#and to the world in his artistry and in his kindness

[thymechaos]

i just can't believe that oda fucking create sanji, a stereotypical ladies man who simps to an embarrassing degree for women while having his hackles comically raised around everyone he perceives as a man - and most notably butting heads with the more obvious ~manly man~ of the crew. haha, classic anime running gag, the kind that gets obnoxious at times but still makes you laugh.

AND THEN, like a billion chapters later, motherfucker steeples his fingers and goes "soooooooo... what makes a person Like That?"

and the answer is that he grew up in fucking Toxic Masculinity, The Kingdom. the answer is that he was always Different, in a way other guys instinctively perceived as weak, and that made him the target of visceral scorn and violence. the answer is that he was sensitive, sweet, caring, nurturing - feminine-coded traits which are only valued by patriarchy insofar that they're performed by women in service of men. the answer is that in a kingdom comprised almost entirely by violent men, the only ones who were ever kind to him, the only safety he ever had, were a girl and a woman.

so cooking is for women and servants, it makes you less of a man. only women will ever really value you for your passions and dreams. women are also actively hurt by the way the world works, they are unsafe unless they comply with men's violence, and you have to protect them.

(men will always know what you are, and they will hurt you if you let them.)

and even after he leaves... at baratie he is cherished and respected, but even that is an extremely masculine environment. we don't talk about our feelings, we don't let our guard down, the only love is tough love. when he tries to express his artistry and express himself through his cooking, rather than just filling orders and making money, he gets mocked.

so here is a man who will not raise a hand to a woman, because he rejects the masculinity he was raised with and refuses to become yet another man subjecting women to violence. he is desperate for women's attention and affection because it's SAFE, it's the only kind he can trust. other men are potential threats and must be treated as such. he must at all times be snarky, tough, Not Feminine, because to be perceived otherwise is to be powerless, to be hurt.

like y'all. the queer coding of it all? the overtly feminist themes? the active rejection of toxic masculinity and the way it's shown to be directly tied to imperialism? what the fuck.

[fanaticsnail]

Oh snail, i know you already have a long list of WIPs (i can't wait to read them) and your Inbox is probably already full with requests, so i understand if its not in the cards right now.

I was just wondering what the kid-pirates would do, or how they would react if ther precious doc-reader is the one that was injured badly or was very sick. Especialy how Killer would react after that romantic tention between them (i need more of that 😩). I don't have a particular song in mind, because the seires already has a vibe to it, hope thats okay.

I wish you a wonderful day/night/evening! 💕Sooo looking forward to your next work, whatever it may be 🐢

I love you for this prompt, @daydreamer-in-training. Thank you!

Sit your ass down, would ya, Doc?

Hey Doc Masterlist here

Word Count: 2,000+

Synopsis: You've taken care of your crew and nursed them back to health from their flus... but now it's your turn. The Kid-Pirates do their best to take care of the worlds worst patient, their doctor: you.

Themes: platonic!kid-pirates, eustass kid x gn!reader, swearing, illness, comforting, taking medication, kid is a bit of a dom, doc is a bit of a bra, you're the kid-pirate doctor: the crew calls you 'doc'.

Notes: I am currently struggling with the flu myself, and this was simply too cute to not write about. Thank you for your ask, it's been fun to write about!

Tag List: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @sinning-23 @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @since-im-already-here @sordidmusings @nerium-lil

“Hey, Doc? Did we need any more petroleum jelly from the-...?” the fire breather called beside you, hating when you turned to face him, “...-Shit, Doc. You look like absolute balls today.” 

Rolling your swollen, glassy and red eyes at him, you draw another tissue from your counter and sneeze into it. The silky tissue felt like sandpaper over your leaky nose, the skin splitting surrounding your nostrils and leaving small stains of red on the pale paper.

“Always so full of compliments and kindness, Heat,” you huff out, your voice sounding hoarse and cracking along with every word. Heat cringed, recoiling away from you with eyes narrowed in sympathy. You attempt to breathe through your blocked nose, no air passing through the dual nostrils.

Treating the crew for the past two weeks, and nursing them to health in recovering from the flu, had finally caught up with you. You felt both cold and hot at the same time, your skin both dry and sticky with sweat. Mind swelling and cracking behind the tense throbbing throughout your brain caused a dull ache ringing in your ears and fogging your mind.

“I-... I’m just saying, Doc,” he reiterated in defense of himself, “You don’t look too good. Maybe you ought to sit out from the in-land trip to restock. Stay home on the Victoria Punk?” Heat suggested with a soft smile and a subtle shrug.

“What?” you grunted out a cough, “And leave you lot to restock my clinic for me? Not fucking like-...” coughing into another tissue, your glassy eyes pricked at the corners and began to spill out and down your cheeks, “...-likely.” 

Heat’s smile fled from his face, his lip downturning in sympathy. He shook his head and extended his hand out to you, gesturing you to follow him out through the door towards the deck. You attempt to sniff back another intake of air to reopen your nose to no avail. Following on, you trudge somberly towards the top deck where the crew were all waiting to step foot onto the pier. 

Without drawing attention to yourself, your eyes squinted lazily to compensate for the pain the sun caused your mind. With each achy step, you attempted to bite back the ache your body was going through. Barely aware of your surroundings, you gesture in the medicinal remedy booths at town square for herbs, ointments and aromatic fragrances. 

As you reached into your pocket to pull out your small folder of Berry, a large right forearm reached over your shoulder and paid the vendor before you could. Rolling your eyes, you turn to look at the scowling grimace of your captain, Eustass Kid, baring his rage down at you. Attempting to roll your eyes at him again, you clenched them tightly shut instead as the world became far too bright to process.

“Captain,” you acknowledge him with a clumsy nod, fighting the urge to not to fall over with the vertigo overcoming you. He growled at you immediately, gesturing to Wire beside him to gather the supplies and walk back to the ship. 

“You’re a real fuckin’ idiot, aren’t ya, Doc?” he spat, scolding you with his heavy growl. You laughed at him, shaking your swirling head and beginning to walk beside him. Your overexertion and sleep deprivation caught up with you as you tripped over an uneven divot in the rocky path.

“I'm not into degradation, Cap,” you respond in a half-joking hum, your eyes feeling heavy and weighted, “Not my kink. Might be yours, though, considering the amount of times I yell at you to hold you accountable.” That comment earnt you another low growl from your captain, his face turning a few shades darker than his hair. 

He turned to face you at his side, his lips curling as if to speak. As he opened his lips, he was lost for words as you fell into him, bracing yourself against him to steady your walk. He caught you in his right arm, bringing his face down towards you and brows knitting with concern. Turning towards Wire, he cocked his chin to the side to usher him on towards the ship. 

With no further warning, Kid dipped at the knees and hoisted you up into his chest beneath your thighs. He curled his bicep and hooked your head beneath his chin and cradled you firmly into him. Under usual circumstances, you would’ve fought this tooth and nail.

You do not enjoy being manhandled by the crew, especially by your captain. While you enjoy the embrace once in a while with your more sensitive crewmates, particularly Bubblegum, the Captain has only ever been this close to you when he’s sparring with you.

“C’mon Doc, I'll get you seen to,” he grunted down at your position curled into his chest, “I’ve-... And the-...” his words trailed off, the fever raising your temperature higher and prompting you to seek out sleep against his pectoral. 

Voices and words fade in and out of your ears, a slow drawl and murmurs of several of your crewmates swelling around your assumed resting spot for the day. The room wasn’t physically moving, even though your vertigo suggested it was. 

“When was the last time Doc’s had a day off?” you recognised the feminine voice of Quincy in the room beside you. Several grunts and incessant babbling reverberated around the room, prompting you to flutter your eyelashes open and push through the pain. 

“Doc!” you cringed as a body almost flew into your bed, sitting on the plush sheets beside you, “You’re awake! I’m so happy to see you’re up!” You wince, slowly waving Bubblegum away, swatting at his zig-zagged head.

“Off, off,” you shooed him, wincing as you shrugged your duvet off your thighs and swung your legs over the side of the bed. As you began to wobble to your feet, the booming voice of your captain called over the chatter of the room,

“Sit your ass down, would ya, Doc?” he growled, striding over in intentional steps and giving you a shove from his right hand in the middle of your chest, “The medics here said you need a week in bed to rest. Sit down.” You growled at him, doing your best to gather the strength to growl at him. 

“If I’ve been prescribed ‘rest’,” you began, gesturing to the crewmates surrounding your current room, “Why the fuck are you all here?” Several sheepish mutters surround the room, a few members pinching the scruffs of their necks, a few more wringing their hands in front of their waists. 

Your captain clapped his hand on your shoulder, pushing you to lay back down and wrangling you into your bedsheets. Refusing to go down without a fight this time, you wriggled in his grip and fought both the fever and the strong arm of your captain. 

“For fucks sake, Doc!” Kid yelled at you, pushing and shoving you down into the very comfortable and unfamiliar bed in front of the crew. “Just lay down and rest, damn it! Go back to sleep.” You wriggled harder. 

“No!” you yelled defiantly, kicking off the duvet and fighting each and every time your captain attempted to shove you into your bed. Kid looked around to the crew, angled his chin sharply to wordlessly order them to leave the room. As they left, Kid turned back towards you and crawled up onto the bed. 

“You are more of a pain in the ass than that fucking bullet to the buttcheek,” he growled, climbing over you and baring down his weight onto your smaller frame. Straddling your thighs, he placed his knees on your open palms and successfully pinned you beneath him. He pressed his forearm over your chest and gave you a firm shove to force you to lay down. You had no choice but to thump your head back into the plush pillow behind your head. 

Squeezing your eyes shut, you clench your jaw and growl behind your lips. The rumble in your throat hurt the raw swell in your jugular, but you pushed past it to air your frustrations at him regardless. The chuckle from your captain above you only served to propel your anger to rise higher. 

“Yeah, yeah. Growl and groan all you want,” he scoffed at you, pinning your chest with his bicep while reaching his hand between you and gathering the blankets in his fist. Slowly raising it up, he continued his place straddling your thighs until he thought you would no longer fight him. 

“Why are you doing this, Captain?” you snarl at him, finally opening your eyes to gaze up into his eyes. He smirked at you in response, pressing his palm to your forehead and clicking his tongue at the temperature. 

“Because,” he leaned over to the bedside, taking two small spherical tablets into his hand, “We love you, Doc.” He leaned back over you, gesturing with his chin for you to part your lips. You take a moment to snarl at him before complying, parting your lips and allowing him to place the bitter tablets on your tongue. 

He leaned back over to the bedside, finding a glass of water and bringing it down to your lips. Tilting the glass slowly as it brushed with your bottom lip, he carefully fed you a sip of water to take the pills with. Placing the glass back over on the table, he drew his attention to the small amount of water seeping from the corner of your lip.

“Now, be a good Doctor and get loved on, idiot,” he softly huffed, his voice low and husky as he leaned forward. He used the pad of his thumb to gently collect the spill of water from the corner of your lips. Your eyes never ceased its glare up at him. He grinned tauntingly down at you, arching his brow and ensuring you swallowed the tablets. 

“Get off, Captain,” you growled at him, bucking your hips up in an attempt to remove him from your body. He cackled his rumbled laugh down at you in response, shaking his head. 

“You gonna get up again if I do?” he asked, leaning down and caressing your cheek in a gentle stroke. His eyes held nothing but mischievous mockery, but his hand felt like it was gently coaxing you to comply with what he asked. 

“No, I’ll behave,” you snarled at him. His laugh was genuine this time, low and gentle. Slowly backing off you, he slid off your body before adjusting the sheets and smoothing them over. 

“Good,” he nodded, beginning to leave the room by the door off to the side of the room. Halting at the door, he fought with himself for a moment before looking at you over his shoulder and uttering, “I’ll-… I’ll get Kil to check on you in a few hours. Get some rest, okay?”

What he said next was something you weren’t expecting to come from his lips. In all the time you served with him, he only ever called you ‘Doc’, or ‘Doctor.’ You were your title, and you appreciated that about the crew. You were Doc, only ever Doc. But what he said changed all that.

After he uttered the word “okay,” it was immediately followed by your name. Waiting a few moments, you responded in a cadence just above a whisper. 

“I’ll be right where you left me, Kid,” you replied with a soft smile back at him. He closed his eyes, offering you a reflection of your smile in return before it grew back into its usual mischievous face. 

“Good,” he again offered you, scrunching his nose up at you and looking up through his red eyelashes at you, “Otherwise I would’ve gotten your doting daddy to come coddle his whiny baby.” Your eyes went wide, your jaw clenching and your eyebrows shot up to your hairline. 

Eustass Kid just laughed in response, exiting the room and giving you both the time and space you needed to recover. Your recovery was not only the flu, but of the second hand embarrassment that Killer must’ve relayed to Kid what he’d said to you in the consultation room. Either that, or you left the shell of your Den-Den accidentally activated from when you spoke with your captain earlier in the day.

Either way, you pouted as you did as you were told and huffed back into your bed and went to sleep: the paracetamol activating and stilling your swelling head and masking the undertones of pain in your body.

[n1ght0f-nyx]

WOVEN BONDS IS AMAZING!!!!! Pls make part 2,3,4,5,6 😭🫡💖

woven bonds pt 2

this was very requested so here we are!!

You've been sold to an orc by your father, and after shutting yourself in for a few weeks, youve finally started to come to enjoy your new husbands company

warnings/tags- bedrotting, arranged marrige but pertah loves you so thats nice, pert'ah speaks with semi-broken english

word count- 1167

The days that followed were filled with silence, but it was a different kind of silence. No longer filled with the heavy weight of anger or hopelessness, it was instead filled with uncertainty. Pert'ah continued his routine—bringing you food, speaking to you in soft tones, always giving you space while he worked outside or wove intricate tapestries by the hearth. He never pushed, never demanded anything from you.

Yet, you felt a change inside yourself.

It was small at first. One morning, after he had left a bowl of fruit by your bedside, you reached out and took a piece, biting into it with a sense of resignation. It was sweeter than you had expected, and you found yourself eating more. That night, you ate a bit of the stew he left. It wasn’t the same as the dishes from your old home, but it was warm, hearty, and made with care.

Pert'ah noticed. You could see the relief in his eyes when he glanced at the empty bowl later that day. He didn’t say anything, but the gentle way his lips turned upward spoke volumes. 

As days passed, you started to leave the bed for longer periods. You’d sit by the window and watch him work outside. Pert'ah would spend hours weaving, his large hands surprisingly nimble as they guided the threads into beautiful patterns. Sometimes, he would carve small figures out of wood or clay, his concentration deep as he brought the raw materials to life. The more you watched him, the more you saw the softness behind his hardened exterior. There was an artistry to everything he did, a careful thoughtfulness.

Slowly, you began to speak to him.

It wasn’t much at first—a word here, a question there—but Pert'ah’s eyes lit up each time you addressed him. His responses were always careful, his voice soft and unsure as if he feared saying the wrong thing and scaring you away.

One evening, you found yourself standing outside the hut, watching him work on a large tapestry. The orange light from the setting sun filtered through the trees, casting warm shadows over his figure. He glanced up when he noticed you, his brow furrowing slightly as if he couldn’t believe you were there.

"I… I work on this for winter," he said, standing up slowly, dusting off his hands. "Keep us warm."

You nodded, stepping closer. The tapestry was beautiful, its rich colors weaving together in patterns of leaves and flowers. It was unlike anything you had ever seen, a testament to his skill.

"It’s… it’s beautiful," you said softly, your voice quiet but sincere.

Pert'ah’s eyes widened slightly. He looked at you as though you had given him the greatest compliment in the world. His lips parted, but he didn’t speak right away. Instead, he took a step toward you, his large hand tentatively reaching out as though he wanted to touch your arm, but he hesitated.

"You think so?" he asked, his voice low, almost shy. "I… I make it for you. For us."

You felt something in your chest stir at his words, a warmth that was unfamiliar but not unpleasant. Pert'ah had been nothing but kind to you, patient in a way you had never expected from an orc. And now, as you stood in the golden light of dusk, watching him look at you with such raw vulnerability, you realized you were no longer as angry as you once were.

In the days that followed, you found yourself drawn to him more and more. Pert'ah would tell you stories of his clan, how he had been raised as a weaver and how orc culture was not as warlike as humans believed. He would sit by the fire in the evenings, his deep voice filling the room as he spoke of the orcs’ long history of craftsmanship, of art, and of building rather than destroying.

And slowly, your barriers began to crumble.

One night, after dinner, you sat together in the hut, the fire crackling softly as you both shared a quiet moment. Pert'ah was working on another carving, his large fingers skillfully shaping the wood into something delicate. You watched him for a while, fascinated by the contrast between his size and the gentleness of his craft.

"Why… why do you make so many things?" you asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

Pert'ah paused, looking up at you with a small smile. "I make because I love it. It make world… more beautiful." His eyes softened as they met yours. "And now… I make for you."

The way he said it, so simple and yet so full of meaning, made your heart skip a beat. Pert'ah wasn’t just making things to fill the space. He was making them for you, offering pieces of himself in every woven thread and carved figure. 

Over time, Pert'ah became more than just the orc you had been forced to marry. He became the person you looked forward to seeing each day, the one who spoke to you with care and treated you with a tenderness that slowly melted away your fears.

Pert'ah, for his part, was falling deeper in love with you with each passing day. He adored every small smile you gave him, every word you spoke. It was as though you were the center of his world now, and he wanted nothing more than to make you happy. He would wake up early to prepare your meals, always trying new dishes to see which ones you liked. He would carve small figures for you, weaving your favorite flowers into tapestries.

His love grew more intense, almost obsessive, but never in a way that felt suffocating. He watched you with reverence, always making sure to give you the space you needed, but it was clear in his eyes—Pert'ah was head over heels in love. You had become his muse, his heart, and every moment with you only deepened his feelings.

One night, as you sat together by the fire, Pert'ah spoke softly, his voice filled with emotion.

"[Name]… I never think I can feel like this. You make my heart… full." He hesitated, as if searching for the right words. "I love you. I love you more than anything. I do anything for you. Alway.."

Your breath caught in your throat at his confession. You could feel the depth of his feelings, the way his eyes searched yours for any sign of rejection or acceptance.For the first time, you didn’t shy away. Instead, you reached out, placing your hand gently on his. His skin was warm, rough but comforting beneath your touch.

"I don’t know if I’m ready to say that yet," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "But… I do care about you, Pert'ah."

His face lit up with a smile so wide it made your heart flutter. "That enough for me. I wait for you..alway.."

And for the first time since your marriage, you smiled back.

[theprettynosferatu]

CW: covert hypno, misogyny, step-sibling stuff.

I

Claire was in a foul mood, stomping like a toddler through the hallway of her childhood home. Ah yes, coming back home from College was always a mixed bag. On the one hand, she loved spending time with (and being pampered by) her mom and Rick, her step-dad. But on the other hand, it meant dealing with The Asshole.

He hadn’t always been The Asshole, and that just hurt even more. Somewhere beneath his alpha male bullshit were the remains of her step-brother John. Surely that sweet, shy boy had to be inside this new, incredibly annoying person… but no matter how hard she tried, Claire couldn’t make the person she had loved as a brother emerge from the armor of pick-up artistry and right-wing bastardry John had built around himself. 

It had started during his senior year of high-school, her first one away in college. Maybe he got bullied too much, maybe he listened to too many podcasts and influencers… who knew? The point was that John started hitting the gym, spouting sexist bullshit, bragging about his sexual conquests. And little by little, in her mind, John started to disappear. Now, three years later, she could only think of him as The Asshole. And so, she tried to avoid him as much as humanly possible when she was back home.

It soured the experience for her. It seemed impossible that The Asshole was Rick’s son- after all, Rick was a good man. He had treated Claire like a daughter, with a respect and kindness her biological father had never shown; that was, when that deadbeat had even been around. Claire never called Rick “dad”, but she did feel him as a dad in her heart, and the memories of her “real” father were hazy and growing more and more faint with the years. With horror she realized her memories of John were fading as well, devoured by The Asshole. She fought to remember that The Asshole had once been a decent kid.

The Asshole, for his part, made that task incredibly hard. His off-hand comment that she’d be happier dropping out of college and being a “proper wife” had made her storm off the dinner table. Hence her stomping in that hallway, going to her room. She slammed the door. It would be a long summer. 

II

Pathetic. She couldn’t think of a better word for it. She should feel violated, perhaps- after all, she had caught The Asshole using her laptop- but she found it hard to even muster up anger. She felt disgusted, and also a bit sorry for him. His explanation was as ridiculous as she could have expected from him.

“I just wanted to make sure you weren’t being a low value whore, chatting with a bunch of dudes.”

Sure, Asshole. That’s what I need: you as the guardian of my virtue, she thought. Still, it was an excuse, and she would hold on to it. The alternative explanation was worse and even contemplating it felt abominable. And yet a little part of her, a voice deep inside her head couldn’t help but feel relief.

I’m glad my nudes are on my phone.

No. Better to not go there. John was her step-brother. Even after becoming the prick he had turned into, he wouldn’t see her… like that.

Would he?

She knew he saw her friends like sex toys, given that two of them had confessed to being somehow persuaded by his alleged charms. Needless to say, those girls were now former friends- not so much because they slept with The Asshole and more because they had given him ammo: it made it harder to argue that his toxic manosphere crap was repulsive when he could throw such conquests in Claire’s face. But not even the world’s biggest douchebag would cross the line that separated family and attraction. And they had been family, once. God, it hurt to remember.

She had screamed at him like a fucking teenager, but what was she expected to do? And he had walked away like nothing had happened, like she didn’t catch him red handed. Claire took a deep breath. Fuck it. Let it go. Don’t let him ruin your break. She sat down for an evening of happy, mindless Youtube binging.

Huh. Was the screen acting up? She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but every now and then something felt… off. Well, it was no big deal; certainly not annoying enough to warrant an expensive trip to get the laptop checked out.

Shit. She figured the fight had left her more upset than she had thought: she had watched a two hour video essay on feminism and media representation and she couldn’t remember a second of it. A wave of fear came over her. Spacing out for two hours wasn’t normal. Maybe she was just tired. Yeah, that seemed right. Dealing with The Asshole was exhausting. She needed to sleep.

III

Relaxing ended up being easier than she had expected. She spent long hours in front of her laptop, whiling the time away, floating in a blissful state of pure peace. So what if she couldn’t always remember what she had watched? The effect was soothing, like soaking her brain in a nice hot tub. And she had at long last found a way to deal with The Asshole.

The key was so simple she felt dumb as a rock for not figuring out sooner. The way to avoid a fight was, simply, to avoid the fight. Why spend precious energy fighting a man who was incapable of changing his mind? So she didn’t. Whatever inane bullshit came out of his mouth, she let slide. Maybe give him a polite smile and nod so he would think she was actually paying attention, and daydream about her next laptop session. This was exactly what she needed: a full vacation for her overworked brain.

Around the end of the first week the benefits of Claire’s new regiment became evident. She felt less irritable, giddier, somehow… lighter. And even her libido, long buried under a pile of stress was coming back with a vengeance. Why else would she emerge from her laptop dives soaking wet, needing to pleasure herself as intensely as she needed to breathe? And the way her body felt! Before, her… playing was quick, almost as if doing maintenance on some needed but almost forgotten piece of machinery. Now every time she played with herself was a celebration. She caressed her breasts, took her time, toyed with herself… it was no longer a race to orgasm. Her own body was the greatest show on Earth.

The effects of regular self-pleasuring, long documented in scientific literature, hit her like a train. She was relaxed, energetic- and hell, even The Asshole didn’t seem so annoying anymore. Just smile and nod at him and ignore his misogynistic ramblings. And, if she was being honest, even The Asshole was right, every now and then. Broken clocks and all that. 

You really should show off your legs more. Advertise your sexual value to high-status males.

Okay, so half of that was idiotic. But the legs thing? Right on the money. Claire twirled, letting her new, short sundress flutter and fly, and giggled. It felt light. She felt light. Radiant.

Every now and then her mind went back to the laptop. The screen was acting funny. Maybe she should do something about it, but it seemed like work, and she was home to relax. The laptop thing could wait.

Do you think men would be so nice to you if you didn’t have great tits?

Those words struck a chord inside her. She pondered them after a few hours of mindless laptop time. Sure, she knew she had large-ish breasts, and she wasn’t a complete idiot: men had been extremely fucking obvious about them since she had been a teen. But were tits -breasts- that important? Surely not. Her professors valued her for her intellect.

Didn’t they?

Then why had every professor that had mentored her and helped her out been a man? 

My big tits.

No, that was ridiculous. Silly. And yet, she barely noticed her hand sliding between her legs as she thought about it. My tits matter. My tits are what’s important.

She came almost instantly, and a wave of shame washed over her. She needed to escape it. Dodge it somehow. Laptop. Watch something on the laptop. Let it relax her.

Claire’s low-cut top didn’t go unnoticed at dinner. She wasn’t really sure why she had put it on. It just felt right. Rick obviously kept quiet, but The Asshole made no effort to hide his glances and his smug smile. She should be angry, something inside her told her; but it was a distant voice, faint and growing smaller. If anything she felt… valued. Desired. Worthy. Fuck it, even if it was The Asshole, she had to admit a bit of male attention now and then wasn’t so bad. She found herself blushing at first. Eventually, it was all too much. Claire excused herself and dashed to the bathroom. She fell on her knees, rubbing her pussy -vagina- with a desperation she had never felt before. She needed to cum. The Asshole’s eyes, and his sneer of superiority, and his hateful words… she had to bite her hand to stop herself from screaming.

Claire came back to the table, flustered but okay. Or so she thought.

“Pour me a Coke”, The Asshole said. It wasn’t polite. It wasn’t a request. He had just treated her like a fucking servant.

And yet, she walked to the kitchen and made sure she poured the most perfect glass of Coke possible. She leaned in a bit while she placed it by his plate, giving him a beautiful view of her big, dumb tits. Breasts! Her breasts! What the fuck was wrong with her?

“Thank you, cunt”, The Asshole whispered.

Claire froze. She should… what? Slap him? Scream at him? Lecture him? What would be the point? No, it was better to let it slide. Smile and nod.

Smile? Smile after that? What the fuck was she thinking? Claire was mortified. Turning in bed, she wished she could take that stupid smile back and… fucking punch The Asshole for calling her a…

Why? Why, why, why? Why was she so fucking wet? It was disgusting! He was disgusting! 

…She was disgusting, getting soaked at being called a…

It was too strong. She tried to fight it, she truly did, but her pussy, her traitorous fucking pussy refused to give up, driving her insane. A cunt. He had called her a cunt. Her fingers went into her body. She wasn’t gentle with herself. No, she fucked herself without mercy, like she imagined he would use her if he had a chance. Her mind was a vortex, a mess of words and images and shame and pleasure.

Cunt. Cunt. Big-titty cunt. I’m just a stupid cunt. My tits are all that matters. I’m just a cunt. I’m just holes and tits. I don’t need to make choices. I need to do as men tell me. Men know best. Men are superior. I’m just holes…

She woke up covered in sweat. Fuck. Had she passed out? What… what was wrong with her? She was an excellent college student…

She wanted to throw up. College. All that work. Thinking. And then what? A job? Stress? She couldn’t do it. No way. She was…

I’m too stupid and weak.

It felt so fucking good to think it. It was liberating. Relaxing. It felt like the universe was simple, and she was simple, and now her place in the world was simple. It was light and fresh and it made her want to burst out in giggles. 

A shower of images and words flooded her mind. Women on their knees. Women cooking in traditional aprons while wearing chokers. Women kissing, putting on shows for men. She had no idea when she had seen all that, and suddenly she couldn’t even care enough to fight the feeling. It all just felt… right. Sexy. Natural. It was her place. It was her purpose as a woman. As a cunt. As an inferior fleshlight. She moaned at the idea of sharing this new wonderful bliss with her stuck-up college friends, and making them see the light…

She didn’t even get mad when The Asshole got into her room without knocking. She didn’t even consider covering up. In fact, she felt happy when his eyes focused on her body.

I’m useful. My body makes me useful.

“What are you doing?”, He asked. Suddenly He wasn’t The Asshole anymore. He was a He, and He was always right, and she was meant to do as He said. Simple. Sexy. Fun.

“I just rubbed my dumb pussy until I passed out”, she blurted out before exploding in a symphony of delighted giggling. 

“You know, I know how you call me. Your cunt friends told me. So I’m The Asshole, huh?”

Claire looked at him with fuzzy, unfocused eyes. She’d never think that of a Man!

“What are you?” He asked.

“Holes!”, she replied excitedly. “And tits! And porn!”

“And what do you serve?”

She blanked for a moment. Serve? She did what Men told her, but that wasn’t serving, that was just… being herself. Being a good little cunt. It was natural. Then, as if to help her out, he let his trousers fall.

“Cock!” she yelped. “I serve cock!”

“Then serve”

Duh. Of course she served cock. How could she have forgotten? As she licked and wonderful, conquering cock in front of her, she realized how silly she had been. That was why Men did the thinking. She took in its smell, its smooth texture on her tongue, the way He looked down at her and she looked up at Him. It was just natural.

She was happy, she thought as she relaxed her throat and let that cock slide deeper and deeper inside her.

In the end, she never found out what, exactly, had happened with her laptop. 

Did you enjoy the story? You can support my work at patreon.com/prettynosferatu !

[skzdarlings]

the heist team | the threesome series ; skz ; minho/reader/changbin

masterlist.

threesome series part 2/4.

pairing: lee minho/reader/seo changbin content info: sexual content. threesome. friends2lovers. very cheesy criminal heist shenanigans (very "we're in" style hacking and some laser grids lol). "fake" kissing, getting sexy as a distraction, giving sex directions, sexual tension that gets resolved. pussy eating, dick sucking, coming inside. purple haired minho bc meow <3

-

The camper van was the best idea you ever had.  It is much easier to enact dastardly schemes while inconspicuously hiding in plain sight. 

On the outside, the van looks like any civilian camper, but the inside is a veritable den of high-tech con-artistry.   It has a place for Minho to hang the get-ups for his grifting gambits, a compartment for Changbin to store his weapons and down-time dumbbells, and it has the sexiest, sleekest, most mouth-watering computer apparatus that has ever existed.  You love it more than anything in this world. 

Every job, you sit in the midst of your beloved computer screens, directing the operation while your boys do the ground work.  Despite knowing of your undying love for this system, your best friends and partners-in-crime are presently trying to separate you from your baby.

“Is she calling the computer her baby again?”  Minho asks from where he is getting dressed behind a curtain. 

“Yes,” Changbin says.  He is sitting in your computer chair with his arms distractingly crossed, his biceps bulging in his tight black shirt.  He is wearing a lot of lycra, having formerly anticipated he would be doing physical work tonight.

That all changed when you realized the nature of tonight’s job. 

You only ever target the obscenely rich, the kind of wealth that is obtained through its own nature of theft and villainy.  Tonight’s targets are a bunch of pompous elites celebrating themselves.  Upstairs is a gala kicking off a week-long set of dinners, auctions, and celebrations.   Downstairs is millions of dollars worth of art and antiquities, set to go up for auction the following day.  

It looked like a typical job, the kind where Minho could sweet-talk some fools while Changbin punched some security guards and you hacked the vault from the van.  The security system around the haul turned out to be far more advanced.  Operating with a form of artificial intelligence, it essentially learns as it goes, meaning hacking it from the outside is incredibly difficult as it will understand and respond to invasion.  It will be easier to outsmart from the inside, where you can reach your hand into its virtual heart and pluck its digital ventricles one by one. 

The boys do not have that kind of computer knowledge.  So now Changbin is in your chair, Minho is doing his make-up, and you are waving around an emergency cocktail dress. 

“Who’s gonna watch my baby if I’m in there!”  

“Yah! Rude woman!  You remember who helped you build this thing?” Changbin pats one of the computer towers to make his point.  “I can do the basic work in here, but I can’t do your complicated nerd things.” 

“I’m not a nerd!”  You definitely are.  You stare at the cocktail dress morosely.  “You’re forgetting something super important. That I am a total weirdo and I panic whenever someone looks at me! There’s a reason I don’t do the people side of things!  That’s what you guys are good at!”

“Technically I just hit them,” Changbin says. 

“You are plenty charming when you want to be and you know it,” you say. 

Changbin folds his hands behind his head, flexing all his muscles while grinning. 

“How charming?” he teases, cocky.  “Describe it to me.” 

“Shut up.”  You hit him with the cocktail dress to hide the fact he got you genuinely flustered.  “I can’t go in there.  People will know I don’t belong the second I walk in the room.  We won’t even get close enough to the computer bank for me to disarm it because they’ll get one look at me and throw me out the window.” 

“That won’t happen,” Minho says.   His changing area is behind you and you hear the metallic slide of the curtain opening.  “Because you won’t be going in there alone.”  

You don’t even have to turn around to know Minho looks devastatingly gorgeous; it is written all over Changbin’s shocked face.  His arms lower from behind his head and his cocksure expression shifts, his lips parting as he stares past you.  

Despite having the benefit of bracing yourself, you are still struck dumb when you turn and look at Minho.  It was always in the plan that Minho would serve as a distraction at the gala.  To stand out accordingly, he dyed his hair with temporary dye this morning.  The vibrant purple was more amusing than sexy when his hair was messy, but now it is neatly styled back, slick and off his handsome face.  He is dressed all in white, his asymmetrical suit partially slit at the side to show some skin.  There is an extra sparkle from his jewelry, plus the lightest dab of glitter in the sharper contours of his face.  He is practically glowing. 

He knows he looks good.  His mouth quirks in a little smirk at your expressions.  You and Changbin are both gawping at him, and it goes on long enough that his eyebrows lift and his smirk puckers with a surprised laugh. 

“What? Really?” he asks, still laughing at you. 

Changbin does an unexpected sign of the cross.  You hit him with the cocktail dress again. 

“Fine,” you say, mostly to have an excuse to duck behind the curtain because you think you might explode from lust and embarrassment and anxiety all at once.  “At least no one will be looking at me.” 

You step behind the curtain and snap it closed, leaving the boys to their banter. 

You like dressing up so this part is no problem.  The problem with parties is other people.  You wholeheartedly admit you are better with zeroes and ones than human beings.   

You try to focus on the fun elements of tonight: the dress, the glamour, and beating a high-tech security system at its own game.  It will be so fun to have a real challenge for once.  You know you can beat it but it will definitely push you more than your usual digital adversaries.

Also, you get to look at Minho looking like that.  Your view of the boys is usually through security cameras, nestled in your van surrounded by your operating system, so the proximity will be a treat. 

You open the curtain, scowling.  You do not enjoy socializing so you seldom have occasion to dress up, so you anticipate the boys will lovingly berate you.  But when you step forward, Changbin looks at you with the same dumbfounded expression he had for Minho.  Minho is sitting on the bench, knees apart and arm slung across the backrest.  His expression gets very serious when he looks at you.  He shimmies his hips, his knees parting further. 

“Turn around,” he says.  

The van feels so tense and quiet that you obey, more confused than anything else. 

Changbin’s gaze drops to your ass immediately, his jaw visibly clenching.  Minho tips his head like he is studying something. 

“Thank you,” Minho says. 

You face them again, hot in the face.  You cross your arms angrily. 

“What was the point of that?” you demand.

Minho lifts a single eyebrow.  “I wanted to see your ass,” he says, like it should be obvious.  “It’s a good one.  You should be proud.” 

You throw your sweatpants at his stupid smirk.  He catches it smoothly. 

“Can we just go already?”  You punctuate this with a stomp of your foot then storm out of your precious van. 

It is very strange being on this side of the operation.  You always have Minho and Changbin nattering in your earpiece, but usually you are sitting at your desk wearing proper headphones.  It is strange wandering around with a tiny bud in your ear, listening to Changbin report from your usual seat. 

You already have control of the hotel security cameras as they work on a separate operating system to the storeroom AI.  You replaced the live feed with a looping reel of empty rooms so the security team inside will not see you moving around.  It also gives Changbin a bird’s eye view of the gala and the rest of the hotel.  You feel anxious at not seeing it for yourself, but you are placated when Changbin whistles and teases, “You two are the best looking there.  You would be second best looking if I was there, so you’re lucky I’m not.” 

You and Minho both smile, your expressions fond.  

Minho gets you in the door with little more than a wink at the doorman.  You stay quiet, hiding your nerves as best you can.  Minho is a competent con-man and Changbin is plenty reliable so you try to focus on your own tasks.  First you need to get to the ground floor network base so you can get the AI to chase your red herring.  Once you are in, the AI will start responding, but with your virus acting as a decoy source within the building, you should be able to buy yourselves time to move onto the next phase of breaking down the system. 

“There’s a lot of muscle at this party,” Changbin says seriously, no doubt taking stock of all the burly security guards.  It is only natural Changbin would be as twitchy as you, also out of his element for the night.  “I don’t like not being there with you,” he says.  

“Easy,” Minho says in a calm voice.  You think it is directed at both you and Changbin.  He puts a hand on your lower back and gives you a knowing look.  “You’re doing fine,” he says.

You feel like terror is written all over your face.  It doesn’t help that Minho draws eyes the second you step into the hotel ballroom, men and women looking at him with the usual desire he draws.  They are equally curious to look at you, their eyes on where his hand rests intimately low on your spine. 

“I’m gonna hurl,” you say.

“Not a bad idea,” he says.  He smiles with so much effortless charm that no one would suspect he is whispering criminal tips.  “The best con,” he says, his lips brushing your ear, “is one that is close to the truth.”  You shiver as his fingertips brush up your spine.  He rests his hand on your nape.  “Look sick,” he says.  “We’ll say we’re looking for a restroom if someone asks.” 

You follow his lead, weaving your way through the party.  Looking sick is the easiest instruction to follow because you feel genuinely ill, your anxiety a toxic twist in your gut.  

Only when you are wandering the empty hotel corridor do you feel at ease.  You feel even more at ease when you find the ground floor network hub.  Your first obstacle is a regular alarm code, twelve digits in length.  It is obviously too long to guess so you physically unscrew the alarm box and start some manual fiddling.  There is no way to fully disarm it without also setting it off, but that’s where your own AI gadget comes into play.  You plug in your cypher scrambler and let it do its thing.  It flickers through numbers, seeking the correct pattern, learning from its errors.  You designed it yourself and though it is always accurate, it takes a while to pull the numbers.  You and Minho are forced to hover in the hallway while it gradually reveals each piece of the code. 

You are up to number seven out of twelve when Changbin inhales sharply. 

“There’s a waiter walking in your direction,” he says.  “It looks like he’s taking a shortcut to somewhere else, but you have less than two minutes until he’s on you.”

 “What!”  You start to panic immediately.  “My decipher machine could take longer than that, what do we—”

“Relax, relax!”  Changbin says at the same time Minho steps behind you and grasps your shoulders.  He makes little shushing noises while massaging you, not that it does much to help. 

“We’re good,” Minho says.  “It’s just a waiter, not security.” 

“I’m gonna get us killed,” you say. 

“By a waiter?”  Minho asks.  He gives your shoulders another squeeze.  “Is he going to beat us with a baguette?  Hey, hey, relax.”

You are a vibrating bundle of nerves.  Minho is not usually the type to dive into a hug but he turns you around and pulls you into his arms.  You wrap your arms around his middle and hug him back, hiding your face in his neck. 

“Yeah, that will work,” Changbin says. 

“Huh?” you say, lifting your head. 

Minho is staring into a security camera as if having a mute exchange with Changbin.  He nods in agreement, though you still don’t understand. 

“What will work?” you ask. 

“Distraction,” Minho says.  You just look at him with confusion. 

“Baby,” Changbin says in a soft tone, “listen to my voice.”

The sudden gentleness of his voice makes you shiver.  Your fingers are shaking when Minho takes your hand and rests it over his heart.  You look up into his dark eyes as he smiles at you with familiar fondness.  You open your mouth to speak but he shakes his head, shushing you gently.  His eyes drift to the side in anticipation of an intruder. 

“Baby,” Changbin says, his honeyed tone softening your nerves, “Minho is going to kiss you.  Just do what I say, okay?” 

Your heart skips a beat, your eyes widening.

“You trust us?”  Changbin asks. 

You nod, answering Changbin, gazing at Minho. 

It’s the truth.  You might be scared but you have been scared before and your boys always come through.  Even when the rest of the world left you behind, when you turned to crime to keep yourself alive, Minho and Changbin were there.  They have never let you down.  You trust them with anything and everything. 

Minho slips his hand around your waist, pulling you close to him.  You have been close before, sharing the van, sharing hotel rooms, but this feels different.  He looks at you with intent, his handsome face so close, a strand of dark purple hair curled over his forehead.  Your hand finds that patch of bare skin when you touch his side.  He is familiar and foreign at once, your Minho, and also a character, one who clasps his hand behind your back and ducks down to gently kiss your lips. 

“Take a breath, baby,” Changbin says with a little chuckle.  “You look like you’re going to pass out.” 

“Mmf,” is the noise you make, affirming that observation.   It makes Minho laugh, a breath against your lips. 

“Waiter is thirty seconds away.  You just want to look like a dumb, horny couple that wandered away from the party,” Changbin says.  “Listen to me, I’ll tell you what do.”

You nod, sucking in a breath when Minho kisses you again.  This time his mouth is a little more insistent, his lips coaxing yours open. 

“Close your eyes, baby,” Changbin says.  “Let your shoulders drop.  Minho has you, it’s okay.” 

You didn’t even realize how tense your shoulders were.  You listen to Changbin, letting yourself go lax.  Minho holds you, as promised, his arms sturdy around your waist as he kisses you deeply. 

“Let Minho move you,” Changbin says. “He’s going to lean you against the wall to hide the device, okay?  Put your hands on his shoulders.  Higher, baby, go around his neck.  Just like that.  Let him lead you.” 

Minho walks you backwards, carefully pressing you against the wall, hiding the dangling cypher scrambler with your bodies. 

“We wanna give our intruder a little jump scare, okay?”  Changbin says.  “Minho.”  

That is all the direction he gives Minho, trusting the adept con-man to know exactly what to do.  Minho does, his hands sliding down to your hips to pull them flush against his.  It arches your back.  Your hands are hooked behind his neck and you squeak, your fingers instinctively sinking into his hair. 

“God,” Changbin says.  The sudden dark colour to his voice sends a spark of heat shooting through you.  It clearly surprises Minho too, his lips parting with a caught breath.  “You both look hot.  Fuck.” 

Changbin takes a steadying breath.  You and Minho look at each other.  You get to see his smirk for a split second, then his mouth is on yours and it is no longer gentle and questioning.  It is a demand, hot and wanting, your lips opening with his guidance, your heart skipping beats when he licks in your mouth. 

“Do it back,” Changbin says.  “You want him to fuck you, baby.  Make him believe it.”

You think the him is question is the waiter.  Isn’t it?  You don’t even know where the waiter is anymore, if he’s around the corner or watching.  In the haziness of your kiss, it hardly seems to matter.  You kiss Minho back with the same urgency, pulling him closer, whimpering when he bites your bottom lip. 

“Fuck,” is the gentle whisper that Minho can’t fight.  His brow is crinkled, his eyes closed.  He kisses you again, his hands jumping up to gather yours.  He laces his fingers with yours and presses your hands into the wall on either side of your head. 

“Wrap your leg around his waist,” Changbin says.  “Like that, that’s it, you’re okay.” 

You lift one leg, shaky and unsure.  Minho catches you under the knee and pulls it more certainly around him.  He holds you there, his other hand grasping your throat very gently as he kisses and kisses and kisses you.  Your hands are still splayed open by your head, thoughtlessly awaiting direction.  Your fingers curl into your palm and you moan for real when Minho presses against you. 

Minho is a good actor, but the hard shape in his pants is very real.  When he grinds against you, so open and soft with your leg around his waist, it draws all those guttural sounds right out of you.  Minho makes one back, swivelling his hips in a maddening grind against you.  It is all too easy to imagine him fucking you like this, the effortless back-and-forth of his hips, your sweet sighs as he takes you, imagining Changbin there, his breath also stuttering. 

You do not forget he is watching all this, especially when he lets another low laugh and asks, “She feel good?”

“Yes,” Minho answers without hesitation, breathing the word against your lips. 

“Hold his face, baby,” Changbin says.  “Kiss him like you mean it.  Ask him to fuck you with it.”

You know what he means by that: to kiss Minho with fervency and heat.  You do obey, cupping his face with both hands and kissing him deeply, but the fuzziness of desire mixed with Changbin’s words makes your brain go screwy with want.  Not only does your kiss convey that desire, but words rush past your mouth, crashing into Minho’s lips in a breathless flurry.

“Fuck me, fuck me, please,” you say, your voice pitching up into a little whine as you rock against him.  “Want you to fuck me so bad, baby,” you say, thinking of both of them at the same.   You kiss Minho’s surprised, open mouth, your eyes closed, your voice loud in this hazy space as you say, “I’ve been thinking about it all night.  Need it so bad.  Please.  Want you inside me.  Want my mouth on you.  Come in me.  Come on me.  Take me, please.  I’m so hot and wet, it’ll feel so good, don’t you want to feel how wet I am?  Don’t you want to fuck me too?”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Changbin says, followed by a rush of even more inventive curses.

Minho settles on another simple, surprised, “Fuck.” 

Then someone is clearing their throat.  Minho jumps, his hands clamping tighter around you, protective. 

“Oh, right, this clown,” Changbin says.  “I hate that he’s too far away too punch.” 

You giggle in spite of yourself, which is good because you think you might simultaneously die of embarrassment.  You drop your leg and Minho lets you go, pulling himself together faster than you. 

You let him do his thing, sliding a hand through his hair and smirking at the waiter as he saunters over.  He makes his little speech, something-something-something a moment alone with the missus, something-something sorry-sorry-sorry.   He walks the waiter back around the corner, giving you a knowing glance over his shoulder. 

Thank god your cypher scrambler has its act together, even if you are a mess.  It takes you longer to right yourself than it does for the scrambler to finish its job.  Your hands are shaking as you break into the hub, but muscle memory takes over when you have your mini-laptop open. 

Minho joins you a minute later.  Your entire body lights up like a firework when he steps close to you.  Nothing in his expression conveys anything more than professionalism – his queries are about the job and the job alone – but there is an ache between your thighs that won’t subside.  You know he feels the same way as you can see he is still hard despite how much he glares at the wall.  He adjusts his pants several times while standing in that closet of a hub with you.  You keep glancing at each other, your gazes heady, speaking volumes more than your polite conversation.   

When you leave and he puts his hand on your lower back, you shiver.  You think you might double over from the persistent thumping of your easily-distracted pussy. 

Changbin lets out a long sigh and a nervous giggle.  “Good work, team,” he says. 

You have worked enough jobs that you manage to set aside your personal feelings for the time being.  It is easy to lose yourself in your work, especially when you really have to fight the security system.  

You get inside the storeroom.  You know it is filled with more traps and alarms so you sit down beside the door and type away on your laptop.  You nearly break a sweat with the intensity of your work. 

“She’s hot when she’s doing her thing,” Changbin suddenly says. 

You lift your head and catch Minho’s eye.  He smiles at you.  “I agree,” he says. 

Your heart starts skipping beats again.  You look down at your laptop, feeling uncharacteristically shy under his gaze. 

“Don’t distract me,” you say, making both of them laugh a little.  You glare at Minho but there is no real animosity behind it. 

At least they both acquiesce, going silent while you work.  You manage to disarm most of the storeroom.  The best you can do for the remainder of traps is trigger their subsequent lighting rigs so you can see them all.  A labyrinth of blue light brightens the dark entry room, revealing each laser trigger that blocks your path to the locked compartments. 

You look up at Minho whose calculating gaze is already tracing each intricate beam. 

“Got it?”  Changbin asks.

Minho starts unbuttoning his suit.  “Always,” he says, smirking. 

Minho flips the blazer down his arms, revealing just a tight white crop top beneath it.  His jacket, shoes, and jewelry form a pile beside you.   Minho does a few quick stretches before confidently approaching the laser grid. 

Before his criminal life, Minho was a dancer, and a good one.   He draws the same graceful lines with his body now, making each manoeuvre look easy even though you know it is incredibly difficult. 

“He’s hot when he’s doing his thing,” Changbin says.

“Yeah,” you say, biting your lip and watching Minho move.  “Gotta agree.” 

Minho slips over and under each laser, twisting and bending and sliding with ease.  He pops up on the other side with a graceful twirl, throwing you a wink over his shoulder before flipping a switch on the control panel.  It powers down the censors so you can scurry across the room to join him. 

The compartment door unlocks with your final hacked access code, the door swinging open to reveal your loot.  Changbin gives a successful holler into your earpiece, making you and Minho duck with his volume. 

“I’ll bring the car around, baby,” Changbin says while you two roll your eyes but smile. 

You pack your fold out bags with your selections.  One key to success is never being overly greedy.  You walk away with a substantial victory nonetheless.    

You hurry out of the storeroom with your prize haul.  Minho gets dressed again, though he doesn’t button up his jacket.  He takes a second to catch his breath while you restore each alarm so nothing appears out of place.   When you are ready to go, he takes your hand, smiling.  You run hand-in-hand back down the corridor, making a few sharp turns until you find a staff exit.  There is a small drop so Minho jumps down first then holds out his arms for you.  Though you could make the jump easily, you still let yourself fall into his arms.  

He holds you close as he puts you on your feet.  You are riding the high of adrenaline and success, your heart soaring, which might be why you so easily surrender to desire.   You kiss him, sudden and brief but tantalizing.  He blinks back at you with surprise, his face scrunching with that astonished little laugh of his.   

You smile at him.  A line of sweat dots his hairline and you reach up, smoothing some messy strands of purple hair.  The gentle caress changes the whole shape of his face, his eyes heavy-lidded, his breathing harder.  You feel yourself change too, your heart pounding against his chest when he pulls you close. 

You got greedy with that kiss and greediness has consequences.  You are so distracted with each other that you don’t notice the security guards coming at you from the opposite direction. 

“Hey!” one shouts.  “What are you doing out here?” 

You and Minho look over, then at each other.  There is no time for conversation.  You grab each other’s hands and start running, your bags of stolen goods bouncing on your shoulders. 

“Hey!” the security guard shouts again.  You can hear their heavy footsteps thundering after you, fast despite their muscle and bulk. 

You turn the corner onto a backstreet just in time for the camper van to swing into view.  The door slides open and Changbin jumps out.  You pass each other, dropping hands so Changbin can dart between you.  

Panting, you and Minho watch as Changbin effortlessly takes down the guards. 

“He’s hot when he’s doing his thing,” you say, giggling.

Minho laughs, nodding.  “I agree,” he says. 

Minho takes the steering wheel so you can apologize to your baby for abandoning her.  Changbin jumps back in the van and the three of you drive away with another successful haul. 

Later, back at the penthouse, Minho takes the longest shower in an effort to scrub the purple out of his hair.  You are in your bedroom when he finally emerges.  You can hear him and Changbin talking in the living room.  By the sounds of it, the purple is still threaded in his dark brown hair, likely to last a few more days.  You smile to yourself, listening to their playful back-and-forth as Changbin teases him and Minho snarkily retaliates. 

It is tradition after a successful job to have a few drinks and relax.  Contacting your fence and taking care of business can wait until tomorrow. 

You can hear the usual music playing through the speakers, can hear the clink of bottles and glasses, can hear Changbin and Minho laughing and talking. 

You look at your reflection in the mirror.  Though you seldom have occasion to wear pretty luxuries, you have enough money at your disposal to treat yourself.   You have been changing in and out of different lingerie sets since you got home.  You think this one might be just right: a silky black set worn under a lacy black dress that falls to your thighs.  It is suggestive but arguably casual.  You could just be wearing it as pyjamas, right?  Sure.  Sure.  Totally normal pyjamas for a totally normal night.

The best con is one that is close to the truth, Minho had said.  Then he stuck his tongue in your mouth and you begged him to fuck you with Changbin’s help.  Even you, who is terrible at reading and understanding people, know what truth was in that charade. 

You take a deep breath and march to your bedroom door with determination.  You throw it open so hard that it smashes into the wall, startling the boys in the other room.  You ignore the crash and scurry into sight, avoiding eye contact.

“Hello,” you say.

There is a moment of prolonged silence then Changbin says, “Hi.”

You look up.  They are both staring at you, both wide-eyed, both in sweatpants and t-shirts with their hair undone and fluffy.  They look very casual and very surprised.  Minho is clutching a beer bottle and Changbin is holding a bowl of popcorn.  Both of them are frozen.

You smile a very awkward smile.

“Hello,” you say again.  “I am… I am… dressed.  For bed.  My bed.  For being in my bed, like this, as I am dressed right now.  I am going to that bed, now, like this.  You can… join me.  If you want.  If you don’t want, then, okay.  Hello.  And.  Goodbye.  Bye.” 

You run back to your bedroom and slam the door closed. 

Other than the soft music still swirling in the air, the penthouse is quiet.  You cannot hear the boys, not a comment, not a sound, not a breath.

Then you hear the popcorn bowl hit the ground and a bottle smash.  They shove and yell at each other as they stumble on the way to your bedroom.  You are standing awkwardly in the middle of your room, hands folded in front of you, waiting as they crash into your bedroom door and curse at each other. 

Changbin then very casually opens the door and they calmly walk inside. 

“Hello,” you say. 

“Hi,” Changbin replies. 

You wish thoughts could be hacked like a computer.  You cannot think of what to say or do next.  You just stare at them and they stare back, although their gazes are considerably less nervous.  Their stares are thirsty, drinking you in, looking from top to bottom and back again. 

“Turn around,” Minho says, his gaze low. 

You meet Changbin’s eye before obliging, slowly turning.

“Okay,” Minho says after a long moment, giving your heart plenty of time to go crazy in your chest.  “Thank you.” 

You turn back around, just as embarrassed as earlier but not angry at all.  You cross your arms over your chest, flicking your gaze between them. 

Minho reaches out and lightly punches Changbin on the arm.  Changbin looks at him and Minho gives him a look, one you cannot decipher.  You continue to stare at them. 

Changbin nods at Minho then looks at you.  He holds out his hand. 

“Breathe, baby,” he says.  “You look like you’re gonna pass out.”

You laugh but nod, taking his hand.  He wastes no time pulling you close, guiding your hand to his heart as Minho did earlier.  He holds your hand there and waits until you make eye contact so he can wink at you. 

“I know I am the best looking man you have ever seen in your life,” he says, making you laugh again, “but I’m me.  You trust us?”

You look at him then at Minho.  His dark hair is still tinted purple, his bare face open and soft as he meets your eye.  You smile and look back at Changbin, nodding. 

“Always,” you say. 

“Good,” Changbin says. 

He cups your face and you lean towards him, anticipating a kiss, but he gently turns your face aside.  You don’t even have time to be confused before Minho is kissing you.  He swiftly draws all those sweet sounds out of you, pulling you towards him.  Changbin steps behind you, holding your hips and kissing his way up your neck to your ear. 

“Baby,” Changbin says while Minho slows his kiss to something gentle but heated, his tongue swiping at yours.  “Listen to my voice, okay?” 

You nod, light-headed but eager. 

“Good,” Changbin says.  “Come sit in my lap.  Over here.” 

Changbin is strong enough to haul you around.  You barely have to move, letting yourself go soft in his arms.  He sits on the edge of the bed and puts you in his lap, spreading your legs over his thighs.   You stare up at Minho, out of breath, your thighs twitching to close for pressure.  Changbin slides a hand down, stroking your inner thigh and making you jump, his other hand tugging down your dress and immediately going for your breast. 

Minho sweeps a hand through his hair, taking a breath before stepping up to you. 

“Still want your mouth on him, baby?”  Changbin asks, reminding you of all the things you whispered in that heated moment.  

You nod, whimpering when Changbin slides his hands into your panties and touches you directly.  He circles and circles the most sensitive cluster of nerves, grunting and pressing his lips to your neck. 

“She’s so fucking wet,” Changbin says.  He slips his hand out of your panties and abruptly grabs Minho by the hand, tugging him closer.   Minho brings that hand to his mouth, licking your wetness off Changbin’s fingertips.  “Touch him baby,” Changbin says.  “You see how hard he is for you?”

You can see.  You can feel Changbin too, hard under you.  Their sweatpants do little to disguise it. 

You do not hesitate obeying, tugging on the waistband of Minho’s sweats.  Everything feels so dreamy and good, surrounded by touch.  It all seems to happen quickly; suddenly Changbin’s hand is in your panties, Minho’s dick is in your mouth, and Minho’s hands are tugging the straps of your dress down.   This ends with you drooling messily all over the end of his dick, sucking on the head and murmuring nonsense while Changbin makes you come on his fingers.  Then Minho kneels in front of you both, your legs end up over his shoulders, and you find yourself hurtling towards another orgasm on his mouth. 

You dress ends up somewhere, the panties too.  The bra is barely on, the straps hanging down your arms.  Changbin finally kisses you when you are on your back in the middle of the bed.  He lays between your open legs, his fingers filling you up as you continue to gush all over his hand.  You grab him, squeezing his biceps as he effortlessly moves that strong hand between your legs.  Minho climbs up too, his shirt somewhere across the room.  He grabs your hands and pulls them over your head, pinning them into the pillows before ducking down to kiss you.   You come for a third time before either of them even fucks you. 

Then they do.  Minho first, with you under him, listening to every direction Changbin murmurs in your ear.  You lift your legs around his waist when Changbin says, then touch yourself when Changbin asks, and shudder when Minho comes inside you like you earlier begged. 

Then Minho is behind you, holding you, touching you, protective and familiar while Changbin fucks you.  Changbin has a surprisingly filthy mouth, continuing to tell you how good you feel and how good you look.  Minho is quiet but fully entranced by you, his hands constantly wandering.  He slides one hand down and rubs you off while Changbin fucks you.  Then he leans over your shoulder and kisses Changbin on the mouth, making Changbin finish too.  

The music is still playing in the next room.   The three of you lay there in various states of undress, you in the middle, sweaty and messy, the boys panting and gently stroking your arms and thighs. 

“I love you guys,” you say.  It is incredibly cliché to make a love confession after several mind-blowing orgasms, but you don’t care.   You don’t need to play games or tell lies or be good at socializing, not with your boys.   You can just be your nerdy self, confessing your feelings even while drifting into sleep. 

You smile when you feel Minho kissing your cheek, Changbin giggling on your other side. 

“It will have to be big,” Changbin says.  “The biggest.”

“Hmm?” you ask, looking at him strangely. 

“The diamond we steal to put on your finger,” Changbin says, holding up your hand and circling your ring finger.  You laugh and try to pull your hand back but Minho catches it, nodding in accord. 

“I agree,” Minho says.  He kisses your temple.  “I know how criminals work,” he adds.  “You’re not getting stolen away from us.” 

He and Changbin exchange an affectionate glance over you, nodding at each other, then they are each kissing a side of your face as you squirm and laugh.  You swipe at Minho’s purple hair and kiss Changbin’s cheek, then nestle into their arms as they wrap around you, protective as always. 

[hurgablurg]

Can I mention that the Boiling Isles’ new pose, in spite of being the result of a demented racist trying to pilot the corpse of God, is pretty inspirational for the new world?

Before, the Titan’s bones were laying flat on their back (save for the knee), laid out flat on his ass from some final attack or wound from the Collectors, a defeated, deflated pose that was the primary view for generations of witches and demons who grew up under Belos’ shitty regime, who were generally likewise defeated and deflated, the skull an ever-watching reminder of their Emperor’s alleged “pact” with their creator.

But now? The Titan’s left arm permanently reaches to the fucking stars, grasping for a beautiful horizon, an act frozen in time, but symbolizing a new, promising era of freedom and love, the skull tilted slightly to look ahead (and kind of uppish) instead down over it’s own corpse, eye fixed on the future, brow awkwardly crowned with a shining, spire-adorned halo. The Isles themself motion everyone forward to the future, a last command from the Titan to progress, not stagnate.

And also it’s an absolutely fucking METAL image. Album-tier artistry.

[anantaru]

THREE SECONDS

— ꒰ synopsis ꒱ — as your relationship was ready to take the next step, itto wanted you to meet his granny who had raised him for the majority of his life and was beyond thrilled to show you where he grew up in as a child, or especially how cozy his old bedroom seemed to be.

— ꒰ a/n ꒱ — this fic stems from a little thirst i wrote a while ago and since i adored that idea so so much i just had to make a whole one shot for it, didn’t expect it to get so long though, still, enjoy! <3

— ꒰ word count ꒱ — 5.9k

— ꒰ warnings ꒱ — [ex]plicit, fem! reader, messy, whiny itto but also rough itto, riding, fingering, he's insatiable, the horny took him hostage, slight size difference (i mean he's huge), semi! public + his granny is next door preparing dinner.

arataki itto, the one, the only— a man, who could never be easily defeated in the eyes upon his very self.

by the same token, he, in no circumstances regarded anything as a real believed problem which he would have to face in his life sooner or later on, to a higher notice, was he someone who'd pick out the clear positive in most heeded aspects and proceed to give his furthermost, unswerving best.

for you, he was everything and anything, all at once. The bordering, ingrained proximity between you both could have been esteemed like a mind altering drug— neither of you was marginally capable to keep a distance between each other, not when your relationship carried on to bring forth the best of your abilities.

arataki itto— the love of your life, your soulmate, a man who, to the actual core, triumphantly won your heart and sung a promise to protect it from danger of any kind.

be that as it may, tonight, your entire relationship had all gotten a different meaning in his life because of an undisclosed exponent, itto came into hazardous contact with his first real enemy in a long time— the name of the weighty villain was well known, ponderously soliloquized upon the brimming nations of teyvat, the revolting mischief;

anxiety.

now, to remain logical and give the full picture— today was the prized day where you were going to lastly make acquaintance with the person who had raised him for the larger number of his being— his granny, who graciously took him in as a little oni and fondly watched after him with peerless faith and love in this world.

and despite that, unbeknownst to itto, you were, without no holds barred, feeling the same level of distress. It wasn't unnatural to sought after such a devoted step in a relationship— on the flip side can it become undoubtedly frightening and alarming, singularly when it was a striking indicator to remark just how dead serious you both conceived your relationship and its fancied continuance.

when the evening befell the nation of inazuma in its brilliant illustrious artistry, you had met up with your timid boyfriend to then, fidgety stride to his grannies small sized house which had been a partially shade far outside of inazuma city.

your zooming thoughts— like cannon balls, were in abysmal need of required relaxation, in reality, you truly had no reason to be this frightened because even though you had never met her prior to this day, you heard nothing but subliming wonderful deeds about the woman in question, her accepting care and understandings, the way she did not see any differences in humans and oni— viewing them as equal.

"hey no sleeping!" itto suddenly barks, "wait wait are you feeling sick? we can turn around and sit for a while." oh, he sounds nervous but you insist you're fine, because truthfully, you had just reached your destination and you won't be defeated by something as insignificant as nervousness— it's alright, yet you wonder if your hands could please stop sweating so much? ignore it ignore it, there's no way back now.

in front of the door made of otogi wood, your boyfriend lessened his handsome face to meet you, holding your pretty eyes with his diamond shaped pupils. You easily allow yourself permission to cross the fleeting words in your thoughts to run over his question, what he had asked was indeed chucklesome, in a way that you weren't for certain if the spelled out sentence was solely pointed towards your person or if he was in reality questioning himself. "yes i'm alright— are you though?"

the jocular idea of turning around did not cross your mind, not when you came this far and speaking forthcomingly, the pronounced concern on itto's scrunched expression was much larger and dignified than your own, yet despite that, said tangible worry wasn't one bathed in hesitancy or doubts, more— in an enthusiastic procedure that you were, at last, meeting such an important person in his life.

"of- of course i am!" he blabbers, "do i not look okay?!" yeah.. he must be thoroughly relaxed, right? that must be the obvious case, though he was actively waving his hand in the air— yet in front of his cheeks, he made sure he's covering himself, so you wouldn't get a singular chance to catch him blush in a full scarlet pitch, "why— why the hell shouldn't i be?"

"you seem nervous." you bluntly stated but teased, firmly deepening the eye contact and archons, how flustered itto could become when you won't tear your enthralling eyes off him, "— or scared." you carry on to unfitly taunt your lover, sneakily drawing down a firm grin but leaving your brows quirked up light heartedly, "whenever you're experiencing one of those two emotions, your voice gets a little higher, you know?"

"wha-" he interjects, "it doesn't!" for a crisp second, itto came to terms with his graspable frame of mind— because why should he hide his agitation from you? and then the straightforward tension that had been viciously eating him up from the inside out ceased to exist, "not true!" now, come now, "not me!" it had blurred itself out when he got ruminated with a sudden contagious laugh from you while caressing his arm to soothe his worries once more.

"yeah, i can see that." these are some mean turn of events to play with your boyfriends sensitive feelings like that, he figured, so he let his strong hands shelter your soft cheeks in a heart beat, "i'm never scared of anything." he's unnerved, back to his confident self.

"never ever ever, in a million ever never years!"

"you're crazy." you laugh and offer him a signature smile, freely blustering out a sheltered breath as you humanely lean into his left palm— itto flashes you his pearly white teeth and his thumb was lightly tapping on your plump bottom lip before placing a sensual kiss on top.

curiously enough, he never missed the chance to do that, to flip his thumb over your lips with a large smile, so he could lead you through what he was originally planning to do— to smooth you.

"lets get moving m'lady." he refrains, behaving a split amount differently, in all respects energized, "we're already in front of the door."

"you know what i meant!" he pipes up in an immediate rebuttal while angrily stomping his feet on the ground, banteringly pinching your hip, "ouch!" you loudly squeak out in surprise but itto was quicker— because he directly then knocked on the wooden door so you couldn't get back at him without letting his granny see it too.

his coruscating eyes, they expectantly bunch up while actively awaiting for his granny to open the large door to his childhood home, the place, were no matter what past memories, whether good or bad, had been crafted.

"dear, is that you itto?" you paid attention to an older ladies puny asserting voice upon a small space between door and frame, revealed was a short and on the face of it, feeble woman, appearing from behind. "granny! oh granny!" itto loudly cheers and muses, "you sure took your time granny!" this was an all in all cherished attribute you treasured about itto's entire personality— while surely, it by no means has been spread amongst the crowds that he was known for his loud and sparkling persona, but observing his innocent delight when encountered with his parental figure, openly fostered a total gladden in you— it's because you love him, just how he was.

in redirected regard of your own self, you didn't dare to move a single inch— as if frozen to the cold ground, though be that as it may, you could proceed with your reasoning and refer to it as the 'not well regarded accessory' to your continuous pestering tenseness that wickedly sauntered through head to toe.

but on a positive note, it was beneficial enough for itto to be this tall and large in comparison to your own frame, meaning you were capable to easily slip behind his back in hiding.

"this is who i've been telling you about." damn it, a genuine smile plucked the outer region of his lips as he largely stepped aside to reveal you like a gift from the heavens, his hands embarrassingly pointing towards you.

before you can say anything at all, itto had gladly taken over the role of the awkward introduction process himself and introduced you to his lovely granny.

again, thanks to the electro archon for your perfect boyfriend.

"it is such a deep pleasure of meeting you, dear." whatever it may be now, the woman conveyed an immediate tranquillizing quell which had brightly subdued your tensed muscles. "the pleasure really is all mine, miss!" extending your hand to her, she slowly lunged forward to shake it as you introduced yourself again.

now, in retrospect, this entire time, you had been tremendously nervous— highly strung, repeatedly shifting in your shuddering stance from left foot to right foot, right foot to left foot, though now, as you walked into her small home— with itto being a gentleman and closing the door shut behind you both, you at present had felt like you were truly welcomed in her abode.

(major mental sticker for the next time: don't let the useless negativity consume your goddamn mind, okay?)

well, back to business.

throughout the time, itto's sizable hand was, no matter what, situated solidly on the region above your behind, lovingly stationed on your lower back while he guided you to the homely warm and restful living room.

when you listlessly skimmed through the many decorations of the place, you discovered a framed picture of itto as a child next to his granny, it wasn't difficult to see their emotions through the stilled memory, both were marvelously happy and utterly fulfilled— grateful, with a squishy onikabuto plushie being sponged and pressed into itto's chest.

how long have you been staring at the frame? you can't recall, but fortunately to you, you got drawn back to the present reality when your boyfriend pinched your arm. His grandma— such a warm hearted lady, had affectionately assembled two beverages meant for you as she further beckoned you two to take a seat on the mellow couch.

"this is quite embarrassing." she weirdly was in a panicked stance about something rather awful, even going as far as to idly enclose her slender arms around herself, shaking, "what is it granny? are you sick?"

itto pucks himself into the seat with concern, yet striving to stand up right again and aid her in whatever was the critical problem at hand, "oh no! dear." she worrisomely shakes her head and her cheeks irradiated a scarlet tint, "but the dinner isn't ready yet!"

"that's all?!" itto exhales enormously from his chest— to a greater extent, one could say he was about to pass out from the thought of having something serious happen without him being in on it. Despite your rocky state of emotions from beforehand, you were now hopeful and viewed this polished opportunity as your sweet time to shine.

"can i be of help?" you bring forth self assured confidence in your tone color, "i might not be as skilled as you but i can try!" sliding the glass back on the coffee table, you were ready to get up and aid in the kitchen— it was not a big deal and you were always happy to help, especially when it was someone who was regarded as the closest family member to your boyfriend.

having said that, the wishing reply you had longed for, wasn't actually what happened, "there's no need dear." she sweetly giggled around her words, being truly flustered to the core by your sweet attempt to help her out, pretty much warming up with you already— you were lovely in her eyes, "and i'm certain itto desperately wants to show you around, isn't that right?"

you, of course, won't argue with that, "so damn right!" itto was full of happiness, and now, he's pushing himself up from his seat, additionally inviting you over to grab onto his hand so he could lead you around everything, "there's much to show after all!" with your hands quietly placed on your thighs, you feel nothing but giddy and take his palm, but rationally, you'd rather spend time with her so you could get to know her better.

that certainly was the best idea, but inside of you, the sultry skittish feeling of watching itto like that— so happy and excited, was priceless in your very eyes, maybe ... you could sneak in a few fleeting kisses before having to come back, hmmm, this does sound quite bewitching now, doesn't it?

on the way out of the living room, you were met once again with objects from his past, all pridefully shown and displayed around the tiny corridor he was leading you in. Next, on the very left, you found yourself in front of a wooden door that wasn't like any other, it was, quite frankly, messed up with what seemed to be symbols clumsily drawn on with a bunch of pencils— very itto typical, you humbly added.

"there we go." he's so excited, happy, euphoric— are there any other ways to possibly describe his emotions right now because in itto's perspective none of them were doing it justice, "the room of a real oni!"

"aww!" you accept the entry and let him close the door, leaving you both sheltered in place. his room was bigger than you had actually expected; a small, cleaned bed lovingly decorated with two larger plushies on top— one specifically caught your eyes, it was the same one that you saw earlier on the picture with his grandma, the onikabuto exemplar, while the other was funnily resembling a ruin guard of some sorts?

without much to say, both were worn off, he must've played with them in his childhood days.

"what do you think?" he quirks a brow, "to be honest, i was a little worried it wouldn't do me justice." you roll your eyes in the back of your head, what a guy.

at the prospect of being quite the stunner at taunting or playing with your boyfriend, you breathe out euphorically before speaking again, "the bed is so tiny, how little you were itto!"

"tiny?! it's not tiny!" he stomps forward, "this isn't tiny! or is it?"

was this the beginning of a heated debate? not really, but maybe a little. to elaborate himself further without requiring words, itto was swift and eager to carelessly wind away the dear plushies to awkwardly drop his wholeness onto the frail bed and archons— let it be known that the old woman outside had trouble hearing because those damned squeaking sounds were violent, dropping off the walls with an intensity you haven't heard before.

was itto about to break the bed? no no, you suppose. hopefully not.

"looky looky." he thoughtlessly leans back into the silken cushions but props himself up with his elbows so his pretty view on you would turn out even prettier, "it's large, just like me." — how can this man be for real sometimes, you wonder, snorting out a silly laugh on how impossibly comical he looked right now, with the majority of his legs hanging out of the bed frame.

"it sure does." you feign your engaging sentencing, silently getting close and walking towards him to sit, somewhere— which, uh, wasn't possible because he took the entire space.

literally, how could he not?

so, instead, you had, emphasizing heavily on the 'had', resulted to therefore straddling his hips with your thighs on each side of him. You're leaning forward and to that— your dress instantly responded with unknowingly pining up and revealing more of your smooth legs. Due to this unseen course of events, itto thumbed down entirely, now laying flat with you mounting on top.

the shallow heave that unbuttons from his throat when you declined your head to sweetly plant a semi innocent kiss on his lips, it was overflowing with tension, beyond wishing, so he leaned in— one kiss, two, one more? perhaps a couple.

in a profound refrain, you found yourself relaxed, making out with itto, still largely gentle and shy— if only he wouldn't have began to skim over your body with his hands, up and down in circles, his palms were seizing the movements of you, heatedly glissading over your exposed skin until looming them further back to greedily grab a fistful of your flesh and knead your ass to drag you close.

on purpose or not? but your cunt was now directly brushing on top of his member.

"mmh." you inaudibly whimper into his mouth as you coincidentally rub down on his groin, "ah— i'm sorry." he speaks and unexpectedly drags your pussy over his hidden cock. "fuck-" normally, you're so so careful— fuck, you wouldn't, right? do it on purpose, never.

amusing, you, as a matter of action, did not miss how tensed up itto was, how overwhelmed with the budding pressure in his pants.

how ... he was in his old bedroom, giving his almost painfully growing erection the thing it desired, from you, his cute darling. His breathing had been erratic while his digits further altered your flesh to keep you stilled but surely pressed right on top of his swelling cock.

rationality, here we go, "w-wwwait." his cheeks had a sudden burn with an equal amount of both a higher consciousness of euphoric bliss and clear embarrassment, itto figures that— archons, he might already be done for, the 'little' problem in his pants, how was he supposed to get rid of it before dinner?

"sorry." you cheekily coo and bit your lip back at him, "but you're comfy." cozily wrapping your arms around his neck, maybe another kiss will do it, so you sloppily go down and pull away with a sharp tug on his lower lip. You smile, although sheepish, "we should get up." and whisper the evident.

but unmistakably, if you would've acted out on what you were manifesting, or that you were more than certain you had wholly slicked up your thin panties by now— sensing them stick on your core, you would've blindingly leaned in to whatever you were attempting to do this second.

"wait." oh? this tone was different and you liked it— remembering the cause of it too. Much deeper was the timbre and not in his usual airless color, because itto was dead serious in his shaking utterance, a single word demonstrated a devilish command, "i'm a little—" you follow his eyes with your own and watch the mess in between your sticked together bodies— your dress had been draped up even more and was now pressed up, resting right above the beginning of your ass while itto's pants were extremely tight.

he embarrassingly looks up at you with hesitancy, "oh you know- i think i need a second." and he forcefully exhales his words from his tight chest, "but you are- fantastic." and prolongs his trembling heave right after, "and warm." while he closes his eyes, only a short amount because he had to catch your hips and stop them when you tried to move.

"what are you?!" he groans so loud, too loud— shameless, as you were quick to shush his noisy tongue with your hand clutched around his needy mouth, "shhh, don't talk." you coo, "don't say anything." and he listens carefully, with wide opened eyes, nervously gulping down the assembled saliva, "let me help you out, okay baby?"

finally, fucking finally, he thought, "c-careful." itto mumbles into your hand as you used your other to clumsily open up his pants— pulling down his, with pre cum drowned, boxers, at last freeing his erect cock that was plopping out of the garments.

it's heavy, shading red and the deep blue'ish broad veins on the underside of his girth left nothing left for imagination— your mouth practically watered at the filthy, sinful sight, but it's so tasteful and you wanted to please him right away, maybe suck him off and let him fuck your face, but now— not now, his grandma was literally in the next room and preparing dinner for you, right, almost forgotten!

lets just get this quickly over with and help your handsome boyfriend with his not so little problem— later on there was still additional time, you can always fuck at home, real messy and loud— leaving yourself to him so he was able to pump his seed into you and let it ooze out again.

"ah- baby." his voice sounded impatient and a bit whiny, "it hurts." he grits his teeth and his cheeks burn up, he lifts his hips and softly grinds into you while keeping you down, his face was incredibly red and even the tip of his ears had now visualized the exact same color. There's no way he didn't spend time to think about it too— about the shared fantasy, about pistoling his cock deep into your spongy cunt, it makes him question himself if he can actually pull it off, in this small room with the bed squeaking at every move.

the delirious flutter was risky, but worth it?

"okay, you know what?" he spills out, chasing more relief, "just the tip." he whines, "only the tip, please!" you curiously readjust yourself to rut your cunt on him— on the brink of turning brainless yourself. "you know we wouldn't stop." but the mental image of his tip splitting you roughly had you close your legs around his body, shoving your pussy on his bare cock again.

"but it hurts-" and you shake your head, just wanting to scream that it hurts you too, "i know baby but we can't."

one hundred percent a bad idea— that's what it was in an outer perspective, but how could you ignore his mushroom tip leaving itself get messed up by your arousal— how now, he nudged himself into the flimsy material of your panties to rub his length within your folds, spreading them apart, loving your wet cunt, "five seconds." you can barely hear him say it, "just five seconds." archons, where were the infamous rational thinking skills when you were in dire need of them?

fuck this, rightfully so, "three." now, you start to bargain for the tasteful prize, "four." and itto was determinedly stammering right back at you while his mouth was still covered by your hand. You both cannot believe each other, truly, how desperately needy you were, at this point barely caring anymore when he slowly bumped his drenched cock into your pussy— your underwear by now fully slipped to the side.

"three seconds!" — "oh man .. fine."

you drop your weight before he could finish his words, catching him so off guard was rare in it's own glorious state and you‘re taking his tip further, making the man underneath you deeply groan into your hand. "shut up itto!" you laugh and embarrassingly snort a little, "i'm sorry!" this whole lively situation had a comical sense to it because when else are you fucking your boyfriend in his old bedroom— in a bed that was way too small for any of you, but maybe that's the fun part of being this close together, fusing your skins as one.

you go silent, overwhelmed and shaking, to counter attack your natural body reactions you forcefully bite down on your bottom lip to withstand the upcoming moans, "fuck, fuck!" for comfort, you lean into him as his tip naturally slips in and out of your warm pussy, in and out, in and out, catching a glimpse of his already hooded eyes. "only the tip." you jokingly repeat, "mhm the tip." he moans back into your hand while you felt him drool on you— because there you were flaunting your tits at him, rigidly pressing them into his chest with your pointy nipples finding friction.

itto shuts his eyes on the sprouting frustration closing around his belly, "mhm, i can't believe this." he almost laughs, as if to ease you both down in his own silly ways, "me neither." he further molds his hands over your hips to hold you in a precise way. Truthfully, your trembling thighs were burning and sore, firmly splattered with arousal and exposed to him.

the position you were currently in wasn't kind to you, if anything it was becoming harder to remain focused so you wouldn't end up suckling in more inches without realizing.

you carefully move away your hand and give him enough space to breathe more sizable and damn— the sight in front of you was a fucking longed one, downright unreal, it wasn't able to be somewhat framed or painted into words.

itto whatsoever, his face had spiraled into complete redness, granted, he was trying his utmost finest to be good and not greedy, though the punishing demonstrated fantasy of bulging his cock into your sensitivity was always there— his shaking hands clearly giving it away.

"ah- this is awesome!" itto clears his throat and needfully runs his knuckles over your skin, reaching your behind— two of his fingers ran down to your folds to spread them and leave him with more room to stay inside, "yeah.. this is better." he heaves and you whine because it really does feel better that way— you've been plenty wet by now and if you weren't this patient, you surely would've fucked him into oblivion by now.

you hide your pleased face in his neck, "i can't believe we're doing this." and admit, arching your back a little (for good measure) before slowing one of your hands over his damp forehead where a couple of his hair strands were sticking onto, due to the excessive amount of sweat, "i think I'm dreaming!" though it's stupefying, itto gladly relishes in the smug satisfaction, claiming you one inch further, a bulged type of sweet and honeyed pride was delivered when he let you do it— slurp up one more inch, ambling his hips differently for a finer angle.

you kiss itto's lips to soothe his gravelly groans, in addition to your own squeaky huffed out cries— he's so big and heavy that when you move just a little, it's as if he's strapping you off every single inch of control in your body, as if he's, on purpose, targeting the plushy splotches in your walls.

you grab onto another inch as he passionately groans into your mouth— more please more, bracing yourself, letting his tongue run free into yours, he continues it, pitching his hips further and spreads his thighs to rub you into him while his eyes flicker with lust and so do yours.

you just cannot think straight anymore, it's not possible nor required, you are so fucking fucked right now, both deliriously good and blazingly bad.

itto thinks it still isn't enough, his big cock was tingling in your walls and it should be criminal on how fucking fine your closed insides were, ravenously bordering on him and gripping him— it doesn't even compare to other instances in his life because you both couldn't keep your hands to yourself and wanted to straight up— lose your minds and bodies.

a hiss spills from his throat and it appears like your legs are about to give up on you— your tits too, bounce in tune to your actions and surge eminent bliss into your veins. You find yourself entranced when he crowds you and your toes curl at another easy shove forward.

the painstakingly grab on your hips was to leave bruises, his knuckles turning white and his dick shimmers with your arousal that you sink down further.

you adjust and squeeze around him, bending over when breaking off the kiss, your wet lips twitching in a shameless grin as itto chuckled right under you. The lower side was rammed with your transparent liquids puffing out your pussy— itto's eyes were blown wide and he makes sure to always remember to stretch your ass while you look so adorable above him, creaming on his cock that was now completely clashed into you.

hold on.

what happened to the three stated seconds? or just the tip?

three or none, oh no— not this, please no, archons above please send us mercy because how much fucking time has passed since you started this succulent and mouthwatering gamble?

"fuck— just like that." itto mouths without a single care behind those eyes, "you're the prettiest baby, you know that?" he lifts himself into you and turns the bed into nothing more than a squeaky noisy problem. It could've turned out real embarrassing if not one of you had turned on your hazy braincells.

"itto wait!" you foolishly whine, "shit, too loud!" he bottoms out and smacks his balls into you, remembering the obscene situation as the bed loudly creaked. "shit, shit shit." your mouth clashes onto his with saliva bubbling out of the outer parts of your lips. Yet you don't stop, instead you grind your pretty cunt on him and smear his filth over your soft walls.

"do you think?" you're concerned for the obvious, stilling yourself, "no no, don't worry baby." itto speaks up, "are you sure? we were very loud right now." he captures your body in between his arms to twitch inside your core, you on the other hnd never adjusted to his large dick— you just couldn't stop pulsing on his length, it's swilled with your liquids. "i got you, i'm sure she didn't hear anything."

while you do want to place your greatest trust into him, you weren't stupid, but amidst the sinfulness of it all, you nod your head at him. "we need to finish this quickly." whispering from above, your warm breath fans over his skin.

itto doesn't answer, there was no need for it, not now at least. He reaches up to lift your chin to lead you towards his lips and you cry into the sloppy kiss while his other hand dampened down on your folds, roughly stimulating you with his knuckles. "i- fuck, i-got-you." he finally says in between groans and urges you to continue, "i'll make you cum on me." his words came out in a stitched together grunt.

his mind— it was gone and clouded and another moan leaves him right after at the galvanizing sight of you. Itto braces himself and leads you to heaven, it's overbearing and frustrating, but the new punctuated jolts were closing down on your sensitive cores, they were tempting and pressing on your beating thuds.

all you could think of was for him to please please go faster, but it wasn't possible, not anymore. okay, well, it was but, you would equally be busted and you were sure the embarrassment of being caught by his fucking grandma during the act alone would give you terrible nightmares for years on end.

his knuckles dig into your shining folds and rub you fiercely while taking you with his cock. By how rough itto was fucking you now you had to close your hand around his mouth again so he could freely grunt and moan— vocalize his pleasure to you so you can latch onto him finer, constrict on his shaft and milk him dry until he's wet of a white ring of arousal, the clear determination to finally cum was genuinely all you both could think of.

you cry yourself into his shoulder when he pulls you to him, fisting his palms into your draped up dress to practically rush you back and forward— using you as a fucktoy to drench his cock in. His hips are stuttering and you knew he was close— because in truth, you were too, the continuous intrusion of his sensual tip on your pleased insides felt so fucking fine you thought you were actually going to tear up from it.

it's when it began to burn as he continuously smacked his hips into you, both tightly squished into each others embrace and melting into your bodies. You were drooling on your entire chin and then it happened, bringing you back to the overstimulation which was twice as powerful, twice as deep— pulling out your climax from your strangled rooted core as you violently clenched on his heavy cock, your orgasm thundering over you.

"too much, too much!" you whisper cry on him and itto plants one of his hands on the back of your head to squish you close as he climaxed too, sealing his lips as you pressed your hand into him. "I'm so close— so close so close." his hips were still going but slower, his calloused palm holding you down, guiding you where he required you to release his seed, paint your walls with silken white and calm your inflamed skin.

"fuck!" he moans and his eyes roll back, "inside— im inside you." itto feels empty but fulfilled, the compressed position was in any other occasion insanely unfitting and uncomfortable, but for you there wasn't a better one. His breathing was hot and the entire room smelled of sex and filth, the spilling ropes of cum were seeping right out of you.

the both of you were utterly panting and damn, itto came a lot, cummed as deep as he could and his grunts were still there— low and under the shadowy rasps, leaving it to you to finish him and he relishes in it, entirely, when being milked by a warm cunt such as yours, a claimed one, by him alone.

it's silent before your thoughts come back swirling, heated but never forgotten, you prop yourself with your arms and smile at him, but then it hit you.

"no no." you panic and your eyes glue down on your not so innocent lower region, "we made a mess." he smirks back at you, all puffed out and blowing. "how do we cover that?!"

you lift your hips and are now presented with the post nut problem, vision still glassed up and shaded by how good you were being fucked just moments ago. "wait let me-" itto helps you lay down while he sits up on the bed, his cock limply coated in arousal, "do you need- uh, wait!"

he swiftly searches around the room and finds a towel, hastily handing it to you, "thanks." you shyly mumble, still sore, "how do i look?" you ask him jokingly while fixing your make-up simultaneously to rubbing off the crumbling perspiration on your body.

"like you just had the best orgasm in the world." he sings, putting up his pants while helping you as much as he could. "you're one to talk." you tease, breathless and still hot, pulling down your dress as itto reaches out his arm to you, aiding you to stand up.

a hand falls heavy on his palm and you curse yourself for not figuring out sooner that you were thoroughly sore and done— swelling and used, especially your muscles were burning, searingly aching, "oh— easy now." itto could do this all day, watch you fix yourself after he fucked your brains out— minus the doing it in his old bedroom. His inflated ego breaks records, "are you okay?" but the concern in his voice was sweet, "y-yes."

"lets eat dinner then!" you almost forgot about that.

he rubs his belly and you nod your head in agreement, spouting out a wheezy laugh while you began to fix his hair, "— and hope your grandma didn't hear a thing." and end his sentencing at last.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[scuttlingcrab]

Raphael going to a noble party of some kind, disguised as a human, in order to find and schmooze with current and potential clients. While engaging with one such individual who seems particularly taken with him, from across the room he spots Tav, for once not dressed in adventurer's gear but decorated with finery. The Hero of Baldur's Gate is so radiant that, at a glance, one could be forgiven for mistaking the mortal as an angel in disguise. However, like the cambion, Tav also has noble-born partygoers vying for their attention, asking (and more often than not being granted) a dance with the hero, and perhaps gossip of nobles approaching the hero with dowry proposals and attempts at wooing this illustrious guest begin to reach the fiend's ears.

You're the best, thank you so much for sending me this prompt! x

Summary: Raphael attends the annual Baldur's Gate Masquerade Ball and accidentally runs into his little mouse.

Dance with the Devil

(Image via venenum-cadaverinus)

All the world's a stage, and all the men and women and devils merely players. 

It was a warm summer’s evening. A gentle breeze came from the sea, as frequent as the lapping waves, temporarily relieving the heavy layer of humidity that hovered in the air. The full moon blazed, illuminating all below it like a spotlight.

The annual masquerade ball had begun, attracting not only the richest, noblest citizens within Baldur’s Gate, but of the entire Sword Coast. They all flocked to Wyrm's Rock Fortress, togged up clad in glittering gowns, spectacular silk suits, and meticulous masks that expertly hid the true identity of every guest.

Per annum, the masquerade highlighted the achievements of Baldur’s Gate, from elections won to cities conquered, and what a year it had been for all mankind. With the narrow defeat of the Elder Brain the city undoubtedly had something magnificent to celebrate. Despite more than half of the city still in ruin, Wyrm's Rock itself littered with holes, and the political climate in bedlam; there was hope. And with hope, lies potential. 

Raphael arrived at the ball not in his usual show of sparks and embers, but by modest carriage. He smiled to himself, finding amusement in this mortal way of traversing the planes. These simple minded creatures always had such an imaginative way of thinking. He exited the coach and took a deep breath, absorbing the salty sea air and the multifarious scents of the mortals swimming past him. He had come concealed as a human, but his clothing was nothing but lavish. He couldn’t resort to anything less than that. 

He wore a red velvet three-piece tuxedo with a form fitting tailcoat. The colour was bold, yet the details simplistic, he wouldn’t dare distract from the show-stopping piece of his costume: the mask.

Raphael was hidden behind a horned gold leaf mask, the horns replicating the very ones from the Crown of Karsus. He made the mask himself, the artistry immaculate, showcasing Raphael’s pristine attention to detail. The intricate floral designs carved into the mask not only added panache but amplified the aesthetic beauty of the disguise.

A gaggle of women stopped to take in Raphael’s outfit, nodding to him in admiration. He returned their stares with a polite bow, before they moved along, giggling. Raphael’s body increased in warmth, his cheeks flushed with pride. 

This was a night of celebration not only for Baldur’s Gate, but for Raphael. Since acquiring the Crown of Karsus, he barely had a moment to himself. There had been no celebrations awaiting him in the House of Hope, no companions to congratulate him on his arduous labour. The very nature of his ambitions subjected Raphael to secrecy and solitude, he was forced only to rely on himself. Naturally, as soon as his hands cradled the Crown, he went straight to work, preparing for the next course of action in his ongoing plans to conquer the Hells. The Crown was just the beginning. 

Symphonious music, exuberant laughter, and the electrifying hum of excitement could be heard even from the outskirts of the Fortress. The entire fortification was vibrating, brought to life by the very nature of the ball.

As Raphael showed his invitation to the guards, and passed successfully through the security checks, he bit his tongue to stop himself from prematurely combusting into flames. His chest rattled, as if it might burst open at any second from the thrill of the evening to come. 

Raphael made his way through the interior of the fortress, completely anonymous, blending smoothly into the crowd. No room was off limits, he was free to roam where he pleased; to indulge in the festivities, and even prey on guests without suspicion if he felt so inclined.

He soon found himself on the upper floors, walking into the Audience Hall. It had been turned into a ballroom, the hive of the masquerade. A band was comfortably sitting where the throne would’ve been. The walls behind them had yet to be repaired from the blasts that sieged the fortress when the Elder Brain attacked. It quite suited the occasion, bringing in the cool evening air and offering a dramatic view of the oceanfront. 

Raphael leaned against a stone wall towards the edge of the room, observing the mortals mingling and twirling. Everyone’s movements were synchronised effortlessly, there wasn’t one person who didn’t belong. He must throw a ball like this in Avernus once Zariel is defeated. Yes, it would be most joyous indeed. 

His toes tingled as he watched the gowns swirling, his body attracted to the movements like a moth to a light. As he took a step forward, he was suddenly blocked by a mysterious woman. She wore a tall lace headdress that made it appear as if she was looming over Raphael. Her blue gown hugged her bosom, revealing a little too much to those who happened to sneak a peek or two. Her face was completely obscured by a white porcelain mask, the lips painted red. She bowed to Raphael and he returned the motion. 

“I was quite taken by your ensemble.” The woman began, her voice deep and rusty. 

“I am most honoured, my lady. “

“It smells of money.” The woman’s eye’s twinkled behind her mask. 

Raphael raised an eyebrow, amused at the bluntness of this woman. He couldn’t help but respect the efforts, despite her obstructing his path to the dance floor. 

“My accounts are indeed… healthy.” Raphael responded. 

“Mmm. And what of your relationship status?

“I am unfortunately married to my work.” 

“As they all say...”

The woman began to say something else, but her voice faded as Raphael caught wind of something stirring at the far end of the hall. His ears twitched as the murmurs rose, the distant rumbling growing like a massive wave, enveloping the entire ballroom.

Raphael turned to find the source of the commotion, his eyes immediately falling on heaven incarnate. His mouth fell open as he took in this new creature. He delicately placed his hand on his heart, to make sure it was still beating.

She was stunning, the most beautiful thing he had laid eyes on in this mortal plane; every movement she made was graceful, dignified, and had purpose. Her black strapless gown glittered under the candlelight, showcasing her broad shoulders and pale skin. The train on her gown seemed to levitate as she moved across the room. The mask she donned was made of silver feathers that fanned out towards her forehead. Truly, a celestial in disguise.

“If you will excuse me. It has been most illuminating. May your future be… opulent.” 

Raphael dismissed himself with a bow. He was certain he heard the woman tut in disapproval, but he was already in pursuit; halfway across the hall to his new target.

A crowd was forming around the mysterious creature, growing with more eager souls as every second passed. Raphael lingered around the throng, trying to find an opportunity to strike. He edged his way in, closer and closer, his chest expanding, eyes glowing, as he focused his listening. Raphael needed to hear the creature’s voice, which was no doubt as angelic as her appearance.

As he approached the centre, he was bombarded by mundane talk from the vultures circling the creature; dowry proposals and failed attempts at wooing her with what sounded like children’s rhymes. Cheap tricks!  

Raphael instead titled his head towards the creature in another attempt to identify her. His nose picked up the delicate scent of cloves and roses. Cloves and roses… he gasped. He searched the creature’s face again and instantly recognised the pale scar on her chin. It was minuscule, but Raphael never missed a detail. Could it be… Tav? The little mouse?

It felt like a lifetime ago since their last encounter when she so valiantly delivered the Crown of Karsus to him. Raphael’s pride and glory, his ascension. Their exchange had been brief, but Raphael would always be eternally grateful.

He often had Tav in his thoughts long after they parted, wondering how she coped; but she soon occupied less of his mind the more fires he had to put out, the more he had to focus on preparations against Zariel’s forces. This evening he would rectify his error.

Raphael beamed as he watched Tav deny one vulture after another. Such confidence, my how she’s grown. His little mouse, so furious, so brave. 

Without hesitation, Raphael swept in, lightly tapping Tav on the back. Her skin felt cool against his touch, and he fought against his temptations to leave his hand resting on her shoulder.

“May I have this dance?” Raphael asked. 

Tav froze at Raphael's touch, stopping her dialogue with the random mortal. She bowed in an apology to them before turning around to face Raphael. Tav’s nose twitched as she took him in, her eyes slowly lighting up in recognition. Raphael gave Tav a cheeky smile, extending a hand towards her. 

There was a pause before Tav nodded, placing her hand upon his. The whispers hushed and silence filled the hall as Raphael guided her to the centre of the ballroom just in time for a new song. 

Raphael whirled Tav into his arms as soon as the music began. She fit perfectly against him, like a missing puzzle piece. Tav squeezed his hand as Raphael led and she followed, never missing a beat. 

“I almost didn’t recognise you without those tattered blood stained clothes, little mouse. You clean up well.” 

“It’s been a long time since anyone called me that, ” Tav said, smiling fondly. “You are a sight for sore eyes. Thank you for rescuing me from those creeps.” 

Raphael chuckled. 

“And you are a most welcoming sight indeed. Positively ravishing. I never thought I’d see you attending an event such as this.”

“I could say the same of you. Don’t you have more important things to be doing than playing dress up?”

“Ever so perceptive. This evening I am merely here for entertainment, taking note of my stock. It pleases me to see some of my most prestigious, favoured clients doing so well for themselves.” 

“Our deal is done.”

“Yes, in truth, but you are an alumni, so to speak. It’s only natural for me to check-in from time to time.”

The dance grew more intimate as they continued. The world around Raphael vanished as he stared into Tav’s eyes. It was just the two of them, how it was always meant to be. Raphael was connected to Tav, their movements fluid as they circled the dance floor. He could feel Tav’s breath on his neck, her breasts pushing against his chest, as he let the rhythms direct their next steps.

“You are a natural.” Raphael said, breaking the stillness.

“Don’t act so surprised.” 

“Here I was thinking I knew everything about my favourite client.”

“Surely I won’t be your favourite forever?"

“Some have come close since we last spoke, but you still have top billing.”

Tav's cheeks unexpectedly blushed as she stared at Raphael through the mask, her eyes softening. Raphael stared back at the creature, bemused. He attempted to open his mouth in response, but found he was at a loss for words.

Instead his stomach fluttered, his own skin burned hotter than Avernus, nearly causing him to miss a step. He had to focus, now was not the time to get lost in these emotions, to think about romancing a mortal. It was a sign of weakness. 

The music ended and the ballroom erupted into applause. Raphael bowed deeply and upon looking up at Tav, noticed tears in her eyes. Without warning, Tav hugged Raphael, pulling him in close. 

“Now, now... this evening is not for tears but for celebration,” Raphael whispered into her ear. 

She laughed before releasing Raphael from her embrace. Raphael quickly snapped his fingers, a fresh rose appearing in his hands. He bowed a final time, presenting it to Tav.

“To the hero of Baldur’s Gate!” Raphael roared.

The applause continued, getting louder and louder. 

“And to the bearer of my future.” Raphael continued, in another whisper. “I must bid you adieu. Please don’t let me keep you any longer.” 

“Thank you again, Raphael. I’ll make sure to pay you a visit.”

“And I’ll always be waiting, little mouse.”

Raphael promptly took his leave, vanishing into the crowd. He paused before exiting the Audience Hall, watching Tav from the shadows. She continued to hold herself high as she welcomed another dance.

Perhaps he would invite her to dinner. After all, it was long overdue. 

[subskz]

what kind of feminine panties would each member wear, and mtl likely to wear them?

i feel like felix would love frilly, floral, lacy, cutesy ones hehe. like especially pastel pink ones with small polka-dots and the little bow at the top and lacy trim.

jisung would definitely wear a g-string. or lacy crotchless ones, but i mainly see him as a g-string type of guy. he likes the aspect of it barely covering anything, and how it would be pretty easy for you to rip them off of him since it’s only a thin piece of string. he probably wore one of those candy g-string panties (https://images.app.goo.gl/DTc849PLjwbjk8pU9) once for shits and giggles, but actually gets pretty turned on when you start eating the candies to slowly reveal his cock

what a delicious question ♡_♡ for mtl i think it’d depend on a few things but here’s my tentative ranking!

felix -> jisung -> binnie -> jeongin -> hyunjin -> chan -> lino -> seungmin

felix in smth frilly and cute just feels so right, esp w a pretty silk bow just like you said! maybe long pretty ribbons on the edges or one right in the center over his bulge <3 i think he’d love a lace trim bc of the delicate, angelic quality it has, but he’d also want it to have a cute twist for an element of playfulness! maybe even sanrio-themed underwear or those panties that have a cute skirt attached to the waistband

jisung in a g-string 😭 i agree he’d love anything that gives you easy access and the panties being so tiny would make for a great visual of his dick peeking out or leaking through the material~ the edible candy one you mentioned would definitely turn him on an embarrassing amount lmao by the time ur done eating it he’d be seconds away from cumming untouched. i also love the idea of him in a garter belt for that tiny waist

binnie goes back and forth between being insanely shy and awkward abt it, to feeling so good abt himself that he’s harder than ever. you can see how giddy he gets when you fawn over him it makes him feel like the prettiest boy in the world, he’d definitely not-so-subtly show himself off just so you’ll keep praising him. i think he’d like either black lacey panties that have a dark, sexy look or the most ridiculously cute, girliest pink pair that you can imagine w a bunny/heart pattern, there’s no in between 😭

given how innie seems open to experimenting w more feminine styles like skirts/dresses i think he’d be very into it despite how embarrassed he might get at first bc he feels like a lil bit of a perv. but he cares a lot abt aesthetics so once he feels comfortable you’re in for the giggliest baby boy ever. i think he’d like smth kinda cute and trendy, in a bright color like pink or purple with some frills! he’d love having to look in the mirror while wearing them while you compliment him

god hyune would look gorgeous in literally anything but he is a little shy which makes him hold back a bit. he has such a natural sensuality to him but funnily enough he’s kinda awkward abt trying to be sexy. i think he’d lean for smth a bit less revealing since he’s not one to like showing off his body too much. lace seems a lot like his style, it’s seductive but also pretty and elegant at the same time, it makes him feel sexy n refined and satisfies his need for artistry in everything <3

i fully believe channie secretly loves to feel feminine and pretty, the only problem is he’s already so easy to fluster on a normal basis so wearing cute underwear would probably make the poor boy short circuit. unstoppable force (channie’s babygirlism) vs immovable object (channie’s shyness) he might like smth simple to start, maybe silk/satin panties bc he he can’t get enough of how nice the material feels <3 he’d go crazy if you snapped the waistband against his skin to tease him and he’d probably say smth like “is it *giggle* is it supposed to be so tight here?” (subtle way of drawing attention to his ass)

lino…do not be fooled by his placement on this list, when he’s in the right mood he’d very much enjoy wearing feminine underwear, esp once he learns how crazy it drives you. i think he’d like the kind w a garter belt attached to stockings/socks, a whole set to accentuate his gorgeous thighs (with cat ear cuffs of course!!!) he’d always prefer to wear thigh highs with his panties or smth sheer that covers a lot of skin bc he’s also kinda conservative abt showing off his body, he doesn’t like to feel too exposed

i’m kinda cheating w this one bc it’s not exactly feminine panties but ever since pink brought up the idea of seungminnie prefering lace boxers over traditional lingerie i have never been the same i cant get it out of my head 😭 i think it’s the perfect balance of pretty and delicate, but still boyish and not as revealing for our modest puppy seungmo ♡ he’s very shy and i think his embarrassment might overpower the thrill of looking pretty for you, so he might not be as into it as some of the other boys

[kkanabel]

caffeine addiction ❃ from the start ❃ chapter 15 ❃ finale

bakugou katsuki x reader / coffee shop!au + fashion?au

directory/m.list

⇦ previous chapter | END

words: ~5.2k

T/W: nsfw, minors dni, yucky under the cut at the very end, gushing/squirting, fingering, porn with SO MUCH plot, bakugou being bakugou

You and Bakugou stood in the back of Kindeki, both of you watching as the last stitch of the final dress was finished. It was surreal to think that all the months of stress, frustration, and late nights had culminated in this. You both exchanged a glance, a small smile tugging at your lips. There was pride in Bakugou's eyes—pride for you, for himself, for the line you'd created together.

After packing up, the both of you headed to the runway show. The energy of the crowd buzzed around you as models strutted down the catwalk, the clothes flowing and sparkling under the lights, reflecting the effort and artistry you'd both poured into them. The world finally got to see what you had built together.

As the final model left the runway, the lights dimmed, and silence fell over the crowd. The announcer’s voice boomed, calling for the designers to take the stage. You glanced at Bakugou nervously, but he was already moving toward you, extending his hand. Without hesitation, you slipped your hand into his. Together, you walked onto the runway, and as the lights brightened, the applause became deafening. You bowed, fingers still tightly intertwined with his, and for a brief moment, it felt like you two were the only people in the room.

A few hours later, the congratulatory dinner was a flurry of smiles and laughter, drinks clinking together in celebration. Takumi, Mitsuki, and Masaru sat around the table, proud smiles on their faces as they admired the success of the line. You both had made it—photos of the show were plastered across tabloids and magazines, calling you two creative geniuses.

Bakugou’s mom smirked at him. "You really showed us, huh? You barely told us about this, and now you're all over the damn news!"

Bakugou only grumbled, his face flushed slightly from the praise. "Tch, whatever. It’s not that big a deal."

Takumi raised her glass. "To (Y/N) and Bakugou, the dynamic duo! You both have done something incredible here," she grinned widely, “I’m so proud of my baby niece.” 

Laughter filled the table as they continued reminiscing, flipping through photos of the show, the models, and—of course—that moment on stage when you and Bakugou bowed together, hand in hand. The image had gone viral again– more speculation about your relationship. But when the two of you had toiled so much together for this line, it was only right to bow together, hands locked.

As the night wore on, the room thinned out. Your aunt was chatting with Bakugou's parents, and you were scrolling through the congratulations on social media, cheeks warm from the praise and alcohol. Bakugou, however, had barely spoken for the past hour. He nursed his drink quietly, eyes glancing over at you more frequently than usual.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

When the last of the guests finally left, Bakugou stood from the table, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Hey… walk with me.”

You blinked up at him, confused but nodding. The two of you left the restaurant together, the night air cool against your skin as you made your way down the quiet street. Bakugou shoved his hands in his pockets, his face tense, like he was fighting something inside of him. He avoided eye contact.

"So, you wanna grab dinner tomorrow? Just us. You know, to celebrate," he asked, voice rough but casual.

You smiled, feeling relieved. "Sure! We totally deserve it after everything we went through, huh?"

The next day, the air felt crisp and cool, the breeze gentle as it tugged at the edges of your clothes. Autumn was beginning to make itself known—leaves were just starting to fall, swirling lazily in the wind, but the temperature hadn’t dropped too much yet. It was the kind of weather that felt refreshing, comfortable, not quite the bitter cold of winter.

Bakugou waited outside your apartment, leaning casually against the railing, his posture deceptively relaxed while holding two cups. When you stepped out, his gaze immediately met yours. He was dressed in one of the pieces from your line, a sleek black button-up. The sharp lapels echoed the pointed arches, with intricate gold and glass embroidery that twisted up the sleeves before tapering off at the top. The embroidery was your handiwork—done with precision and care—and it gleamed subtly in the dimming light of the evening. He paired it with simple black slacks that clung to his thighs and a nice watch that added to the understated elegance of his outfit.

You, too, were wearing a button-up from the same collection, though yours had silver embroidery that caught the light when you moved. You had draped it off one shoulder, giving it a casual yet fashionable edge, and paired it with a miniskirt from Masaki's last season—the show when this all started. 

The entire ensemble felt cohesive, like you two were meant to match.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice low and steady as always. You nodded, falling into step beside him as you both began the short walk to the restaurant.

Bakugou handed you a to-go cup with a smirk on his face. The steam from the drink curled in the cool autumn air, bringing with it a warm, familiar scent. You raised an eyebrow as you took it from him, glancing up at him in mild surprise.

“A pumpkin spice latte?” you asked, an incredulous lilt in your voice.

“My pumpkin spice latte,” he corrected, his smirk deepening. “None of that basic stuff. Taste it first.”

You brought the cup to your lips, the warmth immediately spreading through your hands as the rich, spiced aroma hit you. The first sip was smooth and velvety, the creaminess of the milk blending perfectly with the pumpkin flavor, but there was something more. A hint of cinnamon, nutmeg, and the faintest touch of cardamom—subtle but distinctive, the kind of flavor that lingered pleasantly on your tongue. The espresso gave it a slight bitterness that balanced the sweetness just right.

“Wow,” you murmured, taking another sip. “This is… really good. You actually like pumpkin spice?”

Bakugou shrugged, walking beside you with his own cup in hand. “It’s not bad when you don’t overload it with syrup.”

You let out a soft laugh. “Figures you’d have a strong opinion on pumpkin spice.”

He glanced over at you, his eyes flickering to your outfit before he spoke again. “You look good tonight, by the way.”

The compliment caught you off guard. He wasn’t one to toss out words like that casually. You glanced down at your clothes, feeling a little self-conscious but also oddly pleased. The button-up from your fashion line hung off your shoulder in just the right way, and the miniskirt from Masaki’s collection felt like a bold choice, but you liked it.

“Thanks,” you said, looking back at him with a smile. “You don’t look so bad yourself, you know. That embroidery on your shirt really suits you.”

Bakugou gave a low chuckle, his gaze sliding back to the road ahead. “Yeah? Maybe it’s just ‘cause you made it.”

“Duh,” pride nipped at your face but you still felt a warm flush rise in your cheeks. You quickly sipped from your cup to hide it. 

As you walked, the two of you fell into an easy rhythm, sipping your drinks between bouts of light banter. The breeze carried the scent of fallen leaves and distant street food stalls, mingling with the comforting spice of your lattes. You couldn’t help but glance at Bakugou again, noticing the way the embroidered details of his shirt caught the fading sunlight, the golden thread glinting just slightly. He wore the sharp lines and subtle elegance of the piece like it was made for him—and it was.

“This embroidery took forever, you know,” you teased, brushing your fingers against his sleeve.

“I know,” he replied, his voice softer, more thoughtful. “I saw you working on it.”

That simple acknowledgment sent a flutter through your chest. You smiled, taking another sip of the latte and savoring the warmth, both from the drink and from Bakugou’s quiet praise.

The rest of the walk was filled with comfortable conversation, the air between you light despite the growing tension neither of you had fully acknowledged yet. You couldn’t deny it—the night already felt different, special in a way you hadn’t quite expected.

The upscale place Bakugou had reserved was one that usually had a waiting list a mile long. But when he’d called a week ago and mentioned his name, they had been more than happy to move things around. The reservation was set, and tonight was the night. The anticipation lingered in the air as you walked down the quiet streets, the soft rustling of leaves underfoot.

As you strolled, you couldn’t help but let your mind drift to all the things Bakugou had done for you over the past months. The big gestures—like staying up with you during those long nights, or how he’d taken over the sewing when you were overwhelmed—and the little ones, too, like how he’d bring you coffee just the way you liked it or let you wear his sweaters and hoodies when you were cold without a second thought. You smiled softly to yourself, feeling a sense of warmth bloom in your chest.

The restaurant was impressive, with sleek interiors and a warm, ambient glow that set the tone for an intimate evening. You and Bakugou were seated quickly, the waitstaff clearly eager to please. As you settled into your seat, you admired how comfortable Bakugou looked in such a fancy setting. His handsome features stood out under the soft lighting, his jawline sharp when he turned to speak with the waiter, his voice carrying that confidence he always seemed to exude. 

The restaurant was everything Bakugou had promised—upscale but (mostly) not pretentious, with an intimate ambiance. You’d been talking about the runway show and the mountain of attention that followed, but the conversation shifted when you started musing aloud about your career.

“I just can’t help but feel like I didn’t do this on my own,” you said, swirling your drink absentmindedly. “I mean, if it weren’t for my aunt, I wouldn’t have even had a platform to launch from. It feels like... I’m just riding on her coattails.”

Bakugou's eyes narrowed, but not in annoyance—more like he was carefully considering what to say. He set his drink down, leaning in a little as his voice took on that low, gruff tone you were used to hearing when he wanted you to really listen.

“So what if Takumi gave you a start?” he said, holding your gaze. “Everyone in this business gets a leg up from someone. Hell, I wouldn’t be where I am without my parents. The fact that you didn’t build the whole thing from scratch doesn’t take away from what you’re doing now.”

You looked at him, feeling the familiar tension in your chest—the weight of the expectations you’d placed on yourself. “But it still feels like I’m not doing enough. Like... I have to prove that I can do it alone.”

He let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “You don’t have to prove anything. You’re already doing it. Yeah, Takumi gave you a road to start on, but you’re the one driving. And look at where you are now—hell, look at the stuff you’ve created. You’re not just following someone else’s path. You’re paving your own.”

You blinked at him, letting his words sink in. It wasn’t something you hadn’t thought about before, but hearing it from Bakugou—someone who’d grown up with fashion icons for parents—made it feel different. More real.

“Think about it,” he continued, voice steady. “There are a ton of people who just ride the wave of whatever their parents or mentors built for them. They don’t push it any further—they just stay comfortable, do what’s expected. But you and me?” He paused, red eyes intense as they met yours. “We’re different. You’ve taken what Takumi gave you and pushed it further. You’re creating things she wouldn’t even think of. That’s you, not her.”

You looked down at the table, fiddling with the edge of your napkin, his words slowly settling in. He wasn’t wrong. You had pushed yourself, and your designs were nothing like what your aunt had done. But it was hard to shake the feeling that you weren’t standing on your own feet yet.

“And as for needing help?” Bakugou added, his tone softening just slightly. “Everyone needs help sometimes. You don’t have to do everything alone to prove something. If anything, learning how to use the resources you’ve got—that’s smart. That’s what makes the difference between people who fizzle out and people who go somewhere.”

You glanced back up at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You really think I can pave my own way?”

He snorted. “I don’t think. I know. You’re already doing it.”

The confidence in his voice, the way he looked at you like it was the most obvious thing in the world—it made something in you settle. Maybe you didn’t have to fight so hard to prove you could stand alone. Maybe it was okay to accept the help that came your way, as long as you kept pushing forward.

"Thanks, Katsuki," you murmured, feeling a warmth settle into your chest that had nothing to do with the restaurant's ambient lighting.

He shrugged like it was nothing, but the way his eyes lingered on yours for just a second longer told you it wasn’t. You watched him for a moment, mesmerized by how effortlessly he carried himself, and your thoughts wandered again.

How lucky would I be to have someone like him as my future husband?

Your gaze lingered on his profile, admiring the sharp lines of his face, the intensity in his eyes even when he wasn’t looking at you. The way he treated you, with quiet care and unwavering support, made your heart swell. It was hard not to think about the future when you had someone like Bakugou in your life.

The thought slipped out of your mouth before you could stop it.

“I can only hope that my future boyfriend treats me the way you do,” you said with a soft smile, eyes flickering up to meet his.

For a second, the air seemed to still. Bakugou’s eyes widened, just barely, and his posture stiffened. He didn’t respond right away, and when he did, it was with a tight-lipped nod. “Yeah,” he muttered, his voice more rough than usual.

Bakugou froze. His grip on the glass tightened, his knuckles turning white. You didn’t notice. But Bakugou’s thoughts were running wild.

Future boyfriend?

He thought this was a date. He thought…

He had finally made a move. But here you were, treating it like just another dinner between coworkers. The words hit him hard, and for the rest of the night, he barely spoke. He couldn’t. His heart was pounding, frustration building with every second that passed.

You noticed the shift in his demeanor—how he seemed quieter all of a sudden, his responses shorter, more clipped than before. But you didn’t think too much of it, continuing the conversation, unaware of the storm brewing inside of him. Every time you smiled at him, every casual comment you made, Bakugou felt the weight of your words crushing him.

Future boyfriend.

The thought gnawed at him, each passing minute pulling him deeper into his frustration. The idea of some other dude going out to dinner with you like this—the idea of you smiling up at the mystery man made his chest burn.

You didn’t even see this as a date. To you, it was just another celebratory dinner. You thought it was casual, something friends or coworkers would do after a job well done. But to Bakugou, this was supposed to be something more.

Dinner passed, and soon you were walking home, the cool breeze nipping at your skin as you strolled beside him. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, but it felt heavy with unspoken thoughts. You were rambling about your roommate, who had just returned from a trip, unaware of the tension rising beside you.

When you were a few blocks from your apartment, Bakugou suddenly stopped walking, standing still on the sidewalk. You paused, turning to face him.

“What’s up?” you asked, concerned by the serious look on his face.

He stared at you for a long moment, his jaw clenched tight. His heart pounded in his chest, the words on the tip of his tongue. He couldn’t hold them in anymore—he finally snapped.

“You know I’m in love with you, right?”

The words hung in the air between you, raw and unfiltered. Bakugou didn’t look away this time—his gaze was locked on yours, his face pained, vulnerable in a way you had never seen before.

“I’ve been in love with you from the fucking start.”

Your breath caught in your throat. His voice was strained, the weight of everything he had been bottling up spilling out in those few sentences. Trying to process what he had just said, you stared at him, the weight of his confession hitting you like a ton of bricks. His face was twisted in agony, his usual bravado gone. He turned his face away from you, unable to keep watching the dumbfounded look on your face. You couldn’t speak, couldn’t move—until you did. 

Your hands started moving on their own. His eyes were wide as you reached up, cupping his face in your hands, turned his head to you, and pulled him down into a kiss before you even realized. It was desperate and rough, filled with all the emotions neither of you had realized were simmering beneath the surface. When you pulled away, you were both breathless, your lips tingling from the force of it.

He watched your eyelashes flutter in the dim lighting of the streetlights, hair blowing slightly in the breeze.

Bakugou’s voice was low, gravelly, as he leaned in closer. “We’re going to my place. I’m calling a fucking taxi.”

He could barely keep his hands off you as he fumbled for his phone, the weight of everything that had been unsaid finally crashing down around you both. Your hands wrapped around his neck as you peppered kisses down his throat, hearing him take in a sharp breath before taking the call. You couldn’t even register what you were doing—his scent made you dizzy and your heart flutter. The taxi ride to Bakugou's studio apartment was a blur of anticipation and unspoken tension. 

The moment the car door slammed shut behind you, his hands found yours, interlocking firmly. His grip was a silent declaration of intent, and your body responded with a thrill of excitement that shot straight to your core. In the elevator, his lips and hands traveled up and down your body. 

You didn't bother with the lights. The moon's glow from the large windows cast long shadows across the room, highlighting the stark contrast of his broad, muscular form against the black bed sheets. His crimson eyes never left yours as he approached, a hunger in them that was unmistakable.

With a gentle urgency, you both began to peel away the layers of fabric that separated your skin and his. Your hands trembled as they glided over his shoulders, feeling the warmth of his body beneath the material. His arms, as solid as the steel beams that supported the city's skyscrapers, wrapped around you, lifting you off the floor. He laid you down on the bed, his body hovering above, a wall of heat and want. His scent of burnt sugar and coffee enveloped you as you laid atop his bed, the air thick with desire.

He whispered against your skin, "You have no idea how long I've been waiting to do this," his breath hot and sweet as he placed soft, wet kisses along your neckline. His hands found the clasp of your bra, deftly unhooking it, the fabric giving way to reveal the soft swell of your breasts. His eyes grew darker, his gaze lingering, as if memorizing every inch of you.

You felt his weight shift as he moved down to kiss your neck down to the top of your chest, his tongue swirling around your now-exposed skin. His mouth was a promise of what was to come, leaving a trail of fire down to your cleavage. You couldn't help but whimper as you arched into him, craving more of his touch, his taste. 

With a playful smirk, his eyes zeroed in on your peaked nipples. He took one in his mouth, playing with it with his tongue, flicking and teasing until it was a tight bud. You gasped, your eyes squeezing shut, the sensation of his warm, wet tongue rubbing circles onto you sending a shiver down your spine. His hand traveled down to the hem of your skirt, inching it up your thighs, the fabric brushing against your sensitive skin. 

You felt your breath hitch as his teeth grazed over your tender flesh, the pleasure sharp and shooting right to your core. He suckled hard on the side of your breast, leaving a dark mark behind. You could feel your heart racing, your body begging for more. 

He moved to the other side, giving it the same treatment, leaving you panting and writhing beneath him. His teeth grazed the skin, not breaking the surface, but the promise was there—a promise that made you quiver. His other hand slipped over the wet fabric of your panties as he muttered something about “Makin’ you mine…”

“Wait wha-” Before you could manage out any words, he cut you off– you gripped the bed sheets, your knuckles turning white, as he began to rub circles around your clit, the pressure building with every stroke. He somehow knew exactly how to touch you, how to make you squirm and beg. His mouth moved away from your breasts, leaving them sensitive and wanting to find yours again. His kiss was demanding, his tongue dancing with yours as his hand worked its magic between your legs.

The room was filled with the sound of your moans and the rustling of fabric as he removed your skirt completely, leaving you in just your black lace panties. He kissed down your body, his teeth scraping against the lace, his tongue darting out to taste the skin beneath. His breath was hot and erratic, matching the rhythm of your own. 

His devilish smirk reappeared. “This lace looks familiar,” he ribbed, running a stripe of his tongue over your clothed lips. 

Heat rose up your neck, causing you to overheat more than you already were. “T-There was an extra strip of fabric, and I-”

Bakugou scoffed, entertained. “It looks nice,” he says, taking a moment to admire the lace clinging to your body. “It’d be a shame to take them off.”

And then, finally, he slid your panties to the side and took your clit into his mouth. The sensation was overwhelming, your body bowing off the bed as pleasure shot through you like a lightning bolt. You moaned, your hips bucking up to meet his face, his hands firmly holding your hips in place. Your hands shot straight to the nape of his neck, tugging at his hair for any sort of purchase.

You were lost in a haze of sensation, his touch everywhere, his mouth on you, his hands in your hair, his breath in your ear, whispering dirty, sweet nothings that made you wetter, made you need him more. The world outside had ceased to exist. There was only you, and there was only him.

As he played with your nipples, rolling them between his thumbs and forefingers, you felt the beginnings of an orgasm coil tightly in your belly. You could feel your muscles tense, the pressure building until it was all you could think about. And when he inserted two fingers into you, you instantly came apart in his arms, your body shaking with the force of it.

Bakugou pulled away, smiling up at you, a smug look on his face that made your heart flutter and your face heat up. “Already? I’ve barely even started,” he smirked at you. With his fingers still inside of you, he moved up to kiss you again, the taste of your own arousal mixing with the taste of him. 

His fingers thrusted in and out of your wetness for a moment until he curled his fingers up, sending a jolt of electricity up your spine. To your chagrin, a loud squeal came out of you when he did this. Noticing your reaction, his shit-eating grin only got wider and wider before he started abusing that spot pressing up at it over and over again, making you scream.

He watched your face, the way your cheeks heated up and your mouth hanging open in pleasure, and he smirked. "So wet for me," he murmured, his voice a dark caress in your ear. "You're going to drench my hand." And just as he said it, your body responded, gushing around his fingers, making him chuckle in triumph.

Bakugou pulled back to look at you, his eyes dark and hooded with desire. "You're so fucking hot when you come," he said, his voice thick with lust. He held up his glistening digits, and you couldn't help but whine at the sight of your arousal coating them. He brought them to his mouth and licked them clean, his eyes never leaving yours. "So delicious," he added with a wink, and your cheeks burned with embarrassment and desire.

The smug look on his face only served to make you want him more. You reached out, grabbing fistfuls of his shoulders, and pulled him back down to you. "Please," you breathed, your voice shaky with need. "Just put it in..."

Bakugou's smirk grew wolfish as he obeyed, pumping at his girthy length while his fingers retreated from your warmth only to be replaced by something much larger. You gasped as he pushed into you, inch by inch, filling you up until you thought you couldn't take anymore. His cock was thick and hard, stretching you in the most delicious way possible. He paused, giving you a moment to adjust, before starting to move.

With every thrust, the pressure built again, the movement of his cock against your sensitive walls sending sparks through your body. You could feel your orgasm building, a storm on the horizon, growing stronger with every beat of your racing heart. You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him deeper, your nails digging into his back.

He groaned, the sound low and animalistic, and picked up the pace. His hips pistoned into you, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the quiet room. His teeth found your neck, biting down just hard enough to make you cry out. The pain mixed with pleasure, creating a heady cocktail that had you spiraling out of control as the tip of his cock rubbed at all of the right places. You could feel the storm inside you approaching, the thunder of your pulse in your ears, the lightning of sensation in your veins.

“Harder,” you begged with a strained voice.

“You’re going to regret asking for that,” Bakugou managed, his thrusts becoming more powerful, more demanding. He pounded into you, his cock hitting that perfect spot with every drive, making you see stars behind your closed eyelids. His fingers dug into the curve of your ass as an anchor as he thrust himself into you. Your nails scraped down his back, leaving red lines in their wake, but he only growled, the slight pain fueling his need for more. Your breasts bounced with every impact, your nipples pebbled and sensitive, begging for his mouth again.

The bed frame creaked in protest under the onslaught of your passion, the headboard thumping against the wall in a steady rhythm that matched the pounding in your chest. You were lost in the feel of him, the taste of him, the scent of him—everything about him consumed you. Your orgasm was close, so close, you could almost touch it.

“I’m gonna come,” you gasped, your voice tight with need.

“Cum for me, Princess,” he said, his voice strained. He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss, swallowing your moans. His thumb found your clit again, and he circled it roughly, driving you closer to the edge.

Finally, when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, he picked up the pace even more, driving into you with a ferocity that had you clawing at the sheets. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you came apart for him one last time.

Bakugou’s movements grew erratic, his breathing ragged, as he felt his own climax approaching. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, biting down hard as he came deep inside of you, his warmth filling you up with his tip pressed against your cervix, making you shiver. He groaned out your name, the sound guttural and raw.

You lay there, panting and trembling, as he pulled out, his cock still twitching with the aftershocks of his orgasm. He collapsed beside you, his arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you into the warmth of his embrace.

For a moment, there was silence. Just the sound of your heavy breathing and the distant murmur of the city outside. Then, with a sigh, Bakugou leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “You’re mine now,” he whispered, his voice still rough from passion.

You looked up at him, your eyes glazed with satisfaction, and nodded. You didn’t need to say it back—you both knew it was true. Your bodies were entwined, your hearts racing in sync. This was it. The moment you had both been waiting for, the moment everything changed.

He rolled over, placing you on top of him, and you straddled him, feeling his cock, now softening, pressing against your thigh. You leaned down to kiss him again, your lips swollen from the passionate affair. His arms wrapped around you, holding you tight as if he never wanted to let you go.

“Fuck, that was amazing,” he murmured against your mouth. His eyes searched yours, looking for confirmation, for reassurance that this was real. You smiled, a soft, genuine smile, and kissed him again, deeper, slower, savoring the taste of him.

As your kisses grew more gentle, your bodies began to relax, the tension of the day, the tension of the months of unspoken love, finally dissipating. You laid your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, letting the warmth of his body seep into yours.

“Thank you for waiting for me,” you whispered, feeling a little guilty that it took you this long to realize his feelings.

Bakugou’s hand stroked your hair, his thumb tracing the shell of your ear. “I’d wait forever for you,” he said, his voice earnest. “You’re worth it, every fucking second of it.”

The two of you lay there, basking in the afterglow of your passion, the moon casting its glow over your intertwined forms. This was the start of something new, something completely unexplored, and you were ready to face it together.

a/n: IT'S THE END!!! OHHHH MY LAWD it's been such a wild ride. thank you so much for reading & an extra special thank you to the reposts and comments-- they mean so much more to me than y'all know. i hope you enjoyed the series!

as always, stay safe & hydrated, and stay tuned for more bakugou~

also, let me know if y'all want some sort of epilogue-- and if so, what do you want to be in it? just their daily lives? their WEDDING? let me know in the comments :>

(oh yeah. as usual, not beta-read. lmk if there are any typos/inconsistencies. thanks!)

taglist: @takoyakitakii, @itzjustj-1000

directory/m.list

⇦ previous chapter | END (maybe)

[dalesramblingsblog]

I know we've been commenting since The Star Beast on the irony of Russell T. Davies taking Disney money and using it to say trans/gay rights as part of one of the biggest British television events of 2023/2024, but I think Dot and Bubble fully opened my eyes to something I've been quietly contemplating since at least the time of The Giggle.

I am genuinely convinced, knowing everything I know about Davies' comments on the state of the BBC and the kinds of art he's been making of late, that Series 14 is a brilliant and purposeful piece of artistic subversion that has taken Disney's money to not just say trans rights, but to actively comment upon the cold, empty yawning abyss that is modern MCU franchisecrafting.

Time and time again, the show has returned to the idea that that sort of "artistry" is completely anathema in a cosmic horror sense to the very fabric of Doctor Who. The Toymaker is an arbiter of rules and continuity, who threatens to turn Doctor Who into a knock-off of The Avengers before everything collapses back into a game of catch with the Doctor in his underwear.

73 Yards is quite explicitly about the loneliness, emptiness and futility that accompanies human beings trying to impose rational, ordered frameworks and narratives on a fundamentally chaotic and strange universe. The very fact that the episode exists in a media ecosystem where hackish YouTubers will be falling over themselves to make "Ending Explained" videos for it *is part of the point*.

And then we have Dot and Bubble, where the modern glut of franchisal/social media (and the two are often close to interchangeable, as proven by this very blog post) is explicitly shown to have an anaesthetising effect that insulates people from real-world suffering. But it's more than that, because that same anaesthesia ties into expressions of actual, direct racism that are so baked into the foundations of that media and who it tends to uplift (white, conventionally attractive and implicitly straight people) that they become indistinguishable from said suffering.

After years of Doctor Who trying its hand at being a generic MCU-esque property and fans creating mockups of Phase-esque release timelines with a million spin-offs focusing on the Wacky Adventures of Miss Evangelista or whatever other bullshit fandom constantly clamours for, here is an era that puts its foot down and says "Actually, the foundational elements of that brand of media consumption are materially connected to the constant racist or sexist backlash you see against the casting of Ncuti Gatwa or Jodie Whittaker or Kelly Marie Tran."

And it is absolutely, positively, 100% correct.

How, then, does Doctor Who resist the creeping power of this monolithic cultural entity? In a world where studios seriously try to argue for the artistic worth of tripe like Morbius or Madame Web or Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quantumania, what is the appropriate response?

The same response that it's always had, the thing that it's been doing for sixty years. Getting people to learn how to run down corridors from hokey aliens, hoping against hope that those people don't turn out to be massive fucking racists and telling them exactly where they can shove it if they are, and instilling the children of the world with a healthy dose of fear and light-hearted humour.

Welcome back, Doctor Who. God, I have missed you.

[demonfamilytherapist]

MC Teaches the Brothers to Pole Dance

Inspired by me taking pole lessons. No real warnings - some of them are a bit suggestive, but that’s it.

Mammon

Most likely to injure himself. Not out of lack of strength - he’s just way too eager to impress you, so he tries more showy moves without getting the technique down first.

He also tends to throw himself into the spins more, which works fine when the pole is static (fixed), but when the pole is on spin he ends up with way too much speed.

Can get frustrated easily, but is also pretty quick at picking it up.

Tends to prefer moves that look impressive, regardless of their actual difficulty.

To show off, he sometimes shifts into his demon form mid-performance to stretch his wings and show off more interesting shapes.

Levi

Most nervous to start out with.

Needs a lot of encouragement to even give it a go. Won’t practice in front of his brothers - luckily, private lessons with you are a pretty good selling point.

He actually practices mostly in his demon form because his tail makes him feel more stable.

It actually does add a pretty good grip point to the pole. His scales are naturally inclined to hold on.

The more revealing clothing that’s kind of necessary for pole is another thing that makes him uncomfortable at first, but again, seeing you in just as little or less is another good selling point.

Once he gets past his initial nerves, his tail actually gives him a lot of flexibility on what he can do.

He tends to do variations on moves that allow him to rely more on his tail, since it’s his strongest limb.

Beel

Beel’s a natural and dedicated athlete, so he takes to pole very well.

He does need a few reminders on his technique - he can brute force his way through most things with sheer strength, and is often more focused on completing the move rather than performing it.

He sees it as a great way to bond with you. Once he figures out what muscles are most important, he’s really eager to discuss other ways to strengthen them so you can both improve.

He’s a really good doubles partner, since he can take the extra weight of you half hanging off him.

Prefers arm-based moves - while he can grip with his legs, he never feels as comfortable.

His wings don’t help too much with anything, but they can look very nice in the right lighting for a performance.

Asmo

Asmo is way ahead of you.

Well, sort of.

He has a good idea of the basics, but he’s generally only used it for fashion photoshoots and… private shows… neither of which really focused on a variety of moves.

That being said, he’s really enthusiastic to learn more with you!

He buys a lot of cute, very expensive pole outfits. He’s really eager to shop with you, too. Would love to match.

Asmo is a very fast learner. He’s stronger than he looks, so he’s able to physically do most of the moves right away. Mostly he just needs to refine his technique, and Asmo is a natural performer.

Anything that shows off his best angles is a good move in his book. He likes to have one arm free to blow kisses.

His wings are a wonderful accessory, and they’re also small enough not to get in his way.

Satan

Satan doesn’t really understand the point… But he’ll go along with it. It’s a good opportunity to learn more about you, and human world art forms.

It takes him a while to get the hang of it. His analytical mind is a blessing and a curse, helping him understanding the techniques and moves but often leading him to overthink in the moment.

Most likely to study up outside of your interactions - he’s the least thirsty guy following a bunch of pole dancers.

He tends to prefer slower routines that allow him to plan ahead and show off both technical skill and artistry. He’s also a surprisingly decent choreographer, probably only behind Asmo (with Levi being the other pretty good one).

He is banned from demon form on the pole. His tail is too hard and sharp, and could end up scratching it.

Belphie

It’s too much effort. And if it’s something Asmo’s that into, it can’t be worth much…

But if it’s that important to you, sure, he’ll give it a go.

Belphie is almost annoyingly good at pole once he starts taking it semi-seriously. He’s a fast learner, and keeps a cool head even when in weird and uncomfortable positions.

The biggest risk is when he falls asleep while on the pole and just… drops.

For this reason it’s best to avoid moves that are too stable or horizontal. He ends up being really dynamic just because otherwise he risks dozing off.

While putting this much effort into anything isn’t his usual style, he’s glad he gets to show off for you.

His tail isn’t grippy enough to be all that helpful, but it can be useful as a little extra support for some of the weirder positions.

Lucifer

Lucifer will not go to a group class with his brothers.

He will scoff and roll his eyes at the suggestion of a private practice.

But every time you’re with his brothers, he’s taking a close look at the moves.

In the evening, he returns to his room and summons a pole from the human world.

He practices every evening, sometimes giving up sleep. He keeps watching you practice, picking up more ideas and refining his skills.

Then, one day, while you’re trying to teach one of his brothers a certain move, he’ll walk up.

“It’s simple. Like this.”

He will do it perfectly. First try. And somehow in gloves and a full suit.

He is going to be smug about it for weeks.

[fanaticsnail]

Little Sparrow

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 1,298

(Image Link)

Summary: Mihawk has been up with your daughter, soothing her as she experiences her leap weeks. You spend some moments with your husband as he holds her in his arms.

Warnings: husband!mihawk x wife!reader, father!mihawk x mother!reader, sweet domesticity, brief mention of birth trauma.

Notes: small drabble brought on by the ask of @hungrhay. Got the cogs turning in my mind. I hope you enjoy this little drabble!

Tag list: @sordidmusings, @writingmysanity, @gingernut1314, @feral-artistry

Soft melodic hums cascaded down the empty halls of Castle Kuraigana. No whisper of a word, nor fall of a footstep, broke your trance as you sought out the source of the melody. You silenced the drop of your slipper against the cool floor, in an attempt to not shatter the world Mihawk was crafting for himself so early in the morn.

You knew where you’d find him. He was where he always was at this time of night. The kitchen was his place where he’d find the most solace, resting his body in a chair with his feet slotted beneath the dining table. The cryptid hours where your daughter would be at her peak of restlessness, the purple crying she’d been producing during her leap weeks held you hostage to her woes. The first time you had experienced this leap had you both struggling and clasping at straws for solutions. 

He began calling on your household Den-Den-Mushi, all those who you both knew had experience with young children: starting with Vice-Admiral Garp. He proceeded to bark his laughter and give you hope of: “this too shall pass,” and sending you a small crate of rum in sympathy. 

The next point of contact you had sense to call was Shanks and his Red-Hair crew. Shanks was absolutely no help to you with any advice, the jovial hooting and hollering in their drunken stupor in the background having all cohesive words falling on deaf ears. The receiver Den-Den-Mushi was stolen from Shank’s hand, and into the mouthpiece barked the burly voice of the first mate.

“Mihawk. The nights are long, but the years are short. You’ll get through this,” his gruff voice informed him, inhaling deeply from his cigarette. Upon his exhale, he offered a soft word of advice, “You’re a swordsman, one of the warlords of the seas. You have been through worse, she has not. Be kind to your wife. Let her have the night to rest.” Mihawk offered no further conversation, but greatly appreciated the compassion the First-Mate of his oldest rival offered him.

As you stood in the threshold of the doorway, you witnessed your husband cradling your daughter into his chest and continuing to sooth her. His gentle hums and slow rock of his body had her eyes heavy and falling closed. It was an old tune, the native rasp of his mother tongue falling from his lips as he whispered the words with his hum. 

“You are going to have the world fall on their knees, my Little Sparrow,” he whispered down into her hair. His lips caressed her scalp, watching as he deeply inhaled the scent of her bundles of silken hair. His deep frown softened, his honeyed eyes closing as he leant back into his chair. As he lulled his head against the frame of the chair, you approached him and placed a hand on his cheek. He opened his eyes a small crack, sighing as he felt your lips press against his forehead. 

“She started early, didn’t she?” You asked him, his response being a small hum in confirmation falling from his nose. You brushed your nose with his before turning to place the kettle on the stove and lighting the flame. 

“Did you rest well, my love?” his lazy drawl called over to you, voice only harboring affection and adoration with his question. You sighed with your smile, grasping the handles of two mugs and beginning the routine of readying your morning dose of caffeine. Guilt wracked your heart, your brows upturning and lips pouting. Before you could utter a response, Mihawk’s reprimand called out to you.

“Don’t you dare,” His words sliced your worries like the fell swift of his blade, Yoru, “It has been eight weeks since she’s been with us, and you are still recovering from the trauma of her birth. Don’t you dare, my love.” 

You sighed, your shoulders slouching at his comments. It was true, your body was still recovering from bringing life’s first breath to your daughter; your routines shifting and adjusting to her each subtle moment, lives changed forever. He was nothing but supportive of your recovery, doting on his girls with his attention equally. 

“Thank you,” you sighed, turning with both his and your coffees prepared, placing his on the table in front of him and elevating yours to your lips. Your daughter began to stir in his arms, her lip quivering as the groggy girl opened her eyes once more. 

He immediately recommenced his humming and rocking of her, staring down into her own honeyed eyes as his lullaby soothed her once more. 

“My love,” you slowly called out to him, placing your coffee down on the table beside his and walking behind the chair, “I read that these leap weeks only occur when children are learning a new skill.” His humming ceased as you both stared down into her eyes. 

“I wonder what our Little Sparrow is learning to bring on such cries of grief,” he muttered, looking down into her eyes in curiosity. You drew your own eyes down to meet your daughter’s, her eyes darting between each of you as she lay on her stomach on Mihawk’s chest.

It was then you saw it: the small twinkle of recognition behind her gaze. The upturn of the corners of her eyes and her cheeks balling in two perfect rotund spheres. 

Your daughter was smiling. Truly smiling. The first smile not induced by wind, nor a grimace as she experienced pain in her belly. She was smiling at you both. 

An audible sigh fell from your husband, his lips circling and forming a soft “O” shape as his eyes softened. Your eyes pricked at the corners, witnessing such pure and unbridled happiness from your daughter as your husband became hypnotized by her radiancy.

“All the cries in the twilight hours are worth it to see your smile, Little Sparrow,” he whispered, taking her small cheek within his palm and smoothing over her skin with his thumb. You circled your arms over his shoulders, pressing your lips against his whiskered cheek before staring at your daughter. 

“She is going to accomplish such wonderful things,” you uttered down into her, your voice up-pitched and playful, “Aren’t you, little Sparrow?” Her toothless grin widened, an inhaled coo squeaked from her lips as drool began to glisten at the corner of her lips.

Mihawk turned his head to gaze at you, his eyes half-lidded as he witnessed such sweetness occurring between his wife and daughter. He slowly raked his eyes over your smiling expression, your prior slumber written on your face as you gazed lovingly at your daughter in his arms. He wanted to hold this moment close, committing every subtle change to memory to draw on when your daughter picked up on her inconsolable cries tomorrow night. 

It was all worth it: every cry, every disruption to his sleep schedule, every coffee bringing him life-sustaining energy. It was worth each and every night he soothed her cries and hummed his melodies, just to have this moment with you. 

Breaking himself away from his enraptured hypnosis, he quickly arched his head forwards and pressed his lips against your cheek. You broke your attention away from your daughter and hastily turned your head to claim his lips against your own. The swell of his heart was tangibly felt in each moment he held your lips beneath his. 

His appreciation, his adoration, his love for you felt with the soft hum of his voice against your lips: his eyes closed, brow furrowed and lips smooth against your own. Breaking away, he smiled lazily at you and held his twinkling gaze against your own. Elevating his voice, he allowed himself to ponder with you.

“I wonder if she will have your laugh, or she will have mine.”

[skzstoryvault]

Pretty Princess (Chan, smut)

F!Reader x Husband!Chan

Standalone story

Reader uses Chan's insecurities for sex

Established relationship.

Chan deserves all the attention and the love. He needs to be the princess too sometimes.

This is in no way meant as a commentary on the real person Chan. I just like the SKZ outward personas they all project and I get inspired to write these. No connection with the real artists. They all deserve the world.

Story includes smut, reader calls the shots, shy Chan, praise, uncomfortable but not unpleasant wristy

Please be kind.

Please do not report this post. If it's not your thing, just scroll away.

If you're underage, please scroll on, there is nothing for you here.

If you enjoy this story and are reading along, I would love to hear your comments in the replies, reblogs or DMs - however you feel most comfortable.

***

“I don’t know. Is it okay? Or too much?” Chan asks, walking out of your shared wardrobe. “Is it slutty? I don’t want to be slutty this once. But I still don't own a suit."

“Babe, stop worrying. You aren’t dressing for them, you’re dressing for me. And you know I'd show you off just as much in Ipanemas and a single hollowed out pineapple on your dick." “Are you sure it won’t be an issue?” He is standing there, in black jeans that hug his thighs just right, and a black Givenchy t-shirt that has a very inconspicuous embroidered black logo. “You could go to a convent in this fit and you wouldn’t be out of place.” You say, somewhat disappointed. “If I’m dressing for you… would you choose what I should put on? I wanna be good for you.” “Channie.. You are always good for me.” You soften and step close, wrapping your arms around his waist and pulling him close, kissing him slowly. “I’m just a horndog, always thinking of getting my hands on you. Doesn’t matter what you have on, I’m just thinking of when I get to take it off.” 

“Fuck.” He says, as a response to your words and as a reaction to feeling himself start to fill up in his pants. “I can’t go hang out with your parents like this.” “We have time, babe,” you say. “And I was going to say. If I should get to pick what you wear, I’d need you out of this shirt anyway.” He immediately pulls it up over his head and off, standing before you in just the pants, which you open, carefully pulling the zipper down. Now that so much skin is on display, you take a nice, long, appreciative look at your artistry from last night. A trail of strategically placed hickies decorates Chan's front, from his collarbones downward, over his pecs and abs, disappearing under the hem of his underwear. You know that similar wine-coloured marks adorn his hips, inner thighs and even the insides of his knees. Your need to touch and taste him is ever-present and overwhelming. Still eating him with your eyes, you go to the jewellery cabinet and pick one of your items. A gold chain necklace, that wraps around the neck and continues down with another length of chain which connects it to a waist chain. You tie it around Chan’s neck and waist, pausing to admire the result, unable to resist slowly running your thumbs over his now hard nipples. Chan looks gone. He’s holding his breath, his pupils are dilated as far as they can go and a delicate blush tints his skin from his abs to his cheeks. 

You pick another item, a string of Ghana beads, made with gold and gems, tying it around Chan’s waist as well, watching it settle lower, on his hips. Lastly, you take a sleeveless, plain white jersey shirt from the wardrobe and hand it to your boyfriend to put it on. As soon as he pulls it over his head, you grab your alteration scissors from the drawer and go to town on the shirt. Since the fabric is jersey, you don’t have to worry about it unraveling where you cut it. The pretty cutout pattern seems random, but it’s not, and the places at Chan’s sides where you cut whole patches out expose the jewellery outlining his trim waist. 

You take his hand and lead him to the full length mirror on the door of your wardrobe. 

“My pretty baby, you did so well. This is how I want you, so I can show you off to the world.” You whisper, moving your lips against the soft skin of his neck. 

His lips part in a silent gasp, seeing himself like this, in a far more daring outfit than he would have thought of putting on. Seeing you whisper into his skin like a demon leading a virgin into sin with honeyed whispers. His jeans are still open, the way you left them, and the jailbreak in his underwear doesn’t look as painful as it could be with a zipper pulled up over it. Not breaking eye contact with him in the mirror, you reach in and free his cock from behind the fabric barrier. Your pointy, long nails clack together when your hand squeezes around him, then slowly drag down his length. He’s so hard and the moment the weight of his cock rests against your palm, you can feel its rhythmic throbbing, like a pulse. You grip him harder than you think is comfortable and watch him. If he minds that, he’s not showing it, just twitching more in your grip. You don’t even have to carry on for long, just skate the pad of your thumb over the slit in the tip and caress up and down the length with a slight twisting motion. It can’t be comfortable, and normally guys use some sort of slick stuff to make the slide easier, but Chan is turned on out of his mind, which is where you need him. “Look at you. My god boy. My pretty princess, letting me do everything I want to you.” You purr in his ear, earning yourself a high pitched mewl. “But I want to be nice, you’re nothing but good for me and that deserves a reward. My pretty baby.” You punctuate your latest pet name with a sharp nail gently sliding over his slit, then lower, to the underside, where the head is most sensitive, and that’s what throws him over the edge. He comes with a surrendering moan, panting and reaching blindly for a point of support, his head resting back on your shoulder. 

“I’m… gonna need a moment.” He says, sorting himself back in his underwear and closing his jeans, watching you wipe your hand clean of his come with one of the patches you cut from his shirt. You then step into your shoes, which have you being slightly taller than him, whereas before you were the same height. “You may have taken me apart a bit too far.” 

“Are you saying you’d rather I drove? I can do that, baby boy. You just relax.” You offer. You love the idea of him just swimming in the endorphins, not having to focus on anything and later getting tipsy on Wildberry Lillets at the party. You know how that ends usually, with you fucking him by the pond at the back of the garden or in the piano room where nobody goes these days. Later, at the garden party your parents threw at your childhood home, there is not a single woman or man who is not drooling at Chan. He is blushing and squeaking when someone makes him shy with a remark or makes him laugh. Your mom walks up to you with a Veuve Clicquot flute in hand. “Maybe next time teach your husband to dress more modestly, he’s supposed to let you shine. No one’s been able to string two thoughts together since you two arrived and he took off his jacket. Animals, all of them. At my boujee function.” “But Channie is letting me shine. Who do you think picked his outfit? You taught me to go for what I want and settle for nothing less, mom. And you taught me well.”

[goddessofmischief]

Hey! I adore your writing - everything feels like a character study and by that I don’t mean it’s lacking artistry I mean that each piece is so dynamically engaged with their internal worlds. Now I love me some Shanks and Mihawk but I am a Buggy Bitch and was hoping to get some time with him in this early on stage? If you wouldn’t mind, can we have a shot that shows why Buggy’s infatuation keeps going? Maybe a meaningful moment of kindness towards him or the like?

Thank you for your writing 💛

      GOLD RUSH - BUGGY X READER

A/N: Dude, I was smiling all day because of this message. Thank you so much! This is part of this series, which requests are open for! These fics are all one-shots, so they can be read separately. Also I highly recommend listening to the song linked in the title while you read.

Shanks and Mihawk had loved you, for various reasons, for their own motivations, from minute one.

...Buggy hadn't fallen for your charms so easily.

You were suspicious to him. He knew well enough that if something appeared too good from the outside, it was probably a trap. So for a long time after Roger had rescued you and brought you home to live with the pirates, Buggy treated all of your actions as if they had been the exact opposite, and always indicative of some secret evil.

You were kind to him? Only because you hated him so much. You looked pretty? Only because you were disguising some inner, deeper ugliness. You were a strong fighter? Only because of all the blood on your hands. You were intelligent? Only to deceive him.

It took a long, long time, and many months and even a few years to really wear him down. But when that had finally happened, Buggy was yours for life.

He fell for you in not one, but two moments: this, he vividly recalled, was the first.

It was a stormy day at a small port when you and Buggy stopped into a tavern for a drink. Shanks and Roger had stayed behind to fix the ship.

He had watched you with the smallest amount of interest, as if you were an amusement, as if you were a pretty bug. His original interest in you, small as it had been to begin with, had gone completely downhill when he realized you weren't really the performing type. You didn't like jokes or attention, and you certainly didn't beg for it the way Buggy did. The two of you hadn't really been able to form a relationship anyway, considering you spent most of your time with Shanks.

He'd ordered a drink too big for himself, and watched as you sipped daintily from a small one.

"That's so little," he said. "What's the point?"

You shrugged.

"I like being alert," you explained. "Makes it easier to stay safe."

Buggy snorted, rolling his eyes and turning back to his drink.

Two larger, older pirates sidled up on either of your sides', eyeing Buggy, but mostly you.

"Hey, sweetheart," said one of them. "You know this guy?"

"Yes," you said quietly. "He's my friend."

"...This clown?"

Buggy stiffened.

"Fellas, let's not-"

Shanks would have said let them talk. Shanks would have sat quietly until they were gone, or maybe just snickered at Buggy's plight.

But that's not what you did.

"He's stronger than either of you," you said nonchalantly, and the larger pirate stared at you.

"Really? The clown?"

"Really," you confirmed. The two pirates looked at Buggy, menacingly.

"He doesn't look very strong to me."

"We'll protect you, sweetheart. You don't need him."

"Honk, honk," the larger pirate jeered, reaching for Buggy's nose, and completely without warning you reeled back and punched him in the face.

Buggy was not prepared for that to happen.

The two pirates stood up and leered over you, intimidatingly. Buggy was stricken by the sudden realization of how large they both were, and how comparatively scrawny the two of you were.

But he knew he had to protect you. (If only to keep Shanks from killing him.)

And so Buggy punched the second guy, wincing as his fist hit him.

He wished he was stronger. God, in that moment, how he wished he was stronger.

(He didn't have the Chop Chop fruit yet. That would've been great.)

But Buggy was scrappy, and he didn't need much of an advantage in a melee situation. He was a kicker, a scratcher, and a biter. You were more elegant in your movements - almost balletic, and Buggy resolved to ask you about it later - but both of you managed to defeat them, and make it back to the ship in mostly one piece.

"Thanks," he said, quietly, as you sat cross-legged across from him, applying eyeliner. You had offered to fix his makeup using your own, and after a lot of protesting, he'd agreed.

Your eyes lingered over him. He looked away, suddenly embarassed.

"What for?"

"For, y'know, helping me out back there."

"Of course," you said, smiling sweetly. "You're my nakama."

You applied a bit to your own lips before holding it out to Buggy.

"Um," he said. "Can you do it? I'm feelin' kinda shaky."

"Mhm," you hummed, carefully painting it on.

"Good?" he asked.

"Good. I do happen to like your nose, by the way."

"That's nice," he responded. "I like yours."

You grinned.

"I didn't realize you were such a fighter," Buggy said.

"I'm not," you confessed. "I'm terrified. I hate fighting."

"But you punched him."

"Well, he was being mean. And I knew you'd help me."

"How?"

"I don't know, it's what you do."

"Did you mean what you said? About me being your friend?"

"Of course," you said. "You're nearly all I have."

Buggy had never fallen in love with anyone before, if only because most of the time they hated him so openly before he could even consider it. But he thought that maybe tonight, under this sky, he might be in love with you.

The second thing that made him realize how he felt was later that night, as he fell asleep in the bunk under Shanks'.

"How was it?" Shanks asked, sleepily. "...Spending the day with her?"

"Oh," said Buggy. "It was alright."

"Alright?" asked Shanks, propping himself up to look at Buggy. "She's the best, what are you talking about?"

"You think so?"

"Well, yeah, I mean - she's smart, funny, a whole lot nicer than most of us-"

And while Shanks carried on about all these great things about you, two ideas bounced around in Buggy's head - first, how much Shanks was correct about all these great traits of yours, things Buggy had never dared notice before, and second, how much Shanks cared for you. It made him think that maybe there was something special about you, something he hadn't seen before.

And so Buggy told Shanks about your little adventure, and told him about what you'd done for him, and Shanks smiled to himself, and simply said "It's just what she does..."

What could he say? Buggy just loved how you loved.

taglist: @sawendel@twinklesnake@literaturewithliz@sordidmusings@foggyturtleknightangel@toertchen@96jnie@lunanight1021

[tokkiwrites]

ㅡㅡㅡ in which tangerine lets his heart (for the most part) dictate him around.

TW: dark!Tangerine (pls everyone this is not cute hes literally a stalker lol), fem!reader, afab reader, no use of y/n, mention of killing people and knifes, stalking, toxic relationship, use of pet names (love, bunny, sweetheart), unprotected p in v (dont look at me, wrap your weewee), dirty talk (kind of), lmk if i missed anything.

Tangerine had always been a shadow in the dimly lit world of contract killers, a name whispered in hushed tones among those who knew. His reputation was one of cold precision, a man who eliminated his targets with a ruthless efficiency that bordered on artistry. But behind the facade of the heartless assassin, there existed a secret, a gnawing obsession that threatened to consume him.

It began innocently enough, with stolen glances from the window of his spartan apartment across the street. She was just a random girl, a stranger in the vast tapestry of the city, but there was something about her that captivated him. He didn't know her name. Didn't bother to look for it, find more about herㅡㅡ he enjoyed it that way... for a bit.

she had an air of innocence that contrasted sharply with Tangerine's dark world. Maybe that's what has drawn him to her. Every evening, he would watch her from the shadows, the soft glow of her apartment window casting a warm, inviting light into his own life of iniquity. It became a routine.

APRIL 23rd. ㅡ blued my bruise.

As the weeks turned into months, Tangerine's infatuation deepened. He knew he should have focused on his missions, honed his lethal skills, and remained emotionally detached, but he couldn't help himself. He started collecting snippets of her life, learning her routines, her likes and dislikes, and even the name of her perfume that occasionally wafted through his open window. He kept a journal filled with details about her, a chilling testament to his obsession.

His thoughts became a maddening storm of contradictions. On one hand, he longed to approach her, introduce himself, and let her know how deeply he cared. On the other, he knew the darkness that coursed through his veins, the blood on his hands that would surely taint any chance at a normal life. The conflict between his life as Tangerine, the ruthless assassin, and his love for that girl across the street tore at his soul, threatening to unravel the carefully constructed façade he had built over the years.

Tangerine stood at the precipice of a choice that could define the rest of his life. He was trapped between the world of ruthless violence and the alluring promise of love and normalcy.

The girl remained the unspoken focal point of his existence, a beacon of hope in the midst of chaos. Yet, he was acutely aware that his actions had consequences, and his desire to protect her might eventually collide with the ruthless pursuit of his job.

His path was fraught with danger, as he navigated the thin line between his love for the girl and the haunting shadows of his past. Torn between his obsession and his duty as a protectorㅡㅡ as he liked to call it.

AUGUST 17th. pink me with ties.

Tangerine's obsession had become all-encompassing, driving him to meticulously study the girl's life, dissecting every relationship that entered her world. His mind, once focused on the cold precision of his assassinations, had now turned into a labyrinth of paranoia and possessiveness.

mine.

Whenever the girl expressed interest in a potential love interest, Tangerine took it as a personal affront. He couldn't bear the thought of anyone else occupying the space in her heart that he believed was rightfully his. In his mind, eliminating these perceived threats was the only way to maintain his fragile grip on her life.

mine. mine.

As he tracked these individuals, Tangerine started to eliminate them in a chillingly systematic fashion. He rationalized his actions, convincing himself that he was safeguarding the girl from anyone who might harm her or take her away from him. Tangerine saw them as competition, and he couldn't allow any potential rival to exist.

mine. mine. mine.

One by one, they disappeared, leaving behind a trail of confusion and fear. Tangerine's cold efficiency in eliminating these perceived threats left no room for error. The girl, oblivious to the sinister presence hovering around her life, began to notice the gradual erosion of her friends and potential partners.

she is mine.

Each disappearance, each life he extinguished, left a mark on his soul, tarnishing the love he believed he felt for the girl. It was more than thatㅡㅡ he thinks. He knows... He knows she feels it, too.

What had once been a misguided attempt at protecting her had now transformed into a cycle of violence and despair. He found himself plagued by obsession.

In the midst of the chaos and darkness that his obsession had wrought, Tangerine found himself grappling with the profound truth that this was more than just love—it was an all-consuming affliction that had poisoned their lives. He realized that she, too, felt the suffocating presence of his fixation, though she remained unaware of its source.

it's okay, I'm here, love. I'm here for you. You feel it, can't you?

NOVEMBER 1st. black my bones.

there she is. she's so beautiful.

he spotted her with... a man. when will she learn?

A surge of jealousy and anger coursed through him, intensifying the relentless grip of his obsession. His heart pounded, and a sinister determination took hold. He couldn't bear the thought of another man so close to her. She was his. she knew that, didn't she?

He tracked the man, waiting for an opportunity to strike.

"oi, there. mind tellin' me the time?"

"sure, dude. it's uh-- oh! 8pm."

Tangerine steps closer.

"sorry, mate. didn't hear ya, mind tellin me again?"

"yeah, 8pm, manㅡ" shunk.

then a scream. agony, a warm feeling, and for a moment, silence. a loud thud echoed through the dark alleyway as the man's body fell to the ground. he was choking on his own blood, the blade still lodged in his neck.

"i hate doin this mate, but you guysㅡ you guys never learn, getting so close to her... too close."

with a swift motion, he takes the knife out, wiping it lazily onto the brick wall before he throws it in the nearby sewer opening.

" 's fine, though. as long as she's alright, yeah?"

he twists a smile from his lips, strolling onto the main street.

his.

DECEMBER 15th. purple my eyes.

This was finally the day.

He chose a moment when she was alone in a park, her vulnerability a stark contrast to the man she didn't know she had been living under the watchful eye of. As he approached, his cold demeanor had softened somewhat, but a lingering sense of menace clung to him.

"hello, love." Tangerine said, his voice tinged with an eerie charm, a stark contrast to the chilling reality of his actions. "couldn't help but notice you from where i was sittin'. sorry if it makes you uncomfortable, wanted to say how gorgeous you look."

"oh, hi." she replied, bubbly. "thank you. means a lot when I'm quite literally dressed as a trash bag." then she laughed.

her laugh. if he could inject it through his veins, he would.

"name's Tangerine. Yours?"

MARCH 3rd. red my mind

She couldn't help but fall deeper for him. i mean, how could she not? he knew everything she liked, hated. he knew when to leave her alone, when to keep her closeㅡ he was perfect.

the fact he was the most beautiful man she'd ever seen was a plus. always dressed to impress, curly hair stiled back, always smelled like she could devour him. and god, that mustache. it was all she ever wanted... and he knew it.

"tan?" she'd been thinking about it. they'd known each other ㅡ well, she knew him for about 3 months, but he came when she needed someone the most. she almost felt dependent on him, like he saved her from something she didn't even know was coming.

"yeah, love?"

"i think...I'm ready toㅡ you know."

she wasn't a virgin. sure as hell felt like one though. she can't remember the last time she had sex. so she knew Tangerine would make this moment special. For her.

"you sure, sweetheart?"

god.

"yes, very sure."

he nods his head before reaching out for her face, rough hands cupping his reddened cheeks. "I'll take such good care of you tonight, bunny." she hums.

leaning into his touch, her whole body turns to goo when Tangerine's hand moves to her lower back and traces the ridge of her spine. "so pretty." she can't help but giggle.

with a few moves, he takes off most of her clothes, some of his too. they were now both left in their underwear, staring at one another as in a silent dance. Tangerine takes a handful of her breasts, guiding her slowly to lie back down on the mattress. The silk covers crinkled around their weight.

he leans down and takes one of her nipples into his mouth, whilst one of his palms slides down to her panties. he smirks once he senses the wet spot etched into them.

"so fuckin' soaked for me, love."

"just f-for you."

he knows.

"barely touched you though. are you that desperate for me to fill that tight cunt of yours? ㅡ hm, c'mon, talk to me, bunny."

she feels so small, so helpless. so pathetic. but she loves every second of it.

"please, need you toㅡ to feel me up...tan, please."

"shh, i got ya." in one swoop, he removes both their underwear, practically ripping them off of her, earning a soft moan from the sprawled out girl under him.

Tangerine lets his fingers pass through her wet folds, gathering all the juices before he shoves two digits deep inside of her. he pumps them slowly, letting the poor girl buck her hips against nothing as she desperately yearned for more.

"so tight, bunny. so tight 'n pretty." he preps kisses over her belly and pussy as those two fingers work her out, making a mess of her.

"p-pleaseㅡ gimme.."

"give ya what, sweetheart?" she whines. he knows what she wantsㅡㅡ needs.

"inside, put it i-insideㅡ"

he scoffs, taking out his fingers and leaving her to squeeze around nothing. they lock eyes and he brings those two fingers to her lips, urging them open. "suck. show me, c'mon."

she does just that. swirling her tongue and suckling on those digits like her life depended on it. "good girl. good fuckin' girl" he praises.

with those sleek fingers he drags them along her body and down to her pulsing clit as the other hand wraps around his shaft, pumping it. her eyes roll back, scooting closer to Tangerine, doing anything to get him inside of her.

"you ready, bunny?"

she was. she was also scared. it's why she tried so hard to not look at the monster in front of her: long, girthy, pulsing ar every breath Tangerine took.

"mhm, hurry ㅡ please."

"needy girl." chuckling, he gathers some of her slick with his tip, teasing at her clit and making her moan desperately. with a few more seconds passing, he finally decides to push inside.

god. it hurts.

so bad.

so good.

"shit, loveㅡ so fuckin' tight and wet for me, huh?"

and he goes at it. likes there's no tomorrow, he rams into her, just like he imagined for the past year he would one day. she's his. his. his to take and ruin and taint and love.

his.

his.

"fuckin' hellㅡㅡ" tangerine chokes back a moan as he steadily grabs at her hips, his tight hold surely leaving marks that'll hold like stains for weeks. he plunges deep into her, leaving no room for air. holding her close, he kisses her all over, listening to the sweet sounds that dripped from her lips like honeyㅡㅡ like poison.

"shit, tanㅡ 'm gonna.."

"it's okay, bunny. let go, go ahead."

bliss. ecstasy. she gasps and hold onto him. it feels like she's falling and floating, plummeting to the ground but flying to the clouds.

they kiss. he was so hungry.

she's his.

"thank you." she smiles up at him.

you red my mind.

⁽⁽ଘ( ˊᵕˋ )ଓ⁾⁾‎  토끼's NOTE : HEY YALL SPECIAL TAN FIC FOR A SPECIAL SOMEONE WINK WINK. this has only 2.1k words SORRAY!!!! grammatical errors cuz its not proofread. ALSO TYSM FOR 100 FOLLOWS YAY I LITERALLY LOVE U ALL SM MUAH!!!!!