#Giant monsters and how to avoid them

[dravidious]

You're more amazing than :O

You're more amazing than an EX Drilltusk Tetsucabra corpse.

Also I had another dream where I was menaced by the passive presence of a giant monster. This time it was Shara Ishvalda rising out of some hole in the ground and staring at me.

For context, this is what Shara Ishvalda looks like:

[inseobts]

Idk if u do request but can you do Scary reader x One piece men? Law, Shanks, Sabo, Ace, Croc, The monster trio & whoever else you want! Basically the reader is really scary but {{char}} finds their scariness attractive.

Attractive Scariness

a/n: sorry but at some point I got out of ideas lmao

characters: luffy, zoro, sanji, law, ace, shanks, sabo and crocodile

words count: around 0.4k - 0.9k each

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

── .✦ Monkey D. Luffy:

You’re used to fear.

The wide eyes, the shaky hands, the people stumbling over themselves to get away, etc. It’s always the same. Ever since you ate your Devil Fruit, people have called you a monster. Even when you’re not fighting, your presence alone makes people nervous.

So when you land on this island and step into a small village, you already expect the usual reaction.

And you get it.

The streets clear as soon as you walk in. The market stalls empty. Even the shopkeepers pretend not to see you.

You sigh.

“Again?” you mutter “I just want some food…”

You’re about to turn around when someone doesn’t run. A boy in a red vest and a straw hat stands right in front of you, grinning like he doesn’t even notice how scary you are.

No. He notices. He just doesn’t care.

“Whoa!” he exclaims, eyes shining “You’re super strong, huh?”

You blink “What?”

“I can tell!” He nods, completely sure of himself “Strong people have this feeling about them. And you feel really strong!”

You stare at him. That’s… new. No “stay away from me” or “please don’t kill me.” Just pure excitement.

Luffy tilts his head “What’s your power?”

You hesitate. Usually, this is the part where people scream. But he’s looking at you like a kid waiting for a magic trick.

You raise your hand. A shadow swirls around your fingers, shifting like smoke. The air around you grows heavy, dark, unnatural.

Luffy gasps.

“That’s so cool!”

“…Huh?”

“You can control shadows? Or darkness? Or... wait, is it nightmares?” He’s practically bouncing “Can you do giant shadow hands? Or make yourself super big? Or—”

You blink at him “You’re… not scared?”

Luffy grins wider “Why would I be? You’re awesome!”

This has never happened before. Ever. You don’t know what to do.

Then Luffy grabs your wrist “Hey, join my crew!”

Your brain short-circuits “What?”

“I’m Luffy! I’m gonna be King of the Pirates, and I need strong people on my crew. And you’re really strong!”

You open your mouth, then close it. You look at him, at his bright, careless smile, at the way he’s just standing there, holding onto your wrist like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Like you’re just a person.

Not a monster.

“…You’re weird” you say.

Luffy laughs “People tell me that a lot.”

You stare at him for a long moment. Then, for the first time in forever, you smile.

“…Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’ll join you.”

Luffy cheers, throwing his fists in the air “Yes! This is gonna be awesome!”

You have no idea what you’ve just signed up for. But for once, you don’t feel like a nightmare.

You just feel like you.

Years have passed since you met Luffy. Since he grabbed your wrist, called you strong, and changed your life without even trying.

Back then, you weren’t sure what you were getting into. Now, you know.

Being with Luffy means chaos. It means waking up to find him hanging upside down from the ship’s mast, laughing like it’s normal. It means fighting beside him, watching him charge straight at danger without fear—because he trusts you to have his back.

It means love.

A love that is loud and wild, but also simple. Easy. Because Luffy has never been afraid of you. Not then, not now.

Right now, you’re on an island, sitting in the shade while the crew runs around. The villagers are keeping their distance, just like always. Even after all these years, people still fear you.

But it doesn’t matter anymore.

Because across the field, Luffy is waving at you, smiling so wide it makes your chest feel warm. He doesn’t care that people avoid you. He doesn’t care that you’re “scary”, to him, you’re just you.

He runs over, plopping down next to you with a grin “Whatcha doin’?”

You raise an eyebrow “Sitting.”

Luffy gasps dramatically “No way. That’s crazy.”

You snort, shoving his shoulder. He just laughs, leaning against you without a care in the world.

For a while, you sit there together. The sun is warm, the breeze is nice, and Luffy is… Luffy. He hums a little song under his breath, playing with your fingers like he’s fascinated by them.

Then, he says “You know, you’re kinda scary.”

You pause “Oh?”

He nods “Yeah. Like, super scary. When you fight, people freak out. Even Zoro said you’re the last person he’d wanna fight seriously.”

You wait for the usual words to follow. Monster. Freak. Too much.

But instead, Luffy grins and squeezes your hand.

“I love it.”

Your heart stops for a second.

Luffy keeps talking, like he hasn’t just turned your entire world upside down “It’s awesome! You’re so strong, and you do that cool shadowy thing, and when you get serious, even the bad guys look like they’re gonna cry.” He laughs, eyes shining “It’s really cool.”

You don’t answer right away. Because what is there to say?

For so long, your power was a curse. Something that made you different. Something that made you alone.

But here, with Luffy, it’s just another part of you.

“…You’re an idiot” you mumble, looking away.

Luffy laughs “Yeah, but you love me.”

You roll your eyes “Unfortunately.”

He gasps “What?!”

You shove his face away, and he just laughs harder, wrapping his arms around you like an octopus. He clings to you, laughing and warm, and you sigh, pretending to be annoyed.

But the truth is, you wouldn’t trade this for anything.

Because you are strong. And scary. And Luffy loves it.

And that is more than enough.

── .✦ Roronoa Zoro:

Zoro knows strength when he sees it.

He can sense it in the way people move, in the way they breathe. Some fighters hesitate, some carry doubt, but you don’t.

From the moment he meets you, he can tell. You don’t just fight. You hunt. And for some reason, he can’t take his eyes off you.

It starts on an island known for its warriors. The crew stops to rest, but Zoro wants a challenge. A real fight. So when he hears rumors of a swordsfighter so deadly that even bounty hunters avoid them, he doesn’t hesitate.

But when he finds you, it’s not what he expects.

You’re not some old master or a towering brute. You’re just… you. Sitting under a tree, sharpening your blade like you have all the time in the world.

Zoro stops a few feet away, arms crossed “You’re the one they’re all scared of?”

You glance up. Your eyes are sharp, your aura heavy, and for a second, it’s like the temperature drops.

Zoro grins. Oh, yeah. This is gonna be good.

You sigh, standing up “You here to fight me too?”

He smirks “Yeah. Unless you’re scared.”

Something flickers in your gaze, something dark and dangerous. Then you smile, slow and sharp “You’ll regret that.”

And then you move.

It happens fast. One second, you’re standing still. The next, your own blade is inches from his neck. Zoro barely blocks in time, his instincts the only thing keeping his head attached.

His blood rushes.

You don’t fight like normal swordsfighters. Your movements are smooth, calculated, but there’s something more. Something predatory.

Zoro grins “Not bad.”

You tilt your head “Not bad?”

And then you attack for real.

The clash of steel echoes through the trees. Zoro meets each strike, but he can feel the difference in the way you fight. You don’t waste movement. You don’t test him. You go straight for the kill.

Most people would find that terrifying.

Zoro finds it hot as hell.

His smirk widens “You don’t hold back, huh?”

You don’t answer, but there’s something in your eyes... curiosity, maybe. Like you’re testing him.

Good. He likes a challenge.

The fight goes on, fast and brutal, but in the end, neither of you go all out. It’s just a taste, a promise of something more. When you finally lower your blade, Zoro does the same.

You study him for a moment, then nod “You’re not bad either.”

Zoro huffs a laugh “High praise.”

You sheath your sword and turn away “I’m going back to town. You coming or what?”

He watches you go, smirking to himself.

Yeah. He’s definitely interested.

Years Later – Zoro should probably be concerned that his partner is one of the most terrifying people he’s ever met.

But he’s not.

In fact, it just makes him like you more.

Right now, you’re standing on the deck of the Sunny, staring down a group of bounty hunters dumb enough to challenge you. You haven’t even drawn your sword yet, but the way you look at them, sharp, unreadable, deadly, makes them hesitate.

Zoro leans against the railing, watching with amusement. He already knows how this will go.

One of the bounty hunters shifts nervously “Y-you gonna fight or what?”

You tilt your head, smiling faintly “You first.”

There’s a moment of hesitation. Then they charge. Big mistake.

Zoro watches as you dodge effortlessly, your blade a blur. The fight lasts seconds. By the time you sheath your sword, your opponents are on the ground, groaning in pain.

Silence. Then, Luffy cheers from the mast “That was awesome!”

Zoro smirks. Damn right it was.

You turn to him, raising an eyebrow “You just gonna watch?”

He shrugs with a smirk “I was enjoying watching... and didn’t wanna get in your way.”

You walk over, stopping in front of him “You’re getting lazy.”

He scoffs “Oh yeah?”

You lean in, voice low “Yeah. Maybe I should fight you next.”

Zoro feels a familiar rush of excitement. His hand twitches toward his swords “You sure you can keep up?”

You smirk “Try me.”

And just like that, he’s gone.

Lost in you, in the fight, in the thrill of having someone who meets him blow for blow.

You’re terrifying. And beautiful. And stronger than hell.

And he wouldn’t have you any other way.

── .✦ Vinsmoke Sanji:

Sanji has seen all kinds of people. Beautiful women, powerful warriors, even actual monsters. But he’s never met anyone like you.

You meet in a quiet, dimly lit tavern. The crew stops for a meal, and Sanji, always on the lookout for interesting faces, notices you immediately.

You sit in the darkest corner, barely touching your drink. Your posture is relaxed, but there’s something wrong about it, like you could strike at any moment. The air around you feels heavy.

People glance at you and quickly look away. A group of bounty hunters at a nearby table seem tense, whispering among themselves.

Sanji watches as one of them inches toward the door. His hands are shaking.

That’s when he realizes, they’re afraid of you. A lot.

Sanji takes a slow drag of his cigarette. Interesting.

“Hey cook, what are you doing there, standing like an idiot.” Zoro says while they all sit at a table.

He’s about to turn back to his crew and reply to that marimo when the bartender makes a mistake and accidentally spills a drink on your sleeve.

The entire tavern stops breathing.

The bartender goes pale “I—I’m so sorry—”

You say nothing. You don’t even look at him. Just slowly, carefully, you pick up a napkin and wipe your sleeve.

The silence stretches.

Sanji almost laughs at how scared everyone looks. What, do they think you’re gonna kill him for a drink spill?

The bartender swallows “Please, let me—”

“It’s fine” you say.

Your voice is quiet. Smooth. Too calm.

The bartender flinches anyway.

Sanji watches as you set the napkin down, push your drink away, and stand. You turn toward the door, and the crowd parts around you, everyone desperate to get out of your way.

Sanji, curious as hell, does the exact opposite.

He steps into your path, smiling “Leaving so soon?”

You stop and lift your gaze, as everyone there gasps.

Most people can’t meet Sanji’s eyes for long. His confidence, his sharpness, it makes them squirm. But you?

You stare right through him.

For the first time in a long time, Sanji feels his heart skip.

“…Who are you?” he asks.

You tilt your head slightly “Does it matter?”

That voice. Calm. Slow. Like a knife dragging against silk.

Sanji exhales smoke, smirking “I’d like to think so.”

You study him. And for some reason, he feels like he’s the one being hunted.

Then you smile, small, unreadable “See you around… cook.”

And just like that, you’re gone.

Sanji stands there, heart pounding as he thinks, oh, I’m in trouble.

Years Later – Sanji likes to think he doesn’t scare easy. He’s faced warlords, monsters, and the wrath of Nami’s fist.

But nothing terrifies him more than the way you just appear.

“Sanji.”

“GAH—!”

He jumps, nearly dropping the plate he’s holding. You’re suddenly right next to him, quiet as a shadow.

He clutches his chest “How do you do that?!”

You blink “Do what?”

“That!” He gestures at you wildly “I didn’t hear you at all! You just—just materialized!”

You tilt your head, amused “I walked in.”

“No, you haunted in.”

You hum in thought “Maybe you should pay more attention.”

Sanji groans, running a hand through his hair “You’re gonna kill me one day, I swear.”

“Wouldn’t be much fun,” you say, smirking slightly “I’d miss this.”

Sanji pauses. Then, with a slow, dramatic sigh, he pulls you into a hug.

You stiffen at first, but he’s patient. He knows you’re not used to softness.

When you relax, he kisses the top of your head “You’re cruel, y’know that?”

“Am I?”

“You make my heart stop every damn day.”

You smile against his chest “Good.”

── .✦ Trafalgar D. Law:

Law prides himself on being composed. No matter the situation, he never loses control.

But then he meets you, and for the first time in a long time, he feels something close to unease.

It happens on a stormy night. The Heart Pirates dock at a quiet island, and Law sets off alone, drawn by rumors of a dangerous individual hiding in town. Some say you’re a ghost, others call you a demon.

He doesn’t believe in superstition. But he believes in threats.

So when he finds you in the ruins outside of town, standing perfectly still, eyes dark and unreadable, he watches you carefully.

“You’ve been causing trouble” he says, testing your reaction.

You don’t move. Don’t speak. The wind howls through the ruins, but you remain as still as a statue.

Most people shift under his gaze. But you? You don’t even blink.

Law narrows his eyes “Who are you?”

Finally, you tilt your head “You already know, don’t you?”

Your voice is calm. Steady. Wrong.

It reminds him of the quiet before a scalpel slices skin.

Law tightens his grip on Kikoku “What’s your ability?”

You step forward, and the ground cracks beneath your foot. A shadow flickers at the edge of his vision, stretching unnaturally.

“Does it matter?” you ask.

Law doesn’t flinch. But something deep in his chest tightens.

Because he knows that feeling. The quiet hum of danger.

And yet, instead of fear, he feels something else. Intrigue. He's actually really attracted and he can't deny it.

It takes Law a while to notice. To really notice.

Because you’re fearless in battle. You fight like a force of nature, silent and merciless, the kind of presence that makes enemies pray they don’t cross your path. You don’t just win fights, you end them.

And yet, when you’re with the crew, you’re… different.

Law catches it in small moments.

The way you ruffle Bepo’s fur when you think no one’s looking. The way you always make sure Penguin and Shachi get extra food after a long day. The way you quietly fix things around the ship before anyone else notices they’re broken.

And he feels it most with him. Like when you sit beside him in the submarine’s dimly lit halls, comfortable in silence, just existing next to him without expectation. Or when you lean against him after a rough mission, exhaustion making you a little softer, a little less guarded.

Or, most obviously, when you think he’s asleep.

He catches you once, fingers brushing against his hair, barely there, like you’re memorizing the shape of him.

He should say something. Call you out. But he doesn’t.

Because for some reason, the realization that the person who terrifies even seasoned killers, is so unbelievably gentle with him?

It does something to him.

Something dangerous.

Years Later – Being in a relationship with you comes with some complications.

Like right now.

“Sit still, damn it” Law mutters, pressing bandages against your side.

You sigh “It’s just a scratch.”

Law glares at you “It’s a stab wound.”

You shrug “Same thing.”

He clenches his jaw, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at him “I swear, you are the worst patient I’ve ever had.”

You smirk “And yet, I’m still your favorite.”

Law groans, but he doesn’t deny it.

Because despite everything, your terrifying strength, your eerie presence, your complete disregard for injuries, he can’t help but be drawn to you.

You are the only person who unsettles him. And somehow, you’ve also become the one person he trusts the most.

He huffs, finishing the bandages “Try not to die.”

You grin, leaning in “Worried about me, doctor?”

“Tch” He flicks your forehead “Shut up.”

And despite himself, he smiles.

The next time you get hurt, Law doesn’t even bother hiding his frustration.

“You’re reckless,” he mutters, tightening the bandage around your arm “One of these days, you’re gonna get yourself killed.”

You watch him, amused “Would you miss me?”

He scowls “Shut up”

You smirk “You would.”

Law clicks his tongue, looking away. He hates how smug you sound. Hates it even more because you’re right.

Instead of answering, he sighs, finishing the bandage. Then, before he can talk himself out of it, he presses a hand against your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek.

“You’re lucky I like you” he mutters.

For the first time, you freeze.

Then, slowly, you smile. And Law knows he’s in so much trouble.

── .✦ Portgas D. Ace:

On a nameless island, a pit stop for pirates and criminals alike, Ace hears the rumors first, stories about a lone warrior, someone so deadly that even bounty hunters won’t go near them.

He thinks it sounds like fun.

So when he walks into a bar and sees everyone stiffening at the mere sight of someone sitting in the corner, he knows he’s found you.

You sit alone, idly spinning a knife between your fingers. Your expression is calm, unreadable, but the tension in the room is thick.

Ace grins, making his way over “Mind if I sit?”

You don’t look up “Do what you want.”

He plops down across from you, resting his chin in his hand “Y’know, people are real scared of you.”

Silence.

Ace watches you carefully. You don’t move like a normal fighter. There’s something off about the way you breathe, the way your presence lingers like a shadow stretching too far.

It should probably freak him out.

Instead, it makes his blood rush.

“So,” he continues, smirking “What’s your deal? You a bounty hunter? Are you here to fight?”

You finally meet his eyes. Your gaze is sharp, calculating, like you’re dissecting him without lifting a finger.

"I was just curious who everyone was talking about, turns out it was you."

“…You’re not scared of me?”

Ace grins wider “Should I be?”

The knife in your hand stops spinning and or a split second, the air feels heavy.

Then, slowly, you smirk “Maybe? You tell me. That's what you came here for, isn't it?”

Ace laughs. Loud, bright, genuine.

And just like that, he decides that he actually finds you very attractive, and isn't letting you go so easily.

Years Later – Ace still remembers the first time he saw you fight.

He has always been the kind of guy who laughs in the face of danger.

He doesn’t hesitate to charge into battle, doesn’t flinch at the thought of death. He’s faced warlords, marines, even entire armies.

But when he saw you fighting? For the first time in his life, he felt like prey, even if you weren't fighting him.

How you moved like a phantom, striking fast, silent, merciless. How your enemies barely had time to scream before they hit the ground.

Everyone calls you terrifying. A monster. A nightmare in a human form.

And yet, right now, curled up against him, grumbling sleepily as he wraps his arms around you Ace can’t help but laugh.

You groan “What? You going crazy now?”

“You,” he teases, resting his chin on top of your head “You’re supposed to be the scariest person alive, but look at you.”

You swat at his chest “Shut up.”

Ace just grins, pulling you closer “Nah. I like reminding you.”

"You're always so annoying..." you say turning to not let him see you blush.

Because despite the way you fight, despite the way you terrify your enemies, Ace has seen what no one else has.

How you tuck into his blankets when you're alone. How you always make sure the crew eats before you do. How you fuss over him when he pretends his injuries don’t hurt.

You act all tough, all sharp edges and killing intent.

But Ace knows the truth.

You’re soft. At least, with him.

And that makes him fall for you even more.

He turn your head so that he can see you and with a smirk he says "Don't worry you're hot both ways, I don't mind your soft side at all"

Then he kiss your forehead and you try to hide again, making him laugh softly.

── .✦ Shanks:

Shanks has seen a lot in his life.

He’s fought warlords, crossed paths with the most dangerous men on the seas, and stared death in the face with a grin.

But when he meets you, he realizes he’s never met someone who could scare him and turn him on at the same time.

It happens in a crowded port town, where pirates and mercenaries walk side by side, tension thick in the air. Shanks and his crew are enjoying a round of drinks when Benn nudges him, nodding toward a shadowed corner of the bar.

“Oi, I found out that one’s got quite the reputation.”

Shanks follows his gaze and sees you.

You sit alone, posture relaxed but too still. There’s something about you... something in the way the people around you refuse to meet your eyes, in the way the bartender serves you with hands that tremble, scared to even do his own job.

The crew isn’t easily shaken, but even they seem wary.

Shanks just grins. Because if there’s one thing he can’t resist, it’s a challenge.

“Think I’ll go say hi.”

Benn sighs “Of course you will. Never doubted it.”

Shanks strolls over, drink in hand, and slides into the seat across from you without asking.

You don’t react. Just lift your gaze and meet his like you’re peering into his soul.

He whistles “You’ve got quite the stare.”

“You’ve got quite the nerve...” you reply smoothly.

Shanks chuckles “I get that a lot, actually.”

Silence stretches between you. He expects you to get annoyed, to tell him to leave, but surprisingly you don’t.

You just watch him. Measuring. Calculating. And damn if it doesn’t send a thrill up his spine.

Finally, you speak “You’re not scared of me.”

Shanks smirks, tipping his drink toward you “Should I be?”

Your eyes glint with something sharp. Dangerous. Interested.

“Maybe not, but who knows.”

Shanks leans forward, grinning “I like my odds.”

"I can see it..."

Years Later - “You’re doing it again” Benn mutters.

Shanks blinks “Doing what?”

Benn nods toward you. You’re across the deck, casually sharpening a blade, the crew giving you a very wide berth.

“You’re staring like a love-struck idiot” Benn sighs.

Shanks laughs “Can you blame me?”

Because despite years of being with you, despite knowing exactly how terrifying you can be, Shanks still finds himself completely captivated whenever you're fighting or not.

He’s seen you end fights with a single strike, watched entire battlefields fall silent at your presence. You are ruthless when necessary, the kind of person who doesn’t waste time with threats, just action.

And yet when you think no one’s watching, he sees the little things.

How you make sure the younger crew members eat first. How you adjust someone’s coat when they’re not paying attention. How, late at night, when exhaustion weighs heavy, you let yourself lean into him.

And Shanks?

He eats it up.

Because out of everyone in the world, you choose to be soft only with him.

Later that night, as you both sit on the deck watching the waves, Shanks stretches, throwing an arm around your shoulders.

You roll your eyes but don’t push him away.

He grins “Y’know, for someone so scary, you’re kinda sweet.”

You turn, raising a brow “Wanna say that again?”

Shanks chuckles “Not if I value my life, and I do.”

You smirk, leaning against him just a little.

And that small, rare gesture is worth more to him than any treasure. He's totally in your hands, can you believe it? Because even he something looks at himself and shake his own head at the thought, but at the end who cares? He's with the most attractive person out there.

── .✦ Sabo:

Sabo isn’t the type to scare easily.

He has fought world nobles, infiltrated enemy territory, and stared death in the face more times than he can count. Fear isn’t something he entertains, it’s something he’s learned to push aside, to control.

But when he meets you?

For the first time in a long while, he actually hesitates.

It happens in a revolution-friendly town, the kind of place where people whisper about rebellion but fear retaliation too much to act. Sabo’s here on business, but what he doesn’t expect is to hear a name spoken in hushed, almost fearful tones.

A name that isn’t a government official or a bounty hunter, but yours.

“Who are they?” he asks a local, intrigued.

The man pales “Someone you don’t want to cross.”

Sabo just smirks “Is that so?”

He should probably be cautious. Should probably listen to the fear in the man’s voice.

But instead, he just wants to meet you more.

You’re exactly as the rumors say. You're cold, calculating and dangerous.

When Sabo finds you, you don’t attack him. You just watch him. Still. Silent. Your presence alone feels heavy, like the weight of an unseen blade resting against his throat, daring him to make a wrong move.

Most people would crack under it.

Sabo just grins “Heard a lot about you.”

You don’t react “Likewise.”

He hums, studying you. Most would be unnerved by your unwavering stare, the cold calculation in your eyes. But Sabo finds it fascinating. Finds you fascinating.

He hums, studying you “And? What’s your verdict?”

Your eyes narrow slightly, assessing him like he’s prey “Too early to tell. I don't judge based on rumors.”

For a moment, the two of you just stand there, a quiet tension settling between you. Sabo knows he should be cautious, he knows he’s facing someone whose strength is being feared even among revolutionaries.

But all he can think is — Damn. They’re kinda hot.

Years Later – It’s funny.

Everyone fears you. The Revolutionary Army sees you as a force of nature, one of their strongest, deadliest members. You’re efficient in battle, merciless when necessary. People whisper about you in the same breath as high-ranking officers, speaking of you like a phantom, something to be respected, but never approached.

But Sabo sees more than just the deadly aura that makes people tread lightly.

He sees the way your eyes gleam with amusement when a mission goes exactly as planned. He sees the way you tilt your head in interest, studying your enemies as if they’re puzzles to be solved before being discarded. He sees the way you move, every motion precise, effortless, a dance with death that you never lose.

And he loves it.

Loves the sharp edges, the lethal grace, the way you make his heart race, not with fear, but with something far more intoxicating.

And yet, he also sees the moments no one else does.

You, sitting beside him late at night, absentmindedly tracing circles against his palm.

You, making sure Koala doesn’t overwork herself, leaving her favorite snacks on her desk without a word.

You, rolling your eyes but still letting Sabo pull you into a hug after a long mission, even though your reputation could probably shatter just from being seen indulging him.

“You know,” he teases one night, tilting his head, “for someone so scary, you’re kind of a softie.”

You give him a flat look “Take that back.”

Sabo laughs, eyes gleaming with challenge “Nope. Never gonna happen.”

You grumble something under your breath but don’t pull away, and he counts that as a win.

Because out of everyone in the world, he knows you’re only ever like this with him.

And as much as he adores every part of you, it’s that razor-sharp danger in your eyes, that power in your every movement, that makes his blood sing.

It’s terrifying. It’s exhilarating.

And damn, does he love you for it.

── .✦ Crocodile:

Crocodile has met aaaall kinds of people.

Cowards who grovel at his feet. Fools who think they can challenge him. Liars who smile while plotting his downfall.

But you? You don’t fit into any category.

Because when he first meets you, standing over the broken bodies of bounty hunters, face calm, eyes cold, he doesn’t see fear. He doesn’t see arrogance.

He sees power.

And for the first time in a long while, he’s interested.

When in Rainbase, long after the fall of Baroque Works, Crocodile has been rebuilding, regaining influence, cutting down anyone foolish enough to think he’s lost his edge.

And then you show up.

A ghost in the desert, they call you. A storm without warning. The kind of person who doesn’t make threats, just leaves bodies in their wake.

Crocodile hears the whispers. He almost ignores them.

Until one of his men ends up dead.

Then it's when he decides it’s time to meet you himself.

He finds you in a back alley, wiping blood from your blade.

You don’t look surprised to see him.

“You’ve been causing many problems” he says, exhaling smoke.

You tilt your head, unconcerned “That depends on who you ask.”

Crocodile’s lips curl into something amused. He’s used to people trembling in his presence. But you? You just stand there, watching him with the same detached intensity one might give a corpse.

It should irritate him.

Instead, it makes his blood thrill.

“I don’t like loose ends,” he says “So tell me, why shouldn’t I kill you?”

For the first time, you smile.

Not kind. Not warm.

Just sharp. Cold. Dangerous.

“You could try, I'm happy if you try.”

The air shifts.

Crocodile’s grip on his cigar tightens. His instincts, honed from years of surviving the worst of the worst, tell him that fighting you would not be easy.

And he likes that.

Years Later – Most people don’t look him in the eye.

Most people don’t speak without permission, don’t challenge his decisions, don’t dare to stand too close.

You do all of that.

And Crocodile lets you.

Because unlike the weaklings who grovel before him, you don’t need protection. You don’t need his power to survive.

You’re strong. Cold. Unshaken by blood or war.

And that makes you the only person truly worth his time.

One night, you’re both on the balcony of his hideout, looking down at the city below.

Crocodile exhales smoke, glancing at you “Most people would rather die than be in my company.”

You don’t even blink “Most people are weak.”

He chuckles, low and dark “That so?”

You finally meet his gaze, and in your eyes, he sees something sharp. Something dangerous.

Something that matches him.

He smirks.

Because finally, after years of dealing with fools, liars, and cowards, he’s found someone who is exactly his kind of monster.

[monster-disaster]

[monsters] Neighbors

Thoughts about living with monsters- You live in an apartment with monsters all around.

An orc family lives above you, and they’re the sweetest neighbors you’ve ever had. The wife loves inviting you over for coffee and a bit of gossip. Her stories fill the air with warmth as she pours your cup and chats about the neighborhood or shares a delicious new pastry she’s baked. Her husband? He’s a gentle giant, always ready to roll up his sleeves and help out around your small flat. Whether it’s fixing a leaky faucet or carrying heavy groceries up the stairs, he’s there before you even ask.

And then, there are the babies; two adorably chubby little ones with soft, green cheeks and big, curious eyes. You’ve become their go-to babysitter, which means plenty of afternoons filled with giggles and messy faces.

But when night falls, it’s a different story.

The ceiling might as well be paper-thin, with their gravelly voices and laughter rolling through the floorboards. Sometimes, those conversations turn into... well, more intimate moments and the babies aren’t just cute, they’ve got lungs that could rival any set of bagpipes. Their cries often jolt you awake in the middle of the night, heart racing.

Even with the sleepless nights, you never find it in yourself to complain, though. There’s a warmth to their noise, a liveliness that fills your small flat with a sense of family, even if it comes with a few sleep-deprived mornings.

Beneath you on the first floor lives a goblin who’s practically made it his life’s mission to comment on every noise you make. You do your best to avoid him, but it’s only a matter of time before you bump into him, leaning against his doorframe with arms crossed and an unimpressed scowl etched on his face.

He never misses an opportunity to complain.

“Your steps are like thunder up there. Ever heard of walking lightly?” he grumbles, or “How many times do I have to tell you? Lift the chairs, don’t drag them! Sounds like a damn avalanche down here!” And that’s not even the worst of it. The day he leaned in closer, his eyes narrowing as he muttered, “And for god’s sake, put a pillow over your face next time you play with your vibrating friend,” your face burned hotter than a forge. You were sure the ground might split open beneath you right then and there.

Since that conversation, you’ve found yourself tiptoeing around your flat, trying to keep your footsteps as light as possible, but even with your efforts, you know the next run-in with him is just around the corner, along with another list of grievances he’s been stewing over.

To your right lives a wolf-shifter, and for the most part, things between you are easygoing. He’s a quiet neighbor, the type who nods at you in the hallway and even offers a polite smile now and then. But his love life? That’s where the peace ends. His one-night stands, in particular, are the worst. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve had to comfort his partners the morning after, wiping away their tears when they realize that "just one night" really means just that. They always seem to hope for more, for something lasting, and it’s always you who ends up playing the sympathetic neighbor, nodding along as they pour out their hearts. Of course, it's your fault too. You should learn how to mind your own business instead of feeling sorry for crying women. And men.

And then there’s his rut. The first time you realized what was going on, you nearly dropped your coffee cup. The howls, the desperate growls, and the unmistakable... fervor of it all carried straight through the walls. After those nights, it’s impossible to even think about making eye contact with him. Weeks go by before you feel like you can look at him without your mind immediately replaying all the sounds you heard. And he, of course, acts like nothing happened.

To your left lives a succubus, and teasing you seems to be her favorite pastime. She’s always around when you come or go, somehow knowing exactly when to time her appearances. She leans casually against her doorframe, dressed in barely-there lingerie or a robe that hangs loose enough to leave little to the imagination, her lips curling into a knowing smile as she catches your eye. It’s impossible not to feel your cheeks heat up under her gaze, especially when she purrs a playful remark. Her eyes linger just a moment too long. And those paper-thin walls? They do nothing to block the sultry sounds she makes late into the night, sounds you’re sure are meant just for you.

You tell yourself you are holding your ground, that you won’t give in, but every sly comment she throws your way and every time she catches you with a flustered look makes you worry that it’s only a matter of time before you find yourself at her door, falling right into her trap.

Across the hall lives an elderly minotaur who, bless her heart, has made it her personal mission to match you up with one of her grandkids. No matter how busy you are, she has a sixth sense for catching you at the worst possible times. If you are running late for an appointment, she is suddenly in the hallway, eager to chat about her "really successful and recently divorced" grandson. Or maybe you’re lugging bags of groceries, arms aching under their weight, and just as you are almost to your door, she appears, excited to tell you that another one of her grandsons, who just came back from abroad, is finally ready to settle down. You try to smile and listen, nodding along as she goes on about their good jobs, kind hearts, and how they need someone like you in their lives. And of course, you don’t have the heart to cut her off, even when you’re in a rush or your arms feel like they might fall off from holding the bags. So, more often than not, you find yourself standing there, smiling politely and listening for far longer than you’d planned, as she talks on and on about her grandkids’ achievements while her eyes twinkle with hope.

“Y/N!” The goblin’s voice rings out just as you step into the elevator. Your name rolling off his tongue is already dripping with complaints. "I'm sorry!" You almost shout when you catch a glimpse of his frown while frantically jabbing the button for your floor. "Y/N!" As the elevator finally slips shut, cutting off his grumbling, the tension drains from your shoulders, but your relief is short-lived when you hear the familiar ding and the doors open. "Hey," the wolf-shifter greets you casually before taking your place in the metal box. You manage a stiff nod and a quiet "hey" while drifting your gaze to the floor, unable to hold his gaze for more than a second. When he disappears behind the thick doors, you let out a sigh and shift the bags in your arms as you fumble for your keys. Just as you manage to find them, the door in front of you swings open, and you force a smile as the elderly minotaur across the hall greets you warmly. “Hello, dear!” she beams. “Would you like to come in? My grandson, you know, the one I told you about, is visiting, and I thought you two should finally meet!” Your mouth opens, and your brain scrambles for a polite excuse, but before you can get a word out, her grandson appears behind her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Maybe next time, Nan,” he says with a smile, steering her back into the apartment. You share a moment of mutual understanding before the door clicks shut. Just as you breathe a sigh of relief, again, another door swings open, again, and you freeze, momentarily forgetting how to breathe. The succubus leans against her door, draped in dark purple lingerie that hugs her curves like a second skin. The bralette barely manages to contain her generous figure, and her sultry smile only deepens as she takes in your flustered expression. “Hello, Y/N,” she purrs. Your cheeks flare up, and you barely stammer out a weak “Not today!” as you nearly stumble into your apartment. You can hear her laughter echoing behind you, but your attention is quickly snatched by the buzzing of your phone. Your bags hit the floor with a heavy thud, and you cringe, fully aware the goblin will have a field day with this. You glance at your screen, catching a new message from your friend upstairs: The kids are with their dad. Fancy a coffee? How about you come down? you quickly reply, no way willing to risk leaving your apartment again today. Sure, comes the reply almost instantly. Did you hear about the party that harpy threw on the fourth floor? She drives me mad! No, you think, but leave the message unanswered. Of course, you didn’t hear about the party. How could you, with the orc babies wailing through most of the night?

[monstersholygrail]

Do Hybrid!Readers count?

I’m thinking of a monster Reader being kept for research purposes and catching the attention of the newest hire. Cheeky, beastly Reader with an awkward, nerdy scientist who unsuccessfully tries to hide his infatuation. He stares for too long, finds pathetic excuses to work overtime, and pretends to be deeply interested in whatever topic involves Reader. Lately, he’s been spotted reading a book about Reader’s kind, particularly mating habits. For, uh, science, mind you.

Alternatively, it can be a human Reader in a monster lab. I just found the dynamic funny. :)

Aaaah, yes yes! It definitely counts, I love this sorta dynamic. It can be really hilarious and a ton of fun ^_^

None of the Scientists in the lab could really figure you out. You were a giant beast who appeared naturally incredibly threatening. So all the scientists had been a bit hesitant to get in close and really figure out what kind of Hybrid you were exactly.

But they just had to. Because for some reason, some idiot had accidently leaked to the press that they had you in custody. Before they knew it there were countless pictures and articles plastered all over the internet about you. People wanted answers and they sadly had to be the ones to get them. So they brought in a specialist.

The young Scientist stared up at you in awe the first time he met you. He couldn’t actually believe he was meeting you up close. He didn’t know how to react. In fact, he didn’t know anything at all when it came to you. You see, he wasn’t actually a hybrid specialist. He was a scientist, that part was true! Everything else may have been a slight exaggeration on his application.

He just wanted to see you so so bad. He had to. The moment he saw those pictures of you he knew the two of you were meant to be. You were the reason he had never totally clicked with humans, couldn’t keep a partner, and had never fallen in love. His heart was waiting for you.

And now that he was with you, he needed to know everything about you. Not only to sate his own desire but also, ya know, to keep his job. Or else some foolish human might try and separate him from you again. It left him fawning over you constantly, watching you all day everyday, always staying late just so he could be alone with you for a couple hours, and butting in whenever someone tried to talk about you. Because of course he knew you best.

His growing knowledge of you left him convinced you were nearing your heat. Your restless behavior. The way you kept banging against the glass trying to get to him. Over the weeks you had noticed his interest and his care and yours had grown just as much. You had chosen him as your mate and he wanted to be there for you.

The only thing he could think to do was read books on mating behaviors. Of just about every single Hybrid species you could possible be.

Stacks of books surround him in the lab. His interest of you hadn’t gone unnoticed by the others. Not by a long shot. But they brushed off his strange behavior if jt kept him closer to you and them farther away. They avoid him now too, looking at him like the absolute freak he is as they realize what he’s reading.

Their worry doesn’t decrease when he later explains how you need to mate soon in order to keep you in check. They look at him like he’s truly gone insane and maybe he has. The wild look in his eye has only grown more intense the more he’s been around you without truly being with you.

He convinces them with the idea that you’ll be better after you’ve mated. Easier to handle. More open to having experiments done on you while your body is sated and exhausted after being fucked for hours on end. While in reality, from what he’s studied, the opposite is true.

He doesn’t plan on letting them go anywhere within a mile of you. Not with injections, chemicals, and especially not with their grubby little hands. No, only he can touch you. Only he deserves to be near your beauty and grace.

After you mate with him you’re going to be even more wild and destructive, your instincts inflamed and ready to fight. He’s gonna use that to get you two out of that lab if it’s the last thing he does.

Meanwhile the other scientists don’t suspect a thing as they stand a safe distance away from the cage as it opens to let the young scientist inside. The metal door snaps shut once he’s inside and he feels like he can finally breathe now that there’s nothing keeping you two a part.

Mirroring smirks grow on your faces, your expressions speaking of a secret just between the two of you. And as you both finally meet each other in a passionate embrace, you know this will be a wild night that will end with your freedom and a mate by your side.

[baniisharur0tte]

Dirty Laundry ♡

(ch. 2 here)

synopsis: you dropped your panties in the hallway on laundry day. little did you know, your dear friend Tanjiro Kamado found them. and he's never giving them back!!!!!

word count: 13.3k !!! <3

content: VILE FILTH !!!! 18+ !!!!! smutty as all hell. lemonade for all. panty sniffing!!!!!!! oral sex (F!receiving) P->V penetration, an absurd amount of masturbation, mentions of light choking, mentions of oral sex (M!receiving) some cute fluff, the L Word, lots of tears bordering on dachryphilia, mutual pining, degradation (self-inflicted), shame kink, Virgin!Tanjiro corrupted, public masturbation

characters: Tanjiro Kamado, You, Inosuke mentioned, Zenitsu mentioned, Shinobu mentioned.

(authors note: pretend he has long luscious hair cuz RIP WHY DID U CUT IT, he's like 24-25 and so are u. ur character is studying under Shinobu and working as a care taker at the Butterfly Mansion. okay byee have fun!!1!1!!!)

☆♡☆★♡☆★♡☆★♡☆

he woke up to the gleaming sunshine trickling in through the slatted window above his headboard. stretching and swinging his legs off the bed, he rubs his eyes and pushes his hair out of his face. it was late summer, the cherry blossoms around the courtyard bearing small fruits and gently turning yellow as fall gets closer. slowly, with the gentle morning haze, he gathers his toiletries to head outside to the bathhouse. as he steps out into the dorm hall, it's already bustling with caretakers carrying baskets of laundry from around the mansion-

it's laundry day again.

he turns back in to grab his white wicker basket from behind the door, and places it outside his room to be collected. he would bring it himself, but he got scolded the last 3 times he tried to help. he rounds the corner through the caretaker hall with their dorms, and steps out onto the grass, still wet with dew. the early morning light peaking through the tall wooden fences, it was still cool out before the afternoon sun beat down onto the courtyard, loosening collars and mopping brows. he took a deep breath in, admiring how peaceful it was outside. his linen pajama pants flowing, the cool breeze was gentle on his face.

once inside, he brushed his teeth. splashing the cool water on his face, he hears others enter behind him. inosuke laughing maniacally running past him, pushing open the double doors to the baths with his head. as they swing shut, he hears a giant SPLASH. he looks up into the mirror smiling to himself. through the mirror he can see zenitsu trudging in with his towel slung over his shoulder. he looked droopy and mopey, complaining loudly about how unfair it was that they always had to be up so early to train. as he passed through the double doors himself, he was tackled and thrown into the water by inosuke, screaming "fight for me underling!!! there is a monster at the bottom of the bath, we shall vanquish it together!!!!"

the crashing and squeals of protest from behind the door as they swung shut made him laugh to himself- if they were anything, they were always themselves, weren't they?

walking back inside, he sees you pulling your own laundry basket out of your dorm room to take down to the washing station outside. your white wicker basket is nearly overflowing, spilling rogue socks and undershirts all over the hallway.

you awkwardly bend down to pick them up with one hand, supporting the basket with your other arm and your knee. you straighten up and try to close the sliding door behind you with limiting success. he slows down as he passes you, watching you struggle to carry the heavy basket with two hands, and shut the door with your foot.

he lingers on the thought of the day he realized he had feelings for you. the year before in spring as the cherry blossoms bloomed, he was sent to the infirmary for the millionth time. he had taken a huge chunk of rock the the face in an explosion he could've easily avoided had he trusted inosuke to jump out of the way in time. but he always wanted to protect others first, his comrades were his family now.

their safety was his peace of mind.

his lip was bruised and split open, cheek slashed, and his jaw was dislocated and needed to be reset. he looked like a bloody swollen mess when he arrived- drooling blood and unable to speak.

he was laid down on one of the soft white cots, the kakushi who carried him in was folding down his collar and laying his arms at his sides.

you swiftly took your place on the stool on the side of the bed, shinobu coming around the other side to inject a numbing agent into his jaw and chin.

you assessed the damage, his jaw crooked and unable to fully close.

"tanjiro, you dislocated your jaw. i'm going to reset it but this is going to hurt. i need you to stay still, okay?"

he nodded, looking up at you with the eye that wasn't swollen shut and purple.

you reset his jaw with a loud POP. he hissed with a small "aah!" but kept true to his word and held still.

you held his jaw closed, your hand cupped under his chin to help alleviate the pain. after a few seconds you remove your hand and have him move his jaw. you check for any breaks or irregularities, but it looks to be alright. next, you have to clean his lip and stitch it closed. the bleeding had slowed, but his wound was caked with sand and dried blood running down his neck. you took a towel soaked in hot water and gently cleaned the blood and grime off his neck and lip.

as you stitched it back up, he kept his eyes trained on your face. wincing occasionally, but otherwise he maintained studying your expression.

a look in his eye, almost like he was quietly saying closer, please.

your touch was so gentle, your face scrunched up with concern. you muttered about how he was stupid, how he was lucky he didn't break his jaw, how he needs to be more careful.

your words were sharp, but your hand was gently holding his opposite cheek. your thumb rubbing small circles as if it were an unconscious second nature to you.

he always knew you were kind, gentle and smart. you were brave and strong, you were warm and your presence was inviting. whenever you spoke to him, your very nature made him feel like you cared only about that conversation. so charismatic and captivating.

but in that moment, your strong, soft hands holding his face so lovingly, something bloomed in his chest. something he ached for so painfully, something he couldn't quite identify. something he felt like he lost a long time ago, and would fall to his knees in the dirt and scream at the sky demanding it back.

he spent that night searching in himself for what it was, what wound had you touched inside his heart? whatever it was, he longed for you to come back to hold him again. he wanted to cry in your hands while you comforted him.

since that day, his heart skipped a beat in your presence. he looked for you in large crowds, and wondered how you spent your days when he was away from the mansion on missions.

watching you struggle with your basket, he said "you need any help with that ?" smiling warmly at you.

"actually, if you wouldn't mind shutting my door, i can't seem to get it myself."

he pulls the sliding door shut behind you. you set down the basket, puffing at your hair that's hanging in your face. 'you off to train this morning?' you say, giving him an up and down, taking note of his pajamas.

"ahh, yes. i forgot to bring my uniform into the bathhouse this morning, but it's fine. i'm changing and headed down to dining. you working laundry today?" he says gesturing around at everyone.

you sigh, "nope! i'm on gardening this morning! but the cicadas were loud last night which means it'll be really hot this afternoon. but that's alright, i have plenty of snacks and water." you say patting your apron pocket, he can only assume it's packed with small candies and a bag of dried meat- your two favorite snacks from the snack shelf outside the kitchen.

"well it sounds like you have it all figured out then!" he chuckled brightly. as he says this, you wave to someone over his shoulder.

"it seems i do! i gotta go-i know i'm coming!-i'll see you later! good luck out there today!" as you lift up the heavy basket and whisk down the hall.

"thank you, you too!" he waves as you scurry away. he watches you as you leave, smiling warmly. you are so cute, he always wishes you could stay and talk longer.

as he looks down at his own clothes remembering he has to change for training, he spots a small bunch of clothing on the floor. as he picks it up, calling to you "hey, you dropped this!' you couldn't hear him from the other end in all the noise cluttering between you. he starts to walk towards you and call out 'hey! wait up! you drop-" he stops as he looks down and realizes what he's holding.

your dirty underwear.

oh, fuck.

a hot spike runs down his back.

what am i supposed to do??? i can't bring this to you, that would be so embarrassing.

as he stands frozen, staring at his clenched fist, his face grows hotter by the second.

he's clenching your worn, used panties in his fist in the middle of a busy walkway.

the smell emanated from them was.... amazing. they were so soft.

shaking his head trying to clear his mind, he felt his palms clam up and a stirring in his stomach.

i didn't know you smelled so fucking good.

he thought to himself, his mouth watering.

"tanjiro! tanjiro! hey, c'mere! i need your heeellppp!" zenitsu calls from a few doors down. startled, he whips his head around and shoves your panties into his pocket along with both of his hands in an effort to appear casual.

'tanjirooooo!'

nervous and sweaty, he runs away and books it back towards his dorm.

he barreled into his room slamming the door shut behind him. he tossed himself onto his bed, with his hand smacked over his hot, red face. his hand in his pocket clenched around the soft lacy fabric. he was stiff as a board, nearly shaking with how tense he felt. his mind was racing like he had committed a crime.

well, technically i did. i stole from her. i stole her... panties. oh my god, that's disgusting.

the thought welled up in his stomach like hot lava. he could throw up. it was so perverse and wrong, it was so disrespectful to her. but what was he supposed to do now ? he couldn't just return it to you. imagining the look on your face as he hands over your panties, it was enough to make him nauseous. you would never speak to him again. why did he take them??? he panicked, that's all. he didn't want you to be embarrassed by him telling you that you dropped them, so he was gonna get rid of them for you. that's all. yes, that's what he did. he got up, and walked over to the little trash can next to his bed and he held his hand out with your panties over the trash can. his eyes squeezed shut so he wouldn't see them again, he tried to drop them. but his body wouldn't move. there was a sweet, warm smell in the air. it smelled so good, he knew what it was and it made him sick. he was a monster, he needed to get rid of these. he felt himself throbbing and pushing on the waistband of his pajamas, he was so overwhelmed with lust. he stood there for a long time, what felt like hours. eyes clenched, hand hovering over the trash can, cock throbbing in his pants. it was too much, his eyes started to prick with hot tears of embarrassment. it just smells so good, you just smell so good. he slowly opened his eyes, lowering his fist.

just once, then i'll throw them away.

he thought to himself, his hands shaking. he turned over his palm and looked at them again. the more he relaxed his hand, the stronger the scent was in his room. a balmy, warm smell. it was musky, and smelled almost like vanilla. his knees felt weak, he couldn't take it anymore. he slowly sat down on the edge of his bed, eyes fixed on the fabric in his hand. he slowly, shamefully brought them to his face. he slowly covered his mouth and nose with them like a chloroform rag, and with it he fell back onto his bed. without even realizing what he was doing, he was already groping himself through his pants. they were so tight, it hurt. the ache was too much, he had to relieve it. quickly, he untied them with one hand, the other pressing the fabric into his face harder. he was already groaning at the smell, the feeling of your panties on his face. he had his hand down his pants fucking his fist. it was a fast, feverish pace. he was so overcome with lust and shame, all he could think was

i'm such a pervert

i'm such a pervert

i'm such a pervert

over and over again. but it only made him harder to know what he was doing was so foul. the images flashing through his mind were something hed never seen before.

he saw himself running his hands up and down your naked back as you bury your face in the crook of his neck, licking and biting your collar bones. such vulnerable positions you could be in, your ankles by his ears. on your stomach, your throat in his hands. hearing his own whimpers and grunts muffled by his hand, he could only imagine what you would sound like. do you touch yourself ? do you think of me?

it was too much for him. it was so disrespectful, but he couldn't stop. his mind brought him back to a few months ago. on a cold night in february, he had a fever and a wound on his hip. his stay in the infirmary were longer than the others, so he spent many nights alone. cold and hot and cold and hot, restless and in pain. he was in and out of sleep, the moonlight bathing half the room in silvery light keeping sleep away. it was a hazy memory, but your touch was electric. you quietly opened the door and padded into the room. you pulled the stool out from under his bed, and placed a small bucket of hot water on it. from your apron pocket, you pulled out clean white towels and set them on the nightstand. he was so tired, one eye half open. to you, you still thought he was asleep. he closed his eyes, feeling his head swim. you peeled his blanket down to his mid thigh. he shuddered and winced at the cold air. in a low, soft voice, you said "don't worry, i'll keep you warm. i just have to clean your stitches. you'll get your blanket back. it's okay."

it comforted him, and made him feel warm inside even if his hot skin felt freezing. you gently pulled up the hem of his shirt to his ribs, and the waistband of his pants down enough to see the edge of the wound. it ran from just under his ribs, to the point of his hip bone. you gently pressed a firm hand on the middle of his stomach to steady his shivering as you cleaned the wound gently with hot water. he stirred in his sleep, making a soft, weak moan as you touched him. he was in and out, but he remembered smelling, embarrassment? not quite, but something similar in the air. the only thing he was truly aware of was the awful moonlight keeping him up, and your warm touch on his stomach. when you finished cleaning his stitches, you fixed his clothes, tucked him back into the blanket, and took another towel and gently wiped his forehead and neck. you pressed a hand to his cheek, and left wordlessly.

feeling your touch on him, your hand on his stomach. he remembers it so clearly, and he wants more. more. more. more.

he inhaled sharply and deeply, that warm smell haunting him. his shame was only fueling his frenzy, he didn't understand. he couldn't stop. he was panting and grunting into his fist, he tried to shove his knuckles into his mouth. his fingers tangled in the fabric, he ended up accidentally stuffing your panties into his mouth. his eyes shot open, tasting you. with that, he came violently into his tight fist. he choked on his own hand, trying desperately to keep himself quiet. there were so many people in the halls right now, the worst possible thing would be someone catching him sniffing your panties and abusing his cock to them. he ruined his pants, he probably ruined your friendship, but he had never cum so hard in his life. as he came down, the shame overtook him. he stripped of his ruined pajamas and changed into his uniform, balling up his ruined pants tightly and throwing them into a pile where his laundry basket would be. he sighed, looking down at his bed. your underwear tossed in the middle of his blanket. he wordlessly opened his bedside drawer, and took out a small white bag. inside it, was some jewelry he took with him from his family home. he laid the small beaded necklace and the silver ring gently in the drawer, and stuffed your underwear inside the bag. he pushed it to the farthest corner of his drawer, and shut it tight. looking down at his feet, he felt so much shame and guilt. thinking about having to come face to face with you after what he just did, it made him break out into a cold sweat. but he knew he could never throw them away now.

he collected himself, putting his hair up into a bun and tucking the loose strands behind his ears. he left his room and met with the others for training, having skipped breakfast hiding in shame until it was time to meet outside. he pushed himself hard that day, trying to forget about how he spent his morning. however, in the back of his mind like a buzzing itch, all he could think about was when he'd get another chance to be alone in his room, locking himself away to pleasure himself again. he had never felt such intense urges like this, and it scared him a little.

why were you so distracting?

he knew what sex was, at least mechanically. he understood the process, and he understood the appeal- pretty girls wanting to be so close to you. and he touched himself when he needed to, if he was restless and couldn't sleep, or if he couldn't ignore the ache in his pants anymore. he thought of little things when he pleasured himself, like pictures of pretty women he saw on clothing adverts at the train station, or once a cut out from a lewd magazine that zenitsu gave him, snickering saying "if you've never seen something like this before, it'll change your life."

but none of these things were what made him restless at night, or made him ache and throb. they were simply a solution when the night was long. to him, pleasuring himself was like bathing. you did it when you needed to, some days it was a chore and some days it was a comfort. regardless, it wasn't important or a distraction.

until you.

that night he tossed and turned in bed. everything was uncomfortable, his whole body was buzzing with energy. his legs tangled in his blanket making him cry out in frustration shoving his face into his pillow. "leave me alone, just let me sleep!!!"he whined, muffling his anger.

he turned over, staring at the ceiling.

you know what would fix this. you know what will help you sleep.

no, i can't do that again. i can't use you like that, you aren't some thing i can pull out when im restless and shove back into my drawer when im done. that's terrible, i can't do that.

he tried touching himself, closing his eyes and thinking of you. a few weeks ago, he saw you sitting on a bench under a cherry blossom tree in the courtyard chatting with your friend who works in the dining hall. it was hot, the air was thick and heavy. the buzz of the cicadas falling over the grass as the sun began to set. as he walked over to talk to you, you began unbuttoning your uniform jacket. you wore a thin white undershirt with a low neckline. fanning your face and shifting the clothing around your shoulders, not taking off your jacket but not exactly wearing it. he stopped for a moment. you weren't allowed to remove your uniform. you lived here, but you also worked here. as a groundskeeper and a caretaker, there was no such thing as off duty. you had days where your responsibilities were less, days where you could wear street clothes into the market or spend a day out with friends, but the butterfly mansion was your whole life. you lived in that jacket, even in the heavy heat of the summer. he realized he'd never seen you in anything other than your black jacket, or white apron. of course he understands, it's hot and the air is so muggy.

i won't tell anyone, you can take it off. i'll keep your secret for you.

his face grew hot as he realized that what he was thinking, if anyone had heard it somehow, would sound so inappropriate. but he didn't mean it like that, he just meant that it's hot. he trains without a shirt every day, even in colder months. sometimes, even in the winter. he gets to strip down to what is comfortable, why can't you ? before he could turn around to leave, embarrassment heating his face, you notice him and wave him over. he comes over to you, greeting you. as he does, you begin to button your jacket back up. shamefully, he feels disappointment. he really, really wouldn't mind if you got more comfortable. your thin, white undershirt. it was tight, and it clung low on your chest. he could see the curve of your waist, the dip of your ribs below your breasts, your stomach looked soft and strong, he wanted to know what you tasted like. trailing sloppy kisses from your neck to the waistline of your pants, pulling them down with his teeth-

"how was training ? it was so hot today, im sure it was tiring." you say.

what ?

what did she say ?

training.

yes.

"yeah, it was pretty hot, i had to take a few breaks to have water inside but it wasn't a problem. what about you ? i saw you doing laundry out here earlier, you must've been hot too." he said rubbing the back of his neck.

"it was no problem! i spend most of it sitting in front of the wash board so it's fine. the worst is when you get sweaty from scrubbing the stains, but the cold water feels great on your arms. i just wish we had short sleeve uniform tops. the summer clothes are lighter, but having to keep pushing my sleeves up and getting them wet is the worst. what about you today, in dining?" you turned to your friend.

he nervously fidgets with his hands in his pockets, it's so hard to focus. apparently the kitchen in the dining hall gets disgustingly hot in the summer, the steam from the pots boiling noodles, it seems. he's not really paying attention. he keeps catching himself wandering around your frame. his eyes lingering on the angle of your jaw by your ear, your hair off your neck, exposing the twist and turn of your neck muscles as you nod, listening to your friend. your twisting the ring on your right middle finger, your fidgeting too.

do i make you nervous ? can you tell you make me nervous ?

he's lost in thought, until her friend breaks through. "well, im off to the baths. i'm on for breakfast tomorrow so i'm gonna turn in soon. i'll see you later! bye tanjiro! it was nice seeing you!"

she turns and heads inside, leaving you two alone. you sit next to her on the bench, and you can smell her so strongly now. that warm comforting smell, kind of like vanilla. she's still fidgeting with her ring.

"can i see it?" he said gesturing at your hand.

"see what ? my ring? oh, sure."

a light wash of pink grows on your cheeks as you hold out your hand. he takes it and examines your ring. your hands are soft, and smaller than his, but they are the hands of someone who works hard. soft as they may be, your nails are broken and you have callouses on your palms. you devote your life to maintaining the butterfly mansion.

her hands are so beautiful. i want her to hold my face again..

"the ring is my mothers, she gave it to me before final selection. she said it would bring me protection and good luck. i survived because i was fast, not because i was a fighter. my mom was the head cook here before she retired, and i wanted to be a caretaker here too. i've trained in the basics of combat, but really i always wanted to live here. i want to meet people and hear their stories, i don't want to have many stories myself. yknow?"

he gently turns the ring on your finger, letting his thumb rest on your knuckles.

"yeah, i understand that. before this, i made and sold charcoal for my family. my job consisted of chopping wood, burning wood, shaping the coal into bricks, and walking down the mountain to sell it in town. i met lots of great people, and i became friends with almost everyone in the village. i helped them fix things in their house, or mend clothes with their mothers. i heard all about people's lives, it was really nice. the only reason i ended up here is because of nezuko. if none of that had happened, if i hadn't lost my family, i wouldn't have become a demon slayer. i wouldn't have ever picked up a sword. i was very content with my life, making charcoal and helping people in town."

"it sounds selfish, but i'm glad you're here. i like talking with you, and i'd be sad if you never showed up here and i knew i would've never met you.' you blush and looked down at your lap, pulling your hand away to twist your ring again. 'i don't know, that sounds stupid. i'm trying to say i'm... i'm glad your my friend."

he smiles warmly, and reaches out for your hand again, you smell like that Almost Embarrassed smell again, like that night in the infirmary.

"i'm glad your my friend too."

he wanted to touch you more. he wanted to run his hands up your arms, up your neck, cup your jaw and kiss you. he wanted to kiss you, taste your lips. your tongue, anything. he wanted to put your hand on his chin, he wanted you to touch his lips. he wanted to taste your fingers, he wanted to kiss those hands that work so hard. he wanted to help you relax. help you release something. tension, stress, that feeling he keeps smelling on her, whatever it was, he wanted to wash it from her.

recalling that feeling of utter desperation to be touched by you, the shame he felt from thinking of you so lustfully when you unbuttoned your jacket, it filled his mind as he tried to please himself without your underwear on his face. but it wasn't enough. he had never let himself think about you before. any time he had lewd thoughts of you cross his mind when he touched himself, he pushed it away with ease. his goal was to relax, he didn't want to dwell on fantasies he couldn't fulfill. masturbation was like bathing- it was a chore some days and a comfort on others. he always wanted to remain focused on his goals, his training, his sister. he didn't have the time nor the energy to spare on this mindless self indulgence. but now, it was different. suddenly there wasn't anything that could satisfy him. he indulged himself to push further into that memory, relishing in the way he ate you with his eyes when he saw you in your undershirt.

what else ? what else did i want ?

he wanted to push your shirt up over your chest, groping and pawing at you. hearing you whine and moan as he pinched and licked your nipples. he wanted to pick you up and put you on his lap, tightly gripping your hips and grinding you into his hard cock with his face buried in your chest, trailing dark red hickeys from your neck down to your stomach. he wanted to hike up your skirt (wait, weren't you wearing pants?) and push your panties to the side, and feel your soft warm pussy on his fingers. he wanted to taste you on his hands, make you taste yourself on his fingers.

he could feel himself getting closer, he was fighting so hard to make himself cum. he needed to sleep so bad, he wanted to put all of this behind him. he was furiously stroking his cock, eyes screwed shut, panting and groaning into his empty bedroom.

what else?! what else do i want??

he thought hurriedly, trying to conjure up anything that would push him over the edge so that he wouldn't need to use your panties again.

i want to sprawl you out on my bed, pull your panties off with my teeth, and taste you. i want to suck on your clit, watching you writhe around in pleasure. i want you to use me, pushing my face deeper into you. i want you to pull my hair as you cum, moaning my name as you force me to drink all of you.

"i want to make you feel good... please please let me make you feel good"

he whispered to himself, finally cumming into his fist again. he made such a mess of himself, cum all over his hand and his stomach. catching his breath, he gets up to clean himself off with a towel. laying back down, he closes his eyes to try to sleep, finally feeling relaxed.

but still, it wasn't enough. that night he dreamt of you. messy, disconnected dreams with no plot, no context. just endless snippets of biting flesh, throaty moans, dark rooms. visions of sparkling summer days being sullied by foul, perverted fantasies. he fucks you by the koi pond in the courtyard. you ride his face on a table in the dining hall. you ride his cock in the infirmary, using him over and over again to make yourself cum. an empty, an unmarked hallway he doesn't recognize, you push him against a wall, on your knees sucking his cock. his dreams, cut short every time he's about to cum. he wakes up sweating and moaning into his pillow. he's face down, dry humping his bed. a wet pool of precum stains his sheets. he sits up frantically, his cock throbbing so hard it hurts. tears prick his eyes in frustration, he doesn't understand what's happening. in about 18 hours, it felt like he came down with a horrible sickness.

or an agonizing addiction.

he had never been so possessed by anyone or anything before. nothing had overtaken his mind so quickly and so viciously. he is utterly haunted by you, all of this over some dirty laundry. angrily, he slams open his drawer, grabbing the small white bag. pulling the strings open with his teeth, hurriedly pulling out your panties.

fuck it. i need you.

he shoves them to his face and begins furiously stroking his cock. it's slick and wet with precum, he's so close yet so far from his release. angrily, bitterly, he huffs and pants desperately trying to get you out of his head. your smell floods his brain, all he can think about is your gushing pussy cumming all over his face. his cock. his fingers, his thigh. biting your lower lip and pulling back as you moan into him, fucking you into his mattress.

angry, bitter lust.

"just let me go-fuck, oh my god-i need you so badly. why can't i just sleep???"

he whines into his fist. he shoves your panties in his mouth again, hoping to trigger his orgasm. he tastes you on the thin soft cotton, and it pushes him even further. but still, he can't be satisfied. he needs to move, he needs to physically feel like you're here. he needs to fuck something. he would fuck a doorknob right now if it meant he would have peace. he gets up, grabbing his pillows. he lays them one on top of the other, spits on his hand to wet himself more, and shoves his cock between them. he's so embarrassed and ashamed of what he doing, he's fucking his pillows like a spun out loser. hot waves of shame wash over him but it doesn't matter. if he can sleep after this, he can just pretend it never happened. maybe he can throw out these panties after, maybe this will be enough to rid him of this horrible plague. it's not tight enough, so he lays on the pillows fucking into them, sucking on your panties. it's a horrible, disgustingly lewd sight. he's whining and whimpering, grunting like an animal.

he's lost all composure.

he fantasizes about your tight wet pussy sucking in his cock over and over again, your tits bouncing around under him as you moan his name. seeing your stomach rise and fall with every thrust, fucking deeper and deeper into you. slow languid strokes turning to frenzied animalistic thrusts. he fantasizes about his hand on your throat, feeling you swallow and choke on your words as you cum, your pussy gushing and squelching and squeezing around him, your pretty face twisting into a look of pure pleasure-

its enough to send him over the edge.

he cums even harder than he did the first time. his vision spotty and white, his orgasm lasting so long it's painful. his cock twitching and throbbing as he dumps so much cum between his pillowcases. he makes a sound he didn't know he was capable of, some sort of grunt? scream? something near inhuman as his release washes over him, choking and gagging on your panties.

he collapses on top of the disgusting mess he made, too exhausted to even feel ashamed. he throws the pillows onto the floor, pulls your panties from his mouth, now wet with drool and puts them back in the bag, and gently puts them back in his bedside drawer. throwing off the rest of his clingy, sweaty clothes, he collapses on his bed finally sleeping soundly until morning.

to his horror, this was far from the end of his torture.

every night like clockwork, he would toss and turn restlessly until he was forced to pleasure himself. if he didn't, he would wake up dry humping his bed with an angry throbbing erection he'd have to get rid of anyway. he would always go through the same routine, ignoring the hole burning into his bedside table by your panties tucked away amongst the clutter, trying to fuck his fist hard enough to satiate his needs.

when that would inevitably fail, he would shamefully pull out your panties to sniff and suck on them until he came. if that didn't work, he would find something to fuck. the disaster he made with his pillowcases was a hassle.

the next morning he had to scurry into the bathhouse and wash them in the early morning light before putting them in his laundry so nobody- godforbid you- found them covered in cum.

so that wasn't an option.

he often resorted to just humping his bed, or balling up his sheets at his waist and fucking those. but it came with the same risk, what if someone found them? eventually he resorted back to fucking his pillows again. if felt the best, and he could steal extra pillow cases from the linen closet in the hall and keep washing the ones he ruined in the bathhouse before anyone woke up. as long as it wasn't often, he could manage that.

but none of that eased his shame.

your panties were losing their smell, and seeing you around the mansion made it so much worse. the days he saw you, those were the nights where he was forced to fuck his pillows like a pervert.

he was running out of options.

he can't cum without your underwear smothering him, and the gentle touches you'd leave on his arms and back as you walked by, greeted him, talked to him about your day, they went straight to his cock. being around you, just smelling the air around u was torture. you smells so sweet, so warm. you were gentle and brave, you were kind and thoughtful. you brought him snacks and water while he trained, you told him about your family and what you liked to do when you weren't working. you listened when he shared his insecurities, not sure if he would be able to become a hashira or cure his sister. you were such a great friend, and he ruined it by being such a disgusting pervert.

one night, he tossed and turned until his restless legs brought him out of bed. the cicadas chirping outside his window, the moonlight pouring in between the slatted windows. his eyes would not stay closed, no matter what he did. his sexual frustration wouldn't subside and he was sick of abusing his poor body with no satisfaction. as his legs carried him in paces around his room, he began gathering his things to head to the bath house. by this time, it would've been empty for hours. some warm water and the tranquility of the water lapping over the edge of the small pool will soothe his frenzied nerves, surely.

padding out across the grass, he moves quietly so not to disturb anyone trying to sleep with open windows.

walking around the side to the men's washroom, he takes a few slow deep breaths.

this is gonna soothe him, it's going to be okay.

the warm light of the bath house welcoming him, he strips of his pajamas and steps into the shower. the cool water washes over him, already whisking away the heat of distress on his skin. stepping out loosely holding a towel around his waist, he slings his bag of clothing and toiletries over his shoulder. as he approaches the large double doors into the bath, he can hear the water stirring. he pauses trying to figure out who it is. the air is clouded by the smell of wisteria and floral soaps, he can't make anything out. assuming it's just someone else up for a late night soak, he walks in. he's already made the decision he will just have to politely decline small talk, he's in no position to socialize at the moment.

he steps inside, the hot medicinal steam hits his face. so warm, he already felt a little calmer. as he is about to drop his towel and get in the water, your head pops up out of the water. your eyes meet, and you both let out surprised yelps.

he clutched his towel tighter as you quickly sink back into the water covering your chest with your arms.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE???" you both screech at each other.

oh my god, she's naked. her slick wet body, hot and sudsy from the bath. dear god, this is the last thing i needed right now. fuck, im already getting hard just knowing she's in here.

he quickly turned around, giving you privacy to get out and grab your towel.

his face, beet red and sweating as he stares intently at the wall listening to you scurry out of the bath splashing water onto the floor and dripping onto the tile as you hurry to the bench nearby to wrap yourself in a towel.

"i-im sorry i didn't mean to interrupt you. i didn't think anyone was awake, i can leave if you want." he says quickly, his voice about two octaves higher than it usually is.

"no!!! ahem-no, it's okay i was getting out soon anyway." you say as the shuffle of your towel echos around the room, "i'm covered now, you don't have to keep staring at the paint on the wall now."

you let out a gentle laugh, trying to ease his tension.

he slowly turns around keeping his eyes trained at the floor and his towel tight to his hips, hands in front of his hard cock trying to hide it under the bunchy plush fabric.

slowly he peels his eyes up and meets your face, only to quickly look back down at the floor.

even with your towel on, he could clearly see every gentle curve of your body. your breasts spilling slightly over the top of your towel, the small slit running up your side exposing your upper thigh and the point of your hip. your shoulders still wet and steaming, your entire body glossy and wet. wispy strands of hair cling to your forehead, slicked down around your face, your cheeks were flushed. your looked so soft.

he could feel your gaze on him, his taut, scarred body beaded with water and his hair wet and dripping onto his shoulders.

do you like seeing me like this?

he wondered selfishly.

you moved a step or two closer to him,

"i'm sorry i embarrassed you, i was just having a hard time sleeping so i thought a bath would help me relax. are you okay?" you say, trying to catch his eye.

trying to look up to meet your face again, he replies quietly "i couldn't sleep either so i had the same idea. must be the cicadas i guess. i'm fine, im sorry i interrupted you."

he bows stiffly in apology, still white knuckling the front of his towel to pin down his throbbing erection.

"really, it's okay! no need to apologize! i'll leave you be, i hope it helps you feel sleepy. i'll see you tomorrow!" you said cheerfully.

you gather your belongings, adjusting your towel. to his delight and horror, letting small slivers of your skin peek out as you move.

it was torture. the last thing he wanted was for you to leave, but if you didn't get out he was going to embarrass himself. he wanted to drop to his knees sobbing begging for you to touch him, and if you didn't leave that minute he just might do it. as his eyes followed you out, he squeaked out a weak little "see ya!" he watched as your short towel hiked up the curve of your ass as you walked, your soft shiny thighs rubbing together.

at this point, he might as well throw himself face first into the bath and wait until he drowned because there was no way he was sleeping anymore.

the doors swung shut behind you, leaving him in the ringing silence of the bath house.

he stood there frozen for a few moments, feeling your noticeable absence from the room. it felt like someone sucked the air out of his lungs. you were so close to him, within 5 steps. you were dripping wet and naked 5 steps away from him.

and now you were gone.

he dropped his towel and smacked his hands onto his face letting out a frustrated cry. he hard cock sprang free and smacked his stomach with a heavy thwap!

his hands and feet felt tingly from all the adrenaline of embarrassment. rubbing his eyes and dropping his hands, he sat down on the edge of the water sinking his legs in. it was hot and soothing on his muscles, but the warmth only made his sexual desire worse. the bath you were in just moments ago, empty as he slid the rest of his body in. sinking up to his shoulders, he instinctively grabbed his cock as it throbbed painfully under the water. gently stroking it trying to alleviate the pain, he let out a small whimper.

this is disgusting, i'm pleasuring myself in your bath water. what have you done to me?

he was overtaken by his fantasies, desire ruling his every move.

quick images of your flushed face panting as he bent you over the arm of the bench and fucked you stupid flashed under this eyelids.

he thought about taking you back into the showers and falling to his knees, throwing your leg over his shoulder and eating your sopping wet pussy until you gushed onto his face.

fondling and sucking on your plump round tits, pink and swollen from the hot water.

she just got clean, i want her to come back so i can ruin her.

quietly whining, he leaned his head back on the lip of the pool screwing his eyes shut.

he began to quicken his pace, the waves of movement created by his shoulder began lapping on the edge of the whole bath, radiating away from him.

why did you have to be in here?

he thought to himself, distraught over how exposed you were to him.

he wanted to cry, he wanted you to come back. he needed you to come back to the bath house and touch him. his own hands were rendered worthless to him, they didn't bring him the release he needed so so badly.

tears once again began welling up in his eyes as he furiously beat his dick under the water.

"please, please, please. i need you, please come back. i can't keep doing this alone." he quietly cried to himself, getting closer to cumming with each tearful beg he confessed to the empty bath house.

"please, please-oh fuck, god please yes" he gasped as he came into the water, praying nobody came to use the baths before they got drained at 5am.

exhausted and ashamed of himself, he got out of the water and showered off in the washroom.

this has to be the most pathetic thing i've ever done in my life.

he trudged back to his dorm and collapsed asleep on his bed.

however, this was not the last time he would pleasure himself in such a risky manner.

it got so bad sometimes, he needed to stop training to jerk off in the bathroom. he's catch you on the outskirts of the training field watching him. he would get flustered, wondering if you liked watching him the way he watched you. he saw you carry large buckets of water to the laundry outside, you were so strong.

did you think the same of him ? did you like watching the way he moved ? he was getting faster and more agile by the day, did he impress you ?

all of those questions just brought him back to those dreams he had, those anguished lustful dreams.

would you scratch up my back in ecstasy? would you bite my neck and make me yours?

he would excuse himself from training to hide in a bathroom, now carrying the small bag with your underwear in his pocket, no longer hidden away in his bedside drawer. he would pull them out to hold to his face while he quickly pleasured himself so he could survive his day.

weeks went by, your panties having long lost their scent, at this point being more of a comfort to him than anything else. still, he couldn't cum without them. he slept with them tucked under his pillow, falling asleep with them tangled around his fingers. in a way, you were there with him. he would lay awake wondering what you were doing, fantasizing about you bathing after a long day, brushing your hair before bed, how soft your pajamas would feel against his body as he held you while you slept. he wanted to comfort you if you woke up with nightmares, gently pushing your hair out of your face and telling you that you're safe, you are loved.

loved?

is this love?

he had been so consumed with the shame and guilt over his unending lust for you, he didn't really allow himself to dwell on how he longed for you romantically. he wanted to hold you. he wanted to kiss your forehead, pet your hair. he wanted to comfort you. he wanted to take care of you. he wanted to listen to every word you had to say. he wanted to start a simple mundane life together. maybe someday he will make charcoal again, this time with a family he gets the chance to keep safe.

this wasn't what he had planned, but it was already getting in his way. his perverted nightly rituals eating up his time, sneaking off to the bathroom during the day to furiously masturbate, it was already forcibly making room in his life.

i should talk to her. even if she doesn't feel the same way, maybe telling her will end this. maybe putting it out into the universe will bring me peace.

that night, he decided he'd find you the next day and tell you how he felt.

that morning, he saw you in the dining hall eating breakfast with your friends, as you usually do. you were laughing and nodding along to a story someone was telling- your favorite. he liked to listen too, maybe someday you'd tell him more of your stories. he walked up to you, greeting you with a wave. you smile sweetly and say "good morning tanjiro! did you sleep well?"

"uh yeah, i did. what are your plans for the day? are you busy around lunchtime?"

"well, this morning i have a study group with some friends from my pharmaceutical class, usually i'd work until i was done and eat lunch after but i can break when your training is over. what for?"

"oh nothing important, i just wanted to catch up if you're okay with making the time."he said, looking down at his feet.

you smile again, "i'd always make the time for you." your face quickly reddens and you blurt out "i mean, for anyone really, i am just always so excited to have lunch with my friends."

he smells true embarrassment on you, and he softens. you feel flustered around him, just the same as he does around you. maybe if he tells you, you'd feel the same way. either way, this will bring him peace. it has to.

lunch rolls around and you meet in the corner of the courtyard. 3 large cherry blossom trees are tucked away against the tall fences surrounding the property. the shade feels cool and smells like damp grass. you sit on the wooden bench next to him with your box lunch in hand. you chat for a while, talking about how your days have been and he tells you about the most recent time inosuke acted like a deranged animal in public. you laugh, it feels easy and light. his face grows more serious and he clears his throat.

"honestly, i did have a reason to ask you to spend your lunch with me today. i have something i wanted to tell you, if that's alright."

you grow a bit nervous, what if he's leaving? what if he's sick? whatever it is though, you want to hear it. "okay, yeah go ahead."

he turns to you more deliberately, setting his box lunch on the ground. "i don't know how you'll feel about this, and i don't expect you to feel the same way, but i wanted to tell you anyway. the truth is, i didn't sleep well last night. or the night before. i fell in love with you last year, and it's been growing heavier on me for a while now. you've been taking up space in my mind, keeping me up at night. i thought maybe if i told you i'd finally sleep a little better. i didn't tell you before because i really enjoy your company, and if you thought i only saw you as a pretty face, you wouldn't want to talk to me anymore. but if you'd still allow me to be your friend after knowing how i feel, i would be more than happy to remain friends with you. and even if i don't sleep any better after this, if i still get to call you my friend, i will always be content with that."

he felt like he was lying a little, of course he would be happy to remain her friend, but 'content' was not the case. he would still suffer his anguished, lustful dreams and fitful nights of insatiable neediness, but it wouldn't matter as long as you were still around. he would put up with you haunting his every move if it meant you would still give him your attention.

your face was red and you fidgeted with your ring incessantly, processing what he just told you. you look to his face for reassurance that you don't have to respond yet, and you were met with a look of patience and a soft smile. he didn't mind waiting for you. and he didn't mind your response, whatever it may be.

"i..." you start slowly, "i have felt the same about you, since your second week here. i was crying outside on the porch of the dorms, and you comforted me. i was afraid because my mother was sick at the time, and you held me and made me feel stronger. you asked about her often, and when i told you she got better a few weeks later, you were genuinely happy to hear it as if you knew her yourself. you are ... bright and w-warm and i like being around you. i wat- i notice you training sometimes, and it makes me feel... braver. it can be scary seeing you come back home- back to the mansion, i mean- hurt all the time. but you get stronger every day, so it makes it easier to put away my worry. i... i worry about you when you're gone and i-i.. miss you. i miss you when you aren't here."

he shifts in his seat, rubbing his palms on his thighs, "wow, that's amazing to hear' you are so kind to me but i always thought you were kind to everyone, that it wasn't personal. i can't believe it! if it's okay with you, i want to tell you a little more about my feelings for you." there's hesitation in his voice as he looks to you for permission.

"of course, i'd like to hear your them. id like to hear all of them, actually." you say sheepishly, looking at your lap.

all of them?..

his mind floods with all the perverted fantasies he has for you, every sleepless night spent writhing in sexual frustration, desperately fucking his fist or his sheets or his pillows, rubbing his cock raw trying to push the vile indulgence out of his mind, tortured by thoughts of pleasuring you over and over again.

not that, obviously.

"i-um.. sorry, i got lost for a second there." he shifted in his seat, trying to hide a growing bulge in his pants. "i think you are so kind and warm. you and i are very similar in a lot of ways, we both find beauty and peace in the mundane. like how you enjoy the cool water of the laundry on hot days, and i like watching the sun rise every day. i like it when you are the one to take care of me when im hurt.... i-i miss your touch when you leave." he said, choking out that last bit.

your eyes grow wide, your cheeks flush. he can smell that strange emotion on you again, the one he could never figure out. it was much stronger now than before. it smelled like embarrassment, but there was something else there. it was... urgent, almost.

"you miss me??" you squeak out, looking like you wanted to crawl under the bench and die.

"i'm sorry, i didn't mean to embarrass you, i shouldn't have shared that" he says grabbing your hand trying to comfort you.

that smell grows stronger as that emotion grows within you, he doesn't know what to do to help calm you down.

"no no, please keep going. i want to hear more, i really really do. please believe me, i am thrilled to know that you miss when i- miss me when im not around." you stumble over yourself, holding his hand just as tightly as he's holding yours.

"okay," he says, scooting a little closer you to you, "but only if you tell me what your feeling right now. you smell like you are embarrassed, but i know that's not quite right. something is wrong, and im worried im overwhelming you."

"i'm not embarrassed, im just a little flustered!! i've had feelings for you for a long time, and your telling me not only do you feel the same way, but thinking of me keeps you up at night. i want to know those thoughts, i want to share my own. i'm just embarrassed of how i feel a little, and i don't want you to think i'm weird or anything."

"why would i think you are weird? i think the world of you, you don't have to worry about any of that. if anything, im worried about the same thing."

"it doesn't matter, im just nervous is all."

that emotion smells warm, and musky, almost like....

his heart begins to beat out of his chest. the small white bag begins burning a hole in his pocket, as he realizes.

you feel that same burning pull of desire that's been driving me insane.

"if you are too nervous, i can stop." he says gently, tilting your face up to meet him. he's leaning in closer, inches away from you. his words are soft, but there's a darkness behind them you can feel.

you meet his eyes, your eyelids low and your breath getting ever so slightly heavier.

"no, please don't.." your eyes flutter shut as you lean in to kiss him. you start small, gently pressing your lips together. he pulls back to admire your face, when he kisses you back with more force. he cups his hand around the back of your neck, letting go of your hand to pull you in by the small of your back. his kiss is passionate and urgent, but he's clearly holding back. he bites back a groan as you bite his lower lip, pulling it into your mouth to suck on it.

you let go, pressing your forehead to his, "can you tell me more about how you feel about me ?"

his mind was racing, he needed more.

your lips were soft and warm and they tasted so good, his cock was throbbing against his waistband. he had so much he wanted to tell you, so many ways he wanted to please you, he had no idea what to say or where to start.

"i can tell you i've wanted to kiss you for a really long time. that day we sat together in early summer, on the bench across the courtyard ? you were showing me your mothers ring and all i could think about was how badly i wanted you to hold my face again, like when i was in the infirmary."

you reach up and cup his face, running your thumb over his bottom lip. his breath catches in his throat, and he begins breathing a little heavier. he leans his face into your hand, pushing into you as if to feel your touch more somehow.

his lips part slightly and he gently bites your thumb.

"i think..." he said, barely above a whisper, "that you have the prettiest hands.."

he takes your hand off his face and places a sloppy kiss on the inside of your wrist, "and i can see how hard they work."

he kisses your wrist again, licking it slightly. "and i can tell you that when i can't sleep, i am kept up over thoughts of how.... to please you."

it was too much. your thighs were clenched so tight, you were so wet it was smearing down your legs and you couldn't stand not being closer to him. you jumped up from your spot on the bench, startling him. you grab his wrist and drag him away, hurriedly saying '

"come with me, please. we gotta go somewhere else."

you drag him into the dorm hall, down the caretaker hall. you throw open your bedroom door, it slides into the wall with a loud thunk. you turn to him in a puff, "do you want to come in? with me, i mean?"

without hesitation he steps in behind you and says "absolutely."

he grabs your face and kisses you hard, exploring your mouth with his tongue. he hooks his hands down under your knees and lifts you up. as you hook your ankles around his waist he lets out a stifled moan, feeling your body on his was like sticking his fingers in an outlet. he had punished his cock endlessly over daydreams like this, and here he was, sinking onto the edge of your bed with you in his lap.

his mouth leaves yours, and begins leaving urgent, red marks down your neck. you slowly start grinding on him, and he's fighting back whimpers and moans. it's perfect. it's everything. he needs more. he reaches for your collar and tugs on it, whispering in your ear "may i?"

you nod, softly moaning as he continues kissing, licking and biting your neck from your earlobe to your collarbone. he begins unbuttoning your jacket and peeling it off you.

your thin, white undershirt. this is heaven.

he slips his hands under the hem, feeling your stomach, your back, stopping right at the curve of your breasts. "can i- touch you- more please ?" he says desperately between kisses.

"god, please" you say breathlessly.

he lifts your shirt up over your head, stopping to admire your body. "you are even more beautiful than i imagined" he said as he began squeezing and sucking on your chest.

you cry out in pleasure and quickly slap your hand over your mouth. "you-ahh fuck- you thought of m-me like this ?" you whisper, already knowing answer.

"what do you think has been keeping me up at night ? you haunt me, my love. i am tortured by the thought of pleasing you."

he lifts you up and gently tosses you onto your bed. he grabs you hands, lacing his fingers between yours and holding you hands above your head. he kisses you, sloppy and desperate to taste more of you.

more.

more.

more.

it's all he can think of.

his strong, muscular body is sprawled out between your legs. he pulls himself up until he can grind his cock into you.

soon, the friction from his pants is too much. he pulls away, asking if he can take his clothes off. "can i take them off for you?" you ask shyly.

he smiles and lifts his arms. you peel off his shirt, and you are still enthralled by his beauty. you've seen him topless plenty of times, between spying on him during training and treating his wounds in the infirmary, you've seen enough of his body to make anyone blush.

but never like this.

never in the hushed frenzy of hands and tongues in your room.

you trace the scar on his hip, a sad look flashes over your face. he notices and grabs your hand, he places it flat on his stomach. "i'm okay now, don't worry. i remember, im better now because of you."

he peels off your pants, leaving behind your underwear. he does the same for himself, leaving behind his. he lays back on top of you and begins kissing down your neck again, down to your chest, but this time not stopping there. he drags long stripes with his tongue down between the valley of your chest, biting and kissing your stomach on the way down. it's every fantasy he'd had about you all crashing into him right now. he was so hard it hurt but he ignored it.

this wasn't something he wanted to push away or rush through.

he had spent months agonizing over every little detail, every way he wanted to please you. he was going to do all of it. he stopped at your underwear and sat up, lifting your thigh to his mouth kissing and licking down it until he reached your ankle. he wanted to worship your body, the body that works so hard to keep the mansion running, the body that houses the girl he loves. he drops your leg and sinks back down to the hem of your underwear, hooking his fingers around them on your hips. "can i take these off?" he said quietly with heavy eyelids.

"y-yes please. i need you too." you whispered in response, lifting your hips to help him get them off faster.

he pulled them between his teeth, his breath tickling your stomach, causing more butterflies to erupt inside you. he slipped them down to your knees with his teeth, then tossing them aside with them hooked around his finger in one fluid motion. sticky strands of your wetness cling to the fabric, smearing on your thighs as he pulled them off. he cleaned you up quickly, licking the wet spots down your thighs.

this is so much better than sucking on her panties.

unconsciously palming his throbbing cock through his underwear. he leans his cheek on your thigh looking down at your dripping pussy. "god, your even more beautiful than i imagined you were. look at her, your pretty pussy" he says as he lays back down, kissing from your belly button until just above your clit.

squirming and writhing with impatience, you whimper out a small "please, tanjiro."

your eyes meet.

that was all he needed, the last straw.

he dove in hungrily, sucking and slurping your dripping wet pussy, burying his face into you. you let out a gasp, clamping your hand over your mouth as you let out a deep groan from the bottom of your stomach.

he reaches up to pinch and roll your nipples between his fingers, he just started but you already feel close.

so much anticipation, so many times you've watched him train, watched his rippling sweaty body in the sunlight- trapping those thoughts for later when you'd rush into your dorm after a bath and play with your pussy until you were too exhausted to continue.

that night he found you in the bath house kept you awake for hours after.

you look down at him, his deep red eyes staring up at you full of lust, something so dark behind them. he plunged his tongue into you so deeply, fucking you and slurping on your gushing wet pussy. "c-can i tell you something ?" you gasp out breathlessly trying not to scream from the pleasure.

"of course-you can" he replied between thick wet kisses on your clit.

he eased up, gently nibbling and sucking on it so you could respond easier.

"i touch myself almost every night thinking about you in my room like this. i- i even stole one of your shirts from the laundry once just so i c-could have you closer while i did it." you let out a raspy moan as he sucked harder.

he let go and sat up for a moment, eyes darkening. a smile creeps up his face as he asks, "can i tell you something then ?"

you whined at the lack of stimulation, but nodded softly.

"you dropped your panties in the hallway around a month ago. i wanted to give them back, i really did. but i couldn't. i punished my body with them for weeks, soon i couldn't finish without them in my mouth or on my face. they are in my pants pocket right now."

he shifted up to look at you easier, and smiled wickedly," i've been carrying them around for 13 days now."

your eyes grow wide, as it dawns on you. all those sweet, innocent interactions.

all those pleasantries and small lingering stares, the whole time he had your dirty, soiled underwear in his pocket.

he stuffed them in his mouth when he came.

he was a panty sniffing creep, and he was all for you.

you grab his face and pull him up, crashing into him. his face covered in your slick, creating a sloppy wet kiss.

you accepted him, not only that, you seemed elated at the idea that he stole your underwear, forcing himself to cum over and over with them. god, you were everything he could've ever wanted.

"hold on, hold on, im not done. let me keep going for a little while longer. please, i need to." he whispered into your lips.

you nod, as he sunk back down to gently place a kiss on your clit. but that gentleness didn't last long, he quickly became consumed by you again. the smell of your pretty pussy had filled the room the minute he took your pants off, the lust emanating off your body was palpable in the air. he was devouring you viciously, his eyes darkened and hazy.

he was unconsciously grinding against your mattress, moaning into your pussy.

"you taste- so fucking good. god i love it" he mumbled into your soft wet lips.

you began to feel your orgasm coming on, and quickly. 'ahh-fuck, wait- slow down- i'm gonna-'

"say it."

"i'm gonna cum! fuck-i'm gonna cum tanjiro!" your whole body grinding into his face, as he pushed his jaw into your wet throbbing pussy.

he growled and gripped your thighs tighter, pulling himself even deeper into you. one of your hands smacked over your mouth to keep you from screaming, the other laced it's way into his long dark hair, gripping it and using it to twist his tongue around on you. you gush onto his face, panting and moaning into your hand. he shudders and groans, over and over saying "mhm, mhm~" encouraging you to use him.

your stiff, shaking legs relax as you come down, slumping back onto the pillows.

he slows down with you, matching your body language. he pulls off you, placing gentle yet firm kisses on your clit, helping you ride out the end of your orgasm.

"thank you." he says, his eyes still dark and low.

you blush and hide your face in your hands, "i don't know what your thanking me for."

"for letting me please you. it's all i want to do. i want to worship you until my body breaks down. i want to satisfy every craving you have. can i keep going?" he says, as he places long sloppy kisses on your thigh, leaving red marks up and down them.

"yes please, i still need so much from you" you reply breathlessly.

he dips back down and begins sucking on your clit again, but this time he brings one of his hands around and gently rubs your lips with his fingers. he spreads you open and slowly starts sinking one of his fingers into you. just that small amount of stretch felt so good, you felt yourself clench around him, your body desperate for more of him. he groaned into your pussy, muttering something like "fuck, you're pulling me in~" but it was hard to hear over your own raspy moans and whimpers.

he pulled out his finger to add a second one, stretching you further. his fingers felt large, and rough, worn from battle. he began slowly pumping them in an out, noticing how your moans would get higher and quicker the more he ran his fingers over that nub of flesh inside you.

"ahh-fuck, oh my god' you cried, 'it's so much, fuck it feels too good. please, faster, im gonna cum!!"

he sucked harder on your clit, pushing his jaw into you again while pumping in and out of your dripping wet pussy. you were clenching and throbbing around him, sucking his fingers back in. he was shuddering and grinding into the bed again, desperately trying to hold back cumming himself.

you cried out, calling his name over and over as you came on his face and hands, you squirted all over his fingers, gushing down his jaw and neck.

god, you made such a fucking mess.

he rides it out with you, easing up and slowly pulling his fingers out of you.

sitting up, he sticks his finger into his mouth sucking them and licking his hands down to his wrists, cleaning himself off. he wipes his face with his hand, and reaches into his pants to smear your cum all over his cock.

the air was thick and heady, his head swimming from all the pleasure in the air.

on his knees, he looked down at you pleasuring himself. the wet spot in his underwear growing as he touched himself. his eyebrows scrunched, and his jaw hanging open, he let out small guttural moans. he fell down onto you, propping himself up over your face his long hair hanging around you as he continued stroking his cock inside his underwear. "please.... can i take them off? can i please fuck you?" he begs, never taking his eyes off your face.

you hook your fingers around his underwear and pull them down enough to let his cock spring free. it was red and twitching and angry desperate to be inside you. you grab his hips and roughly pull him down onto you, the hilt of his cock wetly slapping onto your pussy with a squelch. "please fuck me, i have needed you for so long." you whisper as you grab his face and kiss him deeply, as if he had been gone for days.

his breath catches in his throat as his cock finally makes contact with you for the first time. without thinking, he began grinding into you, thick wet sounds reverberated around the room. you were so wet, so covered in cum that his cock glided so easily on you. he could've cum from this alone, but he couldn't. he was so close to getting what he needed, he had to hold back. he hooked his arm under your back and pulled you closer. he moved from your lips to your neck, sucking on your earlobe, gasping and moaning in your ear. "c-can you put me inside you? if i watch im going to cum. i-hah fuck- i need you to do it." he said through gritted teeth.

you reach down between the two of you and grab his cock. he stifles a moan as you give it a few cautionary strokes, before rubbing the tip between your lips to gather some of your wet cum. you angle it into yourself, and grab his hips to slowly push him into you. his eyes shoot open and lock with yours, letting out a loud "ohhhh fuuccckkkkk~" as his eyes roll back a little and his jaw hangs open.

you keep going, whimpering as it stretches you out. you reach the base of his long, thick cock, the red puffs of hair tickling your clit. you grind down onto him, slowly rocking your hips back and forth trying to get used to it. he's frozen, choking on his own moans trying to comprehend what he's feeling.

it's exactly what he thought it would be.

no, it's so much better.

all those nights spent fucking his pillows like a creep, when just one hall over the sweetest, tightest, wettest, prettiest pussy was getting fingered and played with to the thought of him. it was almost cruel, realizing that as your pussy clenched tightly around him, he could've had it sooner.

he slowly started rolling his hips with you, every bit of friction on his cock, every throb of your pussy felt like overstimulation. he needed it so badly for so long, now that he had it, it's overwhelming. he pushes past the urge to cum and begins pumping long, slow, deep strokes into you. every time he bottoms out and feels your cervix around the head of his cock, you both moan in unision. you were both breaking down under the weight of your lust for each other.

"fuck, your cock feels so amazing. it's better than i thought it would be!!" you cry out, tears welling up in your eyes.

your praise goes straight down to his cock. looking down at you crying over the pleasure he could give you, it was crippling. his elbows buckle, no longer able to hold himself up to watch you bounce under him. he wraps his other arm that's not under you around the back of your neck and starts biting into your shoulder "god, your-fuckfuck ahh- your pussy is p-perfect, you keep sucking me back in. it's so wet and tight, i can't take it!! it's-god, fuck- it's too good!!" he wells with tears too, you are both so overcome with pleasure you are crying and clawing at each other.

you leave thick red scratches down his back as he continues to fuck you hard and slow, leaving bite marks and dark purple hickeys all over your neck. you drool into his shoulder unable to speak, mumbling and moaning loosely about how good it feels, how badly you need his cum, how you dreamed of him fucking you like this.

but with every sound you make, he gets closer and closer to cumming inside your sweet little pussy. he begins to fuck you faster and harder, drilling his hips into you as he sits up and spreads your thighs open for him. his face looks angry and dark as he tries desperately not to cum. "oh my god, yes-fuck!!! i'm gonna cum, tanjiro!!! im gonna cum on your cock please keep going!!!"

thank god, he thought. he was not going to be able to keep this up much longer but he had to make you cum before he did. your bouncing tits and your slack jawed, fucked out face was making it so much harder for him to keep up. he looked down at the mess you were making on him, your wet slick running all the way up to just under his belly button, matting down his happy trail, and dripping down his balls. there was a creamy ring of your cum all over the hilt of his cock. every wet smack and squelch of your tight little pussy was ruining him. he felt you begin to shake and clench around him, sucking him in even harder. your pussy was milking his cock for cum and it was too much.

you both crash into each other in a tangle of limbs and guttural, animalistic groans as you both cum so hard you are seeing stars. you squirt all down the length of his cock, splashing up onto both of your stomachs as he cums deep into your pussy. you feel the throb of his cock as it pumps deep against your cervix as you clench around him, milking him for more.

he whimpers and drools against your shoulder as he comes down, you shudder and weakly grind your clit against him as you fuck the last of your high off. you both lay there in the sticky mess you made, just breathing in each other for a while.

he pulls you in tight, holding you close against him. "i meant what i said, i fell in love with you. i fell in love with your kindness, your serenity. you are a blue spring, you radiate a warmth that i don't think i've gotten to know since i was a child. i love you, i wasn't just saying it."

you push him off a bit so you could see his face, and cup your hands around his jaw. "i know, and i love you too. i'll always be here to take care of you."

he slowly pulls his half-hard cock out of you, watching his cum spill out onto the bed around you. he gets up pulls a towel from your closet. he cleans you off and lays down next to you, lightly tracing circles on your stomach.

"so, what do you think our excuse should be for never coming back from lunch ?"

☆♡☆★♡☆★♡☆★♡☆

part two here

(authors note #2: this was my first fic!! weeeeeee!!! if u liked it and u want a follow up kinda diving into the start of their relationship please let me know <333 thank u for reading!! byeeeeee<33☆)

[revelboo]

twirling my hair over Kup in the breeding kink ask because I fancy all these old mechs thanks to your impeccable writing, he's just such a sad old man

He can still kick butt, though. 18+ 🌶️

Don’t You

Kup x Reader

• “Look alive, young-bots,” he growls around his cygar, as he vents on a growl and the newest recruits glance at him, then hastily back away from whatever poor bit of organic life they’ve cornered. That’s the problem with green bots. They’re awful on organic worlds, too overwhelmed with all of it and unable to resist poking at things. And striding over, he almost stumbles, because it’s not an animal they’re terrorizing. It’s a bruised and battered human, the little thing hefting a stick and terrified. “Leave ‘em be,” he snarls, shoving the nearest recruit out of his way and you’re backpedaling, eyes wide.

• Shaking, your fingers are white knuckled on the pitiful little branch you’d found. Swinging it so frantically around you as those giants had growled and prodded at you, laughing when you’d fallen more than once. And you’re scared out of your mind. Have no idea where you are or how you ended up here only that it was excruciating. Like being turned inside out. Trembling as the monster robots abruptly back away and the one striding forward isn’t as big as some of your tormentors, as he works a cigar-looking thing clenched between his denta and snarls at them. He’s obviously in charge, though. Backing away as he approaches, he makes a harsh sound that startles you and you fall over one of the thick, fleshy vines everywhere on the ground.

• Lunging as the creeper vine immediately snares you and you scream, Kup makes a grab for it and misses as you’re dragged along the ground. “Hang on, kid,” he growls, jogging after as you claw at the vine, the ground, panicking and trying to stop your slide. Your motions becoming more urgent when you look and see what the vine is attached to. Drawing his gun as you’re hauled up off the ground toward the glistening and deceptively pretty flower coiled around a nearby tree, knowing if it closes around you, that sap will glue itself to you and suffocate you before he can cut you loose. Aiming and ignoring the recruits jostling and making bets on how quickly you’ll die, he growls and fires. Wincing when you hit the mossy ground when the vine is severed.

• Breath knocked out of you, for a moment you can’t move. Fingers digging into the loam and moss, smelling dirt and the awful, rotten flesh stink of the plant. And the monster with the metal cigar is picking his way toward you, carefully avoiding the vines. Try to push yourself up right. To run. “You take off into an alien jungle running like prey, you’re not going to last a klik,” he says and you freeze. Because he’s not growling. You understand him. “Don’t know how you got here, but you better stick with me, kid.” And he crouches down, that cigar thing bobbing up and down as he chews on it. “Name’s Kup.”

• Intelligent eyes stare up at him as he holds out a servo. Half expects you to start crying or to bolt into the jungle anyway. But your tiny hand is warm when you reach out and let him carefully help you up. And you’re filthy, a dark splotch on one cheek that better not be from one of the recruits, your coverings torn. Tensing when you curl your arms around his servo, hanging on to him. Like your life depends on it and really it does. None of those young-bots have ever seen a human before. Have very little respect for organics. But how in the Pit did you get out here?

Next

[room-surprise]

hi! i was wondering if in dunmeshi, before falin was eaten by the dragon and before present events, laios and his party were earning money for k*lling monsters in the dungeon? i don't understand if someone was paying them, how they were making money and how it worked

I want to write a proper, thorough reply to this with citations to specific references and mentions in the story, but uh, a tree fell on my house so I've been a bit too busy to do that lmao.

BUT, to give an incomplete answer:

Yes, adventurers get paid for work they do inside of the dungeon, or, they just harvest monsters/plants/treasure that they find. The dungeons are a kind of boom town, similar to a gold or silver rush, which means that the entire local economy is based on people trying to extract wealth from the dungeon, since it's dangerous but easy work, anyone can try to do it with very little resources, and the potential for profit is huge.

Someone with almost no money could, potentially, go into the dungeon and walk away with enough money to start a business, or buy a house or a boat. If they don't die. If they're lucky. Desperate people cling to the hope that they will be one of the lucky ones who become insanely wealthy.

Based on things Kui's told us in the manga and the extra materials, we know:

You pay a fee or a toll to be allowed to go into the dungeon. Access is controlled by the local government. Some people avoid this, like Senshi and the orcs since they just live in the dungeon and avoid leaving.

Many people die, give up, or fail to accomplish anything useful in the dungeon. These people probably generate a good, steady income for the island, since they pay fees but don't have to be rewarded. The lure of trying to strike it rich keeps huge hoards of people flowing in steadily. Most money in boom towns is generated by all the people who are trying and failing to get rich buying things from local people (food, supplies, lodging).

When a dungeon first appears, it is full of easy to harvest gold and treasure. "Gold peeling" is how Laios and Falin started out, and it's literally going into the dungeon and peeling gold off of the walls and statues, and taking any easy to transport treasure with you.

Various tasks need to be done in the dungeon to keep it safe, clean and accessible, and all of these result in a person either being paid by the lord of the island, or the person who they have saved. Killing dangerous monsters, finding people who have died and taking their corpses to the resurrection office, reporting changes to the dungeon, discovering new paths, etc.

When gold and treasure that is easy to find starts to run out, people turn primarily to harvesting monsters. They are probably paid a bounty for every monster they can prove they killed (bring back some body part that a monster only has one of, like a tail), and then they can also sell anything else they harvested from the monster in the market (meat, the rest of the hide, horns, teeth, claws.)

You want the dungeon to stay safe with a well-managed monster population to prevent something like Utaya from happening.

But if you kill too many monsters, now that the treasure is gone, there won't be any profit reason for people to go into the dungeon anymore, and your economy will collapse.

So you need to manage the dungeon and keep the monster population high, but not too high. This is what the Shadow Lord was complaining about. He thinks that if they evacuate the dungeon the expensive monsters they are currently harvesting may stop manifesting/spawning/being born, and all that will be left to harvest is mushrooms and slimes, which are not worth a lot of money.

Laios' group had an assignment from the island lord to try and find the giant doors on the 6th floor that nobody had been able to get past. That was what they were trying to do when they ran into the red dragon and Falin got eaten!

Despite everything, at that time Laios' party was the number one team on the island, capable of going the deepest into the dungeon.

Kabru's team is also considered pretty good, despite how often we see them dying - this should tell you how bad many of the teams that go in are! Most of them don't accomplish much or anything... Just like a boom town, where most miners go into debt trying to find gold, and only a few strike it rich.

This is what Rin is talking about in her first appearance, when she scolds Kabru for being too modest around other adventurers. She wants those other people to know that they are not going into the dungeon for profit and that they're not like the rest of them, dream-chasing fools hoping to make a payday.

She's offended anyone would mistake them for people like that, meanwhile Kabru would rather keep their motivations obscure and not advertise that they're in the dungeon on a moral crusade, not a financial one.

It should also be noted that the dungeon has a lot of criminal activity going on inside of it, because it's not well monitored and it's easy to conceal your activities. There's also a population of people who can "no longer live on the surface" for various reasons, such as being wanted criminals, exiles hiding to avoid vigilante justice, people too poor to leave because they wasted all their money trying to get rich and now they can't afford to live on the surface, or leave the island.

Essentially there is a population of homeless people living in the dungeon, eating anything they can scavenge, begging and stealing to stay alive. This could even be part of the taboo on eating monsters in the dungeon - that's something poor and desperate people do, and doing it is seen as a sign of how low Laios' party has fallen.

This is also why Kabru is so worried about the Touden party: their financials are a mess, but they keep going into the dungeon. Why? People think they are good, but maybe they're secretly criminals? Are they on the run from the law? Kabru has no idea, since "they just really love monsters and this is fun" is not a motivation ANYONE ELSE ON EARTH HAS.

The Toudens can't even say "we're monster researchers trying to write a book on monsters." They're just hobbyists, they just like them a lot. Kui tells us that Laios was encouraged to become a monster researcher but the studying was too intense for him.

It would be like finding out someone who works in a coal mine that kills 80% of the miners doesn't actually care about being paid, they just loooove coal and want to be around coal all the time.

[nothomegal]

HIII I MISS YOU :(( straight to the point, I need a yandere pyramid head fic!!

I´m sorry for the disappearance ;v; Can't post much due my studies.

Anyways, I ADORE your suggestion! And boy if our little (Y/N) is going to have a rough time with a yandere creature like Pyramid Head ._.)

Welp, let's start the story!

"Innocent lamb"

(Yandere!Pyramid Head x GN Reader)

Summary: the entity's realm was hell for some, heaven for others, and an inconvenience for the rest... But when one of the creatures encountered you, he made it everyone's problem, even the entity's that brough him there in the first place. But he meant no harm to you. He likes you. He wants you. He needs you. And he wͦ̀ͯi̸ll̩ͩ have Y̛̗̰͇͚͓͈̣͕̰͓̗͛ͤ̀̇̍ͥ͒̓͝Ơ̵̔_̰̅U̵̷̡̧̡̨͖̟̹͙̙͓̥̗̫̣̙͉͕͉̣̬̇ͭ͗̉͂̅̍͗̇̇́́̈͟͞

Warnings: yandere/obsessive behavior, violence and violent acts, quite angst(y) mood in general, (understandably) terrified reader darling :(.

Word count: 4.2k

The moment they entered the trial, all four survivors knew right away who the killer was. Either its the dread they all felt as soon as their feet made contact with the ground that gave it away, or the fact that the entity had placed all of them in the same spot next to two generators just to have any chances to make it out alive.

But they know it's in vain, they know they're doomed for a long long death by bleeding out.

They know it... Because (Y/N) is with them.

Said survivor had to bite their lip to avoid crying, as guilt and terror embraced them. Just because the monster had this unholy obsession with them it didn't mean they were okay with it, if anything it scared them more.

He, Pyramid Head, the Executioner... Or however you want to nickname him, is said to be one of the most powerful creatures the entity had the pleasure to bring, so powerful in fact that the spider-like being had to make a deal to bring him.

So it's not surprising that they are absolutely horrified, but who wouldn't? This monster, an embodiment of pain and punishment, almost a god, has been hunting them relentlessly ever since he laid his gaze or... Helmet? On them.

At first it was all jokes and gags;

'Aww look, (Y/N) has a boyfriend!'

'Watch out, here comes your crush (Y/N)!'

'Uh-oh, the triangle man seems jealous, look how pissed he is at Nea for healing you!'.

But the jokes stopped when it got clear how truly messed up and sinister said 'crush' is.

They still remember it, it was a regular match against that one masked knife wielding guy that runs a lot, he's called 'Legion' they think. The trial was going relatively well, just like many previous ones. Until it suddenly got an 180° turn when one of the walls to the realm was literally destroyed by a hulking mass of muscle and a giant knife. To say both (Y/N) and the killer nearly had a cardiac arrest was an understatement, things got so ugly that the entity had to intervene and cut the trial short.

That incident could be a fuel for a new wave of jokes, could... If it didn't happen again. And that next time was even worse, the beast nearly made his way into the survivor side of the realm, somehow bursting through the barrier the entity had created to keep the survivors separated from the killers to avoid any pity fights after trials.

Ever since that event, Pyramid Head was strictly kept in 'his' realm, aka Midwich Elementary School.

Sometimes, after escaping through the gates and running back into the camp through the fog, (Y/N) could swear they can hear the monster roar in the distance. Loud, distorted and fierce howls resonating somewhere behind the dense fog, as if the creature was desperately trying to yell out their name. Either to let them know how badly he wants them or a promise to break free and get them... Both possibilities giving them chills.

The entity of course wasn't okay with this, it was pissed! But it also could do so little... The great deal now had turned into a major curse. If the deal is broken, the Executioner won't hesitate to damage the realm to get what he wants. But if it remains, the monster will find new ways to bend the rules and make it everyone's problem.

Why the entity doesn't just give (Y/N) to the beast or gets rid of them ones for all? No one really has the answer. Some think it's due the entity's pride, or the possibility of the executioner going ballistic. For now, it's more of a silent (and petty) battle between two stubborn beings, each of them refusing to back away from their goal.

Goal. The entity's goal, though still confusing, is more or less clear; force people and creatures to play these twisted games and feed on those who get sacrificed. But the executioner's goal? It's straight up a mystery. (Y/N) know it has something to do with them, but... Why them exactly? Why not Cheryl? Didn't she come from the same place as that beast? What the monster even wants them for?

What will he do when he finally gets his hands on them? Wh-

A rough shake snapped (Y/N) out of their internal break down.

They blink a couple of times, tears of fear nearly sliding down their cheeks as their body shivers. They were scared, more than the other three survivors combined.

The survivor holding them by their shoulders, David, sighs when he finally notices them react.

—"Look, I know you're scared..."— he starts talking, his voice surprisingly calm.

—"I'm-... I- I'm sorry, I'm s-so sorry-..."— you choke out in a weak wobbly voice, guilt eating you from inside.

—"No no. Just listen for a sec. I... Well, we all can tell that you aren't enjoying it neither. So, let's not break down into a soap opera, okay? Don’t think of this as hopeless match, but as another chance to woop that asshole's ass and escape."—

—"And also leave him empty handed!"— Feng announces from her place while already working on a generator.

—"Yeah, screw that triangular piece of shit! Let's try out Dwight's strategy this time. You remember it, do you?"— he asks you, not letting go of your shoulders yet.

The surprisingly positive and reassuring words of their teammates towards them really soothed and even cheered (Y/N) a bit. With a small smile they quickly wipe their eyes before nodding.

—"Good, see? We're already starting on a good note!"— he lets go to then pat your back, basically pushing you forward. —"Now go help with a gen before putting the 'plan' into work."—

Though the push hurt a bit, (Y/N) didn't care at all about the pain, too focused on keepings all the negative and pessimistic thoughts away.

For the first minute and a half everything was going well, (Y/N) and Feng were working on one generator while David and Jonah were working on the other one. The four of them were dead silent, straining their ears for any of the sounds the creature makes, such as heavy footsteps, the scraping of his gigantic knife or their own heartbeat. Weirdly enough, everything was calm... Too calm.

(Y/N) nearly choked with air when a cold chill ran through their spine.

Spine Chill. The beast... Is watching them.

They attempt to subtly alert Feng by carefully tapping her leg, but as soon as their fingertips touched the other girl’s skin, their heartbeat started to get louder and louder, until…

—“WATCH OUT!”—

(Y/N) exclaimed as they pushed Feng, just in time to dodge a bunch of sharp and rusted metal pieces coming out the ground.

—“Holy-...”— she mutters.

Now that the monster is here, the four survivors decided to put in action the mentioned strategy.

They all let go of the generators and run away in different directions, (Y/N) being the most desperate while running since they know exactly who the beast is targeting.

His pattern is always the same; chase after until sending them into a cage to then down all of their teammates and then come straight back to all caged and helpless (Y/N) and then… Stare or touch them until the others bleed out or the entity has enough.

The difference in the current case, is that (Y/N) is not playing just cat and mouse. In fact, chasing them is the worst the killer can do. All of their abilities are chase oriented, another teammate lurking around has all the boon ones, while the last two have all is needed to rush through the generators. If everything works out, the monster will get himself in a situation where he's be forced to leave (Y/N) alone.

The chase was intense, at least for (Y/N). Despite never catching a clear view of the Executioner, they could feel him close behind, following them methodically like a wild animal on a hunt, waiting for the right moment to strike while keeping up the tension.

It was hard to maintain the focus, every single hallways in The Game looked the exact same. Did they vaulted that window already? Didn't they pre-dropped that palled over there? Did Feng placed it up again? Are the other two working on the generators? Have they taken this left path before?

So many questions where swarming their mind as their legs kept carrying them on, only momentarily relaxing when two generators finally made that distinguish noise.

Two done! Tree left.

A breathless laugh escaped from them. Great! This is already going better than all of their previous encounters with the Executioner, which would always end with the first generator barely reaching 30%.

However, their smile was quickly swept when they realized they no longer hear their heartbeat or thundering footsteps tailing behind. It was silent, dead silent, with no other sounds that their own breathing.

A wave of anxiety flushed through (Y/N) like a tsunami wave and started to drag and drown them deeper into their own worries.

What the?... Okay, this was not part of the plan. The Executioner had never left the chase with them, never. So the fact that he finally did, and apparently a while ago, made them shake.

With nothing else to do, they gather the courage to start moving again. Where? Somewhere! Anywhere but to stay in place and be an easy target to the beast that so desperately wants them.

They keep running, stopping only for a brief moment before turning a corner, making sure they don't hear any muffled breathing that at times resembled growls. They learned the hard way with the Shape that some killers like to wait around corners, and they don't want to commit the same mistake right now.

Their heart jerked when they heard a scream resonate from their left, and a faint reddish aura in the shape of a human gleamed for a second before disappearing.

David is down.

And it seems like he's not getting picked up, which could either mean that the monster is setting up a trap or chasing someone else. Whichever the case is, they shouldn't go-

They hear a bunch of footsteps come their way, and in a set of panic they crouch behind a bunch of boxes, silently praying that their disguise is mildly good.

They can't see much from their spot, but they can clearly recognize the shape of Jonah running away from something massive.

As soon as the two figures passed by, (Y/N) gets up and takes off running towards David to check on him.

After some wondering around the labyrinth-like place, they finally reach their injured teammate, who was still on the ground and groaning from pain.

—"{David!}"— you whisper-yell as you start running towards him.

He weakly lifts his head just enough to see them. When he recognized who it is, he starts to frantically shake his head.

—"NO! GET THE FUCK OUT!"—

Huh? What-

As (Y/N) is about to reach David, a path of sharp metal pieces and razor wires had emerged right in front of them, just when they're about to make contact with the floor again, making in impossible to dodge.

The second their leg got tangled into the sharp metallic mess, everything went too fast. They don't even have time to pull away as something sliced them on their side, sending them directly on the ground.

They send a guilty and ashamed glance to David, who had an frustrated expression.

—"{Sorry...}"— you mouth.

(Y/N) has no chance to see David's answer as a massive hand suddenly curled around their throat and forced them to look away from the other man.

Their eyes wide at the sight of the beast menacingly hovering over their helpless form, holding their body in place between him and the ground. The muscles of his extended arm were tense, his breathing heavy, almost like he's holding back the anger and displeasure caused by them giving attention to someone else.

Their heart skipped beats, their breath uneven, their eyes watered as they tightly closed them, not wanting to witness whatever this thing was about to do. They can feel the warmth coming from his body, his breathing slowly stabilizing, as if staring at them and watching them slowly submit was enough to calm the monster. Ironically, it did the complete opposite to (Y/N), as their own heartbeat raised from the anxiety of having to face the unknown, attempt to predict the unpredictable and prepare to witness another massacre unfold around them at any second... Just to then end up caged and at the mercy of this-

—"LEAVE THEM ALONE ASSHOLE!"— David angrily yells from his place, struggling and trying to stand up. —"You're fucking terrifying, of course they don't want to look at you!"—

They can feel Pyramid Head's hand tense and start shaking, his fingers twitching and pressing further into their skin. (Y/N) was beyond terrified now, just a little bit of pressure and the creature could crush their throat like a cardboard tube.

David, though clearly using all of his strength, ended up falling back on the ground, as if some invisible weigh is actively pushing him down.

—“You freak! Absolute sick fuck! Let them go already!”—

As the waterfall of profanities continues, (Y/N) slowly places their hands around the monster’s wrist to attempt to push his hand away, unfortunately he didn’t budge at all.

Suddenly, David’s stops screaming and the very next second (Y/N) feels something warm and slippery press against their cheek.

They jerk in place at the uncanny sensation and shoot open their eyes, a breathless gasp escaping them at the sight of a… Wh-What even is that? A freaking tentacle? A tongue?…

The dark pink muscle wiggles in front of their face for a moment before licking another stride, wiping some of their tears and blood in the process, making (Y/N) shiver in discomfort.

They shoot a confused glance to David, desperately wanting to know if he’s witnessing this too. The man had an expression of pure ‘what the fuck’; eyes narrowed, brows furrowed and mouth slightly gaping.

This eye contact was brief though. (Y/N) got startled for a loud growl that reverbed from the beast's chest and helmet. The hand finally leaves their throat as the beast stands up to his full height and starts making his way to David, leaving them alone, as well as his knife?

(Y/N) throws their teammate a scared look, but David responds with a forced smirk.

—"Ah, now you decide to drag your big ass towards me."— he mutters through gritted teeth.

The monster seem to not react to his taunts. With each step that he takes towards David, his mask of confidence seems to crack.

Nevertheless, the man didn’t back out from his insults, he never does.

—“What’s wrong? Why so pissy, huh?! Jealous that (Y/N) prefers us?!”—

Saying their name was a sore spot to hit, and the way Pyramid Head reacted confirmed that.

The monster roughly grabs David by the neck, completely ignoring the fact that he’s not even holding his weapon. Instead he uses his bare hands to silence him.

Nasty, wet and crunchy sounds resonated through the room and hallways as the creature began to tear the man’s body limb by limb, piece by peace, unbothered by the pained screams of his victim or the low groan of displeasure that resonated from above for again not playing by the rules.

(Y/N) froze in horror at the sight in front of them. Blood, chunks of flesh and bone pieces where flying everywhere, never before they’ve witnessed this type of gore, not even during the ‘mori’.

Though it felt like the massacre lasted hours, it was actually second. The monster threw the whatever remaining he had in his hands and slowly turned back to (Y/N), who was still frozen and unable to look away from what was left from David. They know they will meet again in the fire camp, in one piece and alive, but god they felt sick...

Their shock breaks only when the thundering footsteps began to resonate again, shaking the ground underneath them with each the creature took. He grew closer, and closer, with them being able to do absolutely nothing aside from attempting to crawl away.

But that pity attempt was stopped when the same sharp wires and rusty metal pieces emerged from the ground and wrapped around their body, pulling them slowly underneath and sinking them further into the ground. And before they realize it, their body is already trapped in that rotten metallic cage.

Cold metal spikes just inches away from their flesh, so close to penetrate their skin, a wrong move and they would undoubtedly get hurt. But even if they wanted to move, they couldn't really. The space in the structure was small, claustrophobic even, each spike perfectly adjusted to keep their form in place. In some twisted way, it felt like a hug, a very cold, unwelcoming and unnerving hug.

They flinch when they hear a scream resonate from somewhere, which was cut by a loud slam.

Feng was caught.

It seems like the Executioner didn't bother to down her, rather getting rid of her directly, most likely because he's aware that Jonah is not keen of going for rescues...

And speaking of the man, there is his aura flashing before (Y/N)'s eyes as his body fell on the floor.

He's down... Which means that-

Before they even finish their conclusion, the tall figure of the monster appeared. Just by looking at them his behavior seemed to change; movements more erratic and pace uneven, almost like he's hypnotized.

He makes his way to them, slowly, as if purposely building up the tension.

(Y/N) wanted to look away or close their eyes, but whenever they did so the cage felt painfully small. It hurt, literally, so they stare at that beast grow closer with wide shaky eyes that struggled to keep their focus on him. This is something Pyramid Head was always good at, he could always make you fear, even the toughest bravest ones would inevitably succumb to the terror his presence brings.

Ones in front of them, the creature stops in place and simply stares, like he always did.

(Y/N), though still scared, was a tiny bit relieved that this is what the rest of the trial would be; them being pinned like a butterfly with the monster observing.

It would be just that.

Just this bizarre staring contest.

...Right?

WRONG.

The creature suddenly let go of his weapon and grabs the edges of the cage with both hands quite violently.

Now the little hope and comfort (Y/N) had was thrown out the window, as now they realize they no longer have any idea of what will happen next.

And by what it looks like, the entity is not planning to intervene, as if curious itself to see what will happen next.

Pyramid Head remains like this, his big hands tightly squeezing the imperfect metal bars, bending them slightly and making the already miserable looking material groan from the pressure he was applying.

It looked like he wanted to destroy that cage, rip it apart and get to them, but didn't do it by holding himself back... Why? What's even the point of this build up? What's even the point in wanting them?!

—"{Wh-...Why?...}"— you choke out in a very quiet voice. —"{Why a-are you d-... doing this?...}"—

(Y/N) knows is stupid to ask, Pyramid Head can't even speak! But they can't help themselves, they're too scared, their anxiety is unbearable and their thoughts are too out of control. They need answers, anything that could even hint for a possible explanation of the killer's intentions.

They began to second guess their decision to speak when the creature froze in place, even his breath was now inaudible. This was the first time (Y/N) spoke directly to the monster, but they didn't expect him to react at this fact, not like this, or at all.

But he did, he did acknowledged that little detail, and he will make sure they acknowledge it too.

The creature soon moves again, by slowly leaning closer and slightly tilting his head to the side, almost like trying to get a better look at them.

His breathing got heavier, low huffs and growls resonating from that metallic helmet of his. It really looked like he was actively holding back some major urge or desire, but what it is?

(Y/N) wanted to ask again, but decided against it as there is little Pyramid Head could do to answer, and even if he could, why should he? Maybe it's more amusing to him to see them helplessly wondering in the dark and unable to comprehend what's going on.

Or maybe, there is simply nothing to explain?... Maybe he does what he does just because? Human mind is way too used to seek for reasons and explanations for anything and everything, often forgetting that sometimes the answer is way too simple or straight up null, could that be the case?

The same groan coming from the cage bars pulled (Y/N) out of their thoughts. They forget how to breathe at the sight of the structure slowly collapsing as the monster starts to rip the bars with his raw strength.

A scared yelp escaped them as they try to back further into the cage as much as they can, ignoring the sharp edges that scratched or pierced their body. They barely felt pain, none at all actually, the adrenaline and basic survival instincts keeping their body resilient and ready to run. The sad part is, is that there is nowhere to run, nothing to do. It's sweet that their body tries so desperately to keep their hopes up and reassure their survival, but their mind is more than aware of the cold desolated reality...

The front part of the cage was eventually ripped off and thrown against the floor violently. (Y/N) can only cover their eyes with their hands and quietly sob as they wait for whatever the monster had planned to do next.

Even when no further actions are made, they refuse to look. They no longer want to face this thing, they no longer want to suffer this torment. Regardless if they believed in any religion or no, they mutter silent prayers under their breath, but not no save them, but to make it end and to know how sorry they are for any evil or harm they've did in their life that leaded to such tragic conclusion.

But this is where the catch is... They've committed none. At least from the Executioner's perspective.

Despite their whispers being so silent to a non-existent point, Pyramid Head heard them loud and clear. And the more he heard their voice, the more he felt the inside of his chest burn and the desire for them grow even more. (Y/N) is not perfect, they're human after all, and all humans have their fair share of flaws and defects... But unlike the rest, (Y/N) has the ability to acknowledge said imperfections and genuinely try to make up for them, to fix them... Regardless if they get something in return or not.

This, this is the true purity in a human being. An innocence and kindness so genuine that it would be a sin not to worship and protect... And who is a best fit to take care of it other than the fearsome Pyramid Head?

(Y/N)... So pure... So innocent... So kind... He must keep them save.

He must keep them...

He wants them...

W̴͕̳͈͔̭̝͠ͅ a̶̩̰̲̎̓͊̈̓̕ ǹ̴̢͇̬̘̗̯̜̍̋͊͠͝͠ ṭ̶͇̃̔͝ s̶̭̩͔̹̝̼̅̍̆̉͌͝

As the monster is about to reach them, a spider like legs burst out through the floor and wrap themselves around (Y/N).

The trial... Is over.

And while the absolutely livid roar gets overshadowed by the groans of the entity as the black fog surrounds the whole place. (Y/N) only keeps quietly sobbing as they cling to the spider leg sticking out of their chest. And though they knew the entity is the main responsible of their current torment, they were too overwhelmed with emotions to properly process their actions.

Surprisingly, the spider-like being didn't disappear right away, probably feeling pity for their situation and allowing them to cry for a brief moment, most likely to compensate this unplanned mess they have to deal with.

To everyone's surprise in the camp, when (Y/N) finally arrived they where unconscious, either passed out after such emotional roller coaster or the entity wants them take some genuine rest. Whatever the case it, it didn't matter, what matters is that their fellow friend is back save and sound, right?

As one of the survivors decided to take them closer to the bonfire for warmth and comfort, they could swear they heard some weird noises from afar.

It resembled a demonic cry filler with rage, so distant yet menacing. Everyone instinctively shivered.

And though (Y/N) successfully 'survived' yet another trial with the executioner, almost everyone had the gut feeling that the next encounter they have with the beast, it will not end good...

They all take a glance at their still unconscious form.

Poor (Y/N)...

[cheezb6llz]

Maybe some werehog shadow x reader please?

WEREHOG SHADOW X READER HEADCANONS

ok now imagine him as a werehog lmao

—

He was lowkey embarrassed of the werehog form at first. Every night he felt that animalistic pull, he would hide from you, vanishing completely. He’d push it aside when you would bring it up. Only thing going through his head while he’s transformed is, “They can’t see me like this. I’m not.. me.”

he is completely convinced that you’ll be scared of him. He’s afraid you’ll look like him like everyone else did. Like a weapon, like a monster. The idea of you flinching at him or trembling beneath him?? he’d rather die.

Despite all his attempts, he does inevitably end up transforming in front of you. Maybe he was trying to protect you, maybe he was caught off guard and didn’t have time to run or teleport away before he dropped to his knees as his muscles stretched and bulked up, gloves ripping off as his claws dug in the ground. (yeowch!) def goes insane like oh my goodness NO WHY INFRONT OF THEM

When he finally stands up to full height, expecting you to run or yell, you just blink and tilt your head like “…this is why you’ve been avoiding me??”

Shadow is SO CONFUSED, “you’re not.. afraid?” His voice was deeper, growlier, HOT.. He tried to warn you, like “You don’t understand. I could hurt you.. I could lose control. I’m not the same in this form-“ (he really is, just grumpier and more like a puppy lololol)

“You’re still you! Just, with fangs and bigger arms and stuff..” welp! atleast he doesn’t have to hide anymore. NOW FOR THE DATING LIFE!

He isn’t too fond of PDA, or even going out in public in general. Unless he’s fighting off some wild monster, he’ll stay inside whether it’s in a cave or a house. If he does happen to be in public dealing with other people, HES WAY MORE TERRITORIAL! if someone so much as looks at you weird, he’ll growl and step in front of you.

IN PRIVATE THOUGH?? different story. super clingy, possessive, physically needy.. his instincts DEMAND closeness (especially on full moons..!) but seriously he hates how much he wants to nuzzle you, but when he catches someone else’s scent on you?? he just can’t control it! He’ll rub his cheek on your shoulder and neck with a frustrated huff.

HE SLEEPS CURLED AROUND YOU LIKE AN ACTUAL WOLF!! doesn’t even do it consciously, it’s totally instinct. Arms, legs, tail (if you headcanon the werehogs to have a long tail ofc lol), trust it’s all wrapped around you.

When he’s in his werehog form, his temper is EXPLOSIVE! but you can calm him down in an instant. When he’s tense and snarling all you need to do is touch his arm.. then he’ll calm down near immediately.

He’ll never hurt you with his claws, ever. even if he’s mid fight and lost control, he will always recognize you, your scent, your voice.. He’ll be on a rampage and freeze the second he hears your voice.

He howls sometimes, he can’t help it, he is totally embarrassed. You catch him doing it?? he considers starting to hide from you again lmao

You have to help him tame his claws and fur.. He hates the idea of it, but when your gentle hands run through his fur preparing to brush it? He can’t help but melt, a deep rumbling growl in his chest. (i like making non cat characters purr sorry lol)

“This is unnecessary.”

“You’re purring.”

“…No I am not.”

The cuddles are like.. 20 times more intense. Doesn’t even ask for cuddles, he’ll just yank you down.

His ears twitch when you say his name. He pretends to not care, but they perk up every time. He acts annoyed if you tease him about it.

“Cute.”

“…I’ll bite you.”

EAR SCRATCHES MAKE HIM MELT!! the second your fingers touch the base of his ear, his head lowers, eyes close, his tail starts thumping against the bed.. He’ll let out a tiny annoyed groan if you stop.

Chin scratches though?? They’re like an off switch for him, he gets sleepy fast, he’ll head will tilt up, eyes fluttering and he’ll probably start doing that thing where his leg kicks like a giant puppy. (also twitches in his sleep like a puppy)

Even if he pretends he doesn’t like it, he really likes when you’re buried in his chest fur. Especially when you’re sleeping on top of him, sleeping on top of him feels like sleeping on a CLOUD. you can’t believe he’s been hiding all this from you for so long.

He gets upset if you try to fall asleep without cuddling with him. He’ll pull you into his arms so quick and whisper to you,

“You forgot me.”

“…Sorry.”

“Hmph..” (as his grip tightens)

YES he’s embarrassed every time he returns back to normal. but that doesn’t change how he acts when he transforms back. the instincts take OVERRRR

—

THANKS FOR EVERYOJE WHO WISHED ME HAPPY BIRTHDAY

[vintagegeekculture]

The Hall of Amazing Men: Branscombe Richmond

A new admission to the Hall of Amazing Men, Branscombe Richmond is best known for being an actor where he played Lorenzo Lamas’s friend, the Lando Calrissian-like sharpie Dallas Sixkiller, or as Moki, the smartmouth Hawaiian friend of Magnum, P.I. But behind the camera, as a tough as nails stunt coordinator and stuntman, Branscombe Richmond created and developed nearly all the eccentric and eye catching events in the TV series American Gladiators: Atlasphere (the one where people roll around in giant balls), Powerball (done simply because they needed a sport that could be created cheaply because they ran out of money for development) and all the various ones where musclemen shoot tennis balls at people, and where you have to avoid muscular women by jumping on a bungee cord. I don’t think it would be inaccurate to say that with his development (on a really thin budget, no less) of memorable, eye catching sports and events that, with his stunt training he knew could be done safely enough so that even kinda-sporty housewives from Illinois could do them without injury, Branscombe Richmond created American Gladiators. He turned an idea into a realized, practical show that can be done – I don’t think it is inaccurate at all to call him the uncredited creator of American Gladiators.

In his career as a stuntman, Branscombe Richmond, meanwhile, is another one of those faces that shows up over and over playing evil henchmen, members of motorcycle gangs in rough biker bars the hero brawls with karate (if there’s ever a rough scummy biker bar out there, you can bet Branscomb Richmond is in it), and hordes of nunchaku wielding ninja, to the point where if you are, like me, an 80s-90s action aficionado, his face makes you go “oh, hey…it’s that guy!” Can you really call yourself an action fan if you don’t start identifying “your” evil henchman? His IMDB page is mostly roles that are named “Gunman In Jeep,” "Biker #2," and "Terrifying Clown."  

If there is a Evil Henchman Hall of Fame, Brandscomb is there alongside the great Al Leung. You can spot his face as a henchman in Never Too Young to Die (with John Stamos), Action Jackson, Batman Returns, the Hidden, Iron Eagle III: Aces High (objectively the best one as it had Ms. Olympia Rachel McLish), and Star Trek III, where he was a Klingon henchman to Christopher Lloyd who almost got disintegrated and had to feed his disgusting slimy monster dog-salamander. It's comforting to know the profession of henching is alive and well 300 years in the future.

On television, Brandscomb Richmond was on every single cool show from the 80s: Tales of the Gold Monkey, TJ Hooker, Manimal, Airwolf, Knight Rider, Baywatch, and many times attempted to kill the A-Team, especially from motorcycles. Like Chiba, another stuntman-actor, Branscombe Richmond specialized in motorcycle stunts, and he was admitted to the Motorcycle Hall of Fame in 2003. He is, to this day, the guest of honor at whatever motorcycle rally your embarrassing hick uncle attends. I have no evidence for this, but I have long suspected that the reason Richmond was hired to be Dallas Sixkiller in Renegade with Lorenzo Lamas was so they could get his unpaid advice on motorcycle stunts (much like how I have always suspected Warner Brothers hired Ben Affleck as Batman as a "backdoor" way to ask him to direct).

He also played the older brother of the Rock in the Scorpion King, which is an interesting choice because despite getting roles as American Indians (and being beloved in the American Indian community, who, as a whole, deeply love characters who are smartmouth, wiseass sharpies/scammers who get one over on everyone), Brandscome Richmond is in fact, like the Rock, of Hawaiian origin. His first major role in television, that of Moki in Magnum PI, was in fact Hawaiian.

Why are there so many Pacific Islanders in stuntman careers, MMA, and professional wrestling? The answer is surprisingly pedestrian. It’s because Pacific Islanders are a sizable ethnic population in Los Angeles, where movies and television are made, so if you need someone in L.A. that are tough as nails and can take a hit, a Samoan or Hawaiian is a good choice.

Happily, Branscombe Richmond is alive and well, mostly retired as a traditionally large Hawaiian family patriarch. He does occasional voice work, as Gibraltar in Apex Legends, a character physically based on him as well. I imagine he is relieved to be working in showbiz and no longer risking brain damage to do it.

[mr-walkingrainbow]

DESCENDANTS: The Rise of Red! (or the REAL hidden story in the movie + what’s gonna happen in the sequel THEORY!)

So we ALL watched the movie right? We ALL thought the plot sucked and the movie ended abruptly with a underwhelming climax?

WELL HERES WHY WERE WRONG!

So I did some really deep thinking, and I figured, these writers can’t be THAT stupid? The director can’t be THAT idiotic, lame, and boring? That would just embarrass Disney, not to mention all the well respected actors that are in this!

So I thought hard. I thought hard and I thought long. Like hella long. And I tallied up all the plot inconsistencies, all the weird explanations, all the very specific lines in songs, and I did it. I fixed descendants rise of red! I FIGURED IT OUT!

So!! Here it is! What TRULY happened that crowncoming night! And what going back in time actually did!

(I intentionally put a keep reading so if anyone wanted to avoid spoilers they can)

So! Now that we’re under the keep reading. Anything spoilerly can be said!

So first things first. The biggest theory everyone is saying.

ELLA DID IN FACT POISON BRIDGET!

Yes! I said it! We all thought the movie was leading to this! So it was underwhelming when it was revealed it was Uliana and her crew were the origins behind the prank.

OR WERE THEY?

We all saw that once they opened the book; they were frozen. Because they were ‘bad’ and Merlin’s security system was set into place.

And many of you came up with the giant plot hole that this would have happened REGARDLESS of whether Red and Chloe interfered.

AND YOUR RIGHT!

This sole reason, is why the group COULDNT have done it! Not only were they frozen, but they couldn’t read the recipe, and were properly sent to detention, ergo exonerating them from being at the dance! Meaning their was literally no way they could have been behind the prank!

So with them being withheld from the dance, who could it be? Who was the one person who was originally at the dance, but now no longer could be? What was the one actual change that Red and Chloe set off?

ELLA. AND THE VASE!

We all see that when the two go into Ella’s house, Chloe knocks over a Vase. Breaking it. Lady Tremaine GROUNDS Ella! Meaning that she COULD NOT go to the dance!

This DIDNT happen originally! Meaning Ella DID go to the dance in the original timeline! Which is proven when Cinderella (I’m calling Adult Ella, Cinderella) talks to The Red Queen (I’m calling Adult Bridget The Red Queen) about how the prank being pulled was wrong. She had first handed knowledge of the prank. AND she told Chloe she fell in love with Charming at the dance.

But! Since Ella is the only difference in the two timelines in regarding to the dance, this is PROOF that she was the one who actually pranked Bridget, NOT Uliana and her crew!

So here’s what I think happened!

Ella, who saw Bridget being bullied about the cupcakes, and saw Uliana take all the cupcakes. And promptly being threatened by Uliana. Decided to bake Bridget something to cheer her up. However Bridget literally has all of the cookbooks in auradon. As shown. So she snoops around and finds Merlin’s cookbook! (Because it’s also shown she’s okay with breaking the rules if it’s for a good cause. From her get our hands dirty song!) and double and, the book WOULD open for her because she is a good person. AND she was doing it for a good reason!

she flips through the book and finds some simple blase recipe that cheers Bridget up. Maybe gives her cool hair (Red hair??). Something simple but sweet.

However. While doing this, she happens to see the Monster food recipe. She doesn’t look at it for long of course. Just enough to remember it’s a thing.

BACK TO BRIDGET!

Now! I swear to whatever’s out there that the person who played Chloe said there was a queer character in Dedcendants 4. I can’t find it now but it was some tumblr or insta post. I know cause I immediately told my friend afterwards.

Anywho. I think Bridget is the queer character! We see in the movie her only friend was Ella. Not only that but she YEARNS for someone to care about enough to ask her out (in a romantic way like charming just tried to do for Ella) Ella, who again. Is Bridget’s only friend. And ergo, shows her love no one else does, IMMEDIATELY asks her to go to the dance with her! (Might have said as friends in the other timeline too. Who knows)

But! This only makes Bridget’s crush on Ella even BIGGER. And she falls in love with her! She probably thinks they might have a chance!

This is also somewhat proven by The Red Queens song ‘Love Ain’t It’

Title ; Love Ain’t It

Red : “With all the Grief you’ve experienced”

Red (Speaking of Cinderella) : So you Knew her?

The Red Queen : I saw through her. Cinderella and I were classmates in a way.

(Notice how she uses Ella’s mocking name after she has time to recover from the interaction. She said ELLA originally when she caught her off guard. Also. The line. I SAW THROUGH HER. It’s a double edged sword. Saw through her fronts. Saw the hurting girl inside. Saw through her LIES saw the mean girl behind)

Proven by the next lines

The red Queen : I spent way to much time in this place

So I had to escape

the people might smile

but their two faced, too fake.

Girl was relentlessly bullied and betrayed by someone she loved

And Ella Knows it.

Cinderella : Some people act mean at first, because their too afraid to feel

[the reverse is also true]

Cinderella : Look hon. Back in high school, a mean prank was played

And ever since that fateful day

She was never the same, it’s quite a shame.

So the Red Queen sings a whole song about how Love isn’t it. And we ALL KNOW that her only connection to love as a kid was through ELLA. meaning Bridget HAD A CRUSH on Ella. Was IN LOVE. With Ella.

So. How did Crowncoming originally happen you ask?

Here’s my theory

Ella and Bridget go to the dance. They are happy! They have fun. Bridget falls further in love with Ella. Meanwhile. Ella falls in love with Charming!

Her and Charming hit it off. And Ella starts to feel loved and appreciated for the first time in her life.

Then, Bridget performs her ‘Shuffle of Love’ dance. All the attention is on her! Even Charmings.

Ella feels robbed. She feels jealous. She feels angry that her friend is stealing the one good moment she is finally having to herself.

And so she briefly remembers the spell. And in a moment of error, she either A. Remembers the recipe already and makes the recipe. Or B. Re-Sneaks back into the office to see it. However I’m going with A because the book wouldn’t have opened again for Ella because of her bad intentions.

Whichever way. Bridget eats the baked treat. (I think it was a cupcake. Ella could have lied and said it was from the earlier batch)

And then. IT HAPPENS! Bridget is turned into an ugly terrifying monster. Everyone LAUGHS at her. Everyone makes fun of her

And Bridget, who is confused, understands only ONE person could have done this to her. She looks at someone she was in love with. And just sees Ella and Charming laughing. Laughing at her. Bonding over laughing at HER.

Bridget runs off. In tears. Broken inside. With an equally broken heart.

Maybe if Ella had immediately realized her error and run after her she would have turned out differently. But no. It is proven that Ella stayed at the dance and stayed with Charming. They wouldn’t have had the chance to fall in love if she left.

So Bridget. Spends the rest of the night terrified. Looking like a monster. And being laughed and screamed and made fun of everywhere she goes. And not only that. But her ONLY FRIEND. Her CRUSH. Someone she TRUSTED did this to her

Now THIS! THIS is something can break a person. This is something that can change their views on the world. On humanity itself. She was a kind girl. Was kind to everyone no matter how meanly they treated her. But through it all, Ella was her rock. Her friend. Her secret love. Someone who was good and kind through it all.

But she betrayed her. Tbe one nice person betrayed her. Showing that being nice doesn’t do it. Being nice does not mean good things happen. Being nice doesn’t is worthless if this is what it gets you. Everyone is two faced. And the only thing that’s real. The only thing she CAN feel. Is hurt. And pain. And fear. And so that’s what she swears to become. That’s what she swears to do. Be mean and cruel and heartless so she never has to feel all this pain ever again. So her eventual DAUGHTER never has to feel this again. It’s better to be alone and feared. Then alone and broken.

Ella probably realized the error of her ways the next day. But as she said. It was too late. Bridget was never the same.

This Explains why they had so many odd interactions. The raw feral burning chemistry between them. All the odd phrase. Why The Red Queen would be okay sending her BEST FRIEND to death. Why she would be okay killing her. And taking over auradon. To Her? Cinderella is the one who made her this way.

but also part of her still remembers. Still cares. It’s why she gave her once chance to kneel to her. (And as we’ve noted in the books and movies. She doesn’t give ANYONE else a second chance. She punishes I’m immediately and harshly)

And so! With all of this happening. Theirs gonna be some catylist in recent times. The Red Queen might be nice now. But something will have changed. Ella never went to the dance. (She clearly fell in love with charming somewhere else cause otherwise Chloe would have disappeared) but something happened when she wasn’t at the dance. Something that caused another problem. And THATS gonna be the sequel to this movie. Descendants : Rise of Red part two.

(as we’ve seen the official script for the movie is literally called Descendants : Rise of Red part one. MEANING they wrote it with the purpose of being part one to either a sequel or a threequal)

And THAT! Ladies and Gentleman, is what I think the REAL plot behind Descendants : Rise of Red is! A movie that is not idiotically not thought out at all, but really something so secretly genuis is blows your mind!

Hope you enjoyed!

[musings-of-a-rose]

Could I request Benny x female reader where they engage in mutual masturbation and they make out throughout?

Touch

Pairing: Benny Miller x best friend f!reader

Word Count: 1900+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Notes: Listen. This was a hot ask. I'll admit, I had to think on this one a bit (and that was mostly staring at the wall). A huge thanks to @mermaidxatxheart as usual for listening to my Ted Talks and insecurities.

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**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Benny Miller Masterlist

“The date went bad I take it?” Benny’s eyebrows are raised as he motions for me to come inside his apartment. He closes the door behind me as I huff.

“He kept taking out his phone and texting. His mom. He was giving her a play by play of our date.”

Benny chuckled. “What? During your date?”

I kick off my heels and set them on his shoe mat. “I’m all for strong family bonds, but maybe wait until after the date? I could barely talk to him. It was literally every 2 minutes.”

Benny chuckled again. “Well I’m sorry it sucked. You’re welcome to come finish this terrible movie I’m watching.”

I follow Benny to his couch, plopping down next to him. We’d been best friends for years. He was always someone I could count on to be there for me, good or bad. He never judged or questioned me, but somehow always seemed to have an answer to my problems. He hands me a drink and offers me some popcorn from the giant bowl in his lap. I grab a handful and watch whatever b horror movie is on the tv. 

“Ugh even the ugly ass monster in this bad movie is getting laid why can’t I?”

Benny coughs, choking a little on his popcorn. “What?”

Fuck, I said that out loud. 

“I uh…nothing.”

He takes a swig from his drink, clearing the last of the popcorn. “Afraid no one will touch you again?”

I groan, but I’m also desperate for advice. “No. Well…maybe. It’s not even sex. I just want someone to touch me again. Someone that’s not me or Henry Cavill.”

Benny laughs, his head flying back. “You know Henry Cavill?”

I can feel the heat on my cheeks, but I’ve already said it. “That’s…that’s the name of my vibrator.” His laughter is contagious and I can’t stop myself from smiling. He makes some quips about it and then something happens in the movie that captures our attention. 

“I can help you with that if you’d like.”

My head snaps in his direction. “What?” Did he just offer to…surely not.

He turns his head, his bright blue eyes boring into mine, a sparkle in them. “I can help you with your problem.”

Heat burns my cheeks and I’m grasping at words. Surely he doesn’t mean…he can’t…without thinking, I glance down at his hands, the grip on his bottle, and how small it looks in them. I swallow hard.

“Ben, be serious.”

He leans forward, the muscles in his arms flexing slightly as he places his bottle on the coffee table before sitting back, casually laying an arm across the back of the couch as if he didn’t just suggest shoving his hand down my pants. 

“I’m serious, sweetheart. Look, you’ve had a really rough go of it. And I would make sure you were taken care of. You’re too pent up. Let some steam out.”

I shift slightly in my seat, which doesn’t go unnoticed by him. It’s not that I’ve never thought about it. Benny is extremely attractive. I just never would ever think he’d be ok with that with me. For me? I can’t even think. 

“Ben…I can’t lose your friendship. That would break me.”

He extends a long finger from the hand that’s across the back of the couch and pokes my head. “Do you think I’d ever let that happen?”

I swat at his hand out of reflex. “Is that something we could control though?”

He thinks for a moment. “It’s us. We’re best friends. We take care of each other. I think we’d be fine.”

“But what if it changes everything?”

He takes my hand in his large one, completely engulfing me. He looks into my eyes and does that thing where his eyebrows pull together and makes me melt. “I promise to not let it change the way I feel about you. Do you promise?”

Could I make that promise? The not-so-minor crush I’ve harbored for him for years is begging. Your feelings won’t change because you already like him. 

“How would…I mean, what would you…”

Benny shifts to face me better. “I’d touch you however you need me to. Maybe make out a little bit if you need to be distracted.”

I press my thighs together, hoping that he didn’t notice. But judging by the way he shifts and his eyes darken slightly, I think he very much noticed. Pressing my thighs together did nothing to quell the heat, my body begging me to just let me be touched. I feel safe with Benny and I know he’d never cross a line. My skin is hot thinking about it and I finally cave, promising myself that we’d still be friends. Just friends that gave each other a hand sometimes. 

Before I can talk myself out of it, I nod, moving to undo the button on my pants. Benny reaches out and stills my hand with his own and I look up at him.

“I need you to say it out loud, sweetheart.”

I swallow hard, trying my best to give him eye contact. Were his eyes always so blue? 

“Y-yes.”

“Yes, what? I need specifics.”

I let out a huff and this fucker chuckles. “Touch me, Benny. I..want you to touch me.”

Benny scoots closer to me on the couch, his leg pressed against mine. His large hand cups my cheek as he dips his head close to mine, his breath puffing out over my face, fanning the anticipatory fire between my thighs. “Can I kiss you?” he whispers. 

“Yes.” 

I barely get it out before his lips are on mine, soft but guiding, his tongue gently probing at my lips. I open them and his tongue slides inside my mouth, gracefully dancing with my own as he moans slightly into me. Both of his hands are on my face now, cupping my cheeks as he continues to kiss me. Then one moves to the back of my head, slightly gripping my hair as he tips my head back, exposing my neck to him. I gasp as his teeth skirt along my skin, gently nipping and kissing along my pulse point. The hand that isn’t entangled in my hair starts to glide down my body, barely even fumbling as he unbuttons my pants. But he doesn’t touch me. Not yet. Over my jeans, he caresses my inner thighs as I spread my legs, tracing the line where my underwear sits, up and down, up and down, driving me mad. My heart is racing, pounding against my ears. I feel him pause just above my mound and I want to cry. 

“Can you slide your pants off for me?” He breathes into my ear. My hands fumble as I try to shove and kick my pants off, ignoring the smirk on Benny’s face as the pants land somewhere across the room. 

“Panties too. Promise I won’t look.” He covers his face, a large gap between his fingers where his eye is obviously looking out. 

“Don’t you need to see?”

He closes the gap in his fingers but keeps his eyes covered. “Nope. Your sounds will guide me to where I need to be.”

Fuck. Me.

I toss my underwear somewhere by my pants. “Ok I’m-”

I have no time to think because he’s back on me, kissing me hard, like he’s never needed anything so bad. My fingers tangle in his hair, the cool air from his apartment hitting my bare skin, but I don’t care. Benny’s large hand is on my inner thighs again, tracing circles, but also pushing them open. I keep them where he leaves them, my body practically shaking with anticipation.

One long finger slides down me and I jolt, my thighs trying to close, but he pushes them back open before resuming his touch. He slides all the way down to my entrance, gently tracing circles there and I gasp, my eyes still closed as I let myself get lost in his touch. Our foreheads are pressed together, his own breaths coming out a little more ragged as he drags his dampened finger back up me, pausing when my legs jump. He takes his time at this spot, small circles across my clit, fast and slow, fast and slow, my breaths coming out in small, fast pants. 

He slows his movements, gently pushing a finger inside me. I moan, louder as he pulls out and adds a second finger, curling them inside of me as he moves them in and out. One spot has me gasping his name and that’s where he stays, curling and rubbing inside of me as his thumb resumes circling my clit, slow and fast, gentle and harder, the pressure building quick and fast. I grip his wrist and he stills. 

“Can I touch you? I want you to come with me.”

He nods and I move my hand over and undo his button, sliding his zipper down gently. He’s already hard, straining against his boxers. I lower them enough for him to spring free and he grunts. I grip his wrist again and pull his hand out of me with a whimper, but then slide him back in and out, fucking myself with his hand a few times as he moans in my ear. Then I take his wet hand and rub it against my palm, dropping his hand back on me before gripping him with my slicked hand. He whimpers, swearing under his breath before he pushes his fingers inside me again, immediately resuming the slow curling and rubbing, his thumb pressing gently on my clit. I slowly work him up and down, squeezing harder and softer, matching my pace to his. He kisses me hard but then breaks it, our foreheads pressed together as we pant and moan. 

In some super move, he pushes me onto my back, his hand still firmly working me over, my legs spread wide as he settles between them, fucking his hips into my hand. His arm strains next to me as he holds himself up, curling his fingers a little deeper, swirling a little more and I can’t hold back anymore. I cum, his name tumbling from my lips in praise, my legs twitching as I pulse around his fingers. Another few presses of his hips and Benny grunts, small pants coming from him as he spills himself over my stomach, my shirt hiked up to my chest. We stay like that for several long moments, both of us trying to catch our breaths. His eyes open and meet mine, holding my gaze for a moment before he blinks, pulling his hand from me as he sits up. He tucks himself back in as he looks around, shrugs, then reaches behind him and pulls his shirt up and over his head. He drops his shirt on my cunt, using the sleeve to clean off my stomach, to hold up his promise of not looking. He glances down and picks up my underwear and pants, handing them to me as he turns his head away. I make sure I’m cleaned off before getting dressed, sitting back down on the couch, the movie still playing on in the background. Minutes pass in silence between us, my stomach twisting in knots with every passing second. 

Benny clears his throat. “So…are we never talking about this again or can I finally take you on a date?”

My eyes snap up to him, his already on me. There’s no pressure here, he’d be ok if I said we’re never talking about it again. But that’s not what I want. 

“Just so long as we can have dessert at home.”

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[junedenim]

knackered converse

a tea & a donut

warnings: fluff monster, smut, piv, fingering, blowjob, the works

word count: 10.1k

His Converses stick against the beer-soaked wooden floors. His plastic cup of his own beer has run to the bottom leading him back to the kitchen-turned bar to fill it up to the brim. The place has already been fairly trashed and he's just thankful he doesn't have to clean it up, even if that means he has to avoid the packet of smashed Jaffa Cakes all over the tiled floors and the bottom of his shoes will be left with a beer residue for the next month.

A guy he doesn't know fills up his cup. This place is filled with people Alex doesn't know, which is mainly the reason he came. It's the whole "making friends" part of university. He has a few mates here helping him not feel completely gangly and awkwardly alone but still he's gangly and awkward and currently alone, even if he's being smushed up against the refrigerator.

He shimmies his way out without spilling any liquor and manages to make it over to the open window for some fresh air. The place feels like a furnace and he's been charged with keeping it burning. He knocks his fingers against the plastic of his cup, listening to the rhythmic beats, memorizing them, and the strange way it makes things feel a little quieter.

The creeping autumn breeze brushes on his back in a gift of relief that prevents a giant sweat patch on the back of his shirt. His shoulders curve forward as he gives into his bad posture in favour of some comfort. He knows that in order to meet people he actually has to talk to them and seem approachable. Right now he probably gives off the appearance of a hunchback with his night off from the bell tower.

He gazes outward to the crowd of people as he tries to find someone to latch onto. There has to be another weirdo here. A person who doesn't knock his insides and intimidate him with their steroidal muscles or caked-on make-up. Honestly, he's just insecure and he knows it. He's still trying to figure out how to live within his skin and meanwhile, it feels like everyone else has.

Alex looks down at his shoes. The front of the left one is about to split open and his mum told him to get new ones before school started but he didn't. He should listen to her more often.

"Did you go to the kitchen?"

"Huh?" His eyes snap up to see where the contributing voice came from. He thinks there's a mere possibility he made it up when his eyes find you standing before him. You have your own plastic cup in hand and a smile that he would definitely deem "approachable." The kind that people gravitate toward.

You giggle at him, probably finding him goofy with his bug eyes and the way his ears stick out with his new haircut. "I stepped on the Jaffa Cakes in the kitchen. Messed up my shoes."

You stick out one of the orange-chocolate-covered messes. You're wearing Converses too, the same kind as his, and he thinks that makes me a bit cooler just by association. They're just as knackered as his pair. Graffiti-covered by friendly scrawl and shoelaces that are missing their aglets.

The bottom cuffs of your jeans have denim threads ripping out of them. You wear a black leather belt that seems to be the only thing that oozes luxury off of you. Your shirt advertises Great Heights Space Camp with a tiny astronaut sitting on top of your left breast.

"Oh." He chuckles with you and lifts his shoe with the slow sound of stickiness. "I've only got beer on mine."

"Yours?" You take a step closer to him, refreshing yourself with a sip of beer.

Alex scoots over as an invitation for you to sit beside him. He watches as you lower yourself. With your face now right beside him, he grows nervous of you seeing him up close and personal. He can't stop thinking of the pimple on his flaming cheeks. "No, I haven't been that clumsy yet."

"I once fell down the stairs when I was drunk. I think I've still got a bruise from it." You spread your knees and sit the same way his dad does when he watches football. You turn your foot out and knock the rubber lining of your shoe with his. It's clearly intentional, enough to make his cheeks flush from the recognition.

"I rarely have control over my body," he tells you. It makes you laugh and his stomach contorts itself at the thought that you found him funny. "And that's not even when I'm drunk." You laugh harder and it's one of those contagious laughters that grabs everyone in the room and makes them want to laugh too.

"I like your shirt." He points to the little spaceman before sipping his drink to hide the embarrassment of having just pointed at your boob.

You gaze down on it and shake your head in shame. "Thanks. I've had it for years. When I was younger I thought I might be an astronaut or a pilot."

"Why aren't you?"

"I'm terrified of heights."

He shares a laugh with you. He feels infected. You've contaminated him from here on out. "I've always liked space. Looking out at the stars with me dad. So close yet so far." It's the way he feels with you now. How easy it could be for him to reach out and touch you but what a terrifying idea.

"We're looking at them and they could already be gone, bursting into a supernova." He doesn't want you to go. Please don't go.

*

Outside the Eastman building, there's a coffee shop where Alex sits and reads—attempts to read. He often gets off-course. Sometimes with more productive things like writing, sometimes with less productive things like doodling. It helps kill time between classes. They also have good donuts but that's neither here nor there.

The most important thing is that on Thursday after the party, you walk over to him. He's doodling by that point with the closed copy of A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man sitting across from him. His head is down so intently paying attention to his pen drawing across the page that he doesn't see or hear you approaching.

"Are you taking that Joyce class?" Once again your voice snaps his head up. You're dressed the same except for the light hoodie you wear unzipped and the backpack hanging off one of your shoulders. Your fingers quickly flick through the book's pages.

He closes his notebook full of nonsense and devotes himself to you. "Yeah, yeah, but I'm kind of regretting it now."

"I almost took it but I went with the Virginia Woolf class instead." You drink out of your cup and warm both your hands on the cardboard. He imagines a world where you two share a class. You'd sit by one another and Joyce wouldn't seem so boring anymore. You could liven up any discussion and you'd make fun of the way the professor spat every time he tried to say Künstlerroman.

"How's that going?" He asks.

You shrug. "Considering I finished Mrs. Dalloway last night and you're here ignoring Joyce, I think I made the right choice."

"Do you want to help me ignore him some more?" He reaches across and clears Joyce away from the table, dropping it into the deep end of his bag.

You accept the seat, placing your cup where the book once sat. "What else are you doing?"

"Just killing time before the Joyce class," he explains. "I forgot about the fact that I would actually have to do work at uni."

"Yeah, they never tell you that," you joke, leaning your head on your hand.

He laughs embarrassingly. "I don't mind it for the most part but I'm terrible at time management."

"I'm the opposite. I hate being late, especially to class. I feel like everybody watches you when you walk and you're the loudest person ever. It makes my skin crawl."

"You would hate me then."

"I doubt it," you reassure with a smile.

You do these things to him. Things that make him feel all funny inside and question what he was thinking and what he was doing before you sat down in front of him. He felt that way at the party too. And after, when you had left with your group of friends and he questioned why he didn't ask for your number. But then you cropped up here. You fell into his lap. He can't help but think that means something.

"I've got a planner and everything but, I don't know, my internal clock is off or something."

"Hm. Mine is perfectly aligned. Biological and the moon and all that."

"You mean like your period?" He read about that once. How women's menstrual cycles are connected with the moon or tides or something.

You laugh into the palm of your hand. "Yeah. I guess so." Your face is red. It's nice to know that he isn't the only one on edge. "I didn't mean to get on that subject."

"That's fine. I'm not afraid of blood or anything."

You double over, completely shielding yourself from his view. "Don't worry. I won't free bleed on you." You lean back with pink cheeks. "Is this the modern equivalent of Joyce writing about shitting for 20 pages in Ulysses?"

Alex shrugs. "I don't know. I never read it."

"Neither did I."

He smiles without a care for how wide it looks. "What else are you reading?"

"I'm taking this Shakespeare class. My group has been assigned to put on a production of Hamlet. Since I'm the only girl I'm both Ophelia and Hamlet's mother."

"Sounds like Hamlet has a complex."

"Yeah, we're going to lean into that whole Oedipus thing. I'm just hoping that I don't butcher the whole thing. I'm not very good at memorising things. Do you like Shakespeare?"

"I love the guy," he fibs. Alex hasn't ever bothered with Shakespeare. Not even in school. "I'm sure you'll be great in it. You'll at least be there on time." He's about to be late for James Joyce. It would be worth it too. But this teacher has already scolded him twice and Alex can't give him any more reasons to hate him. "I have to go to class but if you'd like to give me your number."

"Yeah." You're smiling, which is a good sign. You grab a pen out of your bag and snatch a napkin. "I have to go to this student production of Romeo & Juliet if you'd like to go."

"With you?"

"Yeah. If that's alright. It's Saturday at 7. We can meet outside Neumann."

"That'd be perfect." Alex stands up nervously, swinging his bag over his shoulders.

You stuff the phone-number-covered napkin into his hand. "Good luck with Joyce, Alex."

*

Shakespeare is funny, at least this production is. It lies somewhere between an attempt to retell Romeo & Juliet as a comedy and tragically awful and that's without the whole death part. He tried to keep his laughter under wraps because you seemed engrossed in it but then you let out a snort in the middle of the nightingale and lark scene. Or he should just say sex scene with the way the two actors maul each other.

Alex and you give the production a standing ovation because A for effort. You start whooping cheers just to make him laugh, which he joins in on. Every other attendant gave questionable looks but the cast members looked pleased as they gave their final bows.

"Do you think we encouraged those poor kids too much?" You ask as you leave the theatre. You swing your purse around your finger. You've dressed far too nicely for a production so poor. Your dress falls just above your knees with flowy fabric adorned on it that only the last few days of warm weather will allow. "They're going to go home and think they're the next Laurence Oliviers."

Alex walks with his hands in his pockets. He wore a dark pair of khakis because they are the only trousers he owns that don't have holes in them. "They won't make it far. We gave them one night of glory."

You flash him a smile. It charms him, shooting arrows through him, endearing him to Cupid's uncontrollable spell. "Thank you for coming with me," you tell him. "Sorry that it was so bad."

He shakes his head. "No, no. I had fun." 

"Good then you can come with me when they do Macbeth," you joke. "No, I wouldn't do that to you. I'll let you pick what we do next time."

"That's a lot of pressure."

"It can't be much worse than what we just watched. What do you like to do for fun?" 

You're staring at him with eager eyes like he's expected to say something like skydiving but for the life of him, he feels like the most boring person alive. "I don't know," he says with a weak chuckle.

You take your eyes away with a nod. "Okay. I'll let you think on that. This is me." You point to the building behind you, inching away, out of his reach. "Thanks again for coming. Text me if you think of anything. See you 'round, Alex."

"Bye." He feels dull and foolish. You looked like you were trying to escape his grunts and indecision. He supposes that it's his fault for feeling so nervous for no reason. He needs to be put at ease. He sighs and walks back home.

*

On Monday he spots you reading To the Lighthouse in the corner of the cafe. You look up and wave with no hesitation. He walks over with his donut and copy of Dubliners. "I've got something for you," he says. "If you'd like."

You stare up at him with a smile. It’s like lightning with the way it leaves him feeling singed and searing and hollowed out. "Is it a gift?"

"Maybe. It's an invitation." He reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and pulls out two pieces of paper. "I don't know if you like them but Nick Cave is coming in on Wednesday and I was looking for someone to go with and, well, this is what I do for fun."

"I love Nick Cave."

*

You're in the swell of the crowd, pressed up against one another and about 2,000 other people. The music is good but all he can concentrate on is the vicinity of your body to his body. Half his chest touches half your back, which means half his crotch touches half your ass. He shouldn't be expected to pay attention to whatever the fuck Nick Cave is singing about when that's occurring.

"Can you see alright?" You turn around and ask.

"What? Yeah, yeah. Can you?" He can't see for shit but he could give less of a fuck right now.

"Uh, kind of. It sounds good. I guess that's all that matters."

You're moving, you're shimming, you're beating on his bones, knocking on his soul, inviting yourself in. Sure, there's a tall, smelly guy pushing up against his ass but that only pushes him closer to you and you're not inching away. There's no attempt to escape. You lean back into his chest and smile like this was all part of your plan.

He reaches for your hand when the show ends. It's under the excuse of not wanting to lose you in the crowd but you're two blocks away from the venue and still holding hands. "Did you have fun?" He asks. "I thought they were great."

The street is clear but you lean close to him and knock your shoulder into his with only pleasure on your face. "It was wonderful. Thanks for taking me."

"Thanks for coming with me." He looks over at you and feels like he's been knocked off his feet. He's not letting things slip through his fingers again. "Do you want to get a drink or something? Are you hungry?"

You pull from your soda by the straw without lifting the cup to drink, leaning forward with your burger still in your grip. Alex finds it, quite honestly, adorable. He is irrevocably fond of this girl. It's hard for him to believe that he got you here, sitting across from him in a tacky red booth at some shitty 24-hour diner.

"So, Alex, how often do you go to concerts?" You ask before taking a bite out of your burger.

"Depends," he replies. "I've got friends who've knocked about in bands and I go to their shitty little gigs sometimes. Doesn't cost much and makes for some fun nights."

You've already vowed to pay for the meal since he paid for the tickets, though he might insist on paying for his half of the receipt because it's the gentleman thing to do and his mother told him to always be a gentleman. 

"Do you work?" You ask.

"I had a job back home, but I haven't found anything here. I'd like to. What about you?"

"I work in the school's mailroom."

"Oh, so you're the one who's been stealing all my mail."

You laugh into a napkin, trying to prevent spitting your food out. "I've done no such thing. Half of the mail is junk anyway. I'm saving you from all the adverts."

"I like the little adverts. Seriously," he says when you pull a face. "I like the bad slogans they have and sometimes they come with a coupon."

You squint at him all playful, elbows on the table, not even close to prim and proper. You are messy, in the way you move, in the way you speak, in the way you eat, and he loves it. "I'll be sure to stuff your mailbox full of them next time."

He wonders if you've noticed how close you've gotten, how you're both leaning across the table. He can see directly into your eyes—into your soul. They are earnest, all intrigue, bright and reflecting light the way the moon does. He thinks he could stare forever and never get tired of the sight. Cars streak past, the city bustles, and he is oblivious to it all. It’s just this, just you. 

*

The next time he opens his mailbox it's flooded with adverts, most not even addressed to him. In the middle of the mess is a postcard of the Virginia Woolf quote "I feel so intensely the delights of shutting oneself up in a little world of one’s own, with pictures and music and everything beautiful." Written on the back of it in beautiful cursive penmanship is "Do you really go through all the adverts? Next donut on me if so."

*

He slides the postcard across the table to you on Monday morning. He crosses his arms with a smirk as you pick up the card. You roll your eyes and slide the card back over to him before standing to purchase him his signature glazed donut.

"I think you're single handedly keeping this place in business," you say as you drop the donut in front of him.

He unwraps it with a shit-eating grin. The glaze melts in his mouth. "They're good. Here. Have some." He breaks off a piece and hands it to you.

You try to refuse but he pushes it closer and closer to your mouth until the sugar flakes are brushing against your lip. You finally oblige, taking the piece into your mouth, the tip of his thumb rubs against your bottom lip. It feels like he's touched the forbidden fruit. 

Alex plays it as cool as possible and focuses back on the donut before him. You hum, "Okay, it's good."

"I have good taste. Is that hard to believe?"

"Maybe," you hold your thumb and index finger a hair apart from one another, "just a little."

"You're the one who took me to that shitty Shakespeare production."

"Hey, that was for a class and Shakespeare is classic no matter the form he is done in." It's cute how you get all wound up over this as if it's anything more than a joke. It's in the same vein as you drinking that scalding hot tea with no care for your tongue. All these perplexities about you that he finds deeply entrancing. If there is an end to this fascination, he hasn't found it yet.

"Do you know what classes you're taking next term?" You ask, licking your lips clean of the glaze. The pink shine of them smacks against one another. They are staring him dead in the eyes with no remorse. "'Cause there's this British literature class I was thinking about. I thought, maybe, it would be cool if you took it too."

You look nervous. He's never seen that before. You hug your arms around yourself, leaning on your elbows, and staring down at the black tabletop. "I'm not very good at reading," he says like a dope. Like he's five years old and you're teaching him the alphabet.

You anxiously giggle. "Then you can cheat off of me."

"Sounds like a good plan."

*

Friday nights Alex tends to end up drinking with his mates. It's sloppy and informal, stuck in someone's dorm with a pack of beers snuck past security. Sometimes someone rolls a joint. Other times they stink up the room with cigarette smoke. One day they'll probably get caught but it hasn't happened yet.

Matt's room tends to be the best. He's got the most chairs and this bean bag chair that the guys fight over who gets to sit in and, with the lifelong advantage of knowing Matt, Alex tends to win the claim over it.

He slouches down in it with a beer can wetting a circle into his jean-clad thigh. The guys are having some pissing contest that he can't follow but laughs along with anyway. Matt spins around in his chair and faces him. "Alex has got a bird," he says. "Don't ya?"

"What?" He chuckles with faux obliviousness. 

"Oh, come off it. We've all seen her. The way you ogle."

"I do not ogle. We're just friends for now." He toys with the beer can and doesn't dare make eye contact with Matt. 

"For now?" Matt questions with a raised eyebrow. "Alright, Al." They back off after that. Thankfully.

*

On a December morning, there are ringlets in your hair. Tight ones that he wants to pull at and watch bounce. You're zeroed in on a stack of papers, one hand fiddling with one of the corners, the other clutching your cup of tea.

"Hey there, Ophelia," Alex says while sitting down with his donut and a hot chocolate. (What can he say? He's feeling festive).

"Shush," you loudly sound off. Your eyes laser in on the paper as if you're trying to scan it with your eyes.

"Shall I get thy to a nunnery?"

You look up with a death glare. "If you're not going to be quiet, you have to leave."

He's amused, a smile crossing his face, which he's sure isn't pleasing you one bit. He reaches across and tugs at your pages. "Come on, let me help you. I'll play Hamlet."

You hum. "You'd be a good Hamlet." You give in and let him take the pages.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

You chuckle at his offense. "You know, you're all brooding and melancholic."

"Wow, thanks."

"You can't deny it if that's how you come off."

"Well, you're certainly no Ophelia."

"Thanks, I don't plan on drowning myself anytime soon."

"'Doubt that the stars are fire, doubt that the sun doth move, doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love,'" he recites.

Your face flashes with surprise. "You know Hamlet?"

He shrugs. "Some." Yeah, he totally looked up quotes the night before and memorized them in the hopes of impressing you.

"You're a total Hamlet."

He pushes his eyes away from your gaze and stares down at the script. "Okay, come on, you only have thirty minutes until you have to perform this."

You groan. "Why did I ever take this class? I don't want to act. I don't even give a shit about Shakespeare."

"Alright, Ophelia, quit your whining. 'Let the doors be shut upon him that he may play the fool nowhere but in ’s own house...'"

*

He doesn't see you again until the barren cold of January in the frigid Felton Hall for British Literature. You're there on time, of course, and you've saved him a seat. With a wide smile and a wave, you summon him over to you. 

"Good, I was thinking you wouldn't show." You pat the chair beside you and it's hard for him to wrap his mind around the excitement you show. So endlessly pleased to see him and he wonders why he's ever questioned your sweetness toward him. (He wonders why he won't just suck it up and make a move).

"Now, why would I do that?" He questions as he takes the seat beside you, taking the winter coat off his shoulders.

"'Cause you're a cruel man. But then I remembered you're always late. In fact, I'm shocked you showed up before class started."

He wonders if you know it's because of you. This isn't a regular thing to arrive early. It's for these spare minutes that he can sneak a conversation with you. "What can I say? I'm improving."

"New Year's resolution?"

"Something like that." He smiles.

The professor starts speaking some boring gibberish about the theme of the class and the supplies you'll need. Alex isn't focused on that. You'll give the rundown anyway with all of your note-taking. God. You're taking notes. What a nerd. He's gonna marry you.

Alex spares you one last glance, and he doesn’t even bother to hide the way he’s looking at you this time. The sweater you're wearing is really working for you, fuzzy blue angora that doesn’t quite reach your waist, riding up to expose the small of your back and dipping in a sharp V at your clavicle. He knows you know he’s looking, teeth around his pen, and the thing is… the thing is, you look back. With dark eyes, no care for the way it makes him feel in the middle of Charles Dickens and the Brontës.

Your eyes meet. His lip quirks up. Yours does too. You both look away. What the hell is he doing?

*

Alex takes you to one of his friend's concerts. It's at this shitty bar that you marvel at the whole time like it's the Taj Mahal. You come back from the bathrooms that smell like vomit and talk about the stickers plastered on the door for fifteen minutes. He loves it. Loves that you love all this little detail. How you won't shut up about the PJ Harvey poster hanging behind the bar and how much you'd kill to see PJ Harvey live in concert.

You sip your rum & Coke in tiny segments and you giggle after you burp with a quiet "'Xcuse me." And he's in love. He's deeply entrapped in the prison of you and there's no need to escape. It's quite a lovely thing. He thought it would scare him for the longest time. He always found love to be daunting and the idea of giving it away to someone felt like this massive overwhelming thing but now he feels it with no hesitation. There are no attempts to fight it off. It's the cozy thing. It's not a steaming fire. It's a fuzzy blanket on a snowy day. It's easy. That's the biggest relief of all.

"I always thought these kind of places would be louder!" You shout into his ear over the banging music.

"This isn't loud enough for you!" He yells back. 

You shrug. "I thought my ears would be bleeding."

"And you wanted that to happen?"

"It'd be a cool story." You're so close, your breath right up against his ear. He turns his head and stares at you. "What?" Like you're oblivious. As if he isn't obvious in his longing stares or in the way he casts his eyes down to your lips. Like he hasn't been waiting for this moment, for this chance since you approached him with Jaffa-Cake-smeared shoes. "What?"

He moves in. He finds you and he keeps you for himself. His chapped lips land on yours, those smooth glossy pink things that have been staring at him for months. He's careful with it. He doesn't want to come off as forceful. He wants to take this with grace. He wants to lock it in and show you he can take care of you.

You pull back, mildly stunned. He's worried he's misread this whole thing until you let out a little giggle. "I like that."

"Do you now?" He chuckles back.

You nod fervently before pulling him back to you. He wants to take you apart with his teeth. He feels in control now with no worries of rejection. It’s a rough thing, a raw thing. You fall into it, into him, your mouth tastes like cherries and rum and moves against his own with the same ease he feels. He holds your face in his hands and you tug at his lower lip and it’s fireworks in his chest, its sparks flying and embers glowing. It runs like an electric current down the rungs of his spine, felt from the soles of his feet all the way to his scalp. Warm.

*

You don't wait around because he's been waiting for this for months and he gets the feeling you have been too. So, when it's time to go home, you don't resist when he holds your hand and pulls you in the direction of his dorm. 

He feels like something within him has been awakened. There's no need to quiet the feeling down, he can just let it flourish. You slot your head on his shoulder while you wait for the elevator and it's crazy how this morning he woke up from a dream about this and now he's here with you beside him in the flesh.

Inside the elevator, you're the one to act first. It makes him take three steps back, his body forced against the metal walls, the leaning bar pressing into his back. He can't help but smile into it, his teeth skimming yours. 

When the elevator doors open, you pull away from him like you've been zapped. It makes him chuckle and then he's tugging you down the hall with a skip in his step that is so rushed it makes you laugh. "Eager much?"

"Yeah," he sighs, "I'm beat. Can't wait to go to bed." He leans against his door with an exaggerated yawn, covering his mouth with his hand.

You pull him off the door. "Very funny. I'll just head home then." He's got a hold of your hand before you're even able to take a step. He pulls you to him, knocking your hips against one another. He digs his keys out with one hand and keeps his touch on you with the other.

It's a crash from there. A race to his bed. A tsunami plummeting its way to shore. Your hands tug on the hem of his shirt and his unbutton your jeans. Your touch cascades over his torso and it's a balm to the skin. It feels like no one has ever touched him there before and no one ever will again. That this feeling will only ever exist at this moment with his body up against yours and his lips kissing under your ear, making you squirm.

You pull away to kick your jeans off the rest of the way and he takes the opportunity to do the same. Your blouse flies somewhere over to his desk and then it's just him in his underwear and you in your bra and underwear and he just wants to take this moment to look and not touch. He takes it in and looks so long that you start to shrink under his gaze, covering yourself up with your hands.

"No," he promises, "I just wanted to look."

"You're allowed to touch. If that's alright with you?"

He nods and takes a step forward, one that reconnects, and soon you're back in the swing of things, wrapped up in one another, twisting around one another in some desperate example of making love.

He unclips your bra and it falls to the floor and then you fall onto the bed with you on your back and him hovering above, his hand slipping down, thumbing the hem of your underwear until he slips under and allows himself to touch.

He kisses at your bare chest and you tug at his hair. You raise your hips when he mouths at your breasts, your face tucked away in his neck, his hands on your ribcage. You reach down to rub him over his underwear and, god, he’s hard. You stroke him over the cloth and he moans a little, which makes you grin. 

You rid yourselves of the rest of the cloth between you and from there, it’s a sweaty haze. He fills you all up, it makes him feel whole, and you're intoxicating with the way you look at him—all blown pupils and messed-up hair, alternating between rabid and rapt, pulling your hair back to kiss your neck.

It's just right and he hopes it's just right for you too. He tries his hardest. Flicks his hips just right in the way that has you fighting back, tugging on him, digging crescent shapes into his back. You pull him closer and you're moaning in his ear so he thinks he's doing it right.

You utter a tiny "Fuck" and he can't help but come then. He dumps his head onto your collarbone and you moan and tighten around him, arching up and letting go.

"You okay?" He asks, wrapping his arms under your back, holding you close. He kisses your temple, something divine.

"So okay."

You ask to spend the night like there’s even a possibility he’d turn you away. And whether because you don't want to sleep naked or in your underwear or maybe you just want to wear his clothes, you ask, “Do you by any chance have something I could sleep in?”

And so, after a quick rifle of his drawers, he produces a ratty David Bowie t-shirt that’s long enough to cover everything and a pair of boxers.

"I can’t believe we’ve known each other for this long and I’ve never seen your room before," you say. "I was expecting clothes everywhere and posters of half-naked girls. Is it always this freakishly organised?”

He clears his throat. “Helps me think.” He lays back on his bed as he watches you walk around his room, inspecting every corner.

“But you can't show up to class on time?” 

He shrugs. His hand lay on his bare stomach and he tries to think of something funny to say but you're too distracting. "What's your room like? Are you messy?"

You snort and point at yourself. “You think I'm messy?”

"I don't know. I thought maybe we'd be the opposite of one another."

"No such luck, mister. I'm too anal. Frustratingly so." You're plucking through his CDs. He wonders if you'll comb through each one, giving them each a rating.

"You're perfect. That's what you are," he says.

You turn around and shake your head. "Don't put that on me. I'd only let you down."

"Doubt it." He stands up and shakes the stiffness out of his limbs. "I'll be back." He heads to the bathroom, half because he needs to use it and half because he wonders what you'll do while he's gone. 

When he returns to the room, he finds you sitting on his bed like something that belongs there, like it’s the place you retire to every night. He leans against the doorjamb. “Hi.”

You look up from the book you're skimming. The side of your mouth quirks. “Hi,” you whisper back. “Come here.”

And it’s so easy to listen to. He doesn’t wanna be anywhere else, after all. He joins you on the mattress and you curl up to accommodate him, but he wraps an arm around your waist to pull you closer. 

You turn to him and start saying, "You write little—"

"Your nose is bleeding." 

A little red stream escapes out of the left nostril and your hands rush up clutching it. "Fuck. Sorry."

"It's okay," he reassures. He reaches across his bed and grabs a tissue. You clutch it to your nose, pinching the bridge with a giggle erupting from you. "What's so funny?"

“Nothing, just noting the conveniently placed Kleenex box and,” you check over your shoulder, “oh, look at that, a bottle of lotion. Wow, you really are just like every other boy.”

He snorts a laugh and says, “Shut the fuck up, you’re making your nose bleed more." He reaches out and holds your hand to your nose pressing the tissue to it.

“Do you keep glam mags under your bed?”

“No.”

“Computer porn then?”

“None of your business,” he says shortly. “I've already exposed enough of meself to you tonight.”

“Alright,” you say. “I just like thinking about you that way.”

“Stop." He falls on his back and stares up at the ceiling and tries to think of anything else imaginable. Dirt bikes. The Strokes. Shit. Trees turning into paper. "Don't say shit like that."

Your eyes are bright. “Why?” You toss your tissue away and lay down beside him.

"'Cause I'll never be able to go to bed again."

You shrug, all amused. You lay down beside him. “I wouldn't mind." You reach out, tracing his jawline. “I had fun.”

“Me too.” 

You reach over him to yank on the lamp chain and stay there after the darkness floods in with your head on his chest, your leg hooked over his hip. He pulls the covers over you and just holds you.

*

Everything you do is the same, except with a kiss. Coffee and tea at the cafe but your feet are entangled the whole time. Class but he sits with his arm around you. Concerts but you rub up against him with no shame. Partying but you leave early to fuck.

He loves it all. He loves how you seep into every inch of his life. He actually starts paying attention in class because you make him. You sit down and read together. Sometimes Alex or you read aloud, sometimes he reads over your shoulder, sometimes you read on separate ends of the couch. But you love coming together and talking about it. You speak with such passion that he wants to get to the end of a chapter just to hear what you have to say about it. And sometimes the end of the chapter never comes because he distracts you with, you know, other things. He likes that best.

Dates happen. He's not sure what qualifies as one and what doesn't—like do all those cafe visits count?—but he knows for sure that the one where he took you out to dinner and you wore that low-cut dress definitely does. And he knows this party that you're at now definitely isn't.

It's a rowdy one where everyone has gathered in the living room to watch two guys arm wrestle on the coffee table. You're sitting on the arm of the couch with your arms wrapped around his waist, cuddling him to you like one of your teddy bears.

When one of the guys pins the other's arm down, you shout out, "I bet I could beat Al in an arm wrestling competition."

And everyone is oohing and awing and Alex is standing bug-eyed and afraid. He taps your arm with a nervous, "I'm sure you could, honey."

"No, no, no." You're so drunk. He's never seen you like this. Part of him is amused and finds it beyond adorable. You scrunch up your nose like a little bunny and he just wants to kiss you all over. He's also terrified of you. You flex your arms out like you're the Hulk and all he can think about is his little noodle arms and Matt shouting, "Oh, come on, Al."

So, you're kneeling on the ground with your arms propped up on the coffee table with a look of determination in your arms. "You have to let me win," you slur your words.

"Why's that?"

"I lose, no kiss for you." You wag your finger and seal your lips.

"No kiss for the winner?"

"Only if I'm the winner."

He goes limp and allows you to instantly push him down. "I win!" You shout.

Alex picks you up off the ground with you cheering behind him. "We're going home now," Alex tells a laughing Matt. It's fun. Going home together. Even if it's his shitty dorm.

*

One night in his room while you're sitting on his bed criss-cross flipping through your flashcards on the Enlightenment and he's trying to focus on his psychology homework but he's more occupied by you, he says it. He kind of can't help himself. It just rolls out. "I love you." It's massive and too soon and for a long time he probably would have shrieked, covered his mouth, and ran out of the room, but he doesn't care. It's more relief than panic. Like it's out and not buried in his ribcage anymore.

You look up, your hands with your flashcards dropping into your lap. Your lips part at first before breaking into a small smile that so softly plays on your lips. "I love you too." It's there. It's funny how so much emotion can be stuck in with so few words. Still, he feels it all. Cupid's arrow and everything.

*

Right when spring begins to crack through the bitter winter chill, the realization of spending a summer apart hits. He used to find people who complained about that to be dramatic. It's only a few months not years but the term break feels dull when all he's returning to is Sheffield without you around.

You've promised to visit, maybe sometime in July, but it won't be long and it won't be the whole summer. The separation aches at him and he feels like such a loser until one night you curl up beside him and say, "I don't know how to function without you anymore."

You're the Sun. Everything revolves around you, at least it feels that way. Maybe it's being young and in love but the idea of going from every day together to nothing at all pulls him. He's a sap, he knows.

For now, you both avoid it—that inevitable terrifying passage of time. You read Wuthering Heights for British Literature and the whole time he does his best Kate Bush impression in your ear. 

He starts finding post-its around his room and crumbled-up in his pockets after you hang out. They're covered in quotes from the book like "If he loved with all the powers of his puny being, he couldn't love as much in eighty years as I could in a day" and "Be with me always—take any form—drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! I can not live without my life! I can not live without my soul!"

And no matter how many romantic quotes you write down from the book, you both agree you hate everyone and it's not a love story. His favourite post-it is the one he finds stuck to his alarm clock reading, "I love you as much as I hate Heathcliff." It's dorky and makes him laugh so he leaves it there, swearing to get it framed.

It's the first day where it's bearable to go outside without a huge winter coat, so you suggest taking your tea and his donut out onto the grass. You remark how you wish that you could have a picnic with a blanket and a basket instead of risking grass stains on your jeans but nonetheless, you sit against a tree and he sits in front of you, leaning on your crossed knees, and you talk about last hurrahs. 

"We could go somewhere," he suggests. "Maybe take the train somewhere?"

"In the middle of finals?"

"We could go to a theme park."

"I'm scared of roller coasters."

He raises an eyebrow. "Really?"

"I'm scared of heights," you remind him. "You know that."

Alex nods. "Right. Right. But that could make it a lot more fun. You could cling to me the whole time."

"I'll pass. We could go strawberry picking."

"And pay to do manual labour?"

You sigh. "Or we could just hang out with each other. How lame."

Alex leans closer. His nose brushes against yours. "I know." He puckers out and plants a kiss on your lips. He wraps his arm around you, pulling himself into you. "How lame."

You let out a heavy sigh. "And with nothing to occupy us."

"We could always just barricade ourselves and fuck until break is over." He moves closer, almost straddling you like he's about to take you right here on the grass.

You laugh. "You'd like it that way."

"Yeah." He smirks. "And I have a feeling you would too."

*

You don't quite barricade yourselves. But you get pretty close. 

With final exams looming, Alex is able to reason that sex is the perfect kind of stress relief. You're sitting in his lap with his hands running up the back of your thighs to cup your ass over your jeans, and you give a hint of a grin, sitting up. "You're going to have to study at some point."

He hooks his finger through the belt loops, yanking you closer. "I am. I'm studying for anatomy."

You roll your eyes. "You don't take anatomy."

He ducks his head closer and places his forehead against yours. He talks in a soft voice, one that shakes your insides. "I'm getting a head start." He closes the remaining gap, locking lips, and reeling you in completely. You don't refuse then because there's no way to refuse this and how good it feels.

You move your ass just enough to have him groaning into your mouth. He has to do something with his hands. He can't keep trying to feel you up, he has to commit action. He fiddles with the button of your jeans, snaking his hand through, not even bothering to push them off. He has to fight back.

He gets you moaning with the mere touch of his fingertips to your clit. You curl your arms around his neck and duck your head into his neck, whimpering against his neck. Chills run down his spine as you say his name into his skin.

He moves his hand lower, slightly pulling your jeans down to be able to enter. He enters two fingers. Your grip tightens in response. He's confident now. He's done this enough times to know what works. He knows how to please you but this feeling—clutching, moaning, begging—never gets old.

Alex holds your body to him as you squirm. He works quicker, pumping his fingers in and out, flicking his thumb against your clit. You mutter, "Fuck," and he whispers back, "I know, I know" like he can feel it too because he does. He feels like you're conjoined in this pleasure. That making you come is a far greater feeling than his own pleasure (well, almost, you have a very talented hand...and mouth...and pussy).

You buck your hips into him. The open zipper of your jeans grinds into his boner and he’s cursing too just like you are as your orgasm crashes. Your breathing is heavy and you've placed permanent wrinkles in his shirt with how hard you've been clutching it. 

"Good?" He checks.

You nod against his skin as you try to figure out how to properly breathe. "You certainly know where the clit is."

"See. I'm guaranteed at least a passing grade for that."

You sit up and look him in the eye. You still looked dazed with flyaways and an unbeatable smile. "I don't think they teach you that in school."

"I'm a prodigy then."

Now is when you would usually tell him to not be so full of himself but your lungs are heavy and he considers that to be a 100% if you're unable to scold him for being pompous. 

He lifts up one of your flashcards. "The form of theological rationalism that believes in God on the basis of reason without—"

You smack the cards down. "Shut up," you laugh.

"Come on," he says, lifting them back up. "You're going to regret not going over..." He checks because, of course, he doesn't know the answer. "Deism with me when you get it wrong on the exam."

You straddle his hips. "I'm sure I won't forget it now." You snatch the cards out of his hands, flipping through a few until you ask him, "What are the common features of the Romantic Period?"

"Wordsworth and stuff," he answers."

You slap his chest. "Alex, you can not write 'Wordsworth and stuff' on the exam. Come on this is easy. Give me two more."

He falls back on the pillow with a groan. "An appreciation of nature."

"Okay. Good. And?" 

He shrugs.

You scowl at him. "You act like this sometimes," you hint.

"Stop that. I am not a Byronic hero."

"Well, it'll help you remember," you reason. "Now, what are some works within the Romantic period?"

He groans. "I don't want to do this."

"Would you like to fail the class then?"

"I'm not going to fail. I'll wing it and be fine."

"Alex," you whine.

"Let's do something else. Let's go to Matt's or something." He'll try any possible way to get out of this. He's getting a headache from this and he can't pay attention with your boobs in that top.

You cross your arms. "If you do this, I'll give you some incentive." Your brows quirk indicating to him clearly what you mean. Your lips in a tempting smirk.

Yeah, okay. "Lyrical Ballads, Pride & Prejudice, Keats, Byron, Shelley. Do I get my prize now?" He blasts a cheeky grin. You roll your eyes but shift down to his thighs and pop the button out of his jeans.

"You'll thank me for this one day," you say as you pull down and free his cock.

"Oh, I'm sure I'll thank you after."

You snort and wrap your hand around him. "I meant studying, idiot."

"I did too!" He lies.

You hum and wrap your lips around the head of his cock. It's ecstasy. This is what humans were made for. Your tongue licks delicately and you move in an infuriatingly slow manner that he knows you're doing just to torture him. He raises his hips to signal more, instead, you move with him never going past the head liking it as if it's an ice cream that will never melt.

"Come on. I've been kind to you."

You pop your mouth off of him and move your hand up and down the shaft of his dick. "I never asked you to do that."

"You weren't complaining." He needs more. He can't handle this. He's just a boy. He doesn't have patience. 

You raise an eyebrow as if to threaten him but you take him into your mouth again. You move slowly still but this time you take one more inch in each time until, eventually, you reach the base of him. He tickles the back of your throat and your nose brushes against his skin. 

You pull off with a string of spit connecting. Taking a deep breath while you pump your hand, you say, "Good enough?"

He's moaning and biting his lip, trying to not give you complete satisfaction of being right that sometimes that torturously slow start does make for better head and he should not be arguing with the expert. He nods. "Yeah, yeah, keep going."

He shuts his eyes, unable to ignore the pleasure. He hears you laugh before your mouth reattaches. Warmth engulfs him, taking him over completely. He thinks he's going to lose it. That this pleasure will kill him. His grave will be marked Death by Blowjob and you'll be convicted for your deadly talent.

Alex clutches the back of your head just to have something to keep him grounded. He feels like he's floating as you take him completely in your mouth again. He mutters curses and lifts his hips, forming an arch, and being taken over. He empties into your mouth, trying to control his movements and not force his dick straight down your throat. He chants, "I love you. I love you. I love you."

You wipe your mouth and laugh at him like he's your little clown, which he's fine with. He'll put on the makeup and the garb if it makes you laugh like that, especially if he's coming like that. "Thank you," he mutters.

You giggle again. "You're welcome." You reach across him to his nightstand. "Now. From what poem is 'Thou still unravished bride of quietness' the first line?"

He groans but he'll say the blowjob was worth it.

*

On the last weekend of the term, he convinces you to leave your studying nest. You've been holed up inside ignoring the beautiful weather in favour of your exams. His studying has still been scattered but he's managed more than in years past because of you and your incentives.

He drags you out of town toward seclusion. Mainly because he wants to be alone with you but also because people online said this place is supposed to be pretty beautiful. He holds your hand as you walk toward the spot. He doesn't think he'll ever get tired of that. Your warmth wrapped around him, fighting off that cold from within.

"Is this the part where you kill me?" You joke. He wanted to surprise you, something he has been notoriously bad at in the past. He has a blabbermouth when it comes to you. He's spoiled presents and date nights, but he just wants to tell you everything. Nothing feels real until you've heard about it.

He squeezes your hand. "No, that'll be next fall."

"Okay, good. I'm glad you're giving my parents time to say goodbye."

Alex breaks into laughter then, nervous and unable to keep up the bit. "Should we stop here?" He asks. The sun is shining just enough through the trees and little flowers pop up in the grass around you.

You shrug in your adorable overalls and hair woven into two braids. He could stay looking at you like this forever. There's no other need in life. "You're the one with the plans. I don't know where we're supposed to be going. Is this the surprise?"

"Kind of." He's nervously laughing. "It's kind of been with us the whole time."

You smile and your eyes shift down to his side. "You mean in that bag, right?" The one you've been trying to peek into the whole way here. "Is it a dog?"

He reaches into the bag and pulls out a blanket. "I couldn't find the proper basket but I thought we could have a picnic."

You’re staring at him. You have glassy eyes, ones he can't quite read but he thinks is a good sign. "We're having a picnic?"

"Yeah," he says, "if you'd like."

You quickly nod, your lips breaking out into a smile that exposes your teeth. You clutch a hand over your mouth to head the glee. You break eye contact away from him and look around as if to process the whole scene. 

He lays the blanket out and sits down on it. He pulls on your hand for you to sit down next to him. "I can't believe it," you say. 

"I had a good idea for once. Well, I guess it was more your idea."

You shake your head. "You planned it. You listened to me and some stupid comment I made and you made the best last weekend possible."

"I win?"

You kiss him. "You win."

"Wait until after you've had the food. It isn't the best. Just sandwiches and store-bought things."

"I don't care. You could give me anything and I'd love it."

He pulls a container from the bag. "How 'bout strawberries?"

You hug your arms around him and nearly knock them over in the process. "I love you," you whisper in his ear. "Thank you."

"Of course." He holds you back, never tiring of it. "Love you too."

You pull back and pluck a strawberry. You pop it in your mouth and moan. He tried his hardest to find the best English strawberries possible. Ones so sweet they could ruin any other food for you. "I really love you."

*

On the morning before you leave, he sits at your desk chair and watches you finish packing the remainder of your things. He watches as you struggle with the zipper of your suitcase until you exhaustively ask, "Can you sit on it?"

He plops down on top of it with a chuckle. You pull in the zipper and it finally reaches its end destination. You sigh with relief and lean back on your heels. You clap your hands together before leaning forward and kissing his cheek. "Thank you."

Alex stands up and reaches his hand out to help you up. "Is that the last of it?" He keeps his hand in yours even after you've stood up.

You look around with one last gaze at your room, stripped completely of you. "Yeah, I guess so."

He wraps his arms around your waist, bringing your hips to his. "Should we do it on your bed one last time?"

You pull a face and giggle. "Ew, no. Not without any sheets and my parents waiting in the car."

He tilts his head back heavenward. "Ah, where's your sense of adventure?"

"I'm leaving it here. Besides, we were never that adventurous to begin with." It's easy to have the plain locale of a bed when the sex is so good.

"Next year, I guess. We'll have to finally do it in the showers."

"Yuck, stop. I know people who've shit in there."

He shakes his head sarcastically. "You're no fun."

"I know." You lean closer, tapping your forehead against his. "I'm lame and boring and I'm gonna miss you."

"Yeah." He can't even say it. The words have consumed him for days, every conversation ending with "Miss you." He's tired of it and it hasn't even begun. If he speaks it now, his voice will crack. He'll crack. He'll break in two and there will be nothing of him left here, except a puddle and you.

So, a kiss will do instead. He wants it to sear into you. Tattoo it onto your skin, imprint, force it onto, mark you, make you remember him. He wants them on him too. He wants to look down and see a lip gloss mark. He wants a freckle to remind him of his picnic. He wants the taste of cherries to be permanently set on his tongue. He wants the stickiness of a glazed donut on his fingers. He wants you.

On the walk to the car, you talk about a trip to the beach you took when you were ten. It's filled with your laughter and your humour and it dulls the throbbing in his bones. He kisses you goodbye once more before you run off with your parents.

"See you in the fall," you say.

He smiles. "See you in the fall." 

*

Before he leaves he finds another Virginia Woolf postcard in his mailbox. This time it's just a portrait but the back reads, "Woolf wrote to her lover Vita, 'It gets worse steadily – your being away. All the sleeping draughts and irritants have worn off, and I’m settling down to wanting you, doggedly, dismally, faithfully – I hope that pleases you. It’s damned unpleasant for me. I can assure you.' I've tried to say my feelings better than that but I can't. I miss you and I love you."

*

a/n: i might do a part two to this. maybe. probably. ignore any errors. i'm lazy. sorry. thanks. bye.

[scarletskiesinthepaths]

i do absolutely think Levi having some sort of sexual trauma has been built upon over the years. There’s just so many small things that point to that kind of trauma, and Bad Boy just compounds on those things.

his aversion to sleep has always been very strange to me, he doesn’t even lay down to do so and only ever gets a few hours. it could just be a general unease/feeling a lack of safety but Levi isn’t exactly an outwardly anxious person. im sure his ability to sustain himself on only a few hours of sleep has something to do with his Ackerman power, but he almost seems to have a tendency to avoid laying in beds as a whole. i’m not sure we ever see him in one (perhaps the barracks in No Regrets?) outside of his major injury towards the end.

honestly even though his obsession with cleanliness can be associated with growing up in a dirty environment like the underground (very common IRL w people who grow up in poverty or hoarding etc) something about it always raised an eyebrow to me. feeling somehow “filthy” in a way that is difficult to shake is a very common trauma response for SA victims. He’s also particular with human gore in a way he isn’t with Titan gore. to be fair Titan blood literally steams off, but idk the elaborate get up in the torture scene stick with me, why is a guy who constantly cuts down giant meat monsters full of blood and sinew suiting up with an apron and rubber gloves to punch a human?

When Kenny finds him with Kuchel’s body he’s only wearing of one of her old shirts (if i remember right) which could also be just associated with the neglect he faced as Kuchel’s health declined and she wasn’t able to keep working, but it could absolutely have much worse implications. he’s surely under-clothed for a child that age.

and speaking of Hange i think this is also a huge indicator of how important their friendship w Levi was. i think the “Levi has to knock Hange out to bathe them” lore was mostly a joke, but i absolutely believe that Hange would have a knack for working themselves into exhaustion and neglecting their personal hygiene and the fact that Levi, who is adverse to dirtiness and probably physical touch, would still be willing to help Hange take care of themselves on that level is very important to me.

idk, again there’s just so many small things that compound. i think ppl who refuse to even consider that possibility are ignoring a huge subtext in his writing.

the writing in Bad Boy reminds me a lot of an RPG character from Dragon Age called Zevran, who has a very similar backstory (prostitute mother, grew up in a brothel after she died giving birth) and SA/sex trafficking is a huge part of his writing, it’s never explicitly said but he gets incredibly close to saying it multiple times.

Absolutely, anon, I'm really glad you brought this up. I agree with you. Your observations are thoughtful and deeply grounded in the subtle, but persistent, cues throughout Levi’s characterization. There’s a strong case to be made that Levi’s childhood experiences, especially as hinted in Bad Boy, suggest sexual trauma as part of his backstory, and I agree that this thread has been quietly but consistently built over time across multiple Attack on Titan texts, including the main canon itself, Bad Boy, and the A Choice with No Regrets manga and OVA.

I’ll be honest, though; I sat on this ask for a little while. Not because I disagreed, but because I’ve grown cautious about diving back into this particular conversation, lol. I hope you're still around to read my response! There’s been pushback in the past, and it’s easy to get worn down by the defensiveness and bad-faith interpretations that inevitably come with it. But ultimately, I don’t want fear of fandom backlash to silence a valid reading of the text.

Just to be clear, I’m not saying there’s any explicit confirmation that Levi was sexually abused. What I am saying is that there is a consistent body of subtext—textual, visual, and behavioral—that makes this interpretation both plausible and worth discussing. It’s one lens among many, and it’s one that aligns with real-world trauma responses in a way that deserves thoughtful attention.

For anyone curious and looking to read more on this topic, including some of my older posts and others’ contributions, here are a few links:

To actually address your message and your points, anon:

When Kenny first discovers Levi, the imagery is haunting. Levi appears severely malnourished, neglected, and ghost-like. He’s wearing only a shirt, which not only suggests poverty but also emphasizes how profoundly vulnerable he is. While it’s never confirmed whether the shirt belonged to Kuchel, the idea that it might have is a valid and plausible headcanon. What is confirmed is that Levi is shown curled up on the floor in the same room as her decomposing body, completely alone. In the context of a brothel—where Kuchel worked as a sex worker and where strangers would have regularly entered and exited the space—Levi’s state of undress takes on more disturbing implications. We never learn who had access to that room after Kuchel’s death, nor how long Levi was left to fend for himself there. And as you pointed out, for a child that age to be so underclothed in such a setting is more than just a sign of deprivation—it casts a shadow over the kind of dangers he may have been exposed to during that time.

Now, I’m aware there’s some debate in the fandom about whether Levi and Kuchel actually lived in the brothel where she worked. Personally, I do believe they did. But even if they didn’t, Kuchel’s notoriety as "Olympia"—a well-known prostitute—means that clients familiar with her could very well have come looking. Regardless of the precise location, the threat would have remained the same.

It’s also important to consider how the Attack on Titan universe establishes the Underground as a site of rampant exploitation, especially sexual violence and trafficking. In "Chapter 6: The World that the Girl Saw", we learn that Mikasa, who lived on the surface, was nearly trafficked into sexual slavery. The traffickers planned to sell her specifically to the Underground, where such exploitation was evidently common and profitable. If that was the fate planned for a surface child, it paints a grim picture of what life must have been like for children born in the Underground. Levi wasn’t just born there—he was the son of a sex worker, raised alone in a brothel after her death. In Bad Boy, we see that even as a child, Levi was almost sold into the same system by thugs looking to profit off him. On top of that, he was well-known locally as a “whore’s son,” a stigma that would have marked him as vulnerable. Given this context, and considering how openly the narrative depicts trafficking as a real danger even for children with more protection than Levi had, it’s tragically plausible that Levi endured violations that the text never directly names. Whether or not his trauma is ever confirmed in explicit terms, the setting, circumstances, and behavioral cues all suggest that he was not spared from the kind of exploitation that was normalized in the world he grew up in.

A Choice with No Regrets further deepens this portrait of Levi. As an adult in the Underground, he’s strikingly hyper-independent, emotionally guarded, and instinctively distrustful. His stoicism goes far beyond what would be considered adaptive for someone in a harsh environment—it reads instead as the psychological armor of someone who learned, early and brutally, that vulnerability is dangerous. What’s telling is how this contrasts with Furlan and Isabel, who also grew up in the Underground but retain a more open emotional register. Levi, by contrast, keeps himself closed off—even from those he clearly cares about. Another subtle but telling detail is his relationship to sleep. As you noted, Levi rarely lays down to rest. Even after Return to Shiganshina, when he’s critically injured, we only see him in bed when he’s completely incapacitated. His irregular sleep habits suggest that rest—and the vulnerability it entails—is something he instinctively avoids. It’s also worth noting that Isayama has confirmed in interviews that Levi typically sleeps in a chair. That choice feels significant: what is it about beds, specifically, that feel unsafe to him? It’s a small detail, but one that subtly reinforces the idea that Levi's avoidance of rest is tied not just to environmental danger, but to deeper psychological trauma.

One moment from A Choice with No Regrets that I think is often overlooked—or, worse, completely misread—is the scene in the manga where Levi kills Isabel’s attacker. There’s a strong implication that the man had either raped or was planning to rape her. Isabel returns visibly shaken, and the fact that her hair was forcibly cut—while some try to minimize this—is itself a physical violation. That kind of act doesn’t happen without bodily restraint, humiliation, and intent to dehumanize. Levi’s reaction isn’t casual vengeance or impulsive rage. It’s swift, cold, and deliberate. And it stands out all the more because Levi is consistently portrayed as someone who does not enjoy killing, especially when it comes to other humans. He doesn’t take satisfaction in it, and he’s shown to feel the weight of taking lives. But in this moment, he kills with no hesitation. That’s not just about protecting Isabel; it’s also about what that kind of violation represents to him. This scene adds another layer to the subtext that Levi may have experienced sexual trauma himself. His actions suggest not just outrage on her behalf, but a deep, visceral recognition of what was done to her. When you consider his background—being raised in a brothel, growing up in a community where sexual violence was commonplace, and being personally threatened with it—his response in this scene becomes far more layered. It's not about bloodlust; it's about survival and protection.

As for his obsession with cleanliness, I completely agree that it likely stems from both his impoverished upbringing and something deeper. Like you stated, the trauma of feeling “unclean” in a psychological sense is a known marker in many survivors of sexual abuse. Levi doesn’t just value hygiene—he’s almost compulsive about it. In chapter 15, when he enters Trost HQ, his first instinct is to clean, even in the midst of military chaos. It’s a trait that speaks to more than just surface disgust; it feels ritualistic, like he’s trying to scrub away something intangible. We also know from the Smartpass AU Levi Close-up Report that part of the reason Levi cares so much about cleanliness is because he associates filth with disease. That alone demonstrates that the cleaning is a coping mechanism for something greater.

The A Choice with No Regrets OVA also contributes to this subtext in a subtle but unsettling way. In one sequence, a group of thugs corner Isabel, and after she bites one of them, he implies he wants to assault her—saying, “She’ll pay for bitin’ me. Lemme have some fun with her before we do anything else, ’kay?” Levi isn’t present for that threat, but it establishes that these men are sexual predators and underscores how normalized sexual violence is in the Underground. Shortly afterward, when Levi confronts the same group, one of the thugs touches the collar of Levi’s shirt. Levi immediately recoils and snaps, “Keep your filthy hands off me. I don’t want you smudging my shirt.” His tone is cold and sharp—disproportionately intense for such a minor touch, unless read through the lens of trauma. What’s especially notable is how Furlan quickly intervenes, almost too casually, saying, “Sorry, 'bout that. We're clean freaks here. You prob'ly shouldn't come back, but if ya do, be sure to wash your hands first.” It’s a strangely timed comment, bringing up hygiene in the middle of a tense confrontation, and it reads more like a deflection than comic relief, at least to me. Furlan’s response seems like a practiced redirection, as if he’s accustomed to covering for Levi in moments like this, aware that Levi’s aversion to touch and obsession with cleanliness may stem from something deeper. The way Levi reacts to even an incidental touch, especially from a man he clearly perceives as threatening (and was established as a sexual predator earlier), raises red flags. Within the broader context of the Underground, where exploitation is rampant and children are especially vulnerable, this interaction adds another layer to the growing subtext that Levi’s boundaries around touch aren’t just about personal preference, but about learned survival.

A common counter-argument I’ve seen is that Levi couldn’t have experienced sexual abuse because, in Bad Boy, when the thugs threaten to sell him into sexual slavery, he awakens his Ackerman powers and kills them. But I think this interpretation misreads both the mechanics of his awakening and the emotional weight of that scene. Levi doesn’t react violently when the men first threaten to traffic him. In fact, he stays relatively passive through much of the assault, even as they kick him and beat him down. What ultimately triggers his Ackerman powers isn’t the threat of trafficking alone—it’s a combination of two far more visceral elements: first, the insult to his mother (“whore’s son”), which cuts directly at the only attachment and source of comfort he’s ever known; and second, the imminent threat to his life. When the men begin slamming his head into the ground, it’s not just brutal—it would have been fatal. That moment of near-death, combined with emotional provocation, is what pushes him to awaken. This is consistent with how Ackerman power is described elsewhere in canon: it’s often activated in a life-or-death situation.

Importantly, most sexual trauma, especially in childhood, is not marked by that same level of immediate physical lethality. It’s often coercive or normalized within the environment, particularly when it occurs repeatedly over time. If Levi had experienced prior instances of sexual trauma, there’s no reason to assume his powers would have activated. The context simply wouldn’t have matched the threshold required. What Bad Boy shows us, in fact, is how long Levi endures violence without fighting back. His gentle, quiet demeanor in that scene says a lot; he’s not someone who reacts with aggression instinctively. He internalizes pain. He withdraws. And that, in itself, is a trauma response. The idea that Levi could only have been victimized if he had physically fought back or "activated" sooner misunderstands both trauma and how the Ackerman lineage functions in canon.

And yes, the way Levi interacts with Hange is one of the clearest examples of how touch and boundaries operate differently for him with people he trusts. The oft-joked “Levi knocking Hange out to bathe them” anecdote, while humorous in fandom circles, does imply a certain level of trust and care on his part that cuts directly against his usual physical avoidance and aversion to filth. If you believe Levi is touch-averse because of trauma, then the fact that he’ll tend to someone else’s body—grime, sweat, and all—speaks volumes. It reflects a profound emotional bond.

Btw, I've never played Dragon Age, but I agree that the situation with Zevran sounds similar to the situation with Levi. Isayama never explicitly states that Levi was sexually abused—but neither does he shy away from leaving the space open.

The resistance from some parts of the fandom to even consider this reading is telling. It reveals discomfort not just with the possibility of Levi being a victim, but with the idea that masculinity and vulnerability can coexist. For some, Levi must remain a stoic archetype of masculinity, not someone whose past might include being violated or exploited. But the reality is that Attack on Titan is saturated with trauma, and Levi’s trauma is one of the most underexplored and underacknowledged parts of the narrative, precisely because it’s so coded in subtext.

In short, the subtext is there. The behavioral patterns are consistent. And your instinct to read between the lines is absolutely justified. Bad Boy doesn’t explicitly confirm that Levi was sexually abused, but it significantly strengthens the already persistent implication. Acknowledging that possibility isn’t reaching—it’s a valid interpretation of the character and the narrative choices surrounding him.

Thanks for the ask, anon! I hope my answer was interesting to read.

[sw1ft-sniff]

RGB siblings in realm of Monsters

Prev |

*Kai absolutely destroying a giant beast 100x the size of him*

*Nya and Lloyd actually watching in horror as they watch their brother who is tiny compared to the monster attack like he knows what hes doing*

Lemme get the hcs out, During his time in the Land of Monsters he didn't sleep like at all. So he started getting auditory and visual hallucinations, and if he were ever to go back to the land of Monsters (and in this scenario he did) he wouldn't be able to sleep or really properly keep himself together because he'd be too stressed about Lloyd or Nya experiencing the horrors like him. Or worse, either of them finding out how much being in the Land of Monsters has changed him. Both mentally and physically,

*bug kai bug kai bug kai bugkaibugkaibugkaibugkai*

I fully hc that his bug traits would manifest out of stress or bottling up for too long. So being thrust back into the place that caused you to go through mental anxiety physical agony, along with you barely surviving your last fight and both your siblings are here with you in the danger zone inexperienced with the horrors that are in the Land of Monsters.

Internally Kai would probably be like

Oh shit, oh fuck, keep it together, you've been going this long, kill this thing, keep family safe. Can't die here, or I'll never see them again. They're right here with me of course I'll see them again. Unless they die here then your to blame and you'll never see them again. Can't slip too far gotta keep it maintained fuck my back hurts, and my arms, the whole centipede hybrid shit is not gonna hide well if I keep this up. Can't let the others worry about me, that's what I'm supposed to do.

So Kai immediately is pushing himself three times as hard to keep triple the amount or people alive rather than just one.

Lloyd and Nya notice instantly how Kai is mentally deteriorating from being here, they watch him close himself off and be over protective. Both of them are super concerned but as soon as they try to confront him about it he changes the subject or they get interrupted.

They enter a cave system for the night, rest they need it if they want to survive, Kai he sits down lighting the fire and starts keeping watch. Lloyd watches as he droops in and out of sleep sitting there and offers to take the watch for the hundredth time. Kai about to shake his head get interrupted by Nya who backs up Lloyd saying Kai Needs to rest. A bit of back and forth goes ahead before Kai finally caves. Laying down on a cloak he had set up for Lloyd.

Kai is out pretty quickly the exhaustion of multiple days kicking in. It's during the middle of the night when he wakes up in excruciating pain, Bugkaibugkaibugkaibugkai unfortunately he wasn't able avoid Lloyd noticing. From Lloyds perspective he saw his brother sleeping badly rolling around talking to himself. Then watched him sit up super suddenly and strangle off a scream.

Understandably Lloyd would be concerned. Kai the stubborn dumbass he is would get up and head deeper into the cave where they have no light. He cant let his family see what hes become. He gains his bug traits, mandibles multiple sets of legs from his back rest around his torso.

Kinda just setting him up for failure when he forgets that Lloyd can see in the dark. Lloyd understandably will probably let out some noise of shock cause like *his brother is a fuckin bug for some reason???? And didn't think to mention it before now??????* then Kai all angsty would be like

"you weren't supposed to see me like this.... Im a monster."

And Lloyd would be like

"Kai your not a monster, you may look different but you're still you."

"I'm not the same kai, I've been keeping up the facades for almost a year now. I changed here and I hate it."

"Kai please look at me, You are my brother and I know that because you've always been there even now you've been trying so hard to Keep Nya and I safe. No matter if you were human or not, You're still Kai to me."

Then they hug it kai finally gets the comfort he deserves and Lloyd gets to help his brother for once. Then in the morning they're obviously gonna have to explain to Nya why the hell her brother looks like he is cosplaying a centipede cross garmadon cause of the extra arms/legs.

She also concerned hugs her brother, but later she'll smack him over the head for constantly hiding he's in pain/suffering.

Cut scene 1

Kai: I'm not human anymore, I'm a monster.

Lloyd with his glow stick hands and eyes: bitch what does that make me???

Cut scene 2

Kai: I'm a monster how could anyone love me.

*Lloyd recalling the entire team* "dude no one cares if ur human, Zane is a robot, turned into water, Jay turned into a snake, Cole was a ghost, I'm fucking oni dragon and human. It was bound to happen at some point."

Ksi "Yeah ur right"

[revelboo]

Please please pleaseeeee spare my soul with another tarn, tarantulas or tfp starscream 😭🛐🛐🛐✨✨✨✨

Sure!

Disappear Pt 10

Tarantulas x Reader

• Whispering to each other, tangled in each other, you’re not sure how long you stay that way. Not wanting to end this moment yet, to lose this strange sense of understanding and intimacy. Reaching up, you timidly hook a finger against one of his mandibles. Still scary looking. Still a giant, alien spider, but you’re getting used to him, how he looks. Can feel him venting against you as you shift, a thigh sliding against his. He’d wanted to go home with you. Pretend to be human with you and you’re not sure what to make of that. Of just keeping him, playing house with his avatar while his real body is hidden away. You could pretend he was human, but you don’t really want that. Don’t want him to have to pretend and deny who he really is for you.

• Carefully brushing your hair away from your face with a servo, he lets his knuckle linger against your cheek. Sliding two of his extra legs against you, hooking them to roll you tighter to him until you’re flush against him as his biolights pulse for you. Waiting to see if you’ll push him away, but you don’t. You take a shuddering little breath, little finger curled against one of his mandibles. So close to him that he can feel the warmth of you, the beat of your heart. “What are we doing?” You ask, voice barely more than a whisper.

• “I don’t want to be alone anymore,” he murmurs, helm brushing your temple, his mandibles flexing against your cheek. Feel his clawed servos tangling in the hair at your nape to cup the back of your head, his visor brightening slightly. “If you don’t want my avatar,” he begins and there’s a question in his voice, the words so achingly vulnerable. And he just leaves the rest hanging unsaid, but you understand. If you don’t want my avatar, could you ever want the real me? What would that even be like? Living out here with him, hiding forever. Just you and him.

• “Are you proposing, spider-guy?” You ask, voice almost teasing, but your eyes are serious. Can’t tell what you’re thinking. If you’d agree to stay if he says the words or if you’d laugh in his face. He’s still a monster to you, isn’t he? And you’re just looking up at him, expression guarded, that finger still hooked with his mandible. Touching him willingly when he can remember you falling over yourself to avoid him touching you at first. Finding him creepy. Unsettling.

• Unsure what you want him to say, two of his extra legs are tapping against you again and your breath catches when he leans his face close, a mandible brushing your bottom lip. “What if I was?” He ask as the arm curled around you tightens slightly. “What if I said that I’d loved you from the moment you danced with me? With the real me and didn’t cringe away? That I want to keep you as mine?” Love? Heart racing, because that little four letter word hadn’t even crossed your mind. Do you love him? You’re not sure, but thinking of the way he fidgets and absently taps his extra limbs while he’s working, how excited he gets when something he’s working on goes right fills you with warmth. You like when he’s animated, gesturing and lifting up on his extra limbs, catching you to swing around when he has a breakthrough only to immediately apologize and back away. Like watching him engrossed in a project, the way he worries over you. Takes care of you. You’re not really his prisoner anymore. No, it’s not love, not exactly, but maybe it could be. Because you don’t want to be alone, either.

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