#'hah you THOUGH ' *shots him*

[casualavocados]

If anyone allows Zhang Teng to get in again, I'll kill them!

AI DI + talking about & attitude towards death KISEKI: DEAR TO ME (2023)

[snarkylinda]

Season nine is really funny cause Spencer is like recovering from happened in the prev season so nothing bad actually happens to him- hell he gets to be a hero to both the possible victim and the team- so like you get the sense that because of what happened to Maeve they decided to give him a break-

Then comes the finale, he almost dies and another "protector" (this time a MATERNAL figure) leaves him. They really couldn't help themselves.

[staraxiaa]

sunflowers

pairing: bakugou katuski x f! reader contains: childhood frenemies to lovers, fluff, mutual pining status: standalone, one-shot, completed wc: 17840

note: canon-compliant but i bend it; early childhood and then up to season 3. also cross-posted to ao3.

summary: there you stand at the beginning of the world, with you and your sunflowers; your lovely liar's smile.

The first time you meet Bakugou Katsuki, you are six-turning-seven, and you remember it well. Not just because it’s the first day of school, or even that it’s your birthday. Rather, you remember it because of him, and though you think you would rather die than admit it, there is some part of you⏤ a more rational part⏤ that can temper itself down to acknowledge the fact.

You remember it well, because that morning, your mother makes sure to doll you up extra pretty. She dons you in a frilled dress like it is your armor, taking extra care with your hair, its bows, and she does: so much that there is an extra skip to your step as you walk. You don’t just feel pretty, you know you are; a work of art atop a work of art. But you still make sure to say your thank yous to all the unfamiliar faces that compliment you with gummy smiles and a not-so-quiet, conspiratorial grin. “It’s my birthday!” 

You remember the way your cheeks hurt from forcing the wideness of it, the way you think it has started to sound like a mantra. You remember smiling, nonetheless, at his friend, as he wishes you a happy birthday! in return⏤ you are smiling at his friend, and not him.

You remember it well, because the first time you ever meet him, he looks you up and down, clad in your careful curls and prettiest dress⏤ and dares to call you ugly. 

If you were anyone else, you might’ve taken the words like a physical blow. Already, your new friends are tensing for the inevitable confrontation. “You can’t just say that to her,” Sueko says, her eyes already narrowing in a glare.

“And who the hell are you, extra?” The crimson-eyed boy scowls right back. 

The other girl wilts a bit, but her glare remains set.

You decide, right there and then, that she is your new best friend. 

You smile. If you were anyone else, you might’ve taken the words like a physical blow. But you don’t just feel pretty, you know you are; a work of art atop a work of art. So you only give him your kindest smile, because your mother told you to play nice in the morning, as she brushed out your hair. You make sure to give him a once over, glancing down, and then up. 

“It’s okay!” Your eyes curve, ingratiatingly polite; ingratiatingly sweet. “Some people are just born blind. And stupid.”

“HAH?” His reaction is exactly what you hoped for, and it’s almost too easy. “WHO THE HELL ARE YOU CALLING⏤” 

The slight quirk of your mouth is amused, but you only turn, pointedly, to your new best friend. “Any chance you’re free this weekend? Let’s hang out.” 

She stutters an answer, eyes darting between you, and the blond you know is seething behind you, if the glare he’s practically boring into the back of your head means anything.

You tilt your head to the side. A little inquiry, a little push. “So?”

Hands slam down on your desk, cutting out her squeaked yes. You jump a little at the sound, your eyes widening⏤ both a little bit at the sound, and how close his face suddenly is. All of a sudden, you’re glad you didn’t call him ugly right back⏤ it would have sounded petty, after all, and almost certainly would have bit you right in the foot, considering how this crimson-eyed boy is so clearly not.

“I’m talking to you.” Well. You think, he’d probably be a great deal prettier if wasn’t glaring down at you, face contorted in what seems like half snarl, half scowl. 

His friend adds, a little bit placatingly. “Bakugou-san’s not stupid. He’s really smart, actually, always been top of the class. He’s really cool!” 

You note the way the class eyes him, the way the blond’s eyeing the door. He grunts. “I also have twenty-twenty vision.” His chin raises, arrogance in the set of his features, a bit calmer at the praise, but also a touch quieter, almost a bit wary. 

The door opens. He glances back, just as a man walks in, old enough that you assume that he is your teacher. 

It takes effort to keep the shit-eating grin from spreading across your features. “Are you sure?” You ask instead, completely straight-faced. ( You should really consider acting, you think. You’re practically a genius! ) You simper, a hand covering your mouth. “Could’ve fooled me.”  

It’s almost too easy, you think, the way he explodes, literally. 

“YOU WANNA FIGHT, EXTRA?” Miniature blasts pepper the table, and you might have thought it intimidating, if it’s not for the way your sensei is stalking over, looking almost as murderous as the boy himself. “I’LL KILL YOU!” 

You coo a little, fearless with the backing of your newfound supporter. “You’re really scary. That’s illegal, you know.” 

He opens his mouth. But then⏤ “Bakugou. Seeing as it’s the first day, you won’t be getting detention.” His mouth closes mutely. You grin a little at the way he’s being pulled away from your desk, fingers still clutching at the edges of it⏤ by the scruff of his collar, and somewhat like a dog, you think.

His eyes flash, a little bit angry, a little bit dangerous. He points one grubby finger in your direction. “She started it!” 

The sensei also pins you with a stern look. “The next time this happens, the both of you’ll be staying after class to clean, as detention. Am I clear?” 

You gape at both of them. It’s half genuine, half not. You think this verdict is a little unfair. The boy grins, smug.

A complaint is on the tip of your tongue, then you see the sensei’s expression:  deadpan, tired, and unsympathetic.  You sober up, frowning a little. 

“Okay. Sorry, sensei. I’ll try.” 

The crimson-eyed boy is still glaring at you, a little victorious, a little smug, but with a gleam in his eyes. This is war, they seem to say, silent and from across the room.

Little does he know, it has been, ever since the moment he decides to look you up and own, clad in your careful curls and prettiest dress⏤ and calls you ugly.

You blow him a kiss.

He jolts. The face he makes is obviously a frown of disgust. 

The sensei straightens. You smile ingratiatingly, turning away.

This is war, his eyes seem to promise, and really, you can’t help but agree. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Your revenge is served not even three days later, on a Saturday evening, and you think it is the sweetest thing you have ever tasted.

You have your father to thank for it, actually. The boy, whose name you learn is Bakugou Katsuki, is something of a mini celebrity at your school. 

This means that the surface level things are easy to find⏤ he has anger issues, an explosive Quirk, and is smart, consistently at the top of the class. ( You frown a little when they tell you. These are all things you already know, and the only new information⏤ he likes spicy food⏤ isn’t helpful in the slightest. ) But this also means that, knowing his temper, there are very few willing to actively take your side, and much more openly against you. You are the new girl, the outlier, and though he can’t quite make you an outcast⏤ you and your horde of girl-followers ( bought with your mother’s fashion, your father’s wallet, and your pure, sunny disposition )⏤ he has enough friends, or rather sycophants, that will ignore you in the hallways, or mutter names at you.

The boy in question doesn’t, though.

He storms up to your desk the second day. You are chatting with your friends, as he slams his hands on the desk and snarls: “Fight me.” 

Catching your pencil just before it falls, you frown up with him. “What ever happened to: hi, hello, how are you?” 

“Hi, hello, how are you.” He sneers. “Scared?” 

“No, and my answer is no.”

His scowl deepens. “So you are scared.” 

“I’m a healer.” You lift your chin in outrage, affronted. “I’m not violent.”

“Nah. You’re just an extra.” 

Internally, you seethe. First ugly, and now an extra. You have never been called such things in your life. You open your mouth, a retort on the tip of your tongue. 

The sensei walks in. 

It dies in your throat, Bakugou’s face splits into a shit-eating grin. He turns away, head held high; arrogant and condescending, having won this encounter by a mile. 

Wrath boils in your ears, but you tamp it down, expressionless. Your pencils are carefully aligned, your notebook opened with just a little more force than necessary. Internally, you promise yourself, he’ll get what’s coming to him. You will make sure of it. 

You get your chance soon enough on a Saturday evening, dolled up again in a dress your mother painstakingly picked out for you, your hair pressed into careful curls. Your father had told you: your family had been invited to dinner by a friend he’d met at work, and that they have a son in the same grade as you, in the same school. 

You had shrugged. So long as there’s a chance their son would be willing to join your Anti-Bakugou Society ( consisting only of you at the moment ), you don’t particularly mind.

“Play nice,” Your mother reminds you now, as you stand before the door; your father knocking on it. There is a bouquet of sunflowers clutched in your hands, matching the color of your dress, and you only scrunch your nose up a little at her. 

“I’m always nice.” 

Your mother doesn’t get a chance to respond, because then there’s a⏤ Katsuki, get the door!⏤ along with an answering⏤ “SHUT UP, OLD HAG! I’M GETTING IT!”⏤ and then, you blink.

The name sounds rather familiar. The voice, too. 

The door opens. You stare, wide-eyed, as a head of blond hair enters your vision, familiar and crimson-eyed.

He’s just as stunned as you are, as you watch, with no small amount of delight, as he takes one look at you, and then the sunflowers you hold in your hands, and sneezes. 

Christmas has come early, you think. “Katsuki! This is your house?” You step a little closer, a sickly sweet grin on your face. 

He dodges the sweep of your bouquet. A pity, you think, but you are successful: he only sneezes all the harder.

You raise an eyebrow. “Are you… by any chance allergic to sunflowers?” 

Your mother gasps, tearing the bouquet from your hands. She had been the one to pick them out.

He doesn’t need to respond for you to know the answer: as soon as they’re taken away from his immediate vicinity, his sneezes lessen.  

Your mother had been the one to pick them out, and you had disliked the way they looked. But you decide, there and in the moment, that they are your favorite flower. 

He straightens. His nose is still red, and there is murder in his eyes. “Why the hell are you here?” 

His mother sweeps in, pinching him by the ear. “You will not address our guests that way.” She hisses, before looking up at the three of you, apologetic. “I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to teach him manners, I swear⏤”

“No worries at all, Bakugou-san.” Your mother says, correcting herself at the other woman’s oh, just call me Mitsuki! She pinches your ear in turn. “This one is much the same. A righteous demon, she is.” You narrow your eyes a little at her. 

The blonde laughs, and the way she ruffles her son’s hair is terribly fond. “That’s just part of their charm, I suppose.” 

He hisses up at her. She hisses right back. 

You love her, you think.

“Oh, where are my manners!” She straightens, blinking. “Please come in. Masaru’s in the kitchen, just setting up⏤”

Your parents walk in first, complimenting the decor. Mitsuki beams at them, and down at you. “Masaru tells me the two of you go to the same school,” She says. “Have the two of you met before?” 

You say: “Yes!” at the same time he gives a flat, but resounding, “No.” 

He glares daggers into the side of your head. You grin. “We’re in the same class, and he’s my best friend!” You exclaim, the lie rolling easily off your tongue.

“No the fuck I’m not.” 

“Language, Katsuki!” Mitsuki reaches for his ear again, her face the picture of delight. “I’m so happy you’re finally making friends!” 

“WE’RE NOT FRIENDS!” 

She gasps, affronted, looking like she wants to tear him a new one. You smile. Your parents look on, utterly lost. “It’s okay, Mitsuki-san. That’s just how Katsuki-kun shows his love. I don’t mind.”

“Oh, you angel.” And from the look on her face, one might have thought she truly believed it. She whips around to glare at her son. He glares back. “I don’t know how she puts up with you, but you’d better treat her well.” You grin at him from behind, terribly smug, and terribly victorious. 

She turns around, and your smile is pretty again, pleasant and soft.

Mitsuki coos at you. You think the dichotomy between the way she talks to the both of you is like heaven and earth. “Come over to our house more often. I’d love to have you over anytime!” 

“HAH? WHAT⏤” 

“We wouldn’t want to trouble you, Mitsuki-san.” Your mother says, assertively. She is shooting you the look, the one that means she knows what you’re up to. 

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all!” She dismisses the statement with a wave of her hand. “Katsuki has few enough friends as it is.” 

Your father laughs, ever the mediator. “We’ll have to invite you over next time as well. We live just down the street.” He brightens. “Actually, seeing as they’re classmates, they could maybe walk together in the mornings?” 

Your mother’s grip tightens around his arm. 

There is a wicked grin on your face. “I’d love that!”

The boy in question doesn’t even get the chance to protest, because Mitsuki’s already chirping. “It’s settled, then!” 

You think: it doesn’t even matter if he emerges victorious in all the encounters you have after this, because when the adults turn, you get to stick your tongue out at him.

The look on his face is so quietly violent, so blatantly murderous, as you wave your still sunflower-smeared hands in his face, that you think you will remember the sweetness of this victory for the rest of your life. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Your relationship does not change in the slightest after that.

Mitsuki invites you over to her house once a week, and your parents do the same. The adults do their own thing, and you do yours: trying your best to annoy the daylights out of your newfound nemesis, and he only does the same to you. You’ll make fun of his All Might merchandise, the ones displayed proudly in his room, and he’ll make fun of your Recovery Girl ones, the ones you have so painstakingly collected⏤ she’s not nearly as popular of a Hero. He’ll sneer: “So that’s why you used to kiss everyone you healed?” 

You’ll sneer right back, cringing internally at the reminder of that phase, though you are still Recovery Girl’s number one fan. “My Quirk’s literally activated through touch. You’d be lucky if I poked you with a ten-foot pole, let alone heal you with a kiss.” 

He’ll make a face. “Eugh. You wish, idiot. I’d never want to kiss an extra like you.” 

The two of you have learned to act relatively civil with adults in the house. You smile up at him, sickly sweet. “Yeah. This extra is an idiot, and she definitely didn’t score higher than you on the last history test.” 

By one point, but still. 

He snorts, though you can tell the reminder irks him. “That’s only ‘cause you sucked up to sensei like, three classes in a row.”

You sniff in derision.  “I did not.” Sure, it’s true: you’d definitely been a little more active in class, and answered more questions than usual, but you’d studied for it! You’d studied a lot!

He sneers back. “Did too.” 

You have learned to imitate the murderous glare he likes to level you with, and the first time you mimic it, you grin a little as his eyes widen, stunned.

The two of you are civil for the most part, though, at each other’s houses. His mother would tear him a new one if she heard him acting anything but⏤ ( she has )⏤ and you think you like his parents too much to ruin your relationship over something as trivial as this. 

School is a different story, however, as are your walks in the mornings. “Shut the fuck up,” He’ll snarl at you.

“But Katsuki-kun!” You’ll coo right back, using the tone you know he hates. “I haven’t even started talking yet!” 

He’ll scowl at you. You’ll simper right back. He’ll speed up, and you do not slow, nor do you attempt to match his pace, because you know: if you slow, he will too. Always keeping that same distance, and if you speed up⏤ well, you’d tried that once. And you’d kept pace with him for all of two seconds, before he’d sped up in turn, until the both of you were practically sprinting to school. 

You lose, of course. You have never run a day in your life.

( You start training right after. )

You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You flop on his bed, making sure to crinkle his carefully-pressed sheets, forcing him to his desk during one of your so-called ‘hangouts’ and ‘study sessions’⏤ Mitsuki’s words, not either of yours, but there are textbooks in front of the both of you, so that is good enough. You study harder than you ever have before, and rub every one of your small victories in his face, and he studies like a demon in return⏤ ( even though he’s never needed to study in his life )⏤ until the both of you are neck and neck, with perfect grades in every subject. You buy everything sunflower-colored, sunflower-shaped, and tack sunflower stickers onto every surface you can see, pinning some cute ones to your backpack.

( Your mother picked out the flowers, but you are the one that held them, and you were also the one to decide, there and then, that these were your favorite flowers in the world. )

You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You see his face more often than anything else, and he calls you an idiot when you tell him about the fictional boys you think are cute. Well, you don’t care. You tell him about them anyways, because you are bored and Kuroo-kun looked particularly stunning in the episode the other day⏤ only because you are bored and there is nothing else to do, or so you tell yourself. You find: you do not regret lying the first day and calling him your best friend, because even if you are not even friends⏤ you don’t think you are, at least, because he has never confirmed it, even if he does seem somewhat tolerant of you; punches your pseudo-stalker in the face for you, and carries you piggyback on the way home, crying all the while. 

“You’re ruining my shirt,” He grouses. “Stop crying. I’m literally more injured than you are.” 

You sniff. “I’m not kissing you better.” 

He snarls. “Come anywhere near me with your mouth and I’ll blow your face off.” 

“You want it so bad it makes you look stupid.” You tell him, and he tenses beneath you, but you only press your cheek to his neck, and think, heal.

The pain of the bruises lances through you, and you feel the way he relaxes.

You droop. “Onwards, steed.” 

“I will literally drop you.” 

“I just healed you. I’m tired.” 

“No one fucking asked you to.” 

He doesn’t make good on his promise, though, and eventually, you sigh a little into his neck.

“What.” 

“Nothing.” 

“What, dumbass.” 

You hum, a little absentminded. “You’re going to UA, right?” 

“Yeah. Why?” 

“Oh, I was thinking of applying for the healer understudy openings.” You shrug. “Dunno if I can get in, though.” 

“You will.” His certainty surprises you. 

You smile. “Didn’t know you believed in me so much, Katsuki-kun.” Your head flops back onto his shoulder. “Will you still walk with me in the mornings, then?” 

“After school, too. Even if you don’t get in.” 

You shift to blink up at him in surprise. 

He clicks his tongue. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him look this uncomfortable.

“Who the fuck else’s gonna punch shitty stalkers for you?”

You don’t think you’ve ever felt like this before, like the sun cresting upon the horizon, lighting up like a dawn inside your chest. You laugh at the feel of it. “Are you sure you woke up on the right side of the bed today? Besides, you don’t even know where I’d be going.” You reach up to pinch him on the cheek. 

He jerks away, the look on his face disgusted.

“Then I’ll teach you to fight.” 

You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You find: you do not regret lying the first day and calling him your best friend, because even if you are not even friends⏤ he is tolerant of you, he punches your pseudo-stalker for you, he walks with you before school, and he walks with you after. He lets you flop on his bed, lets you push him to the desk, wrinkles his nose at you when you tell him about a boy that was cute, and calls your friends dumb when you tell him about something they said that was funny. You weasel his birthday out of Mitsuki, and get him that All Might merch you know he’ll like. There’s some Recovery Girl merch left on your windowsill the day of yours. He laughs when you try a bite of his food for the first time and cough instantly after, your face aflame. What the hell is this? You hiss, and he grins, telling you it’s real food, and that you’re just weak. He never calls you his friend, but he believes in you and your dream, and promises to walk you to and from school anyways, even if you do not attend the same one. 

( That’s just how Katsuki-kun shows his love, you tell Mitsuki-san, once upon a time, and though you are not sure if it is love, you think: you do not mind it. )

This is how your relationship is, and how it remains, until the end of the second last year of middle school, right before the both of you enter UA.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You are asleep at your desk when you are jumpscared awake. 

“UA? That national school? Isn’t their acceptance rate really low?” Someone in your class is asking. 

“That’s exactly why you guys are just extras!” You roll your eyes as the ash-blond jumps straight atop his desk. “I aced the mock test! I’m the only one at this school who could possibly get into UA. I’ll definitely surpass All Might and become the top hero!” 

This is not the first time you’ve heard this tirade. Sueko nudges you, quietly. “Hey. Didn’t you say you were applying for one of their healer slots?” 

“Oh, yeah.” The sensei glances down at his list. “Midoriya wanted to go to UA as well, right? And someone else…” You tense.

The class bursts into uproarious laughter, and it seems you are temporarily saved. 

“Huh? Midoriya? No way! You can’t get into the Hero course by just studying!”

The green-haired boy stammers. “Th-they got rid of the rule! There’s just no precedent…” 

You roll your eyes at the sound of familiar explosions. “Huh? Deku! You’re below the rejects! You’re quirkless! How can you even stand in the same ring as me?”

“No, wait! Kacchan! It’s not like I’m trying to compete with you or anything! Believe me!” He falters “It’s just that it’s been my goal ever since I was little! I won’t know unless I try…”   

“What do you mean, unless you try? You’re Quirkless!” 

You slam your textbook down with a little more force than usual, and the whole class turns to you in surprise. “He has a dream that he dares to try for,” you say, coolly and careful. “Isn’t that enough?” 

“And what the hell would you know about that?” 

Disbelief rushes through you, and you turn to look him squarely in the eye. The class tenses, and his own eyes widen. It has been a while since you’ve challenged him like this directly, whether in school or otherwise. 

Sueko pipes up, unhelpfully, from beside you, as if he wouldn’t know. “She’s also applying for UA.” 

You don’t get the chance to glare at her, because your sensei continues the thought. “Oh, yes, that’s right! You were the last student applying to UA! The healer routes are notoriously difficult⏤ how’s that coming along?” 

“Ah, I applied to some hospitals for volunteering, but I don’t know if they accept middle-schoolers,” You laugh. 

Your sensei nods, in support, but also a little condescendingly. “Well, it’s also a very difficult path, so don’t beat yourself up about it too much, yeah?” 

The smile on your face feels a little bit painful, a little bit stretched. 

You are distracted for the rest of that day. So out of it, in fact, that when the sensei calls upon you, his favorite student, you take all of five seconds to respond⏤ blinking, first, then glancing up, with a: “Sorry, what was the question?” You are so out of it that you bump your hip into your own desk as you move past for lunch, wincing at the twinge of it, and you are so out of it that you forget your pencil case when you leave after class, and have to go back to get it.

“Believe that you’ll be born with a Quirk in your next life, and take a last chance dive off the roof!” 

You know that voice. You pause. But then, the blast of familiar explosions. 

Before your hands, the door slams open. 

You don’t know what you were expecting. Bakugou and Midoriya both, obviously, and you suppose you should have known his two lackeys would have been there, too. They turn from their face-off, and your glare is sharp and terrible. “So what if he’s Quirkless?” You snap, storming over to grab the green-haired boy by the wrist. “At least he has a dream. At least he dares to try. That’s more than I can say for the two of you.” 

“Stay out of this,” The blond snarls, a warning. 

You are not entirely a good person. You lie as you please, wielding the power of your mother’s fashion, your father’s wallet, and do things entirely for your own amusement, uncaring of the aftermath. You know Midoriya, or rather, you know of him, and how he is a frequent target of Bakugou’s scathing remarks. At first, you had assumed he’d just been one of the people that disliked you, but it had become increasingly evident that he was just one of the people that didn’t dare to brave the blond’s wrath. And you are not entirely a good person, because you just didn’t care. Not to talk to him, not to stand up for him, not if he hadn’t even tried to for you.

You are not entirely a good person yourself, but even so, you know that there are lines that should not be crossed. 

You lift your chin, and say, quietly. “Apologize.” 

“Hah?” He tilts his head. “And why the hell should I? Why the hell are you defending him?” 

You feel incredulous. “What does that have anything to do with it?” You don’t see the way his eyes flicker down to where you are holding the green-haired boy, by his wrist. “There are things that you should never, ever, say to a person.” His eyes narrow, but there’s an irrational anger within you, a disbelief. “You’re literally trying to become a Hero. How can you, an applicant of UA, who hopes to become one of the best heroes in the world, tell someone to kill themselves, and not think there’s anything wrong with it?” 

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Little explosions are escaping his hands, in the uncontrolled way they do when he’s furious and unaware of them. 

You think Midoriya makes a pained sound, what with the way your hands are clenching, angry and white. Heal. A sting pulses through you, and you drop his wrist, but your eyes are flashing. “You’re being an ass. Apologize.”

“You don’t tell me what to do.” 

You lift your chin. “If you value our friendship in the slightest, then yes, I do.” The vehemence of your words stuns you a bit, and the blond recoils, as if he has been physically struck. 

You think you have won, for all of a moment, and then he scoffs.

“Yeah, right. What friendship? The one you lied to my mom about and said that we had? That friendship? The one that doesn’t exist? Won’t exist?” 

His sneer is not harsh, but the breath that leaves you is shaky.

You do not hear his next words.

( You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You flop on his bed, making sure to crinkle his carefully-pressed sheets, forcing him to his desk during one of your so-called ‘hangouts’ and ‘study sessions’⏤ Mitsuki’s words, not either of yours, but there are textbooks in front of the both of you, so that is good enough. You study harder than you ever have before, and rub every one of your small victories in his face, and he studies like a demon in return⏤ ( even though he’s never needed to study in his life )⏤ until the both of you are neck and neck, with perfect grades in every subject. You buy everything sunflower-colored, sunflower-shaped, and tack sunflower stickers onto every surface you can see, pinning some cute ones to your backpack. You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You see his face more often than anything else, and he calls you an idiot when you tell him about the fictional boys you think are cute. Well, you don’t care. You tell him about them anyways, because you are bored and Kuroo-kun looked particularly nice in the episode the other day⏤ only because you are bored and there is nothing else to do, or so you tell yourself. You find: you do not regret lying the first day and calling him your best friend, because even if you are not even friends⏤ you don’t think you are, at least, because he has never confirmed it, even if he does seem somewhat tolerant of you; punches your pseudo-stalker in the face for you, and carries you piggyback on the way home, crying all the while. You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You find: you do not regret lying the first day and calling him your best friend, because even if you are not even friends⏤ he is tolerant of you, he punches your pseudo-stalker for you, he walks with you before school, and he walks with you after. He lets you flop on his bed, lets you push him to the desk, wrinkles his nose at you when you tell him about a boy that was cute, and calls your friends dumb when you tell him about something they said that was funny. You weasel his birthday out of Mitsuki, and get him that All Might merch you know he’ll like, and there’s some Recovery Girl merch left on your windowsill the day of yours. He laughs when you try a bite of his food for the first time and cough instantly after, your face aflame. What the hell is this? You hiss, and he grins, telling you it’s real food, and that you’re just weak. He never calls you his friend, but he believes in you and your dream, and promises to walk you to and from school anyways, even if you do not attend the same one.  )

This is how Katsuki-kun shows his love, you say to Mitsuki-san once upon a time, but now, you know, because you have learned to read between the lines of his words; to understand him: that this is just how he treats liars who worm their way into his world, and how he tolerates them.

Your lip wobbles. There is a lump in your throat. But you will not cry for him, nor will you plead. Play nice, your mother chastises you once upon a time, because you are a willful child, vindictive in both your action and your speech, and petty enough to hold onto your grudges. She chastises you once upon a time, because you do not particularly care to cater to the feelings of those around you unless you feel like it; do not care to stand up for a boy who has done nothing to you, just because he has done nothing for you.

You are petty, yes. Vindictive, too. You may not be that much of a good person, and you are not without your own feelings, hypocritical as that may be. But you are trying, and you are genuine, or at least as much as you can be, as much as you ever have, and he⏤ he has just thrown all of that in your face. 

“Fine, then.” You smile, and you are unfeeling as you lie. “I’ve never thought of you as a friend, either. Don’t talk to me again.” 

The door slams behind you.

You do not hear his next words, so you do not hear him mean: not while you choose him, and not me.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Katsuki is six-turning seven the first time he meets you. 

It is the first day of school. You are seated at your desk, a crowd of adoring sycophants around you. “Happy birthday! You look really pretty today,” His friend says from beside him, and he looks you up and down. You are wearing a sky-blue dress, with your hair pressed into careful curls.

His cheeks warm. He thinks you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, but he only grunts, looking away to the side. “Dunno. She looks pretty ugly to me.” 

“You can’t just say that to her,” Your friend hisses. He doesn’t know her face. 

He scowls at her. “And who the heck are you, extra?” 

She wilts under the force of his glare, and he feels a little better, as if satisfied.

“It’s okay!” You smile. He blinks. Maybe he should call you ugly more often.

And then you call him stupid. And blind.

And the rest is history. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

The results of your hospital volunteer application are sent back the next week, and the first thing you think of, somewhat bitterly, is that at least now, you have a proper excuse for skipping out on your weekly dinners. 

You have already skipped out on the first, pretending you feel sick. 

Your phone is still silent. You have not talked to him since that day, not even to check up on him when you see the news, though your fingers itch to. You think of sunflowers: how you didn’t even like them, until him. You think of how your bag now feels empty without its signature pins, how you have thrown every scrap of yellow clothing into a pile in your closet, your sunflower-themed charms and notebooks tucked away. 

Proof of life comes from your mother, and you do not turn on your phone. 

You break your silence two days later, pushing your vegetables somewhat morosely around your plate. “My volunteer application was accepted. They’re letting me intern at the hospital.” 

Your father beams. “That’s great news! You should’ve told us earlier! Honey, we have to eat out to celebrate! Oh, I need to tell Masaru⏤” 

“I won’t be going to weekly dinners for the rest of the summer,” You cut in. Your mother’s chopsticks pause midair. 

Your father blinks at you. “Surely the hospital isn’t making its interns work that much.” 

“Well, I’m applying to UA.” You shrug. That much is true, but it’s also just so you can fill in your hours, work yourself down to the bone. “I’d like as much experience as possible.” 

Your mother is watching you carefully. 

Your father clears his throat. “Well, don’t work yourself too hard.” He says, jokingly, as he dishes another helping of food upon your plate. “You tell us if they’re giving you any trouble, alright?” 

You force yourself to smile back. “‘Course, dad.” 

( Your mother asks you, a week later, when you arrive home from your internship. “Are you still friends with him?” She has asked you a similar question once, years ago and late in the evening, at the end of the dinner party, your father drunken and half-leaning on her shoulder.

You give her the same answer you did then, and in the same way. Cheery, and without a hint of hesitation. “Nope!” 

She is watching you carefully. 

You excuse yourself, and she does not ask you about it again. )

It feels like the days never end, and yet summer passes by before you can blink. You banish all thoughts of blond hair and crimson eyes entirely from your mind, and truthfully, you do not have the mind to think of him much, anyways. You steal the pain of your patients and make it your own, smiling at the brightness of their faces as you heal one, then two, then several more. It tires you terribly so, and between your time at the hospital and pre-studying for the UA exams, you’re so fatigued each night that you fall asleep before your head even hits the pillow. You don’t even have the time to meet up with your friends. And before you know it, the last year of middle school is upon you, as are the start of your applications. 

It is a whirlwind of things to do, so much that you feel you do not have the time to breathe, or even think. Katsuki’s been placed in a different class from yours, which comes as a relief in more ways than one⏤ firstly, that you don’t have to see him, and secondly, because you can let your grades fall just a little, and still come out as top of your class. Between your intern shifts, your mindless studying, the applications, the tests and quizzes and preparing endlessly for interviews, the thoughts of anything else vanish entirely from your mind. You do not feel the emptiness of your afternoons, nor much of your mornings. 

About two months in, Midoriya Izuku is the one to seek you out. 

There is a spoonful of rice halfway to your mouth, a textbook in your other hand. You notice him when a shadow falls over it, blotting the light out. You glance up, drawling. “Yes?” 

“Can I… talk to you for a moment?” He ventures, nervously, a tray gripped in his hands. 

You eye him a little strangely. 

You haven’t seen him since four months ago⏤ you haven’t really been paying much attention, and even the reminder sets your walls of iron slamming up. He’d been shorter then, you think, and significantly more hesitant. The boy from back then would never have even dared think about approaching you like this.

He flusters. “I-I just! Another time is also okay, or if you don’t want to, that’s also okay⏤” 

There he is, you think, a touch amused. “Can it be said here?” 

Beside you, Sueko’s jaw drops. You can feel the stares of your friends boring into the side of your face.

“Y-yes?” 

“Then make it quick.” You flip the page of your textbook. 

He hesitates. “Is it really okay…? For me to sit here?” 

Your eyebrow arches, high. “Since when have you been unable to sit where you like?” 

Mutely, he sets his tray down, and sits. 

You only flip another page. “You can either eat or talk.” You say, conversationally. “Lunch won’t last all day.” 

Obediently, he takes a spoonful of rice, and swallows. “I just… wanted to thank you.” He begins.

You know exactly what he is talking about, and your throat tightens. ( You think of your backpack, how empty it feels, but your refusal to tack on your sunflower pins anyway. ) You shrug. “No need to thank me. I didn’t do it for you.”

“Even so,” Midoriya perks up a bit. “N-no one’s ever stood up for me like that before, and especially not to Kacchan… I-I’m really grateful, either way!” 

You snort a little. Never would you have thought Midoriya Izuku, of all people, would stand here one day, thanking you. 

“I think you’re a really good person,” He says to you, a little bit hesitant. It jolts you a bit, the genuine honesty of his tone, but what you are not prepared for is what comes after. “And I know Kacchan does, too.” 

Your spoon stops halfway to your mouth.

“He still cares about you,” Midoriya says, a touch softer. Your friends are not looking at you, but you can still feel the weight of their gazes, their ears.

You say as you set your spoon down. “If you want to be friends with me, then you will never speak of him again.” 

Midoriya watches you carefully, notes the finality in your tone. His gaze rises to a point above your shoulder.

He flinches.

He does not speak of what he sees, or of this conversation, ever again. 

You do not turn, and you do not ask.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

The week of UA acceptances arrive, and you await your own with bated breath. 

Your father laughs as you run out exactly at eight every morning to check, before he finally deigns to tell you that the postman usually delivers to your house around twelve. “I knew that!” You say, and he laughs at the obvious lie.

You stick your tongue out at him, but you still sneak out the next day at the same time, just in case. 

But as it turns out, the postman is late. You know this, because Midoriya texts you late in the evening, after dinnertime, with his signature All Might emoji and a brief: check your mailbox!!!!!

You stop, your heart in your throat. You don’t think you are breathing. 

He’s still typing, spamming your text messages with a thousand All Might emojis, each of them more despairing than the last. You do not know what this means. And then, you see his next message: I got in!!!!! 

It turns out that you are not, in fact, breathing.

You feel like you are holding your breath the whole time you’re fumbling through your mailbox, dropping random letters haphazardly onto your doorstep. That one looks like it’s important, you think, distantly, and it gets dropped somewhere onto the growing pile at your right, scanning them all for a familiar logo, and⏤ you see it at the very bottom of the pile.

You thumb it open with shaking hands. Congratulations, it reads, and you scream.

( You think for one moment of sunflowers, how you can imagine exactly how he’d react, hear exactly what he’d say. )

Your father pokes his head around the corner. “I heard screaming. Everything alright?” 

Your mother is smiling. “Mitsuki just called. Katsuki’s in.” 

Your father is looking at you with wide eyes. You are grinning, there are tears in your eyes, and you are wordless in your delight. 

Your mother laughs, soft. “I suppose two congratulations are in order.” 

“Midoriya also made it, so make that three.” You correct, grinning. 

Your father whoops. “THAT’S MY GIRL!” For the first time in almost a year, you feel light as a feather, like the world is spread wide before you, and you are a young god before it, your wings wide and at the ready. 

For the first time in almost a year, you think, for one moment of sunflowers, how you can imagine exactly how he’d react, hear exactly what he’d say. You think of reaching for your phone⏤ ( and if you did, you’d see his icon that you’d purposefully wiped blank bubbling )⏤ but you don’t. You think of a boy with blond hair and crimson eyes that you have not looked at in almost a year, how you’ll brush past him in the halls, surrounded by your gaggle of friends, your uniform and makeup, your armor, and try not to note how he’s grown taller. For the first time in over a year, you think of him, and your heart does not feel like an empty cavity in your chest; you do not feel so hollow, nor do you ache.

Your heart only squeezes, a little tight, but. 

You think you will be fine.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You are delusional. You are not, in fact, fine. 

You are standing in front of the classroom door. It spells the code of your class: 1A, in bold lettering, proportions inhumanly large. You are three minutes late, but it’s really not your fault⏤ you’d simply fangirled so hard over the fact that you’re finally getting to meet your idol in person last night that you’d barely gotten any sleep, and your mother had had to haul you practically out of bed and out the door, throughout the whole of your alarm. 

You slide open the door. Instantly, you’re met with a sea of faces, and you steel yourself⏤ but then. 

For the first time in over a year, you see him, and all of a sudden, you are painfully aware of the lack of yellow on your figure; your backpack entirely empty of its signature sunflower pins. 

The smile is frozen on your face, and he looks just as shocked as you feel. 

A voice drawls at your side. “You must be the healer,” You are glad for the distraction; the source a scraggly-haired man halfway through removing himself from a sleeping bag. Your sensei, you deduce. “You’re late.”

“Sorry, sensei!” You bow. “I overslept because I was fangirling too hard over meeting Recovery Girl today! I promise it won’t happen again!” 

A wave of soft laughter ripples through the class, and over the din, you hear a⏤ she’s kinda cute!⏤ at the same time as a⏤ oh, I love her already. 

“If I get hurt, will I get to see you?” A voice calls, and you turn to see a boy⏤ blond, and your heart stutters for a moment, but his shade isn’t ash, it’s golden. He’s grinning cheekily up at you. 

“No flirting in my class.” Your sensei warns. “But yes, seeing as she’s 1A’s healer understudy.” He turns to you. “Recovery Girl’s waiting for you in her office. You know where it is?” 

You nod cheerily. “Sir, yes, sir!” 

“Good.” You turn at the obvious dismissal, shooting a wave at your green-haired friend as you do. 

You leave the classroom with your shoulders set, your chin tilted high, your outfit your armor, and your makeup your helm.

You pretend like you do not feel the crimson glare that seems like it’s trying to pierce through the back of your neck. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Recovery Girl likes you, and you feel as if you are floating for the whole of a day. Not even meeting Bakugou’s gaze the next morning can knock you from it, nor can the grape-haired boy’s leering from across the room. You can’t really dwell on them for long, either, not with the crowd of people aggregating by your desk. You blink up a little, surprised.

It’s not like you’ve made an effort to dress up especially pretty today, and you don’t think you’ve come off as incessantly nice. You are not the you from first grade anymore⏤ you don’t just think yourself pretty, you know you are⏤ but are confident enough in your own skin that you have stopped putting on airs; have allowed yourself to be as cold and sarcastic and dry as you want. Most of your girl-followers⏤ ( the ones you buy with your mother’s fashion, your father’s wallet, and your pure, sunny disposition )⏤ have only seen glimpses of you like this, and you can count on one hand the people outside of your parents who know you as you are. 

Sueko, Midoriya, and of course, him. 

You do not dwell on it for long. You are confident in your own skin, and though you would like some more friends, you do not wish to temper yourself to gain them.

You smile a little at the question the purple-haired boy asks, disliking the way his eyes are lingering at your chest. “You’re all welcome to drop by the clinic anytime you like. It’s what we’re here for, after all. Though, if you want a kiss to make you feel better,” 

You pause a little bit for dramatic effect watching the eyes of several boys brighten just a bit.

“You’ll have to go to Recovery Girl.” 

Your straight face is very well-practiced, but you do not hide the small quirk of your mouth as you watch their souls die. 

An arm slings around your shoulder, its pink-skinned, pink-haired owner grinning at you. “I think we’re going to be best friends, you and I.” 

You remember thinking the same thing about a different girl, when you are six-turning seven, and you hear the same genuinity behind it.

( You are clad in your outfit like armor, your makeup a helm. Today, you are exactly as cold and sarcastic and dry as you like, because you are confident in your own skin, and you do not temper yourself in the slightest. )

You smile up at her. “I think I’d like that!” 

Her grin widens, but then, an older Hero walks in⏤ Cementoss, you think. You have made an effort to memorize the roster. “To your seats, everyone.” He calls. 

You take out your notebook, neatly arranging your pens. New year, new you. You don’t have as many shifts at the hospital anymore⏤ you don’t need the experience exactly, as you’re sure UA will look good enough on your resume, but it can’t hurt. Besides, you enjoy working there anyways; the older nurses who help you out with a kind smile, the doctors who are almost always willing to answer a question. But the lessened shifts allow you to breathe, just a little, to settle back into a healthier routine; one no longer so bogged down by your thoughts. 

Math transitions quickly into English. You think you prefer Cementoss’s teaching style just a little, even if Present Mic is more energetic⏤ a little bit too loud for your tastes, you think. The material is basic, seeing as it’s the unofficial first day of class, and though you’ve already pre-studied most of the content, you end up writing most of it down, anyways. 

Lunchtime arrives. You balance your tray on your hands, walking side-by-side with Mina. Midoriya waves at you from his table, surrounded by an assortment of friends, and you nod back. “Let’s sit there!” The pink-haired girl points excitedly at a particular table. 

You see several boys from your class, some more familiar than the rest. A head of ash blonde, crimson eyes that glance up to meet your own. 

“Midoriya wanted me to sit with him today,” You say, a touch apologetic. “You’re welcome to join us, if you’d like?” 

Her eyes widen a bit, and you note the glance, the observance. Her own smile is your mirror, just as apologetic, and just as assertive. “Maybe another time,” She says.

She knows what she wants, and she’s not afraid to say it. You like that about her. 

You incline your head, eyelid pulling down in a wink. “Do let me know which one you like,” 

She only laughs at you, her answering grin somewhat sly. 

All Might steps into the room after lunch, and though you’ve never been one of his particularly die-hard fans⏤ you think of your sunflowers, how you make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours⏤ you can admit that in person, he stands a legend in real life. You are just a little starstruck, you think, as he smiles at you, and says⏤ “Do try to keep your injuries to a minimum, though not to worry! Our healer team will be here to assist you!” 

You find yourself grinning a little as you respond, “Nothing fatal, though. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything about anyone bringing a dead person back to life.” 

He booms a laugh. “Naturally! You are all Heroes! You should refrain from using lethal power whenever possible!” 

He speaks too soon. The first teams are called up, and the matchup is almost comical. 

Bakugou will be fine. You know this. You are not worried for him in the slightest⏤ not that you would, you tell yourself, a touch sardonically.

No. What you worry for is the state of your Quirkless friend, and you are right to worry. Bakugou seems almost angrier than you’ve ever seen him, and that’s saying a lot, considering how good you are⏤ how good you used to be, you correct yourself⏤ at getting on his nerves, though Midoriya seems to be holding up very well. 

Your friend has grown, you think. He is not at all the same person he was over a year ago in that classroom. 

But you are right to worry, because All Might is shouting into his microphone. “Young Bakugou, stop! Are you trying to kill him?” 

No, you think, immediately, instinctively. You know Bakugou is many things, but he is not that. Never that.

You feel the force of that explosion from here. “This is supposed to be a class!” One of your classmates, red-haired and red-eyed, is saying. “You have to stop him!” 

“He knows what he’s doing.” You find yourself saying. Somewhat cold, somewhat callous. There are eyes on you, surprised.

You shrug.

You don’t really know why you say it, either. 

“Young Bakugou, the next time you use that, I’ll stop the fight, and your team will lose. To attack on such a large scale inside is inviting the destruction of the very stronghold you are supposed to be protecting. That is a foolish plan for both heroes and villains, and you will lose a lot of points!” 

You don’t need to look at him to feel his teeth gnash in anger, but you still watch the screen, anyways. 

Their clash is violent. You remember saying, once, that you dislike violence because you are a healer. But that is not entirely true, you think: you see the passion in their every movement, even as your green-haired friend receives the brunt of the beating, the callous elegance of it. The careful calculations, the years of training that you have walked alongside most of to witness. 

“This looks bad!” One of the classmates from before seems to shout. “Sensei!” 

You don’t dislike violence just because you are a healer. What you have always disliked is the senseless brutality of it, the cruelty of its aftermath. Not because you have to deal with it, but because sometimes, you can’t. 

You look to All Might. He seems to be struggling with something. 

“So long as it is not fatal,” Your voice is soft, but no less firm. “I can heal it.” 

His mouth tightens, but you see his decision made in that moment. 

You turn your attention back to the screen just in time to see Midoriya’s Quirk. Your eyes widen. It’s so sudden, so powerful, that you almost miss it; the blast entirely different from Bakugou’s own. So he was not Quirkless after all, you think, but all thought of that vanishes when you see the aftermath. 

All Might is turning for you, but you are already running. 

You see the two you are unfamiliar with first. “How is she?” You ask the blue-haired boy who stands upright. 

“I’m fine!” She gasps out. “Just nauseous! But Deku⏤” 

You hear the nickname, and you think you look a little strangely at her for it. You don’t dwell on it very long, though, because you’re already slipping past. 

Then, you see him, and though your heart stutters a little in your chest⏤ ( your bag, empty of its sunflowers )⏤ you still look him in the eye. You are professional. “Are you hurt?” You ask, because he is standing there, still gaping, a little open-mouthed. 

He turns that look upon you, and his eyes widen. 

The eye contact feels slightly unsettling. You look away first. “Well. If you are, you can let me know.” 

You kneel at the green-haired boy’s side. 

A hand stops you, just as you reach out. They’re a little bit bigger than what you’re used to, a little bit more callused. “Wait,” He says, voice raspy, and you tense a little: both at the familiar and unfamiliar touch, and because it’s been so long since you’ve heard his voice. “You don’t have to⏤” He scowls, cursing. “Recovery Girl.”

You blink up at him, a little confused. 

But then you see his eyes dart towards your arm, and then the green-haired boy’s, lying prone on the ground. 

“I am a healer. It’s what I do.” 

“That’s not what I⏤” He curses again under his breath. “The damn nerd will be fine. Does he even know about your Quirk?” 

“Why would that even matter?” You are confused, and you shove his arm away. Your friend is still hurt, and he is keeping you from your job. Why do you even care? You want to say.

You bite your tongue, and think: heal. 

Midoriya blinks awake halfway through. Your arm is covered in purple contusions, and he gasps, jerking away. “You⏤ your arm!” 

They fade within seconds. You only reach again for it, feeling the crimson gaze burning into the side of your face, as you’re sure the rest of the class is too, from their camera screens hundreds of meters away. You stare straight ahead, and think, heal, even as your arm ripples in agony again, painted and purple. 

You steal your patient’s pain, and you feel all of it, but you don’t show a thing. Because you are a healer, and that’s what you do. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You are a healer, and that’s what you do, but the next day, Aizawa-sensei still admonishes you for it. 

“Your records are very impressive,” He tells you first, and you straighten. You figure: he is likely a man notorious for his lack of praise, so you might as well lap it up while you can. “However, just because you have a very high pain tolerance, does not mean you do not feel pain. Am I correct?” 

“Yes, sensei.” You dip your head. 

“The lot of you hear that, right?” He addresses the rest of the class. “She’s a healer, and she can heal almost anything, save those who are already dead. That’s very impressive, and it’s very rare. Don’t let her become your crutch. She will not always be there, and though she might say she doesn’t mind your burden, others will. Whether it’s yourself, your fellow Pro Heroes, or the civilians you are trying to save.” 

There is murmured assent from the class. 

He turns back to you. “Heroism is also about knowing when to step back and let others handle the situation. It is okay to share your burdens,” He tells you. 

You blink a little, surprised at the comments that are not really criticism at all. “I am a healer,” You state. “It’s what I do.” 

He sighs. “You’re just as stubborn as your mentor,” He says. 

You smile at this, chirping. “Thank you!”

“That was not a compliment.” 

You sink into your chair a little sheepishly, but it’s like a sun has been lit in your chest, because you take it as one anyways, and you are grinning. 

Lunchtime is a little strange today, for more reasons than one. Mina invites you again, but she doesn’t protest your decision, a knowing glint in her eye. But she doesn’t mention a thing, and you are grateful for it. 

Midoriya is sitting with the same people as yesterday, and he beams, delighted, as you slide into the seat beside him. Iida and Uraraka nod at you from across the table, and you nod back. 

Surprisingly, it’s the red-and-white haired boy across from you⏤ Todoroki, who breaks the silence. “My father says he would like to meet you.” 

You blink. That’s certainly not what you were expecting. “Endeavour, right?” 

He nods, his face deadpan. “Please decline.” 

You choke a little bit on the bite of food that has just entered your mouth. Midoriya slides you a napkin. 

You cough around it. “Wow, Todoroki-san. You really dislike me that much?” 

He shoots you a strange look. “Not at all. Why do you ask?” 

You’re a little confused. “Oh, that was a joke.”

“Apologies. I have never been very good with jokes.” 

“Nothing to apologize for, and I was planning on declining, anyways. I’m going to intern under Recovery Girl for the rest of my life!” 

“I will communicate that to him, then.” 

Midoriya coughs lightly from your other side. You elbow him. 

Uraraka giggles, but whatever she is going to say is cut off by the sound of the alarm. There has been a level three security breach, you hear. 

“Trespassing,” You hear someone clarify. 

You stare at the horde of gray-uniformed students crowding the hallway. You have never been a huge fan of crowds, especially ones as tightly-packed as this. Besides, you think, a touch dryly, that if there were an intruder, walking headfirst into a mosh pit like this would probably be the best way to get yourself caught up in a mass murder. 

But you don’t get to voice any of these concerns, because then Uraraka is tugging at your wrist. “If we don’t get ourselves in there now, we’re never going to get our way out! Come on!” 

You fall, weightless, and are carried away upon the sea.

It’s horrible. Internally, you curse the girl, and almost don’t even feel bad about it because yes, she’s like the sweetest person you’ve ever known, but she’s also reason you’re in the midst of a thousand wayward bodies right now, wrinkling your nose at the reek, and practically fighting for your life to keep your head above the throng. You are a healer, you think, a little despairingly, as you elbow someone so harshly that your own limb twinges. You are fighting a desperate battle, but nonetheless a losing one⏤ at least you are, until hands lift you by the waist and carry you forth; your savior cutting his way through the crowd with ease.

Your back hits the wall, and gratitude is on the tip of your tongue as you look up, but then you see him: ash-blond, and glaring at you with crimson eyes. “The hell were you thinking?” He hisses. “You don’t even like crowds.” 

You hate the familiarity in the way he says it, as if he still knows you, and you hate the way he cages you in against the wall, his body larger than you have known, but how it still feels the same, pressed up against yours.

( You think of your sunflowers, how your bag feels strangely empty without them. )

It is the nearest he has been to you in well over a year. You hate the way he smells, like burnt caramel, and you hate the way your cheeks warm. 

You want to say: neither do you, and you want to ask him why he even bothered to try and save you. You know he doesn't like you, not even in the slightest, not this liar who has wormed their way into his world; this liar that he tolerates. You think of a thousand witty remarks, ones that used to make his eyes light, the curl of his scowl somewhat harsh, but no less familiar, of giving voice to your outrage, to your feelings, and simply storming past. 

You choose none of the above. 

You still your features, the picture of calm, set the steel of your shoulders, and stare straight at a point above his shoulder. “Why do you even care?” 

You do not look at him, so you don’t see the way he recoils, ever-slightly. The expression he levels you, half-bewildered, half-disbelieving, the rest a complicated mix of emotions even he could not decipher himself.

You don't see the way he opens his mouth, because then Iida is there and shouting. 

You see your chance, and you don’t wait for his answer. You weren’t expecting one, anyways. 

He doesn’t even have the time to reach for you, before you slip past, and are gone. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You stand before the mouth of USJ, your heart in your throat. 

You barely notice the weight of the device upon your wrist; a monitor that connects you to all the ones distributed amongst the class, because there are villains down there, you think, a little dumbfoundedly. Real villains, like the type you see in movies, and you feel almost ridiculous, out of place, as if someone will smack you upside the head and tell you: wake up! and that you are not in a story. And you are not, because you pinch yourself, and yes, this is real life. 

You have never seen a villain yourself before, because you are a healer, and have only ever dealt with the aftermath of what they have done. You know the damage, the pain, the torture it can inflict upon a soul; the way sometimes, no one can ever fully heal them afterwards, not even you. So though you are a little wide-eyed, your thoughts blank, when the mist wraps around you, you don’t even think. 

You lunge. 

Crimson eyes widen, and he catches you, just one second before you fall into darkness as one. 

You try not to think about the way his body feels against yours, how he is cradling you, the way his hand automatically wraps around the back of your head. You feel the impact in your bones, though he bears the brunt of it. Automatically, you reach up, and think, heal, but you don’t have the time to do much else, because then his eyes widen, and he’s shoving you away. 

“STAY THERE!” Distantly, you think he is roaring at you, and another time, you might have protested that you could defend yourself. But the shock of it all is still settling in⏤ ( these are real villains, you think dazedly, and this is real life )⏤ and you are a healer, right now, you are nothing more than a civilian. 

In the aftermath, you still stand, dazed. Bakugou and another red-haired guy from your class are panting, smoke curling from your familiar ash-blond’s figure, and you register, like the world is separated from you by a film: it’s over. 

“Oi.” There are palms cupping your face, and you blink a little, startled, as crimson eyes boring into yours. “You hurt anywhere?” 

No, you think, a little too stunned to speak; the harshness of his tone at odds with the gentle manner of his touch. But then you see a hint of blood trickling down the side of his cheek.

As if on instinct, you reach out for him. He jerks away.

Wow, you think, the lump rising to your throat instantly. You had not known he hated you this much, to the point that he is unwilling of even your touch. 

“I am a healer,” You say, your throat somewhat tight. ( You think of sunflowers, your bag that is empty, your closet and its piled-up yellow. ) “You are hurt, and I am simply repaying a favor.” 

You sense that he is watching you carefully, but your eyes do not rise to meet his gaze. You simply steal his pain, and you barely feel a thing⏤ even if his injuries were not so light, you think you are too numb to, anyways. 

You move past, and he does not reach for you. The red-haired classmate⏤ Kirishima, you recognize, grins at you, saying that he is unharmed. He offers to escort you back to the front, but then, your wristband is beeping, a location upon it.

You straighten. You are still afraid, you recognize, but there is someone out there that needs help, and this is simply another obstacle you must overcome. You will not always be in your hospital, tending to those that manage to get themselves wheeled in⏤ and though there is fear in you, there is also an equal determination. 

“There are people who need healing,” You say, and that is all you need to. 

You are a healer, but that does not mean you are any less brave.

You are a healer, and this is what you do. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You ask Aizawa, two days later, if he would be willing to teach you self defense. 

( You remember a boy, back from what feels like eons ago. You, on his back, the sun in your chest as he offers to walk you both to and from school. You don’t even know where I’m going, you tease, and he only scoffs at you. Then I’ll teach you how to fight.

You think of your sunflowers, and your bag, empty of them.

Your throat tightens, and you make your decision. )

He looks a little surprised, and asks you if you are sure. He warns you that he will not be a lenient teacher, but you have seen how this man dove headfirst into danger to save his students; seen his kindnesses that are masked in the form of tough love. 

You also know he likes you, at least a little bit. If he hadn’t, he would not have complimented you like that on the third day, would not have had the hint of fondness in his tone as he drawled, that wasn’t a compliment. 

And even if he doesn’t, you know he will be at least a little lenient. 

You had been the one to heal him, after all. 

You are wrong.

You hate running. Always have. You started training, years ago, but that had been entirely out of spite, and in the wake of it⏤ ( your bag, empty of sunflowers )⏤ you had stopped. You hate running, always have, and you have no time, you’d told yourself, nor the energy⏤ but really, you hate it because it reminds you of him.

Now, you hate it for a different reason. You hate it because Aizawa pushes you, hard, until your lungs are gasping for air, your knees and legs trembling⏤ you think, somewhat sourly, that none of your healings had ever prepared you for this. You have healed all manner of wounds, cured a variety of diseases, but that does not change the fact even back when you were running, you had not put everything you had into it, and that now, you are trembling, bones soft, muscles even more so, somewhat like a deer.

You heal fast, though, you always have. You would not have been able to heal without it⏤ Aizawa knows this, which is why he pushes you hard. “If you hadn’t been so dedicated to medicine,” He tells you, “I would’ve told you to go the Hero route instead.” 

You shrug. The thought has never occurred to you. Your mother is a doctor, and as soon as your Quirk had developed, you had never thought about anything else. But you don’t get a chance to voice it, or even to thank him, because then he’s hauling you up by the arm.

“Break’s over,” He informs you, a signature shit-eating grin on his face. You think you’re beginning to hate the sight of it. “Back to running.” 

You sigh, before dutifully acquiescing. 

Schoolwork is easier, at least, though between your sparse shifts at the hospital and Aizawa’s daily after-school training, you are pretty much spent. You don’t even register Mina chatting excitedly beside you about the upcoming UA sports festival that Aizawa has just announced⏤ you only think, a little despairingly; more work. 

You glance up at your pink-haired friend’s surprised exclamation, and you see: a crowd of people, so many that from your vantage point, it seems like it’s the intruder incident all over again. A scoff, vaguely familiar⏤ “They’re obviously scoping out the competition, small fries. We’re the group that made it out of the villain attack.” Someone protests, telling him to play nice⏤ no, you think. This is him being nice. “Out of my way, extras!” 

“I came to see what the famous Class 1-A is like, but you all seem pretty arrogant. Are all the students in the Hero courses like this?” 

You see: a head of purple hair, mussed, and you think⏤ wow, he could be Aizawa if your sensei’s hair was shorter, purple, and he were using his Quirk. 

“Seeing something like this makes me disillusioned. There are quite a few people who enrolled in general studies or other courses because they didn’t make it into the Hero course. Did you know that?” 

You didn’t, but he only continues. 

“The school has left those of us a chance. And based on the results of the sports festival, they’ll consider our transfer into the Hero course, and vice versa. Scoping out the competition?” He scoffs. “I, at least, came to say that even if you’re in the Hero course, if you get too carried away, I’ll sweep your feet out from under you.” His eyes flash, chin raised high. “Consider it a declaration of war.”

You sigh a little internally at the theatrics. “Excuse me, coming through.” You call. You ignore the way the ash-blond tenses a little as you walk up beside him, and you smile politely at the crowd; your uniform your armor, and your makeup your helm. You can do damage control just fine. “I’m class 1-A’s healer, so I don’t have a bone to pick with you really, but,” You cock your head. “All we did was fight off and survive a villain attack. I’m not sure how that’s arrogance. Have any of us gone out of our way to bother you?” 

You are sure your classmates haven’t, because though you have not known them long, you are observant enough to tell that they are good and entirely dedicated to the path of Heroism. And you are right: he is wordless in the face of your diplomatic tone, the maturity of it all. 

But then⏤ a laugh, somewhat mocking. You think you recognize the voice, and you do: it’s class 1-B’s understudy, standing in the middle of the crowd. You have not talked to her much, thinking her quiet, but it seems that really, she just dislikes you. 

“That’s so rich of you to say,” She says, with a scoff. “Sucking up to Recovery Girl all the time, parading around like you own the place, all because you went viral and people started calling you The Best Healer of our Generation.” 

You blink⏤ you remember Sueko mentioning it once, you think, after one of your co-workers, one of the older interns had started making videos of you, with your consent. You had not put much thought behind it, and you hadn’t the time to, between your many hours and the boneless weariness that had been so constant in your life after.

“Get off your high horse,” She snarls, a vehement finality to it, as she scans you, up, and then down. 

You don’t know what to say, because honestly, you had never thought of yourself that way; had not thought of any others thinking of you that way. There are cries of outrage from behind you, you hear, distantly, as if you are underwater, but you are still stuck on the way she scans you. As if you are less than what you are, reduced to the painted trim of your nails, the makeup on your face, less than what you are and undeserving. As if it does not matter that you go to the hospital more often than not, your features clear, your hair pulled up, and lose yourself in your work; the agony of your patients, healing them and then some more until your bones ache with the ghost of their pain and you drop dead to your pillow, your phone turned off. 

You are silent not because you are hurt, exactly⏤ you do not know this girl, and she does not know you⏤ but because you are so stunned. You don’t know what to say, because you have never thought yourself reduced to just this, less than what you are and undeserving. Distantly, you hear the cries of outrage, you feel yourself, adrift amidst an ocean, your hands clenching. You don’t know how to start, or what to even say.

But he does. 

“She doesn’t use social media,” He starts, and yes, you don’t, but how does he know? “It obviously wasn’t even her recording the videos, you fuckwit, and it says in the account biography that it’s owned and run by a friend.” 

You are staring at him, your heart held like hope in your throat. ( You think of your sunflowers. ) You don’t understand why he is saying this, why he is stepping in for you. ( You remember making fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You remember finding that you do not regret lying the first day and calling him your best friend, because even if you are not even friends⏤ he is tolerant of you, he punches your pseudo-stalker for you, he walks with you before school, and he walks with you after. He never calls himself your friend, but he believes in you and your dream, and promises to walk you to and from school anyways, even if you do not attend the same one. )

He does not look at you, nor does he pause, and though there is anger in his voice, you think he is holding himself back. “High horse?” He laughs sardonically. “Get off yours. She’s already ten times the healer, hell, the Hero, you’ll ever be.” 

( He doesn’t call himself your friend, but he still stands up for you. )

You don’t know what sort of expression you’re making, but it has to be ugly, something complicated, not exactly bewilderment nor gratitude or simply hope but some combination of them all; like something in between. 

“And what would you know? What are you, her guard dog?” She snarks back. 

And finally, you find your voice. 

“He does what he likes.” 

You are still watching him, and you see the way his hands clench, and then unclench. 

( You think very briefly of your sunflowers, and you think that you will always miss them. You can heal any wound on this earth, save the fatal ones, but you cannot heal the hole he has carved into your heart; not the one from this boy who knows you, every facet, both the good and the bad. You have never needed to hide the unsavory parts of yourself from him; after all, your very relationship was built upon a lie. You think a part of you has always loved him for it, will always love him for it⏤ this boy who is not your friend, has never been your friend, but still knows you, stands up for you, and believes in you, in all of you. And, you think, even if he does not care for you, there will always be a part of you that always cares for him. )

You turn to level her with a cool stare. 

“He’s right,” You say. “I don’t use social media, and before you call me a liar, just listen.” You add, as her mouth opens. 

( Your mother is a doctor, and when your Quirk develops, you know you want to go the same route. You have never even considered anything else; never even thought of being a Hero, until your sensei tells you that he might’ve pushed you for it, had you not already been so dedicated to the path.

And you will not pretend like you have been good every step of the way⏤ you are not that much of a good person. Your mother tells you to play nice, because you are a willful child, vindictive in both your action and your speech, and petty enough to hold onto your grudges. You are not that much of a good person, you have never particularly cared to cater to the feelings of those around you unless you feel like it; do not care to stand up for a boy who has done nothing to you, just because he has done nothing for you.

You are grown now, better now, you know, but some elements of you still remain. You still wear your outfits like your armor, though it is not your hair but your makeup that is now your helm, you take time with your appearance and you take care of it every morning. Your volunteering at the hospital was not born entirely out of unselfish intention⏤ firstly because your mother said it was what you should do, and second because you thought the experience would look good, especially since you were applying to UA. But⏤ )

“I don’t know why you applied to UA, but I know why I did.” You say, simply. “It was because I wanted to become a healer, and this is one of the best places in the world to do it.” You straighten, jerking a finger at the ash-blond beside you. “We all went through the same application process. Take him, for example. He’s arrogant, he’s loud, and he always gets on your nerves. But that doesn’t make him any less passionate, or any less of a Hero. It doesn’t matter, because if you’re determined enough, strong enough, you’ll eventually rise to the top.”

You are the center of attention, but you have never been so aware of a singular set of eyes, burning straight into you.

You continue. “I don’t know who you are, or what you want to be, but that goes for the rest of you, too.” You jerk your thumb back to your classroom. “There’s a green-haired boy in there that everyone thought was Quirkless, including himself. But he had a dream that he dared to try for, and look where he is now.” 

You look at your fellow intern, the class 1-B one. 

“I don’t use social media for a variety of reasons, haven’t for a long while, and I won’t pretend like all of them were good. But ever since I started volunteering at the hospital, whenever I think about it, I think: every second I spend scrolling the internet could be another life lost. Someone I didn’t save, something I didn’t learn that could’ve helped someone in the future.” Your shoulders are set, and you lift your chin high. “You can think I’m a liar all you want, but I would hope, as a healer, you would be at least able to understand this.” 

She is mute, and you look at the rest of the crowd, wearing your outfit like armor, your makeup, your helm. 

You raise one eyebrow. “Anything else?” 

Silence is your only answer, and you shrug.

“See you around, I guess.”

The crowd parts mutely before you, but then your wrist is clasped in a hand⏤ you think, very briefly, of sunflowers, but then you turn, and it is Mina grinning up at you, several others from your class in tow. “You’re so fucking cool,” She tells you, bright and genuine. 

You are not that much of a good person, never have been, and, you think, you are not entirely sure if you ever will be. You will never be entirely unselfish, free of your precociousness, your pettiness, your occasional lying habits, and all the other thousand-and-one flaws you could find in yourself, if you really tried. 

But you are growing. You are the same you that you were before, and you are also different. 

You grin at her. “I know I am,” You say. 

You are not that much of a good person, but you are growing, just as much the person you were before, as you are someone new.

You are a healer, you are yourself; this is who you are, and this is what you do. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

His mother calls him out on his sulking, barely a week in.

“Did something happen between the two of you?” She frowns, and his heart clenches painfully in his chest.

“S’fine,” He snarls. “Keep your damn nose out of my business, old hag.” 

For once, his mother does not take him up on the challenge⏤ he almost wishes she would. He’s been itching for a fight, to get it out of his system somehow, but she’s always been able to read him⏤ just like you.

Mitsuki waves the phone in her hand. “Her father said she won’t be joining us for weekly dinners anymore⏤ she’s started volunteering at the hospital, and just won’t have time.” She states, plainly, and without judgment. “I don’t know what happened between the two of you, or if you’re still friends, but you were probably a little shit like usual, so get off your ass and go apologize.” 

Apologize. That damned word. He hates it. And he’s considered it, but then he remembers: you, your face, the way it had crumpled, and then the way you’d sneered, don’t talk to me again.

He has always been able to tell your lies from your truths, and it stunned him in the moment, because it had not seemed like so much of a lie. 

And it’s not. He sees the truth of it, a week later, when you skip out on your weekly dinners, accept your volunteer position, and cut the whole of him from your life, just like that. He sees the truth of it, on the first day of school, as he waits by your intersection and is almost late because you aren’t there, as he scans his class for your face and finds you absent, when you pass him in the halls and don’t even bother to look up. He sees the truth of it two months later, when that damned nerd stands at your table, a tray in his hands, and you allow him to sit. His heart is in his throat, clenching around something painful, there is smoke rising from his hands⏤ Deku looks up instinctively, flinching, and you do not even bother to turn. 

( You and your sunflowers, the way you smile like the sun when you find out he is allergic, and go out of your way to plaster sunflower-themed things all over yourself, and he’s not quite sure if they are your favorite flower, or you do it just because you hate him. But then he gets to know you, slowly and over the years, a thousand-and-one forced interactions until he finds, one day, that he is not reacting so sharply to your barbs, uncaring that you flop onto his bed and muss up the sheets, unminding of your chatter, your studious, stupidly competitive nature, the way your eyebrows knit a little when you focus on a more difficult concept, or how you’re grinning as you annoy him, rambling about anything and everything; your fictional crushes.

You say you want to be a healer, and the first thing he thinks is: that’s stupid, why not a Hero?⏤ but your eyes are determined as you say it, there is a fire in them, and he sees that bleed into the way you do things; the way you act. You never call him your friend⏤ you have, once, very clearly a lie⏤ but he punches your pseudo-stalker for you, promises to walk you to and from school, even if he does not know which one you might go to, promises to teach you how to fight. It’s stupid, he knows it is, the way he tenses when you joke that you want him to kiss you so bad because he’s imagining it. And then the guilt after, when you press your cheek softly into the curve of his nape, feeling the dried-out tracks of your tears, the way you shudder as you steal his pain⏤ barely-there, but he feels it, anyway. )

He looks at you, properly, fork crumpling in his hand. “Yo. You’re staring.” One of his friends nudges him, gently, and he forces himself to look away. 

( You, the sunflowers you bedazzle yourself in, your bag absent of them, and the way you never wear anything yellow ever again. )

He’s angry at you, at first. It’s unfair, he thinks, the way you seem to carve him completely out of your life, with all the practiced precision of a surgeon, that he spends almost all his time thinking about you, and that you do not do the same for him. You don’t want to talk to him, you’ve made that abundantly clear, and that’s fine⏤ he has his pride, and he is not going to beg you to stay. Not when you chose the nerd over him. 

But then you stand in the doorway. You look like you did the first day, clear-eyed, but older. Your eyes widen when they catch sight of him, ever-slight, but he’s never missed a single expression on your face, and he does not miss it now. All of a sudden, he wants to talk to you so badly that it hurts⏤ he sees the bags under your eyes and wants to tell you to sleep, the bone-weariness with which you carry yourself, your step absent of skip. 

But then, your gaze drops. He sees your bag, absent of its sunflowers. 

He feels as if his gut were a stone, heavy and damning. 

He remembers: you have never once thought of him as a friend, and he will not beg you to. He will respect your space, your wishes. 

And yet. You stand by the entrance, the day of that first class, fierce and silhouetted by the sun. Are you hurt? You ask him, and it feels as if he were floating, stuck in a dream.

He takes too long to respond, and you give him a once-over, clearly discerning he is fine. You kneel by the damn nerd’s side, and he feels the absence of your attention like a physical thing, but even that is secondary to the horror he feels when you reach the other boy; his arm painfully bruised and almost a terror to look at. 

He wants to say: you don’t have to do this, you don’t have to hurt yourself. There are other healers in the building, and don’t you have a mentor? You raved about Recovery Girl all the time, there’s no reason you should be taking his pain for yourself. And the nerd will be fine⏤ anger clenches at him, then, because if the nerd knows about your Quirk and still allows you to hurt yourself for him⏤ “Why does that even matter?” You ask him, and he hears the ghost of what you don’t say: why do you even care?

He does. Of course he does. He always has, even when you giggle to yourself about something so blatantly stupid, even when you are an entire pain in his ass. 

But then he thinks of you, your bag empty of sunflowers, the way you have not worn yellow since. 

His arm drops back to his side, and he says nothing more to you, just as you’d like. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You have always disliked crowds, but so has he. 

He is watching you when it happens, sees you lingering hesitantly by the exit. You’ll be smart about it, he’s sure⏤ he’s hotheaded, yes, but that doesn’t mean he’s stupid or blind. But then⏤ brown-haired cheeks tugs you by the wrist, forcing you into the throng, and he thinks: what the fuck? 

He knows it’s stupid, and that you won’t thank him for it, but he dives after you, anyway. 

He forces his way towards you, watching as you elbow someone particularly hard with a surge of pride, before he’s holding you and marching away, towards the wall, towards free space, trying not to think about how you feel in his arms, how you feel with the whole of you pressed against him. He needs to say something, anything to distract himself, so what he says is: “What the hell were you thinking? You don’t even like crowds.” 

Your cheeks are a little flushed, and you are staring at him. He feels his own warm in turn, and he feels like a kid again, heart like a sun in his chest. 

Your features still. Your mouth flattens, and you are cold as you say what you did not only a day before. “Why do you even care?” You ask.

He does. Of course he does. 

But you do not ask this question in hopes of an answer. Your gaze slides past, and then you go with it, refusing to give him even the time to reach for you. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

When the mist envelops him, the first thing he turns towards is you. 

His eyes widen⏤ you are already in the air, lunging at him, and he barely has the mind, the presence of thought to catch you. You fall as one, and his gut lurches⏤ he wraps himself around you, shielding your vitals, your head from harm, and gladly takes the brunt of the impact. He has all of a second to check up on you, to feel you pressed against him, know that you are safe, before he catches sight of more villains behind. “STAY THERE.” He shoves you into a corner, setting his back to you⏤ and when they are done, you have not moved an inch.

He sees the daze of your eyes, the shock, and cups your cheeks anyways, trying to ground you. “Oi,” He says, harsh, but also soft. “You hurt anywhere?” 

You blink up at him, and then at the red he barely feels sliding down the side of his cheek. 

He jerks away. He doesn’t want you to touch him, not to heal him⏤ he’s strong, he’s fine, he can deal with it, he doesn’t need you to steal his pain. Not when it’ll hurt you. 

“I am a healer,” You say, and his heart clenches again at the sound of your voice, and again when you tell him: “You are hurt, and I am simply repaying a favor.” 

He hears the steel in your voice, lets you touch him.

He would give anything to curl into your touch, even if for the rest of your life, your relationship is just like this: he, the dog, and your favors, the bone. He wants it, so long as you will keep on touching him like this, and yet he also doesn’t want it, because he cannot bear to be the one causing you such pain. 

He is angry beyond words when the extra starts laying into you like she does, and you simply stand there, bearing the brunt of it all. 

He’s watched the videos, seen every single one. Seen how hard you work inside of them⏤ the comments talk about how beautiful you are, but all he can think of is the tired pallor of your face⏤ but what’s more is that he knows how hard you work outside, too, and who is this girl to even talk about you like that, when she doesn’t know what it’s like to take the pain of another, and make it into your own? His tone of delivery is quiet, no less than lethal, and he speaks with every ounce of pride he has in you and the person that you are. 

You are watching him, he thinks, and he thinks, somewhat dizzily, that this is it. You’ll chew him out in front of the crowd, call him out on his bullshit, tell him to stop speaking about you, speaking for you, that you hate him, that he’s stupid, anything and everything of the above. 

But you do not.

You only rise, and he thinks that you are not at all the girl he has known before. Some parts of you are the same, entirely unchanged, but you have grown⏤ so much that it takes his breath away. You have always been coolly elegant in your deliveries when you mean it, but this⏤

He thinks: it is okay if you never want to talk to him, if you don’t care one bit. It is okay if you choose never to wear yellow again, your bag remaining empty of its sunflowers, it is okay if you carve him entirely from your life. 

He will respect your wishes, and watch from the sidelines, basking in the radiance of you: the healer, the girl, and simply everything that you are. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You should not be here. 

You feel terribly out of place in this darkened room, with a crowd of familiar villains before you, disoriented and groggy. 

If it were not for the ash-blond by your side, you think you might’ve started hyperventilating. You are quiet as you wake. You notice: his hands are bound, but yours are not⏤ they know you are a healer, you think, and they do not fear you. 

You feel, rather than see, crimson eyes slide to yours. You blink up at him. 

And then, his eyes flicker up.

You see the resolve set firmly onto his face. You know him, likely more than he does himself, which is why you know what he will say. 

He says: “I’ll listen. I’ll consider working with you, so long as you make sure to leave her out of it.” 

No. The word clangs into you with a force, a viciousness. You jolt upwards, so fast your head spins⏤ no. You know he won’t. He is a Hero to the core, and you know this, because you have decided early on that you will remain a step behind him always, even if he does not care at all for you, there and ready to steal away your pain. You have decided: you will see him live out all of his days, full of glory and entirely unscathed, victorious, and you will not watch him burn his life away like this, tucked away in a corner of this world, quietly and without a sound. 

He lies to protect you, and you decide there and then that it isn’t worth it. You know him, have spent a thousand and one days getting to know him, just as you know that his bluff will be called before long, because though Bakugou Katsuki is many things, you have always known him to be a terrible liar. 

You aren’t, though.

You straighten, and rasp. “No, he won’t.” 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

He watches you straighten, watches you drawl, and he feels a terror like ice creeping up to his throat.

Your lips are pulled into your liar’s smile, soft and lovely under the candlelight, but then⏤ “Katsuki’s going to be a Hero,” You tell them, and his heart stutters because when was the last time you actually called him by his name? 

“Shut the fuck up,” He tells you.

You ignore him.

“Trust me when I say, this guy’s like, the biggest All Might fan you’ll ever see. Well, actually, maybe not the biggest⏤ Midoriya’s collection is insanely impressive, but you get the point. Did you really see his actions at the Sports Festival and think that was your opening?” 

You stand, a smirk on your face, and he wants to tell you to shut the hell up again, to just stop talking, but⏤ you turn, you flash him a grin, and it’s like he’s six again and seeing you for the first time. You see him, in a way no one else ever has, in a way that assuages all the criticism he’s seen since, narrowing his world down to these things: you, and your unwavering confidence in him. Your lips are pulled into your liar’s smile, you are scared and terrified and pretty much everything in between, but he hears your words, hears your truth.

“Newsflash, losers. He’s wanted to be a Hero ever since he was a kid, and nothing’s ever going to change that.” 

His heart swells so tight he thinks it’s going to burst. You, in this moment, like you still care, that he’s not alone in this, and that he cares for you more than anything else in the world, loves you more than you will ever know. 

You do not need to say anything else, because there is a knock on the door⏤ pizza delivery, someone calls, and then the door opens; All Might in the flesh. The heroes⏤ and then you are scrambling for him, your fingers fumbling with the knots, but he simply jerks his hands apart, tearing the fabric, and reaches for yours. 

You still a little, surprised, flinching back a bit, but his heart is singing⏤ you care, he thinks, somewhat dumbly, like a mantra bouncing around inside his head. He barely registers the rest of it⏤ he emerges by the ruins of a building, your hand still in his, piloting the both of you around the villains who try to keep you. Shitty Hair, calling down at him from the fucking sky⏤ what the fuck? but then he’s calling for you, and then there is you: looping your arms around his neck, knowing, instinctively, what he means.

His chest warms like the sun, ethereal and glorious. 

You blast together into the night. His hand lands upon another one, similarly callused, and then he’s curling his other around you, latching you to him. Your head is settled in the crook of his neck, and you don’t protest it in the slightest, only untangling yourself once you land.

You don’t reach for his hand once you do, but that’s okay. His heart is singing. 

He snarls at the others in his usual manner, and you assert yourself with your own. He follows you as you walk, a step behind. The others leave you at the police station, their own parents plenty concerned, and he doesn’t mind it in the slightest⏤ he gets to walk you home, after all. 

You are silent as he does. He walks a step behind, and does not prod you. 

You stop. He does, too. Your hands ball up into fists. He watches, waiting. 

Finally, you whisper. “Why the hell’d you do it?” 

That is not at all what he’s expecting you to say.

“Hah?” He’s never been good with his words, always more combative than means. Particularly with you. Especially with you. “Cause I wanted to, dumbass. The hell do you want me to say?” 

You whip around and slug him instantly, punching him square in the gut. 

He barely bends from the force of it. You clutch your fist, teary and glaring. 

“Fuck you,” You hiss. “Fuck you, Katsuki. You don’t just get to pretend like you care when you want to, whenever it suits you! You don’t get to⏤” 

He’s stunned into silence. He’s the one that’s pretending like he cares about you?

Your mouth opens and closes, so angry that you cannot quite find the words. “You don’t get to just fucking try and sacrifice yourself for me! What the fuck!” 

He steps closer, disbelief lighting a second sun in his chest.

You lash out. “Stay away from me!” 

He catches it in his hand, and you try to fucking headbutt him. He dodges that, too, and then he’s pulling you into him, as tight as his heart feels.

You stiffen. Frankly, he doesn’t give a shit, not when he’s figured out how you really feel. 

“I’m sorry,” He rasps into your ear. “I care for you. I’ve liked you since we were fucking six, and you shoved your stupid fucking sunflowers in my face. I was angry. I’m sorry. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if you’ll have me.” 

You do not move. Do not breathe, and for all of a second, he thinks: this is it. 

And then, you crumple. 

He can count the number of times he’s seen you cry on one hand, but you weep into his shoulder now, a year’s worth of repressed emotions wrung out of you in an instant. You melt into him so perfectly he feels as if he was made for you, the weight of you so perfect and familiar in his arms. “You’re so fucking stupid,” He thinks you are saying though it’s somewhat unintelligible, between your sobs and the way your voice is muffled from being pressed into his chest. 

He chuffs in your ear. “Feel free to add blind and ugly to the list, if you’d like.” 

You laugh, broken and teary, but then your arms rise, and you are wrapping them around him.

He thinks: it’s okay if the world ends right then and there, so long as he gets to hold you; just like this; just then and there; just for a moment longer. 

( He thinks of you and your sunflowers, your liar’s smile. How your face had lit up in absolute delight at the sound of his first sneeze, and how you’d stepped forward to thrust it further into his face, a wicked grin on yours all the while. How you lie your way into weekly dinners, and he’s furious, swearing he won’t talk to his parents for the whole of a month⏤ but then you’re there, in his room and making fun of his figurines.

You say, somewhat disinterestedly, that you think you remember a new All Might one on the market. He caves, and his vow lasts only a week. 

He thinks of you and your sunflowers, your liar’s smile. How he had always hated the sight of them before you; a young god faced with his one mortal weakness, but as time went on, he learned how he did not quite mind the look of them on you. He thinks of you and your sunflowers, your liar’s smile; soft and lovely under the candlelight, scared and shaking and terrified but still believing wholly in him, just as he does you. 

He thinks he has loved you since forever. )

Absent-mindedly, he presses his mouth to your hair.

And in the light of the dawn, pink-streaked and painting you awash in sunflower yellow, you look up at him, and smile. 

bc i need to rant about this fic: afterword

[pxuvalentinx]

Head empty, no thoughts, just inexperienced Choso.

Oh how his little puppy eyes would look up at you, filled with excitement and lust as soon as you take your shirt off, revealing the plump tits he’s been taking a glance at every now and then. He’s always felt ashamed for looking at them, but he couldn’t help it, the unexplainable desire he felt just kept his eyes fixated.

How the bulge in his pants would just grow bigger with each second you let him stare at your chest. He feels like he could cum then and there as soon as you let him touch them as well.

And just when he thought it couldn’t get any better, you lifted your little skirt up to show him that drenched pair of panties which was covering your entrance. His jaw hung open as a little huh.. escaped his lips. All his years of just killing off other curses or humans, he never would’ve thought that he’d kneel in front of a human, watching her gently rub the little nerve bundle through her panties. If he had a tail, it would be wagging from left to right for sure.

Choso watched carefully as you rubbed the fabric against your pussy. He was mesmerized, not only by the sight, but also by the quiet whimpers you’d let out every now and then. You made his heart pound 5 times faster, made his cock throb, and made this oh so dangerous curse drool without even noticing.

Inexperienced little Choso who could only whine as you shoved his face against your clothed pussy. He wasted no time licking the soaked fabric, trying to reach as deep as possible with his tongue. All his blood shot into his dick, while you were riding his face.

‘Hah…That’s it Cho…Oh fffuck..Such a good boy f' me Cho…Such a good..haaah' You could’ve sworn he’s done this before, he knew all the good spots. Choso’s puppy eyes only grew bigger at your praise, he loved being at your mercy, pleasing you, making you feel good, maybe even making you cum. And you made sure he knew just how good it felt.

Don’t get me started on how whiny and needy he gets as soon as he feels your tight little cunt around his length for the first time. 'Oh fffuck…Baby..Baby…Baby..Ah so tight…s’ good…I..hah..love this…love you..’ He wasn’t going to let go of you anytime soon, now that you’ve showed him this new sensation, this feeling that he never wanted to be unaware of again. His thrusts were so sloppy, so needy, so filled with lust.

From now on Choso would never hold back again whenever he accidentally got hard because of something you did, he’d fuck your brains out, even though you were supposed to be the one in control. You turned little inexperienced Choso into a whore for your touch<3

reqs are open (slow atm tho), reblogs, likes and feedback is more than appreciated. stay safe!!

[slayfics]

Katsuki lends you a shirt.

Warnings: aged up | NSFW themes

1,000 words~

"You keeping up with me brat?" Katsuki asked, turning the page of his textbook.

You both were studying for the next coming exam in his dorm. Like always- Katsuki had almost all the material memorized, and you were struggling to grasp everything.

"Hold on- let me re-read that last question," You complained, reaching for your mug full of tea while scanning the page again. Multitasking resulted in the mug slipping from your fingers and the warm tea splashing out. Luckily the contents only dampened your uniform and not his bed. You'd never hear the end of it if it did.

"Damn it-" you exclaimed.

"Do you have to be so damn clumsy?" Katsuki ridiculed.

You rolled your eyes at his remarks. "At least none spilled on your bed," you spoke and dabbed at your soaked shirt with a napkin from your bag. Your dabs did little to soak up the large spill of tea. "Whatever it's fine- can you just explain this last question to me," You asked, throwing the napkin back in your bag and admitting defeat with your wet shirt.

"You're really helpless, hu?" he mocked and looked up from his book but immediately became halted by the sight of you. Katsuki's eyes snapped quickly back to his book, and he cleared his throat.

"Yeah yeah- make fun of me all you want can you just explain it already?!" You pressed.

"I'm fucking trying-" He grunted peering up at you again before looking back at his book. The spill from the tea had made your once-white uniformed shirt completely see-through. The sight was proving to be a distraction for him.

Missing the blush that tinted his cheeks and reddened his nose you taunted him, "Or do you actually not understand it either, hm?" You teased.

"Tch- hold on," Katsuki said, keeping his gaze from you as he got off the bed. He shuffled to his closet and threw a shirt at you. "Change into that- can't focus with you looking like you came back from damn wet t-shirt contest," he explained.

Slightly confused, you looked down and realized that with the spill set in your bra was completely visible through your shirt. You let out an amused laugh and unbuttoned your shirt to change into his.

"THE HELL?!" Katsuki exclaimed and quickly turned around.

"What?" you asked teasingly. "Isn't this what you wanted?"

"Change in the damn restroom," He barked.

"Oh relax- my hero costume is much more revealing than this," you replied.

Katsuki just let out an annoyed grunt.

"Didn't expect you to be so flustered by tits," You laughed. Even though he had turned around you caught his reflection in the mirror- his eyes slightly peered at you stretching to grab the shirt he threw at you.

You smirked at him in the mirror, and his eyes shot forward when you did- the small blush on his cheeks deepened at being caught.

"I don't mind you know- if I did, I would have gone to the restroom to change," You said.

"Just hurry up," he said roughly.

You eyed the back of him- his hands tightly bound into fists and the blush now evident on the tips of his ears. It was fun to see Katsuki so flustered. It was such a change from his usual attitude. As if finally, something had power over the stubborn boy. The feeling gave rise to devious thoughts that you couldn't say no to.

"Have you not seen boobs before?" You asked, tilting your head to the side.

"HAH?! Course I have!" He yelled.

"I mean in person- up close," you clarified.

Your question seemed to stun Katsuki- for the first time, he was speechless. He wanted to tell you to shut the hell up and change already so you could get back to studying but- his mind was racing with why you were asking him such a stupid question. Until you asked another-

"Do you want to?" You asked almost in a whisper.

What kind of question was that? Of course, he wanted to- but... he wasn't some damn perv like Mineta or Kaminari.

"Tch- you think I'm some fucking perv like those other extras. Just change so we can get back to studying," he finally answered.

"No- I offered that makes it ok- and that blush on your face says otherwise. You think I can't see that?" You teased.

Katsuki grunted and turned around to face you, "You're not going to fucking give this up, are you?" He said, pretending it was your stubbornness that was making him give in and not his own desires.

You smiled at his flustered expression, "I will- if you tell me honestly you don't want to." You said winking at him.

Katsuki gritted his teeth and his nose scrunched up.

"That's what I thought- you can't can you?" You giggled.

"You're so damn provocative," He complained but sat next to you on the bed.

"This has been bugging me all day anyway- been dying to get it off," you said unsnapping the back of your bra and exposing your breasts.

Katsuki's eyes widened at you- shocked that your offer was not just a tease. The blush on his face ignited once more and so did his scowl as his eyes gazed at your exposed skin. He looked equally frustrated and flustered as if he was angry at his own desires. Katsuki hated feeling vulnerable- and you knew just the ways to get the best of him.

"You can squeeze them if you want," You offered further.

Katsuki only peered at you for a moment to ensure your offer was legitimate consent before quickly squeezing one of your breasts in his hand. As he did, he turned his face away from you- hiding his lack of composure. You were soft, and warm, and all his boy hormones screamed at him to stuff his face in your chest. He was sure if he turned to look at the sight of your breast in his hand, he wouldn't be able to control himself, and he didn't want to give you that satisfaction of having power over him.

As rough as he was everywhere else in his life you were surprised at the gentleness he used to squeeze you.

Katsuki dropped his hand but remained looking away from you and he tried to regain himself.

You took mercy on him and threw his shirt over your head finally.

"This is a comfy shirt," you said, trying to change the subject and ease the embarrassment oozing off Katsuki.

"Keep it as long as you want," he grunted and cleared his throat making a grab for his textbook again. "Alright... what question did you need help with again brat?" he asked- attempting to move on and switch back to his usual rough demeanor.

Tags: @unofficialmuilover @maddietries @fiannee @i-heart-carlisle @derangedmango @matchat3a @zanarkandskylines

[chuluoyi]

✎ attraction

- gojo satoru x reader

to think it started with your crush on his best friend...

genre: high school!gojo being a menace, jealous!gojo but he doesn’t realize it? enemies to lovers, fluff, gojo begins pining on you

note: thank you anon who asks for gojo falling in love with a first year! i added some spice though haha

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

Back in 2006—

There was this tiny weeny part of Gojo that was like... questioning, how did his best friend Geto Suguru catch your eye, whereas he didn’t? Like, at all?

"I want Geto."

"Hah?" Gojo arched a righteous brow, swiftly turning your way—feeling the stings of irritation gnawing at him. "What?"

You shot him a look. “I said, you suck and I’m lamenting that I’m paired with you instead of Geto for this mission.”

Once upon a time, you did hate him for obvious reasons as other people do. He was obnoxious, boastful and overall grating on your nerves.

Well, actually, “hate” would be too strong of a word, so probably “dislike greatly” it is.

“Ehh, Suguru? With you?” Gojo glanced at you, purposefully scrunching his face into a mocking sneer. “No way. Absolutely not. Incompatible. I won’t give him my blessings.”

“Who are you to grant blessings?” you hissed with a bulging vein of frustration. “And no, it's not what you think! I—” you wanted to kick yourself for stumbling over your words, “—I just respect him in a way an underclassman would!”

Gojo let out a strained laugh.

To him, you were this cute little junior who looked funny when mad. Riling you up was on his daily to-do list, and poking fun at your obvious crush on his best friend was supposed to double the fun, until it made him wonder despite himself... just what exactly did Suguru have that he apparently lacked, leading you to always follow him with your eyes, whereas you spared him with nothing but glares and sharp retorts?

You didn’t exactly hide your feelings. Whenever Geto was nearby or greeted you in the mornings, you'd blush like a tomato. It was silly, because Gojo was sure his best friend’s type wasn’t a girl as skittish as you—surely, it must be someone as vivacious as Inoue Waka.

He knew you were doomed to fail.

"I suggest you go pick up some slack," he teased. "Better if you don't become a dead weight while assisting him in missions, no?"

He knows. Really.

"...do you know that there are only three things I can't stand here?"

"And those are?"

But...

"Your stupid glasses, your Limitless—and you."

He was still irked, regardless.

"Well, poor you, then," he shrugged, shit-eating grin on his face. This time he pushed his luck. "Do you know that you're nowhere nearing Suguru's type?"

Scratch that. You hate him. You turned to him with a reddened face, and it wasn't because you were blushing.

"I'm going by myself!" you declared, seething. "I couldn't care less about what you're about to do—I'm finishing this and going home!"

With that, you you marched towards the haunted house, paying no heed to his taunts behind you.

You felt a wave of embarrassment washing over. Gojo always messed with you and normally you would chalk it up as one of his shits—but this time, you didn't appreciate how he touched on that sore spot of your not-so-hidden infatuation with Geto. So what if you weren't his ideal type? He didn't have to be mean!

But soon you regretted leaving his side, as a monstrous cursed spirit quickly chased you out.

Gojo was still outside, bidding his time. He merely huffed when he heard you screaming in fear.

He was ready with a jab. "Well, well... Look who's running back into my arms—"

But his smirk quickly fell when he saw the cursed entity was apparently way beyond your level. You ran out—no, by some idiotic impulse of survival, you actually leapt out of the two-story window and almost fell flat on your face and broke your bones, but before then, he sprung to action, catching you, wrapping one arm on your waist.

You were grateful you that you weren't doomed—until you felt yourself dangling mid air in his hold... like a cat.

"Gojo!" you wailed. "I'm going to fa—!"

Oh, but Gojo was convinced that this was his moment to shine. He directed a smirk your way as the bright blue mass in his hand totally caught your attention. With one swift flick of his hand, he muttered the mantra for Blue, and exorcised the cursed spirit in one go.

He marveled at his own show of power—and hoping that somehow, you would too. Then, he placed his hand under your knees, repositioning you in a princess-carry, and the way your gentle curves nestled snugly in his arms sparked some intriguing thoughts in him.

Your wide, crystal-clear eyes gazed at him with such wonder. Red tinted your cheeks. The corners of his mouth curved into a winning smile.

It was at that exact moment when he realized it: he wants you. This funny girl who often made his day, he wanted you to look at his way too.

...but goddamnit, you like Suguru.

"Well, not that scary now with me around, isn’t it?" he boldly announced, and your amazed expression immediately turned into a cute frown.

"Thanks," you blurted, still with rosy cheeks and looked frazzled, but then you realized the state you were in his arms. "But—put me down!"

"Ehhh, I will if your feet can reach the ground!"

Who cares if you like Suguru? As he burst into snickers and you screamed at his face, Gojo Satoru decided then and there—in that spring of 2006—that he would make it his mission to win you over. To make you his.

And years later, not only he achieved that but also so much more—a ring on your finger serving as the testament to his success.

Epilogue

"Yaga-sensei," Geto sighed wearily. "Can I be paired with Shoko, please?"

"Geto-san, wait, please—" you frantically tried to explain, glaring at Gojo in the process. "I'll do my best so—"

"You're such a bother, even Suguru doesn't want to go on missions with you," the white-haired clown remarked with an evil grin. "Right, Suguru?"

"No, Satoru—"

"Well, but if it's me, I'll gladly mentor and teach you though~"

"I don't want you! You're so insufferably annoying!"

"Yaga-sensei, can I please get paired with someone else—"

[celiime]

୨ৎ — .ᐟ Him ‘n his stupid infinity! [Pt.2!]

ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁— Continuation to him ‘n his stupid infinity!

[Ps! I did this all in dark mode, so i’m not exactlyyy sure how it may look in light mode? hehe, so sorry if it looks super bad in light mode! it looks okay in dark—so if it bothers you in light mode, then please switch to dark mode for the best reading experience! mwah! thank you!]

╰┈➤ Gojo Satoru finds himself in a dilemma once he discovered that his cute underclassman hates him—without even knowing the reasons behind her hatred! How could he get himself out of this? Well, it seems like fate has it all played out for him…but he somehow manages to go against all odds and making it even worse.

Or in which, Gojo Satoru seems to only have his infinity activated around specifically you, his underclassman, even though you’re no threat and a student yourself! The longer you go without knowing why he does this, the stronger your dislike grows towards him. Why is he doing this? [This takes place in 2006!]

"She hates me, Suguru! Did you see how she glared at me when we passed her this morning?"

"You're being overdramatic, Satoru..."

Gojo Satoru was overdramatic at times, even he could admit that, but this time—he really wasn't being overdramatic! This was a serious problem!

All his underclassmen were supposed to like him, even Nanami (nevermind how the younger boy clearly can't seem to stand being around him, he's a different story.), so why is it that his cute little underclassman hates him this much?

You were too little for all that hatred to be in you body! Where do you even conjure it from?!

A groan left Gojo's mouth as he slumped over his desk, his cheek squishing against the wood as he wallowed in his agony—in the form of his underclassman hating him, despising him.

"Suguru, Shoko...do I smell bad? Is that why she doesn't wanna be near me?" A pout tugged down the corners of his lips as he tried to jump to any conclusion, anything that could pose a possible solution for this first world problem. “Be honest!”

But of course, his best friends would be here to appease his worries, right? As friends always do.

"Yeah." Ouch!

"You stink." Did he really?!

"You guys suck!" His shoulders slumped, narrowing his eyes at his friends from behind his round glasses, just how unsupportive were they?

This was serious!

As the chorus of laughter soon ceased, his pout deepened even more. What a man baby.

A hand rested on his shoulder—Suguru, he was always familiar with that touch—snapping him out of his sulking, prompting him to lift his head to shoot his best friend a curious look. "Hm?"

"Is it possible that you've done something to upset her?" He suggested, tilting his head to the side as he provided ample information for his friend to start questioning his interactions with said underclassman.

Suguru had to fight the twitch of his lips that threatened to tug up into a smile, he knew exactly why you 'hated' him. Hah.

"Yeah, Gojo. I heard from Haibara that she doesn't hold grudges, so you must've done something reaaaally bad for her to treat you like that!" Cue Shoko chiming in, a semblance of an innocent smile on her pink lips.

Oh, her intentions were anything but innocent.

Each suggestion and word was like an arrow—not even a cupid’s arrow!—shot into his heart, piercing his chest and forcing him to lament on their words. This is…extra bad, it’s only becoming worse by the minute!

“Wh—What! Haibara must be lying! You know how playful he is, heh—“ A nervous smile tugged up the corners of his lips, looking between his two friends for reassurance, “Right?…”

Silence.

“I’m done for!”

“What’s up with…him?” Shoko raised an eyebrow at Gojo, who had his head on his desk, neglecting the tray of food infront of him.

Gojo always had a huge appetite, why wasn’t he eating?

A fond smile tugged on the corners of Geto’s lips as he kept patting his friend’s back, “He talked to her.” He could barely conceal the chuckle he felt leaving his mouth.

Oh…well, isn’t that a good thing? They finally talked!

“So? What’s the idiot moping about?” Shoko crossed her arms, half-lidded eyes trailing over the sulking student, “Didn’t he want to talk to her?”

“You don’t get it!” Satoru’s loud voice boomed through the classroom, “She hates me even more now! Gahhh—I completely messed up!”

How?

Let’s go back a bit.

“These vending machines suck…seriously.” A small huff left Gojo’s lips as he stared down at the water bottle in his hand, having went through the trouble of literally almost tousling with the vending machine so he could acquire it, “Such a pain.”

Class had already started, but he was in no rush to even hasten his steps back to the classroom, after all—he’s Gojo Satoru, he can be late all he wants and he won’t even get scolded. Mhm!

That’s a lie. Yaga-sensei could and will give him punishment for this but, he just hates this current lesson, so he’s going to take his time strolling very slowly through the halls of the school.

Or at least, that was the plan. Until—

He heard a few noises coming from the first years’ classroom, and while it is technically normal to hear noises—it is an inhabited classroom after all—the first years were supposed to be on a mission, right? That’s what he heard from Yaga-sensei.

Or at least, that’s what he thought; he was starting to rethink if he had heard Yaga incorrectly because there were for sure some noises from behind the closed door of the classroom.

Look—Gojo isn’t nosy, he’s just…yeah, he’s nosy.

With that admission in mind, he slid the door open, curiously peeking his head in as he looked around, blinking as he found all chairs empty.

Huh. Maybe it was his imagination, after all.

Just as he was about to leave and slide the door shut once more, a small sniffle immediately halted all those thoughts.

He totally wasn’t imagining that!

He scanned the classroom once more, eyes narrowed in determined, before—lo and behold, the cause of his tantrum in the morning.

Slumped on a chair, and…crying?

!!

You were…crying, evidently so, if the tinted sight his glasses provided him with was real, then you definitely were crying.

Did…something happen in the mission?

Despite himself, his narrowed eyes softened, eyebrows furrowing in subtle worry as he found himself worrying for the safety of the first years, if the cause of your tears was anything related to them.

After all, it wasn’t uncommon to hear of a passing in the Jujutsu community, student or not.

“Hey…” He promptly called out, going against all his rational thoughts—he didn’t have any of those—and deciding to confront you, to figure out why you were shedding this many tears.

The underclassman he knew, though very polite and friendly with others, was a girl who held herself highly, one that he’d never seen shed this many tears. This was seriously worrying.

At his call, your head snapped up, eyes rounding in shock—

and oh—

Your wide eyes, glassy and glazed over with tears, rimmed red with the evidence of the intensity of your tears, nose attaining a red color on the very tip…

Satoru thinks this sight may have tugged something in his heart, just the slightest bit.

You are his underclassman, a younger student that he finds endearing, always trying to insert himself into your daily life just to see your worthwhile reactions, always wishing you a good morning when he passes by while going to his classes. And sure, while you don’t spare him the time of the day, he still finds himself doing it.

Satoru was not crushing on you, yet, he didn’t hold feelings for you, but he is unsure if this may be the same for the future. If anything will change.

If the sight he’s seeing right now is repeated more often, then he thinks something may just change.

A sniffle broke him out of his thoughts, finding you hastily wiping your eyes with the back of your hands, getting rid of the tears latching onto your long lashes— “What do you want?” Your tone still held the same harsh lilt, “Haibara and Nanami are not here.” but it bore a soft edge to it, a testament to your vulnerability.

“I’m—ah—I’m not looking for uh..Haibara, or Nanami…” He trailed off, finding it awkward when you were this close to tears once more, he didn’t know how to deal with people when they were this emotional—

especially when it was his underclassman who seemed to dislike him.

“Okay then. I’m not in the mood for you to annoy me, okay?” There it was, the little crack in your voice, “Go back to your lesson. Geto-senpai told me your attendance sucks.”

Agh—That Suguru! Does he only go badmouthing him off to you or something? You already disliked him enough!

“I attend all my classes! Suguru is just jealous of my astounding attendance!” He hurried to defend himself, a pout gracing his glossy lips once more. However—this moment wasn’t really for him, it was about you, why you were crying.

The reason he even entered the classroom at all.

“Weren’t you supposed to be on a mission? With the other two?” He struck the question, genuine curiosity in his glasses clad eyes.

Your eyes trailed down, narrowing in dismay.

Just the mere mention of the mission—how badly it went—was enough to bring that annoying burn in your nose once more, the sight of Gojo infront of you blurring as tears filled your eyes once more.

You were not going to cry infront of him. No. Why would you give him another reason to tease you?

“Hey hey. Easy.” His eyes widened with shock as he saw the tears collect in your eyes once more, “What happened? Is everyone okay?” His tone softened, the best he could manage at this situation, he was never good with emotions.

Gojo would never hold this against you in the future. He was sure of it. Emotions were very dear to him, he understood how important they were for someone and how painful it was to display them infront of others.

He would know, he never displays much emotion anyways. Despite the storm of emotions building up in his chest by the day.

However, you found yourself thinking the opposite.

You couldn’t cry infront of him. You just couldn’t. It was too embarrassing.

But the way his tone softened—

“The mission—“ Your breath hitched, feeling your throat closing up the second you tried to hold the tears back, “went well.” Why was your voice so thick with emotions?

“Haibara and Nanami did well.”

Gojo raised a questioning eyebrow.

Why did you not mention herself? Did you not go on this mission with them, too?

“And how did you like it? You seemed pretty excited before leaving.” He tilted his head, trying to find a way to worm around this without pressuring you too much.

Your eyes rounded with tears.

Gojo’s eyes rounded with panic. He didn’t mean to make you cry again!

Shit.

“I don’t—“ You paused to take a breath, raising your hand to wipe your eyes, “I don’t think I did well today.” The words slipped out of your lips before even getting to process them.

Just what effect did this idiot have on you?

“The curse…it was so…grotesque looking—“ red rimmed eyes looked up towards him, hands resting on your lap as you tried to hold back the tears, “I know that’s normal—but! It didn’t look like the usual curses…”

God, Gojo probably thought you were so lame now. Not that you care, especially when it came to him, but it just wasn’t a good look for your image.

Gojo’s breath, on the other hand, hitched.

God, You were so…endearing. Usually, Gojo would scoff or roll his eyes whenever hearing of someone who’s weak—he’s always been filled with a bit of arrogance—thinking that they shouldn’t be sorcerers. But, in his eyes…

You seemed like the most endearing thing ever.

The sight of you crying didn’t sit in his heart so well.

“I’m usually stronger than this.” You mumbled, gaze drifting down to your lap, “I barely managed to save Haibara…he would’ve been dead if I didn’t act sooner.”

Under the desk, your hands clutched your skirt tightly.

“You did a good thing. You saved him.” Gojo breathed out for the first time in a few minutes, internally grimacing at how awkward he sounded, “What’s up, then? You seemed to be…crying a lot.”

He didn’t like hearing you dismiss your efforts so easily, to cast aside the thought that you prevented a literal death from taking place. This—

This type of achievement was one that all Jujutsu Sorcerers always wished for after the loss of their teammate.

And oh…how his heart tightened in his chest as he saw you discreetly wiping the tear that slipped down your cheek.

“I didn’t—None of my efforts were enough!”

Satoru thinks that crack in your voice pulled at something in his heart, bypassing his infinity and going straight for his heart. Stronger than any curse.

“Haibara could’ve sustained less injuries if I acted sooner.” This was so humiliating, crying infront of your upperclassman that you supposedly didn’t stand. Yet, the only thing you could do right now is cry.

Cry at your failure, your dismay, at everything that went horribly today.

“Woah woah—easy there.” Gojo finally found his voice, startled upon seeing you actually crying this time, “You did your best. This is the best case scenario, yknow?” He tried to be comforting, even though he knew he positively sucked at it.

Ahh—he couldn’t just comfort you from a distance, it would look like he wasn’t even trying to put in effort or that he didn’t care. Which wasn’t true! He cared! Or else he wouldn’t be here.

Swallowing the lump in his throat—wow, since when was Gojo Satoru the nervous type?—as he approached you, taking slow, deliberate steps…almost as if carefully approaching a frightened kitten in fear of startling her.

He inwardly chuckled at the comparison, finding it incredibly fitting for his cute underclassman.

“Do you want some…water?” He gestured to the bottle in his hands, the one he spent almost half an hour trying to retrieve from the vending machine.

Yes, he was giving you the bottle he wasted oh so precious time trying to get. I mean—pshhhh, it was just water, right? He could get another bottle!

You raised a brow at his words, patting under your eyes with your uniform’s sleeve, “What? To share an indirect kiss with a creep like you? Hmph. No.” A huff.

Creep?! Gahh—you just called him a…a creep! He isn’t a creep! He’s your totally cool and dependable upperclassman! Come on, he was totally just looking out for you!

“No—! I didn’t even drink from this, wh—“ He flailed his hands, feeling an aching need to justify himself to you, “Come on! I don’t even share my water with anyone, anyways!” He felt a familiar pout on his glossy lips, pulling them down.

And oh…how you felt your eyes softening at the familiarity of this all, at how this was a stark contrast to the thoughts that were swarming your head just before he came. This was…a familiarity that comforted you.

Ew.

And well, your throat did feel like it was a bit dry after all. You silently cursed at yourself for forgetting your water back at the dorms.

“Fine. I guess I could drink some.” You gave in with a defeated sigh, after much contemplation.

Immediately, his face lit up.

Aha? Yes! Yay! Victory for Gojo Satoru!

A wide smile formed on his lips, feeling a prideful air surround him as you agreed to his request, he took a few steps towards your desk, finally getting the okay to come closer without feeling like he’s breaking boundaries.

And—huh? you blinked, noticing how he was approaching, with no…infinity. There wasn’t a distance of five feet between them now, he was…not that far. sure, he wasn’t super close either, but he was just a few steps infront of your desk.

!!!

His infinity wasn’t on! He didn’t consider you a threat anymore!

Despite yourself, a small smile tugged on your lips, eyes rounding with relief in them, feeling like you had achieved something that you’d been waiting for for so long.

Which would be, Gojo’s infinity being off around you. Pretty laughable, but it was serious to you!

Gojo felt himself inflate with pride at your acceptance to let him help you.

He was so your knight in shining armor! And—

hold on.

He paused, feeling his breath get stuck in his throat the second his gaze drifted over to you.

…Huh?

What’s with the look on your face, and…why did it suddenly make Gojo feel as if his heart was about to leap out of his chest.

This couldn’t be healthy!

But, he couldn’t help his breath from hitching, eyes widening the slightest bit behind his round sunglasses. Because, here you were, staring up at him with those glassy round eyes, the remnants of tears causing them to sparkle, the red tip of your nose adding this absolutely endearing color to your features and—

The look on your face, the awe struck look on your face. You were looking at him with that look on your face. And coupled with that little smile? That smile that you always flash at everyone but him?

He couldn’t help but feel his heart picking up it’s speed, granting him with the faux feeling of adrenaline that he couldn’t even achieve when fighting curses.

Gojo thinks this day is blessed.

Unbeknownst to both him and you, his heart picking up its pace had caused his infinity to activate. That was how it usually worked, it worked in response to the fast pacing of his heart, as this muscle only did this when he was in danger—ready to protect him from any danger or threat.

“Here…” He mumbled under his breath as he held out the water bottle towards you, standing a bit away from your desk, still afraid of potentially breaking boundaries.

“Oh—thank you..”, You also found herself trailing off, hand outstretched forwards to retrieve the bottle from his hand, before—

An invisible force caused you to stop, hand hovering awkwardly mid-air.

Oh.

“Thanks for nothing.” You grumbled, the smile on your face falling immediately as you snatched your hand back, crossing your arms, trying to hide the shock and disappointment that you felt.

What else did you expect?

Disappointing.

Was this idiot serious? Was he actually being serious?! Is he trying to pull some prank or something? Because if so, then he isn’t funny! In fact, he may be one of the unfunniest people you have ever known!

Did he think it was a good idea to humiliate you while you were clearly not in the state to be joked around with? Especially not by him? Ah! This was so annoying! You couldn’t believe he would do something as insensitive as this at such a time!

“Huh?” Gojo blinked at your expression that suddenly soured, gone the expression filled with wonder and only being replaced by the one he’s always known.

Why are you making that face now?! Did he do something wrong?! He was so enjoying the smile on your face too!

That pretty little perk of your lips, he thinks he enjoys the sight of you smiling.

“Come on! Take it. I told you I didn’t even open it yet!” He waved the bottle infront of you, clearly inviting to take the bottle from him. “You obviously need it! Your voice is so hoarse and you probably lost half the water in your little body by crying all these tears!”

His underclassman had to have lost all the water in your body. Listen—you were crying so much…and no way your little body stored more water than that!

What meant to come off as concerned, only rubbed you the wrong way.

Why was he taunting you?! Wasn’t it enough that he literally decided to target you when you were in a vulnerable state and then humiliated you? This man was…seriously insufferable.

He really didn’t…mean any of his comforting words, did he?

Your shoulders tensed, eyes narrowing as you glared up at him, “I don’t want your water!” You scoffed, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. He was your upperclassman, you had to behave.

…No matter how much you wanted to hit him senseless with the water bottle he was waving infront of your face.

“Why not?! I never share my water with anyone!” He huffed, glancing down at the bottle in his hand before looking back up at you, grimacing at the look on your face.

Why were you so mad?! You should be grateful and thankful! Supposed to thank him for being your knight in shining armor!

“You’re so—insufferable! You’re such a child!”

Ouch!

“I can’t believe you’re even older than me! What a lame example of an upperclassman!”

Right in his heart!

“Eh? I just wanted to help you! Why are you suddenly switching up on me?” A whine left his lips as he stared down at you, wondering why you suddenly decided that he was horrible once more. He thought that you would see him in a better light after this!

Instead all he got was…

His cute underclassman glaring at him with the sharpest look in your eyes, cheeks attaining a reddish tint as a frown formed on your pink lips—

A smug thought formed in his head.

Oh, were you embarrassed by him? Hehe. He knew you wouldn’t be able to resist his charms sooner or later!

“Keep your stupid water bottle to yourself! I hope you choke on it!” A huff left your lips.

Oh, you were so humiliated by him. You could feel your cheeks heating up by how embarrassed you were.

Meanwhile, Gojo convinced himself that the red on your cheeks is due to you being charmed by him and his handsomeness. Ha! You were totally charmed by him!

“You think you’re soooo funny? Even Yaga-sensei is funnier than you!” Yes, you didn’t mean to drag poor Yaga-sensei into this, but you had to make a point!

Huh? What? He totally was funny! Why would you insult him like that?! Oh, he’s so done for!

He didn’t even understand why you decided to switch up like this! Gee, your mood swings were bad, hm? Hmph. And here he thought they were getting along.

But no. Here you were, glaring at him with red rimmed eyes, huffing here and there about him and how unfunny he was.

You hate him so much! Gahhh—just how can he make up for any of this when he doesn’t even know the cause behind your hatred?!

“I could leave the water on your des—“ Maybe another attempt?

“Get. Out!”

Maybe not.

At the end of his recollection, Shoko had found herself unable to hold herself back from letting out a loud laugh, smacking Suguru on the shoulder playfully in the midst of her joy, “Ah, man. That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in a while.”

“It’s not funny! She really does hate me! She doesn’t even think of me as her knight in shining armor that rescued her from those horrible tears!” A childish cry rang throughout the empty classroom, with the exception of the three upperclassman in it.

“It is kind of funny, Satoru.” A soft chuckle left Suguru’s lips, “She really dislikes you, huh?”

“Yeah, I don’t think she likes you, Gojo.”

“Don’t—Don’t say that! You’ll manifest it into existence! She’s just shy!” He failed at an attempt to convince himself.

The two snickered, with Shoko sending a small wink towards Suguru once Gojo put his head down to wallow again. This time, she mouthed something,

‘Buy me lunch tomorrow.’

Ah, his wallet was going to suffer, no?

“I guess…there’s always another day to try, right Satoru?”

He wasn’t going to end this bet here. No, he was determined to at least win just once. Just so he would earn the satisfaction of Shoko being the one to buy his lunch, just once.

Gojo’s face brightened, “You’re right! I’ll totally charm her tomorrow!”

And well, maybe also giving his best friend some support along the way.

“Do you guys think she didn’t like that water brand—“

Cue the groans telling him to shut up.

[malereadermaniac]

Someone Older ~ Sukuna x Male Reader

Meeting a sexy, tatted up, older guy at a bar DISCLAIMER: I haven't watched JJK! I've written Sukuna using context clues I've gotten from reading other fics! I've written him as: cocky, mean, dominant, and not all lovey-dovey for the reader word count: 2.4k Top!Sukuna x Bottom!Reader Nsfw / MDNI ~ amab m!reader / FDNI

Your local club was your second home. You had gone to it many, many times with your friends, even though you weren't that much of a drinker; the atmosphere was just fun, it relaxed you after a week of college. Plus, the club was the perfect place to get the dick that you had been craving and thinking about since the last time you had been blessed with it's presence - that dick belonging to a certain pink-headed man.

You had first encountered Sukuna at the very same club you were in right now. You really fucking hated him to begin with, your first encounter being the muscular man literally shoving you out of his way to get past you; his massive hand jarring you as he grabbed your shoulder. After that, every time you caught the giant man in the corner of your eye, you would give him the smallest glare. What accelerated your 'relationship' was pure coincidence - the two of you ending up out-front of the club at the same time, alone. You innitially ignored him, breathing in the fresh air you came out for and taking a few hits on your vape, but a small scoff and deep chuckle from the pink-haired figure beside you caught your attention.

"What?" You say, looking up at the taller, clearly older man with small squint of your eye and raise of your eyebrow - you were quite ready to sass him if he made any out of pocket comments

"I just don't get why people your age insist on using those colorful, sweet sticks ha... Just smoke a cig ya pussies" The large man commented, barely even sparing you a side-glance

" 'cause they're better for you than whatever the fuck you're rolling right now" you respond, turning your body to face the dickhead which was now rolling his second cigarette

"oh yeah? ya' shure 'bout that?" Sukuna volleyed back, his speech ever so slightly muffled from holding a filter in his mouth

"Yeah.. um... studies have- oh fuck off" you mumble back, your body growing hot. For some reason, you could now understand the sex appeal of the man in front of you: the way his hair slightly fell on his forehead as he looked down to roll his cigarette, and fucking hell the way that Sukuna glanced up into your eyes as you talked, a small, smug smirk on his lips as the white filter parted them slightly. This man was sex on legs.

After that first night actually talking to the muscular dickhead, you didn't give him much thought. That was until the following weekend, when you bumped into him again, at the same club. He initially only acknowledged you briefly with a chuckle and a mumble of 'you stalking me or somethin'?', however as the night progressed and the alcohol hit you both a little more (you more so), Sukuna and yourself ended up alone once again. In a more quite area of the club, ordering yourself another drink, you recognised the veiny, tattooed arm on the bar next to you, and a sexy voice you could briefly recount ordering some sort of spirit or beer. You roll your eyes and chuckle to yourself when your eyes make contact with his, which resulted in the pink-haired man sitting down next to you; he was already drunk, pretty horny, and he couldn't deny that you piqued his interest just the smallest bit.

"So what's ya name, pretty boy" The older man asks after downing the shot he had just been handed

"As if I'd tell you" you say with a roll of your neck towards the taller man, your eyes looking up into his as Sukuna clearly checks you out with half-lidded eyes; darting between your exposed skin, back to your eyes, your curves, then back to your eyes again.

"Hah... You know you want to" The giant man chuckles out, briefly rubbing his neck and showing off his ginormous biceps and triceps, his arm covered in line-like tattoos

"(Y/n)... What about you, handsome?" you say with a small, horny smile; stretching in a nonchalant way, which showed off your body just perfectly in the club lighting

That's all you really remember about your first actual conversation with Sukuna, things got a bit blurry after that. Oh, and how at some point after that conversation, the two of you hastily made your way to the men's bathroom and started desperately making out. With you shoved against the bathroom wall, Sukuna's massive arms holding your waist and cheek as he dominated your mouth with his tongue and rubbed his knee against your crotch in a teasing manner. Briefly, the taller, stronger man breaks the kiss and sports a smug, horny smirk on his chiseled face; his hand still holding your cheek to look up at him as Sukuna lets out a small, breathy chuckle at your panting form.

"Y'know... you don't wanna get involved with me, squeak" Sukuna says in a playful tone, looking down at you and the way that your body looked so fucking sexy against his

"Oh yeah? And why's that, tough guy?" You volley back at teasing nickname, pressing a finger against his muscular chest, his shirt already pretty much unbuttoned

"Hah... 'Cause I've got tattoos older than you" The pink-haired man mumbles in your ear, alcohol and expensive cologne flooding your nose as well as heat pooling into your face and dick. Sukuna moved away from your ear and let go of your face, positioning his arm above you and not only showing off his buldging muscles, but also emphisising the very tattoos he was referencing; FOR FUCKS SAKE HE WAS SO HOT.

So... Against your better judgment, that night you decided to live a little. In the very same bathroom, after making out for another solid ten minuets, allowing the man you had only just learnt the name of to ravage your mouth and roam his hands around your body, you dragged the hunk into a stall. Luckily for you, this club was very well known for being a little more tolerant to people enjoying themselves in the bathroom, ergo you were on your knees in front of Sukuna within seconds; drunkenly roaming your hands across his thick thighs and rubbing your head against his inner thigh and crotch - your hands landing on the sexy man's zipper and belt buckle very quickly. From what you remember, and from what the smug man had recounted to you the morning after, you gave that man the sloppiest head in the world in that stall, his hands gripping your hair and forcing you to deepthroat kinda head; and you ended your night in his apartment, having fucked at least twice judging by the bite marks and hickeys on your body and Sukuna's. Having woke up in a strange apartment didn't faze you as much as it should have, what really shocked you was the amount of scratch marks you somehow left on the muscular man's enormous, muscular back! But anyway, you went on your merry way home after not being able to deal with the pink-headed man's cocky attitude about you putting out; but damn, this time, you really couldn't stop thinking about him!

Which takes us back to the present moment. Loud white-girl music was currently blasting through your eardrums, and after singing along and dancing with your friends, you found yourself trying to spot a certain someone; a tatted-up, muscular, older someone. With whatever substance was in your system at the moment, you make your way to the bar and order another drink, just waiting for Sukuna to turn up like he always did; the man could deny taking a liking to you all he wanted, but he was always the one who approached you on nights like this. Your plan goes accordingly, the muscular man had sneaked an arm around your waist and whispered some dirty talk in your ear already, and after some boring chat and minute flirting you both started to get riled up. After some dancing and making out on the dancefloor, Sukuna called you both a cab. You said 'bye' to your friends and made your way over to the pretty damn fancy car which the older man had called, and after a short journey to his apartment complex (which you two spent sloppily and desperately making out in the backseat) you both made your way inside.

The horny man immediately took control of the situation, Sukuna's muscular arms either wrapping around your body and holding you against the tall man, or roaming your hot, sexy body; it was no secret that the pink-haired man was a big fan of the way you looked, he'd never say it out-loud though, unless his walls had crumbled due to an oncoming orgasm. Dominating your mouth and body, the older man holds you in his arms, your legs around his sluttily small yet muscular waist and your arms around his thick, veiny neck. Eventually, the two of you end up on Sukuna's king-sized bed, the muscular man above you, showing off his ripped body, his sexy scars and tattoos; god damn he was so hot, just oozing confidence and dominance wordlessly. By the time you were both naked, Sukuna's thick, masculine fingers were already inside of you; spreading you out and curling into your prostate as the man hovers above you and watches you wiggle around and let out the smallest of grunts in pleasure. Sukuna fucking loves to finger you, watch and listen to you as your pleasure is fully in his control, his dick gets so hard at your actions; hell, Sukuna sometimes even gives your twitching, hard dick a couple of licks just to push you closer and closer to ecstasy. But of course, as cliche as one can be, Sukuna rarely lets you cum from his fingers and tongue alone, removing his fingers instantly if he catches you arch your back; something he's learned indicates your orgasm approaching quickly.

Without easing in at all, Sukuna likes to wrap his hands around your waist and shove his massive dick inside of you; bottoming out straight away, 'cause why would he need to be gentle after prepping you for so long? Such a cunt. The sigh which follows is always one that the two of you like to remember, just raw lust and desperation as the two of you fuck like rabbits; Sukuna thrusting his hips violently against your ass, ramming his dick against your gummy walls and prostate. The sounds which circle the older man's apartment are nothing less than erotic and vulgar - your whines and moans along with breathy gasps of Sukuna's name, skin slapping and panting, and Sukuna's rough grunts as he puts in all of his effort to fuck you ruthlessly; the man getting off on the way you look and sound from his rough pace. The muscular man fucking you can also last a solid while, which luckily for you means you get to experience plenty of different positions - yayyyy.... your poor fucking ass. From doggy, to missionary, to a full fucking nelson, Sukuna loves either to get his dick deeper inside of your tight, warm hole, or to be able to see you at different angles, struggling to keep up with the tattooed man. And by the time Sukuna is finally on the brink of shooting his thick cum inside of you, you've already came twice; your body twitching from every thrust of Sukuna's, and your eyes dripping tears down your cheeks and rolling back, which just turns the man on even further.

Just as he is normally, Sukuna is rough as fuck when he cums. His hands gripping your body tighter or his arms holdings you closer to his muscular body as the man moans your name ruggedly, biting and marking your body as his hips stutter as he keeps thrusting into you - coating your ass with his warm spunk. It's only during his orgasm or during the afterglow when Sukuna finally lets a few nice words slip past his lips, compliments of your body or face, or endearing nicknames contrasting his dirty talk from before - i.e. calling you a fucking slut and grunting in your ear how your body is begging for his huge dick. And it's as Sukuna recovers from the aftershocks of his violent orgasm that he admires you, kneeling on the bed above you and between your legs, his massive build on full display as the man pants and sweats just, simply, looking at you. His hands rub up and down your body, massaging your aching muscles as you lay on the soiled sheets, your body still twitching and your eyes still clearly hazy with lust. Your body covered in his cum and yours, Sukuna's cum leaking out of your asshole as you pant in a moanish tone, your body limp and sweaty; cockdrunk was the perfect word to describe you in this moment. The sight is enough to get Sukuna to crave a second round, but he holds back, for once thinking about you - however the small signs of empathy displayed by Sukuna couldn't hold back his sharp tongue no matter what.

"Looks like you got a thing for older guys or somethin', darl'"

You giggle, unable to respond from the pleasure still assaulting your body, but the cocky and smug comment from the man who just rearranged your guts was somewhat sweet in the moment. And that's why you keep coming back. Sure, the sex is killer and you don't stop thinking about Sukuna's dick. But you also enjoy the moments after, from the moment the man stops shooting his load, to the moment you have to leave the morning after - you feel comfortable, somehow. And on the flip-side, Sukuna can't deny that he's for some reason taken a liking to you. He is the one that keeps coming over to you in the club and the one that calls the cab, so he must like you a little, right? The man can't say that he doesn't enjoy waking up next to you in the morning, your body perfectly against his, your sharp wit when you two banter, and the sex is so fucking good! Guess you two will be stuck in a game of cat n mouse for a while, cause neither of you is leaving any time soon; it's up to one of you to take the next step for the other and at the very least put a label on the two of you, whether that be 'weirdly close friends with benefits' or 'lovers'

[honeydazai]

୨୧·࣭࣪̇˖ 𝆬  ꜰɪʟᴍɪɴɢ ᴀ ᴘʀɪᴠᴀᴛᴇ ꜱᴇx ᴛᴀᴘᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇᴍ 𝆬 𓏸

feat.: Dazai, Chūya, Fyodor, Nikolai, Sigma, Mushitarō, Jōno, Tetchō, Tachihara

❥ content: f!reader, nsfw, filming/photographing during sex, (rough) oral sex (giving and receiving), facials, degradation, possessiveness, breeding, outdoor sex, mild spanking

❥ this was commissioned by beloved @queenquixotic yippiiie i love you sm thank you again!!! 💜

The second you bring the idea up to DAZAI, he's honestly all for it. Really, who's he to complain when you want to film parts of your sex life? He's absolutely unashamed, too; no kink is too wild for him to capture on camera, no position is too revealing. His absolute favourite, however, is whenever he gets to hold the phone you're recording with, tilted downwards to get a good angle at you — first with your pretty lips wrapped around his dick, then with your face covered in his cum.

It'd be a relief if he knew when to stop running his mouth — or, well, at least that's what you tell yourself; the way your cunt's dripping wet between your thighs while his cum drips down the bridge of your nose tells another story.

“That's a nice shot, bella; my, you're so photogenic. Just look up — that's right, good girl. Now, why don't you lie down and spread those legs for me, hm? I need to get on camera just how wet you are already.”

While CHŪYA doesn't mind the idea — he has to admit he thinks of it as hot, even —, his cheeks still flush with heat when he nods, agreeing. Even though the mere thought flusters him, he doesn't hesitate to lie down between your legs, pushing your thighs apart with calloused fingers digging into soft skin and, really; by then, he cares more about your pretty cunt rather than the camera still recording you both.

You're all but mewling by the time his tongue flattens against your wet folds, struggling to hold onto your phone until, eventually, he's quick to put it down on the nightstand so you're able to grab red hair between your fingers. He knows just how to make you arch your back off the mattress and, hah, he already knows that's going to make for a nice shot. When he eventually pulls back, his lips curl into a smirk, saliva and your arousal alike dripping down his chin as he briefly gazes at the camera and, well — he wouldn't mind you returning the favour.

“You're so pretty, babe. Especially when you fall apart because of my tongue so easily. Hah, now, what do you think will be a better shot; you sucking me off or should I bend ya over and fuck you properly? Hm, baby?”

FYODOR's views certainly are rather traditional. It takes a lot of begging to convince him of your idea in the first place, though he mostly just means to tease you by denying you for so long. As long as the video stays between the two of you only, and he'll make sure that it will, he doesn't mind it. But, unfortunately, he's also a busy man, meaning he won't see it as necessary to move from in front of his many monitors to basically create pornography with you.

You're stuck warming his cock until he decides he's done and, well, a longer wait does make for a better reward, does it not? Unbeknownst to you, the camera's already on, watching the way you squirm and whimper in his lap. Later, he's got you in a mating press with the intent to fill you up, to breed you, and your cheeks flush with embarrassment when he angles the camera just so to film the way his cum drips out of your cunt.

“My, my, what a mess you are making, dear. The camera is going to record it all, remember? Perhaps you should clench some more. If you don't manage to keep it inside, though, I will just have to help you, hm? We did buy toys just for this occasion, after all.”

You don't seriously believe that NIKOLAI will be anything but overjoyed at your idea, now do you? He's scrambling to get a camera before you're able to elaborate and, a mere thirty minutes later, you're on your knees, your clothing strewn across the floor, your hands pushing your own tits together while his dick thrusts in between them. Your skin glistens with precum, and it's an absolutely perfect picture when you, albeit a little hesitantly, stick your tongue out to give a kitten lick to his tip. He's all too glad he's got that on camera forever.

His gleeful chuckles and giggles are only interrupted by the occasional moan when you squeeze tighter and, honestly, you can't help but squirm in place in need, your own arousal covering your inner thighs by now. For a moment, you're tempted to sneak a hand between your own legs, the thought of rubbing your throbbing clit tempting, but you're all too sure Nikolai has something planned for you already. Perhaps it'll even involve the video; an idea like fucking you properly while you're watching this exact moment on video is rather likely.

“Ah, look at you, look at you; you're so eager, hm? That's so cute. Come on, stick your tongue out again, yeah? I'll come soon, 'm close already, dove; want me to do it on your face or tits, hm? What's gonna show up nicer on camera, what do you think?”

There are no words to describe properly just how flustered the idea alone causes SIGMA to feel, though, well — he's never been good at denying you anything. While it takes a bit of convincing for him to prop up a camera the next time you're getting intimate with each other, he doesn't even seem to remember it by the time he sinks into you, your tight heat squeezing his dick so well he forgets everything but your name, which falls from his lips all too often.

Despite not actively trying, lewd moans and barely coherent strings of praise leave his mouth when he sets a slow but steady rhythm, his narrow hips slapping against your plush ones. He's putting on a show without even meaning to, the camera recording his every passionate thrust, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat until he eventually comes inside of you, panting. If you ever want to watch the video with him, his cheeks flush pink the moment you press 'play'.

“Ah—, you're so tight, God; you always feel heavenly when you're around me. And—, hah, you're so pretty, too. Absolutely breathtaking, and—, ah, and you're all mine, yes? Say it, please. Say you're mine, just like I'm yours.”

Even though MUSHITARŌ is awfully embarrassed by your idea — he's blushing and sputtering, feeling offended and flattered alike —, he's all too easily convinced when you sink down onto his lap, your smile all too confident. The red light on the camera is on, indicating it's recording already, and he's all too aware of it, though he suddenly finds it difficult to focus on anything but you when your wet heat sinks down on his, notably already hard, dick.

He's left utterly defenseless; really, what can he do but moan and whimper when you all but bounce on his lap, his hands uselessly squeezing your hips, his eyebrows drawn together and eyes squeezed shut? You're all too good at this and you both know it; even though all eloquence leaves him when your wet walls pulse around his dick, everything necessary is conversed through high-pitched mewls and whines — both yours and his. In the end he might be too shy to ever watch the video with you.. though you might just be able to convince him otherwise.

“God, ah, that's good, please, don't stop, dear, I'm close already, so close. May I—, fuck, may I come inside? You feel so good, so good around me, ah, hot and tight and—, please—”

JŌNO's smile is awfully smug when you first meekly voice your idea, but, really, who is he to deny you? He doesn't mind it at all when you prop your phone up to get a good angle of your side profile before sinking down onto your knees and closing your lips around his cock, gently sucking on the tip before sinking down further.

If you believe he's kind about your depravity, however, you're thoroughly mistaken; demeaning and teasing words leave his mouth with such ease that it seems like you're barely sucking him off at all. His hand finds it's way into your hair, grabbing at soft strands and pulling you closer until your gag reflex kicks in, tears welling up in your eyes and whimpers falling from spit-slicked lips.

“What a terribly lewd idea you had, love. Ah, but the aspect of me filming you in such a situation seems to quite excite you, hm? You're so eager today. Careful, now; you'll end up choking, and I did say I won't let you come if you have to pull off, did I not?”

Honestly, TETCHŌ merely shrugs when you propose the idea to him. He doesn't care that much either way; if you're interested in that, he's fine with it. He's not the kind to put on some act while on camera, though, luckily, you don't want him to, either — it works perfectly fine when you both moan when, finally, he sinks inside of you after bending you over the closest flat surface; in your current case, the dinner table.

Rough grunts and raspy groans leave his mouth when he thrusts into you, his pace so hard you're afraid the table's going to crash underneath you, and you wouldn't be able to stifle your high-pitched whines even if you tried to. Dirty talk isn't something he bothers with too much; if anything, he moans about how good you feel when you clench so tightly around him and, occasionally, he snickers as you flinch when his hand comes down hard on your ass.

“Fuck, that's good. You're so damn tight, feels fuckin' heavenly. Ah—, God. Hah, can't wait to see what you look like on video. Can't be better than the real thing for sure.”

TACHIHARA's eyebrows raise in surprise when you tell him what exactly you'd like to try, though, as long as the video stays between the two of you, he himself is surprised to find that he doesn't mind it at all. The first time you do it after you've suggested it isn't planned; he simply grabs his phone from his pocket after pushing you against a wall, camera angled just right so that it gets a good shot of the way your pussy clenches around his dick while he thrusts into you almost erratically.

The sound of skin slapping against skin, paired with lewd squelching noises, makes your cheeks flush with heat, and you're only grateful that he's focused on recording your cunt rather than your face. You're biting down on your bottom lip, trying hard to stifle your moans and mewls given how you're still in public, but, really, your voice is still heard loud and clear on the video, as are his own raspy groans. The video is blurry, really, but you both enjoy watching it afterwards, especially when his hand sneaks underneath your shirt again.

“Fuck—, fuck, you're so damn tight. God, you feel so good around me. Hah, we gotta be quiet, huh? Would suck to be caught like this. We're in public, after all, baby. Though, well—, I do love the way your voice sounds. Kinda wanna get it on video.”

notes: a reminder that my commissions are open!! please dm me! 🌸 also, i really ache to write full fics/drabbles again; hopefully i'll get to that soon!! 🫶🏻

tags: @pigeons-are-rad @cicada-teeth @dzaixchuu @hanakotheghost @shinwifexx @rhaeena @moonssandstars @irethepotato @beandaifuku , @the-foreigner , @ranpobb, @arixsux, @dei-lilxc , @atsyushi @satoruislove @pastelsbaby @marina-and-the-memes @texchou @shiggysredhead @savagemickey03 @rosepxtlz @nikolaiswife @okura-s @ladykatakuri @lunerenzo @berywritesstuff @alicesblog @xelia25 @yuuotosaka3 @double-black-dazai @alice0blog @fyodorstolenushanka @ttaiyaki @itsnovariella @black-rose-29 @fyodorscumsock @ayshaashaya @qxxstuff @Irethepotato @serenareiss @atsvsh1 @dilucshandholder @reiikonee @1-800-mocha @xvocadooo @hexiisexii @cupxfcxffee @jodidann

@Happymoon16 @yumidepain @nchuuyahq @janeinerz @aaronthegreatestsimp @fanfiction-waifu @KimxKiba @Morigumy @villainouspotential @ashthemadwriter @mrsdostoevsky @nikolaisgoofyahhhat @yeonwoomyheartbelongstoyou @hellgirlwhore

@ItsSara-chan @lyrstybsd @angelsrunes @wuaoqu @disa-ster @aspookyscaryghost @nikolaisboner @urgodmoon @polish-anon @arisu-chan4646 @eroscastle @somnobun @birbysaur

[apricotgojo]

Protection be gone! ʚ♡ɞ

ׂ╰┈➤ Some Choso and Gojo headcanons (Separate) on how they would be when they fuck you raw for the first time! I might write some for other characters too later on ;) Tags: unprotected sex- obvi, cum ᐢᗜᐢ , whiney choso, creampies!, Gojo has a weak pull out game.

Satoru Gojo

his face lit up when you told him that you're ready to try it without protection - and the most devilish smile formed on his lips.

He's never pressured you about it but god DAMN was he happy to finally get the chance to properly feel you.

You were nervous of course, praying to god that his pull out game was as strong as he said it was - spoiler it wasn't .

he had your legs spread out and resting against his shoulders and his eyes were glued on your pussy as he put the tip in.

"Oh my fucking goooood~" he shamelessly moaned out loud, his mouth agape as he watched your pussy basically swallow him whole.

You could barely keep your mouth shut too. His cock felt so good inside you like this, you swore you could feel every twitch and vein.

You were so tight, so wet around him, so warm. Your pussy was making him feral.

The sounds he let out were like none other. He was a swearing, growling mess.

"You take my cock so-fuck-fucking good baby", "You like how fucking deep inside it is baby? you like how good my-hah- cock feels?"

How long did he last you might ask? 10 minutes tops. He couldn't control himself when he put you into a mating press. He was plunging himself so deep inside of you that it felt like he was trying to go deeper but he physically couldn't.

His head was buried in the nape of your neck as he pounded into you, moaning your name and talking about how good he's gonna cum.

You didn't have the time to protest because all you could hear is a muffled, "fuuuuuuuck" and he was cumming inside you, basically balls deep.

and it was A LOT.

Your mind was too hazy at how utterly amazing it felt to be filled up by him to complain.

His head lifted up from your neck, revealing a disheveled, grinning, gorgeous face that belonged to the love of your life. You couldn't even be mad at him when he looked like that, but you still shot him a glare.

"Oopsie"

Choso Kamo

The idea sparked through your head while you were riding him.

"Choo~" You whispered into his ear, kissing the shell. "Let's take off the condom this time."

Choso - bless his soul, actually froze and he cocked his head towards you, eyes wide and lips parted.

"A-are you sure?" He stuttered out before gulping and you simply nodded.

Choso was nervous. he's never fucked without protection before and he had no clue what it felt like. He didn't think it was any different than fucking with a condom on.

And oh, was he wrong

He basically gasped when you slowly sat down on his cock and he covered his mouth to stop himself from making embarrassing noises.

His grip on your hips tightened and it was like he was at loss for words.

But then you start moving up and down.

And then he absolutely lost it.

His moans were so loud and whiney.

"yesyesyesyes" "mmm please go faster baby" "I love your pussy."

He was a man possessed. gripping your hips roughly and pounding into you like you were his own personal fleshlight.

Thankfully, you were on the pill so it didn't matter if he pulled out or not and you kind of didn't want him to ;)

His cock felt bigger than ever - you didn't even think that was possible with the size of him already, and he was hitting that sweet spot over and over again.

Poor Choso couldn't even last 5 minutes - but you took it as a compliment.

His head was thrown back in pure euphoria muttering out little, "ahh fuckfuckfuck" 's and talking about how much he doesn't want this to end.

With one big thrust inside you, he came bucket loads, shivering beneath you and panting.

To your surprise though, he was still hard as fuck after he pulled out.

Probably because of how lewd it was to see your pussy gushing out his cum, - he wanted to fuck you again

And he did fuck you again, and again.

and again.

"I think your pussy put a spell on me"

[fanaticsnail]

Dreaming of You

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 1,020+, 600+, 600+, 980+

Synopsis: They couldn't help it. You looked so heavenly in their dreams. The way they had you wrapped around their body as a marionette in their minds, dancing for them as they awoke to sticky blankets when they jolted upright. Their thoughts got the better of them, and they are wracked with guilt. Zoro, Usopp, Sanji

Warnings: wet dreams, gn!reader, swearing, oral (character receiving) masturbation, dub con (Using your image to masturbate to), suggestive content, feelings, all individual 'x reader' drabbles, same reader!insert different outcome, , NSFW, 18+, MDNI.

Notes: Dreaming of You Masterlist Here, Please read the warnings. This little series has been so much fun to write. Gif Source Here. Massive shoutout to @feral-artistry, @i-am-vita and @indydonuts for helping brainstorm with me about these ones.

Tag list: @sordidmusings @nerium-lil @feral-artistry @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @indydonuts @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @carrotsunshine @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training

“Hah-... fuck-... j-just like that,” he huffed and panted, looking down at you as you knelt beneath him. Your hands were splayed over his thighs, anchoring yourself from your position beneath him and bobbing your head against his pelvis. 

Breathing through your nose, you hollow your cheeks and listen to him guide you on to best please him. You looked so beautiful like this, on your knees and worshiping his cock with your lips, tongue and throat. Taking as much of him in your mouth as you could had his thighs shaking, toes curling and breath huffing in curt pants. 

“L-Look up at me?” you followed through with his question, arching your brow in curiosity as you continued bobbing against his cock. His cheeks were flushed, his lips parted and eyes beginning to swell with a dopey glaze over them. Rolling your eyes, you closed your eyelids and continued your motions pistoning his cock between your lips. 

Reaching down, he carded his fingers harshly though your hair and grasped it into a firm fistful at the nape of your neck. You whimpered against his cock, sending vibrations up from his knob up his spine and had tingles rise on the back of his neck. 

“Wasn’t a question,” he chastised you with a husky groan, “Eyes on me.” He guided your head down to take in more of his cock, using his grip on your hair to rock your head against his thighs. You whined, looking up at him with your eyes looking innocent while his cock defiled your mouth.

Instinctively, he let out a noise somewhere between a mewl and a growl and began matching the pace of your mouth by bucking his hips up to meet you. Joining his other hand at the back of your head, he continued manipulating your head to bring him closer to the edge. His thrusts began to stagger, his eyes growing wide as he felt the rapid approach of release coming to him. 

“F-fuck, stop!” he chanted your name like a prayer, desperately trying to pull your mouth away from him before he shot his heavy load down your throat, “Stop! Stop!! I’m gonna cum! I-I’m gonna cum in your mouth!” He could feel you smile against his cock, continuing to suck and bob against it to take him further down your throat. 

Immediately curling your hands behind his thighs, you aid him to buck and grind his cock into your mouth. Although he tried to pull away from your face, the twitch of his cock over your tongue had him surge forward and double down rutting into your lips. 

“No, no, no, nnnghh-!” he attempted to relay, his jaw falling slack as he emptied himself into your mouth and down your throat, “C-Cumming. I’m cumming… f-fuck, oh fuck!” He rode your face through his climax in languid and staggered thrusts, shooting rope after rope of pearlescent cum over your tongue and uvula. You gag a little on his knob as it brushes with the back of your throat, but continue bobbing against his thrusts. 

Finally feeling the last of his salty, umami load spill into your mouth, he looked down into your eyes as you pulled away from him. Gazing up into his face, you open your mouth and reveal your tongue to him. Your mouth was completely empty, no trace of himself on your tongue, in your cheeks, or over your lips. 

“O-Oh, fuck,” His eyes rolled back in his head as he released his exclamation in a breathy moan. Just as he reached down to caress your cheek and lovingly draw you up on your feet, your face dissipated into a scentless spell of wispy vapors, your eyes were the last thing to leave his sight. 

“Wha-? Where are y-you-?” he blinked a few times, searching for your face by his abdomen. Where he expected to see your fluttering eyelashes, he was only met with his twitching and rapidly deflating cock, his cum sticking to the loosely lying blanket hanging limply over his hips in his hammock. He growled in frustration and shame, furrowing his brows and clapping his hand over his forehead and pinching the bridge of his nose. 

Flinging the covers off his waist, he shook his head and looked around the shared sleeping quarters of the Going Merry: only to immediately meet his gaze with your body lying peacefully with Chopper cradled firmly nestled on your chest. Breathing out a deep, forlorn sigh as he stepped out from his hammock and towards the bathroom: his shame painting his waist in a sinful display of pearlescent cum.

“Fuck,” he huffed under his breath.

Venturing firstly into the bathroom to clean himself up, he knew there was no way he was going to be able to go back to sleep with that image of you sucking his cock, and painting your throat with ribbons of his lust. He splashed some water into his face before venturing above deck towards the kitchen in a bid to quench his thirst. 

The soft hum of your voice choking on his cock rang with the silent swell of the waves in his memory. Shaking his head, he could still feel the way your lips and tongue caressed his knob and raked down his shaft.

A flutter flooded through his chest, a shudder rolling from the base of his coccyx up to his skull as he was once again flooded with pleasure. His cock swelled beneath his pants, his knob twitching against the material and straining against the waistline. 

He first started by pinching at his chest, enjoying the warmth left behind by his slow, teasing motion. Picturing your hands rubbing against him behind his eyelids, he permitted himself to whisper your name as he imagined your hands and lips on his skin. Diving into more of the fantasy, he traveled his hands lower down his chest and scratched his skin with blunt fingernails. 

Just as his hand began to snake down his stomach and dive beneath the waistline of his sweatpants, he heard a soft call of his name from behind him.

“You okay?”

Roronoa Zoro

Without missing a beat, Zoro calls over his shoulder at you in a gruff bark. 

“M’fine,” he halted his wandering hands, pressing the heels of his palms against the kitchen sink and hooking his fingers beneath the countertop while hanging his head. He heard you walking towards the fridge in the corner of the room, his dropped three-point earrings bobbing as he slowly raised his eyes to gaze out of the window. 

The ringing of several glass bottles and movement of dishes within the door of the fridge had Zoro focussing on those single motions as opposed to what he was doing moments prior. 

A gentle touch on his forearm called him out of his daze and prompted him to glance to you from the corner of his eye. Looking down at your hand, he noticed the brown, glass bottle offered out to him. He wordlessly grasped it without turning to face you. 

Both of you removed your perspective screw caps from your beer bottles, him staring out the kitchen window and you resting your hips on the bench beside him gazing at the kitchen door. 

“Were you just-,” you began, halting as he spoke over you. 

“-Yes.” The finality of his tone fell from his lips like a warning bark to not go on further. As you took a swift swig from your bottle, you decided to ask for further clarification. 

“And you were thinking about-,” you bit back your smile as he again interrupted your train of thought. 

“-uh huh.” 

Both of you lingered in the silence, the tension feeling thick in the air as you and he remained beside one another. You rose your bottle to your lips and gulped down the liquid with gusto. Zoro’s eyes watched you from the corner, his mind drawing comparisons to how easily you took his cock between your lips in his dream. 

Releasing the bottle from your lips, your tongue flickered out to collect the frothed remnants left behind from the amber liquid before placing the bottle on the bench behind you. His eyes darkened, the lingering lust simmering in his chest and flooding his cock full of his pulsating want. 

“You know,” you smirked, gently bumping his shoulder with yours with practiced familiarity, “I-... uh-... I didn't know you thought of me like that, Zoro.” 

“M’sorry,” he muffled his apologies from between his teeth, arching his back in a low stoop while drinking the rest of his beer. You gently nudged him again with your shoulder, this time remaining behind and leaning into him.  

“I didn't say I minded,” you murmured with a bashful smile over your features, “But… Wouldn't you rather the real thing?”

Immediately, Zoro's hands clapped over your shoulders with his eyes mere inches from yours. 

“Don't start something you can't finish,” he warned you, already feeling on edge from his earlier touch and from the remnants of his dream propelling him onwards with a fiery intensity. Your eyes slowly dart down to his lips and back up to meet his eyes with a smirk tugging at your lips. 

“Who says I can't finish?” you tease back at him, gently reaching up to clasp his wrists on your shoulders. “Look, we're all a little pent up here. Let me help you out. We're friends, right?” 

Zoro's shock was evident in his features, his lips parting as he gazed longingly into your eyes. As you offered him only a smile in further confirmation, he sighed out with a small smile in a mirrored reflection of your own. 

“Right,” his confirmation was met with a soft bob of his head and his grin rising to a more flirtatious expression, “We're friends.” 

Usopp

He snapped his gaze over towards you as his hands froze their adventure against his own skin. 

“N-No, I just-... I just-... I’m okay, I just wanted-... um-...” Usopp stuttered over his words, sheepishly pleading with himself for his cock to lessen. Your head lulled to the side as you examined him curiously. 

His fluster rose up to pool in his cheeks and widen his eyes. Beads of sweat began to cascade down his temple to drop down his chin the longer he felt your gaze cast over him. 

“What are you-...?” your eyes gently dipped to the pole pitching the front of his pants, prompting you to immediately snap up your eyes to meet his gaze with shock. 

“I-I-...” he began, his fingers snapping out of their dip beneath his waist and flinging to the side of his face in a gesture of surrender. 

“Did… Did you say my name?” you asked, lips parting and darting your eyes between his. His fluster only rose as his breathing came out in a series of huffed pants. He sheepishly moved his right hand to grip the scruff of his neck as his lips pulled back to reveal a soft, grimace-like smile. 

“You know, i-it’s funny to me how-... How, you know?” he uttered sheepishly, avoiding your gaze while mentally screaming at his cock to reduce its swell, “You know? How you can-...” His eyes gently sought out your gaze from the corner of his eye. 

As soon as his chocolate-colored eyes met with yours, his heart palpitations began to increase as he fought with the former images his brain vividly prepared of you earlier. 

“I mean, c-can-...?” he continued to stumble over his explanation as he struggled against your gaze. You knew exactly what he was doing, the pitch in his pants would have informed you as such. His mind was racing, his heart was fluttering, and his face was struggling to keep up with the guilt of it all. 

“I-I thought I f-found a mole?” Usopp managed to choke out. You continued searching his gaze, struggling with his explanation while choosing to ignore the tent in his pants. “Y-Yeah. A mole. You know how dangerous unchecked moles can be! I need to go and seek out medical attention for the mole.”

“A… mole?” you nod, truly not believing the prose he'd concocted, but refusing to acknowledge the more likely happenstances. “Perhaps-… It might be an idea to see Chopper? About, you know. The mole?” Usopp bobbed his head in enthusiastic acknowledgement, softly expressing his gratitude in his pleading eyes. 

“You know? I think you're right. I'm gonna go see him, uh… right now!” At that, Usopp immediately sprinted out the threshold of the kitchen door, fleeing onto the deck of the Going Merry in an absolute embarrassed fluster. His feet had never carried him faster, and his motivation to escape from your presence and simply find a corner to cry in was too strong to have him remain behind. 

You are left alone in the kitchen, feeling a pang of guilt at the fact you were so dehydrated after cradling Chopper on your chest in the night. He was a little heated blanket, but his fur would cause you to sweat some nights and the strands became prickly after a while. 

Not expecting any of the others to be awake at the time, you were shocked to see Usopp up at this time. Shocking you more was the soft call of your name as his hands traveled over his pleasure points on his body. You didn't think he viewed you in that light, and you truly could admit you hadn't thought of him erotically. 

Until now. 

Sanji

Frozen in place, his mind failed to hold him accountable by stumbling over unspoken words in his mind. What was he to say? “I had a dream about you and I was so overwhelmed by the way I felt for you that I physically couldn't contain myself any further? I behaved like an idiot and decided to find solace in the one place I thought to be vacant as refuge for my impure thoughts,”? He couldn't admit that. Not out loud, at least. 

“You…” your voice stuttered as you froze in place, “...you had a dream and decided to masturbate in the kitchen because you felt safe here?” 

Sanji’s blood flooded his face, the hue on his cheeks as bright as a vibrant tomato. He felt steam almost rising from him as his hand still cupped his nipple and fingertips lay dormant at toying with his hemline. 

He felt your approach behind him, your hand hovering over his shoulder before thinking against offering him a gentle touch and recoiling from your advances. Slowly turning back around, you walk towards the cupboard and grab a drinking glass and turn towards the refrigerator. 

Silently opening the door, you bend to locate the glass decanter of tangerine juice Sanji had prepared a few nights prior and pour yourself a glass. Sanji continues to remain frozen and unmoving, his whole body feeling several rushes of shame reaching over him. He had accidentally confessed his feelings aloud, while you caught him in the act of touching himself, and then acted as if it was nothing to you while getting what you first ventured to the kitchen for. 

“Sanji,” your soft hum pulled him from his thoughts and prompted his hands to snap away from his needy skin. “Please know, I don't blame you. It gets rather… frustrating, being at sea for so long. Especially sharing close crew quarters and bathing spaces. I understand.” 

The blonde chef turned his blushing face towards you, his expression sheepish and ashamed. His lips parted in shock as his gray orbs darted over your form. You took a sip from the tangy juice, finishing the liquid and placing it on the table your hips were leaning on. 

“I’ll-... I'll wash that,” he stuttered over his tumbling words, gesturing to your glass, “Please, just leave it there and try to get some rest. It's not even close to dawn, and you need your sleep.” You slowly begin to smile, a soft smirk tugging up your lips. 

“And leave you here alone with your thoughts running wild?” you huff a small laugh at him, “Why don't I clean this, and you can tell me all about your dream, hm? I could help you start meal prep for the crew, while we chat, for when the rest of them wake up.” Sanji’s blush intensified, almost bleeding down into his chest and shooting tingles down his fingertips. 

“Y-You-... It didn't-... It wasn't-...” he stuttered, prompting your laugh to rise further as you approached him. Rising to your toes, you give him a soft and gentle kiss on the cheek before nudging him with your hip out of the way of the sink. 

“One of those ones was it?” you teetered off your laugh, gently filling the sink with warm water and gathering dish soap to rinse your water glass. “I don't mind a bit of lewd conversation from time to time. Go on, pretty boy, talk to me. I want to know.” 

Sanji’s nose began to release a few drops of ruby blood. Reaching up his hand, he rubbed at it with his knuckles while a soft smile drew over his lips. 

“Alright, then,” he smiled, reaching for the tissues at the side of his work station and cleaning up his nose, “Don't think any less of me when I tell you. I don't want you to see me as some sick pervert. I-... I respect you so much, and I don't want you to-.”

“-Sanji,” you cut him off, turning to the side and shaking your head affectionately at him, “You are a sick pervert, but it doesn't mean I love you any less. Go on, let me have it. What's this sick fantasy that's held you hostage in your dreams?” 

Sanji chuckles, slowly nudging his hips playfully with yours to return your earlier sentiment. Sighing out his frustration, he begins relaying not one, not two, but fourteen fantasies he's had about you specifically in graphic detail. Each scenario is more extreme than the last, causing both of you to laugh at the absurdity of it all. 

“And the last one? It was just a bit of throat fucking? That's it?” you huff your laughter, slowly aiding him in peeling and grating the potatoes to form oval-shaped domes for fried rosties, “No sex, just oral? How boring.” 

Sanji chuckled again, going over to the sink and washing his hands after setting the eggs in ceramic bowls to rise in the oven, a water bath placed beneath each savory pudding. 

“It was rather anticlimactic,” he admitted, drying his hands on a plush tea towel. “I mean, I still-... It still-... I-...” You ventured over to the sink and began to lather your hands in silken suds and rinse them beneath the warm water. 

“You still finished,” you completed his sentence for him. He nodded, his earlier blush returning to his cheeks. Sighing out a little, you chastised him with a playfulness in your eyes and a small smirk drawing up your lips. 

“You need to get laid, chef,” you noted to him, “Give your mind something else to focus on.” Sanji rolled his cigarette, placing the filter in his lips and fishing out his lighter. 

“Why, you offering?” he asked while flicking the wick to ignite the flame. He took a lengthy inhale before choking out his exhale as you shrugged out your answer. 

“Yes, I suppose I am.” 

[tojisun]

https://x.com/h6rnybish/status/1738343652999467268?s=46&t=dQdAclJh9_X4qFDs38sC_Q

P LINK!!!

but this is so bimbo reader and Simon coded im1)1?2)26262626

p link - WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK IM ACTUALLY SWEATING??? HOLY SHIT!!! no yea that is bimbo!reader getting fucked by simon <333

this is too good that i might just… (😭)

!! smut - minors dni; female reader

simon slips the pad of his thumb past your plush lips, feeling along the front of your teeth, before pushing down on your tongue to make your jaw fall open. he hears your confused hum, the sound of your voice petering into a broken moan, and simon huffs a fond laugh even as he ruts his pelvis closer to yours, digging his cock even further in your tight walls.

“look at you, princess,” simon murmurs, breathless in wonder and awe, as he pistons his hips in languid thrusts. your ankles are hooked on his shoulders, your legs pushed close to your chest and spread apart just enough to frame your pretty bouncing tits.

simon groans at the sight they make, and the hand cupping your jaw trails teasing touches past your face before coming to squeeze at your tits. he flicks at your pebbled nipples and moans when you clench around him even tighter, a hiccupped sob rumbling from the base of your throat.

“si- hah!- simmy, please, move faster!”

your hands squeeze his shoulders, scratching at taut muscles when another slow grind of simon’s cock teases your pleasure points, rapidly sending electric tingles along your synapses before dying out just as quickly because it’s not enough.

needmoreneedmore-

“shh,” simon replies, pinching your nipples as he says this; it’s not really a punishment but it does make your eyes flutter up to meet his gaze. his hips stutter just a bit when he sees tears clump your lashes together, and simon almost whispers an apology. almost.

“be patient f’r me, sweets,” is what simon coos instead. “i promised you, din’i? that i’ll take care of you?”

“mhmm,” you reply, the hum so vulnerable and quiet that simon couldn’t help but croon again, his possessive touch gliding along your ribs and down to your stomach where he flicks at the jewelled stud in your bellybutton, before ghosting his thumb just above your clit.

you gasp at the muted brush, clenching even tighter in anticipation. you bat your lashes up at simon again, kiss-swollen lips jutting out in a pout, and even though you aren’t talking, simon can practically hear you begging.

and, well, he’s always been weak for you, isn’t he, sweet girl?

the first brush of his thumb on your clit makes you choke, the sound coming out in garbles, before you’re throwing your head further back into the pillows as a squeal is ripped from your throat. your toes curl from where they are braced on either side of simon’s head, your pretty tits bouncing even more as you heave in pleasure, and simon almost goes limp at the euphoria razing through him as slick gushes along his length, the telltale of your building orgasm piercing through him in waves.

jesus-

simon bumps his head along the tender slope of your leg, trying to catch his own breath.

see? aren’t you just a perfect match for him?

BITING A ROCK ISNT ENOUGH I NEED TO BE SHOT INTO THE MOON!!!! AHHHHHH1!:&2&$:@2$:

‘simmy’ is stuck now being readers nickname for simon <3

[sugoi-writes]

In Every Sense - Part 2 to Scent Kink!Alastor x Reader

It's heeeeerrreeee~ Here are some warnings: we get some internal monolgues of Alastor hopelessly trying to seduce you, oral (f!receiving), light man-handling, begging, and some really just... absolutely raunchy filth. Please enjoy~ (please note, this is still overwhelmingly inspired by @hazelfoureyes so please please GO READ HAZEL'S CONTENT. IM BEGGING YOU. ITS SO JUICY)

Right. Where was he? Oh yes... this mess.

Alastor straightened himself out quickly, mess of his clothing and floor included. Your clothes, however, were discarded to his bed... probably never to be washed again.

After he freshed up, his eyes scanned and paused in his armoire mid-search. His taloned hands brushed against a silk top... not one of his preferred fabrics, but one he could certainly pull off. His fingers danced on it a moment more, before deciding it was worth changing it up.

Black, lattice-patterned top and tailored, wine red trousers... simple, but classy, right? As he tossed around the idea of a belt, he decided to skip that step. It would make the process of settling between your sweat-covered thighs take an eternity too long. That is... if he didn't devour you first.

Alastor threw his casual fit together, opting to keep his pointed, black dress a part of the ensemble. But should he try boots...? Would that be too much? Maybe it would be easier to kick off...?

He wondered over to his personal liquor cabinet, pouring himself a whiskey. He needed to get a pep in his step and to still his rambling thoughts. Though he usually preferred to take things slower, savoring the bite of liquor on his tongue... He instead took it as a shot, hardly reacting to the harsh intake. His shoulders hunched, huffing as he turned to look in the mirror. How ridiculous he must've looked...

Hair disheveled... eyes half lidded. His hands were sweating, the loose blouse serving as a juxtaposition to his too-tight pants. Maybe his shirt should be tucked? No, that'd look stupid without a belt...

How strange it was for him to fret... at least, fret over impressing another person. Moreover, trying to impress someone he pined for. He almost loathed the way you made him feel, and how his core seemed to clench everytime you walked by... but, there was no room for doubt now: he would make you answer for his obsessions tonight. Surely you would take responsibility, wouldn't you...?

Alastor's head shook, before he opted to tuck half of his shirt in. He saw this often in modern fashion, targeting the front corner of the shirt to show off or bring attention to his thigh and... well-- downstairs.

He quirked a brow, intrigued with this look. It was... messy. Not the neat-and-narrow hes accustomed to. And in a way, he quite liked it. Maybe with the disheveled top, your eyes would be distracted enough to be drawn below the belt...?

Hah, what a pun. It doesn't work anymore if you don't have a belt, right?

Alastor chuckled, absolutely tickled by the thought. Alastor pulled out a wine-colored blazer, which perfectly complimented his pants. Can't be too prepared for the hellish night, right? He paused, walking over to your discarded top again for one final sniff; one final tease before the real thing. He shuddered at the thought, already feeling a light twitch coming from below. 

With a resolute nod, he walks out from his room, heading towards the lobby. Maybe you would be retired for the night? Maybe he could catch you before your evening shower... He sought you out, his nose steering the way as his thoughts swam with visions of you. He would have you tonight, he thought, his hands summoning and twirling his microphone with a prideful flourish.

--

You hadn't known how it got to this point. You hadn't known how much liquor both you and Alastor had drunk, round for round... but, Alastor's plan managed to work. He caught up with you, just before you were retiring for the night... and now, you did manage to head to bed... just the wrong one.

You yelped as you were slammed against his bedroom door, hands flying to grip the collar of his shirt. The passion of his kiss made you weak, his own knees buckled. Your sounds mirrored the other's, hips rolling in tandem as the heat between your bodies danced and mingled with one another. Alastor was already getting carried away, hands grabbing at everything he could touch... your cheek, your ass, your waist... He needed more. He needed you to be absolutely bothered and sweating.

Alastor pulled away, licking a long, wet trail from your collar bone to your ear. You trembled as ghost-like kisses were placed along your jaw, pleased sigh his reward. Your head tilted back and to the side, allowing better access to the longing demon.

"Ahh-- Alastor!"

His name fell from your lips, bruised and hanging agape as your breath came out in labored puffs. Alastor groaned, eyelids fluttering as he inhaled once more. A shaky sigh soon followed, making your thighs clench together. He licked at the sweat that ran down your neck, swirling his tongue before kissing there again.

More... he needed more of this.

No words were exchanged as his lips wandered lower, your clothing coming down and off with his lecherous journey. You could only cradle and grab at his hair, trying to slow or stop his descent when he would kiss a particularly gratifying area... but your eyes widened as his kisses lingered on your lower abdomen. Your eyes met his candy apple reds, swirling with lust and intrigue.

"Mon cher, I simply cannot bear to wait... I must have you." He couldn't contain his raspy sigh as he took your pants off, sliding them down your trembling legs. You'd be lucky to have these clothes back after this night...

Once you were bare before him, he kissed at your mound, the smell of your hormones and sweat making his brow furrow with desire. His eyes nearly rolled back into his skull as you moaned, nodding feverishly," I-I... I don't-- fuck, Al... Don't stop..."

Al looked firmly at you, mouth hanging open, but not coming closer. You huffed, trembling as your cheeks flush.

"... Pl-please... keep going... I want this."

Alastor smiled up at you, toothy grin absolutely drunk with adoration as he lowered his head. He spread your legs apart, arms moving to lift you. You were pushed up until you sat upon his shoulders, suspended a few inches off the ground. You were shaking at the realization of how powerful he was; how easily he was able to sustain you with just his shoulders. It was a strength that made your abdominals clench in anticipation.

The moment his tongue ran up your slit, you saw the light, eyes widening from the feeling of his warm muscle. Alastor grunted as he started to gently lap at your core. Finally: something that distracted him from how divinely you smelt...

Now he had a new muse (and problem) to keep him up at night... the taste of your arousal.

Like a man starved, he began to lavish you earnestly, hands trapping your thighs around his head. He showed you no mercy as his tongue alternated between stimulating your clit and delving into your relaxed hole. You convulsed with his minstrations, one hand stabilizing you against the door while the other gripped an antler for deer dear life. You soon found your hips rolling into his face, his nose brushing your clit with every thrust. Your head collided with the door as your moans transformed into animalistic whines and huffs, unable to control the ravenous sounds he tore from you. Alastor wasnt any more refined, hungry like a tramp in heat.

His expression shook and strained with pure bliss as he took you in whole: touch, sight, sounds, scent, and taste. This truly was the thing that he needed most; to seek you in your entirety. He knew now that he needed to own your body by ways of physical desire and passion... something he only became keenly aware of recently.

Now, even if your soul would so pretty under his grasp... this seemed to outweigh that desire. This was the ultimate way to both have you, and for you to tie a metaphorical leash around his neck. He hadn't fully realized it, but he was completely and utterly yours, and after this display, you'd surely have him the same way...

His dignity be damned. You were too sweet to resist.

You held his fringe out of his face as Alastor groaned with every flick of his tongue, vibrations sending your nerves into overdrive. His movements, his reactions, and his blatant obsession with your scent had you seeing stars. You ground your face harder into Alastor's obedient tongue, forcing his inhales to be rapid and short. Had he breathed any harder, one would speculate he was panicking. But ahh, what a way to die again, but by your thighs and eager cunt...

"Sh-Shit-- Alastor I'm-- fuck, y-you're too-- Hah!"

Alastor's cock twitched and strained, unable to be freed as your noises grew in tempo and pitch: you were nearing your climax.

Yes.

Yes, cum on him; cum on his face.

He wanted to see your mouth hang open in a silent wail, riddled with ecstacy. He wanted to feel your legs snap his neck from the force of your grip. He wanted to taste the arousal on his tongue as it multiplied. And most importantly... he wanted to be fully engulfed in your scent as your cunt rode his tongue... At this rate, he would be making another mess tonight.

He would never wash his shirt again, aware of the cum dripping down onto the collar of his dress shirt... a notion that nearly made him squirm. Maybe he could convince you to let him keep your outfit, as a token of tonight's debauchery?

He had no more time to think as your orgasm overcame you. Both hands held his antlers as your frantically ground into his mouth, practically suffocating him as you sprayed his jaw with your release. Alastor could only take it, choking and sputtering but absolutely living in the moment. His eyes were fully rolled back, schelaras devoured by a deep, pitch color.

When oversensitivity started to make you quiver, you pulled away, utterly satisfied. Your hands went to smooth out Alastor's scrunched-up hair as he panted. You gave it a playful ruffle, apologetic for your behavior. You smile breathlessly down to the overwhelmed demon, about to thank him... Then, a shrill scream is ripped from your throat. Alastor's seering, hot tongue is on your clit again, hands digging in to the plush of your thighs.

"Mmph... more-- Please, let me have more, cher... need it-- need you!"

You whined as Alastor's pleas fell unto eager ears, head lolling. Alastor's tongue began to awaken a new vigor in you. You were more than happy to please the starved man below you... Maybe next time, you'd tie him up in your clothes, leaving him unable to do anything but take your passion, in every sense of the word...

[somanyratsinthewalls]

Hi! congrats for 700 followers!! 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼 i love your fics and one shots <3

following the game… can i suggest Navy (ofc) Rabbit and if possible starfish too 🥺🥺🥺

Thank you 🫶🏼

HI SORRY THIS TOOK A BILLION YEARS BUT GUESS WHAT IT'S DONE NOW :) thank you for your patience sweet friend

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x Female Reader

Trope/Prompt: Friends to Lovers x Body Worship

Summary: Law finds out you've never had an orgasm. A doctor treats a patients ailments. You get the idea. MINORS DNI

WC: 3100 hehe

TWs: inexperienced reader, alcohol consuption, fingering, oral sex f receiving, power dynamic kinda, smooth talking Law, body worship and praise, pet names, ugh it's porn.

Climax (+18)

——

Sure, the Heart Pirates weren’t the scariest or the biggest or the baddest pirate crew out there… but they were still pirates at the end of the day. The Heart Pirates could drink. Although Law himself didn’t indulge in as many rowdy evenings as the other members of his crew, he still enjoyed socializing with them. They were his crew, after all. 

This particular evening, Law found himself bored of his work and decided to venture out from his office and into the common areas of the ship. Law shuffled tiredly towards the sound of glasses clinking and slurred voices talking over each other. He almost decides to turn back to his bedroom and try to get some shut eye. His back ached, the twinge in his muscles pleading with him to go to sleep, but he hears something else. Your lilted giggle floats through the metal halls of the submarine and straight into his ears. He wanted to at least see you before he went to bed… something sweet to think about as he fell asleep… 

“Yeah, okay well you’re stupid, so.” You sip from your freshly cracked beer and roll your eyes at Shachi. 

“Wow! What a good insult, y/n! You’re so fucking creative!” Shachi jeers at you with a big fake smile on his face. “I set you up, and you lost! You have to finish your drink, I don’t care that you just opened a new one!” 

“Unless you want me to barf on your cards, probably not.” You chuckle. 

“And I have seen her throw up. It is NOT cute.” Ikkaku pipes up. Ikkaku leans in and whispers purposefully loudly to Penguin. “Shes a scream-puker.”

“Okay so, I am not a scream-puker!” You defend yourself. 

“Yeah, you are.”

Your head whips around towards the galley door. Law stands there leaning against the frame, looking exhausted, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary for him. 

“Last time you had the flu I thought we were under attack and sounded the Tang’s defensive alarm.” Law says as he smirks at you. 

You pout and turn back to the table. 

“Okay that one time… and I was really sick, you know!” You huff. 

“Room for one more?” Law grabs a beer out of the fridge and sits down at the dining table without waiting for a response. 

“Of course, Captain!” Ikkaku chimes in. “We were just telling Shachi he has to finally tell that girl from the last island to stop calling him.” 

“She’s sooooo hot though! And she’s totally into me!” Shachi pleads his case. 

“We will never see her again!” You interject. 

“So? She doesn’t know that! And besides, the phone sex is better than nothing-” 

“You’re having phone sex? Here? On my ship?” Law immediately butts in and cocks his head in confusion. 

“… is that? Is that not cool? Did we have a rule about that or something?” Shachi questions. 

“No.. it’s just vile, Shachi.” Law shakes his head. 

“Hah! He thinks you’re fuckin’ gross!” Ikkaku points and laughs directly at Shachi who was making quite the face. You couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Oh whatever, I’ve been getting the best sleep of my life thanks to this! I’m like, almost twice as productive as I normally am!” He tries to build his case back up. 

“Why?” You ask, curious what those things had to do with each other. 

“What do you mean? Everyone knows how great the sleep is after you finish, am I wrong?” 

“You are correct there.” Penguin adds, sipping his beer. Ikkaku hums in agreement.

“Hah, okay. Wouldn’t know.” You add softly, secretly hoping no one would hear you. 

“What?” Ikkaku turns to you and asks. 

“Nothing it’s just that I… wouldn’t…? Know..?” Really pleading with your eyes for her to read between the lines and you wouldn’t have to say it out loud yourself. 

“Wait okay… you’ve never… had an orgasm?” Ikkaku’s eyes widen. 

“Correct.” You take a deep breath. “At least I don’t think I have.” You feign a laugh. 

“Oh you’d KNOW.” Shachi affirms from across the table, also staring at you with a bewildered expression. “Woah… that’s crazy. Are you a virgin or something?” He continues. 

“No!” You defend yourself. “The guys I’ve been with just suck, apparently. Can we stop talking about this?” You knit your eyebrows together and rub your eyes. 

“No way this is fascinating. How old are you? Twenty five? And you’ve never had an orgasm? Like never once? Even by yourself?” Ikkaku probes further. 

“Oooookay guys I never miss a good time to shut the fuck up, so I am going to head to bed!” You stand up from the table and straighten out your boiler suit. You were met with pleas and apologies from your crew mates, while your captain remained stoic during the entire exchange. You felt his eyes burning a hole through you as you left the galley. 

You swiftly make your way through the metal corridors of the ship towards your stateroom. You weren’t upset at your crew mates, it really was fascinating how you had made it this long in your life without feeling the peak of physical pleasure. It wasn’t for lack of trying, you had tried several times to pleasure yourself… and taken a small handful of lovers, none of whom could make you cum. 

You slip off your boiler suit and let it fall to the floor in an off-white heap. You pick out some grey pajamas, a thin camisole and matching shorts, throw it on and sit on your bed to brush out your hair. You untie your hair from the thick bun on your head and let it cascade down your bare shoulders. 

You had almost finished brushing our your locks when you notice the room has somehow changed… as if in the blink of an eye everything was sheathed in a faint blue glow. A familiar blue… 

“Wait no!” You could barely yelp out before you ass meets a different surface in an instant. “Ah!” You gasp and open your eyes to see that you’re no longer in your own bed, but in Law’s. You blink rapidly for a few moments to try and regain your surroundings. You catch your breath. 

You look up and see Law standing at the edge of his bed, looking at you with his shirt unbuttoned. Did he already have it unbuttoned when you were drinking… or did he take it off since then…? 

“Gods, Law.” You sigh and shake your head. “You can’t keep doing that to people. You could have just called my snail or something.” 

“Heard Shachi’s been keeping the line busy tonight.” Law looks down at your barely covered form on his bed. You push your legs up to your chest and wrap your arms around them. He smirks. “So… is it true?” Law walks slowly around to the side of the bed, eyes never leaving yours. He was like an animal stalking its prey. 

“T-the orgasm thing?! T-thats what you brought me here to talk about?!” You could feel your cheeks flush bright red. You sink your head further behind your legs. “I-it’s really not a big deal…” You turn your eyes down to avoid his gaze. 

“You know, the human orgasm is really just a tool.” Law continues eyeing your body and ignoring what you had just said. “The reason it feels so good goes back to our earliest days of evolution. All living organisms, even plants, exist with one similar purpose in common. Do you know what that is, y/n?”

You pick your head up a bit from behind your knees. 

“T-to… n-not get eaten by a larger thing?” You sputter out.

“Reproduction.” Law answers his own question. “Every creature is designed with a primal need to create more of itself…” He paces towards his nightstand and back before taking his massive sword off his back and setting it against the bedpost. “The male orgasm is necessary for human reproduction, obviously. But the female orgasm…” He trails off and you look up and lock eyes. “Is it a bit more complicated…” 

“O-okay?”

“Some professionals say the spasming of the female reproductive organs during orgasm allows for easier penetration through the cervix for the ejaculate to pass through… and some say the female orgasm doesn’t even exist at all…” 

“Are you seriously doctor-ing me about this?!?” You finally find your voice a bit stronger in your throat. “I’ve lived this long without it and-“

“I however, y/n, don’t care what the purpose of it is. And I do know it exists. And I plan on giving you at least one this evening.” Law says as he sheds his button down off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. Tattoos on full display, his chiseled abdominal muscles right at your eye level paired with the topic of conversation made you press your legs together even harder. 

“C-captain that is highly unnecessary and unprof-“ You try to protest shakily. 

“Nonsense.” Law steps so his thighs are against the edge of the bed. His right hand comes up to drag two fingers up your calf and rest his palm on your knee. He rubbed soft circles onto your knee with his thumb. “Now if you’re done being so stubborn, we can get started.” 

You leaned back on your elbows and blinked up at the man standing before you, your captain. You couldn’t believe this was really happening, but you were too stunned to question it. You trusted him with your life and more, why not let him try and help you?

“Alright.” You say softly, more to yourself than to Law. 

“Good. Now take your clothes off.” 

You cock your head back in surprise and your eyes widen. 

“Getting straight to it I guess…” You chuckle nervously. 

“We can go slower, if you’d like?” Law takes his hand off your leg, a genuine look of care in his grey eyes. 

“No no! I-it’s fine! I just didn’t, you know… like… well I wasn’t really planning for anyone to see me naked tonight is all!” You say awkwardly. 

“The only thing I care about tonight is pleasuring you. Will you let me?”

You don’t say anything in response, but you lift your thin grey camisole over your head and throw it to the floor. You didn’t look up to see Law’s response, you just shimmied your shorts down your legs and resumed your position laying on Law’s bed. 

Fully bare in front of your captain, you could feel your cheeks become hotter than they’ve ever been. 

“So what should-“ You begin.

“Fucking gorgeous.” Law interrupts. 

“S-sorry?” You question. 

“You are so fucking hot. So pretty.” Law was no longer staring into your eyes, but raking his gaze all over your naked body. “Spread your legs for me, yah?” Law asks, a bit more pleading than his normal demanding tone. It was like something shifted in him once you had taken your clothes off. He returns his hand to your knee, bringing his other hand as well this time to gently push your legs open to expose your sex to him. You hear him suck in a breath. 

Suddenly, Law pounces on you. You’re knocked back on the bed further and your head hits the mattress. Law chuckles playfully above you as he supports himself on his hands, black shaggy hair falling towards your face. 

“Hi.” He grins down at you. 

“H-hi..” You manage to smile back. Law leans down further and begins placing wet kisses along your neck, craning your head to the side almost involuntarily.  “O-oh okay.. t-that’s fine… AH!” You feel a cold hand pinch your left nipple.  

“So sensitive… this is going to be easy..” You feel Law’s mouth curve into a smile as he litters more kisses on you, this time across your collarbone. He moves his head lower and captures your right nipple in his soft lips and sucks gently. You let out a long sigh and throw your head back against the mattress further. Quiet gasps left your mouth as he worked your chest in his hands and tongue. 

Without fully realizing that Law’s hand had left your breast, you feel it cup your mound firmly without warning. You try to close your legs instinctively at the sudden contact. 

“Ah ah, no y/n. You’ve been hiding this pretty thing from me for too long.” Law says as he pulls back from your chest. He pressed his fingers against the top of your slit and started rubbing it in circles. “I promise it’ll feel so good.”  

Law leans up and places a gentle kiss on your parted mouth, you were too dazed to kiss him back just yet. He pulls away and settles himself on the floor on his knees in front of where you were laying. Strong arms hook under your knees and drag you swiftly so that your legs were hanging off the bed and your sex was mere inches from his hungry gaze and spit-slicked lips. 

“Even more fucking beautiful than I’d imagined…” Law says as he spreads your pussy with his thumb and forefinger, exposing your throbbing clit and dripping hole to him. “So eager and ready for me…” 

“Wait you imagi- SHIT!” You cry out as you feel Law’s hot tongue lap at your clit. It was so good, so thoughtful, so precise… he knew exactly what he was doing. “Oh my god-“ You had never received better head and he was only just getting started… maybe he was going to fulfill his promise. He alternative between suckling at your sensitive pearl and taking wide swaths over your whole sex with his entire mouth, as if he was trying to drink up every last drop your pussy was offering him. 

“So sweet…” You could barely understand what Law was muttering about, he was so drunk off your essence that all you could really hear was pained moans and groans of “mmhmmpph” as he enjoyed your taste. Your back was arching off the bed and you grabbed at Law’s hair, pulling him impossibly closer to you as you wanted to make sure he kept going. 

You moaned loudly as he slipped two fingers into your eager hole. He distracted you with harsh sucks to your clit as he crooked his fingers upwards inside of you. 

“Wait fuck!” You cry out, feeling a foreign sensation as Law pulled on that spot inside your walls. 

“Yeah there it is baby… there it is right there… let it happen…” Law cooed into your wetness as he continued to hammer into your sweet spot with his two fingers. He resumed his ministrations on your clit. 

“Law! I can’t!” You gasp as that warmth and pressure in your lower half grew stronger and tighter. 

“You can… get out of that pretty little head of yours, babe. Stop thinking and just let it go…” 

You try to center yourself and clear your mind, eliminating all thoughts except for the feeling of Law’s hands and mouth on you. It wasn’t hard to do, his presence took over your every sense entirely… the heady smell of his cedar cologne, the absolute determined and lust-filled look in his eyes that were peeking up at you from between your legs, and the overwhelming feeling of his mouth lapping up your juices with fervor. 

“I-I think… ah! Fuck!” Your shoulders lurch forward on their own, your walls starting to tighten sporadically around Law’s thick fingers. 

“You’re so close, pretty girl… just a little more… squeeze those tits for me, yah?” Law asks before returning his mouth to your throbbing nub. 

You do as you’re told and you wrap your manicured hands around your own breasts. You pull desperately at your nipples and cry out from the intense pleasure. 

“Law!” You moan your captain’s name as tears prick the corners of your eyes from the sensation. 

“Cum.” Law growls.

With a strangled scream, everything in your body released and your breath caught in your throat. Euphoric waves pulsed from your sex outwards and you felt the tears fall freely from your lash line as your legs shook. Your scream turned into a moan, and then fell into a whine as you suddenly felt too sensitive to have Law’s touch on you and you squirmed away. 

You caught your breath after what could have been 30 seconds or 5 minutes and take a look between your legs. Law stared up at you, face and bangs soaked in some sort of liquid… your liquid… and a stupid grin plastered across his face. 

“Holy fuck, I’m sorry I-“ You stutter out through heaving breaths. 

“Don’t.” Law stops you. “Don’t apologize. That was so fucking hot. Didn’t peg you for a squirter. Nice.” He rubs his hands on your thighs as he stands up. Your face flushes impossibly redder. “How do you feel?” Law asks. 

“I…” You flop your head back onto Law’s bed. “I feel like I got hit by a sea train but also incredibly light? My legs feel like pudding.” You sit back up on your elbows. “Law… captain… That was amazing…” You smile up at him. 

“Good.” Law looks down at the mess you’ve made between your legs and on his comforter. He looks down at his chest and sees even more remnants of your release. 

“How about we get cleaned up before bed and I can show you a few more things, yah? You’re staying with me tonight.” Law offers you a hand and you stand up on shaky legs to follow him to the bathroom. 

“Hmmm maybe this time it can be your turn?” You glance down at Law’s obvious bulge straining against his spotted jeans. “I owe you one, right?” You smirk. 

— —

>:)

[sonicblueartist]

What about a one-shot or just a suggestive story where Shadow takes advantage of y/n?

A/n: I'm probably gonna get all the fans' attention with this one huh? I normally don't write anyone but Tails but I am making an expection for some reason today. Have a good read I guess! Idk why I write what I write today XD Sorry for the long wait.

I left you guys in a cliffhanger. hah! idk if I would continue tho

Masterlist

Pairings: Shadow x Reader

They/them // She/her // He/him // Other

Summery; Eggman made a new weapon out of Shadow. Let's see what it is

Warnings: smut, lemon, suggestive themes, blood, marking, biting, tearing flesh, attempted rape

Word Count: 1371

Btw does anyone want to be in the tag list?

As your eyes flickered over him in fear, you were instantly struck by the sharp and scary aura emanating from his breathtaking violet eyes. Shadow stood before you, his chest heaving rapidly as if he had just completed a long and demanding marathon. His fur was damp, drenched in sweat, and his claws peeked out menacingly from his gloves. His fangs were visible, adding to the unnerving sight that confronted you. But what puzzled you most was the absence of any evidentiary explanation for his condition, except for one haunting phrase that echoed in your mind.

"What do you think is the most natural instinct of an animal, the most wild and scary one?" Eggman's voice resonated in your head, reminding you of his words moments ago. "Their bloodlust? Hunger to stay alive? Maybe. But there is something else that is much *more* dangerous and entertaining. 'The will to do anything to death for their mate.' "

The memory of Eggman's sinister revelation half an hour ago flooded your mind. You hadn't expected this game of catch to turn into something so disturbing. Though you had managed to catch your breath, your heart still raced uncontrollably, struggling to make sense of the unsettling situation unfolding before you.

Your eyes widened in fear as Shadow took deliberate steps toward you, raising the possibility of him falling victim to Eggman's trap, turning against his friends. A sense of terror gripped you, leaving you feeling trapped with no way to escape. Desperately, you scanned your surroundings, searching for an exit, but found nothing. You found yourself backed into a dead end.

"And to mate, of course." Your throat tightened as you heard Eggman's words reverberating in your mind. The realization struck you like a bolt of lightning—Shadow was hungry, thirsty for you. Eggman's twisted plans had successfully turned him, and now the true extent of Shadow' instincts became clear. No, this couldn't be true. Shadow wouldn't do this to you, would he? The shocking dishonor of Eggman's manipulation left you bewildered, unable to fathom the torment inflicted upon your friends.

"C-come on, Shadow. This isn't you," you started nervously, your voice shaking. "We both know that you don't wanna do this. Behave yourself! Think logically, like you always do! We're still in Eggman's base. He's playing with you, with your mind, your instincts! You are the ultimate life form, damn it! You can't just succumb to Eggman like that! There are Badniks running around, and if they find us, we're finished-"

Your plea was interrupted as Shadow forcefully pinned both his hands beside your head, a whimper left your lips in fear. A deep snarl escaping his lips as you attempted to slide away. Trapped between him and the wall, you realized the extent of his transformation. No longer the loyal companion you once knew, he approached you with predatory purpose, garnered by one sole instinct—breeding. You were left with a terrifying decision. Would you become the first to fall at his hands before the Badniks got to you?

After examining his prey's frightened face for a while, Shadow slowly lowered himself, his nose skimming along your neck. His actions mirrored those of a true animal, inhaling your scent as his salivating mouth revealed his primal desire for your presence. The sensation of his warm breath against your skin sent shivers down your spine, intensifying the horrifying nature of the situation.

Attempting to muster the strength to push him away, you fought against his grip, but his strength surpassed anything you could have imagined. Like an iron vice, his grasp held firm, rendering your efforts fruitless. In spite of the predicament you found yourself in, you couldn't help but be mesmerized by Shadow' well-built form, his muscles flexing in the most hypnotic manner.

You quickly shook away such distracting thoughts, forcing yourself to concentrate on finding a way out of this nightmare. Every fiber of your being screamed for escape as Shadow began to suckle at your neck and shoulder, exhaling his hot breath in sporadic bursts. The sounds he made only served to further ignite the blazing heat that reddened your face, flooding you with a mix of desire and terror.

Suppressing a moan, you desperately struggled to redirect your focus, your mind racing for an escape plan. Yet, how could you concentrate on anything other than the overpowering dominance Shadow exhibited? Pressed against the wall by his scorching body, each breath and moan he emitted only served to remind you of the pleasure he was experiencing.

Amidst his sloppy kisses and teasing nibbles, you fought fiercely against the sensations threatening to consume you, trying to maintain your composure. However, as Shadow momentarily eased the pressure of his body against yours, he replaced it with his leg pressed against your groin, effectively preventing any escape. The mix of pain and pleasure elicited a whine from your lips, pushing Shadow to suckle at your shoulder with renewed vigor.

Finally, he got bored and withdrew from his sloppy territory. The room grew suffocatingly silent as he moved his fangs along your throat, gently biting a few places, feeling your heartbeat increasing. He licked his lips and shifted his attention to your other shoulder, leaving a trail of kisses and sucking hungrily, leaving little marks. But it seemed like that wasn't enough for him anymore; he growled, as if yearning for something more primal.

With his fingers deeply entwined in your hair, he pulled, causing you to gasp, displaying your neck like a plate of meal to him. Without warning, he sank his teeth into your shoulder, his fangs piercing through your skin. Tears slipped from your eyes as you cried out in pain. He let your arms go and held you tightly from your waist, as you gripped his back for support. You closed your eyes, gritting your teeth, and unwillingly scratched his back in pain. It felt as though his teeth were digging deeper into your shoulder, testing your limits.

Shadow let out a pleasured sigh through his nose, not yet satisfied. He continued biting harder than before, his eyes closed as he let out an animalistic growl. The realization that he could break your neck in half if he wanted sent a shiver through your spine. He sucked your blood with such thirst leaving you weak as you sobbed silently, drinking and swallowing it all as if he hadn't had a drop in weeks.

Before things grew any wilder, he pulled back, a string of blood and saliva still connecting the two of you. Panting for air, he tried to lick all the blood flowing from his mouth with his tongue, his breath hot against your face. Your blood flowed from your shoulder to your chest.

Satisfied with the mark he left on you, Shadow now went for your lips. Gripping your form, he forced his lips onto yours, connecting them. You hesitated, not wanting to taste the disgusting blend of your blood and his saliva. He pulled your hair once again, and when you whimpered in pain, he immediately seized the opportunity and engaged in a fierce kiss, taking your breath away.

Your heart raced as his hand wandered across your body in a manner both unnerving and inquisitive. He marked his territory, staking claim to every inch of your being. Your mind battled to comprehend the situation, as your body responded to his predatory touch.

Fighting the rising panic, you summoned your inner strength you managed to wrap your arms around his shoulders in a desperate attempt to distract him. As your lips collided in a feverish kiss, you hoped to manipulate the situation to your advantage.

To your surprise, he welcomed your advances. He tilted his head, letting out a low, carnal moan. Sensing that this could be your one chance to regain control, you decided to play along. You pushed aside your feelings of self-disgust and harnessed your newfound determination.

As you passionately kissed, your mind churned, searching for an escape plan. With each stolen moment, you became acutely aware of his animalistic nature, his primal desires, and his desperate need to assert dominance. Yet, instead of submitting to the imminent danger, an idea began to form in your mind.

[remuslupinslittleslut]

poly!marauders getting mad at reader for not letting them study for an upcoming test, and she’s needy and whiny but when they go and help her she’s trying to get herself off so they punish her but after they punish her, they finally give her what she wants

OH this was so much fun!!!

You knew the rules. Not to touch yourself and not to disturb your daddies while they were busy studying. Sometimes, it was just so hard to follow these rules. Laying splayed out on James’ bed, watching your three boyfriends sitting on the floor, studying. There was a big test coming up, but you already knew you’d ace it – you were awesome at potions and rarely had to study for the tests. Your boys, however, usually had to study a lot – even Remus had a hard time preparing for these tests.

“Daddy,” you whined, not being able to hold it any more, “I need love and attention.” You allowed your head to fall off the side of the bed, making up-side-down eye contact with James, your safest bet, as he usually caved first. “And I need it now.”

Unfortunately, even James was stressing over the test and allowed Remus to chastise you.

“Darling, don’t disturb your daddies,” he said, not even looking up from his book, “we only let you stay here if you promised to behave, don’t make me kick you out.”

Huffing, you closed the curtains around the fourposter, turning your back to them, even though they couldn’t possibly see that.

It was so unfair, they could come to you for sex pretty much whenever they wanted – and there were four of them to satiate. But when you needed to relieve some tension it was suddenly a crime to be horny. You knew how upset they would be if you touched yourself, but you really needed it. To your credit, you held out for all of twenty minutes before you caved, dipping a hand into your panties, pushing a finger in between your wettened folds.

Unbeknownst to you, your daddies did want to help you out, and they had secretly agreed to only make you wait for a little while longer. It was truly unfortunate, as the curtains were pushed open, revealing you toying with your own clit.

“Hah! Knew she couldn’t wait for that long,” Sirius mocked.

Ignoring him, Remus sat down on the side of the bed (also ignoring James’ sniggering that you had chosen his bed to get off in), rubbing your calf comfortably. “Now, now, little one,” do you remember the rules you promised to obey?”

“Yes daddy, I remember them,” you said, confidently, happy that he didn’t seem too angry at you.

“Awe, what a good girl, can you tell them to me?”

Nodding, you happily listed them: “don’t disturb daddies, don’t leave the room, don’t touch myself.”

At your words, Remus’ demeanor changed in an instant, hand slapping your naked thigh. “And what did you do? Huh? What did the little slut do?”

“I’m so sorry daddy, but you said not to interrupt and it was an emergency,” you cry out, shame coloring your cheeks red.

“An emergency?” One of his eyebrows shot up, questioningly.

“Yes, daddy, it really hurted I only had to relieve some tension, it was really uncomfy.”

“What punishment should she get today?” Remus asked, turning his body away from you and facing your other daddies.

You laid perfectly still, waiting with anticipation as they discussed your following punishment in hushed voices. Normally, you’d get punishments you actually really enjoyed, like being spanked, overstimulated or wearing your collar, making you extra bratty sometimes, so you could enjoy some of that kinky stuff. Therefore, you were very excited as they turned back to face you, having decided on a punishment for you.

“Hands up and legs spread apart, love,” said James, before being handed handcuffs from Sirius, who had gone to get the big box of fun.

You obliged, letting James tie your hands up against the headboard, as Sirius tied your legs to either side of the lower end of the bed. Before deeming themselves done, they both tugged lightly at the cuffs, making sure they wouldn’t hurt you.

“Now, little one, you’ve been very bad. First, you tried to interrupt daddies studying, and when that didn’t work you touched yourself,” Remus said, towering before you. “You need to be punished for this, you do understand that, right?”

You nodded, not wanting to break any more rules by speaking out of turn.

“You’re going to stay here, and we’ll put a blindfold on you. Then, we’re going to go down for dinner, and when we get back we’ll each take turns using you, and you may not come during this time.”

The air left your body, disappointment filling you all the way up. Remus made Sirius put the blindfold on you, kissing your head softly before you heard them all leave the dorm, closing the door and leaving you behind.

They usually didn’t take that much time eating dinner, but this day it felt as though they ate every bite in slow motion, chewing all their bites one hundred times and making small talk with everyone in the great hall. You despised them in that moment, hating this new type of mean punishment. It felt as though hours had gone by when the door to their dorm was finally opened. With your senses finely tuned for their return, you made out three sets of footsteps entering the room.

“Have you learned your lesson, little one?” Remus asked you, hand coming down to squeeze your tit.

Not sure if you were allowed to speak, you nodded your head, vigorously. This earned you a slap to the tit.

“Use your words, little slut,” Remus said.

Feeling anger rise back up inside you, you quickly had to swallow it down, not wanting to get into more trouble.

“Yes daddy, I learned my lesson, I will not play with myself without permission again,” you said, obediently.

In return, you received only a hum. They made you wait, laying there, legs spread and arms tied up, all for their pleasure, for a few minutes more, just appreciating your delicious body.

Then, someone joined you on the bed, and by the heat of their body, you figured it was James.

“Hi little baby,” he cooed, kissing your nose and patting your cheek.

“Hi daddy,” you breathed, happy to be touched.

His hand reached down between your legs, spreading the wetness around your pussy, making sure you were ready for the penetration that was undoubtedly about to come. Indeed, a few seconds later, his girthy cock pressed into your little pussy, your walls squeezing tightly around him. He stayed still inside you for a few moments, adjusting to the feeling of your warm cunt hugging his cock. You let out a hiss as his hips started moving, thrusting into you slowly, sensually.

You wished so badly that your arms could wrap around him, holding him close, tugging at the ends of his hair, making him moan into the crook of your neck. The perceived loss made you want to cry, you knew how soft his back was, how lovely it was to run your hands up and down it as his cock continuously pushed against your g-spot. Unable to hold it, you cried out, tears starting to form in your eyes as your body shook through your orgasm.

Thinking the punishment was over, you relaxed your body, letting James chase his own orgasm. They had, however, decided to be extra cruel on this day and so – knowing how much you loved the feeling of them coming inside you, pumping you full of their cum – James pulled out in the last second, cock covering only the outer parts of your glistening pussy in cum.

By now, the tears had saturated the blindfold and started to run down your cheeks, hitting the hair around your face. This didn’t stop them however, as you soon felt Remus join you and James on the bed, lightly pushing James away from you, and taking his place.

“Oh no, our little crybaby can’t even handle some cock, what a shame…” he said, placing his arms on either side of your head, pushing his body up and hovering right above you. “I was going to fuck you, but since you can’t handle it, I’ll just do this instead.” He thrust his hips, cock swiping along your pussy, lubed up from your juices mixed with James’ seed.

Even this was torture for you, it felt amazing to have the head of Remus’ cock push against your clit with every stroke, but you missed the feeling of him inside you. With an arched back and tears streaming down your face, you bucked your hips up to try and make him slide in. This made Remus laugh at you, mockingly and pinch your thigh. “You’re such a little baby,” he mocked, “just a little cockwhore.”

It was like he got off on your tears, hips snapping against yours faster, bringing himself closer to his orgasm. “You love this, don’t you, little crybaby, love taking cock, don’t even care where it goes, as long as you get it, so good f’me, little whore.” You knew he got off on degrading you, knew he loved tearing you down before building you up, but it was hard to remember as he kept throwing insults at you. You almost reached your breaking point as he grabbed a hold of your chin, holding your mouth open and spitting in it. It felt so degrading, but also so hot, you felt overwhelmed as the tip of his cock against your sensitive nub sent you over the edge, both of you coming at the same time, his cum blended with James’ as it ran down your cunt, pooling beneath your bum. Patting your cheek, Remus leant down, kissing your forehead. “Good girl.”

Your body was spent, legs aching, face irritated from the tears, pussy oversensitive from all the fucking. But you knew you had one more daddy to please. Feeling yourself enter another headspace, you braced yourself for Sirius to use you, as the two others had before. “Hi little baby,” he said, softly, wiping the tears from your cheek. “Are you sensitive here?” He pinched your clit, eliciting a very loud noise from the back of your throat. “Hmm, better use this little hole then,” he said, thumb pushing past your lips.

Climbing over your body, he placed his knees on either side of you, fore and middle fingers pushing into your mouth, pressing against the back of your throat, making you drool all over your chin and throat. “Yeah, that’s a good little slut,” he said, as his fingers left your mouth, cock pushing into it instead.

You lost all perception of reality as your head went deep into subspace, mouth falling open, all for your daddies’ pleasure. You trusted them completely, and knew they’d take care of you, so you allowed yourself to let go, filling your head with only daddy Sirius, and, most importantly, his cock, sliding in and out of your open mouth. You had no idea how much time passed until he pulled out, jerked himself a few times, and then spilled over your face, fingers coming down to spread the mess around.

Somewhere in the background, you heard a camera snap, but you couldn’t be sure, as you had lost all touch of reality. You didn’t even notice your hands and legs being untied, didn’t feel the soft, warm hands rubbing the points that had been tied. When the blindfold was pulled off, you weren’t at all prepared for the ache in your eyes as light hit.

“Hi baby,” James said, kissing you all over your face, brushing the teary hair away.

“Sit up love,” said Sirius before pulling one of Remus’ shirts over your head, helping you put your arms through the holes. He then scooted himself behind you, letting your back fall against his chest. James still caressing your face, kissing you and whispering sweet words.

“Here you go, love, open up,” Remus said, pushing a straw into your mouth, helping you drink water. When you had swallowed the water, he lifted a fork up to your face. They had brought you dinner.

Once he had made you eat a few bites, he put the plate away for a little bit, taking your hands in his and rubbing them softly. “Are you with us, darling?”

You giggled, “Yes daddy, I’m right here.” Still lost in subspace, you didn’t understand the silly question.

“That you are, love, my bad,” he said, kissing your hands. “I love you so much, little one, you did so well for us.”

“You really did,” Sirius agreed from behind you, “such a good girl.”

“Thank you daddy,” you said, feeling yourself become shy at their kind words.

“Let’s get some rest,” James said, moving you from Sirius’ lap and pulling you into his body. Your hands instinctively went around his neck, fingers burying themselves in soft locks of messy hair.

“Love you daddies,” you said, contently, before you fell asleep in the arms of your lovers.