lynn-writes-things - Tumblr blog

[lynn-writes-things]

I’ve got this terrible habit of deciding to get my life on track at 1:06am

[lynn-writes-things]

hi hello hi, I’m working on returning, pls have this in the meantime 🖤

(by ship I mean character x reader)

[lynn-writes-things]

I haven’t been able to write in so long, I get one glimmer of idea for Toji, and suddenly I have half a fic written

the grip this man has on my mind is never fading I fear

[lynn-writes-things]

sex therapy :: 16. liar, liar

chapter tags/warnings: infidelity/adultery...lots of it. multiple partners mean many fluids in the action. mentions of rough sex. mentions of breeding. guilt-driven sex. nonconsensual acts. manipulative undertones. humiliation. strong language. classism.

word count: 4.0k

notes: thank you for the comments i've received about my graduation and for your patience in this update! likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25.

Eleven missed calls. 

All of which came from your husband. 

With your phone placed away, you had not realized this deluge of notifications until Choso dropped you off at your apartment lobby.

“Bastard still thinks you’re his good lil’ wife,” Choso snickered when he peered over your shoulder, scanning the messages as well.

Driven by post-coital bliss, his mood had improved dramatically on the drive back, and he grinned stupidly beside you. At some point, you had to push his smug face away so that he would stop gloating over the words on your screen.

Where the fuck did you go? I’m still at the restaurant looking for you, one of Naoya’s bitter texts read followed by another sent twenty minutes later: I’m already home now, goddamnit.

Oh, the dread. 

The raw dread that filled you, knowing that you had a husband waiting for you at home. A dream for many, yet a curse for you...which was why once Choso bid you goodbye, this awful trepidation only intensified now that you were once again nothing but alone. 

The long elevator ride up to the penthouse didn't help either, your anxiety consuming you as the numbers on the floor display ticked higher. Sometime before the elevator reached the twentieth story, you caught sight of your reflection in the mirrored walls.

Wow, with this new wild hairdo, you looked like a tornado survivor.

Oh, but before Naoya saw you, there was something else you should be more concerned about.

You stumbled towards your closest reflection, your breaths coming to a stop as you slowly—very slowly—peeled up your dress.

“Please...no,” you silently prayed but nothing could stop the gasp at your lips once the hem was pulled past your hipbone, revealing the purple bruises on your outer thighs and the prominent swelling at your ass. 

“Oh my,” you winced when you ran a finger over one particular welt.

Naoya must never get a glimpse of this.

Shame burned at your face, which had marks of their own.

To justify this most recent escapade, you convinced yourself that this was what Naoya deserved after his hurtful words during dinner. Furthermore, if what the therapists said was true—if Naoya was truly cheating on you—you definitely merited rights to your own (reverse) harem, right? An eye for an eye.

Okay, there were faults in this logic, but you must suspend beliefs if you hoped to feel better about yourself.

When a telling ding signaled your arrival at the sixtieth-second floor, you scrambled, pulling your dress over the blemishes and patting down some stubborn baby hairs. Once the elevator doors parted, you paced briskly to the penthouse entrance, the unit’s usual jasmine scent greeting you followed by the overhead lights that flickered on.

You thought that you were the only one in the apartment until you spotted Naoya in the living room. He had a long day, but he was awake rather than asleep, sunken into the sofa. From the back, he appeared bored, shuffling idly through different channels on TV.

“I’ve returned,” you announced unceremoniously, slipping off your heels. 

When your husband turned to look over his shoulder, you half-expected him to erupt in fury—to degrade you, to command you, to do everything to emotionally hurt you until he pleased himself using you. After all, that was the typical response that you had grown accustomed to. 

In fact, Naoya almost seemed to have ignored you had it not been for how he stood up from his seat, revealing the tall silhouette that blended with the cityscape background behind him. Hands tucked into his pockets, he strode languidly toward you on long legs and silent steps until he stopped a mere foot away.

“What’s that?” he inquired about the shopping bag you just placed down. He peered inside and surely recognized the dress that Choso had so graciously returned. “Had you gone somewhere?”

“Picked this up from the dry cleaner,” you babbled only to immediately wish that you hadn’t. This was an awful fabrication that was formulated from impulsivity rather than wit, confirmed by how Naoya narrowed his eyes.

“I see,” Naoya hummed in acceptance, likely trying to understand why you decided to make a spontaneous nighttime trip to the dry cleaner when you were supposed to be on a dinner date with him. Then, he added very casually, “You didn’t respond to my texts, by the way.”

Neither did you, you wanted to retort. When he had vanished into thin air these past few days, did he bother to look at the many messages that you sent him? Of course not. Rather than stir a commotion, you merely uttered, “Sorry.” 

“Just don’t do that again,” he advised. For a moment, he glanced to the side—almost like he was about to burst from frustration—before he calmly said, “I was worried about you.”

Now this you were not expecting.

Your chest even fluttered given that your husband rarely voiced his concern for you. Had you responded to his texts, would he ever tell you something like that?

His mood was pleasant—far too pleasant because this was Naoya Zenin in the question, a self-absorbed husband whose indecent wife missed each of his eleven calls because she was too busy getting her pussy stretched (but he didn’t need to know that last point, right?).

On that note, guilt tugged hard at your stomach.   

While you had planned to confront Naoya about his potential infidelity, the idea suddenly seemed too out of place, and you were ashamed that you doubted faithfulness at all.

That was when you reminded yourself: Naoya would always be the endgame. The fuck session earlier tonight was only to get your mind off the husband that you were hung up on. Naoya was who you truly wanted in the end. The fresh change with Choso—you justified—was to lift your mood, so you could forgive Naoya for his earlier insults.

Nonetheless, this guilt was much too heavy to swallow.

This wretched feeling only intensified as Naoya closed the distance, gently leaning over to seal your lips closed. I’ve missed you, his kiss seemed to say.

Earlier tonight, he might have confessed how his intention with you was purely sexual, a statement that trampled on your already aching heart. But, in the end, Naoya was whom you were expected to spend the rest of your days with.

You gripped onto his shirt as his lips traveled to your jaw, the quiet smacks ringing softly in your ears before you felt him kiss the side of your neck, and his warm exhale excited a slight shudder down your spine.

Whether his actions were driven by emotion or duty, you didn’t know. But what you did know was how much you wanted to give yourself in to him, to sink into the arms that encircled your waist, to let him caress and then use you—all in an attempt to relieve you from your sins.

If only life was that simple.

“This smell,” Naoya murmured, lips vibrating against your collarbone as he spoke, “comes from another man.”

Your blood turned cold.

“...What?”

Caught completely off-guard, you could feel your sympathetic nervous system kicking in, your cold fingertips and widened eyes telltale signs of your fright. Before Naoya could look downward, you pulled at your dress to hide the bruises by your thighs, which would be a surefire giveaway to the dirty deed you had done earlier. However, you were not thinking, perhaps downright possessed even, when you tried to save yourself by adding, “That isn’t what you think it is.”

Although Naoya was still by your neck, even you could see how he cocked a brow at the comment.

“’That?’” he repeated, then pausing briefly. As his confusion waned into dubiety, he straightened up slowly and loomed over you. “That what?”

Oh, no—

“That what?” Naoya said again, except his tone this time around could cut like a sharpened blade. His face deepened and darkened for every second that passed, his expression souring into a frown with furrowed brows. Even his lips tugged between a smile and a jeer as if he seemed tied between derision and disbelief. He certainly made his mind, though, when he caught your hand shielding a certain bruise. “What...are you hiding?”

That was when panic swallowed you whole.

“Nothing. It’s just...I didn’t mean to—” Terror locked words in your throat, but you certainly made the wrong move when you blurted, “I had told him not to—“

“Him?”

Oh, now you really aroused Naoya’s curiosity, not to mention that he looked furious because why should he ever love a wife unfaithful to him?

“No!” you shouted when Naoya tore your arm towards him. Efforts to free yourself quickly proved futile given his firm clasp. Rather, Naoya first stared at your hand, studying the cuts across your palm before his gaze trailed down to the much more obvious marks on your thighs and knees.

For several silent moments, he appeared deep in thought...pondering and pondering...his flat expression too difficult to read. Only when the seconds turned into a full minute did Naoya cautiously loosen his grasp around your wrist, releasing you from captivity.

Relief swelled over your system because you assumed you were safe, that Naoya was actually a more forgiving husband than you had originally given him credit for. You even backed away from him knowing that you were now liberated from his scrutiny.

Until your husband very calmly added, “Seems like I’ve missed out on something exciting.”

You froze.

For a man red hot with anger mere minutes ago, Naoya was now so amused that you found his change in tone too eerie, his expression so stern that you must promptly avert your gaze to the hardwood floor.

“I...don’t know what you’re talking about.” Vainly, you tried to play down the weight of the matter. “Just headed out for a bit. Nothing for you to be concerned with.”

“Oh really?” The inflection in Naoya’s pitch was incredibly insulting and incredulous. “To the dry cleaners? Or don’t tell me that my beloved wifey lied to me because she had actually gone somewhere else? Because you sure were desperate to cover up for something that ‘wasn’t anything important.’”

Fuck.

“I—” A gulp.

Naoya did not need long to notice the backward shuffles in your steps. He followed you, stalking forward like a mountain lion closing in his pathetic prey. Ideally, you would like to tell him to stop, that you could barely think with him at such proximity, but the potential consequences of telling him off seemed too dangerous.

“Well, tell me,” he urged. With one last step, he cornered you such that your back pressed against the wall, his hands planted on either side of your head. He exhaled deeply, and remnants of his tequila whirled in the little space between you two. “Did my dear Mrs. Zenin have a lot of fun?”

Your mouth grew dry at the question, and you remained keen to drill your eyes into the ground.

“I...” You bit your inner cheek, remembering the tears that had rolled off embarrassingly from your face. “I...wouldn’t exactly call that fun.”

“Aw, not fun?” Naoya cooed and curled one finger around a loose lock of your hair. “Why not, darling? All because my baby’s got some booboos? What do you want me to do, hm? Want me to crawl onto my knees to kiss the bruises that another man gave?”

“N-No.”

He contemplated the answer, looking lost in thought as he twirled your tresses. “Then how far did you get with this lucky guy?”

At the confrontation, it took all your willpower to not crumble like potted soil turned dry. Wracked with humiliation, you decided to ignore the question, thinking that that was the safer option until your husband tugged your strands gently.

"Hey.” There was a spark of a raspy growl in his voice. Understandably, he was irritated, and you didn’t blame him for being impatient when he warned lowly, "Don't make me repeat myself."

You swallowed one hard lump.

“We didn’t go far at all.” A lie through your goddamn teeth. Yet, you had to say something if you ever hoped for him to let you off the hook, especially when—

“Ow!” you groaned at the forceful yank at your hair. Instinctively, your hands flew to your scalp and rubbed at where the sting burned the most. “The hell was that for?!”

“I just want you to tell me the truth,” Naoya advised coolly, which implied that he already had some idea what this ‘truth’ was. Whether or not he did, you could feel how he was dangerously toying with your strands again, ready to teach you another lesson if you disobeyed. “C’mon,” he challenged. “Test me. Who would have thought that my wife would have this much trouble being honest with—"

“We fucked over his car...”

The room went instantly silent as your words sunk in, the only sounds being your uneven breaths that were a by-product of your horror.

Did you really just say that?

Though you have yet to meet his gaze, you hated how your stomach churned with uneasiness, only exacerbated by Naoya’s overbearing presence beside you.

“Over his car?” Naoya quoted, his interest piqued. “As in, the car hood?”

For a long moment, you considered how to answer in the most diplomatic manner until your eyes slipped closed and you finally said, “...Yes.”

“And did you like it?”

“N-No.”

A gentle tug. “I can tell when you lie,” and by now, you could tell that he truly meant it. “Try me again, and I’ll—"

“I...loved it.”

You thought that Naoya Zenin finally derived the satisfaction that he wanted when his fingers ultimately loosened from your locks, only for these hopes to prove naïve when his dark chuckles rumbled from above. What started as a small snicker soon unraveled into a taunting laugh—an impassionate uproar—as your husband threw his head back, cackling wickedly into the air.

You were too absorbed in disgrace that you didn’t even notice Naoya approach you again, his right hand moving to grab your face. And when he finally forced you to turn to him, you see that his hazel eyes are ablaze with an unscrupulous sort of entertainment, tears from laughter pricking at his outer corners.

“Oh, ho ho!” he mused. His strong clutch on your jaw allowed him to revel in your distress, squandering your opportunities to look at anything else but him. “This is fucking hilarious! To think that everyone thought that Miss Prim-and-Proper over here is a good sweet girl when she’s been a slut all along.” 

Naoya chuckled as his eyes crinkled with mirth, and you squirmed uncomfortably in his hold.

Rather than humiliation, your heart began to fill with chagrin.

Why was your very husband the only person who would intentionally work up so much frustration in you?

Ironically, the timing in this realization could not be more perfect as Naoya brought his face all up in yours. 

“This wasn’t the first time, wasn’t it?”

Obviously, your first inclination is to lie, but you second guess yourself when you think back to his previous warning: I can tell when you lie.

“Not the first time,” you breathed slowly, and the rumbles in his laughter were wholly off-putting.

“So, did you spit or swallow tonight, you little whore? Well, you seem more like a spitter, you quitter. Unless...” He then covered his mouth for theatric effect. “Don’t tell me he came inside of you?!” he crowed and reveled in the glare you sent. “Bingo! He did, didn’t he? He came deep inside my wife, and I’m sure you loved that too!” At this point, Naoya was guffawing like a maniac on the ground, bent over to hug at his stomach. “I’m guessing you creamed all over his cock too! Boy, oh boy. What would your daddy say when he learns that his little girl’s been frisky? Oh, oh! Even better! What would the papers say when a little birdie informs them about your tiny secret?”

“Or about yours.”

Naoya’s laughter, which had bellowed through the penthouse just moments ago, immediately dissipated at the comment.

Your husband crawled up from the floor. He half-stumbled on his way up and met your deterministic gaze. 

This, so far, was the bravest you have ever been. Never have you dared to even think about confronting Naoya. Yet here you were now. Even if you trembled with nervousness—his frame towering many centimeters above yours—you did your best to be the one staring him down instead. 

While you expected repulsion, Naoya just stared pointedly at you.

“How did you know?”

Strangely enough, his unflappable composure was what upset you the most. He was calm and collected, so unperturbed such that he didn’t even bother to deny the accusation. Because compared to you, Naoya probably did not feel guilty in the slightest, instead viewing your awareness as nothing more than an inconvenience.

“So, the cheating rumors are true then,” you breathed, and when your husband nodded so nonchalantly, there should be no reason for you to experience a heartache that you knew wasn’t worth the pain.

Besides, you should have been prepared for this. The signs were so blatant and obvious: his ridicule, his actions, and his contempt all presages that pointed towards an underlying reason behind his behavior. For crying out loud, even your therapists, who probably never witnessed a second of interaction between you and your husband, were the first to suggest the idea of Naoya’s infidelity. 

And like a fool, you had rushed to defend your husband.

But why were you so obsessed with upholding a failed marriage when your husband could barely care to do the same? Why were you so desperate to salvage any possibility of amending the bond between husband and wife when your other half could not care for the same? The entire reason you sought sex therapy was that you valued this marriage more than anything else, hoping to forge a physical connection with your husband that lied beyond obligation.

But were you really that disillusioned? 

The shame that had churned within your chest had given way to pain as you eked out, “How long has this been going on?”

“Almost a year.”

In other words, well before he tied the knot with you.

You appreciated his honesty, but the truth did not stab any less into your heaving chest.

No wonder Naoya had always been callous, ruthless even. From day one, he never belonged to you. In this marriage, his heart, his soul, and his every waking second had always been dedicated to someone else while you foolishly clung on to hope that he would one day warm up.

“Then...why didn’t you just marry her?”

“Look,” Naoya started, only to pause as a thousand emotions flashed across his face, reaching to massage his temples before he lost total control of his temper. “Things are complicated, okay? Listing all the reasons would take an entire damn day because there’s a fucking million of them.”

“Just tell me what they are.”

“Goddamnit, woman!” Naoya shouted, thrusting his arm down in exasperation and startling you. “Since when can you order me around?! Can’t your tiny ass idiot brain tell that I’m not in the fucking mood right now to talk about this shit?”

“But you’re going to keep seeing her?”

“Yes!” and his response was so curt that there was undoubtedly no regard for your feelings in his reply. There was so much more to know, but negotiating with him for details was fruitless given his current mood.

“You’re not worried that I’ll tell someone about this?”

“Well, you won’t,” Naoya accosted with crossed arms and the most unbothered shrug. “Because you know what’s going to happen if you tattle tale, right?”

You sucked in a deep breath.

I would just tattle tale too, the glint in his eyes answered, and nothing could stop him then. The knowledge of your affair had emboldened him and provided him with justification to do the same, especially since he could now laud all this over your head like some twisted trophy.

“Look, it’s fair and square,” he justified. “We’re even now. Frankly, I don’t care and won’t care to know about your business so long as you don’t mess with mine. Do us both a favor, alright? Keep that loudmouth of yours shut, and I might just do the same. Our families spent much effort to secure this ‘picture-perfect’ relationship in Japan, so we wouldn’t them finding out about our part-time flings, now would we?”

The worst bit was how Naoya was correct.

Because you thought about your father-in-law, who would harbor no qualms about cutting you from Japan’s most affluent family for good. You also thought about Mai and Maki, the Zenin twins who would be heartbroken to learn how Naoya had been mistreating you all along when you had previously told the girls that he wasn’t. And most importantly, you thought about your father, who would resign from his position to support your decisions, no matter how grave.

If disclosed, news regarding the scandals—both yours and your husband’s—would bear headlines for weeks, and the two households would certainly then fall out from bad publicity.

As a result, there was only one answer.

“No, we wouldn’t them to know.”

“Then, you’re not going to snitch?”

“No, I won’t...” you trailed off, and—from the corner of your eye—you could see Naoya grin with victory. 

The differences between you and Naoya may be irreconcilable, yet there still existed a silent but mutual goal to not disappoint each other’s families. While the thought of being second place in Naoya’s heart could tear through your own, you staved this emptiness away by justifying this as a small price to pay, given that thousands could at most dream about being in your place.

“So, you’re a well-behaved woman after all,” Naoya hummed happily, resting one arm suggestively on your hip. “What a good wife.”

A good wife—the main reason Naobito Zenin wanted his son to marry you to begin with. As a ‘good wife,’ you were expected to love your husband, respect him, and provide for him. Real love may not ever exist in your marriage, but you were still obliged to fulfill your duties as his lawful spouse.

So, when your husband carried you into the bedroom and brought you to bed, when he stripped you carefully from your clothes and squeezed at your breasts, you willingly let him turn you into his filthy fuck toy.

“On your back,” Naoya whispered at some point, pushing your shoulders back such that you landed on the mattress with a soft thud.

His gaze darkened salaciously upon inspecting all the crescents and markings on your ass, right before he pressed his lips onto your skin just to confess how he might actually like sloppy seconds like you.

He wished to take you in missionary as usual. What surprised you, however, was how he encouraged you to keep your legs closed this time, an idea he never proposed before. With an order that resembled more like a purr, he urged you to cross your ankles, explaining that this would allow you to squeeze his cock with both your vaginal and pelvic floor muscles, which would make him come faster. And when he started working into your insides—fucking used cum back into your tight little hole—his hand grazed along your bruises, causing you to hiss and squirm.

For a guy who pounded into your skull that he had no interest in you beyond sexual, Naoya sure knew how to make you feel every bit like the stupid breeding cumslut you wanted to be. That was perfect since you believed that the only way to be useful was to let him use you as he wanted, without thought for your own satisfaction.

As long as this marriage prevailed, he was yours, and you were his.

From here, there was no way out.

Or so you thought.

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: This chapter is a rollercoaster and has been incredibly difficult for me to write, largely due to the various emotions I had to convey from both Y/N and Naoya. Pissed-off Naoya is one of my favorite dialogues to write, but I also enjoyed propelling Y/N's emerging confidence in confronting her husband.

taglist: @dissociatingdiva @httpsplanetmarsdotcom @pulchritxde-blog @huangfairy @shadowarchon @203steph @agentdedf1sh @cloudybabes @hinativity @lynn-writes-things @illicitwriter @7oji @kikuchimi @piqer @nobody289x @chaoticjojofan​ @musicisme333 @vvestwoodrose @kumocchin @s-guru @mwahilovemylife @hey-gurls69 @cloudsinthecosmos @moon-mumu-moon @kazscara @obitohno @skilerfrostfairy @funicidals @nico707 @proteovaldez @nemoyr @tsukiyohanayome @marimoares @tokyometronetwork​ @downtown-roponggi​ @the-cosmos-network

[lynn-writes-things]

Trick and Treat~ 🦇👻💕

Oh, to be immortal and in love~

[lynn-writes-things]

I’m not saying that Touya’s pout is the reason for my existence

But it is the reason for my existence

[lynn-writes-things]

well now I feel obligated to write something for Megumi cause if gege wont give him a fucking break then I will

[lynn-writes-things]

HC that local birds beef with Hawks for control of the airspace and they all gang up on him

They stole his breakfast too

Dumb idea but I always see hawks getting dive bombed by crows

[lynn-writes-things]

Nice to know I'm not the only one who imagines Dabi burning their abusive ex alive

ofc not 🖤

you know damn well that he would too, he’s a firm believer that abusers should suffer

[lynn-writes-things]

Okay. Time to get controversial.

Reblog this with your thoughts in the tags on if your fav would actually be as good in bed as fics make them out to be. No bias, no ‘but maybe’ - give me the Raw Honest Truth.

[lynn-writes-things]

“Burn It”

aka the one where you command a certain fire-wielding maniac to burn down the house of your abusive ex (angst -> fluff)

warnings: mentions of past abuse, mentions of rape (not detailed, it’s just brought up that it happened), uhh mentions of your abusive ex burning alive

wc: 900

a/n: my ptsd demanded this be written, so here it is 😌 inspired by things my ex did to me and what I wish would happen to him

“Dabi?” Your voice is small, hardly audible over the sound of your own heart beat, the muscle racing as you gaze up at the house you once knew so very well. It looks different in the dark, illuminated by the crescent moon and the street lights - yet, this is the same view you had of it the night you ran, escaping the monster of a man you once shared a bed with.

Your box-dyed companion had decided to join you for a walk, chain smoking cigarettes back and forth, until you subconsciously had found yourself right back here. When you realized the street you’d turned down, you began telling him the more minor details. An ex boyfriend, one who had done bad things. When you got even closer, you unveiled the more griddy details - he cut me off from everybody, picked fights all the time. Finally, you revealed the worst of it - he raped me. Forced himself on me, never took no for an answer, ever.

Now, standing frozen in front of the same house which sheltered your horrors, Dabi finds himself barely holding his anger inside, but to put it frank, neither of you are dressed to outrun the legal system. Not to mention, he doesn’t want to upset you. “Yeah?”

You’re quiet for a moment, contemplating. Drawing in a deep breath, releasing it just as slow. “Burn it.”

“..What?”

“I said, burn it. Please.” Your voice, small at first, was now strong and certain, with an undertone of bitterness that Dabi understood, had tried to forget about, but Touya remembers that bitterness all too well.

“My pleasure.” He says, grabbing your arm to move you behind him, once you’re safely tucked behind him, he does just as you asked, bright blue flames engulfing the darkness of night, catching the cheap wooden paneling and swiftly surrounding the house. He’s inside, you know he is, and Dabi’s got a strong suspicion about it as well - so he does you the favor of adding more heat, not letting the piece of shit have a chance to escape unscathed. You knew better though, it was a Friday night, the beast trapped inside was surely knocked out cold from either the booze or the drugs, quite possibly both. He’d sleep through it, and if luck was on your side, he’d burn alive right with the house that had once been purchased under your name. Maybe you’d manage to get insurance payments from the ordeal?

Selfishly, you admire the way the flames dance, and you feel the urge to dance right along with them, celebrating the end of your torment, the end of the man who so carelessly ruined your life. “We should get out of here.” Dabi says, fingers pinching your jacket, knowing his hands were still much too hot to touch your perfect skin.

“Yeah,” You agree, not realizing you were tearing up until your voice comes out choked. The man beside you panics for a second, until you look up at him, wiping your crystalline tears with the brightest smile he’d ever seen on your face, you even laugh out a joyous little huff before grabbing his still-too-hot hand, uncaring of the way it stings your skin, pulling him away and escaping into the shadows, taking a detour through dark alleyways to get back to the hideout.

No one’s awake when you enter, making it all that much easier when you throw yourself at the man, wrapping your shaking arms around him as quiet sobs wrack your body. Dabi hesitates at the long-forgotten feeling of being held, before his lanky arms eventually wrap around your waist, his heart hammering violently against his ribcage while you trip over whispered thank you’s. “Really, I-I can’t thank you enough.”

“Seeing you smile is thanks enough, doll.” He says just as quietly, like he’s worried if he speaks his vulnerability any louder that he’d fall over dead on the spot. Maybe he would, he isn’t sure, this was as close to a confession of his feelings that he’d ever uttered. You shock him again when your lips kiss the unscarred part of his cheek, the part he can still feel, and it sends his mind buzzing even after your arms drop to your sides, wiping your face clean of tears outside of his warm embrace. When you look up at him again, Dabi swears your eyes would put the stars outside to shame, your smile so contagious that he finds himself smiling too. One last tear escapes the corner of your eye, and it’s an automatic response when his hand caresses your cheek, so gently thumbing away the shimmery bead, the fondness in his eyes makes you feel so warm inside.

The air feels thick like sweet honey, the two of you trapped in such a moment of silent intimacy, and it’s almost on impulse when your arms loosely wrap around his neck, his free hand snaking around your waist, the other staying on your face even after you stand up on your tiptoes, pulling him closer until your lips meet, every unspoken message being read crystal clear. It’s perfect, everything about the moment and the night itself feeling so very perfect. Dabi can’t figure out why you’d want to kiss him, but he’s not about to question it, he’ll kiss you as long as you’d like, he’ll do anything to keep that radiant joy in your eyes.

He’s absolutely certain in that moment, he will do anything for you.

[lynn-writes-things]

i made a little comic!!!!

[lynn-writes-things]

Aaaa jealousy headcanons for the boys in JJK? Love me jelly~~~

I’ve gotcha covered my friend 😌

[lynn-writes-things]

sex therapy :: 15. disciplined

chapter tags/warnings: someone becomes your special teacher ;) straight-up degradation. dick sucking and facefucking. spanking. pet names ("kitten", "slut", "whore", "idiot"). nonconsenual undertones. infidelity/adultery. strong language. humiliation. classism. can be read as stand-alone!

word count: 3.6k

notes: happy new year, dear readers! apologies for not posting in a while. not that i lost motivation or got writer's block, but i was so busy with my last semester at university. i'm thankfully done now! enjoy the update! likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

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“Because I wonder what would happen once I spread you over the car hood and took you right there.”

Holy—  

Choso’s words stirred awake fantasies that never before crossed your mind—how you would be perched on the Corvette, how Choso would press your legs to his chest, how he would slowly fuck himself into you, how your warm cunt would eventually get the better of him, how his cum would then drip onto the shiny blue metal of his car.

As the mental images left your heart seized in your chest, you twisted at your wedding band in anticipation—a habit you had yet to break.

“You…wouldn’t actually do that, right?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Although he exhaled to control his composure, nothing could hide the visible bulge under his black jeans, the sight sucking nearly all your willpower to avoid staring at the silhouette like a wanton whore.

“Because people would see us.” You then masked a thick swallow. “You would have to be crazy to fuck in public.”

“You think that’s crazy?” he repeated but did not seem insulted in the slightest. "Oh, I’ve done much, much crazier.”

Even crazier?

As much as you were concerned about the legality of his insinuations…That wild side of him, you wanted to see.

The thought alone left you holding your breath, blood rushing south when his hand began to run up and down your inner thigh.

The only thing that could distract you was how the inked ivy on his forearm flexed as he switched lanes, not that this new fixation stopped your squirming anyway. Still, you watched him swerve to the next exit and coolly navigate through a network of narrow and unlit roads, the convertible’s speed slowing considerably until he makes one final turn into an empty lot.

Choso, in one smooth motion, parked his Corvette in the spot where one could revere the Tokyo skyline glittering across the bay—although, in your honest opinion, the only view worth admiring was the stud beside you. The said man, however, turned off the engine and let go of your thigh, causing you to wince from the retracted warmth.

You nearly begged him to keep his hands on you until you watched him step off the vehicle, walking around the bumper with long strides to the shotgun seat, then gripping the handle and swinging the door open.

You stared dumbly at him, a gaze he returned with black-as-night eyes alive with some unreadable emotion. Before you could make any sense of your clouded thoughts, Choso leaned over slightly.

“Out,” he commanded. His voice had roughened up into a hoarse, his face shadowed with seriousness. “And get on your knees.”

The sheer egregiousness in his demand is enough to leave your heart stopping for a hard beat, especially since his height was formidable compared to the seated you. When you didn't respond immediately either, Choso’s long exhale from above grazed against your skin. He was losing his patience.

“C’mon now. I didn’t stutter. I gave you an order, idiot.”

Hands growing clammy, you avoided his stare. “But—"

Except Choso didn’t want to waste time dealing with your bullshit. He reached for you, his right hand darting outward and gripping your small wrist like a lifeline. Before you could even process much, Choso yanked you from your seat and essentially tossed you onto the ground.

You cried out as you stumbled and then fell onto your knees, hands instinctively planted on the concrete to support yourself. The new cuts on your palms would surely sting for the next few days, not to mention the red marks that his fingers also left on your wrist.

Although you try to stand up, the pain made you falter such that all you could do was sit up with your feet tucked neatly beneath your bottom. The gashes hurt, and Choso approached just as your eyes began to line with tears.

When his steps stopped mere inches away, your neck craned at an awful angle just to glare into the murky pool that was his eyes. “Are you insane?”

The jerk, handsome but enigmatic as always, shrugged. “Maybe.”

“So that’s a yes.” 

At that, a thumb thrust between your parted lips shut you up.

“Stop complaining,” Choso snapped, his voice the deepest and most demanding that it had ever been. His thumb shoved further past your lips, pressing at your tongue to keep you from talking, not caring how you were gagging on his finger by now. “I’m playing nice even after all the shit you’ve been pulling on me last night. I don’t see you whining with all those other guys you’ve been fucking. What’s the matter?”

Petty, you thought and then scoffed.

But Choso caught that.

He responded with a harsh pull at your jaw. “Did you just roll your eyes at me?”

Rhetorical question. Choso already knew the answer, and his nostrils flared with irritation even as his free hand dangerously toyed with his fly.

“You know, I’ve been real patient with you, so show some respect, alright? My fingers didn’t even play with your pussy, but anyone could tell how wet you were in my car. And don’t think I didn’t notice you stealing glances at my boner earlier, you lil’ minx.” Noticing your eyes blow wide, his frown twisted into a smirk. Except everything evil about this felt so good when you caught sight of the piercings that gleamed by his ears. “What a dirty, dirty girl.”

So, he knew.

His comments were downright embarrassing—mortifying, even. Nonetheless, the humiliation stoked the flame of arousal within you anyway, possibly more so than you cared to admit. Choso was much more perceptive than you expected, which made sense given the skills he needed to assess sex-deprived clients during the day and stalk targets at night.

Therefore, when Choso eventually tore his thumb from your mouth, you thought that he finally took notice of your sorry state and pitied you.

That was until his other hand popped his jean button loose and tugged his zipper down.

You were stumped at first. With knees still pressed to the floor, you glanced at him from under your lashes, your lips puckered perfectly into a confused pout.

However, that confusion morphed quickly into realization once Choso lowered his jeans and boxers together, his large hands pulling the thick fabric down until the waistbands rested underneath his balls. His cock—thick and proud—sprung free and into the newly found freedom. Precum from the head oozed shamelessly down his shaft, the pretty pink tip mere millimeters from your nose.

Despite the depravity of this all, your heart fluttered at the sight, your stomach folding in sick anticipation.

Then, whatever premonitions you had were all confirmed with Choso’s one-word order: “Suck.”

Immediately, you panicked at the command. Just one glimpse at his twitching cock indicated that you would have trouble fitting that enormous dick any more than a few inches past your lips. You would gag.

Hell, you were sure to choke.

When a fear-filled lump coagulated at the back of your throat, you glanced up at Choso with your poor little puppy eyes, hoping that would distract him from his primal desires.

As if Choso would ever let you off the hook that easily.

“What?” he asked in the end, voice split between curiosity and impatience. “Haven’t given anyone a blowjob before?”

You decided not to answer; this wasn’t any of his business anyway.

Rather, you approached him meekly. When you wrapped one hand around the base, Choso hissed at the contact. His cock was already so hard, and from what? You had barely touched him, yet his dick spasmed from your grip, the foreskin sweltering hot against your roughed-up palms.

A harsh sting bloomed on your right cheek, only then realizing that Choso had slapped you right across the face.

“You’re losing focus, idiot. Pay attention to me.” His thumb prodded at your mouth again. “C’mon. Open up wide.” As he waited, he caught a strand of tousled hair between two long fingers, then delicately tucked the loose strands behind your ear. He peered down, giving you the sweetest sickliest smile a man can give. “You’re supposed to be a nice slut for me. Right, baby?”

Baby. He had you right there.

“Y...es,” you murmured. He had you wrapped around his finger, and you're suddenly too entranced to notice. "Yes...I am."

“Good. Then, I’ll show you how I like my cock sucked.”

What?

Before you could even process that last statement, Choso dug one large hand into your scalp. Messy strands now threaded through his spread-out fingers, he tugged forcefully at your hair—his warm fingertips pressed against your skull, his girthy cock suddenly shoved past your parted mouth, his fluids a foul bitter on your tongue, and his dark eyes wide at the moisture and warmth that sheathed him.

Tears, both due to the pain at your scalp and the burn at your throat, trickled down your flushed cheeks.

Breathe...

Even with your nose smushed against his crotch, even with your eyes popped wide open as you gurgled and gagged, you still had to breathe and soon the only other sensation aside from pain was that faint maple leaf scent that was so distinctly his.

“Oh...no, no, bimbo,” he hummed when you attempt to dig your nails into his skin, swatting your feeble hands away. “No touching. Bad girls aren’t not allowed to touch. Only I can. That’s what you get for not following my rules the other night. So, I’m going to hold your head, and you’re going stay still and be a good cocksleeve for me.”

Even if alarm bells should be going off in your head now, your heart palpitated at the prospects of what he just might do. Therefore, when you eventually nodded instead, Choso chuckled and muttered something about how you were always such a pretty little mess, such an ‘eager little pleaser.’

He had jerked off plenty, but there was nothing he loved more than having you completely under his control, fucking into your mouth with long and languid motions. He also loved hearing the noises that spilled from your mouth—the choked sobs that soon became garbled whimpers and breathy squeals.

Choso also always thought you were rather pretty, but when his eyes managed to leer downwards and saw what you looked like, mouth full of cock and spit dripping down your chin, he knew you’d never looked better.

For a man like himself, letting anyone see him this vulnerable was something that Choso had promised he would never do. Nonetheless, here he was...hamstrings tensing every time his tip bumped the back of your throat, fingers flexing each time his dick went in deeper than he thought possible. There was just something so different about seeing you on your knees, taking in his dick when his precum had already been bubbling from the tip.

“That’s right,” Choso hissed at some point, although you couldn’t tell how long he had been abusing your throat by then. Nothing aroused him more than to discipline with his dick and boy, did he love watching the way you bobbed your head back and forth, letting your saliva trail all over him. “Real fuckin’ sweet and obedient now, aren’t you? Do you follow directions this well for all those other therapists you fucked?”

You shook your head as his scrotum smacked into your chin, which Choso approved with a satisfied tug.

“Good.”

Muffled wails dropped from your mouth as he kept fucking your face, but he ignored you. After all, this was what you got for being so naughty. Plus, even if you thought his actions were entirely degrading before, the crazy thing was that you found this morbid fascinating now.

“Dumb, dumb puppy,” Choso chuckled when you unconsciously moaned around his cock.

As though to prove his point, Choso pulled his dick out of your mouth, marveling at how you whined at the emptiness. He didn’t want to keep you (or himself) waiting for too long though. Wordlessly, he pulled you up from the concrete even bewilderment riddled your expression.

“What are you—”

“One more word and I’ll make sure you won’t ever be able to use that throat again.”

So just like a well-behaved pup, you decided to shut up.

Once he led you to the front of the car, he slammed you onto the Corvette’s hood. As disoriented as you may be, he swiftly made a home between your thighs and manhandled you to his convenience—flipping you to your back, spreading your legs apart, hiking up the hem of your dress. After pawing at your pink panties, he finally pulled the fabric off in one smooth motion.

You didn’t know how or when, but you were utterly soaked. How embarrassing, the way your folds had lubricated themselves in anticipation. You unsuccessfully hid a shiver, not expecting the cool evening air to graze your sopping cunt.

“Fuck,” Choso groaned, liking what he sees. Nothing could hide the perverted glint in his gaze.

Holding you by your torso, he slid you halfway off the hood to roll his hips right next to yours. His cock bobbed as he readjusted himself, a few drops of precum landing on your skin. When he lines his cock with your slit, the face that he made when he finally had your wet cunt kissing his tip was obscene, but that was nothing compared to how your entire body shuddered in pleasure.

“F-Feels good,” you breathed, barely audible. You tried to catch your breath, clawing at his white sleeves and feeling up his arm muscles underneath in the process. How you wanted to hold onto him for dear life. “Feels so, so good.”

“I know.” He could tell from how you were practically begging for him to stuff you and, when he finally eased himself deep inside you, from how you would roll your eyes right to the back of your skull. He grinned. “So fuckin’ slutty.”

A choked moan dissipated from your lips when you felt the head pressing against your cervix. Soft, trembling...you were trying much too hard to be good. Nothing could compare to this utter gratification, his hard pelvis hitting your clit each time he forcefully plunged into you, sending waves from your abdomen up to your nipples.  

“Just like that,” you would say, over and over.

Choso Kamo would never admit this aloud, but he sure thought your kitten-like mewls sounded real cute up close. At the office, he had heard you moan and cry out before, but there was something nice knowing that he himself was the one making you feel this good. He sure doted on your cute expressions as well, the way your face would scrunch in pleasure, plush lips shaping into a perfect pout.

“Desperate bitch,” he said upon the soft plea of his name, although he was the one rutting through your folds like an animal in heat. “Always crying for people to stuff you. Such a whore.”

Fucked dumb, you nodded, not processing the shame of what he was saying.

“Yes, I am,” you hummed. If anything, his cold voice had only made you feel hotter. “Am your whore.”

“That’s right,” Choso sneered, your babbles the only words he had ever wanted to hear. “Let me hear you again. Don’t be shy—it’s just the two of us here. Keep acting like that, and I...I might just forgive you.”

Forgiven. You want to be forgiven.

Spurred by the possibility, you obeyed. An eager little pleaser indeed. Look at yourself, muttering all sorts of crude declarations until there was one that caught the therapist’s attention: “Use me like I’m all yours.”

Acting just like his little whore should.

Wholly satisfied, Choso picked up the pace, increasing his speed until he was hitting your g-spot with stunning accuracy. He anchored you by the hip with a firmer grip than necessary, making sure that every thrust would bring him back to the right place.

“Oh...” you sighed. Without looking, you could feel a mixture of slick and saliva trickle from you as he pounded harder—the juices sliding out from your cunt, down along your crack, and onto the metal underneath.

“Shit,” Choso mumbled once he caught sight of the scene. He swatted at your ass as a warning, ignoring your gasps in pain. “You’re making a mess of my hood. Messy girl with a messy cunt.”

How filthy.

Right when you were about to make more of a mess on the scene too.

With the familiar pressure building in your own lower abdomen, your teeth clamped your lower lip. Even that couldn’t stop the involuntary noise that eked from your throat—a whimper. But that was only because you were suppressing a pitiful melody of painful pants and sharp sputters in its stead.

“Choso,” you squeaked, nerves on fire at this point. “If you keep doing this...”

Your legs instinctively wrapped around his torso to pull him in, only for him to push you away. To properly admonish you, he slid a hand up your thigh and roughly squeezed at the flesh.

“Who gave you permission to enjoy yourself?” Choso snarled while you winced. He cocked his head too, which gave you a glimpse of his black ink-covered ink by his sweatshirt's collar. “This isn’t for your pleasure. This is to teach you a lesson.”

Before you could try defending yourself, he raised his right hand, which came down hard to strike at your ass. You yelped, so for his own sick reasons, he did this again and again and again until reddened marks littered your skin. What a nice color, quite appropriate for a naughty lassie like you.

After a particularly hard swat, tears started to prick again at your eyes.

“Stop! Please!” you cried out.

“Not until you show me that you're sorry.”

As far as Choso was concerned, all he wanted to do was discipline you—more specifically, break ­you—so that you would know to never mess with him again. He realized then and there that he liked to fuck you as he spanked you because he could never confess how much your pretty faces would egg him on.

“This is what you deserve,” he justified right as a large hand punished you once more.

“I’m sorry! I,” you gasped at another strike, but you...liked the pain? “I'm a bad, bad girl! I truly am sorry.”

As your stomach muscles tightened, your heels dug into his lower back and Choso responded with a low grunt.

His unforgiving thrusts were quickly losing their precision as well. At this rate, he might just blow his load earlier than he wanted to. He had originally hoped to pull out of your pussy and let you take his load down your throat, but he didn’t think that he would make it. That dick sucking earlier pushed him much closer to the edge than he originally thought.

“Think you earned my forgiveness?” 

You nodded. “‘M promising I won’t spread myself for anyone else again.”

This time, he slapped you across the face rather than your ass. “A complete fucking lie,” he scoffed, completely disappointed by how your tears were streaming down now. Weak. “Loose women like you can’t help taking more dick than they can handle. Right?”

“Yes!” you prattled, afraid of how else he would punish you if you disagreed. Not that he was wrong, per se. Steadying yourself, your small hands buried into his sleeves, watching how your juices were just pooling on his hood by now.

From above, Choso complained—something about how you were getting distracted again, but you couldn’t quite discern the words as a haze messed with your cognition. To bring you back to your senses, he delivered the most forceful blow on your left cheek instead.

“Just...Fuck...!” you screamed when the pain rushed straight to your pussy, causing you to slide right into a heated orgasm. The tight strings that had built in your stomach suddenly snapped, your jaw slacked as electricity shot from your core to your fingertips, causing you to twitch in uncontrollable ways. “Too much!”

Choso’s gruff grunt sunk into the night as you came around his cock, your puffy pussy gripping his length. He chased his own climax and dug his fingernails deep into your hips, surely leaving crescent-shaped marks on your unblemished skin. 

Knowing that he shouldn’t, Choso still peered down at the space where you’re connected, unable to resist the temptation. He riveted in the lewd image before his very eyes, your wet cunt still convulsing around his fat cock, the image far too much for him to handle especially when you’re making such a fucked out face.

“Take it,” he found himself saying unconsciously. “Take me, baby. Fuck—"

His words stopped short, whittling to nothing more than a low haggard rumble as he met his own end.

“Fucking take it,” was the last thing he said before he slumped over, pushing deep into you as his balls seized and released repeatedly, thick ropes of hot cum painting your inner walls with white.

Choked moans chorused into the evening, the sounds sucked into the nighttime’s void. For the first time this evening, peace and silence settled in, the heavy pants slowly giving way to even breaths.

After several more moments, Choso slipped out with a wet pop.

You blinked past the post-orgasmic haze, expecting to see him offer a disapproving look only to find that he was smirking. This man had fucking beautiful eyes, even when he wore the most mischievous expression.

Asshole.

“I’ll accept your apology. Since you’ve made things up for me.” Leaning over, he planted a chaste kiss on your forehead, his nicest gesture to you ever. He pulled his pants back on and then gently swiped a thumb over your bum, at a spot where the bruises hurt the most. “I won’t even hold you for the mess you’d made on my car.”

Flustered, heat suffused your face. "Thank...you."

He fished his Corvette keys from his back pocket, ready to pop open the trunk. "Let me return your little dress from last night, too."

"Thank you...again."

"Of course, baby."

Choso would never say this, but he was smitten. Look at how polite you were now, almost as though you were a changed woman. All that took was a little teaching.

"Then, shall we head back?" That was no question. That was an order. "I want Naoya Zenin to see you like this."

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: 1) choso is so mysterious in canon—and I LIVE for it. i did my best to convey that obscurity, dominance, and sexiness in his character here. 2) also, his blue corvette is a reference to that line in eiffel 65's blue. that 1990s song lives in my mind rent free.

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[lynn-writes-things]

“I’ve got you” - gojo satoru x reader

aka the one where Gojo mourns Geto’s death, and you’re there to hold together all of his broken pieces, and remind him that it’s okay to let himself be human. 

wc: 2.3k

cw: a n g s t (and comfort!)

It’s late in the afternoon when there’s a quiet knock on your open office door, stirring you from the papers you’ve been grading for the past couple of hours. Looking up, you’re pretty surprised to see Yuta, the newest first year, standing so nervously at your door. 

“Oh, hey Yuta! What’s up, kiddo?” Your smile is sweet, comforting, and it puts the boy just a bit more at ease about all of this. 

“Uh.. C-Can you check on sensei?” He asks in his timid voice, anxiously picking at the skin around his thumbnails. 

“Gojo? What makes you think he needs to be checked up on?” You ask with a raised eyebrow, never once knowing the Gojo Satoru to need checking up on. At least, not in a long time now. 

“He uh.. He had to kill another sorcerer..” 

“Well he should be pretty used to that by now-”

“Geto Suguru..” Yuta cuts you off, and you feel your heart seize in your chest, blood running ice cold. 

“W..What?” Surely, you had to of heard him wrong. There was no way that you had heard the boy correctly. Suguru had been gone for years, there was just.. no fucking way..

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[lynn-writes-things]

ive seen hard of hearing bakugo but what about fully deaf bakugo