanma is quick to bring it straight to his lips–not bothering to ask if you wanted to take the first hit. Smoke fills the air around him as he breathes in, letting it fill the emptiness in his lungs, but never the emptiness that sits in his heart.
Wordlessly, you stick your hand to him, nudging the side of his thigh as if to signal him to pass it to you. Relief floods you wave after wave, the intoxication feels delicious. The first few hits are the best, you think, mind and body fresh before it's numbed in seconds. You slump back in your seat, eyes glazing over with a haze, and pass it back to him.
The silence is comfortable, and you feel your body loosen up and get lighter. As if your mind has been stuffed with cotton, your surroundings are hazy. The smoke makes your lungs feel heavy and full, and your body lazes back into the couch.
Suddenly you're thrown back in time to the summer days where the two of you would just sit here, enjoying eachothers company while smoking one joint after the other. The nostalgia makes your head ache, you can’t even lie and say you don’t miss it.
Lazily, you turn your head to the side to look at Hanma, who rests the joint between his veiny fingers. He doesn't notice your eyes at first, probably too caught up with the effects of his high. Taking advantage of it, you shamelessly trace the outlines of his side profile—his sharp nose, his lashes that brush against his cheek when he blinks, tousled hair brushing over his lazy eyes. You swallow the heaviness in your mouth, and squeeze your thighs together.
Your eyes follow his every move—the way he brings the joint to his parted lips, the way his throat and chest move with every inhale, the way his golden eyes are half lidded and lazy. You move before you can think, and inch your body closer to his, softly grabbing his wrist where it rests on his thigh, bringing it to your own lips and taking a drag.
Hanma bites his tongue to keep himself from saying anything, but he can’t help himself as he lets his curious eyes drink up the way your dewy lips wrap around the joint. Your eyes snap up from where they had trailed down, and meet his own. With your faces mere inches apart, he holds direct contact with you as you slowly blow the smoke out. It's not meant to be so suggestive, so enticing, but Hanma’s thoughts run wild at the act.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” He says, voice low with a ghost of a smile on his lips.
You shy away from his burning gaze, “l-like that! Don’t do that, Shu’.”
The nickname comes out freely, instinctively, and you don’t hide the shock on your face.
“Shu’, huh?”
“Stop it,” you giggle, swatting his face away. Heat crawls up your neck, all the way to your ears, and you fidget with the inside of your cheek.
His hand sneaks up the nape of your neck, and you freeze, large palm holding you in place so you have no choice but to look at him straight. He kneads the warm skin, skilled fingers massaging the ache formed over time.
You swallow your nervousness down, and try to ignore the stickiness in your panties. The heat is overwhelming—he is overwhelming, always has been. And there's nothing you can do to escape him. The haziness from the high makes it seem like he’s taking up all the space around you, like he’s demanding your attention. You can’t even lie and say you’re mad about it.
So you let him do as he pleases, only for a little while, you promise yourself. It's nothing. This is nothing. Really. He’s going to leave soon, anyway.
He takes another hit of the joint, and you follow the movement. Next thing you know, he’s pulling you towards him, you let the familiarity take over and your lips part willingly, expecting him to meet you halfway. His other hand grips you by the chin—and you feel caged, feel controlled like putty in his hands—tilting your face up so his parted lips can meet yours.
This isn't even the first time you’ve shotgunned with him–but it definitely feels like it. Your body relaxes in his hold, all hesitation leaves your body as you eagerly receive the smoke from his mouth to yours.
Hanma eats your reaction up like a starved man. It has been way too long—too long since he’s seen you. Maybe it was the weed talking, but missing you was an understatement. The anger that he’s harbored, not for you, was always thrumming through his veins ever since the breakup. He felt as if there’s always been something missing ever since you left. Like a gaping void in his chest that cannot be filled.
Your absence could never be filled; replaced. And your shadows lingered like intruders in his home for weeks upon weeks.
But now that you're back in his hold, back right into his grasp. He won’t let you go. Not again.
Your hand travels up his sturdy body—starting from his torso, sneaking it under his shirt to feel up the ridges of his abs, up his muscled chest and straight into his hair. All doubt is thrown out the window as you lazily dip your tongue into his mouth, and he receives it eagerly—reciprocating with as much need as you. The hold he has on your chin tightens slightly, guiding you even deeper into his mouth and demanding control.
You’ll let yourself enjoy it. Just this time. It won’t happen again.
Hanma lets you do as you please, he lets your hands wander all over the body you know way too well. He’s a map all for you to read. But a map that’ll get you nowhere because every destination ends with him. Internally, he giggles to himself, because he knows that once your head is up in the clouds, there’s no barrier or filter to you. You act with no hesitation or second thought. Your body does all the talking—and he can read it easily like it's an open book.
You pull away with a pop, and gasp for air.
In your intoxicated state, you look at him dumbly as you scan the features of his face. You don't bother with being subtle, all the thoughts in your brain are clouded and glazed over.
Your eyes travel to where his soft, swollen lips are, and you swallow down the urge to kiss him for a second time. The hand that was resting at the back of his head and tangled with his hair moves so your thumb brushes lightly over the mixed saliva on his lips.
And the entire time, your eyes never leave his face. Shuji sees all of it, he watches intently. His patience is wearing thin; to be fair, he thinks he never has had any at all to begin with. But he knows too well that he can’t ignore the way his achy cock strains against the confines of his jeans.
You sigh, pouting subconsciously as you slump right into his chest, making a home for yourself in his arms.
“You're– you're too nice to me, Shuji.” you stumble over your words.
“Oh, really?”
You hum, “you spoil me sometimes.”
“How come?” his own tongue feels heavy in his mouth, and his mind reacts slower to your words. He pets the back of your head encouragingly, urging you to keep talking.
“Dunno,” you sigh into his neck, the heat is enticing, sending shivers down his entire body—the sound of your dreamy voice mixed in with the high makes everything ten times more intense.. “Jus’ too nice t’me, sometimes,”
“Sometimes…” he tastes the words in his mouth, repeating yours.
Again, you respond with a hum that could just be mistaken for a sigh. With your cheek smushed against his chest, you can't really see any of his reactions. You’re left to recognize him by tone only.
Your hands still fidget and trail over his torso, shamelessly rubbing all over him, with your body pressed tight against him. There’s no room to move, to itch, to think at this point, he willingly lets your crowd his space as if the two of you aren’t even exes. As if the both of you didn’t break up not even a few months ago. Here, you sit, finding comfort in eachothers arms like you used to—and no one has enough balls to say something about it.
If it could, the familiarity would eat Hanma alive. This all seems too much for him. He doesn't know what he’d do if you cut him out of your life for a second time, but he knows he won’t take it well. There’s no point in being here when you’re going to wake up tomorrow as strangers and pretend this night never even happened.
He doesn't know why he doesn't just up and leave. He could, if he really wanted to. But the warmth of your body keeps him rooted in his place. He doesn't dare move, or leave even because your presence is too intoxicating, especially after all this time apart; he can't get enough of you.
You have him in a tight loop around your finger, he hates to admit. It feels like an out of body experience with the way you’re reaching and finding solace in his arms. It feels so wrong, but he doesn't dare move.
He’s not even trying to be subtle at this point, his hand moves from where it was stroking the back of your head, down to your waist and almost over the curve of your ass. It feels so hot under his touch as he caresses over your clothes, feeling you up all over, drinking in the way you squirm deliciously on his side.
Your little hands clutch onto the front of his shirt, and he can hear the way your breaths come out in impatient, labored pants. He knows you too well, he knows how your body is feeling right now, he recognizes the way you start to get needy and clingy. And so he’s not surprised when you don't protest against him when he slips his hand under the waistband of your pants.
He smirks at the way you accommodate your body so it's laying impossibly closer to his side—because this gives him exactly the green light that he needs to keep going. He doesn't need your words to understand exactly what you want, your actions will say more than enough. With one arm looped around your waist and now to your front, the crown of your head is in line with his chin, making it easier for him to just peek right over you. Giving him full access, a perfect view.
The searing heat in your core at the first contact has Hanma swearing under his breath. He touches you over the thin fabric of your panties, the wetness seeps into the cloth in a little spot, and he circles his middle finger a few times around the outside of it, savoring the way the stickiness clings to his fingers.
A long, satisfied sigh leaves your lips right away. Eagerly, you buck your hips up slightly to get even more from him, to feel more of his fingers and Hanma complies. He adds pressure straight to your clit, because how could he say no to you? He couldn’t — at least not right now. Plus, he doesn't want to deny himself the sight of you falling apart on his fingers either.
“S-shuji…” You hum his name under your breath. You try to turn your head to see his face, to bury your own into his neck, but the angle is awkward, and the frustration builds inside you. Your shoulder aches as you try your best to find a comfortable position. But after a few minutes and no solution, you decide you’ve had enough, and move.
The sound of your sweet voice and shuffling breaks him out of his trance. His hand is yanked out of your pants abruptly, and when it takes you a second to respond he thinks he’s stepped over a line, but there’s not enough time for him to think before you’re parting his legs to make way for your body in between them.
“You wan’ it like this, pretty girl?” The haziness coats his words like thick honey, he tucks his chin into the crook of your neck, and shamelessly lets his eyes ogle down at your chest.
To his surprise, you plop yourself right down on his lap. The sudden burst of confidence is exactly what he would have expected from you, but he didn't think it would come this quickly. This, he thinks to himself, is what a high does to you. His dick gets even harder at the thought.
Hanma tosses the joint into a nearby plate, his attention all on you now.
“Mhm, it's more comfy.” your little hands slide up each of his muscled thighs, squeezing at them and letting your nails dig into the hard flesh.
He kisses up the side of your neck, and the baby hairs stand, shivering at the heat of his breath, “‘you want me to keep goin’?”
You slump down against his built chest, and tilt your head to the side. You look up at him through your lashes, batting them and half lidded.
“I want a kiss first.” you smile.
“Anything you want.” and his lips are instantly on yours, sucking and biting at the soft skin almost like he owns them. He groans loudly into your mouth, unabashedly, kissing you with even more fervor, dipping his tongue and circling it with your own. It's so messy, so sticky, so nasty, but he absolutely loves it. He doesn’t want it if it's not exactly that. And you’re perfect, you understand him oh, so well, because you reciprocate with the same need as him. No one does it like you – no one ever will. It only feels good for him if you’re the one. He’s tired of anyone else that tries to get with him. He only wants it if it's from you.
Quick fingers find their way back into your pants, his other hand grips your thigh and hikes it over his own, leaving you all open and spread just for him. He parts from your wet mouth only so he could suck and mark your neck once more.
“‘You feel that, baby?” he groans into your neck, fingers finally touching you with no barrier. He spreads the warm slick all over the outside of your pussy, letting it coat his fingers along with your clit. “Soaked. And I’ve barely touched you.”
He laughs, and it's almost evil with the way he teases your hole, touching around it, circling his fingers everywhere.
“Don’t tease.” you keen, a little furrow in your brow as you tilt your head up at him. You’re just so cute and whiney, he wants to kiss that pout right off your lips.
“Why not?” he grins, “you get even more needy when you’re high. ‘Used to be my own personal slut, all for me. ‘just wanna bring her back.”
You grit your teeth, digging your nails into his forearm to get some sort of control back, but to no avail because the unruly tides that make up the chemistry between the two of you change without warning and before you can notice he's ripped it from you so easily.
“I’m not y-your girlfriend anymore,” you moan, “‘you can’t jus’ say that.”
“Oh, yeah?” he eggs on, “what’re you gonna do about it?”
There’s no room for you to do anything about it. There’s no room for you to move, to adjust — your thigh can’t even twitch without his large hand pinning it in place. You’re stuck, embraced by his big frame and long arms, and despite his teasing, deep down you know you wouldn’t dare to create any more distance between the two of you than there already is. Especially when his skilled fingers rub deliciously against your clit, rolling it around and pinching right where he knows you like it most. It makes you so angry, so, so annoyed that he can get you melting in front of him like butter in minutes that it makes you want to scream.
“Shut up,” you tuck your chin into your chest, “you’re so annoying.”
A single finger finally dips inside you, long and thick, but he refuses to move it, or give you the relief you’ve been aching for. So mean – you think, how could he have the audacity to just waltz into your apartment, call you all these sweet names, and tease you like he didn’t just break your heart a few months ago?
He giggles, “I know.”
“I h-hate you.” you whine through gritted teeth.
“No, you don’t.”
“I do–!”
“Keep telling yourself that, doll. But the way this pussy is squeezin’ me right now tells me otherwise.”
A second finger bullies its way into your pussy, just as thick and long as the first. He marvels at the way it slides in with no effort. Hanma thinks he’s sick because his mouth waters at the sound of your wet cunt, he could almost taste the sweetness in his mouth. Impatient, he starts slowly, moving them back and forth in languid movements.
“You hear that?” he lips brush against your ear, “that doesn’t sound like a pussy that hates me.”
The heat is unbearable – you think. The high makes everything a hundred more times as intense, the pressure just keeps building more, and more in your core, the stretch of his fingers feels so heavenly that you almost tell him you missed them – and there’s nothing you can do but just bask in the way his fingers fuck you so good.
You bury your face into his neck once more, refusing to give him the satisfaction he desperately looks for. You hate him, you hate him, oh, you hate him so much.
His fingers slow to a deep stroke, rubbing in places you could never have reached with your own fingers. He makes sure that his palm rubs over your swollen bud everytime, almost cupping over your pussy like he owns it. The burn in your thighs is unmistakable, and they twitch in his hold every time his fingers brush against your sweet spot.
“Shuji! shuji, shuji–” you chant, bucking your hips against the palm of his hand – as needy as you look right now, you still ache to get more, for him to grant you the pleasure you’ve been chasing all night.
“Yeah? Right here?”
It sounds so dirty, the room is filled with the sounds of your sweet moans and the wet shlick of his fingers plunging inside you. But maybe if you cared more, then you would be a little quieter, a little more considerate of your neighbors. Hanma makes you feel nothing but pleasure, especially in this moment, when he’s fucking you full of his fingers, how could you sit still and be quiet?
“Yes! Oh– please, please, please!”
Your little feet kick helplessly, because you don’t know how else to handle the waves of pleasure one after the other. Internally, you thank the weed — your heads been stuffed with cotton ever since that first hit and all of your senses are heightened tenfold. It makes everything seem more than it really is.
“Ahh, there it is, baby, there you go.” Hanma feels your orgasm wash over you like a tidal wave, walls of your wet cunt pulsing and squeezing around him. You cry and struggle against him for a solid minute while he just watches, swallowing up every whine that comes out of your sweet lips. “That wasn’t so hard was it?”
All this time, his fingers never stop fucking back into you, prolonging the bliss. You have nothing to say back to him, nothing to shut his cocky mouth, it feels like you can’t think of anything as all the thoughts fly out of your head — leaving you thinking of nothing but Shuji, Shuji, Shuji.
The orgasm boils down to a slow bubble, leaving you with a dumb smile on your face as you look up at him, completely slumping your body against him.
Hanma reads your face like an open book, knowing exactly how you feel right now. He kisses you hard, moving so he can hold you by the throat in place, forcing your lips apart so he could slip his hot tongue into your mouth. He demands control, dominating you and turning the kiss greedy, filthy.
He’s waited long enough. Pulling away with a pop, he pushes his thumb into your mouth, just lightly, and almost instantly sees you close your dewy lips around it.
You stare up at him with watery eyes, tongue lapping and shamelessly sucking at his thumb.
Golden eyes meet yours, and for a second he just admires. Setting his jaw, he scans the blemishes and traces the features of your face. He takes it all in, killing the craving that's been harbored inside him for so long. Just one look at you and he feels the frustration inside him dissipate.
“You gonna fuck me already, or jus’ keep staring?”
This – Hanma reminds himself – is why he adored you. Even if it was hard for you to openly communicate your needs, he knew that eventually the need to be heard would force the words out of you, oftentimes cascading down your lips in a flurry of acute emotion that he couldn't help but relish in. When the two of you were still dating, he surprisingly never got bored. One of the very few people that could actually excite him, is you. Without a doubt, you made him feel things he didn’t even know were possible for him to feel.
No words are shared as you let him manhandle you into any position he likes, whimpering from the stimulation as you realize it leaves you laying under him as he towers over you. Both of you make quick work stripping away at your clothes, but you don’t bother with your top, only peeling away your pants in one fluid motion.
“We’re not using a condom.”
“I didn’t even say anything!” you giggle.
He pinches your side, “‘never liked ‘em anyway.”
“I know.” you watch as he pulls his shirt off, revealing all the built muscle and bulging abs, if he were to leave you here like this, you think you could spend all night just mapping out every ridge and dent on his body. You can't help but reach for him right away, warm hands tracing from his sternum to his torso.
The little hairs that start right under his belly button travel all the way down, like a teasing trail, under the waistband of his pants. The tips of your fingers brush against them instinctively, and you remember how he always used to shiver when you’d toy with the fuzziness.
“You still do that, huh?” he smirks, eyes half-lidded and red looking down at you.
You scratch at the sensitive skin, and it sends little tingles up his spine at the sensation, even as your nails caress and graze his back and shoulders, he lets you do as you please. The familiarity could eat him whole, it tugs painfully at his heart strings.
“‘Guess some things never change, Shu.”
He pulls away only so he could undo his belt and pull down the waistband of his pants; he doesn't bother with shrugging them completely off, just enough that would be comfortable. You’re left staring in anticipation — the outline of his thick cock and a little wet spot in the fabric leaves you needy and squeezing your thighs together.
His cock springs out only seconds later, standing long and thick in front of you. A flushed pretty pink tip that’s just as leaky as you remember — you watch, with wide, eager eyes as he strokes it with the same hand that was inside of you minutes ago. The sight makes your mouth water, opening up slightly as if you're ready to take him straight down your throat. The weight of your tongue in your mouth leaves you speechless at the sight of his cock right in front of your face, mind too busy fantasizing about the taste of him to form coherent thoughts.
“Dumb whore doesn’t know what to think anymore,” he laughs, staring straight down at the way you look at his dick like it's a prized possession, “‘not a thought behind those eyes. Don’t worry, baby, you don’t need to think of anything, I'll do it all for you.”
He leans back down and cages you in between his arms — faces close enough that you’re nearly sharing the same breath; close enough that you could see the hunger and need in his eyes. Your thighs drop open to make way for him in between, and you loop your arms around his neck.
“Haven’t been inside this pussy in too long,” he groans, tugging at your panties. “Bet it feels even better than before.”
He tosses them over his shoulder; and instantly, his eyes drop to your exposed cunt, eyeing it like a starved man that hasn’t been fed in weeks. He can’t help but bring two fingers to your clit, toying with the bud and spreading your slick all around before licking his fingers, and then giving you a little taste, “sweet. Just like you’ve always been.”
Heat crawls up your neck up to your face, and you shy away from his gaze. Everything he says only adds to the already burning need inside you. Even after all these months, he still makes you just as hot and flustered as he used to; nothing changed, and though you know you should be apprehensive about it, you can’t help but bask in the satisfaction.
“‘You gonna be a sweet girl for me and open up?” one of his hands hikes your leg up to his shoulder. He plants a small kiss at your ankle, before resting it there, leaving you all vulnerable and spread wide for him.
“Hurry up…” you keen, gripping the cushions under you. Now that his cock stands proud in front of you, all you could think about is how much you want him inside, how much you’ve been craving him all this time. He clouds your senses, along with the weed, everything is too hot; he makes you feel too hot.
The swollen tip of his cockhead taps and flicks at your pussy, teasing the hole and then swiping it back and forth to your clit, he pulls away only so he could see the way the slick clings to the tip— all this time, his eyes are glued to you.
Finally, he pushes in, and Hanma thinks he could die happy right now, he shamelessly groans out loud at the feeling of your hot walls around him, his hand twitches and grips harder at your thigh because it just feels too fucking good.
“Fuuuck, yeah,” he slides in deeper, watching the way your cunt stretches and swallows him whole, “that's it. That's the pussy I know.”
It pulls a moan out of you, both from pain and pleasure, “W-wait–! Shuji!”
“Shh, don’t worry, baby,” he grunts, using one hand to hold your hip in place so he can sheathe himself completely inside you. “Fucking hell. So fuckin’ tight.”
His cock rests deep for a few moments, letting you adjust to the uncomfortable obstruction. Your cunt spasms and squeezes uncontrollably around his cock, and Hanma swears he’s never felt euphoria like this before. He finds a home inside you, one that reminds him of the days where he would fuck you day and night and still never get tired of the way your pussy feels.
“‘Missed this,” he groans, leaning down so he could push your thigh that was resting on his shoulder into the mattress, “such a perfect cunt.”
You whine and cry beneath him, too overwhelmed by all the sensations around you. Your arms move pathetically around until they find purchase with your nails digging into the muscles of his back. The pain makes his cock throb inside you, he relishes the mixture of both pain and pleasure, it makes him even hungrier.
Unable to wait any longer, he pulls out almost halfway before brutally thrusting back in; the pace he sets is unforgivable, and all you could do is sit there and watch as he fucks you deep and slow into the cushions.
It reminds you exactly how it feels to truly be fucked. He grips you harshly by the hips, yanking you back into him over and over, letting his cock pierce so deep inside you that you feel like you’re choking on it. He knocks every breath out of you, leaving you light headed and hazy. And giggles at the way your ankles dangle between your ears and his.
“Fuck, fuck, keep doin’ that, baby,”
Your nails scratch and dig into his back, marking it red and burning into his skin. It has him thrusting even harder into you — call him a masochist, because he absolutely relishes in the pain inflicted.
Your little squeals and whimpers are music to his ears. It pushes him to fuck you even deeper into the couch, giggling at the way your thighs twitch and toes curl everytime his cockhead hits that one spot inside you. He knows exactly what to do, where to, and how to. He doesn’t even need you to say it, need to tell him what you want — all his little baby has to do is sit here, and take it.
“Hah, ah, shu- Shuji! Please!” your hands tug and pull at his hair – and he knows – the harder you tug, the better you feel. Hanma’s thighs ache but he’d rather do anything than stop fucking into your sweet cunt, he’s drunk on the way your walls accept him like they’ve been waiting for his arrival all this time.
“Oh, baby, what? You g’nna cum? Yeah?”
“Yes! Oh, please!”
He laughs, literally laughs! Grinning at the way your eyes well up with tears and face screws up in pleasure. Hanma hikes your other thigh higher, now pinning both of them in place on the couch. This gives him even better access to your pussy, and an even better view.
His hips slam down into yours, stinging and burning the back of your thighs red and pink. The tears fall uncontrollably, he hears you babble and whine under him, but he’s too busy working his way up to his orgasm to actually listen to anything you have to say.
“C’mon, pretty girl. Cum for me,” he pants, leaning down to swallow your moans into his mouth as you shake and whither with the force of your orgasm. Your gummy walls pulse and squeeze around him, and he feels the wetness pool inside you and starts leaking out.
Hanma’s dick twitches inside you, tip tingling at the added stimulation. He starts thinking of just how wet and drippy you’d get if he busted his load right inside you — filled you up all to the brim and flooded you full.
“Shit, shit, yeah,” he groans, eyes shut and forehead resting on yours before you feel him pull out abruptly and cum all over your belly, leaving little spurts of warm, white milkiness that land as far as your neck. His hand works his dick until there’s nothing left to give, until the overstimulation burns inside him. Only then does he stop stroking his cock, letting it soften over your belly.
You drop your hands from around him and slump your body into the couch, the energy all drained out of you that you can’t even form any proper words. The fatigue catches up to you, closing your eyes and catching your breath. Your legs feel like jelly, and the obvious ache can’t be ignored.
Hanma shuffles away, tucking himself back into his pants and pulling his shirt back on. The sweat beads at his temples and you cringe when he uses his shirt to wipe it away. You’re not even shocked, his typical behavior is nothing new to you anyway.
He picks up your soiled panties off the floor, spinning it around his ring finger with a dumb smirk on his face, “so, what? You gonna kick me out?”
The fabric is swiped against your skin, and he bunches it up to wipe away the cum on your belly.
You think about it, biting the inside of your cheek and fidgeting with your fingers, “... were you planning on leaving?”
“Fuck no.” he scoffs. “Woulda’ stayed even if you said no.”
“You’re so annoying.” you smile.
“Yeah,” he grins back, “I know ♡.”
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thank you for reading!!! thoughts, comments, rbs, feedback is greatly appreciated, id love to know what you guys think <3 comms open.