#how does cloud know how to dance like that?

[2b4st4r]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ A Killers Promise ⊹ ࣪ ˖

Straw hats x reader

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ Words: 8,948

⭑.ᐟ warnings: Violance and gore, Childhood trauma, panic attack, emotional angst, brief unsettling imagery, nightmares, shower scene (DOES NOT SHOW ANYTHING, hinted F! reader.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ Summery: Y/N, a quiet member of the Straw Hat Pirates with a hidden past. Though she steadfastly refuses to fight, her crew believes it's simply a preference or a lack of skill. What they don't know is the terrifying truth: Y/N is a formidable killer, honed by a brutal childhood war fought for her family and island. After witnessing a loved one's death, she made a solemn vow to abandon violence forever, but what will happen when she’s put in a position where she has to make a choice, break the promise— or save her new found family; the strawhats.

masterlist ( �� ³˘)♥︎

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

The rhythmic creak of the Thousand Sunny’s mast was a lullaby, a stark contrast to the cacophony that once defined your world. Here, amidst the boisterous Straw Hats, you were an anomaly. They knew you didn't fight, a fact you’d established early on with a quiet, unwavering resolve. Luffy, bless his guileless heart, probably thought you just preferred cheering from the sidelines. Zoro, perhaps, assumed you hadn't the knack for it. Nami, ever practical, likely saw you as valuable in other ways. They were all wrong. So terribly, fundamentally wrong.

God, you could fight. You were a symphony of calculated strikes, a whirlwind of precision and power. The memory of steel in your hand felt as natural as breathing, the taste of adrenaline a familiar tang on your tongue. Before the Sunny, before this semblance of peace, there was only war.

You were barely a teenager when the drums of conflict began to beat, echoing across your island, a relentless rhythm of oppression under a cruel government. Your hands, still small and slender, learned to grip a blade before they truly knew how to hold a pen. You fought for them, for your family, for the very ground beneath your feet. There was a raw, undeniable craving for blood then, not born of malice, but of desperation. Each swing, each parry, was a prayer for survival, a desperate plea for freedom.

The air on those nights was thick with the scent of fear and smoke, illuminated by the orange glow of burning homes. You were a phantom in the chaos, a blur of motion, driven by an instinct to protect. You remembered the sickening crunch of bone, the wet thud of bodies hitting the ground, and the desperate cries that mingled with your own ragged breaths. You were good at it, terrifyingly so. Every move was etched into your muscle memory, a brutal dance perfected through countless skirmishes.

Then came the night the island finally cracked. The citizens, pushed to their breaking point, rose up in a desperate, last-ditch effort to reclaim what was theirs. You were in the thick of it, a whirlwind of fury and hope. The shouts of defiance mingled with the crack of gunfire, a chaotic crescendo. You saw your brother, his eyes wide with a mixture of terror and determination, just meters away. And then, the sickening crack, the way his body crumpled, a dark stain blossoming on his chest.

You were there in an instant, cradling him, your hands slick with his lifeblood. His breath hitched, a desperate gurgle in his throat. His eyes, already clouding, found yours. "Y/N," he rasped, his voice barely a whisper, "Promise me… promise me you'll stop. Stop this… this bloodshed. Live, little sister. Live for peace."

Your own sobs tore through you, a raw, primal sound that was swallowed by the surrounding cacophony of battle. "No… no, please," you choked, tears streaming down your face, mixing with the blood on your hands. But his gaze, unwavering even in death, held you captive. And through your agony, through the despair of watching your people fall, you made the promise. A promise whispered to a dying boy, a vow to forsake the very thing you were terrifyingly good at.

The weeks that followed were a blur of grief and hollow victory. The island was free, but at what cost? Your hands, once so quick to grasp a weapon, now trembled at the thought. The very sight of a blade sent shivers down your spine. The craving for blood, once a driving force, was replaced by a profound nausea. You sought solace in quiet, in the simple rhythm of everyday life. You learned to cultivate a garden, to mend torn sails, to appreciate the quiet hum of a peaceful existence.

The years stretched on, each one a testament to that solemn vow. The killer within you, once a roaring inferno, was carefully, painstakingly banked. You embraced a new path, one of gentle understanding and quiet observation. The Straw Hats saw a calm, collected presence, a kind soul who offered comfort and support. They saw your refusal to fight as a quirk, perhaps even a weakness. They never knew the raging storm you had tamed, the monstrous capability you held in check, all for the sake of a promise made to a dying brother. And you would keep that promise, no matter what.

They didn't see the killer you had been, or the one you still held at bay. They saw the person who’d zone out at the sight of blood, a distant look clouding your eyes as memories, sharp and unwanted, pricked at the edges of your consciousness. They saw the one who’d stay behind when they went to fight, a silent sentinel on the deck, watching the chaos unfold from a safe, agonizing distance. And they saw the one who refused to even hold a weapon, your hands always empty, even when a spare blade or a discarded pipe lay conveniently nearby.

This was the person they had taken onto their ship, a non-combatant in a crew defined by their fighting prowess. Most of them didn't understand it, least of all Luffy, your captain. He tried—he really did—to make sense of your pacifism.

"Hey, Y/N!" Luffy would shout, bounding over to you with a wide grin, a rusty old pipe already in his hand. "Look! This looks like a fun weapon! Wanna try swinging it?" He'd offer it to you, his eyes bright with genuine enthusiasm, completely missing the subtle tightening of your jaw, the faint tremor that would run through your fingers. You'd just shake your head, a small, polite smile fixed on your face. "No thank you, Luffy. I'm not really good with weapons." He'd deflate for a moment, then shrug, already distracted by the next shiny object or the promise of meat.

Another time, during a particularly chaotic skirmish with some minor thugs, you found yourself near Zoro, who'd lost one of his swords in the fray. It lay glinting on the deck, just inches from your foot. "Y/N! The sword!" he grunted, fighting off two assailants. For a split second, your gaze locked onto the hilt, your fingers twitching with an involuntary, phantom grip. The muscle memory screamed, pick it up, it's right there, you could end this. But then, your brother's dying eyes flashed in your mind, and the brief surge of adrenaline receded, leaving behind a cold dread. You simply nudged the sword with your foot, pushing it closer to Zoro, and mumbled, "Here, Zoro, it's just by your hand." He snatched it up, giving you a quick, puzzled glance before diving back into the fight, none the wiser to the internal battle you'd just won.

Even Nami, ever observant, once tried to hand you a small, ornate dagger she'd acquired, thinking it might be a good self-defense tool. "It's just for emergencies, Y/N," she'd said kindly. You'd held it for a moment, the cool weight of the metal strangely familiar, and then, with a deep breath, handed it back. "I'm sure you'll make better use of it, Nami," you'd replied, a lightness in your tone that belied the tension in your shoulders.

They saw your calm demeanor, your quiet support, your occasional bouts of distant silence. They saw a crewmate who chose not to fight, and they, in their own unique ways, respected it. They didn't see the constant vigil, the unyielding strength it took to keep the killer buried deep, all for the sake of a promise whispered to a dying brother on a war-torn island.

For the most part, they accepted your unique stance, but sometimes, the teasing would come, lighthearted jabs that still managed to prick. Zoro, ever the blunt one, would sometimes just snort when the topic of fighting came up, a dismissive sound that spoke volumes without a single word. You'd just offer him a small, unreadable smile in return.

Usopp, in his usual dramatic fashion, would often proclaim, "See, even Y/N's more afraid than me when the fighting starts! At least I try to fight, even if I get scared!" He'd puff out his chest, completely oblivious to the quiet strength it took for you to simply be there, unmoving, while chaos erupted. Chopper, bless his innocent heart, would sometimes fret, "Are you sure you're okay, Y/N? You always look a little… sad when everyone else is fighting." You'd reassure him with a gentle pat on his head, a warmth in your eyes that masked the underlying ache.

Franky, with his boisterous enthusiasm, once tried to entice you. "C'mon, Y/N! Imagine the SUPER moves you could do with a custom weapon! We could build you something amazing!" You just laughed, a genuine, melodious sound. "I'm sure you could, Franky, but I think I'll stick to enjoying your creations from a safe distance."

But there were always those who saw more. Sanji, ever the gentleman, would instantly spring to your defense. "Leave her alone, you louts! Y/N does plenty for this ship! She doesn't need to fight! Who do you think keeps track of our supplies so meticulously? Or helps Nami with her charts? She's an invaluable member of this crew!" He'd glare at the others, apron fluttering dramatically, while you offered him a grateful, soft smile.

And then there was Robin. She didn't tease or bully. Her eyes, perceptive and ancient, saw past the surface. She saw how, when blood bloomed on the deck during a skirmish, you didn't pale, shake, or even run. Instead, you paused. It was a fleeting moment, a subtle stiffening of your shoulders, a sharpening of your gaze that lasted only an instant before it softened again.

She'd seen you, for instance, when Luffy had taken a nasty cut across his arm. While others gasped or rushed to tend to him, you simply watched, your eyes momentarily distant, focused not on the wound itself, but on the way the dark red liquid spread. There was no revulsion in your expression, no fear. Just a profound, almost analytical stillness, as if you were recalling something, reliving a moment only you could see. Then, as quickly as it came, the intensity would fade, replaced by your usual calm demeanor as you moved to grab bandages for Chopper.

Another time, when a low-level pirate had been knocked unconscious, a trickle of blood emerging from his temple, your gaze had drifted to it. You didn't flinch. Instead, your fingers had subtly flexed, an almost imperceptible clenching and unclenching, as if recalling the sensation of a blade. Robin had caught it, a flicker of recognition in her own eyes. You were a mystery to most, a gentle soul among a crew of fighters. But to Robin, you were a locked book, and she, with her quiet observation, was slowly deciphering the chapters within.

It was supposed to be a normal stop, a quaint little island with kind villagers, bathed in the soft glow of a perpetually setting sun. Usually, this was your cue to stay back, watch the Sunny, enjoying the quiet solitude of the ship while the others explored. But the Sunny needed repairs from the last brutal skirmish, a gaping hole in her hull and a splintered mast calling for Franky’s immediate attention.

"You stay put, Y/N," Franky had boomed, already surrounded by tools, "I need to get this baby shipshape. You go have some fun!" When you offered to stay with him, a quiet assurance that you preferred the calm of the ship, Nami had practically pulled you away, a determined glint in her eye. "No way, Y/N! You've been cooped up on the ship too long. Robin and I need your keen eye for shopping! You need a break from watching the Sunny!"

So, you went. It was a rare occurrence, walking alongside the entire crew into town. Luffy, Zoro, Nami, Usopp, Sanji, Chopper, Brook, and you—a motley parade heading for supplies.

Luffy, predictably, was already causing a stir, pointing at every food stall with an eager cry of "Meat!" Chopper bounced excitedly beside him, mesmerized by a street performer’s juggling act. Usopp was haggling loudly over what appeared to be a very ordinary slingshot, convinced it was a rare, ancient artifact. Sanji, ever the doting chef, was already flirting with a local baker, his eyes practically turning into hearts. Nami, ever practical, had her nose in a map, muttering about good deals, while Robin calmly browsed a book stall, a serene smile on her face. Brook, of course, was asking every woman he passed if he could see their panties, much to Nami’s exasperated groans.

You walked a little behind them all, taking in the sights and sounds. The smell of freshly baked bread mingled with the salty sea air. Children laughed, chasing each other through the narrow streets. For a moment, a fragile peace settled over you.

Then, it went to hell.

Luffy, in his usual boundless enthusiasm, had tried to "help himself" to a giant, glistening leg of roast meat from a grumpy vendor’s stall. The vendor, clearly not used to pirates, let out a furious bellow, brandishing a cleaver. One thing led to another, a spilled drink, a mistaken shove, and suddenly, the entire market erupted.

"You damn pirates!" a burly man roared, swinging a fist at Usopp. Tables overturned, baskets of fruit scattered, and the air filled with the angry shouts of villagers. This wasn't a organized enemy, just a furious, uncoordinated mob.

Zoro was already a blur of green, dodging flailing arms and legs, his hands instinctively going for his swords, but holding back, clearly not wanting to cut down civilians. Luffy, surprisingly, was having trouble, overwhelmed by the sheer number of angry hands grabbing at him, pulling his rubber body in every direction. He wasn't fighting back with full force, merely trying to escape the human tide.

Nami shrieked as someone tried to snatch her bag, retaliating with a well-aimed kick that sent her attacker sprawling. Sanji was a whirlwind of kicks, protecting Nami and Robin, but visibly holding back, his precision strikes aimed at disabling, not injuring. Chopper, in Brain Point, was frantically trying to administer first aid to accidentally injured villagers while dodging clumsy swings. Usopp was firing pop greens, creating clouds of smoke to disorient the crowd, his usual bravado replaced by genuine panic. Even Brook was struggling, his cane-sword parrying blows, but the sheer chaos of the unarmed, enraged villagers made it difficult to fight without causing serious harm.

The Straw Hats, used to fighting hardened criminals and powerful marines, were struggling. This wasn't a battle; it was a riot. They were holding back, trying not to hurt these innocent, albeit furious, people, and that hesitation was costing them. Punches landed, kicks connected, and the sheer weight of the mob began to push them back, deeper into the narrow, winding streets of the island town. The gentle sounds of the market were replaced by shouts, screams, and the dull thud of bodies. And in the midst of it all, you stood, a quiet observer as the world around you dissolved into chaos, the familiar scent of blood beginning to prick at your senses.

They weren't winning. They were losing. The sheer force of the furious villagers, fueled by indignation and misunderstanding, was overwhelming. Luffy, usually invincible, was being dragged through a fish stall, momentarily tangled in a net. Zoro, still holding back, found himself pinned against a wall, his swords sheathed, his brow furrowed in frustration as he tried to disarm rather than wound. Nami was pushed into a fruit cart, scattering apples and oranges everywhere, her weather egg useless against a mob.

And you? You just froze.

The sounds of the riot, the shouts, the thuds, began to warp, twisting into the familiar cacophony of another time. The smell of fresh blood, now mingling with the scent of spilled produce, brought it all rushing back. Your brother’s face, pale and streaked with dirt and blood, swam before your eyes. The gurgle in his throat. The final, desperate plea. "Promise me… promise me you'll stop. Stop this… this bloodshed. Live, little sister. Live for peace." The memory was a physical weight, pressing down on your chest, stealing your breath. Your hands, the ones that had cradled his dying form, felt cold, clammy, and useless.

You were vaguely aware of the chaos around you, a swirling vortex of anger and fear, but it was distant, muffled by the roaring in your ears. Your gaze was fixed on nothing, seeing everything. The way the light caught a splash of blood on the cobblestones, mirroring the dark stain on his shirt. The panicked look in Chopper’s eyes as he was shoved, reminding you of the fear in your brother's before it faded. The sheer, overwhelming helplessness of that night, replicated here, now.

"Y/N! What are you doing?!"

The shout pierced through the fog of your memories, a sharp, insistent demand. It was Usopp, his face streaked with dirt, his nose a little crooked from a glancing blow. He was struggling, pinned against a wall by a burly fisherman, but his eyes, wide with fear and exasperation, were fixed on you.

"Even if you're weak, Y/N, now is not the time to freeze and not do anything! Just do something! Anything! Throw a punch, trip someone, scream!" His voice cracked with a mixture of fear and genuine frustration. He probably meant it to snap you out of it, to shake you into action, but his words, especially "weak," struck a raw nerve, twisting the knife in the wound of your past.

The world tilted. Your brother’s dying words echoed, demanding peace, demanding an end to violence. But then, the faces of your crew flashed before you—Luffy, struggling to stand, Zoro grimacing in pain, Nami yelling in distress. Their faces, trusting and desperate.

The promise you made to your departed brother, a sacred vow etched in blood and tears, warred with the silent, desperate plea of your found family. To fight, or not to fight? To embrace the killer within for their sake, or to honor the peace you had so painstakingly built? The choice was agonizing, a chasm opening beneath your feet, demanding you leap one way or the other. You stood there, trembling, caught between a sacred past and a terrifying present.

You couldn't let anyone die. Not again. The thought, cold and sharp, sliced through the fog of memory, shattering the chains of your promise. The terrified look on Usopp’s face, the strained grunts of Zoro, the desperate shouts of Nami—they were alive, right now, and they were in danger. The ghost of your brother’s fading breath was overridden by the visceral need to protect.

Something deep within you snapped.

The world around you, once muffled and distant, sharpened into brutal focus. Every angry face, every flailing limb, every shouted threat became a target, a problem to be solved. The tremor in your hands vanished, replaced by a terrifying steadiness. The gentle, peaceful persona you had meticulously built over years disintegrated, revealing the chilling efficiency beneath.

Your first move was instinctual, a blur of motion. A burly man, still grappling with Usopp, suddenly gasped, his eyes wide with shock as he was effortlessly lifted and then sent sprawling with a single, precise strike to his midsection. He landed with a sickening thud, unconscious before he hit the ground. You didn’t even look at him.

You moved like a predator, a silent, deadly force. There was no hesitation, no wasted motion. Your fists became weapons, each strike delivered with devastating power. A flurry of blows, so fast they were almost invisible, connected with a group trying to overwhelm Sanji. There was the sharp crack of bone, the sudden collapse of bodies, a choked gasp here, a pained groan there. You weren't just fighting; you were destroying.

A man lunged at Chopper, a heavy wooden club raised. Before he could bring it down, you were there. Your hand shot out, catching his wrist with an iron grip. There was a faint pop as something dislocated, and then, with a terrifyingly casual twist, you spun him around, using his momentum to slam him headfirst into a nearby fruit stand. The stand splintered, fruit exploding on impact, and the man slumped, unmoving amidst the wreckage.

Your movements were fluid, graceful, yet utterly brutal. Each punch was designed to incapacitate, each kick to shatter. There was no anger on your face, no fear, no relief—just a chilling devoidness of emotion. Your eyes, once soft and empathetic, were now flat, vacant pools, reflecting the chaos without absorbing it. You moved through the mob like a reaper, a terrifying force of nature. The sounds of the villagers’ shouts began to turn to whimpers, then to silence, as those who hadn't fallen scrambled away in terror.

The Straw Hats, moments ago struggling, slowly began to realize the shift. Luffy, finally free, stared, his rubber limbs frozen mid-stretch. Zoro’s eyes, usually so sharp, widened in a mixture of awe and something akin to fear. Sanji, usually so quick to defend you, now watched, mouth agape, as you effortlessly dispatched three men with a rapid succession of strikes that were almost too fast to follow. Nami clutched her head, her face pale, as she saw a woman go down with a single, precise strike to the temple, utterly silent. Chopper whimpered, burying his face in Usopp's side, while Usopp himself stood paralyzed, his earlier taunts dying in his throat. Even Robin’s serene expression cracked, a flicker of something unreadable passing through her eyes as she witnessed the cold, efficient savagery you unleashed.

You were hovered in blood, not your own, but the splashes and smears from those you had incapacitated. Your clothes were untidy, your hair a little disheveled, but there was not a drop of sweat on your brow, not a hint of exertion in your posture. You stood amidst the broken bodies and scattered debris, the quiet returning to the square, save for the distant cries of a few fleeing villagers.

The Straw Hats stared at you, their breathing ragged, their own fights now over. The air was thick with the scent of fear, and a new, unsettling aura. You were still their Y/N, the quiet, kind crewmate. But now, they had seen the shadow, the terrifying truth of the killer who had laid dormant. And it was scary.

The square was eerily silent now, save for the distant sounds of alarmed shouts from those villagers who had retreated, too terrified to approach. Some lay groaning on the ground, others were utterly still. They looked at you, the figure now covered in the blood of their family, friends, their eyes wide with unadulterated horror. You were no longer the quiet, unassuming visitor. You were a nightmare made manifest.

It was in this chilling tableau that the Straw Hats saw you commit the final, grotesque act that solidified their terror. A lone villager, bolder or perhaps more desperate than the rest, had stumbled out from behind an overturned stall, a small, desperate cry on his lips. In his hand was a transponder snail, already open, its receiver crackling to life, no doubt attempting to summon help. You turned, a slow, deliberate movement, your eyes locking onto the small device. There was no rage, no malice, just an almost detached calculation.

Before anyone could react, you moved. With a frighteningly swift and precise motion, your hand shot out, not towards the man, but towards the snail. Your fingers closed around the device, crushing it with a sickening crunch. The small receiver let out a final, distorted squeal before dying. Then, with the same casual ease, you brought your fist down, the now-shattered pieces of the transponder snail still embedded in your knuckles, directly onto the man's temple. It was a single, clean strike. He crumpled, unconscious, a faint smear of blood blossoming on the cobblestones. The act was so quick, so devoid of emotion, that it was utterly chilling.

That was the moment the Straw Hats knew. This wasn't just a fight. This was something else entirely. Luffy, his face pale, was the first to murmur, "Run."

Just as you took another step towards a cowering figure huddled behind a well, Zoro moved. He was there in an instant, his hand clamping around your arm, his grip surprisingly gentle yet firm. "That's enough, Y/N," he rasped, his voice low, a mix of warning and something akin to a desperate plea. He didn't ask, he didn't question. He simply pulled you away from your soon-to-be victim, guiding you with an almost desperate urgency.

"Everyone! To the Sunny!" Nami shrieked, already turning and sprinting back the way they came.

The rest of the crew didn't need to be told twice. Luffy, shaking himself from his stupor, bounded ahead. Sanji scooped up a still-dazed Chopper, sprinting after him. Usopp, his earlier fear replaced by a new, profound terror, scrambled after them, Brook hot on his heels. Robin, her eyes still on you, moved with a quiet, efficient speed, her expression unreadable.

You offered no resistance as Zoro pulled you. Your movements were still fluid, your body coiled, but you allowed him to guide you, your eyes still distant, unfocused on the fleeing forms of the villagers, or even on the worried glances of your crew. You were a weapon sheathed, but the terrifying capability still hummed beneath the surface.

As you ran through the stunned silence of the town, the image of your bloody knuckles, the shattered snail, and the unconscious man echoed in the minds of the Straw Hats. They had always thought they knew you. But now, as they fled with the living ghost of a killer in their midst, they knew they had been terribly, terribly wrong.

The dash back to the Sunny was a blur of ragged breaths and pounding feet. The salty sea air, usually so invigorating, now felt heavy, thick with unspoken questions. As the first of the crew scrambled aboard, Franky emerged from the lower deck, grease smeared on his face, a wrench in hand.

"You guys are back early, what—" he began, his booming voice cutting off abruptly as his eyes swept over the group. His gaze snagged on Luffy's slightly bruised face, Usopp's trembling hands, Nami's wide, fearful eyes, and then, finally, landed on you.

You stood on the deck, a silent, stark figure, drenched in blood that wasn’t your own. Streaks of crimson marred your clothes, flecked your hair, even stained the skin of your face and hands. It was a visceral, horrifying sight. Franky’s jaw dropped, the wrench clattering to the deck with a metallic clang. "Holy—" he managed, his voice barely a whisper.

Before anyone else could react, Zoro’s arm was around you, a firm, almost possessive grip that guided you aboard. He didn't say a word, just steered you towards the grass deck, the softest spot on the ship, and gently, but firmly, put you somewhere to sit. You offered no resistance, your body moving with a strange, disconnected compliance.

You were dull. Zoned out. Your eyes, still wide and empty, stared blankly at the railing, seeing nothing. Your mind was not there, lost in some terrifying echo of the past, or perhaps, simply numb.

Chopper was the first to approach, his small hooves padding softly on the deck. "Y-Y/N?" he whispered, his voice trembling. He held out a clean cloth, but you didn't react. It was Nami who gently took the cloth from him and, with a sigh that was more tremor than breath, began to clean you up. She started with your hands, wiping away the dark, sticky residue, her movements slow and deliberate, as if unsure of how much pressure to apply.

Sanji, for once, was silent, hovering nearby, his usual boisterous energy replaced by a profound unease. He watched Nami, then you, a cigarette dangling unlit from his lips. Luffy, having finally caught his breath, plopped down beside you, cross-legged, his usual boisterousness completely absent. He tried a shaky, forced smile. "Hey, Y/N... d-did you see that guy fly when Usopp hit him with a Pop Green? He went, like, whoosh!" His attempt at a joke fell flat, the silence on the deck stretching, thick with unspoken questions and profound worry.

Usopp, still a little pale, tried too. "Y-yeah! And remember when I tripped that big guy? Classic! You know, I'm pretty sure I heard him say 'owwie'!" He even forced a nervous chuckle, but his eyes darted to you, then to the blood-stained deck, then quickly away.

Robin sat a little distance away, observing, her gaze unblinking. She didn't speak, but her posture, usually so relaxed, held a subtle tension. Brook stood beside her, his skull tilted, a silent, profound sorrow in his empty eye sockets. Franky, meanwhile, was still staring, his large hands clenching and unclenching.

No one dared to directly ask what had happened, not when faced with your utter unresponsiveness. They just hovered, their worry palpable, a heavy blanket descending upon the ship. You remained still, a statue carved from trauma, while the kind hands of your crew tried to wipe away the crimson evidence of the monster you had unleashed.

The quiet hum of the Sunny’s engines filled the tense silence, broken only by the gentle lapping of waves against the hull. Nami had finished cleaning your hands, but the blood on your clothes remained, a stark testament to the sudden, brutal shift in your demeanor. Your eyes were still distant, unfocused.

It was Robin who stepped in. She knelt beside you, her movements fluid and unhurried, her voice a soft, steady murmur that cut through the lingering shock. "Y/N," she began, her tone gentle, almost hypnotic. "You did what you had to do. You protected your crew." Her words were a balm, not an accusation. She understood the unspoken truth, the desperate need that had driven you. "It was a difficult situation. They were going to hurt us, weren't they?" A pause, allowing the words to sink in. "You ended the conflict swiftly. Efficiently." She reached out, her hand resting lightly on your shoulder, a gesture of quiet understanding. "You've been through a lot, Y/N. It was a rough fight. You should take a shower and get some rest."

You didn't speak, didn't make eye contact. You simply nodded, a slow, deliberate movement. Then, with a quiet sigh, you rose, your blood-stained clothes clinging to you, and turned towards the women's quarters, presumably to take a shower and find the rest Robin had suggested. The door clicked shut softly behind you, leaving the rest of the crew in a stunned, uncomfortable silence.

The moment the door closed, the dam broke.

"Holy crap," Usopp whispered, his voice trembling. He clapped a hand over his mouth, his face a sickly green. "Did you guys see her? That guy... the one with the snail... she just... she just..." He couldn't finish the sentence, a shiver wracking his body. "We don't kill people! Not like that! We just rough them up, maybe break a few bones, but innocents?! She just... she was like a demon!"

Luffy, unusually subdued, was sprawled on the deck, staring up at the mast. "She was strong," he murmured, almost to himself, a hint of awe in his voice, but also something else – a flicker of confusion. "Really strong."

Sanji finally lit his cigarette, taking a long, shaky drag. "She protected us, you idiots," he snapped, though his own voice lacked its usual fire. "They were going to hurt Nami-san and Robin-chan! Y/N did what was necessary." He exhaled a cloud of smoke, his eyes narrowed. "You saw how they were closing in. We were holding back too much."

"But... the way she did it," Chopper whispered, still clinging to Usopp. "Her eyes... they were empty. Like she wasn't even there."

Zoro, who had been quietly wiping blood from his own clothes, finally spoke, his voice low and gravelly. "She’s always been like that, I bet." Everyone turned to him. "Just saw it for the first time. The real Y/N." He met their gazes, his own steady. "She's not weak. Never was. And she didn't just hurt those guys. She ended them. Fast."

"That's what scares me, you moss-head!" Nami exclaimed, pacing agitatedly. "It was so... cold! We don't fight like that! We're pirates, not murderers of innocent people!"

"They weren't innocent the moment they started attacking us with murderous intent," Sanji retorted, though his defense felt a little hollow, even to him.

Robin, ever calm, finally added, "Y/N has always been a gentle soul. But as I said before, some books are written in a language only a few can understand. Perhaps we've only just begun to read this one." Her gaze lingered on the women's quarters door. There was concern in her eyes, yes, but also a profound, unsettling curiosity.

The air hung heavy with their fear, their concern, and the dawning realization that the quiet, gentle Y/N they knew held a terrifying, deadly secret. What did this mean for their crew? For her? The silence that followed was filled with unspoken questions, questions that, for now, had no answers.

Back in the women's quarters, the small, enclosed space felt oppressive. You stood before the sink, your reflection a distorted mess in the fogged mirror, the crimson smears on your clothes a shocking contrast to the pale fabric. Your fingers, still trembling slightly, fumbled with the buttons of your shirt, then the clasp of your trousers. Each piece of bloodied clothing fell to the floor in a silent heap, a grim testament to the violence you had just unleashed. The cool air on your skin was a stark reminder of the heat that had flared within you.

You stepped into the shower, the spray immediately hot against your skin. You watched, mesmerized, as the water sluiced over your body, carrying with it the red, swirling down the drain in a macabre dance. It was mesmerizing, and horrifying. With each streak of crimson that vanished, another image surfaced, sharp and unwelcome.

The water became the rain on your island, cold and relentless, washing away the blood of the fallen. You saw your brother, his eyes wide and fading, the dark stain on his chest spreading, mirroring the blood now swirling around your feet. You heard his gasping breath, the wet, desperate sound that haunted your every quiet moment. The cries of your island, the screams of the innocent, the metallic tang of fear and death in the air – it all came rushing back, not as distant memories, but as a visceral, present reality.

Your breath hitched. The walls of the shower seemed to close in, the steam thick and suffocating. You squeezed your eyes shut, but the images persisted, playing on the inside of your eyelids: the flash of steel, the desperate scramble, the way the light had caught the glint of a government soldier's bayonet. Your own hands, so small then, stained with a lifetime of violence that had started far too young.

A choked sob tore from your throat, raw and painful. You pressed your palms against the tiled wall, trying to steady yourself, but your legs felt like water. The sobs escalated, rattling through your chest, stealing your breath in ragged gasps. Your vision blurred with tears, the hot water scalding your skin unnoticed. You slid down the wall, collapsing onto the shower floor, curling into a tight ball.

"No… no…" you gasped, the words thin, reedy, lost in the roar of the water. Your chest tightened, a crushing weight making it impossible to draw air. You clawed at your throat, desperate for a breath that wouldn't come. Your body trembled uncontrollably, wracked by the force of the panic attack, a culmination of years of suppressed trauma finally breaking free. The peace you had built around yourself, the quiet, gentle facade, shattered, leaving only the terrified, broken girl who had seen too much, fought too hard, and made a promise she couldn't keep. The blood continued to wash off, but the indelible stains on your soul remained.

The porcelain gleamed, reflecting the harsh fluorescent light of the shower stall. With a raw, guttural cry, you punched the wall, the impact jarring your already trembling body. The dull thud echoed in the small space, a physical manifestation of the turmoil raging within. Sliding down the tiled wall, you collapsed onto the cold, wet floor, your hand pressed hard against your heart, as if to physically contain the frantic drumbeat against your ribs. You broke the promise to your brother—you… you broke it. The words, unspoken, screamed in your mind, each syllable a fresh wound. The image of his fading eyes burned behind your own, accusing and sorrowful.

Sometime later, the sobs subsided, leaving you emotionally hollowed out. Your skin was pruned from the long shower, the water now cold. You mechanically dried yourself, pulling on the softest, most comfortable clothes you owned, careful to avoid the bloodied pile on the floor. Every movement felt heavy, labored.

You left the shower room, the soft glow of the hallway lights a welcome, gentle contrast to the harshness of the shower stall. The ship was quiet, the crew’s earlier agitated voices having faded into hushed murmurs. You didn't stop to listen, didn't want to. Your only goal was the familiar sanctuary of your bed.

You slipped into your bunk, the mattress yielding softly beneath your weight. Staring up at the wooden ceiling, you lay perfectly still, your mind a churning maelstrom of thoughts. The ceiling boards, usually a comforting pattern, seemed to shift and blur, each plank a record of your fractured past. The weight of your broken promise pressed down on you, heavy and inescapable. You had chosen your crew, chosen to fight, but the cost felt astronomical. The killer, buried deep for so long, had clawed its way back to the surface. And now, you didn't know how to put it back.

Sleep, when it finally came, offered no refuge. It was a descent into the very hell you had so desperately tried to outrun. The darkness behind your eyelids coalesced, morphing into the familiar, agonizing scene. You were there again, on the war-torn streets of your island, the cacophony of battle a deafening roar. In your arms, impossibly heavy, lay your brother. His blood, so much of it, seeped into your clothes, warm and terrifying. His eyes, once bright with youthful dreams, were clouded, fixed on you with an unbearable sadness.

"You promised, little sister," he rasped, his voice a ghost of its former strength, yet piercingly clear in the nightmare. "You promised to stop the bloodshed."

His grip on your hand, so weak in reality, was impossibly strong now, holding you captive in your guilt. The light in his eyes flickered, dimming with each word, each accusation. "You brought the monster back, didn't you? The one you buried. The one that craved… violence." His chest hitched, a terrible, wet sound. "Look at what you've done. You're a killer, Y/N. A killer."

Your throat was raw, but no sound escaped. You wanted to beg, to explain, to plead for his understanding. You wanted to tell him it was for them, for your new family, but the words were choked by a wave of suffocating shame. His face, so young, so full of innocent trust, twisted in pain, not from his wounds, but from your betrayal.

"How could you?" he whispered, his voice fading now, barely a breath. "After everything… after I died for peace… you brought the war back into your hands. You're horrible, Y/N. You broke your promise. You broke me."

His eyes closed, and his hand went limp in yours. The life drained from him, leaving behind only the cold, heavy weight of your failure. The battlefield around you seemed to mock your grief, the sounds of distant gunshots morphing into the rhythmic thud of your own heart, beating a frantic tattoo against your ribs.

You awoke with a gasp, bolting upright in your bunk, your body drenched in a cold sweat. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. The silence of the women's quarters was a jarring contrast to the phantom screams of your nightmare. Disoriented, you blinked, trying to orient yourself, your mind still caught in the agonizing loop of accusation and regret. Through the small porthole, the morning light shone, a stark, unwelcome brightness against the darkness of your shattered sleep. The nightmare was over, but its chilling message lingered, a fresh wound in your already tormented soul.

The lingering chill of the nightmare clung to you, a cold skin you couldn't shed. The morning light, usually a gentle comfort, felt harsh, exposing the raw edges of your turmoil. Every muscle ached with the tension of your restless sleep, and your throat felt tight, still raw from the phantom cries. Yet, the rumble in your stomach was undeniable, a grounding reminder of mundane needs.

Pushing back the covers, you swung your legs over the side of the bunk. The floor felt cool beneath your feet. You dressed quickly, pulling on clean, simple clothes that felt like a uniform against the chaos of your mind. As you stepped out of the women's quarters, the familiar scent of Sanji’s cooking drifted from the kitchen – eggs, bacon, fresh bread – a comforting aroma that warred with the acrid memory of blood and panic.

You could hear them, the hushed, tired tones of the morning Straw Hats. The usual boisterous energy was muted, replaced by a quiet somberness. Still, Luffy's voice eventually rang out, though even his usual exuberance was softened, a little less joyful than normal. He was probably already demanding extra portions.

With each step towards the kitchen, the weight in your chest seemed to grow. You knew what awaited you – the questions in their eyes, the unspoken fear. The knowledge of what they had seen, what you had done, settled like a cold stone in your gut.

You finally made it to the kitchen doorway, stepping into the warm, inviting space. The clatter of plates, the soft murmur of voices, all of it went silent the moment they saw you. Every head turned. Luffy stopped mid-chew, a piece of bacon dangling from his mouth. Usopp swallowed hard. Nami’s hand paused on her teacup. Chopper looked up from his plate, his wide, innocent eyes filled with an unreadable mixture of concern and apprehension. Zoro, who had been leaning against the counter, simply watched you, his gaze steady, perceptive.

You didn't meet their eyes. The silence was deafening, thicker than any fog. You moved to your usual spot at the long table, the simple act of sitting down feeling like an immense effort. You could feel their gazes on you, a collective apprehension that prickled at your skin. Your own emotions were a tangled mess – a profound weariness, a deep shame, and a chilling sense of isolation.

The quiet stretched, taut and uncomfortable, until Sanji broke it. He approached you, his footsteps unusually soft, a plate piled high with a perfect omelet, crispy bacon, and golden toast in his hands. His usual flourish was subdued, his voice a gentle murmur as he placed the plate before you. "Bonjour, ma petite fleur," he said, his French endearment and the familiar cute pet name offered in a quieter, almost hesitant tone than usual. "Eat up. You'll need your strength." He didn't linger, just gave a small, concerned nod before returning to the stove, leaving you with the comforting scent of food and the still heavy weight of their silence.

The fork felt heavy in your hand, each movement a deliberate act. You brought a small piece of omelet to your mouth, the flavor surprisingly muted on your tongue. The silence in the kitchen was thick, almost suffocating, broken only by the faint clinking of cutlery from other crew members who, like you, had resumed eating with an almost desperate normalcy.

Then, Luffy broke it. His voice, usually so full of boundless cheer, was uncharacteristically quiet, yet utterly blunt. He wasn't looking at you, but staring at his own plate, as if the words were too heavy to deliver while meeting your gaze.

"Y/N," he began, and your heart hitched. "Yesterday… you were so strong. Really, really strong. But you always said you wouldn't fight. You refused to touch a weapon. So… why is that? Why now?"

The question hung in the air, raw and personal. You could feel Nami stiffen beside you, ready to intervene. "Luffy!" she hissed, a sharp reprimand in her tone, but before she could launch into a full scolding, you spoke.

Your voice was raspy, a little shaky from disuse and the lingering emotional strain, but it was clear enough to halt Nami. You didn't look up, instead focusing on the swirling patterns in your half-eaten omelet.

"I made a promise," you began, the words tasting like ash in your mouth. "A long time ago. To my brother." You paused, the image of his dying face flashing behind your eyes. "He was hurt. Shot. We were losing. Our island… it was a war. I was just a kid, but I fought. I was… good at it. Too good." A shiver ran through you, a cold memory. "He made me promise to stop. To never fight again. To live for peace." You finally lifted your gaze, meeting the stunned, silent faces of your crew. Your eyes, still tired, held a profound weariness. "Yesterday… I broke it."

Utter silence descended upon the kitchen, heavier and more profound than before. Luffy’s half-chewed bacon fell from his mouth unnoticed. Nami’s hand hovered, forgotten, above her teacup. Every eye in the room was fixed on you, the silence stretching taut, filled with the echo of your confession. They were processing your words, the pieces of the puzzle clicking into place. Now, it all made sense. How you acted before—the flinching from blood, the refusal of weapons, the quiet retreats—it was all a desperate shield, a fragile barrier against a terrifying past.

You, however, just continued to eat, picking at your omelet with a practiced calm that belied the turmoil within. Your gaze, however, was drawn inevitably to your hands, resting on the table. Your knuckles were raw, abraded, and still a little swollen from punching people, a stark visual testament to the violence you had unleashed.

"So… that's why," Chopper whispered, his voice small, filled with a heartbreaking understanding. "You were afraid of being that person again."

Usopp, who had been nervously picking at his bread, finally dropped it. "You… you fought in a war? When you were a kid?" His voice was laced with a new kind of respect, tinged with horror. "That's… that's insane."

Sanji, for once, didn't snap. He simply sighed, running a hand through his hair. "A promise made to a dying brother… that's a heavy burden, Y/N-chan." His voice was soft, laced with a rare tenderness. "No wonder you never touched a weapon."

Luffy, surprisingly, was the first to break through the somber atmosphere with a more characteristic declaration, though his usual boundless cheer was still tempered by gravity. "But you chose us, didn't you, Y/N?" He grinned, a wide, hopeful smile that somehow cut through the tension. "You broke your promise for us! That means we're important to you, right?"

Nami, ever the pragmatist, but with genuine worry creasing her brow, added, "It must have been so hard for you to do that, Y/N. To go back on something so personal." She paused, then glanced at your knuckles. "Are you… are you okay now?"

Zoro, who had remained silent, watching you intently, finally pushed himself off the counter. He walked over and clapped a heavy hand on your shoulder, a rare gesture of comfort from the taciturn swordsman. "Don't look like that," he grunted, his voice gruff but not unkind. "You did what was necessary. We're your crew. We fight for each other. No apologies needed."

You didn't respond to their words, just kept your eyes on your battered hands. The weight of their understanding, the absence of judgment, was almost as overwhelming as the nightmare itself. They saw you, truly saw you, for the first time. And in their faces, you saw not fear, but a complex tapestry of concern, empathy, and a new, deeper respect. The silence now was different; it was filled with acceptance.

The rest of breakfast continued in a strangely comforting silence. The tension had eased, replaced by a shared understanding. No one pressed you further, allowing you to eat your fill in peace. You could still feel their glances, but now they were laced with curiosity and a newfound respect, not fear.

When you finished, you quietly gathered your plate and fork, washing them meticulously at the sink. The simple, domestic act was a small anchor in the storm of your emotions. Without a word, you then headed out onto the deck, needing the open air, the vast expanse of the sea.

A Day of Quiet Understanding

The sun was high when you stepped out, casting a warm glow across the Thousand Sunny. The crew, in their various states of morning routine, seemed to gravitate towards you, their interactions subtle yet significant, each revealing a deeper layer of their acceptance.

Luffy was the first to bounce over, a wide, excited grin now firmly back on his face. "Hey, Y/N! You were amazing yesterday! Super strong! I didn't know you could do that!" He flexed his arm. "Your punches were even stronger than mine, probably!" His honesty was disarming, devoid of any lingering fear. You just offered a small, tired smile in return.

Zoro approached you later, while you were leaning against the railing, staring out at the waves. He didn't say much, just leaned beside you, mirroring your pose. "So," he grunted, "you just held all that back, huh? Impressive." He then gave you a rare, almost imperceptible nod of approval. "Guess we were wrong about you preferring to stay on the sidelines." His words, for Zoro, were a profound compliment.

Nami found you by the ship's helm. She touched your arm gently. "I'm sorry, Y/N. For not understanding." Her voice was soft, laced with genuine remorse. "It must have been incredibly difficult to carry that burden all these years. And for us to just... not see it." She squeezed your arm. "You don't have to explain anything else. Just know we're here for you."

Later, while you were helping Chopper organize his medical supplies, he looked up at you, his eyes wide and earnest. "Y/N, you're not scary! You were protecting us. Like a doctor protects patients! It was just… very powerful." He then added shyly, "If you ever… need to talk about it, I'm here."

Usopp, still a little shaken but trying to act tough, approached you with a hesitant smile. "Y-Y/N! So, uh, I heard... I mean, I saw you take down that guy with the snail! That was... that was like something out of one of my stories! But, uh, way more real." He scratched the back of his head. "I guess I was wrong about you being more scared than me, huh? You're actually, like, super brave for holding back all that power."

As you helped Sanji chop vegetables for lunch, he kept glancing at you, a new thoughtfulness in his movements. "To live with that kind of strength, and choose peace… that takes a different kind of power, Y/N-chan," he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically reflective. "It must have been excruciating yesterday. You did well."

Even though he wasn't there, Franky had obviously heard the full story. He found you near the mast, inspecting a repaired sail. "So, Y/N!" he boomed, a wide, enthusiastic grin on his face. "Even though I wasn't there, I heard you went SUPER yesterday! Taking down all those guys with just your fists! That's gotta be one of the most manly things I've ever heard! We were totally wrong thinking you just stayed out of fights 'cause you didn't know how!" His usual boisterousness was a welcome return to normalcy, devoid of any judgment.

Later in the afternoon, Robin joined you in the library, a quiet presence by your side. She simply smiled, a knowing, gentle expression. "The truth always reveals itself, Y/N. And it is rarely as simple as it first appears. It seems your past has a depth none of us truly appreciated." She didn't press for details, just offered her silent, unwavering acceptance.

As evening approached, Brook approached you on the deck, his signature "Yohohoho!" a little softer than usual. "Y/N-san, to carry such a burden, such skill, and choose not to wield it… that is truly admirable. Though, I must admit, I was quite surprised to see such ferocity from someone so serene. It simply goes to show, one should never judge a book by its cover, or a lady by her lack of fighting, yohohoho!"

By the time the stars began to pepper the darkening sky, a sense of quiet calm had settled over you. The raw edges of your panic attack had softened, replaced by a profound weariness, but also, surprisingly, a hint of peace. They understood. They didn't fear you. And for the first time in a very long time, the heavy weight of your secret felt a little lighter.

[chigiriizz]

PARENT! BLLK WITH A PREGNANT! READER

Yoichi Isagi

Literally Googles “how to be a good dad” the minute you say “I’m pregnant.”

Becomes a doting husband overnight. Massages your feet, makes you snacks, reminds you to hydrate.

Starts journaling every week of the pregnancy, writing notes to “future baby.”

Buys a little Blue Lock onesie and cries when he holds it.

At night, he’ll talk to your belly: “Hey buddy… it’s Dad. I scored a goal today, but hearing your mom laugh was better.”

Overthinks everything: is the crib safe? Is the baby cold? Should we take baby CPR??

Once baby kicks, he fully sobs. Not even ashamed.

Rin Itoshi

Visibly overwhelmed. He panics quietly—but tries to act cool about it.

“We’re… ready for this. Right?” (He says that to himself every day.)

Doesn't know how to comfort you at first, but gets better. Will rub your back when you're sore, even if he’s bad at expressing affection.

Gets unreasonably annoyed at strangers who stare at your belly. “Don’t look at her.”

Picks out a tiny jersey with his number and puts it on your nightstand like it’s nothing. It’s everything.

Reads parenting books late at night when you’re asleep and highlights stuff he doesn’t understand.

Stares at ultrasound pictures like they’re a riddle he’s desperate to solve. He wants to be good at this.

Bachira Meguru

SO excited. Like bouncing-off-walls excited.

Rubs your belly and says, “Hellooooo little monster~”

Wants to paint the nursery himself. “What if it’s like a whole galaxy theme with dancing wolves??”

Tells everyone—even strangers at the store—“I’m gonna be a dad!”

Randomly puts headphones on your belly and plays the baby his music mixes.

Over-prepares: buys 17 onesies, 6 pacifiers, 4 different types of swaddles.

Once he feels a kick, he yells: “That’s my kid!! They’ve got skills!”

Hyoma Chigiri

Protective like crazy. If you sneeze, he’s already Googling symptoms.

Rubs lotion on your stomach to prevent stretch marks—so gentle about it.

Holds your hand constantly, especially when you’re uncomfortable or emotional.

Won’t let you carry anything. Grocery bags? No. Purse? Nope. “I’ve got it.”

Gets teary when he sees the first ultrasound. He’s quiet about it, but his grip tightens around your hand.

Starts running slower during training to be “more careful.” (He says it’s strategy. It’s not.)

Practices braiding your hair in case the baby is a girl and wants pretty hairstyles like Mom.

Nagi Seishiro

First reaction: “Huh… guess we’re leveling up.”

Doesn’t seem hyped… until he starts resting his head on your stomach every day.

Sleeps with his hand on your bump, automatically. If you move it, he grumbles.

Buys a baby monitor and sets it up six months early.

“This kid better be chill,” he mutters. Then falls asleep next to a mountain of baby socks.

Tries to play mobile games with your belly: “If you kick twice, we’ll go left.” He swears the baby “cheats.”

Dead serious about naming the kid something weird like “Cloud” or “Puzzle.” You veto that.

Reo Mikage

Husband of the Year. Millionaire? More like Millionaire Daddy-in-Training™

Buys every fancy pregnancy pillow, stroller, and crib on Earth. “You deserve the best. And so does our baby.”

Attends all the doctor appointments. Asks 50 questions per visit.

Brags about you constantly. “She’s carrying our future. She’s glowing. Isn’t she perfect?”

Spends hours designing the nursery color scheme. “No primary colors. They’ll have taste.”

Cries when he hears the heartbeat. Cries again when he feels a kick. He’s a puddle.

Tells the baby bedtime stories before they’re even born—his voice all soft and rich like velvet.

Ryusei Shidou

“HELL YEAH, I’M GONNA BE A DAD.”

Way too hyped. Will yell it from rooftops if you let him.

Touches your belly constantly. “Yo, did they just kick?! That was a penalty-level punt!”

Wants to name the baby something wild like “Destruction” or “Turbo.” You threaten him.

Brings you weird snacks like pickles and hot sauce. “Pregnant people eat this, right?”

Gets mad at people who bump into you. “WATCH WHERE YOU’RE GOING, SHE’S CARRYING A FREAKIN’ LEGEND.”

Surprisingly sweet at night. Lays his head on your stomach and says, “Hey... I’m gonna try not to mess this up.”

Sae Itoshi

At first? “...I don’t know if I’ll be good at this.”

He’s terrified of becoming like his own parents. But he wants to try.

Quietly starts rearranging the apartment. Buys a bassinet without telling you.

Puts his hand on your belly when he thinks you’re asleep.

“I don’t say it a lot, but... I’m happy. Really happy.”

Refuses to let you lift a finger. “I’ll cook. You rest.”

Doesn't smile often, but when you show him the sonogram photo? It’s the softest he’s ever looked.

[sophie-hatter-jenkins]

Do you want to read 670 words of Harry being a complete and utter sap? You do?? Well look no further, because that is exactly what I have written for @ginnystrophyhusband microfics, using the June prompt of Band.

---------------------------------------------------

He loves watching her dance. 

Hell, he just loves watching her full stop. 

She fizzes with life and energy, her smile wide and her eyes bright as she twirls in the centre of the floor. He leans back in his chair, tucked away at a table to one side of the marquee, making no attempt not to stare. He’s sure he must look like one of those ridiculous Muggle cartoon characters with literal heart eyes, but he doesn’t care.

Her smartly-suited partner reels her back in, taking her in his arms. Even from his vantage point on the opposite side of the dancefloor, Harry can see the way that she gazes up at him adoringly, before settling contentedly against his chest. She looks so happy. That’s all Harry wants these days—for her to be happy.

A moment later, the band changes tempo and the spell is broken. Ginny takes half a pace back and rises on her tiptoes to say something into her partner’s ear. He smiles indulgently and nods, kisses her on the cheek and releases her. Then she’s striding across the floor, straight to where Harry’s sitting. Her long white dress billows around her as she walks, caressing her with every step and shrouding her feet. She could be floating across the floor on a cloud of satin. Given the beaming smile on her face, maybe she is. 

Merlin, but she looks so beautiful. 

According to Hermione, every bride does, but he’s sure none of them has ever looked quite as radiant as her. She’s practically glowing, in the soft light of the enchanted candles that hover overhead.

Now she’s a bit closer, he can read other emotions too. There’s determination in the set of her chin and mischief swirling in those molten chocolate eyes. He knows what she wants, and his heart plummets. 

As soon as she’s within earshot, she confirms his worst fears. “You didn’t think you were going to get away with not dancing with me, did you?” 

“I already danced with you,” he points out. 

“That doesn’t count,” she dismisses him.

“How does it not count?” he protests. “Literally everyone was watching.”

“Exactly! That was our First Dance,” she explains, and he can hear the capital letters. “That dance is for everyone else. This is just for us.”

“You sure your dad won’t take you for another spin?” he asks, nodding to where Arthur is now chatting to Bill, glass of champagne in hand. “He’s a much better dancer than me.”

“Harry James Potter—are you telling me you don’t want to dance with your wife?” she pouts, but her eyes are still sparkling, giving her away.

He pulls a face, because he is no sort of dancer, something of which they are both painfully aware. “I’m more concerned about seriously injuring her to be honest.”

She laughs. It’s his favourite sound in the world. “Percy’s girlfriend’s a Healer, so I’m sure it will be fine.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, red like fire, like the sunset, like the blood he’d spill for her in a heartbeat. “Besides, I’m tougher than I look.”

“I know.” And he does. She’s stronger and braver than anyone he knows. He adores her.

“Come on, Potter—channel that inner Gryffindor and dance with me?” she asks, offering her hand. 

He agrees. Of course he agrees. He doesn’t think he could ever refuse her anything, his beautiful wife of—he checks his watch—six hours. Best six hours of his life, he reckons. 

The ring on his left hand feels heavy and alien as she leads him to the centre of the floor, but also right, like it belongs there. He tugs her back against him and gathers her into his arms, and that feels right as well. Like she belongs there.

Everything else seems to fade away; the band, the music, the guests. Everything but her and the feeling of her, the feeling of them.

He doesn’t think he’s ever been happier. He doesn’t think he ever will.

[madamechrissy]

Pour it Up

Pairings: Stripclub Owner Sukuna x Stripper F!reader

Summary:- You are a single mother, your baby daddy is not just worthless, he also is actively trying to sabotoge you, so you go out on your own and raise your kid by yourself. Struggling your ass off, a friend of a friend named Toji decides to offer you a hell of a deal, a few hours a night at a strip club to make BANK. While there, you meet the other owner, Sukuna, and the moment he sees you? You annoy him how beautiful you are, how much he wants you, pushing him to insanity. He knows he must have you- no matter whose ass he needs to beat.

Warnings:- reader is a mom, lowkey/highkey Yandere Sukuna behavior, lots of drug use, drug dealing Sukuna (the club lowkey a front lol) hints of Mafia ties, EXPLICIT sexual content, blow jobs, cunnilingus, fingering, masturbation, teasing and eventually violence, some former trauma of reader. This part- Oral (M recieving) cum swallowing, dirty talk, drug use and masturbation- WC-6k

Based on Stripclub Owner Sukuna - IDK how many parts this will be, thinking six? That mobster art in the banner is by Sketch B on X- CHECK it- LINK

Playlist -Masterlist - Part Two>>>

Part One

“There you go, baby.” Toji murmurs to one of the pretty strippers, who is sitting right on his lap as he laps up salt off her breasts with his tongue, before taking the tequila shot she holds between them and downing it.

“Mr. Sukuna, are you ready?” Another dancer asks him, sitting on his lap, he proceeds to the same thing, licking her skin, moaning as he does, the tequila burning down his throat as he gulps, feeling it burn a trail down, he hisses at it, smacking the stripper’s ass when Toji lights up a blunt.

“Got a new girl comin’ in, Sukuna.” Toji mutters, inhaling and exhaling the puff of smoke, Sukuna takes the thick blunt and inhales the smoke into his lungs, feeling the effects of the alcohol and weed mingling as he watches the cloud of smoke release from his lips.

“Our best girl just left, I hope she’s good.” He hands the blunt back to Toji, who leans forward just a bit, blowing his smoke right into one of the girl’s mouths, she coughs and Toji snorts in laughter.

“She’s gonna make bank, plus she’s a friend of a friend, m’tryna help her out some.”

Sukuna bursts out in laughter then, throwing his head back. “You’re tryna help her out? With what, your dick?”

Toji scowls, lips set in a firm line. “Think I don’t help out friends, shithead?”

“Shithead?” Sukuna stands now, fists clenched. “The fuck you say, Zenin?”

“Ya heard me.” He grins as he stands too, the girls ooh and ahh at the two huge men clenching their fists.

“Wanna get some more scars on that mug of yours?”

“Ya act like you’re getting a hit in-”

“Is that the new girl!?” One of the strippers whispers, but loud enough for Toji to turn and grin.

“Lemme get her prepped.” Sukuna rolls his ruby eyes, ‘prepped’ sure, but he can’t help but be intrigued when Toji is so eager to go to her. He shrugs, however, he has a business meeting to get going with Gojo in about an hour, he has many, many profitable businesses that the government surely doesn’t know about.

Sukuna runs many, many things, up to and including running coke, and Gojo is a big player in that, the strip club although profitable is a bit of a cover for it, the girls all make extra bank to sell packs of it with each lap dance. And Sukuna and Toji, although they sometimes like to just beat each other up for fun, are actually decent partners at it.

“Candy, get the good shit for the meeting, hmm?” He says to her then, she nods eagerly, bending down to kiss Sukuna on the cheek.

“Of course Mr. Sukuna!” She runs off, in nothing but a thong, her ass jiggling nicely. Sukuna has to admit, life is pretty good for him.

Something feels empty, but nothing women, coke, weed and liquor can’t fill, along with beating up assholes here and there. No need for bouncers with Sukuna and Toji, though they had security but it was more for themselves, and rivaling members that loved to come try to fuck with their game or get a piece of it, but they were realizing something.

Sukuna is the King of this city.

He thinks he has this all figured out too, he has anything and everything he wants, filthy rich in fact now, and people fear him, or want to be with him, and that’s what he’s worked towards. As Candy gets back with the finest cocaine, he takes a line right off her inner thigh as she holds one up for him, her platform heel propped on his knee.

He chuckles as it hits him, and he can feel her heat, Candy is his favorite, but then he pauses, blinking as if he’s having some stupid insane vision when he sees the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. Something about the girl in the silver bikini makes him crave her like a drug, like anything he can fucking imagine, to the point his mouth drops open and he shoves Candy aside.

Just who is this girl?

Sukuna needs her, and needs her now.

He needs you.

You’re standing there, as Toji has you by an arm, shivering just a bit in your silver outfit, one he had borrowed from one of the girls so you could dance tonight. The lighting is low and seductive in the club, the music reverberating off the walls, a kaleidoscope of crimson, emerald and sapphire that bounces off the dark, polished wood of the floor.

There are rooms with red velvet drapes, and a mix of modern furniture and items that look vintage, including the red sofa with one of the just… largest men you have ever seen? Toji was already a huge guy, this man, his long lanky thighs, his broad shoulders, he takes over the entire room, and when he stands, staring at you with ruby eyes, it’s intimidating.

Toji you’ve known for some time, but even he couldn’t really compare to this man, towering over everyone in the room, shocking pink hair and tattoos all across his neck, a fancy three piece business suit but no tie, just an unbuttoned black dress shirt. You notice lipstick mouth prints down his neck, notice girls all over him before he literally shoves them out of the way to just stare.

You panic then, you are a mom, you have a couple stretch marks and maybe wider hips than before when you danced, but you think the outfit is flattering enough!? Toji told you you didn’t even need to cover up, his dark green eyes had devoured your body hungrily with a ‘ya look fuckin’ fine, doll’ so you at that point felt okay stepping out in this.

But the way this man - Toji said his name is Sukuna - is staring you’re unsure if he hates you on sight or something is just bothering him!? You stand there, nervously, knowing he’s an owner too, and wanting to make a good impression. “Hello… Mr. Sukuna, right?” You tell him your name softly, and he steps a little closer, your head falls back to look up at him.

“She’s the new girl?” He asks Toji, his voice deep and husky.

“Mmhmm, she’s a little rusty at dancing but she’ll catch on quick, won’t ya doll?” Toji slings an arm around your shoulder.

“Yes, I can pick it back up, I promise.” You say eagerly, Sukuna’s ruby eyes narrow, you inhale the scent of cannabis mixing with… a cologne or scent Sukuna has, so woodsy and musky it damn near lures you in, then Sukuna steps impossibly closer, eyes slowly draping down your body.

“I’ll see what you can do.” He smirks at you, trying to feign ease, as if he doesn’t wanna drag you in his office and fuck you right on that desk then and there, you look down shyly when he brushes your hair back, watching how the lights hit your pretty face. “Gonna show me?”

“Y-yes, of course. Can I just… practice a little?”

“Mmhmm.” He says, stepping back now casually, sitting on the couch, legs spread wide, you can see how the material of his slacks stretches over his thick, muscled thighs. He looks at you under his lashes, taking a glass of whiskey and sipping on it.

“It’s um… nice to meet you.” You say softly, as he struggles not to openly stare, hiding the swirling storm inside his gut, as he eyes your body, your every curve, how your tits sway, how you turn, how you move.

Sukuna says nothing, and Toji’s rough palm touches your waist. “You’ll do good, just go watch a couple of the girls for a few.”

“Thank you, Toji.” You say with a smile, and then Toji watches the pure thirst written all over Sukuna’s face, chuckling.

“You got the hots for her, huh?” Sukuna scowls at Toji as he sits back down, eyeing one of the bags of coke and taking a little bit of it up his nose, sighing.

“Who is she?” Sukuna asks gruffly, eyes the sway of your hips and how your body moves when you slowly circle the pole with the girls.

“She’s a family friend, got a kid and shit. Single mom, thought I’d bring her here, she’ll make plenty.” Sukuna hums to himself, eyes narrowing.

You’re a mother?

Your eyes catch him across the room, lowering shyly. “She seems too… shy and shit? Ya sure she’s stripper material, maybe a bartender?”

“She will make way more dancing, and she’s danced in the past. Can’t take you eyes off her, huh?”

“Shut it.” But he can’t take them off you, and as clientele start coming, he’s fucking furious that they’re even able to see you.

“She’s not an easy fuck, Sukuna, so don’t anticipate it.” Sukuna smirks, leaning his head on his hand as Toji sips on his drink, a girl dancing on him.

Sukuna doesn’t even take the next dancer who wants to be on him, too busy watching you, knees on the polished marble floor, garters on your thighs already full of bills, your pretty little smile, eyes that are just… hiding something. There’s something about you that’s making him insane, and he’s said five words to you, so enthralled he barely notices when Gojo comes in.

Wearing sunglasses in a dark strip club he grins at Sukuna now, before looking in his direction, whistling. “Oh mommy.”

“Jesus.” Sukuna rolls his eyes as Satoru eyes you.

“Shit, she’s new huh?”

“Mmm.” Sukuna glares as Satoru takes off his glasses, eyeing you up and down slowly, too slowly.

“Can I just… go to the stage first?”

“Sit the fuck down, Satoru.” Satoru snorts as he looks at Sukuna and Toji, who is snorting in laughter himself.

“Possessive of the new girl, hmm?” Satoru sits between Toji and Sukuna now, as Candy starts cutting three lines for them.

“Shut the fuck up.” Sukuna grumbles, some guy is sliding his fingers up your thigh, and you’re tensing, brows together. “Hey, no touching the girls, fuck face.”

“He’s down bad, huh?” Gojo mumbles, as Sukuna is standing, gripping the guy by his collar.

“Since the moment he saw her.” Toji looks at Sukuna’s line, then at Satoru. “Shit let’s split his line too.”

Satoru and Toji are busy snorting Sukuna’s coke as he proceeds to fling the man out of the club, and you’re staring wide eyed at him, the grown man looking like a little boy compared to him, dangling in the damn air. You nervously clean the pole, before stepping down, coming over to Sukuna then and touching his arm, he jerks, looking at you like you burned him.

“I’m sorry…” You murmur, easing your hand down, nervously fiddling with your fingers in front of you. “Thank you.”

“What!?” He demands, leaning low, hands in the pockets of his slacks.

“For that. Thank you, it wasn’t… I told him to back off. But I appreciate it, you are looking out for me.” You touch his chest now, it feels so natural to touch him, feeling his heart beat thumping against an apparently insanely strong chest, looking up at him under your long lashes that you put on for the night.

“I…” He can’t think of what to say then, you’re so sweet it should make him sick, but now he’s just feeling more want, more need. “You can dance for me tomorrow, then, show me what you got.” He manages gruffly.

“I absolutely will.” You say with a shy smile.

A shy stripper?

Who the fuck are you?

“I don’t have any other outfits yet, but I’m going to get some soon. Is it okay if I just wear this tomorrow?”

“Pshh, I’ll have some ordered.” You blink in surprise.

“Are you sure?”

“It’s nothing.” He pokes around on his phone for a few, eyeing your body up and down, lip turning up at the corner. “I bet I get your exact size.”

“What- how?”

“I’m an expert at tit size. Body size. Women.” You feel your cheeks heat up as he studies you, one of his dark brows raising, it has slits and this barbell in it that just make him more fucking attractive, doing erratic things to your mind.

“Well you can take it out of my-”

“Keep your money.” His gruff words and dismissive wave of his hand gives off the vibes that it’s nothing to him, but it’s a sweet gesture even if he’s acting as if it’s not one. “Come in early and dance for me, would ya. I wanna make sure Toji picked a good replacement.”

“Yes, Sir.”

You saying Sir makes him immediately think of painting that pretty ass with his big handprints, then drizzling his cum all over it, so lewd his cock throbs with need. What the fuck is wrong with him, he sees naked women constantly, why are you already irritating him like this. He glares, confusing the shit out of you.

“Tch.” Is all he says, then he walks away. You blink in confusion, shaking your head before looking at the time, realizing you have to leave if you wanna relieve the babysitter tonight.

Rushing into the locker room to change back into normal clothes, you’re shivering as you catch Sukuna outside, about to step inside a limo, when he looks at your surely silly clothing. You’re just in jeans and a hoodie as the chill of the air is out, even as he’s in a car full of girls in pretty dresses, surely you look silly to him you think as you wave goodbye.

But Sukuna is instead thinking of how someone could make a black hoodie look so delectable, picturing fucking you in just that. He ignores the girls in the car as he, Gojo and Toji head out to the club, for more negotiations. He ignores anyone and everything, instead you’re wrecking his mind.

How annoying.

*****

You are exhausted the next morning, as you spent the day with your little three year old, but you’re so blessed because just one night at the club and your fridge was full. Despite his father being rich, he did nothing to help you all out, and not just that he got you fired from your last job, by refusing to pick him up just once, and your boss had enough of you always being late or leaving early.

Your family tried to help out but you were pretty stubborn and wanted to take care of her yourself, also they weren’t dripping in money, quite the opposite in fact, they were struggling and also lived pretty far. You’d been so dumb, you think now, running off with him like that, so blinded by everything that he was saying to you, everything he was making you believe.

You were an idiot.

And not only was he a piece of shit in many aspects, he was dangerous, very dangerous, running with the mafia, things you learned quickly when men showed up at your home with guns. After a furious fight, you’d forgiven him (also like an idiot) but what you couldn’t forgive was also the constant cheating, the making you feel like it was your fault he had to.

After the third time of finding him with someone, you finally packed and left, taking all you had which was barely a thing with your baby boy. He’d threatened you over and over to come back, but you absolutely could not do so. The pain of being with him was too much, especially as he became darker and darker, as he downed you more and more.

Your mind keeps whirling to Sukuna, for some reason the very way he looked at you did shit you haven’t felt in years. You felt excited and nervous, as you even tip your sitter that evening, getting your little boy settled, brushing back his soft hair. “You don’t have to give me this much, babe.”

“Please, you’re a lifesaver!”

“He literally sleeps and I watch Netflix.” She says, and you sigh.

“I know but really, I should be making way more to pay you.” She smiles softly, shaking her head.

“Go on now.”

You’re hastily running inside the locker room, pouring out some makeup from your bag when Sukuna strolls in, tilting his head as he sees you. “Shit, I’m sorry I know I look…”

You look fucking beautiful, bare faced, but Sukuna’s words get caught in his throat. Instead he smirks, opening a locker and handing you a combination. “Got you a few things.”

“Oh thank you so much!” You peer then, at the slinky material, the glitter and mesh outfits, blushing at how much they reveal. “These are so pretty.”

“Just had one of the girls order some shit.” He brushes it off, as you look up at him like that, driving him insane with need for you, you’re in some hoodie and a messy bun again and he doesn’t think that he could find you more attractive, thinking of lifting your hoodie up and sliding inside you.

His thoughts make his head spin, which makes him scowl at you now, why do you have to do this to him? You blink a bit, frowning. “Something wrong?”

“Tch, no, just… get ready. You’re late as fuck you know.”

“I know, Toji said-”

“He givin’ you a hard time, Ma?” Toji saunters in now, and Sukuna glares over at him.

“No, not at all, he bought me outfits actually.” You say softly, holding one up, some little plaid strap of a skirt and a plaid tie. “Ooh this is so hot.”

“Buying girls outfits, Sukuna?” Toji asks curiously, Sukuna rolls his ruby red eyes, shaking his head.

“She didn’t have shit, you should’ve thought to, idiot.”

“Wanna take this out-”

“Hey, hey… I’ll totally pay you back, Mr. Sukuna.”

“No.” Is all he says, as you’re yanking off your hoodie and then your shirt, and you’re just… bare to him, but not just him, to Toji, who he wants to smack for even looking at you. You try on the little outfit, all giddy and giggling, the way your pretty tits look almost take him out. “I have… shit to do.”

Toji snorts, and you look on curiously at him, as you now take off your jeans and hook the little skirt on. “I can’t tell if he likes me or hates me.” You mumble, earning Toji’s laugh.

“Oh he likes ya alright, alright doll, go get ready, it’s about to get real busy in here.”

“Got it.”

Soon you’ve got your wig on, a pink silky one, and glitter dusted all over your skin, you’re getting ready to do a set, nervously spinning around the pole, your muscles are not what they used to be, so you can feel the pull, can see where the floor will be bruising your knees. You’re bending over as men throw bills at you, but you keep catching them, those glinting red eyes of his.

His eyes make you feel like he’s touching you, with those big tattooed hands, you try to shake it off but when he watches you it truly is like he’s touching you. As you meet his eye and rest a hand on the pole, moving your hips in a figure eight motion, you see him through that cloud of smoke, over his glass of whiskey, watching.

After your set is done you come to him, knowing it’s time to show him your dance moves - which you’re not sure are any good anymore. Sukuna tilts his head, and spins a seat on a smaller stage off to the right, eyes raking over your body hungrily. “Time for the show, hmm?”

“Y-yes.” You’re shaking damn near, so close to this man, he just does things to you by existing that you can’t really explain, and now you’re on your knees before him right on that stage, as he hungrily drinks you in. He’s puffing on a blunt, holding it up, but you shake your head. “No thanks.”

“A shy stripper who doesn’t even smoke, huh?” You swear he can see your blush even in the dark room, with the neon lights bouncing off your glittery skin.

“I mean I have before.” You move your hips now, rolling them, turning around and arching up your ass, knowing he can likely see the wet spot in your panties as you do, caused by his very presence.

Sukuna exhales, leaning closer, smoke blowing right against you almost, you feel the warmth and have to bite back a cry, as you shake your ass for him, and he’s thinking of railing you right there. Fuck he wouldn’t even give a shit if anyone saw, actually, as he watches you look back at him, smiling just a bit, so shy and sweet.

“A shy ass stripper, how’s that gonna work though?” He asks, and you’re slinking onto your tummy, he sees it then, the wet spot forming, making him want to rip those panties off and fully see that pretty pussy, so hungry it’s sucking your panties right against your lips.

“Is there no appeal in shy strippers, Mr. Sukuna?” You tease, turning back around, spreading your thighs, pulling at the damp material as he damn near crushes the blunt with his fingers.

“Hmm. So what made you come here?” He asks, voice gruff when you sit back up, breasts right in his face only covered with thin white gauze, he can literally see your nipples tighten as he smokes the blunt again, blowing the smoke up and over you both, cock straining against his boxers.

“To make money?” He smirks when you sigh and take the blunt, inhaling it and coughing all cute, your eyes watering.

“Took a pussy ass hit.”

“I tried!” You glare now, fuck you’re cute.

“Yeah, yeah. Heard Toji say you got a kid.” You pause now, eyes locked on his, heart racing in your chest.

“Is it a problem I do?” You whisper, and he grows serious, shaking his head now, making you exhale in relief.

“Lots of the girls do. The dad not around?”

You laugh without humor. “He sure the fuck isn’t, but he somehow still is, if that makes any sense.”

“Messy?”

“Mhm. This way I get to see him all day and make money, I couldn’t afford full time childcare, my friend is helping for a few hours at night.”

“Ah. Get up there for me.” He murmurs, and you stand, spinning in a slow circle, he notices stares of other men even though you’re off to the side, temporarily thinking you’re just with him instead. “Fuck…”

“Is it okay? I’m rusty and a little out of shape right now.” You say, as you slide back down, coming to your hands and knees, Sukuna takes in every pretty inch of you that’s on display, including a couple stretch marks along your skin that just make you sexier. When you see that you pull up the skirt a bit, nervous. “Shit, sorry…”

“For what? They’re sexy as fuck.” You are blushing furiously, overheated as his thumb brushes over one, the first contact you’ve damn near had with him, shooting desire straight through you.

“You’re being nice to me.”

“I’m not nice.” He says with a bark of a laugh, and then eyes some of his business partners coming in. “These men will pay good, why don’t you just dance for them?”

“Won’t the other girls get upset?” You ask, and he shrugs a broad shoulder.

“Really don’t fucking care, I run this shit.” He puts the blunt out into an ashtray, leaving you with goosebumps, as a strip club owner makes you feel sexier than you ever did with your ex, making your mind race.

Just who was he?

*****

The next week goes by, and every time you’re on a shift, Sukuna is there, he’s always got eyes on you, until it becomes damn near an obsession. If anyone even comes near you the wrong way he’s kicking them out, he puts you in every perfect time to make bank, he’s constantly watching you dance, looking at every pretty outfit he’s buying you.

Soon, Sukuna can’t help but start stroking his cock after your dances, locked in his office, picturing pressing the tip between those plump lips of your pussy, dying to fully see it. He’s got a big hand wrapped around his veiny length at least twice during your shift, and instead of fucking Candy or any of his regulars, he starts ignoring them all, because he needs you.

Sukuna goes so far as to take your panties, you must be curious where three pairs have gone, but he can’t help it, he loves to put them against his face, to stroke his cock with them, until he’s busting a nut all on your panties. He’s irritated, infuriated at this change of events you’ve brought, and he’s short and terse with you, but he still looks out for you even so.

It’s why you can’t help but run to his office, when you see him, your ex is right in the club, and you know he’ll recognize you. Terrified, you're quickly striding into Sukuna’s big fancy office, only to pause at the sight of his huge cock in his hand, gulping as you shut the door, looking away.

“I’m so, so sorry… I…” You turn around, you can’t help but watch the pearls of white precum pumping out of his reddened tip, his tattooed hand pausing his movements, frozen as he eyes you. “It’s my ex, I didn’t want him to see me, shouldn’t have just…”

“Want me to beat him the fuck up? Kick him out?” Sukuna asks then, huffing as he strokes his cock up and down while you step closer, the sight so erotic, as you’re even closer you see it, a little piercing on the underside of his cock, tempting you so badly to take it in your mouth.

“You would do that?” You whisper, leaning over him now, while he twists his fist from the base to the tip, so casual, as if this is a normal conversation, while you wonder if you could even take that much dick.

Shit you’d try.

“Just say the fucking word, I’ll end him for you.” You shake your head now.

“No, you’re already so good to me, Mr. Sukuna.” Your voice is soft like a caress as you eye him, watching his cock jerk in response.

He laughs harshly. “Am I?”

“Why don’t I be good to you?” Sukuna’s brain short circuits when you gently take his hand, sucking the precum off his fingers, wearing nothing but a mini skirt and fucking tassels, he moans at the sight of your cheeks hollowing as you taste him.

“Fuck…” He has been with plenty of women, no one has ever left him speechless like this, just with that little movement. He takes those fingers then, slipping up your inner thigh and shoving your thong to the side, sinking them in, you gasp out, a sexy little whine from your throat destroying him. “Gonna be good to me, huh?” He asks huskily, as he curls his fingers.

You’re gushing down them, nodding and taking his enormous cock in one hand, bracing yourself with the other, barely able to cover a bit of him, stroking him with your soft hand instead, he moans, eyes laser focused on your pretty face. Your pupils are so enlarged he can barely see your pretty eye color, your lips parted when he presses that spongy spot in your gummy little walls.

“Wanna suck me brat, hmm?” You nod now, and he’s trying to keep it together, but when he’s sucking you off his fingers, his cock twitches, oozing more cum when you’re on your knees, looking at him under your lashes.

He yanks your wig off then, letting your hair loose, gripping and pulling while you swirl your tongue along his tip. Sukuna’s never felt like he’s going to bust from a lick, but here you are, ruining him, a mix of him wanting to beat the shit out of anyone who has ever touched you, and wanting to fuck your pretty throat, and your pretty pussy, until you’re drooling.

“Want me to fuck your little throat?” You nod, unable to speak or think, you don’t just do this, but you’re aching, cunt throbbing around nothing as You take as much as you can, breathing through your nose while Sukuna fucks up into your throat over and over, choking and gagging on him, pussy drooling past your panties. “Oh my f-fuck… right there.”

“Mmm.” Is all you can manage, when his big hand is entangled in the nape of your neck, bobbing your head up and down his cock, feeling your tongue swirl around his tip, as he pictures fucking into that pussy he tastes on his fingers again. Picturing burying his face inside you.

What are you doing to him?

He’s losing it further as you suck him as deep as you can, tears in your pretty eyes, so eager, he’s sucking in a breath at feeling just a hint of your teeth hit him, just a nipple on the tip as you take a breath of your own, licking at his piercing. “Look at you, doing such a good job, aren’t you? Slutty lil fuckin brat.”

You really should not like hearing it, but you’re wetter now, so wet you reach down to find your clit, moaning around his length, close to cumming just from how he’s ruining the back of your throat. It burns and stretches as you’re sucking him deeper and deeper, his thrusts hard, fucking your mouth now.

“That’s it, want me to fuck this pretty face, huh? That all those goddamn looks you give me- fuck… y-you… oh my… shit, slow down…” You’re sucking harder though, even when he pulls on your hair, even when he yanks your hand off your clit, sucking your little fingers. “Wanna fucking wreck you, ruin you, god…”

You’re sucking him harder, feeling the piercing roll on your tongue as he sucks you off your fingers, until he’s gasping, and you swear you hear this huge man with a good nine inches whine. Yes, that’s the sound that comes out of those vermillion lips as he shoves your head down, until you’ve got him all the way in the back of your throat, busting inside it.

You’re choking on salty but somehow sweet cum, drinking it all down as you exhale through your nose, mascara leaking down your cheeks as you take him all, and Sukuna literally can’t even see for a minute. He’s crying out like a little bitch all because you’re somehow psychotically good at sucking him!?

“Fuck… you brat… didn’t wanna bust-fuck!” He’s groaning now, yanking you off finally, and looking at those mascara trails on your pretty cheeks, at your fucked out expression and swollen lips.

“Didn’t think I’d swallow before I got a kiss.” You whisper, voice hoarse, and he yanks you up now, having you straddle his lap, cock still hard, just a little softer, but Sukuna on soft was still huge. You look right at him, your breaths coming in little pants as he studies you, moaning softly, brushing a thumb over your lip.

“Ya want a kiss? So fuckin’ sappy, huh?” He demands, and you smile just a bit, leaning closer, your lips a breath away.

“You so badass you don’t kiss girls, Sukuna?” It’s the first time you’ve just called him that, and the way he can almost taste his cum on your lips ends him, but he sure won’t show it, instead he’s gripping your tits, watching your face scrunch up in pleasure, smirking up at you.

“Wanna kiss me so bad? Want me to fuckin’ fill you?” He whispers, and you whimper then. “Pathetic.”

“Please.” Is all you whisper, and he’s kissing you then, when he kisses you he thinks he likes it as much as busting in your damn mouth, if that’s even possible, his tongue drippy and messy as it wars with yours. He’s drinking your cries, pulling your body so close against his.

“Shit…” He mumbles, he’s never felt anything like this, yeah he kisses because it’s kind of hot to, but you do something, something in his tummy clenching right along with yours, you feel it, that energy, as your puffy cunt presses on his again hard cock, and he’s biting your lower lip so rough.

“Sukuna…” You whisper, whining out, forgetting your ex completely, forgetting anything right now, and he looks at you under sooty pink lashes, making your pussy throb in need.

Sukuna kisses you hungrier now, his hands all over you, rough and hot and brutal, when suddenly the door opens, and Toji whistles. “Damn, okay… I got no chance, huh?”

“Toji get the fuck out.” Sukuna grumbles, but you panic then, remembering who you are. You have a kid and you’re just… on your knees sucking this man’s dick, about to fucking ride him.

It’s one thing to dance, but how are you losing yourself so quickly in him? It was like every problem faded, but it’s stupid, so stupid.

“I should go, I’m sorry…” You’re running out then, and soon you’re getting ready to leave for the night, when Sukuna corners you against the wall, the wind blowing through your hair as he bars you on either side with big muscled arms. “Sukuna…”

“You just ran, the fuck?” He grabs your chin, making your eyes meet his. “Come over tonight.”

You gasp then. “But… you got off.”

“And you didn’t, what kinda man are you taking me for, hmm?” His words make that ache return, as he’s got a thigh between yours, hissing. “She wants to cum, doesn’t she?” You nod weakly.

“I’m… I don’t do this.”

“And I don’t ask to do this.” He doesn’t beg either, but he’d beg for you, god he would. “Come let me take care of you.”

“I can’t…”

“Stop thinking and-”

“No, I can’t, I have my kid.” He pauses then, falling back just a bit, despite having this obsession with you, he still does not know enough yet, about your life, about you. He finds himself enamored as his lips part, and he studies you, the light from the moon glowing and casting a million diamonds off your still glittery skin.

God you’re so beautiful.

“When are you free?” He asks, and you sigh.

“Maybe tomorrow night? I’d have to pay my-”

“I’ll pay whatever extra.” He cuts you off. “Just… make sure you have a night.”

“Okay…” You never spend much time without your kid, it makes you just a little nervous, but something about him is luring you in, drawing you closer. “I mean he’s asleep anyway at night so I should be able to have the sitter stay.”

“He? A son?” He murmurs, and you nod, smiling a bit as he now is walking you to your car, the way you light up is so pretty, as he eyes your shitty ass car. God he can’t wait to take care of you, he thinks, have you dripping in money.

“Yes, a son. He’s my everything, it’s why I’m here.”

Sukuna wants to be something to you. He sighs then, seatbelting you in, a gesture caring and sweet, Sukuna is an enigma you realize, as he cups your face, eyeing your lips, and you wonder wildly if he will kiss you, but he just hovers. “I’ll see you tomorrow, hmm?”

“Yes. Goodnight, Sukuna.” You whisper, as he shuts your door, watching you drive away.

You will be his, there’s no choice really.

Okay I know this isn't like my other storieesss but it's been killing me and I need to get it out. Hope it's not too crazy lol? Sukuna is gonna be even more Yan as we go lol

Taglist# 1 - @naammiii @naina326 @1worm1 @yenayaps @shokosbunny @sukubusss @msniks @kittyyyyykats @nyxly1412 @trashsuarecan @dumbbunny98 @monster-effer @tojis-ball-sack @tangsakura @friesnkwtchup @uhnosav @lhhlver @attackonnat @moonchhu @mat-mat-mat @cherryjain17 @havkjhdecs @stargirl-mayaa @waterfal-ling @the-dark-creature @lulunx @minaa-06 @spacefae-x @deitysdream @sorahatake @gojoscumslut @stainednailpolishremover @kidd3ath @clp-84 @rinkomei @catastayy @oneirataxiaa @inthedarkshadows000 @travistheaussie @cold-blooded-girls @emi311 @blublublubby @fluttershyfangs @actuallynarii @7thsthings @ilovemeni @erluu @for-hearthand-home @angellliqua

Buy me a glass of wine🍷 - Gen Masterlist - ©All works by Madamechrissy you may not reproduce

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: toxic relationship, obsessiveness, possessiveness, denied break-up, abuse, manipulation, ish-kidnapping

♡ inspired by this by the lovely @eevwrites

♡ FEM reader

You’d wanted to be nicer about it. You’d planned it carefully, actually—even written down the words you were going to say in several drafts on your notes app. 

This was his fault—his fault that things were ending this way—his fault for making you do it now and not someplace else, someplace private where you could talk properly and do it right. Yes, this wasn’t what you wanted—this is what he’d made it be by forcing your hand—forcing your hand to throw a drink in his face in front of an entire crowd of drunk and dancing onlookers, as well as a handful of your mutual friends.

“Grow the fuck up!” you bark, taking on a hostile stance by placing your kitten heel down hard—glaring at him in all manners of vicious. “I’m not your property—and after this night, I’m not your girl either.”

No—it wasn’t how you wanted to end things—breaking up is something that should be done carefully—responsibly, and at the very least sensibly—not drunk or in the heat of a moment in some club a late Saturday night, but that’s how he’d made it happen. Always on you like a dog with a bone, a pest to your party—asking you to drink less, to wear more, to stop dancing like that, and to go home early with him. Fuck that, and fuck him. For the last time.

You glower at him for a moment—wanting to see your words solidify as they dawn on his shell-shocked face dripping with your drink. You watch long enough to catch his cheeks start to pool with bright, chagrinned pink—even in the dim club lights—before ripping your wrist out from his grip and stomping away from him, back into the crowd of sweaty, indiscriminate bodies all having fun to the beat of the drum and bass blasting over the speakers.

You might apologize for it tomorrow—tell him you hadn’t meant for it to come out like that, then break up properly as you’d intended with your well-written note at a Sunday cafe. But right now, you just want to dance. Hell, that’s what you’d come here to do—not to stand pretty between his arms and listen to him whine about all the people checking you out. Jeez—a fucking party pooper if there ever was one, and an insecure loser at that.

Your relationship ended mere moments ago, but you’re already feeling fantastic—ecstatic even—freed and light as a feather, like a big burdensome weight has just been dusted off your shoulders and given you a squeaky-clean break. In fact, with the way you’re feeling right now, not to mention the way you’re looking—hair right and makeup done up drop-dead gorgeous in your perfect little black dress hot as all hell—you might very well go home with someone else.

Is what you think in your alcohol-induced head—looking back at the guy who’s rubbing back into your grinding, thinking he’s quite a solid rebound. He even buys you another drink! Then two, then three, and ooh wee, guess who’s going home with a hot stranger!

The two of you stumble out of the club together—drunk and dumb and giggly, ready to order a cab to his place. It would be the first time in a very long time you’d have a one-night stand, but you have no mind to rethink it. On cloud nine, where you cling to the good-looker—as though you were scared he’d slip through your fingers if you let go for even a moment—as if you’d been denied a fun time for so long, you feared someone might come and take the thrill away.

“There you are,” a voice breaks your laughter, cracking the bright smile on your face. “Finally done?”

You go quiet, and so does the world around you—stopping dead in your tracks, you look up through your lashes as if ashamed to meet his gaze—knowing it would be harsh.

“And who are you supposed to be?” tonight’s unfortunate boytoy cocks his head.

Your boyfriend–no—your ex-boyfriend squares up, folding his arms upon his puffed chest, arms that look more threatening than you remember, then cocks his chin with an unamused face. “I’m her boyfriend.”

“Pfft—no, you’re not,” you slur with a scoff, shaking your head, trying to sober up. “I broke up with you.”

Your ex doesn’t find it as funny, giving you a steely glare while raising a strict pointer at you. “Shut it. You’ve had your fun.”

He then grabs your upper arm hard, pulling you away from the stranger and close to his side—grip so tight his knuckles whiten against your flesh.

“Sorry about her,” he chuckles at the stranger with a stiff smile on his face. “She gets like this sometimes—y’know how girls are…” He looks down at you while he says the next thing, “Attention whores.”

And then he laughs again, looking back at your friend—who, at this point, is looking a little uncomfortable where he stands caught in the middle of the awkward exchange.

“I apologize if she got your hopes up, but she’s only doing this to rile me up and has absolutely zero intentions of going home with you—so you might as well just scram.”

He’s already backing away when you interject, “Hey—” 

But he just throws his hands up. “Sorry, you’re fine, but I’m not touching this.”

Your ex scoffs with a smirk. “Smart kid.”

And then the guy’s gone. Just like that. Slipped away—leaving you alone again with him. The one you can’t ever seem to escape.

“Tch—look at you,” he grumbles, looking you over, still with a mean grip of your upper arm. “ You’re a drunk mess. I’m taking you home.”

You plant your heels—or try to at least—as he starts dragging you along towards the lot where he’d parked his car. 

“Stop!” you say, wanting to pull your arm free but failing. “I told you already—I’m not your girlfriend—we’re done, so leave me alone.”

He doesn’t pay you any mind, maintaining a straight route to the car.

“Let go!” you whine, tightening your hand around the strap to your purse before slapping it across his back. “I said—”

“I thought I told you to shut your mouth,” he growls once the two of you reach the car. “I’ve had about enough of this attitude of yours.” 

Turning to face you, he instantly yanks your handbag out of your grip, all but confiscating it—his warped expression only a short inch away from yours, glaring at you with his teeth clenched.

“Now, if you know what’s best for you, you’re gonna sit your bratty ass down in the car and put your goddamn seatbelt on before I get even more pissed off than I already am—then maybe, just maybe, I’ll go a little easier on you once we get home.”

He pops the passenger’s door open before throwing you inside—keeping your purse to himself as he rounds the car and gets in the driver’s seat, along with your phone and credit card. Left no other options but to take your chances in the sketchy club district, all alone, in the middle of the night, with no good means of getting home…

You deliberate it, holding onto the door handle, ready to jump out—but ultimately, you sit pretty as he starts the car.

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi, Hawks ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Naoya, Toji ♡ HQ – Kageyama, Sakusa ♡ BLLK – Reo ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ DS – Sanemi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[lady-lauren]

❥ SHANKS X FEM!READER

❥ WORD COUNT: 2.3k

❥ WARNINGS/TAGS: forced orgasms, some yandere vibes, dub-con to be safe, very inappropriate use of conqueror's haki, power dynamics (captain/crew), praise, creampie, Shanks is so mean but so good and I would die for him

→ Kinktober Masterlist ←

“You’re gonna cum for me, darlin’, even if I have to take it from you.”

The weight of his words curl around your throat like a vice, blood pumping in your ears you until can barely hear his boisterous laugh. 

The smile he gives is so cheshire, so oddly genuine, it makes a shiver of fear run down the back of your neck. Perhaps it’s actually pleasure, but the emotions are too entangled for your brain to piece apart your state of mind. 

He’s not letting you go this time, not until he gets what he wants. 

“Shanks,” you plead, nails gripping into the black fabric of his cloak, “we shouldn’t, you’re my captain, and I—”

“And your captain knows what’s best for you. Promise.”

The playful lilt in his voice is disarming. 

He always lures you in so easily, and usually you can squirm away, calm your raging heart and pretend like you’re not the object of his desires. Because you shouldn’t be, you can’t be, you’re honor bound to serve him as your captain and you refuse to let lust cloud your relationship to Shanks. He helped make you a pirate. You’re more than a mistress.

Yet he’s already stripped you bare for him tonight, easy work for one of the most powerful men on the seas.

Warm lips press into your cheek as you turn your face from him, gritting your teeth as you deny his kiss.

Shanks chuckles in the face of your defiance, squishing his fingers into your cheeks to make you look at him. 

“You know, you really are cute, thinking you can stop me. Besides, don’t you want to follow Captain’s orders, hm? That’s why I picked you—you’re so loyal, always willing to please. But you should please and be pleased.”

His eyes close with a sincere smile, the pink scars nearly shining in the firelight of his room.

Perhaps you do forget sometimes how weak you are compared to him, to the man who can cut down enemies with a single gaze. 

Trapped between his colossal body and the wall, you have nowhere to run, no way to slink off and keep only ghosts of his touches. He’s going to make you feel every moment.

“Want me to show you how good I can make you feel?” 

“Trust me, I know, I know how good you’d feel, but I can’t—”

“You have no idea.”

Somehow he feels closer, as if the sun-kissed skin of his chest from his parted shirt is already blending into yours. He is darkness clouding over you, engulfing you.

He cups your chin with his hand, big fingers spilling down onto your neck. He slants his mouth over yours before you can protest, moving plush lips until you can’t help but moan. Spiced rum, aged and smooth, greets you when his tongue slides between parted lips. He kisses like a dance, like a back and forth that he leads.

“Breathe,” he whispers, and you don’t have to ask why. You sense his conqueror’s haki in the air before you feel the power lick at your skin, dragging and pulling and hot. 

“Cum for me.”

Lightning quick, your tummy tightens, the pleasure centers of your brain on overload as he overtakes you. Desire boils down to your cunt like a poisonous liquid heat, unbearable, sinful, yet so, so blissful as your pussy flutters and you fall over the crest of orgasm. 

“Fuck! Oh, fuck you, fuck, fuck…” Your eyes squeeze closed as the ecstasy is literally ripped from your body, like he somehow sunk his hand inside your core and extracted all the delight he craves. 

“Doesn’t that feel good?”

You can’t help but nod, because yes, it does, as if pleasure is bursting like supernovas underneath your skin. Your hands are clinging to him, one around the back of his neck, the other beneath his shirt, like you can’t help but be closer to the source of your heat.

“Shanks, I…” your tongue is so thick in your mouth, searching for words you can’t think of.

“Now imagine just how fucking good you’ll feel when you do that on my cock.” 

“Please, oh, god, please.”

His famous laugh greets your ears and you’re almost knocked back to the reality of who has you in his grasp. 

“That’s my girl.” 

You’re in his bed before you know it, eyes glassy at the sight of his naked body. You knew he’d be beautiful, but the actual view of him, on his knees, pumping his cock in his hand while between your legs has you whining.

“What’s going on in your pretty little head? Tell me.” 

“I…want you, so badly, and I-I’m sorry for pushing you away. I never—”

He shushes you, takes his hand from his cock so he can brush the back of his finger across your cheek, “You were just doing what you thought was right. Didn’t wanna just be my plaything, did you? I know you wanted to be my strong little pirate, but you can be both.” 

“Promise?” 

“Swear it.” He grins like a little boy as he mockingly draws an X across his heart with his finger. 

How can someone so deadly be so adorable?

Your instincts are flaring again, telling you to run, that once he sinks his claws into you, you’ll only ever be his. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Maybe that doesn’t sound so bad, especially not with how good it feels when he buries his hand between your thighs, fingers playing in your wetness. 

Shanks is equal parts messy and methodical, swirling his fingers around in your slick folds before rubbing his thumb over your already sensitive clit. You cry out, back arching and nails digging so deeply in his pillows you swear you hear fabric rip.

“Think I made you wet enough to take my cock already, don’t you?” 

To prove his point, he slides his slick-drenched fingers between your lips, letting you taste yourself. You nod your affirmation as you suck against his skin, his eyes shining as you wrap your tongue around his fingers.

You eye his cock between his legs, preening at the thought of having him inside you. His cock is pretty, fat, already leaking and veins straining beneath silken skin. Red curls crawl up his toned stomach and you nearly drool around his fingers. 

All you ever wanted was to be a pirate, but the sight of your captain’s cock has you content to be a whore.

“Been dreamin’ about you in my sheets ever since I found you, darlin’. Knew you were the one for me, my perfect girl.”

“Oh please,” you gasp as he draws his fingers from your mouth, dragging them down to your tit so he can pinch your nipple, “you know what praise does to me, Shanks.”

“Of course I do,” he sing-songs, grasping his dick and pushing his tip between your folds. He presses in, a cant of his hips shoving his cock halfway into your dripping hole. Your head falls back at the stretch, cooing at the feel of him. 

Shanks is clearly done chasing you, mindset moved to capture, to take. He bottoms out and immediately starts moving, grinning as he watches your pussy lips drag along his length. 

He wolf-whistles at the sight, making you flush with a strange mixture of embarrassment and pride. “Look at that pretty fucking pussy. So slutty already for me.”

Strong fingers push your thigh back, spreading you wide as he starts his pace. 

“Now,” Shanks clicks his tongue against his teeth, “let’s see what it feels like when I make you cum around my cock.” 

“You don’t, ah,” you gasp as his cockhead prods against a soft spot, “h-have to make me, I’ll—” 

“Shh, I’ll take care of you, baby. Let me make you feel good, yeah?” 

There’s no time to think, not with how fast he acts, a simple look into your eyes has you shattering until you scream. The pleasure claws from your depths all over again, more intense now that your cunt has his fat cock to convulse around. You suck him in deep as you fall, bliss blooming over every nerve ending. Your toes curl, your nails cut into his shoulders, your stomach nearly hurts from the twisting of your orgasm. 

“God damn, you feel so fucking good when you do that, get so tight around me.” 

“Sh-Sha—mhm, fuck,” you try to protest, to say something, but the way his body moves into yours is like the mesmeric waves, lulling you into a headspace of drifting euphoria. 

He’s all over you—hand in your hair, tongue sliding down your neck, lips sucking at the fat of your tits, teeth scraping along your curves. He’s all encompassing, snaking his arm behind your back until you're pressed against his thick chest and rocking with every thrust.

The orgasms have made you numb, all you feel is pure carnality, like now you just exist to fuck and be fucked.

For a moment you wonder if he’s still forcing it on you, but you decide you don’t care. He’s the only one who can make you feel like this, haki or no.

Shanks brushes his nose down your cheek, lips hot and wet as he kisses your skin, “Touch me, baby, be with me.” 

Like puppetry, your hands trace his musculature, taking note of how his shoulders roll with every push and how his abdominal muscles stiffen whenever your cunt spasms from pleasure.

You kiss over the freckles on his shoulder, down to the thick bicep he no longer wraps in bandages. 

He groans as your lips get close to where his arm used to be, a purr from deep in his chest like you’re too close to something vulnerable.

“Gonna take from you again, darlin.’ Gotta feel your cunt suck me dry.” 

“N-no I can—I can do it, I can cum for you, promise.” 

“Mhm, where’s the fun in that when I can just make you?”

His hand snakes around your body, letting you sink into the bed free of his hold. He teases your clit just because he can, because he likes watching you wiggle and writhe and whine beneath him.

You suck in a sob, “Please, just a little more, more, and I—”

Shanks’ haki feels like the warm licks of familiar fire. He burns because you let him too close, stared too long at the flames. 

You’re sure he purposely brings the assault of his conqueror's power on slower, lets it bleed and blend with the ecstasy building from the sensitive pressure on your clit. 

This crest is bigger, fuller, like you’ve been thrown from the Red Force into the toiling dark ocean. Only it’s boiling, scorching and tugging the pleasure from deep within your belly. 

“Oh god,” you throw your head back and whine, “too hot.” 

Shanks groans deep from his chest, fingers pausing on your clit as he feels you cum around him. His thighs shake, cock twitching and throbbing. Mean fingers dig into the softness of your belly like he’s clinging to sanity, holding himself back just enough to be in control. 

“One more, baby.”

He starts thrusting again, a slow grind into your depths that has red curls kneading into your clit. You feel him in your guts, your heart, like the beat of blood in your veins. 

“C-can’t, god, can’t, please.” Please no. Please yes. You’re back in an entanglement of emotions where no way is up, the sun still so far from underneath the waves.

Shanks buries his face in your neck, red hair fanning like embers across overheated skin. 

He sucks at your pulse, flesh between his lips, “yes you can, my good girl. For me.” 

You’re slammed into a new atmosphere, floating for seconds before being dragged back down, down to where you feel details of your name whispered against your throat and the pulsing of a thick cock as ropes of cum spill into tight, gummy walls. 

“Fuuuucckk, oh g-god, Shanks, hurts, so good, shit—”

You babble until your mouth runs dry, anchored by your captain’s bruising grasp on your hip. He has you flush against his body, heavy breaths syncing as you both float up from hell.

It’s like waking up from a dream when he starts kissing you, all feather-light and reverent. He sits up and his lopsided smile seems so sincere. 

“So proud of you, really thought you were gonna pass out there for a second.” He laughs playfully, blowing a stray red hair from his face. 

All you do is whine and shift your sore hips, gasping at the feel of his cock still hard and deep inside you. 

You’re not sure how much time passes before he pops his dick out—your heart beats are too erratic to count as seconds. 

He sinks praises into your skin, kissing down your breasts, your belly, making you jerk when he kisses the mound of your pussy. 

His breath is hot on your clit. That feeling has your mind shattering like porcelain, a sharp smack centering you straight back into reality. You sit up and stare at the scene before you, sharp-eyed prey watching a predator in the forest. 

“Shanks, no, please, for the love of god—” 

“No no no no, it’s okay,” he coos from between your legs, eyes closing and head cocking to the side as he smiles, “I’m not gonna take this one from you. Promise. Gonna let you do it all by yourself, nice and slow.” 

It’s easy to forget that Shanks is a bad liar when he shoves his pretty face down to eat his cum from your pussy. 

[superhoeva]

dr. abbot's the kind of man to have you back against the bed, holding your own knees as far back as they'll go while he spits at and sucks you silly.

a growl leaves him as his tongue dips into your hole, nosing at your clit with a long inhale.

"fuck, you're somethin' else," dr. abbot mumbles, eyes clouded with the same fire you recognize with earlier after he led you through the successful save of a patient suffering from toxic shock. he'd praised you afterwards in a raspy whisper and sly smirk that you'd thought about for the rest of the week.

two days catching him staring at you from across the room later, and here you are; squirming against the bedsheets of your attending while he fucks you with his tongue. you've already come on dr. abbot's face twice at his command but the fervor of his mouth shows no decline.

the flicking of jack's tongue sounds loudly in the air of your room, barely covered by your loud gasps and long whines of his name. he does anything but let up, forehead shining with a thin layer of sweat, lugging the flat of his tongue up to wipe across your clit. you flinch at the feeling, and your thighs starts to quake when he repeats the action before pulling away with one last suck.

"gonna come for me one more time," he instructs, guiding one your quivering legs to hang over his shoulder while the other goes limp onto the bed. "then i'm gonna fuck you like the brilliant, badass resident you are. that sound alright to you?"

jack's mouth quirks at your blissed-out nod, only giving you a single second before a pair of his fingers swipe and press against your slit. he watches, fascinated, at how slick you've become as he eases inside.

he curls inside you immediately, the pads of his fingers dancing along spots that sucks all the air from your lungs. a breathy moan escapes the man at your warmth, and he follows the sound with the dipping of his to lap at you again.

tongue moving in a frenzy, dr. abbot resumes his devouring of you with an unashamed groan and working jaw, fingers working in and out of you in perfect sequence.

"been my fuckin' favorite for a damn year, you know that?" he mumbles messily against you, eyes cutting upwards to watch you tremble and clutch the sheets... his sheets.

god, jack known there was something about you from the second you stepped into his er. he finally figured out what it was when you performed a perfect thoracotomy and a retrograde intubation on the same damn day. inadvertently, the attending had the tendency to stick by your side ever since that day, making sure that you consult and present to him, and trying not to lose his shit at the times you already have the correct answer.

something inside you had felt the pull. the inescapable tug produced by the intensity of mundane conversations, how close the two of you stand without noticing, the quipping that oozes a step past workplace banter.

all of it–the looks and touches and fucking yearning–have come to a head through the form of his tongue and fingers working you close to tears... starving for you and proving it tenfold.

there's a precision abbot cares for you with. his movements are sharp but tender, engulfing you in the suffocating pleasure his measured purpose brings about.

"yeeeah. you got it," jack coos raspily at your growing whimpers, bullying his tongue back onto your clit with a reassuring wink. "gimme one more, baby... then we'll see f'you and can take my cock as well as you're taking my fingers."

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

[kxsagi]

Omg omg hc of blue lock boys of your choice with a reader who is literally like a Disney princess😍😍😍 like she sings, energetic, maybe even sassy and is very friendly to animals🙏🙏🙏

“𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭”

a/n: i'm sorry if this didn't come out how you wanted, for some reason the concept was a little hard for me to write (maybe bc i don't watch much disney movies), but i do love the disney princesses! jasmine is my favorite she's literally such a queen

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi sae, itoshi rin, shidou ryusei, bachira meguru, karasu tabito, mikage reo, nagi seishiro, kaiser michael, ness alexis

isagi yoichi

you once sang to a squirrel. like, full-on ballad. isagi swore he hallucinated the moment, especially when the squirrel climbed on your shoulder and patted your cheek like it understood your song. 

ever since then, he’s convinced you’re an anime magical girl in the wrong franchise. 

tries to match your disney energy by singing too. but isagi cannot sing. and he knows it. still, he tries. 

you sang a lullaby to a stray cat once and he joined in. the cat left. 

he keeps googling “how to be a prince” and accidentally ends up watching tik toks of golden retriever boyfriends doing surprise picnics. 

he tries it. ends up getting chased by a goose when he lays the blanket too close to its nest. you were delighted. “look, she’s just being a protective mother 🥰” 

isagi becomes very protective of you in the weirdest ways. like he’ll gently move you away from a puddle. or carry you down a hill. or try to scare off a butterfly because “what if it’s poisonous– okay yes i know that’s dumb but what if???” 

whenever you twirl in a dress, he visibly malfunctions and has to look away so he doesn’t combust. 

itoshi sae

sae stares at you a lot. not in a romantic sigh way but in a how did this fairy get here and why is she harmonizing with a duck kind of way. 

he genuinely doesn’t understand how you’re real. 

“you talk to birds like they pay rent.” 

“they listen to me because i treat them with kindness 🥰” 

“… okay, but that was literally a seagull. those things eat trash and lie.” 

you once hugged a tree and thanked it for providing shade. sae thought about walking into the ocean. 

he acts completely unfazed, but he finds you ridiculously charming. like, the way you wave at ants or hum while cooking makes him stare like he's trying to process his emotions with a firewall installed. 

despite being your grumpy opposite, he lowkey enables your princess habits. like, he’ll pretend he’s not watching, but he makes sure your sunflower you planted is getting sunlight. or casually shoves his jacket on you when you go off to “chat with the forest frogs.” 

once called you “your highness” sarcastically. you said, “thank you, loyal knight 🫶” and he didn’t respond because he was smiling. actually smiling. 

itoshi rin

you sang a duet with a stray cat and rin almost called an exorcist. 

he’s constantly confused. like you’re his girlfriend but you also frolic. he doesn’t even know how to walk normally, how are you frolicking?? 

the type to stand stiffly while you dance around him like “i baked cookies and named them after clouds ☁️” 

he does make a huge effort to match your energy in his own emotionally stunted way. 

you say “ohh look at the baby ducklings!” 

rin says “don’t touch them, the mom might abandon them, and you’ll be sad. so. i’m helping you.” (read: “i care about your feelings and am therefore protecting ducklings.”) 

he tried to write you a poem once, but it turned into something that rhymed “love” with “shove” because he couldn’t think of a second line and got mad. 

when you call him your prince, he gets flustered and says, “you’re delusional,” but his ears turn pink. then he glares at a pigeon for landing on your head like how DARE you touch her royal scalp. 

shidou ryusei

no thoughts. just: “you’re like if a cupcake and an anime girl had a baby and gave it forest powers.” 

shidou is obsessed with you. like, he tells people he’s dating a disney princess. seriously. even his mom knows. 

he goes feral trying to impress you. “babe, if i punch this wall hard enough will birds sing around me?” 

“no, baby, they’ll die of fear.” 

wants to be your prince SO bad. but like… a hot prince. shirtless. scar across his chest. mysterious backstory. dramatic cape. 

you keep asking him to rescue frogs from the street and he does, but dramatically. like, scoops them up and says, “run now, tiny king. be free 🐸” 

tried to serenade you once with an electric guitar solo. ended up scaring away every squirrel within a 3-mile radius. you clapped anyway and he fell in love harder. 

buys matching crowns from party city. calls you “princess peach” in public. if you ever wear a tiara he will bark. literally. bark. 

bachira meguru

soulmate behavior. the two of you are like woodland creatures who learned to talk and fell in love. 

you sing to animals. he joins in. you hold hands and spin. you both fall down. it’s beautiful. 

you talk to flowers. he gives them voices. “this one’s name is kebi and he’s tired of the bees stealing his pollen. kebi wants to unionize.” 

he wants to be your prince, but not the boring ones. he wants to be your chaos prince. 

wears a cape made of leaves. tries to do parkour off a bench to “save” you from a duck. fails. gets pecked. 

he loves being your sidekick. will 100% carry a birdseed pouch in his pocket for you. 

if you ever cry, he sings your song in a squeaky falsetto voice until you laugh. then kisses your forehead and says “no tears, disney queen. only sparkles and mushrooms now.” 

karasu tabito

confused, but intrigued. 

you're the exact opposite of what he expected to fall for. like, he’s loud, sarcastic, slightly gremlin-coded. and you? you're out here rescuing caterpillars and naming them after weather patterns. 

he pretends he’s too cool for it, but one time you kissed a frog on the nose “just in case,” and he started googling “how to compete with amphibians.” 

calls you “cinderella” when you sweep the kitchen while humming. but gets all weirdly quiet when you smile and say “does that make you my prince?” 

once tried to whistle to a bird to impress you. accidentally summoned a seagull that stole his sandwich. he says he planned it. he did not. 

tries to “be your prince” by doing dumb macho things like lifting heavy stuff or getting rid of spiders, then looking at you like “yeah. masculine. clap for me.” 

you clap every time. he pretends to hate it. he loves it. 

said “i’d kiss your hand, but that squirrel looks like it’s guarding you with its life.” 

mikage reo

THRIVES in your fairytale aesthetic. he lives for it. the moment you twirled in a flowy skirt and sang a song about chasing butterflies, he fell face-first in love. 

immediately starts planning castle dates. “babe. listen. what if i rented a pony for your birthday. no, better, what if i bought one. no, wait, two. for company.” 

keeps trying to match your energy but comes off like a spoiled nobleman instead of a prince. 

“i shall protect you, my flower 🌹” 

“reo. that’s a bunny.” 

“it looked suspicious.” 

tries to learn how to sing just to harmonize with you. takes one lesson and gives up because “my vibrato sounded like a dying microwave.” 

you make daisy chains for squirrels and he’s just standing behind you like 🧍“should i be kneeling or proposing right now?” 

bought a matching heart-shaped hairbrush for you and his golden retriever. made it a family bonding activity. 

panics when you get sad because he doesn’t know how to comfort “royal-level emotions.” ends up buying you eight plushies and baking a lopsided cake. 

nagi seishiro

calls you “princess” every five seconds but with zero effort. 

“hey princess, hand me the remote.” 

“nap time, princess.” 

“don’t get kidnapped by birds again, princess.” 

he’s so lazy but somehow still ends up doing prince stuff just because you look at him with sparkly eyes. 

you: “i wish someone would get that book on the top shelf…” 

nagi, already getting up from the couch: “ugh. annoying. but okay.” 

doesn’t care about animals at all, but when he saw a bluebird perch on your hand, he looked at it like it was personally challenging him for your love. 

“what does that bird have that i don’t?” 

“hollow bones, probably.” 

once tried to build you a swing out of vines “like in those disney movies.” it broke in five seconds. you landed in a flower bush. he gave you a thumbs up and said, “you looked like a floating fairy, though.” 

lets you braid his hair and put flowers in it while he plays on his phone. tells people you’re magical every chance he gets. 

never shows it, but he’s proud to be your “lazy prince.” doesn’t need a sword, he’s fighting dragons by napping harder than anyone else. 

kaiser michael

oh he is OBSESSED. 

the moment you sang a lullaby to a baby duck, he spun around like “okay who let a disney NPC escape from the movie set?” 

tries to act all cool and aloof, but he’s a disaster behind the scenes. googled “how to be a fairytale prince” at 3 AM. also googled “can i duel a squirrel for my girlfriend’s honor?” 

when you call animals “my little friends,” he gets jealous. 

“you said i was your special little guy.” 

“you are, mihya.” 

“then why are you feeding peanuts to that raccoon like he pays the bills???” 

bought you a designer gown because “you need to look the part.” tries to get you to wear it in public. you wore a sundress with a flower crown instead and he still blushed. 

if you sing, he joins in dramatically, full musical-style. starts spinning in circles, grabs a broom and pretends it’s a sword. adds background vocals. the neighbors are scared. 

secretly wants you to draw hearts on his face with glitter paint and call him “my brave knight.” won’t say it out loud, but he does pout when you give all the affection to birds instead. 

ness alexis

ness adores you. thinks you’re the most magical being on earth. he worships the ground you skip on. 

tries so hard to act like your princely bodyguard. bows to you constantly. opens every door. whispers “your majesty” when he hands you snacks. 

loves how sweet you are to animals, but he gets suspicious of them. like, side-eyes squirrels. whispers “watch yourself, buddy” to a raccoon once. 

when you sing, he gasps like it’s a royal performance and claps dramatically. probably cries the first time you serenade him. 

“that was beautiful! i’m going to cry. i’ll cry for both of us if you don’t want to mess up your makeup.” 

insists on practicing ballroom dancing in the living room with you. spins you once, gets dizzy, falls into the couch, and just lies there like “i regret nothing.” 

his entire camera roll is blurry zoomed-in pics of you feeding ducks or talking to bees. sends them to kaiser with captions like “she is the light of the world 🐝” 

once drew a glitter crown on your forehead with makeup pen and called it “your princess seal.” he wore a matching one. then got mad when a squirrel sat on your lap and not his. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[keeryhours]

Customer: @losingmygrasponreality

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Ingredients: Smut (18+), first time, virgin!eddie, friends to lovers, porn with no plot, oral (m receiving), unprotected p in v, creampie

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“You sure you want to do this?”

Eddie’s chest was heaving, like he couldn’t calm his breaths. His brown eyes were half lidded, pupils blown. A cigarette dangled from his pointer and middle fingers as he leaned back against his headboard, the smoke trailing up and up into his bedroom. Music played from his stereo, background noise.

Eddie, shirtless with his tight jeans low on his hips. You, already stripped down to your lingerie, sitting on your knees between his legs. Looking up at him, taking in the view.

“Yeah,” he said, voice gruff.

The corner of your lips quirked up in a small smirk.

Your best friend had asked you to take his virginity, and who were you to say no? Especially when he looked this good.

“Are you hard?” you asked him, your voice a mere whisper.

“So fucking hard,” he whispered back. He took another drag from his cigarette and his right hand slid down his body, so slowly, until he was rubbing over the straining bulge in his jeans. His eyes never left you once.

You licked your lips. God, you wanted a taste of him. You were so wet already, panties clinging uncomfortably to you. You just wanted Eddie to take them off already. Nipples hard in the confines of your bra, clit throbbing with how badly you wanted him.

“Y’want something?” he asked you pointedly, voice still so low, the smoke pouring from his lips.

You nodded, biting your bottom lip. “Mmhmm.”

“Well, you gotta tell me, baby,” he drawled. “You gotta tell me what you want.”

Your hands danced up his thighs, sending chills through his body even though the thick material of his jeans. “Wanna see your cock.”

Eddie grunted as your hands reached his lap. Your palm lightly rubbed over his bulge - he really was rock fucking hard - and he let out a low groan, more smoke coming from his mouth.

“Go ‘head then,” he mumbled. He ashed the cigarette in the ashtray on his bedside table, long finger tapping against the filter. Then he was bringing it back to his lips, his eyes moving back to you.

You rubbed your hand over him one more time before your hands moved up to the metal handcuffs on his belt. You fumbled with it at first - why does he have to wear this stupid thing - but finally worked it open. The button and zipper were much easier, but pulling the tight jeans down his legs with his cock this hard was its own struggle.

Eddie lifted his hips off the bed, helping you get them down. The denim tossed onto the floor with a clang from his belt and chain, you turned your attention to the tent in his boxers.

You leaned forward, Eddie’s breathing becoming more shallow the closer you got to where he wanted you. You saw another cloud of smoke pass by just as you nuzzled your face against his clothed cock - his hardness contrasting against the soft skin of your cheek. Eddie let out a little gasp that turned into the softest moan. His cock twitched against your face as you rubbed against it. You stuck your tongue out, licking over his head through the material, already wet from his precum.

His hips jerked up unintentionally. “Fuckin’ tease,” he mumbled, cigarette sitting between his lips.

You hummed, mouthing at his cock through his boxers. He was big, that was obvious. How had he been hiding all this from you for so long?

Eddie’s head tipped back against the wall as he groaned - you weren’t sure if it was pleasure, frustration, or both. The muscles in his soft stomach flexed.

“That’s enough,” he muttered, his right hand coming down to lightly pull at your hair.

“You don’t like it?” you asked, all wide eyed innocence although you were anything but.

“Doing this shit on purpose,” he grumbled. “You know what I want.” His thumb caressed the side of your cheek. “I think you want it, too.”

You did. You slid your hands up his thighs until you reached the waistband of his boxers. You didn’t need to ask for permission - the desire was obvious. You slid them down so slowly he gave you a look - you smiled, finally pulling them all the way off.

His cock was pretty. It slapped against his lower belly, the tip ruddy and slick with precum that dribbled onto the skin of his stomach. You took in the vein lining the underside, the way his balls tensed as he watched you looking at this part of him.

“You’re staring.” He tilted his head, looking at you with way too much confidence for a virgin. “Y’like what you see?”

“S’big,” you commented, although you didn’t think he needed the ego boost. He looked like he already knew.

“Can you take it?” he asked quietly, bravado mixed with genuine concern. He ashed his cigarette again, distracted as he never took his eyes off you, some of the white ash spilling onto his table.

You wrapped a hand around his thick shaft, drawing a gasp from him at the first real contact. “I can take it,” you promised him.

He watched you closely as you stroked his cock slowly up and down, spreading the precum along his shaft. He was throbbing in your hand, pure need coursing through his veins. He let out a shaky breath before bringing the cigarette back for another drag.

“Are you gonna-“ he asked from around it, but cut himself off with a moan that pushed its way out of his lungs the second you wrapped those pretty lips around his tip. “Shit!” he cursed, nearly dropping his cigarette.

You nearly laughed, if your mouth hadn’t been busy. He was warm and heavy on your tongue, the salt of his skin mixed with the precum dripping from his slit. You worked your mouth down, opening your jaw wide to take his thick girth without scraping him with your teeth. When your nose touched the course curls at his base, he was so deep down your throat, the most pathetic whimpers coming from the man above you.

“Oh, that’s…” he drew in a quick breath. “Oh.”

You could hear him dragging on the cigarette again as you started bobbing your head along his length. You looked up at Eddie, eyes locked on you with his expression pained as the cigarette burned between his lips. He watched your reddened lips wrapped around him, slick with saliva that dripped down his shaft.

His breathing was ragged, quick. He wasn’t sure what to do with his free hand, so it was balled tightly in the sheets, white knuckled. Your movements were making him light headed, intoxicated. His heart pounded, blood rushing in his ears. You swirled your tongue around his tip and he cried out, head falling back against the wall again. 

“You…” he gasped out, almost like he was accusing you of something. “Oh, fuck.”

You pulled him from your mouth, licking long, languid strokes from base to tip. You cupped his balls in your hand, feeling them tense at the contact before relaxing again. He watched you carefully as you placed soft kisses down his length until you reached his balls, sticking your tongue out and licking at them.

“Oh, oh-“ Eddie gasped, his body jolting, cigarette fumbling from his mouth and landing on the bed. “Shit,” he cursed, quickly grabbing the cig and dropping it in the ashtray, forgotten. A dark burn mark was left behind on his white sheets.

You moved back to his cock, still massaging his balls in your hand. You enveloped him in the warmth of your mouth once again, taking him until you were gagging, tears welling in your eyes and dripping your mascara down your cheeks. Eddie brought his hand to the side of your face, placing his hand against your cheek.

“Fuck,” he let out in a rush of breath. “Fuck yeah, Jesus, just like that. Right there- yeah-“

You hummed, swallowing around him, and he bucked up hard, cockhead hitting the back of your throat, making you choke on it.

“Jesus!” he cried, voice strained. “You gotta- baby, you gotta stop if we’re gonna keep going, I’m-“

You pulled off of him quickly, squeezing the base of his cock in your hand, just barely staving off his orgasm. He let out the most choked, pained moan, cock throbbing hard in your hand, tip red. He had been close, so close.

“Christ,” he breathed. His thighs were shaking, whole body flushed. “Come up here.”

You slowly climbed up his body, taking your time. You straddled his waist and carded your hand through his hair, pushing it back from his sweaty face. He looked up at you like he was seeing God.

“Can I…?” he asked, hands roaming over your body down to your ass over your silk panties. He licked his lips, eyeing between your legs.

“This is supposed to be about you,” you reminded him. You kissed across his cheek, to his ear, biting lightly on his earlobe. “Let me make you feel good.”

“But…” Eddie’s hands rubbed over the roundness of your ass, the plush of your thighs. “I wanna eat your pussy.” He looked up at you with those doe eyes that probably got him most things he wanted.

“Next time,” you promised him. His neglected cock twitched against his stomach at the thought of that - next time.

His hands slid up your back, slowly feeling the smooth skin beneath his calloused hands. He reached your bra, fumbling with the clasp as he placed kisses all over your chest. You let him try for a while - you were just about to ask if he wanted help when it came undone and the bra fell from you, exposing your bare tits.

“Oh my god,” Eddie groaned. “You’re- you have the perfect tits.”

You giggled, but it turned to a moan when he stuck his tongue out and licked your nipple, then wrapped his lips around the bud. He flicked it with his tongue as he sucked, his hand massaging the other breast, thumb rubbing against the nipple.

“Eddie,” you moaned quietly. “Feels good.”

He abruptly flipped you over, surprising you, a little squeal coming from your lips. He pinned your wrists to the bed, kissing down to your neck. “Wanna fuck you now,” he mumbled.

“Yeah?” your eyes fell closed, breathing hard as Eddie sucked the skin of your neck, his teeth biting down just hard enough.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment for years,” Eddie muttered. “And I’ve never been so fucking hard in my life.”

You could feel the proof of it pressed against your clothed core. Your cunt was clenching around nothing, just the thought of Eddie inside of you enough to drive you crazy.

He kissed down your body, trying to take his time but too eager to go slow. He kissed down your stomach, dipping his tongue into your bellybutton as he went. You gasped - you’d never had a guy do that before.

He hooked his fingers into the waist of your panties and looked up at you. You nodded once, and Eddie turned his attention back to the main event as he pulled the clothing down your body.

When they were discarded onto the floor, he slowly ran his hands up your legs, from your ankles to your knees. He spread them wide, his lips parting in awe as he looked down at your pussy - finally, finally.

He traced a finger through your folds, looking at the obscene amount of wetness coating his finger. In a moment of impulse he popped it into his mouth, closing his eyes and groaning as he sucked it clean. “I knew you’d be sweet.”

Eddie may have been a virgin, but everything he was doing was turning you on more than any other guy ever had. You weren’t even sure he was trying.

He leaned over you again, the warm weight of him covering your naked body, slotting his knee between your thighs. He kissed you then, slow and passionate and conveying every ounce of desire. You licked the seam of his lips and he opened with a moan. He was a little sloppy, totally inexperienced, but when you started massaging his tongue with yours, he melted right into it and let instinct carry him.

His cock was prodding at you, just as eager as Eddie was. He reached down and grabbed his aching cock, tracing it through your folds. He placed another single kiss to your lips, then sat up on his knees. He looked between your legs as he lined himself up, tip pressing right against your hole.

He drew in a deep breath. This was really happening.

“You ready?” he asked you softly. He gripped your thigh with his free hand, rubbing your skin with his thumb. He was looking at you tenderly - your best friend.

“I’m ready,” you nodded. You were a little nervous - you’d never been with a guy as big as Eddie, and what if this changed things? - but you wanted this.

Eddie nodded once back at you. He looked back down between your legs, then he was pushing in.

“Oh,” he breathed, that first push into your tight heat nearly taking his breath away. You inhaled sharply as he sunk in, slowly, carefully. When he was seated in you, he let out a long groan.

“It’s- you’re tight,” he rasped, hands trembling where they held your thighs. “So tight. And wet.”

“You can move,” you told him, slowly rolling your hips into him - which made his eyes go wide and a strangled moan crawl its way out of his throat.

But he pulled his hips back, pulling out of you until only his tip remained, then rolled back into you. He did that a few more times until his thrusts turned a little more shallow and he found his rhythm.

“Fuck, I’m- I’m in you,” he gasped out. “I’m fucking you. Christ.”

“Yeah, baby,” you purred. He was so cute. “You’re fucking me really good.”

He leaned over your body again, resting on his arm on the side of you while his left hiked your thigh up around his waist. “I am?”

“Yes,” you moaned, his cock so deep inside of you you could hardly breathe. You could feel him all over, your skin prickling with the electricity between you.

“Do you like it?” Eddie panted, hips snapping into yours, his balls slapping against your ass. “Does it feel good?”

“Yes, yes,” you gasped, fingers tightening in his sheets. “Oh god, yes.”

Eddie pressed your foreheads together, looking deep into your eyes as your hips rocked together. Your lips were a breath apart, just swallowing each other’s moans.

“I love seeing you like this,” Eddie murmured. His eyes were so dark, pleasure written across his face. “Never thought I would.”

“Me either,” you huffed a laugh, and Eddie returned your smile. Yeah, you definitely never thought you’d get to see what your best friend looks like when he’s inside of you.

“Can I-“ he stopped, eyes darting down to your tits before looking back at your face. “Fuck. Can I…can I fuck you from behind?”

His question surprised you - but you wanted it, too. “Yeah, we can do that.”

Eddie let go of your thigh, pulling out of you slowly. It was a loss, his thick length pulling out of you. But then he flipped you over into your stomach and you arched your back, sticking your ass up for him.

“Holy shit,” Eddie said in a mixture of a moan and gasp, his shaking hands coming down to caress over your cheeks. “Your ass, Jesus Christ-“

You turned to look over your shoulder in time to see - and feel - Eddie sinking back into you. “Oh, shit, yeah,” he breathed. When he was fully in you again he held himself there for a second, just feeling you wrapped around him.

“Please,” you begged. “Fuck me, Eddie.”

His hips involuntarily jerked at your words - “Shit,” he hissed out - but he turned his uneven movements into another quick rhythm, pulling your hips back against him for the extra momentum.

He splayed his hand across your lower back as he fucked you, admiring the look of your body, the jiggle of your ass, the bounce of your tits. Every rut of his hips sent you sliding against the mattress, your mouth open, drool pooling on the sheets as he fucked you stupid.

How was he so good at this his first time?

Eddie’s hands were locked on your hips as he lost himself in the pleasure of your body. You were a whining, moaning mess as you babbled beneath him. “Yes, Eddie, please please please, more, don’t stop, I can’t, I’m gonna- I’m gonna cum, Eddie, please-“

“I’m gonna make you cum?” he asked, breathless and amazed. “Fuck, yeah, baby. Cum on my cock, wanna feel it. Wanna feel you cum on me.”

He dug his fingertips into the skin of your ass, leaving marks behind. He scrunched his eyes closed, trying to hold on, just a little longer until you could finish. But he was so close, his denied orgasm from earlier building back up with a vengeance.

You reached underneath you and rubbed at your clit. It only took a second of the extra stimulation before you were pitching forward, crying out with a loud moan as your cunt clenched and throbbed around Eddie’s cock, soaking him.

“Shit!” Eddie cursed, losing his rhythm, just holding onto you and slamming into you with frantic desire. He could feel you pulsing around his cock, and it was too much, too much-

Eddie gasped out a yell of a moan as it all shattered - shockwaves pouring through his body like he’d never experienced, his hips jerking against you as he came ropes of his spend inside of you. You could feel the warmth of him filling you, his sweaty body practically laying over yours, heavy breaths and moans of your name against your back.

He didn’t want to move, but he didn’t want to crush you, either. He pulled out of you, some of his cum dripping from your pussy and down your skin. He stared.

You flattened, laying down on the bed. Your body felt used, aching, sore, but still tingling from the best orgasm you’d ever had. You heard Eddie leave before he came back and started wiping your skin with warm washcloth.

“Is that better?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah.” You turned over, smiling up at him. You’d never had someone take care of you after sex before. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” He was quiet now, seeming a little shy for once in his life. “Did you…like it?”

“I loved it,” you promised him - and you had. “Did you?”

Eddie’s eyes widened at that. “Are you kidding? That was fucking incredible.” He crawled over you, kissing you again, his lips just barely brushing yours until they pressed firmer. When he pulled away, he nuzzled his forehead against your neck.

“So…when’s that next time?” he asked, eager smile on his lips.

Right now, if you had any say in it.

as always, comments & reblogs are so appreciated!!

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[shouyuus]

─── Ⅵ FOR THE LOVE OF FLOWERS

violet; 4,403 words; fluff, mutual pining, idiots in love, bartender!vi, florist!reader, (probably) incorrect depiction of florist/bartender life, sun and moon dynamic, so much pining, dad!vander, bff!mel, mylo and claggor being... mylo and claggor, mindless, tooth-rotting fluff, lapslock, no "y/n"

summary: in which you work at the flowershop directly across the street from the last drop.

a/n: happy belated valentines day!!! i know i have like a bunch of other wips but i wanted to write something cutesy and it's still valentines weekend for me so... i hope you guys enjoy! :)

─── Ⅵ THE FIRST TIME SHE SEES YOU, it’s valentine’s day — after a long night of serving drinks and arguing with progressively drunker and drunker men (doubtlessly hoping to land a lay at the bar the night before valentine’s) and a botched hookup attempt (vi texted; hookup did not respond. the crowd boos), the sight of you across the streets had felt something like a dream.

she’d always known about the flower shop directly opposite the small, two lane street from the last drop —

for the love of flowers.

it’s a cute name, written in looping, ornate script, and she’s never paid it much attention till now, what with her schedule being so opposite yours, but that morning (february 14th, she’ll never forget) she sees you, pushing open the gorgeous french windows and setting up the sign, in a teddybear coat that looked like a wayward cloud had wandered down to earth and made itself into a jacket, just for you.

you were humming — she doesn’t know how she knew this, but she did. she could just tell, from the way you moved through the motions of your morning routine like a dance, trailing delicate fingers along the wooden frame of your door before disappearing into the shop and reappearing a moment later with a vast bouquet of ruby-red roses.

the smile on your face had been nothing short of incandescent.

it’s been a full year since then (so they say, time slips by quick when you’ve got a crush — or, whatever) and somehow, she still doesn’t know your name.

she knows other things though — she knows the shape and weight of all your smiles, the way your eyes glitter when you’re helping a customer pick out their flowers. she knows there’s a very fluffy white cat that sometimes likes to sunbathe on the shop’s windowsill, and that when it does come to visit, you always have a warm bowl of milk ready. she knows the cadence of your mornings, the rhyme and rhythm of your opening and closing routines. she knows the colors of all your favorite dresses, and how you like to match them to your seemingly endless collection of cute little flats.

she knows your laughter sounds like bell-chimes, the few times she’s heard it ringing out across the street. she knows the fragments of your voice she’s sometimes overhead, carried on the autumn wind, sometimes reminds her of birdsong.

and, she knows that she doesn’t stand a chance.

“you do,” vander chimes, wiping down the bartop one morning, even as vi helps him stack the stools, the window facing the street thrown open. vi groans, unable to help the way her eyes flicker towards it, towards the shape of your flower-shop across the street, where she knows that in about 10 minutes exactly, you’ll throw open your own white-paneled windows and start prepping for your day.

“how could you possibly know that?” vi asks, crinkling her nose at the whine that sneaks into her voice.

vander makes a sound not unlike an amused bear before slinging the large washcloth onto his shoulder and shooting her a fox-sly grin, his eyes beetle-dark and twinkling.

“just trust your old man on this, yeah? it’s valentine’s day tomorrow, so trot on over after we close… and buy ‘er some flowers. see how that goes, hm?”

vi chews on her lip — it sounds simple enough when vander says it like that but…

heat plumes up the back of her neck at the thought of you, in one of your myriad dresses, perhaps with leggings on underneath to protect against the mid-february chill, the flower patterned apron tied around your waist, a pair of red scissors tucked into the front pocket.

she’s shaking her head before she can stop herself.

“no — i — i can’t, she doesn’t even know i exist — how creepy would it be to just show up and —”

vander cuts her off with a massive hand on her shoulder, giving her a tiny shake that nonetheless makes vi’s head wobble.

“she does know you exist,” vander says, and from up this close, vi can almost see her own reflection in the dark of his eyes. “just… give it a go. and if it doesn’t work… i’ll cover all your drinks here for a week.”

vi puffs out an incredulous laugh.

“vander, i work here — i already drink for free.”

vander chuckles, “fine then, you’ll get the next two weekends off, how’s that?”

vi’s face brightens, “really? and… if it does go well?” she taps her fingers nervously against the worn wooden bar.

vander’s grin widens by degrees, “then… you’ll get the two weekends off anyway — for your first and second dates, sound good?”

vi blinks, staring up at vander for a solid few seconds before laughing and holding out her hand.

“yeah, sure — thanks old man.”

vander huffs, taking her hand in his and giving it a soft pat, and for a moment, vi feels the inexplicable urge to throw her arms around him and bury her face in his chest like she used to when she was still small enough for him to lift onto his shoulders. instead, she only swallows and gives his hand a tight squeeze.

his whole face softens as he lifts a hand to cluck at her chin, chuckling as she scowls and makes a half-hearted attempt to duck away.

“that’s my girl.”

vi turns away with burning cheeks and a giddy smile spreading across her face. she makes her way to the back where the door opens out onto the alley where the delivery truck for the next night’s liquors is already idling. she waves at the benzo, and reaches into the back for a crate of fresh beer bottles, counting down the seconds till tomorrow morning.

she doesn’t see, across the street, the flicker of lights click on in your shop or hear the slight creak of hinges as you push open the windows, shivering slightly in the pre-dawn wind. she doesn’t see the way you crane your neck out to try and catch a glimpse of her, of the tiny pout that pushes at your lips when you don’t see her familiar silhouette in the bar’s old, wooden window.

she doesn’t see the way your shoulders slump, or the way you glance down at your fingers, clutching at the window sill as you try to tell yourself that maybe, maybe this time, you’ll go over and talk to her. she doesn’t see you mouthing the words to yourself, as if going over lines for a stage-play — hi! i hope this isn’t too weird but… i’ve seen you across the street almost every day and… i just thought… well… would i be able to buy you a drink?

you shake your head, groaning inwardly to yourself as you slip back into your shop and grab the large sign that usually goes out front, boasting of the currently in-season flowers and any discounts you might be having.

“god, who even offers to buy a bartender a drink? she’ll probably think i’m an idiot or something —”

“i’m sure it’s not the first time she’s heard that line before, darling,” mel says, barely glancing up from behind the register, taking stock of the previous day’s sales.

“yeah, and i’m willing to be that it’s sucked for her every single time.”

“you won’t know till you’ve tried it,” mel sing-songs, even as she sighs and rounds the register to help you pick out the most eye-catching flowers for the outdoor display.

you scowl down at a fresh batch of roses, just in time for valentine’s day. you reach for your scissors and start the methodical work of ridding them of all their thorns.

by the time you carry the floral display outside and duck back in for the sign, it’s to catch a glimpse of vi, laughing as she jokes around with a pair of boys (who you’ve surmised by now also work at the bar), her ducking beneath an attempted jab and jumping up to loop her arm around one of them in a headlock. the sound of their yelps and laughter rings bright and clear against the mid-morning sky, a second before the wind kicks up and sends the hem of your dress fluttering.

you squeak, pushing it down, your eyes slingshotting back across the street, but vi’s already gone, disappeared into the back alley, the memory of her voice still echoing in your chest like the opening bars of a love song you’ve always known, but can never remember the lyrics of.

you catch sight of vander as he reaches out to close the window of the last drop, and for a second, your eyes meet. he cocks his head, a knowing grin slung across his lips even as you blush and raise your hand in greeting. he pauses to dip his head at you, before turning to say something to someone you can’t quite see, and then he’s turning back, lifting a hand to his lips as if to say — your secret’s safe with me.

something thuds in your chest as he shoots you a furtive wink and pulls the window shut.

“darling? come help me with these snapdragons — i can never get them to sit as nicely as you do.”

you turn and hurry back into the shop, your mind spinning even as you busy yourself with the task of arranging the shop for opening.

the day passes by in a whirlwind of cut-stems and wrapping paper, of satin ribbon and hard twine. and by the time you’re closing up shop, the familiar, heart-warming glow of light is already pouring from the window of the last drop, and a few seconds later, you see the heart-rending shape of vi as she pushes through the front door, holding it open with a hip to let vander through, chattering about this or that.

you whip around before she can catch you staring and busy yourself with checking over the leftover flowers from the outside display, warmth creeping up the back of your neck. you’re sure you can feel the weight of her eyes on you, and you tell yourself that it’s nothing — just something friendly, or neighborly, or — something bumps against your ankle and you glance down to find poro the cat twining herself between your legs.

“hey there,” you greet, bending down to pick her up. poro lets out a pleased mewl, purring loudly as you run your fingers through her silken fur, “we missed you today — but you never liked the big crowds, huh?” you smile, making your way to the window and setting her down on the wide ledge. she spins herself around twice before settling, her fluffy tail wrapping around her paws as she watches you with large, sky-blue eyes.

across the street, vi watches, her heart in her throat, and nearly walks into the edge of the door with an armful of empty crates, catching herself three seconds before faceplanting into the pavement. behind her, mylo lets out a bark of laughter even as claggor groans, shaking his head and sidestepping them both back into the bar.

“y’know, this whole lesbian pining thing’s gone on for a bit too long,” mylo says, spinning a beer bottle opener around his index finger as he and vi make their way in behind claggor.

“shut the fuck up,” vi snipes, shouldering passed mylo towards the stairs leading to the basement, her stomach twisting at the thought of perhaps asking you out in less than 24 hours. she sighs, dropping the crates into a corner and turning to leave again, only to find mylo leaning against the narrow stairwell, staring at her with the a sanctimonious smirk.

her eyes narrow, “you’re one to talk,” she grumbles, making her way back to stare him straight in the eyes; she sees him falter, the flash of uncertainty in his eyes before he squares up again, puffing out his chest, “how long’ve you been thirsting after the lead singer of that indie band again? two years now? three?”

“th-that’s different!” mylo insists, stumbling after her as vi shoves passed him back up the stairs.

vi cocks an eyebrow, reaching up to grab a barstool, setting it on the floor with a loud clack.

“yeah? how so?”

mylo licks his lips, “it’s — she — she’s like a celebrity, y’know? so it’s — it’s normal that i haven’t —”

“what celebrity? her band plays here like every other week — you’ve had more facetime with gert over the past few years than i’ve had with —” vi gestures towards the door, “flowergirl, in like… ever!”

on the opposite end of the bar, claggor is helping vander wipe down tables, glancing up from his work with a deep sigh.

“so is she gonna do it, or what?”

vander grunts, “think she actually might, tomorrow morning.”

“yeah? how’d you convince her?”

vander shrugs, “offered her two weekends off.”

claggor snorts, “figures. well — if it finally gets the two of them together then…” he mimics wiping sweat off his brow and shaking off his fingers. vander laughs, nodding.

“one can only hope.” he casts another glance towards where vi and mylo are now locked in a full-out brawl, vi having pinned mylo’s face to the recently wiped bar top with his arm twisted behind his back.

across the street, you’re sighing into a handful of Iron Plant leaves, stripping out the ones with yellowing tips and keeping the most vibrant ones for the next day.

“you’ll age yourself if you keep sighing like that,” mel says, reaching over your shoulder to pluck a particularly green leaf from the bunch and swatting at your head as if it were a feather-duster.

you frown, wiping your hands on your apron before moving to the next batch of leaves.

“it’s just… been so long and i — i don’t even think she’s looked at me.”

mel groans, “oh trust me — she has.”

“you keep saying that, but i’ve never —”

“just because you’ve never seen it, darling, doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened.” she reaches out to tug the sheers from your hand with dexterous fingers. she snaps them once, the sharp snip making you wince.

“yes, yes — i know…” you lick your lips, glancing at the window. outside, the setting sun has burnished the entire street in gold. a second later, the door of the last drop swings open again and vi appears, her eyes casting towards your shop and for a fraction of a second — no longer than a hummingbird’s wingbeat — your eyes meet.

the contact is electric, scintillating and strange — it shocks through you, staticking through all your nerve endings till your fingers and toes are tingling with it — the buzzing energy, the potential of something.

anything —

more.

and then, mylo bumps into vi as he clambers by, and the moment is broken, the tenuous connection between you shattering like sugar-string. vi shoves mylo back hard, and by the time she looks back, you’ve melted back into the flower-decked interior of the shop.

it is a long night, though in general, the one before valentines day always is. too many bruised egos, sloshing over the sides of beer steins. too many puffed-up, washed-up, has-beens, wandering the darkened corners of the town in search of a warm body inside which they might partake in the delicate art of forgetting. and in vi’s experience, wounded prides have never mixed well with alcohol — no matter what the occasion.

so by the morning, she’s exhausted, the sunrise greeting her in all its fool’s gold glory.

vander gives her a pat on the back and slides an irish coffee down the bar towards her. she stares at the white frothy top before cracking him a grin and chugging down half in a single gulp, wincing slightly a the sharp bite of whiskey.

vander laughs, shrugging as vi stares at the remainder of the glass.

“thought you could use a little liquid courage.”

vi sniffs, sucks in a breath, and downs the rest of the drink, raising the empty glass to vander before sliding it back down the bar. vander reaches out to catch it in a single smooth motion, waving her off.

“right, now go on and get your girl.”

vi coughs, “she’s not my —”

claggor tuts, “just go already — we’ll finish up here —”

vi opens her mouth as if to respond, but at another hard look from vander, she deflates, grumbling to herself as she drags the back of her hand across her lips to make sure there’s no residual whipped cream, before pushing out the door, bracing herself against the mid-february wind.

the street is nearly empty this early in the morning, and the dawning sunlight has yet to settle into it’s usual richness, still a bit wane, papering the street in the palest shade of gold. on the opposite horizon, the night is is bleeding out the last dregs of its own inky darkness, a crescent moon hung like a ghostly petal, floating across the surface of a late winter sky.

vi shoves both her hands into her jacket pockets and hunches her shoulders against a kick of wind, half-jogging across the thin, two-lane street just as you push your windows open.

“oh! hi! uhm —” your voice is just as beautiful as she’s always known it would be.

vi squeezes her fists inside her pockets, scuffing her feet against the pavement as she watches the way your cheeks flush rose-petal-pink, and then you’re ducking back into the store, only to appear a second later, stepping through the front door in a velvet dress red as holly-berries (or perhaps just the shade of bleeding hearts), your usual apron tied around your waist, a thin scarf looped around your neck to protect against the chill.

“hey! sorry to just — randomly run across the street like this —” she waves a hand awkwardly at the last drop, closing up behind her.

you shake your head, pressing your palms to the front of your apron, “no! it’s okay — actually i —”

“i wanted to ask — oh, sorry no —” she speaks over you in her haste, backtracking immediately, even as you flap your hands, seemingly just as flustered as she is.

“no, no! it’s fine — what did you want to ask?” you open your hands, expectant.

and you’re looking at her, gods, you’re looking at her. and vi can’t think for the rabbit’s foot thump of her heart, beating inside her chest, making her vision swim as a rush of blood floods her ears, washing out all sound except for the silver-bell chime of your voice. she digs her nails into her palms, clearing her throat.

“uh… it’s just… i was — i was wondering — shit — well, okay — say… i wanted to get someone flowers —”

you blink, your eyes flickering between both of hers at her words. and then, you turn, if only to keep her from seeing the way your expression falls, ever so slightly.

“oh… yeah? okay, sure — i can help you with that — do you know what kind of flowers you’d like?” you lead her into the main body of your shop, holding the door open for her.

vi steps through, scratching at the back of her neck, glancing around, trying not to seem so overwhelmed by the utter explosion of fragrance and color.

“th-that’s the thing though — i — i mean, i don’t know anything about flowers so — i thought — i wanted to ask for your help —” she glances back at you; you clear your throat and look away, reaching out to brush a finger along the petal of a single red rose, lying in the middle of a perfectly cut square of wax paper.

“uh… yeah, i — i can do that — uhm — i’m assuming this is a… romantic kind of floral-endeavor?” you ask, bracingly, making a small attempt at your usual humor.

vi purses her lips, the freckles dusted across her nose made all the more prominent by the way she blushes.

“yeah — sort of.”

you take a deep breath, then start to make your way around the shop.

“okay, well — do you know their favorite color or… anything?”

vi follows a few steps behind, glancing around for any indication before she sighs.

“uhm… i know she likes colors in general — bright ones —”

you pause over a display of button mums the color of honey.

“oh! cool okay —” you make to move away again but vi jerks forward, reaching out in an abortive movement, her hand caught in midair as you turn. you stare, unable to entirely keep the skip from your heartbeat.

“i just — holy fuck —” she runs a hand over her face, looking strangely abashed as she drops her hand, squeezing her fingers into fists before letting them loose again. you wonder, for a moment, why she might be so nervous before she licks her lips and continues, “— so — say you were going to get flowers from someone… on valentine’s day —”

you go almost preternaturally still.

“uh… huh…”

vi chews on her bottom lip so hard you’re worried, for a second, that she might draw blood. still, she looks anywhere but at you.

“w-what kind of flowers w-would you uh — would you want them to get you?”

you stare at her for a beat, and then another. a tentative hope blossoms in your chest, a single creeping vine at first, threading through your veins. you lick your lips, clasping your hands behind your back, worrying at your own fingers.

“d-depends… would this person be uhm… asking me out? or…” you trail off.

vi nods, almost too eager, taking half a step forward.

“y-yeah! maybe — if you’re… open to being asked out —”

“i — i am!” you blurt out. heat plumes into your skin like the first wisteria bloom of spring, one at first, and then another, then another — tiny flowers popping open, fragrant and shockingly violet until your chest is full of them.

“great! so… uh… the flowers —?” vi lets out a soft chuckle.

your lashes flutter, and then, you spring into movement. anything to dance off the mid-summer fire collecting beneath your skin.

“oh! sorry — right — i guess i’d like… gardenias, for secret love,” you say, rounding the shop towards the large white blooms, your heartbeat a riotous mess, clattering against your ribs as you pluck out a few of the choicest flowers. behind you, vi watches, her heart caught in the back of her throat, her breath lost somewhere in the air between you.

“maybe… a few pink camelias, for longing —” you move through to the other side of the shop, collecting the flowers one by one, your fingers trembling as you tug each of them from their stands, “hydrangeas for understanding… or at least —” you suck in a breath, “i hope…”

“y-yeah — i — i hope so too — i mean — that’s good, that’s perfect —”

you swallow, turning around to show her the budding bouquet, but when you hold out the flowers, she barely spares them a glance, her eyes fixed on you.

“y-you’re — they’re uh… beautiful.”

“u-uhm — and then… a few fillers…” you say, oddly breathless, if only to fill in the electric quiet, the air thrumming with it, as lightning might brew beyond a monsoon sky.

you finish the bouquet with a piece of twine, smiling down at your own handiwork. the flush in your cheeks only grows as you turn to offer them to her, and she smiles, pursing her lips.

“is… is there a card or something i could —” she motions towards the flowers.

you nod passed the giddiness collecting in your throat.

“s-sure! and… who —” you gulp again, tugging a small red-heart shaped card from the cash register, “who might this be for?”

vi lets out a helpless laugh, “i… i was hoping that’d be kind of obvious…”

you hesitate for a second longer before scribbling your name at the top of the card. vi leans over to read it; the way she says your name makes your chest stitch, your lungs constrict.

“and…” you finally allow yourself to look up at her, your pen hovering over the from line on the card. her gaze, when you meet it, is the most gorgeous morning-glory blue.

“vi — violet,” she says.

you smile, “pretty name.” before bending down to write it on the card as well.

“thanks. yours… isn’t so bad either,” she says, reaching for her wallet.

you wave her away.

“on the house.”

vi cocks an eyebrow, “i don’t think that’s how buy someone valentine’s day flowers works.”

you crinkle your nose, “it is if the person you’re buying them for runs a flower shop.”

at this, vi laughs, the sound sweet and clear as a winter’s thaw. you find yourself giggling too, looking down at the bouquet with soft eyes.

“how about… you buy this for me… and you let me… buy you a drink tonight?” you ask, setting the flowers aside and pressing your palms to the register top. vi blinks.

“yeah?” vi’s smile lopes to the side, a sharp, dangerous twinkle caught behind her eyes, “and… what would you be getting me?”

you trail a light finger along the length of the register with a small shrug.

“actually… i was going to ask — say someone were to buy you a drink for valentine’s day…”

vi puffs out a breath, her gaze darkening by degrees.

“uh huh.”

“what kind of drink would you want them to get you?”

TAGLIST: @traiitorjoe @rizzscary @wetcat020 @alex-thegiraffeboyy @nanasemo @saturnhas82moons @unear7hly @drsnowrose @grantaires-waistcoat @isab3lita @ally-all-around @starrysetup22 @lipsent @lewd_alien @jack-frost-2010 @starsfortaylor @onesockcat @lesbian-useless @armins-slvt @the-drama-is-real @froggybich @chwlogy @xrhyllamyx @yaeil @sweetybuzz25 @lustfirepoison @gigizwrld @bruisedbygod @luvmoo @autisticgirlkisser @elegantunknowncloud - join the taglist

[elysianightsss]

Okay I know this trope has been done time and time again but it’s a fuckingggg classic okay? Okay.

Best friend Johnny who keeps a photo of you in his pocket so he can remind himself what he is fighting to get home to.

Best friend Johnny who’s face lights up as soon as he sees you waiting for him at the airport with one of them big signs saying Johnny on it. It looks like you spent a lot of time hand decorating it.

Best friend Johnny who doesn’t argue when you ask him to stay at your house his first night home, he simply smiles with a nod because why would he ever refuse you.

Best friend Johnny who already has some of his clothes in your drawers for whenever he stays over. Brought over a duffle bag full of some a while ago and just stared filling your drawers.

Best friend Johnny who snoops around after he gets out the shower to see if you’d gotten any new toys while he was away. (You had) he grins while inspecting the new one, not a vibrator this time. No this one was moulded like a real man, very detailed he noticed. He would never tell you how he held it next to his to see the size difference.

Best friend Johnny who grins at you when he comes out of your room freshly cleaned and in new clothes to find you in one of his shirts and just underwear, dancing to the ABBA songs you were playing through Alexa.

Best friend Johnny who dances with you just so he had an excuse to have his hands on you. And oh boy does he, his thick fingers running over your body. Hot breath on your neck as you both laugh.

Best friend Johnny who feels on cloud nine while he makes dinner with you, the domesticity of it all making him yearn for more. The way you’re both moving around each other, flowing and fitting in with each other perfectly.

Best friend Johnny who even though is eating the same thing as you, still tries to feed you with an “Op’n up fa me lass.” Spoon in hand resting softly against your lips waiting patiently for you to accept, “K’mon bonnie.”

Best friend Johnny whose face drops when you tell him all about the date you had been on with a complete and utter douchebag while he was away. You don’t notice the way he freezes at your words, you don’t see the fire behind his eyes.

Best friend Johnny who finally finds the courage within him to say you don’t need to date anyone. You have him. He’s yours, always have been bonnie.

Best friend Johnny who goes crazy when you finally let him touch you. Desperately laps at your pussy, clit swollen and aching as the Scot wraps his lips around it wanting nothing more than to show you how well he can take care of you. How quick he can make you cum all over his tongue.

Best friend Johnny who is the best fuck you’ve ever had in your life. He’s all over you, he’s in your every thought, your every breath. You feel him in your throat when he slides his thick cock into your slick pussy. You’re dripping a mixture of cum and Johnny’s spit.

Best friend Johnny who’s so hot the way he’s desperate for it, pathetically desperate to slap his hips against your ass. The shlick shlick shlick sounds loud in the air with the way his heavy balls slap against your clit sending rolls of pleasure through you with each thrust. “Fuck lass, so pretty! Do ye ken what ye do to me? Dis wee cunt is addictive!”

Best friend Johnny who makes love to you well into the early hours of the morning. You’re a complete dishevelled mess by the time he’s done. Hickies anywhere his mouth could reach, hand marks on your hips, hair a mess, drool on your chin, throat dry and sore from screaming his name and your cunt dripping with his cum. But you fall asleep satisfied with a smile on your swollen lips.

Boyfriend Johnny who kisses you softly all over, whispering praises and I love yous into your skin as he uses a warm flannel to wipe away the sweat and cum from your body.

Boyfriend Johnny who makes you breakfast in bed, all your favourites and some pieces of fruit for healthiness. Who delivers it to you on your bamboo tray, an apron wrapped around him that says ‘I’m cute’ on the front. His naked arse out of full display.

Boyfriend Johnny that watches you eat with a smile on your face and happiness bubbling in his chest.

[jo-com]

˖ ݁♬⋆.˚𝄞. ➛ Right Person, Wrong Time

Oscar Piastri x Fem!Reader

୨ৎ Summary: The story of how they fell apart, found themselves, and came back together stronger than ever—this time, for good.

୨ৎ Genre: Little Angsty but with a happy ending!

୨ৎ Note: Some grammatical errors, this also not proofread. Hope y’all enjoyyy!!

ARCHIVES ⭑.ᐟ

Oscar and Y/n have been inseparable since the very beginning—their moms were best friends long before they were even born, laying the foundation for a bond that felt written in the stars.

Their lives grew tangled in all the right ways, shaping each other in quiet, everyday moments. Oscar wouldn't be who he is without his Y/n, and the same goes for her. What they had felt like it was lifted straight from a fairytale—but not the perfect, polished kind. It was the kind with scraped knees, shared secrets, and laughter over nothing. Two innocent kids who didn’t realize that all those little moments were slowly leading them to something bigger. To love. The kind that felt inevitable.

It was like they were fated to be each others company.

...

When Oscar started racing, Y/n was alongside him— cheering him on in the sidelines. Always proud to see him reach for the sky and landing the dream he longed for.

You were beyond happy when his talents were discovered— his reputation sky rocketed in an instant. With each milestones that Oscar gained you were always there— giving him nothing but endless love and support.

But they say the good cannot coexist without the bad.

Like every story touched by magic, there’s always a storm that follows the calm. You just never expect it to hit as hard as it does. One moment, everything feels untouched, golden—and then suddenly, it doesn’t. The silence gets louder. The distance creeps in. And before you know it, you're left standing in the wreckage, wondering how something so good could break so quietly. Wondering if you ever really mattered in the way you thought you did. Questioning your place in his world, like maybe you were just passing through—while he was your entire map.

It broke you in ways you didn’t know were possible—to watch something so carefully built fall apart without warning. Years of shared memories, inside jokes, and quiet trust, all crumbling under the weight of unspoken words and arguments that never really had a point. It wasn’t one big moment, just a slow unraveling. And that’s what hurt the most. Not the shouting, not the silence—but the way it ended like it meant nothing, when to you, it meant everything.

...

Years have gone by, You were living… but were you really? Or were you just existing, moving through the days with a version of yourself that never fully came back after him? Because some goodbyes don’t echo right away—they linger, quietly, in the spaces where love used to live.

You were there present times but your mind just wonders back to the past. A past you swore you moved on from.

Whenever you scroll through your phone— headlines of him passes by... just like the memories you locked up. Clouding your mind with endless possibilities of what should have been and shouldn't have.

Seeing him happy and fine without you was tearing you apart.

...

Days later, your friend begged you to come with her to a Formula 1 event. You said no at first—too many memories, too much risk of running into him. The thought alone made your chest tighten. But she insisted, said you needed a change of scenery, something to pull you out of your head.

So there you were, standing beside her in a dress that hugged you just right, the kind you wouldn’t normally wear. The wind danced through your hair, engines roared in the distance, and for a moment, you almost forgot why your heart felt so heavy. Almost. Because even in a crowd that big, part of you was still scanning for the one face you weren’t ready to see—but couldn’t stop hoping you would.

"Are you having fun y/n/n?" Your friend asked, smiling as she examined your tensed features.

You nodded lightly, contemplating whether or not to share your fleeting feelings with her.

She hummed in response as she took a sip on her drink, paying no mind at your not so obvious anxious state.

After a while, the drivers began to roll in, the announcer's voice echoing as each name was called. Cameras zoomed in on each passing figure, but your world slowed down, your heart skipping when they finally called his name. Time seemed to freeze as the crowd cheered, and for a moment, it was like everything else disappeared. All you could hear was the rush of your own heartbeat, the echo of his name ringing in your ears.

You looked away immediately as soon as you took a glance at him. The growing feeling in your heart becoming heavier as you saw a glimpse.

Oscar smiled across the room, unbeknownst to him that you were only a mere meters away from him.

Your eyes couldn’t help but follow him, even when you didn’t want to. You saw how effortlessly happy he was, laughing and smiling with everyone around him. That smile—one you once knew so well—was the same one you had watched fade away when things between you two fell apart.

And then it came—the moment you’d been dreading all night. His eyes finally met yours, and with every passing second, his grin slowly shifted into a frown as your gaze locked.

You looked away, not wanting to feel the heavy pain that came with his eyes. The weight in your chest felt like it might suffocate you, but you fought it off, pushing back the ache. Your focus shifted to something—anything else. The crowd, the noise, the cars racing in the distance—but it was all just background noise now, like everything was happening in slow motion.

For a moment, you thought maybe you'd escape the hurt, but then you felt a tap on your shoulder. You turned, almost startled, to find your friend watching you closely. She knew you too well. "You good?" she asked, her voice soft but firm, like she already knew the answer.

You nodded almost instantly. The beat on your heart not resting. "I uhm i am just.. tired yeah tired." You quipped back.

She looked at you knowingly, her eyes catching the tension in your face—your brows knitted together, your chest rising and falling with each shallow breath, and the slight crack in your voice. It was a habit you had whenever stress hit, and she’d seen it enough times to recognize it instantly.

"Want to go home now?" she asked softly, her voice gentle but carrying the weight of everything unsaid.

You didn’t even hesitate. The weight of the night, the memories, and the sudden rush of emotions all became too much to bear. You nodded, your throat tight as you forced a small, thankful smile.

"Yeah," you whispered, "I think I do."

She didn’t ask anything more, just nodded in understanding, guiding you away from the noise and toward the exit. As you walked, it felt like you were shedding a part of yourself with every step—walking away from a past that had once meant everything to you.

His gaze followed you until you were swallowed by the crowd, the space between you growing wider with each step. He stood there, frozen for a moment, unsure of what to do with the flood of emotions that suddenly hit him. There was a tightness in his chest, an ache he couldn’t shake. He had always been able to read you—knew when something was wrong, even before you said a word—but now, seeing you walk away like that, he felt a sense of helplessness.

He wanted to run after you, to apologize, to fix whatever had broken between you, but the thought of reaching out only felt like a step too late. The moment passed, and all he could do was watch, his heart heavy with regret, as you disappeared into the night.

...

The next morning you woke up like normal— did your usual morning routine but with an unexpected bombarding text from none other than him.

Your hands seem to shake as you reached down to open your phone. You were scared to read what it contained— hesitantly you opened his text.

Oscar [3:43 AM]: i know im probably the last person u wanna hear from right now but i can’t stop thinking about u i saw u today. u looked beautiful. like always. and it hit me all over again i messed up. i know that i was stupid, and i let u walk away without saying what i needed to say can we meet? please just talk. just once i’m sorry y/n. for everything.

You stared at your phone, the screen glowing in the room. His name sat at the top of the message, your heart pounding harder with each word you read. A part of you wanted to cry. Another part wanted to scream. And somewhere deep down, beneath all the hurt, was a quiet voice that still missed him.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, the words forming in your head but never making it to the screen. You locked your phone instead, tossing it gently onto the bed like it might burn you if you held on too long.

You needed time to breathe. To think. Because the wound was still there, barely healing—and reopening it now felt like risking everything all over again.

...

It had been three days since the message. Three days of pacing, rereading, overthinking. But in the end, something in you gave in—not because you were ready, but because a part of you still needed closure. Or maybe hope.

You agreed to meet at a quiet café tucked away from the buzz of the city, the kind of place no one would recognize either of you. You sat by the window, fingers curled around a warm cup, trying to steady your nerves as the minutes ticked by.

Then the door opened.

You didn’t need to look up to know it was him. You felt it—the shift in the air, the way your heartbeat quickened without warning. And when you finally did glance up, there he was. A little tired, a little messy, like sleep hadn’t come easy. But his eyes locked onto yours like they never forgot the way back.

He walked over slowly, uncertain. “Hey,” he said, voice low.

You gave a small nod, unsure of what to say, unsure if anything could ever really fix what had been broken—but you were here. And so was he. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough to start with.

He slid into the seat across from you, eyes scanning your face like he was trying to read the time that passed between you. You sat in silence for a few seconds, the quiet louder than it should’ve been.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” he said, voice a little hoarse.

You shrugged, keeping your gaze steady. “Neither did I.”

He gave a dry chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was drunk when I sent that. But… everything I said—I meant it.”

You looked down at your drink, fingers tracing the rim of the cup. “You always seem to mean things too late, Oscar.”

That stung. You saw it in the way he looked down, his jaw tightening. “I know. I know I hurt you. I was stupid, and I let everything fall apart like it didn’t matter. But it did. You mattered. You still do.”

Your heart twisted. God, part of you wanted to believe him. To rewind everything. But the other part? The one that carried the weight of every sleepless night, every moment you felt like a ghost in his world—that part kept you grounded.

“I’m not here because I forgot what happened,” you said softly. “I’m here because I don’t want to wonder anymore. I need to know if there’s something still worth holding onto… or if I should finally let it all go.”

He leaned forward, eyes pleading. “Then let me prove it. I don’t want to be the storm that ruined you. I want to be the calm after it.”

You didn’t answer right away. You just looked at him, really looked at him—and for the first time in a long while, he looked like he meant it.

You let his words hang in the air for a while, unsure if the ache in your chest came from hearing what you’d always wanted—or fearing it wasn’t enough anymore.

“I don’t know if I can go back to how things were,” you finally said, voice barely above a whisper. “Too much has changed. I’ve changed.”

He nodded, his expression gentle but weighed down with guilt. “I don’t want to go back. I want to start from where we are now. Even if it’s slow. Even if you’re unsure. I just… want a chance.”

You looked at him again—really looked. He wasn’t the boy you grew up with, or the one who broke your heart. He was someone in between now. Bruised by life. Regretful. Human.

You exhaled, your chest rising and falling with a strange mix of relief and sadness. “Then don’t say things you don’t plan to follow through with this time.”

“I won’t,” he said quickly, earnestly. “Not again.”

For the first time that evening, a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips. Not out of happiness, not quite—but out of possibility.

“Okay,” you said softly. “One step at a time.”

He smiled, just a little. And this time, it didn’t feel like a distant memory—it felt like something new.

...

Six months later

It didn’t happen overnight.

There were awkward silences, hesitant conversations, and days when the past felt heavier than the present. But there was effort—real, intentional effort. Oscar showed up. Consistently. Whether it was texts just to check in, coffee left at your door, or quiet walks where no one needed to say much—he was there.

You started laughing again. The real kind. The one that filled a room without trying.

He learned how to be patient. You learned how to forgive—not just him, but yourself too.

There were no grand gestures or movie-worthy speeches. Just small, honest moments stitched together over time. A touch on your hand that lingered a little longer. A shared memory that no longer hurt to revisit. A night spent talking about everything and nothing until you both fell asleep on the couch.

And one morning, as sunlight spilled through the window and your head rested on his chest, you realized something.

You were happy.

Not the naïve kind of happy you once were, but the quiet, steady kind that came after the storm. The kind that knew what it was like to lose—and chose, day after day, to stay anyway.

He looked down at you, brushing your hair back gently. “You know,” he whispered, “I think we’re finally okay.”

You smiled, fingers tracing lazy shapes along his arm. “Yeah,” you whispered back, eyes fluttering shut. “We are.”

And for the first time in a long time, it felt like the ending you both deserved—no longer a fairytale, but something even better.

Something real.

...

One Year Later.

The entire weekend had built up to this moment. The pressure, the anticipation, the sweat. But when the checkered flag waved and the world seemed to slow down, it didn’t matter anymore.

Oscar had done it.

P1.

The crowd was roaring, the team was shouting, and the pit crew was cheering as if the whole world had exploded in celebration. But amidst all of that, Oscar wasn’t looking at any of them.

He was looking for you.

He tore off his helmet, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He wasn’t interested in the reporters or the flashing cameras. His eyes were on the one person who had been there from the very beginning.

You.

The moment his gaze locked onto yours, he broke free from the chaos. Pushing past everyone, he sprinted across the track, his heart racing as fast as his car had. The cheers of the crowd faded into the background, the only sound he could hear was the pounding of his feet on the pavement, and the thudding of his heart.

When he finally reached you, there was no hesitation. His arms were around you in an instant, pulling you into him as if he couldn’t bear the thought of being apart, even for another second.

And then, without a word, he kissed you.

It was a kiss that was years in the making—fueled by everything you’d been through, every moment of doubt, every argument, every quiet night spent holding onto each other in the aftermath of pain. But this kiss wasn’t about the past. It was about the future. About all the promises you’d made to one another in whispers and in silence.

He kissed you like he had just won everything that mattered.

“I did it,” he breathed, forehead pressed against yours as he pulled back, still holding you close. “We did it.”

You smiled, your fingers tracing the outline of his jaw, still trying to process the reality of what had just happened. “You’re incredible,” you whispered.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” he said, his voice filled with emotion. “You were always here, even when I didn’t deserve it.”

The crowd was still cheering, the cameras flashing, but in that moment, it felt like it was just the two of you, standing there on the track, the rest of the world waiting for the celebration.

But to Oscar, this moment—this kiss, this feeling—was the victory that mattered most.

[vexedcoast]

THREE'S A CROWD

summary: caitvi want info from reader, who works in a brothel in zaun. but as soon as they meet the reader, they forget about their entire reason for visiting you.

a/n: need them to do unspeakable things to me . p with plot this time ( everyone clap ). arf arf 🐶

content warning / description: caitvi x reader , dom!caitvi, and sub!reader. afab reader. pet names ( caitlyn — mommy, miss, vi — daddy, sir, reader — princess, bunny, good girl, pet, toy, sweet thing ). collar wear. reader works at a brothel in zaun. hexstrap(s) that reader takes like a champ. pretty lengthy discussions around consent and kinks. ithink that's it (?).

the last place caitlyn and violet expected to be again was the brothel in zaun — but sleuthing calls . what better place to get information than a business built by bricks of secrets ? each room, a carefully constructed fantasy . a place where lies held far more value than any coins or bills . the hard part was finding the right informant — the one who would take kindly to being bribed and bought .

both of you, together or separate? the owner couldn't help but hide her curiosity at the pair — the taller of the couple with a hand wrapped around vi's waist like a vice .

together, please. with a woman. caitlyn spoke with a confidence that left no room for other unnecessary comments. she slid a coin bag that nearly made the owner spit out her drink. did she even know how much this cost? it certainly wasn't that much. but the keeper accepted nonetheless. she pulled out a book, opening it carefully, looking through the women in her care — sliding her finger down the list until it reached yours. she stated your pseudo name — and your number but alerted them to stay there while she discussed the matter with you.

violet shifted her body, leaning against the counter — fingers dancing over the desk in a rather nervous fashion . what if this was a bad idea? what if this led to nothing? what if all that happened made her jealous beyond belief? watching another woman touch caitlyn? how would caitlyn feel if you touched vi? it made her more nervous than she'd care to admit.

caitlyn could feel vi's anxiety like a fog on a sunny morning — it was obvious. her hand wrapped around the other's waist, tugging her back to her arms with little to no resistance. hugging the woman's back to her chest.

calm down, we don't need to do anything we don't want. she doesn't either. say the word, and we're gone, yeah? caitlyn's lips pressed to her ear — whispering ever so softly, teeth grazing against her skin before taking a small ( tiny ) bite . violet seemed to relax, shifting her bodyweight back to her feet rather than the counter.

after a few minutes, the owner returned — a little paper in hand . she requires her safe word to be tango. she wants you to know that she . . does not enjoy giving out commands or . . being in charge. also, per house rules, no bags, backpacks, jackets, or belts of any kind are allowed in the private rooms. should any of the house or her rules be broken, she is within her reason to do anything necessary to get you out. understood?

vi and cait nodded, noting every little thing down in their heads. the house rules were once again presented, long — pointed nails jabbing at each and every instruction, mouthing them off in an almost robotic fashion. they clearly weren't the only ones given this speech.

finally, they found the room — stripping off jackets, belts, and bags at the entrance, placing them in a locker nearby. beyond the door, and pink shimmering curtain lie you in almost nonchalant relaxed position on the couch. ever so carefully blowing on your painted nails — turning your head as soon as you heard the bell jingle.

"When she said there was a couple here for me, I was hoping it wasn't another man — but I was pleasantly surprised to hear that it would be both of you."

your voice was soft, almost like a cotton cloud on a sunny day — a smile that could knock the wind out of anyone walking by. you were in a pink nightgown, a meshy thin fabic leaving just enough to the imagination.

"You can call me bunny, and you are. . ."

the nickname rolled off your tongue — no way in hell you would give out a real name . not here .

"vi . . and this is caitlyn."

you glanced between the pair, almost sizing them up . but that analytical face was quickly swiped by that too sweet smile once more. you stood, walking a bit closer — hand extending to caitlyn first, then to vi .

"And what exactly . . are you two wanting tonight? talk? company? or pleasure?"

your head tilted to the side, peering up at the two — your doe eyes blinking a few times in a rather docile manner despite the crude offer you'd just given. you paused for just a moment, lips pressing together.

violet could feel her heart racing — as did caitlyn . you were gorgeous, so sweet — so innocent submissive. pouting your lower lip up at them. perhaps jealousy wouldn't flare too high with you between them. neither of them moved — spoke for a little bit. flashes began in each of their minds, of the various ways they could bend you over, have you kneel, on their laps, — on your back. it was enough of a silence for you to know the answer to your question.

"You heard Cressa at the door. I'm not interested in bossing anyone around, I prefer to make myself far more useful in . . other ways. being used, within reason. say the words, and im yours."

your words were music to their ears — each taking a single step closer to you. but you continued,

"I have a table over there — everything is either new or sanitized . I didn't know what you preferred, so I got a little bit of everything out. they're all game."

you waved to a small coffee table lined with a variety of products. straps, floggers, cuffs, gags, collars, leashes, spreader bars, anything they could even think of was at their disposal. cait was the first to reach her hand out — grasping the harness for the strap. carefully peeling off her pants, but leaving her panties on for now. she stepped in as smoothly as she could - lest she stumble and fall in front of you ( how pathetic ). vi followed suit, stripping down to her boxers and tank top wrapped chest.

you couldn't hide the glimmer of excitement in your eyes, but refused to move. not until the pair expressed their desires.

"You didn't answer me. tell me what you want from me. consent goes both ways."

your hand snaps around cait's wrist as she walked closer to you.

"We want you, bunny. want you to be ours."

violet answered, tilting your chin up to look at them — nodding her head over to caitlyn who quickly replied,

"We want you to be our good bunny, can you do that for us?"

you couldn't hide the hitch in your breath — pupils dilating to triple their normal size. your smile softened, getting a bit smaller as you realized exactly what was going to happen tonight.

"Yes, I can."

your voice came out shaky, nearly squeaking. the change in their tones was jarring — from polite and somewhat nervous to commanding, confident within the blink of an eye. you couldn't help but feel your core begin to ache.

"Yes, Mommy."

cait corrected — sliding her wrist from your hand , brushing deft digits over your cheek. your heart was going to burst from your chest.

"Yes, Mommy."

you corrected almost instantly — eyes widening as you flickered your gaze between caitlyn and violet.

"Good girl."

the raspy, lower registered voice was cooed into your ear. When did vi get so close? you shuddered, nearly crumbling to pieces without even being touched. you weren't sure anyone had this effect on you before. sure, you typically enjoyed your clientele to an extent. but they were different. much different.

"Why don't you get on your knees and put that pretty mouth to good use on daddy's strap, hm?"

caitlyns voice was softer, much more gentle than vi's. you nodded, sliding down to your knees without even saying one word. you looked so cute, folding instantly for them, caitlyn thought. your hands were ever so gently held in place behind your back, caitlyns chin resting on your shoulder.

vi almost whimpered at the sight of you two. caitlyn restraining your pretty wrists, your lips parting ever so slightly from anticipation. maybe she could get more used to this. sure, they both considered themselves both dominant and submissive, but the pair both were able to dominate? yeah, she could get used to this.

a scarred palm made its way to your hair, bruised fingers knitting into the loose curls . a whine caught in your throat as your core began to stir once more. desperate, needy. you had to truly concentrate in order to not try and find relief by rubbing your thighs together.

"C'mon bunny."

vi urged — but before the last syllable came out, your tongue darted out. lips opening and sliding your mouth slowly down the length of the strap. eyes instinctually flickering up to vi, who still had a heavy hand on your hair - guiding you up and down. you could hear caitlyn behind you, nearly cooing at you. she takes you so well, vi. look how she's drooling.

the encouragement only made you more eager. but vi forced you to go slow, ever so gently taking inch by inch. shh, we have all night. don't want to hurt that pretty throat, we wanna hear all the cute noises you make. violet crooned, ever so gently sliding the strap farther down your throat.

as soon as it hit the back of your throat, you gagged. caitlyn chuckled, tracing her hands under your lingerie dress — skilled fingers brushing over your nipples, sharp nails scraping over the already erect buds. oh she's so sensitive. so needy hm? you like sucking on daddy's strap while mommy touches you? vi, let her breathe. caitlyn hummed in that sweet yet commanding tone. the strap instantly pulled out of your throat, but slow — as to not let you gag even more.

"Yes, I do, Mommy. please — want more."

oh, how precious your voice sounded, desperate and whiny. poor thing. so desperate. your eyes filled with tears – fuck, you werent sure if you were pretending to love it or if you actually were. your thoughts were interrupted before you could decipher the feelings.

"Strip for us, slow."

you stood — feeling all four hands leave your body. ever so gently, your fingers began to wiggle down the straps of your night gown one by one. your movements were precise, like a choreographed dance. the fabric, after several beats, fell to the ground — leaving you in nothing but your bare skin.

vi and caitlyn both let out a variation of groans. your entire face went red. you were nervous, which never happened. not in this line of work.

"Get on the bed, sit on your knees."

vi's orders were quite stern, grasping your forearms to help you off of the soft carpet. her muscles flexing as she easily lifted you from the ground, like lifting a feather with her finger. you made your way to the bed, a plush pink set of sheets to match the rest of the room.

the couple followed you like lionesses stalking their prey — caitlyn grabbing something off of the little table of toys. you didn't have enough time to see what it was, feeling caitlyn snapping a collar in place. the chain tinging gently in her hand — tugging a bit to test the sturdiness. this alone made you keen, not able to stop yourself from rubbing your thighs together.

"You want to be ours bunny? c'mon, sit on my lap — all the way down."

caitlyn's hands dug into your hips — helping to guide you onto her strap , cooing as you whimpered. vi stepped closer — squatting down to take in every square inch of your expression. she held your chin in her fingers once more, grinning like a wild animal as she watched caitlyn sink you onto her strap.

"Good girl, taking mommy's cock so well bunny. are you a good little bunny for us? so eager hm?"

vi laughed — lips pressing to yours for just a moment before her fingers hooked into the collar around your neck. she tugged at the loop, smirking as the name plate jingled. you felt your eyes roll back — they hadn't even touched you yet.

" Answer daddy's question, bunny. and beg for it."

one of her hands shifted from your hips to wrapping around your throat — forcing you to look back up at vi.

"yes, please i want her cock so badly. need to be fucked stupid — need to be bred by both of you. please, please, please."

you were shocked you could make out any sort of noise with all the attention on you — let alone a proper sentence. tears pricked in your eyes as you felt caitlyn begin to tease your entrance with the tip, not quite giving you the satisfaction just yet.

"What do you think, vi? think she deserves it?"

vi didn't respond verbally, merely shoving you all the way down onto the strap. you yelped — eyes flashing open wide with surprise. you felt tears begin falling, pouring over your rosy cheeks and down your neck. but neither of them let you move nor moved themselves. letting you at least adjust for a few beats. you could feel your walls fluttering around caitlyn — dripping.

"Oh, atta girl, look at you tremble. so cute, hm?"

you weren't even sure who's voice was whispering in your ear. you began to move your thighs without thinking twice — but they didn't seem to mind your initiative. vi put her thumb between your lips, which you begsn to suck and lick without thinking. god, how easily they had reduced you to a dripping, crying mess. this was your job, and here you were being passed around like a toy — but fuck, you loved every second of it.

vi and caitlyn moved in tandem, perfectly synced with one another. though, vi's thumb instantly found your clit with ease. you could only whimper in response. such a mess, such a cute little pet you were. so desperate for attention. such a good girl.

"Tell daddy how it feels. tell me how good mommys cock feels inside your pretty pussy and how it feels to have me touching your pretty clit."

vi took her thumb from your mouth — standing up from her crouched position. she slapped the tip of her strap against your lips.

"she feels so good so deep inside me — love her using my pussy—,"

"your pussy? you mean our pussy."

caitlyn snapped — pulling all the way out of you, then plunged you back down — a punishing pace being set before you could protest.

"m'sorry, mommy. feels so good when you use me — fuck. daddy's finger on my clit —— I'm close."

vi tapped your lips once more, seemingly satisfied with that answer. you took her down your throat once more without hesitation. she groaned — rocking her strap into you at the same pace as caitlyn was stretching you open.

"don't fucking cum. not without our permission."

caitlyn spat — going harder, but slowing down her movements. the swift change was enough to knock the wind out of you. you tearily nodded and moaned around the strap. drooling so badly, you thought you might gag. your gaze snapped from vi to cait's reflection in the mirror.

they continued relentlessly, tugging on your collar or pulling down your hips. it felt like hours. it was so fucking hard to contain yourself.

"you can cum, you can cum."

it felt like your prayers had been answered. vi pulled out, ensuring that your voice could be heard as you cane. you let out a soft sob, moaning — squealing out fuck mommy, fuck daddy feels so good until your throat grew barren and dry.

as you finished, you felt caitlyn pull you back to her chest, she looked back up at vi — grinning from ear to ear.

"you'll have to wait till next time for daddy's cock bunny."

vi promised, helping caitlyn slowly pull the strap out of you — god her muscles were so fucking big —. your poor head was nearly empty, it took you a few seconds to process her words.

"I can take more."

you sounded pathetic — desperate for more. but caitlyn was quick to shush you, gently undoing the harness around her waist then your collar. vi began to clean up, throwing sheets and the like into a small bin next to the door. she found a blanket, softly wrapping it around your shaking body.

"we'll be back for you — just relax. you were such a good girl for the both of us."

caitlyn brushed some of your damp hair strands away from your face, placing gentle kisses to your forehead. vi moved in as well, kissing your cheek.

"did so well, bunny. you need rest before taking me. we'll come back for you. don't worry, bunny."

her voice was enough to lull you to a soft sleep, the pair of them leaving soon after ensuring you were safe and calm. the room was organized, you were curled up, and your things were returned to proper order.

"we'll be back in a week — same time, same girl."

caitlyn slid across a deposit — unable to hide a grin as the owner of the brothel rolled her eyes. she knew they'd need more.

[urdreamydoodles]

X-MEN x FEM!READER

X-Men with a S/O who is shy and has social anxiety

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, Rogue, Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff, Hank McCoy, Emma Frost, Laura Kinney & Wade Wilson

Logan Howlett (Wolverine)

- Logan is a storm, a hurricane contained in flesh and steel, and yet—he softens for you. You, who tread lightly in a world that feels too loud, too sharp. You, who flinch at attention, who hide behind the safety of silence. He doesn’t ask you to be louder. He just makes sure no one drowns you out.

- He has seen too much, lost too much, but your quiet presence is the one thing that stills the restless beast inside him. When your hands shake, he catches them in his own—warm, steady, calloused from wars you will never have to fight. He doesn’t say much, but then again, neither do you. That’s why it works.

- If someone mocks your silence, Logan doesn’t waste words. He just looks at them, eyes dark with something primal, something ancient. “You got somethin’ you wanna say?” His voice is quiet, but the threat is thunderous. No one ever says anything after that.

- When the world is too much, when your anxiety grips you in invisible chains, he pulls you close, his heartbeat steady against your ear. “Breathe, darlin’,” he mutters, voice rough but impossibly gentle. And you do—because he is an anchor, and he is yours.

- He does not call you fragile, though others might. Fragile things break—he has seen you bend, but never shatter. And when he kisses you, slow and reverent, he tastes the quiet fire in you, the one you don’t even know you have.

Remy LeBeau (Gambit)

- Remy is a poet wrapped in mischief, a man whose silver tongue could charm the moon from the sky. He has danced through danger, whispered promises into the night, but he has never met anyone who made him want to whisper softer, until you.

- Your shyness is a puzzle to him, one he doesn’t try to solve but simply admires. Where others fill silence with empty words, Remy listens. And when you struggle to find your own words, he waits. Because, chérie, he has all the time in the world for you.

- If someone tries to mock your quietness, Remy just laughs—low and slow, like he knows a secret they don’t. He leans in close to them, eyes glinting red beneath the shadows. “Funny, how the ones who talk the most tend to be the least important.” That shuts them up real fast.

- He makes it his mission to draw you out, but never forcefully. He teases, flirts, turns every interaction into a game where you always win. And when you finally laugh, finally let yourself meet his gaze without hesitation, he swears he falls in love all over again.

- When your anxiety flares, when your hands shake and words tangle, he just presses a kiss to your knuckles and murmurs, “Ain’t no rush, chérie. Take all the time you need.” And for the first time, you believe that maybe, just maybe, you are worth waiting for.

Kurt Wagner (Nightcrawler)

- Kurt understands the weight of being different. He has spent years learning to navigate a world that looks at him and sees something other. So when you shrink from the crowd, when your voice trembles in the presence of too many eyes, he does not judge. He understands.

- He never pushes you to be louder. Instead, he offers the comfort of his presence—always there, always patient. When you hesitate to speak, he smiles, waits, gives you all the time in the world. If words fail you, he speaks for you, in that gentle, accented voice that feels like home.

- If anyone ever mocks your quietness, his golden eyes darken. “Perhaps you should learn the virtue of silence yourself,” he says, voice as sharp as a blade. And then he vanishes in a cloud of smoke, reappearing behind them just to watch them jump.

- He finds ways to make you feel safe in a world that often feels too large. Holding your hand as you walk through crowds, teleporting you away when your anxiety becomes too much, whispering soft reassurances in German when you tremble.

- And when the night is quiet, when you curl up beside him and sigh against his chest, he holds you close, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Du bist perfekt, liebling,” he murmurs. Perfect, just as you are.

Scott Summers (Cyclops)

- Scott understands control—he has spent his entire life mastering it. But when he meets you, he realizes that not everything needs to be controlled. Some things—some people—are meant to be cherished exactly as they are.

- He notices the way you hesitate before speaking, the way your hands tremble when too many people look your way. And so, he makes sure no one ever forces you to be more than you are comfortable being. He does not push, does not pry. He simply stands beside you, unwavering.

- If someone dares to mock your shyness, his voice is like steel. “That’s enough.” No raised tone, no unnecessary anger—just quiet authority, a command that demands obedience. And it works. It always works.

- He is structure where you are uncertainty, certainty where you are hesitation. When your anxiety feels too heavy, he steadies you, an unshakable foundation in a world that feels like shifting sand.

- At night, when the world is still and you are curled up beside him, he presses a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead. “You don’t have to change for anyone,” he murmurs against your skin. And you know, in the deepest part of you, that he means it.

Jean Grey (Phoenix)

- Jean is warmth, is kindness, is the gentle strength of a woman who has walked through fire and emerged unburned. She sees you—not just the way the world sees you, but truly sees you, beneath the layers of hesitation and anxiety. And she loves you all the more for it.

- She never speaks for you, but she always makes sure you are heard. When you struggle to find words, she waits. When your anxiety tells you that your voice does not matter, she reminds you—gently, lovingly—that it does.

- If someone ever mocks your quietness, Jean does not raise her voice. She does not need to. She simply tilts her head, and the offender suddenly forgets why they were speaking in the first place. Perhaps it is telepathy. Perhaps it is the sheer force of her presence. Either way, they never make the mistake again.

- When your anxiety becomes overwhelming, Jean does not try to pull you from it. Instead, she grounds you, her presence like sunlight breaking through the storm. “Breathe with me,” she whispers, and when she exhales, you do too.

- At night, when you are tangled together in sheets and soft whispers, she runs her fingers through your hair and murmurs, “You don’t have to be louder to be strong.” And you believe her, because when she speaks, the universe itself listens.

Ororo Munroe (Storm)

- Ororo Munroe is power incarnate, a goddess who commands the skies, yet she never seeks to command you. She has seen tempests rage within the human heart, has seen the way the world can be unkind to those who walk softly. And so, she offers you shelter, the kind of protection that does not smother but instead allows you to breathe.

- She does not rush your words, does not fill the silence with unnecessary noise. Instead, she listens. Listens to the soft-spoken truths you dare to utter, listens to the way your heart speaks louder than your voice ever could. And she cherishes every syllable, every pause, because they are yours.

- If someone ever dares to mock your quietness, Ororo does not raise her voice. She does not need to. The sky darkens, the wind stills, and the world itself seems to wait for her judgment. “I would advise you to tread carefully,” she says, voice like distant thunder. And they do. They always do.

- When your anxiety threatens to drown you, when the world feels too heavy, she reminds you that even the most powerful storms must rest. She takes your hand and leads you outside, where the breeze is soft and the sky open. “Breathe with the wind, my love,” she murmurs. And you do. Because with her, you are safe.

- At night, when the world is quiet and you are curled beside her, she traces her fingers along your skin, like wind dancing across water. “You are strong,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Not because you are loud. Not because you are fearless. But because you are you.

Anna Marie (Rogue)

- Rogue understands isolation better than most. She knows what it is to feel like you don’t belong, to be wary of touch, of attention, of the weight of others’ expectations. So when you flinch from crowds, when your voice catches in your throat, she never judges. She just holds out her hand—gloved, patient, steady.

- She is fire and defiance, unbreakable and untamed, but for you, she softens. When you struggle to meet others’ eyes, she meets yours first, a silent reassurance that she is here. When your voice trembles, she makes sure no one talks over you. And if they do, well—she’s got a sharp tongue and a mean right hook.

- If anyone dares to mock your shyness, she doesn’t hesitate. “Y’know,” she drawls, tilting her head, “some of us don’t gotta be loud to be worth listenin’ to.” And then she smiles, slow and dangerous. “But I can be real loud if ya want.” They always back down.

- She helps you in ways you don’t even realize. Holding your hand when the room feels too big, leading conversations so you don’t have to, standing in front of you when the world demands too much. She makes space for you, without ever making you feel small.

- At the end of the day, when it’s just the two of you, she holds you close, her accent softer, her touch lighter. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with bein’ quiet, sugar,” she murmurs against your hair. And when she kisses you, you believe her.

Erik Lehnsherr (Magneto)

- Erik Lehnsherr is a force of nature, a man who bends metal and willpower alike, yet with you—he is gentle. You, who speak in whispers where others shout. You, who hesitate where others rush forward. You are the only thing in his life that is not a battle, and that is something he treasures more than he can say.

- He does not ask you to be anything more than you are. In a world that demands strength in volume, he finds strength in your quiet presence. Where others might mistake your silence for weakness, he knows better. He knows that steel does not need to be loud to be unbreakable.

- If anyone mocks you, his fury is a quiet, smoldering thing. He does not need to raise his voice; he simply looks at them, and suddenly, their belt buckles tighten, their watches snap from their wrists. “I would choose your next words carefully,” he says. They never finish their sentence.

- He is protective, but never overbearing. If the world becomes too much, he removes you from it. A hand at the small of your back, a whispered promise—“You do not need to endure what pains you. I will handle it.” And he does. He always does.

- At night, when he lets himself be vulnerable, when the weight of the world slips from his shoulders, he turns to you. He traces your cheek, his voice softer than anyone else would believe. “You are perfect as you are,” he murmurs. “And I will destroy anyone who makes you feel otherwise.”

Charles Xavier (Professor X)

- Charles Xavier is a man who hears everything, who knows the weight of unspoken thoughts and unshed fears. And yet, he never intrudes upon your mind. He waits, patient, always willing to listen—but never demanding. Because he knows how precious it is to be given words freely.

- He notices the way your anxiety grips you, how you hesitate before speaking, how the world feels too large, too loud. And so, he makes space for you. In conversations, in gatherings, in life itself. He ensures you are never drowned out, never overlooked.

- If someone dares to belittle you, his response is quiet but absolute. “The strongest minds are often the most contemplative,” he says, his gaze steady, his presence commanding. And in that moment, the world seems to agree with him.

- He teaches you how to breathe through the panic, how to find stillness in chaos. When your hands shake, he takes them in his own, his touch steady, reassuring. “You are not alone,” he tells you, and with him, you believe it.

- When the night is dark and the silence is overwhelming, he pulls you close, his voice like a lullaby. “You are extraordinary,” he whispers against your hair. And with him, you know it to be true.

Emma Frost (The White Queen)

- Emma Frost is diamond—hard, unyielding, untouchable. And yet, with you, she is warmth where the world expects ice. She is silk where others expect steel. Because you, with your hesitant words and careful steps, are the one thing she allows herself to be soft for.

- She never forces you to speak, never pushes you into the spotlight. Instead, she makes sure no one overlooks you. If someone talks over you, she silences them with a single, perfectly arched brow. If someone underestimates you, she makes sure they regret it.

- If anyone mocks you, Emma doesn’t even blink. “How tragic,” she sighs, inspecting her nails. “Some people mistake volume for importance.” And then, with the barest hint of a smirk—“Would you like to forget how to speak entirely?” They never bother you again.

- When your anxiety is overwhelming, when the world feels too sharp, she takes your hand and leads you away. A quiet space, a soft touch, her voice low against your ear. “You do not have to fight every battle. Let me handle this.” And she does. With ruthless precision.

- At night, when it’s just the two of you, she presses a kiss to your forehead, her lips warm against your skin. “You don’t need to be anything but yourself,” she murmurs. And coming from Emma Frost, that is the highest form of love.

Wanda Maximoff (Scarlet Witch)

- Wanda is no stranger to feeling like she doesn’t belong, to feeling like the world does not know what to do with her presence. So when she meets you—quiet, hesitant, weighed down by a war no one else can see—she understands. She does not ask you to be different. She simply lets you exist, exactly as you are.

- She senses your discomfort before you even speak it, feels the way your heart stammers in a crowded room, how your thoughts spiral when too many eyes are on you. And so, she stands beside you like a shield woven from whispers and stardust, her very presence anchoring you. She lets you speak only when you are ready. And if you are not, she speaks for you.

- If someone ever mocks your quietness, Wanda does not waste words. She merely tilts her head, a flicker of red dancing at her fingertips. “Careful,” she says softly, her voice a lullaby with teeth. “Thoughts have a way of slipping, and I might just pluck yours out.” They never mock you again.

- When your anxiety suffocates you, when you feel like you might collapse beneath the weight of your own mind, Wanda takes your hands, her fingers warm against yours. “Close your eyes,” she whispers. And suddenly, your thoughts slow, like a tide retreating. The world does not feel so terrifying when she is near.

- At night, she traces patterns against your skin, a silent spell only the two of you will ever understand. “You are safe,” she murmurs, her lips against your temple. “You are enough.” And when she pulls you close, it feels like you are wrapped in the very fabric of the universe itself.

Pietro Maximoff (Quicksilver)

- Pietro moves too fast for the world, but never too fast for you. He notices when your breathing hitches, when your hands tremble, when the world becomes too much. And in those moments, he slows. For you, he will always slow.

- He never pushes you into the spotlight, never asks you to be louder than you are. Instead, he stays close, his presence a constant hum of energy, an unspoken promise that you are not alone. And if you do speak? He listens. Fully, completely, as if your words are the only thing that matter.

- If someone dares to mock you, Pietro is gone before they finish their sentence. And when he returns, there’s a gust of wind, a smirk on his lips, and an unfamiliar weight in his hand. “I stole all their shoelaces,” he announces. “And their car keys. And, for fun, their dignity.”

- When your anxiety threatens to crush you, Pietro does not try to talk you out of it. He does not tell you to "calm down." Instead, he takes your hand and runs. Through city streets, through endless fields, through time itself if he must. “The world is bigger than your fear,” he whispers. And for a moment, you believe him.

- At night, he holds you like he is afraid you will slip through his fingers. “The world may be fast,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss against your hair, “but I will always stop for you.” And in his arms, you are not afraid of being left behind.

Hank McCoy (Beast)

- Hank McCoy is brilliance and kindness woven together, a man whose intellect is matched only by the depth of his heart. He does not simply tolerate your shyness—he cherishes it, as one cherishes a rare book, delicate and irreplaceable.

- He does not rush you, does not demand you speak when words do not come easily. Instead, he engages with you in the language of understanding, of patience. When the world is too loud, he sits beside you in silence, offering you the comfort of his presence.

- If someone ever dares to belittle you, Hank does not raise his voice. He merely adjusts his glasses, considers them for a long moment, and then proceeds to dismantle them with logic so devastating they are left questioning their very existence.

- When your anxiety grips you tight, when your thoughts spiral, Hank does not try to fix you. Instead, he wraps you in his warmth, in his steady voice, in the quiet reassurance that he is here. That he will always be here.

- At night, he reads to you in a voice like velvet, weaving words into lullabies. And when sleep finally comes, it is not fear that follows you into your dreams, but the sound of his heartbeat, steady and sure.

Laura Kinney (X-23)

- Laura Kinney does not need words to understand you. She does not need explanations, does not need you to fight to be understood. She simply knows.

- She stands beside you like a silent guardian, always near, always watching. If a room feels too crowded, she is the space between you and the world. If your voice shakes, she ensures no one talks over you.

- If someone mocks you, Laura does not speak. She simply tilts her head, her eyes cold, calculating. They realize their mistake before she even moves. And if they do not? Well. They won’t make it twice.

- She does not try to make you “brave.” She does not try to change you. She simply exists beside you, in a quiet partnership that needs no embellishment. With Laura, your silence is never a weakness. It is simply another way to exist.

- At night, when words feel unnecessary, she presses a kiss to your shoulder, her voice a whisper against your skin. “You are safe.” And somehow, you believe her.

Wade Wilson (Deadpool)

- Wade Wilson never stops talking, but for you, he will. He notices the way the world overwhelms you, the way your breath catches in crowded spaces. And in those moments, he dials himself down—not because you ask, but because he wants you to feel safe.

- He does not mock your shyness. In fact, he adores it. “You’re like a delicate little deer,” he tells you, resting his chin on your shoulder. “A beautiful, anxious, socially awkward deer. And I love you for it.”

- If someone insults you, Wade does not take it well. He doesn’t get angry—he gets creative. The next day, the offender finds their car covered in 500 rubber ducks, all superglued.

- When you feel like you are drowning in your own thoughts, Wade distracts you in the only way he knows how. Bad jokes, ridiculous stunts, a spontaneous trip to Paris because “croissants cure anxiety, probably.”

- At night, he holds you tighter than he ever holds his weapons. “You’re my favorite person,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours. “And I’ve met, like, EVERYONE.”

[satoruhour]

Can I request Toji x reader smut (established relationship) where Toji’s dick slips out and the reader puts it back in?

CAN’T BE OUT A SECOND LONGER !?

a/n: :3 / tagging @jabamin @kizoken @kentophilia @redskyvenus @screampied ✶

warnings: soft dom!toji, fem!reader, reader deep in sub space, slight daddy kink, implied oral (both f and m receiving), sex under the influence, unprotected p → v sex, pussy slapping, breeding / creampie kink, implied multiple rounds, n*sfw under the cut 

it’s simply too difficult seeing toji in proper attire, especially when he’s attending your brother’s wedding in a suit and tie, something he reserves for truly important events like these. otherwise, he’d just be in his sweatpants and compression shirt.

not that he didn’t look good in that — but it was eye-opening when he made the effort to get a suit jacket and waistcoat with a tie that matched your dress, hanging off his arm while you watch your brother go crazy on the dance floor.

“you okay there, doll?” his voice is soft over the booming sound system but you catch the concern laced in his words, knowing you had quite a few glasses of wine and mixed other types of liquor with the groom’s toast. “we can head back if you want.”

it’s all that you want but you want to do it discreetly, trailing a hand down his toned arm to twine your fingers with his. with a turned head toward him, you look up at him through your eyelashes.

“yeah . . let’s. i wanna—” toji isn’t fully sober either, the intoxication contributing to the blurriness of everyone else while your face stays in ultra focus; your exposed clavicle, your pouty lips. he can already feel himself getting semi-hard.

“you wanna what?”

you’re able to walk back to your hotel room, but with a giddy smile and laughter from your throat, pressing a firm hand against your lipsticked lips with a frown.

“no, not while you have alcohol in your body—”

you push his hand away, latching onto broad shoulders and making sure you appear as sober as you can to him, “what’s with a little alcohol, toji? you couldn’t find our floor in the elevator earlier either.”

teasing is your forte, moving a hand up and down his chest, over his waist, unbuttoning his waistcoat — and it’s true; toji’s a little gone as well, asking you a few more times until you’re shaking him by his lapels and telling him to “get naked already!”

that warrants a laugh from toji and he gives into you, definitely more open to drinking with you before you two get it on because he notices how everything just sends his skin ablaze: your mouth around his tip, his tongue slurping up your juices.

toji’s on cloud nine when you sink down on his cock, easing it into your waiting cunt after the many, many minutes of prep. your moans mingle with your boyfriend’s grunts, hyper aware of his hands that wrap around your waist to help you.

“cunt so t-tight, sweetheart, thought i stretched you out enough—” you’re silent, already half gone from the liquor in your body that it heightens your senses the same way it does to toji. with a hand, you guide him into you, whining softly at the small amount of pain it harbours.

“slow . . baby, don’t rush,” his words sound miles away when he speaks, eyes locked onto your bent body and your ass on display as you start to bottom out, “that’s it, you got it— good girl.” he maps out the line down your back, your tilted head, admiring you with one hand behind his head along the headboard; and when you start bouncing when he fully appreciates the high of whiskey.

the way your gummy walls hug his length, the fluttering your pussy does around his cock, the jiggle of your ass once you start moving — nothing compares to your moans though, hands forming marks on his thighs from how tightly you hold onto them. 

“t-toji . . nngh—” incoherent sentences leave your lips, every hump of your hips providing a little friction for your clit. “s’good, daddy . .”

“is it now?” toji hums at the nickname and smiles to himself, admiring the transparent webs of your cum that sticks to your ass and his pelvis. instinctively his hips move up to meet yours, chuckling deeply when you lurch forward and moan loudly at the way he splits you open, so much so that you can feel him against your cervix.

“you just stay there, baby, i’ll do the work,” he grunts out and stays true to his word, planting his feet down just so he can thrust up into you. your body moves with his, eyes rolling to the back of your head and legs spreading even more, but his hips are just too eager to feel your tight pussy around him that his cock slips out with a sloppy shlick.

your annoyed whine makes the other laugh again, but before he can reach forward to help you, you’re helping yourself, looking back at him dizzily and then to his pelvis, feeling around for his cock. you stroke it a few times and tap it against your folds, the dim lighting of the bedroom illuminating your skin and figure so perfectly. 

“oh, f-fuck— you’re giving daddy a show, hm?” he says, words just above a whisper, watching how your hips grind against him. but being turned away from him has you having a little more difficulty, tip slipping out every few times toji tries to ram into you and he watches in awe with every time you glance back at him through hooded lids and lolling tongue.

and every time you’re scrambling back to get his length into you, to trail his throbbing tip along your slit to stretch yourself out, to roll your hips with disgusting squelching noises that emphasised how needy you were.

“tojiii . .” you sob when it happens again and toji’s pleasantly surprised to see you close to crying, eyes welling with tears in frustration. you just want him close, but your body’s already too loopy and too fatigued to hold yourself up so toji pulls on you with a tsk.

“dramatic princess, c’mon, i got ya,” from here you can see just how much of a mess you made — juices smeared all over your inner thighs, cunt still leaking, “but i need you t’do somethin’ for me, yeah?”

you sigh as his arm wraps around your middle and his other pulls on your knee so one leg is pulled to your chest; a good enough position, as long as he could fuck you in it. “what is it?”

there’s a certain pout in your voice that he catches, “help daddy get his cock back in you, baby.”

“but—” 

“don’t worry,” toji soothes you with a kiss to your temple, adjusting you to properly accommodate you atop of body. not that he couldn’t handle your weight, oh, it was something he loved, but he only hopes you know what’s in store from the very first time you showed him how much you loved his cock in you that it almost brought you to tears.

he needs to see your focused face as you ease him into you, see that focused expression fall into pure ecstasy and a long, languid moan leave your lips as you totally surrender to him. you tick all the boxes soon after, reaching blindly for him while you both watch as you rub his pulsing dick along your sensitive clit; the other has to teasingly buck his hips to get your head back in the game.

“need to feel you ’round me, pretty girl, c’mon. don’t waste time,” he rasps out next to your ear, seeing the bite of your lip through his peripheral as you shamelessly whine at the entrance, sounds coming to a halt when you’re halfway through his length, and then a beautiful arch of your back when your boyfriend bottoms out in you.

“t-toji— mmgh—!”

“use your big girl words, baby.”

but he starts moving and you simply can’t, each vein, each twitch of his cock you can feel it with your sopping pussy as the room starts to smell like sex and sweat. toji holds both your legs, now, making sure you have a clear view of his hips fucking up into yours and relishes in how he’s already rendered you speechless.

“makin’ ya feel good? huh?”

“y-yeah . . daddy . . you feel so fucking g-good,” you barely manage to speak, not noticing the slight stutter he has when the nickname falls from your lips, but you do notice when his pace becomes regular and faster, panting out when your hand starts to rub at your clit. every slap of his pelvis against yours is like a reminder of toji’s overpowering strength over you, holding you up so easily, back curved to fit into his front perfectly.

“you feel so goddamn good too, princess,” he breaths out, feeling your rub circles into your clit and his eyes zone in on how his cock moves in and out of your cunt, taking him so nicely and pliantly that he feels his heart swell, “you know i can never get enough of y’r pussy.”

your heart and pussy pounds harder at that, fully letting your head rest along his shoulder while your body rocks limply along with his thrusts. toji can’t resist giving you kisses along your jawline, sending even more shivers down your whole body before he asks something of you.

“slap your pussy for me, doll,” he grunts into your ear and instantly feels you clench, able to feel his smile against your jawline, “so, soo filthy, just f’me.” you nod, each breath you take a moment of anticipation with someone as gruff but gentle as toji.

“now, spank it.” you obey, giving your pussy a few timid slaps until he releases one leg and shows you how it’s done — harsh, rough slaps against your clit that sends jolts of electricity, and your legs shake in his hold. his laugh is just sadistic, but you love every moment of it, even more so when he spanks your pussy again.

that paired with the noisy pap! pap! pap! sounds of skin slapping has your eyes rolling into your skull together with a convulsing body, not even able to give toji a proper warning before his hand lands on your core on a particularly hard spank and you’re cumming with a cry of his name, squirting all over the sheets and gushing over his cock.

multiple yes’s linger on your lips that it merges together into god knows what, “toji, toji— yesyesyes—” and like a good boyfriend, he talks you through until your pussy calms down and your stomach stops heaving, but god, you needed more.

your hips never stop grinding against his and toji takes it as a sign to chase his high, abandoning your clit before he slams into you like an animal, obscene squelches only highlighting how all of your cum was spraying everywhere. toji bites down into your neck and you gasp both in pain and pleasure, letting your body be used by him until his hips jerk.

“want to be buried in this fucking pussy forever,” it’s strained when he says it and groans when your cunt clenches around him. and it’s not long before he’s spilling his load, so thick and hot into your womb. it just fills you to the brim, little whimpers and mewls weasel themselves out of your throat before it’s taken by toji, a kiss that has you feeling like fire. “love my baby’s pussy, love you.”

“l-love you too, daddy,” you say with a giggle before turning your body over and you can feel his cum start to dribble out, eyes cloudy with the wanton need of more before you start to move down.

a swirl of your tongue, a hiss from toji, “and i love his cock, too.”

[gorgeys]

teach me ★ ani x fem!reader

ofc this was supposed to be a drabble but i couldn't stop myself

Warnings: SMUT - thigh riding

Word Count: 1300

pls one chance mikey

she instantly took a liking to you the second you walked through the swinging double doors to the backroom and jimmy introduced you as the club's newest girl.  it was the sight of your initial sweet smile that drew her in. it was untainted and hopeful and bright. it was clear to her that you were new to this industry.

so, ani kindly offered to help you out.

it started with you and her arriving early so she could teach you some moves, some of which she demonstrated on you.  she could tell you were flustered when she grinded on your lap, her arms slung lazily around your neck and her breath hot against it as she explained each move.

eventually, she found herself waiting all day for your little one-on-one sessions.  she was obsessed with toying with you.

she dragged her nails agonizingly slow against your thigh or allowed her knee to brush in between your legs just to watch your pretty doe eyes widen even more.  and the way you kept your hands glued to your sides, afraid to move, made her laugh.  she grabbed your hands and placed them on her body wherever she desired your touch.

your reactions were so different from every man who paid for her services.  maybe she was just obsessed with you.

"aren't you just the cutest little thing?" she whispered in your ear once as she danced atop you, her lips ghosting over your earlobe in a smile.

then it progressed to you applying your teachings.

she's sitting in one of the stalls now as you climb onto her, straddling her thighs.

"c'mon, baby, show me what i taught ya," she says with a satisfied smile, leaning back in the chair.

you give her a nervous smile before you begin to roll your hips in time with the sultry music.  her smile falters.

it's as if all the stiffness left your body and now you're as fluid as water as your back arches and your hands creep up her shoulders.  you pull her chest into yours and dig your teeth into your bottom lip like you've been doing this for years.  you're almost too good.

you look up into her eyes with a newfound confidence.  suddenly she understands how you felt all those times when she was on top of you.

"'m i doin' okay?" you mumble, breath fanning across the tip of her nose.  you must have already known the answer from the dumbfounded look on her face.

she's about to respond before you grab her wrists and guide her palms to your near bare ass.  you hold her hands there for a moment before letting go. her hands stay glued to your skin.

"fuck," she sighs, the word escaping her uncontrollably.  she has a better understanding of why men pay so much money for this. "you're doing so good," she practically groans, her eyes intently following each roll of your body.  her acrylics dig into the skin of your ass before her hands roam comfortably along your thighs, exploring new territory.

you smile proudly, looking up toward the ceiling and exposing the expanse of your neck.  you can tell she's enjoying this and she knows that you know she's enjoying this.  she feels so helpless and out of control, like you're suffocating her in the best way possible.  she never knew she could feel this way about a woman.

as much as she enjoys watching you bloom, she wants you under her thumb.  she craves that control and seniority over you.  she takes it back by grabbing your hips and pulling you against her thigh just as you roll your hips forward.

the strangled noise you release as your near bare pussy drags against her skin is enough to leave her smiling.  it's noise of surprise mixed with unfettered pleasure.  your head snaps back down to meet her eyes.  she loves those adorable wide eyes of yours.

"you like how that feels?" she asks, hands holding you firmly in place. 

"like" was an understatement.  you felt like you were on cloud fucking nine, but you couldn't articulate that in the moment.

"mmph, fuck," is all you can say.  your face is so close to hers you can practically taste her lip gloss.  her lips part like she's already imagining kissing you.

you suddenly feel your core start to throb and leak.  something that she feels too.

"i'll take that as a yes," she laughs, squeezing your sides.

your shame melts into desire as she guides your hips against her bare thigh again, making a habit out of it.  your eyebrows knit in pleasure as you release a whine. 

"fuck," she says as if she's the one getting off. "you're so pretty, baby," she says, forcing you down a little harder.

she brushes your hair back so she can whisper in your ear.

"y'know, i can feel your pussy soakin' through your panties and makin' a mess all over me," she whispers.

"ani," you moan at her words, which happens to coincide with your clit dragging nicely against her skin.  you wrap your arms around her neck to stabilize yourself as you work with her hands and rock your hips back and forth.

"i turned you into a real fuckin' slut, didn't i?" she laughs, enjoying the contortions of your once innocent face.  her brooklyn accent is intoxicating.

only thinking of your own pleasure, your hand creeps down to push your wet underwear to the side, allowing you to feel ani's bare skin on yours.  she moans when she finally feels you.

"god, y'gonna do this for all your customers now?  gonna ride 'em all like this?"  she grins as you shake your head no.

she slows down her hands, ensuring that each drag of your clit is slow and hard, leaving you moaning like a bitch in heat.

"jesus," she says to herself as she holds eye contact with you.  you look more beautiful than ever.  she wants to kiss you so badly and the feeling is mutual.

"ani!" a voice suddenly shouts over the music.  you instinctively jump and raise yourself onto your knees, one planted on each side of her thighs.  she giggles at how quickly your raw pleasure turns into fright, like she's not at all scared of being caught like this. "get in here!  customers are here!" jimmy yells, his voice growing closer.

she rolls her eyes and falls back in the chair, dejected.  she looks back up into your still frightened eyes, her fingers lingering on your thighs. the last thing she wants is to leave you.

"we'll finish this later, princess, yeah?" she says, tapping your thighs, signaling for you to get up.

once you do, she notices the wet spot on her legs and the hem of her dress.  she smiles to herself, knowing the smell of you will be stuck to her for the rest of the night.

"hey," she says, leaning forward and grabbing you by the thigh before you can scurry back to the dressing room.  you turn and look at her, still startled by the interruption and a little agitated that you didn't get your release.

she likes this messier version of you.  your hair's a little disheveled and the sweat on your forehead glistens in the club light.  not to mention your now ruined thong.  she hopes you have another one so your customers don't get the privilege of seeing you like this.

"you meet me right here after your shift, okay?"

she catches the little smile that creeps onto your face.  she finds herself smiling too.

"i promise i'll give you everything that you need, baby.  i'll be waitin' right here for ya," she says, patting your ass.  "now, go make mama proud."