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webism · 6 months ago

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CHAPTER ONE: The Businessman.

kento nanami x fem!reader. nsfw.

your first night at Tsukumo's Angels, and you get put on the phone sex line.

masterlist. read on ao3

You sit on a peeling leather couch that sticks to the back of your thighs in the heat. An old metal-blade fan sits mounted on the wall to your left, but it’s a sorry excuse for one—someone blowing on you would quicker dry the sweat from your brow. It’s not as dingy as Toji’s apartment, which you suppose is an upside: things are looking brighter already. Yay.

The beautiful woman sitting across from you in a small black tank and jeans—in this weather—taps her nails against the surface of her desk. Her blonde hair gates her vision a little, but you can still feel the sharpness of her gaze on your skin. She’s sizing you up. You aren’t sure if you like it.

“So,” she leans back in her seat. “Your name was..?”

You look up at her, at the way her hands are clasped together. She could look down at the faded resumé in front of her and see your name written as clear as day, but she asks you instead. Maybe to hear it from your own lips.

You tell her your name, and she parrots it back to you to test it on her tongue. She decides that she likes the taste. “I’m Yuki Tsukumo. I own Tsukumo’s Angels, the finest budget escort service in the city.”

You knew that, of course, but you nod as a formality regardless. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Yuki smiles at you—wide and toothy and ever so beautiful. She reaches into her drawer and pulls out a cigarette, lighting it and taking a drag. She blows her smoke to the left and you almost forget just how hot it is in her office. “I hear you’d like a job?”

You’re going to hell. Every late-night-TV preacher and grandmother in the congregation would tell you the same thing. It’s not just what you’re doing—it’s what you’re thinking, what you’re willing to become to make it out of this.

When you were younger, stupider, you’d fear hell like nothing else. Eternal heat, endless suffering, a constant lack of breath, a pit with no end. Now, you’re starting to think it might feel a lot like this city at night: oppressive heat rising from the pavement, the air thick and stifling, and an unshakable sense that something, or someone, is watching you.

Toji used to call the nightlife a cancer. And although he rarely managed the truth, this might have been one of the rare times it slipped past his lips. You tug at the hem of your dress—a little too tight, a little too short. It’s what you had to work with, cobbled together from a half-hearted thrift store run and whatever nerve you could muster.Yuki didn’t say anything about a dress code, and maybe you’re stereotyping yourself here, but you’re out of your element and this dress is short enough to strip the attention from your fidgeting hands.

The fluorescent lights outside Tsukumo’s Angels buzz faintly as you approach, the words glowing in neon pink that is reflected in the puddles on the concrete. The heavy metal door creaks loudly when you push it open and step in. 7 on the dot. You’ll be here tonight, so you don’t have to worry about finding a place to live until tomorrow. Don’t think about it.

Inside, the air is cooler, though not by much. The same peeling leather couch greets you, as does the same faint smell of smoke and something cheap, floral, and over-applied. Yuki isn’t at the desk this time, but a tall man in a plain white button-up leans against it, his arms crossed. He’s an attractive man, a cigarette hangs from his lips—you’re starting to see a trend in staff here.

“You the lamb?” He asks, though the way he looks you up and down tells you he already has an answer to that question.

“Lamb?” you ask.

He smiles, moustached lip curling upwards in something mocking and dangerously sultry. “Yeah, you’re the lamb—” he extends a hand for you to shake “—Shiu.”

Shiu has a rough grip, you note. Not mean or calloused like you’d expect from a man of physical labours, but just… rough. “It’s nice to meet you,” you hum. He laughs.

He takes another drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing brighter in the dim light, and looks you over once more before flicking the ash into an already overflowing tray on the desk. He blows a plume of smoke toward the ceiling, eyes narrowing slightly as the smoke curls. “You look familiar. I’ve seen you here before?”

You shake your head. “You haven’t.”

Shiu narrows his eyes even further, takes in the way your dress clings tight, how your frame stands in front of him. Your nerves… the tinge of excitement beneath them. “Have we..?”

“No!” your eyes widen, voice a little louder than you intend it to be. “Sorry. I just got out of a relationship so… no, we haven’t…”

“A breakup, huh? That’s always an interesting reason to land somewhere like this.” His voice lowers. He’s toying with you. “What’d he do? Not give you enough attention? Leave you out in the cold?”

You don’t owe him an explanation: you’re here and that’s all that matters, but you find yourself shrugging regardless. “Something like that.”

Shiu smiles, something teasing but not quite mocking. “Right, well if you’re here as a rebound I’d advise you to walk your ass right back out of that door. You’ll get attention here, for sure, but this isn’t the place for… soft comforts.”

“I’m not here for comfort.”

“Good,” says Shiu. “Keep it that way. You’re here to provide a service, an experience, but not without boundaries. Those lines blur when you start wanting cuddles and reassurance after, and when the lines blur you aren’t doing everything in your power to keep yourself safe. These men—and women—pay for sex for a reason. Remember that.”

You know. You know. There’s nothing warm and fuzzy about being an Angel, or a lamb, as he puts it. Still, you want to make the most of the hole you’re in. You narrow your eyes at Shiu and hope he doesn’t chide you for changing the subject when you ask: “and what about you? Are you—”

“For sale?” A door behind Shiu pushes open and in walks Yuki Tsukumo. She’s ditched the jeans from yesterday for a long black dress: one that hugs her figure and flows like liquid down to her ankles. She looks taller, and a whole lot cleaner than the gritty lobby you stand in. “Give me a good offer and I’ll rent him out to you. Shiu is security, he’ll take care of you if and when you need him to.”

Shiu scoffs at Yuki’s joke and takes a step to the left so that she can slot in next to him. Yuki, your boss, looks you up and down. You catch the way her gaze lingers on your dress, though you can’t tell if it’s judgement or approval behind her lashes. She flits her gaze to Shiu. “Are you trying to scare my lamb away, Kong?”

Shiu shrugs. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Yuki rolls her eyes and lands her gaze on you once again. Seeing you so out of your element, she gives you a soft smile to try and ease your nerves. “You’ll be okay here. I showed you my office yesterday, I’ll be in there if you need me at any time, okay? You’re never more than a few steps from security and if you have issues with anyone, co-worker or client, you can come to me.”

Weirdly, that does soothe you. Though your moment to take a breath quickly passes when Yuki straightens up and turns on her heels with only a nod for you to follow. “Come then.”

The door she came from leads down a long hallway with dim fluorescent lights flickering overhead. The walls are bare, the paint chipped in spots, revealing patches of old wallpaper beneath. Yuki doesn’t wait for you to catch up; her heels click with purpose on the tiled floor, echoing through the narrow space. You’re almost at the end of the hall before she speaks again, her tone matter-of-fact. “I’m not going to throw you in the deep end, but you’re not getting a soft landing either. I’ll introduce you to one of my angels, Utahime, and she’s going to walk you through our phone sex services. Sound good?”

Without waiting for a reply, Yuki steps through another door and leads you into a big lounge area. Against the back wall are a bunch of mirrors and vanity stations, makeup and hygiene products littered over each tabletop. A few girls in even fewer clothing sit and do their hair and makeup, chatting amongst themselves and shooting you soft smiles as you and Yuki walk past.

Your boss steps over to a cream chaise lounge against another wall where a girl around your age lays splayed across the cushioning. She’s wearing a dress like yours, short and black and very ‘sex-sells’, and is tapping away on her phone with such rapt attention she doesn’t notice the two of you approach until Yuki clears her throat.

“Utahime,” she drawls and gestures to you. “This is our newest lamb. I’d like you to walk her through our phone services tonight. Doable?”

The girl—Utahime—looks you over. She looks a little bored, gorgeous black hair falling over her shoulders and her nails still tapping absentmindedly against her phone screen. Her perfectly arched brow raises, just slightly, before she finally glances at Yuki.

“Doable,” she says with a lazy shrug. “I have the businessman booked in for a call in half an hour… maybe he’d like a session with the new girl?”

You look at Yuki, who looks at you in the same breath. She seems to think about something before ultimately nodding. “If you can get her up to speed before he calls, let her have a go with him.”

“The businessman?” You ask.

Yuki smiles. “He’s a hard worked man, but he’s so unfamiliar with his sex drive that you’d think he was a priest. He might actually benefit from talking to someone new.”

You nod—sex therapy for a businessman couldn’t be that hard. Utahime stands and adjusts her dress before grabbing your wrist and parting from Yuki to pull you across the lounge and into a room off to the side. Utahime’s grip on your wrist is firm but not unkind, and loosens once youre in what she introduces to you as the studio.

It’s so much nicer than you expected. The room is decently sized and lit up with warm fairy lights. Almost like a recording studio, there are doors to a few booths across the wall, each one decorated to the nines with pillows and blankets and a station for water and personal items. A few low tables hold candles, fake or otherwise, alongside a small black box of… what you imagine might be toys. A plush little sofa sits in each one too, for comfort.

“Nice, right?” Utahime hums and gently pushes you into one of the booths. “Everything’s designed to make you more comfortable. Clients pick up on that, even over the phone. It’s all sound-proofed in here too, so if you get into it you can be as loud as you want. Seriously, make it yours. You’ll be in here a lot until you start taking in-person clients.”

Utahime sits down on the floor and tosses a pillow in your direction. You startle a little but look at her with a knowing smile at her efforts to start feeling familiar. “So,” you start, sitting down on the plush sofa and toying with the small headset that hangs from the armrest. “The businessman… tell me about him?”

Utahime leans back against the wall and props her chin in her hand. “The businessmaaaan. He’s sweet. He’s only called in once before, spoke to me but got too nervous to do anything more than talk about his day. He was polite—apologised about ten times for wasting my time, which, by the way, he wasn’t. He’s got this earnestness about him that’s kind of rare. But you can tell he’s not used to this kind of thing. Not even close. It’s… cute.”

You look at her, a soft smile crosses her lips. If it wasn’t just work you’d think she had a soft spot for him. “Do you think he’ll mind talking to me instead of you? Changing things up might make him feel even more nervous.”

Utahime shakes her head. “I think he’ll appreciate someone who’s also new to this. You can learn from each other. He’s booked to call in twenty minutes. We could do some practice calls until then? I’ll show you the ropes.”

She puts her hand up to her ear to simulate a phone and you laugh at the gesture. “Sounds good.”

Meanwhile, in his small apartment bedroom, Kento Nanami—the businessman—paces from door to dresser. Back and forth, back and forth. He tightens his tie, and then loosens it just to feel unmade and tighten it again.

Why did he book a second call? The first was ridiculous, he talked to a nice young lady about officework woes and quarterly reports and hung up after an hour with a call-girl sized dent in his wallet and no sexual relief to show for it. He’s of half a mind to walk over to his mirror and start practicing lines, but he hasn’t yet lost so much of his decorum.

For the next ten minutes, Nanami sits with his fingers drumming over his thighs, dull thuds against his slacks. He’s lost in his mind, is he even aroused? Capable of being aroused? He can’t remember the last time he jerked off—last month?

He’s two minutes late to call by the time he next checks his phone. “Shit,” he mumbles, fumbling to the contact saved under ‘Personal Services.’ Nanami stares at the screen for a moment, his thumb hovering over the call button. He clears his throat, adjusts his posture, and exhales sharply through his nose before pressing ‘CALL’.

The line rings, once… twice… and then— “Tsukumo’s Angels, what’s on your mind?”

His breath hitches. He shouldn’t freeze like this, but the poor man simply cannot help it. “Good evening,” he sounds clinical, and his mind is working faster than his mouth because he’s talking before he can register the words that leave his lips. “You… aren’t who I talked to last week.”

“I’m not,” the voice says, Nanami picks up on an edge of unsurety that traces your words. “You’ve caught me on my first night… you could get to know me, if you’d like to.”

Nanami nods, and then realises you can’t see him. “I’d, uh, I’d like that.”’

There’s a soft hum of acknowledgement from your side of the call, and Kento stops feeling the need to toy with his tie. “Great,” you say, your voice steadying a little. “So… why don’t we start with something easy? Tell me a bit about yourself.”

Nanami hesitates. “There’s not much to tell. I work in finance. My days are… predictable, for the most part.”

“Predictability isn’t always a bad thing,” you reply gently. “But I get the feeling you aren’t fulfilled.”

"You could say that. It’s a practical job. It pays the bills." He pauses, then adds, almost reluctantly, "though I think I’d like a vacation.”

From your spot on the sofa at Tsukumo’s Angels, you lean back and glance at the door. Utahime had stepped out a few minutes ago, giving you space to settle into your first call. “Are you a beach man or a mountain man?”

“Beach,” his reply is immediate. He clears his throat. “There’s something calming about the ocean. The sound of the waves, the salt in the air… it’s grounding.”

You smile at the vivid image his words paint. “I get that. The ocean feels endless in a way that’s comforting, doesn’t it? Like it can hold all your worries for a while.”

“Yes. Exactly that. I’d read, listen to the water, just exist.”

“What does a man like you read?”

“Anything classic. I like things tried-and-true, change is… difficult for me. Hemingway maybe. Or Murakami, if I’m in the right mood.”

“Tasteful,” you reply. “And if I were there on the beach with you, could I distract you from your book, or are you diligent in your focus?”

In his room, Nanami’s mouth goes dry as his cock twitches in his slacks. You haven’t even said anything lewd, but he’s feeling oddly restless nonetheless. “I like to think I’m a focused man,” he starts, shuffling back on his bed to rest against the headboard. He takes his glasses off and rests them on the bedside table. “But under the right circumstances, I could be persuaded to set the book down.”

“Careful, businessman, I could take that as a challenge.”

“I’d hope so.”

He’s blushing at his own words and, in the same breath, reaching downwards with his free hand to palm as his hardening cock. He takes a sharp breath in and prays to every god he’s ever read about that you didn’t hear him.

“You’re saying I’d have to earn your attention?” Your question is honeyed.

“I suppose,” so is his reply.

“Good, I like working for my meals.”

Nanami snorts— “what, you’re going to eat me?”

“Yes,” your voice makes his cock jump. He sighs and pulls his slacks down enough to hook it out. “Have you ever wanted something so bad that you’d consume it whole if you could?”

Nanami thinks for a moment about a promotion, and then shakes his head. His mind jumps instead to the hypothetical beach retreat, with a book in one hand and the back of your head in his other as he pushes your mouth down on his cock so deep you’re gagging and drooling all over the place. Ungentlemanly, but enough of a visual to incite his tip to start drooling precum. He smears it over the head with his thumb, and nearly chokes on his words. “I have.”

“That’s how I feel. There’s an intimacy to taking care of someone, especially when they’re stressed like you. I bet your muscles are so tight they’d be hard under my hands. Being the one to relax you, make you feel good? That’d make me feel good.”

Nanami hums. “Usually I’m the one doing the servicing.”

“I don’t doubt that. You should be the one being taken care of. Poor thing, working so hard every day: carrying all that weight on your shoulders. You deserve a break.”

Poor Kento moans at that—a break. God, the things he’d do for a break. He feels almost pathetic pumping his cock to the thought of reprieve from the monotonous 9-5 he lives, but he hasn’t felt this good in a long time. His breathing grows heavier as your words coil around him. “You’re… ha, you’re good at this. It’s your first day?”

“Don’t distract me,” you hum. “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

“You,” he exhales. “Your eyes. Looking up at me. Or your hands on my thighs. How you’d touch me like you know me. Like we know each other. Like we’ve done it a hundred times before and still aren’t sick of each other.”

He doesn’t know why he says that, why his fantasy quickly shifts from a beachside blowjob to the domestic life. To lazy morning sex or late nights in the kitchen that turn from snack runs to you hoisted onto the counter with his head between your thighs. He pictures you, whatever you look like, laughing as he kisses your neck and brings home gifts carved out of his paycheck. He pictures a life shared, and feels awful for it.

“Sorry,” his strokes falter. “Sorry I don’t know why—”

“I like that thought,” you stop him from spiralling. “Maybe we have. Maybe in another life you’d come home to me every night, waiting for you… ready to make you forget about everything but the way you make me feel.”

His chest heaves as his hand works faster, stroking his cock at a near brutal pace to the images you plant into his mind. You’re in his bed, you’re bent over his desk, you’re lazing on the sofa with him, you’re up against the wall in his shower. “Fuck.”

“I’d know you inside and out,” you continue on, and he swears he can hear a slight hitch to your breath—are you touching yourself? He pictures phone sex operators sitting bored at a desk as they read from a script. But you sound…invested. Heated. “I’d know exactly how to take care of you. You’d come home exhausted and I’d make it all better—god, you’d know all of me too.”

Nanami’s hips jerk up into his hand as he feels his release start to build. It’s already dizzying, after such a long dry spell, and his head tips forward in want.“You’re—ha—too good at this. How the hell… how are you—”

“Shh,” you soothe him. “Don’t think. Just feel, just let me take care of you… even from here. You’re touching yourself, yea? Imagine it’s my hand, stroking you after a long day, love. Or maybe I’m riding you, letting you lay back and feel me around you… you wouldn’t have to do a damn thing.”

His free hand fists the sheets as he imagines the warmth of your body pressing against his, the way your nails might scrape lightly over his skin. He pictures your head tilted back, lips parted in ecstasy as you moan his name over and over again.

“You’re driving me fucking insane,” he rarely curses like this. Still, he’s never indulged in something like this before—never let himself slip into the raw, visceral need he now feels. The restraint he’s so practiced in every aspect of his life is dissolving fast, leaving him chasing the pleasure you’re pouring into him.

“Good,” you hum. “I want you to let go for me, give me everything you have all pent up. I can take it.”

Nanami’s pace turns frantic, hips fucking up into his fist as he strokes himself at a torrid pace. His mind is hazed with fantasies of a simple life, domestic and passionate and before he can stop himself and force a few more minutes of pleasure he’s cumming—hard. A strangled moan, one made for porn, leaves his lips and is met with a sharp intake of breath from your end. Nanami feels self conscious for a moment, drawing his now-sticky hand from his cock as he listens to the phone—were you uncomfortable?

Far from. You hardly realise you have your dress hiked and your hand under the fabric of your panties until you’re timing your orgasm with the businessman on the other end of the call. This is far from protocol, but the last time you’ve been spoken to about making love was when you and Toji first started dating, when he was still sweet on you. Sex since then has been rough and passionate and bruising and great, but never love-making.

You try and stifle your sounds, not knowing yet if it's appropriate for you to touch yourself alongside your clients. You hadn’t intended on it, that’s for sure. You blink the blur from your vision as you try and regain your composure, sliding your hand out of your panties and holding it up in front of you—your fingers glisten under the soft lights and you scramble for a tissue to clean yourself off.

The silence on the phone between you isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s charged. “Are you… okay?”

“Yes,” you breathe out a lot quicker than you need to.

“Good,” he says, and you can almost hear the faint smile in his tone. “I was worried I’d—well, that I’d crossed a line.”

You shake your head, even though he can’t see it, pressing your lips together to stop yourself from blurting out how very far from uncomfortable you’d been. “Not at all. I guess we both… just got caught up in the moment.”

He hums in agreement, his voice still a little strained, and something about the lilt of his voice lays deep inside of you. Maybe this line of work isn’t for you if… after one call with a man you don’t know otherwise, you’re already starting to feel open with him. When he speaks, you can hear the nerves lacing his words. “I’m not unhappy it happened.”

“Me neither. You’re full of surprises, Mr. Businessman.”

“You have a way of coaxing them out of me,” he replies. “If I call again, will I get to speak to you?”

It’s a simple question, yet it still implies something more. There’s no rule against it—not officially—but getting closer than needed with clients has already been explained to you as a messy line. Still, you’ve just fucked your fingers to his voice and the fantasies he spoke of—you aren’t in a habit of keeping straight edges.

“Maybe,” you reply, leaving the door open just enough. “Ask for the lamb.”

“The lamb?” He laughs, you like the sound. “I’ll remember that.”

“Please do.”

There's a moment of silence, and you can see Utahime’s shadow in the frosted window on the door. A quick glance to the clock tells you that an hour has passed already. As if sensing your coming end, the businessman speaks. “My time is almost up. Take care of yourself.”

You stare at the door. “You too, Mr Businessman.”

“Nanami,” he corrects you gently. “You can call me Nanami.”

The call ends with a soft click, leaving you sitting there and rpelaying his correction in your head. Nanami.

You’re so lost in thought that you barely register the door creaking open. Utahime steps in, and it’s only when her gaze drops to your lap that the realisation hits—your dress is still slightly rucked up, and your flustered attempt to straighten it comes a moment too late.

“Oh, lamb,” she drawls, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorframe. “Caught you, didn’t I?”

Your cheeks burn as you stammer, “It’s not—”

“Relax. It happens to everyone eventually.”

You gape at her, mortified. “This doesn’t happen to everyone.”

Utahime grins, her black hair falling over her shoulders as she dips her head down in laughter. It’s not teasing—moreso friendly. She’s trying to laugh with you, not at you. Though still embarrassed, you feel a little less like you want to melt into the couch as she continues. “And you know what that means?”

You tilt your head at her. “What does it mean?”

“That you’ll fit right in here, lamb.”

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honestlyvan · 9 months ago

Text

The main feature apps like this offer are QOL improvements like different layouts, fonts, reading statistics and timers, and the aforementioned download features that are already a part of Ao3.

And if you want to use an app for those features -- honestly, I don't see why not? But be aware that Ao3 supports user-created skins that can look like literally anything you want (and although you do have to know enough CSS to make a theme yourself, lots of fans out there make AO3 skins just for fun -- you just gotta talk to one of them to ask how to make the changes you'd prefer and most likely they're happy to help out) and there are userscripts that act as site extensions that provide all those features and more (with, again, people actively developing them that you can ask help from to write your own if you don't like any of the ones available)

If you don't want the hassle of finding this stuff out or talking to people to ask for these features, you do you I guess. But don't ever pay money for one of these apps, no matter what it does. If it's showing you adds, if it's asking you to buy it, DO NOT, they're asking you to pay for features other fans have already provided for free through other methods.

WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS

WHO IS USING THIS

AN APP??? THEY HAVE A FUNCTIONING WEBSITE

THE LAST FUNCTIONING WEBSITE

#Like tbh I don't hate the idea of user-made Ao3 apps #But I also think it's not possible to do that on monetised platforms without going against the spirit of Ao3's rules #they don't let you directly link Kofi or Patreon #so an app having a tip button/ads/premium purchase version would also be out of the question for me #But that's me speaking from a place of someone who likes doing dev shit as a hobby #I honestly think that if I went on FD right now I could find a decent Ao3 reader app that *is* operating within the spirit of the rules #I assume there's more than one of us out there but you wouldn't find any of these apps on the damn App Store/ITunes #which have the sole purpose of making money #and making money off of fandom is against the principles of OTW as far as I've understood them #And I do think Ao3 could use some QOL features there in the main interface! I do!#And not all of them are stuff like a dark mode you can do with scrub code!#some of the features I mentioned above *are* pretty complicated to implement #So I see the appeal of apps like these especially for people who don't have a broad community of other fans #who don't maybe even know anyone who does themes or userscripts on the side #Who may not even know all the features of their *browsers* because they've grown up in an app-first ecosystem #(or have shit browsers like Chrome that try to be as app-like as possible)#And the people writing these apps see a niche. Because they see users of Ao3 not knowing how Ao3 works #(and maybe don't know how Ao3 works themselves)#and go “huh there's a need I could fulfill there huh?”#The problem isn't the creation of the tools themselves -- it's the monetisation of them #And I think it would be better to focus on communicating *that*#and not assuming technical competence #Like most people don't even RTFM #and even when they do they might not *know* what some of the things in the manual are #So going “why didn't you just [already implemented feature of Ao3]\[userscript]” means nothing to them #they don't know what a userscript is #They don't know *that* you can DIY this stuff let alone *how* to DIY this stuff #and condescendingly telling them “you should just [do something that is unfamiliar and sounds complicated]”#will only make them thing “okay. But if you're not gonna tell me how then an app someone *already made* for that is easier. So fuck you.”#*handwaves at those last points* to be clear this is not what I think OP or anyone in this thread is saying

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transformativeworks · 9 months ago

Note

We know Ao3 doesn't have an app and yet they keep popping app. That makes me feel that people want it and get exploited by the fake ones.

There isn't a plan to make one but, have a PWA been considered?

Hey chaoticneutralchocolate -

The main reason that apps pop up for AO3 is not because fandom folks want it, so much as app-making-folks want to monetize fans accessing fanfiction. All those apps? they have ads. that make the developer money.

Currently, we do not have an API (application program interface), which is needed to allow an app to interact with our servers. Developing such an interface and then the apps themselves (for the various mobile platforms) would take significant time and coder effort. It’s unlikely to happen while the Archive code is still rapidly changing, as this would require the apps to be updated for each change. You can see more details at our news post on the subject: https://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/3390 .

Even a browser-based app interface would be a tremendous amount of work that we do not have the staffing (or inclination) to establish or maintain.

In the meantime, you should be able to access the fully functional Archive using your device’s browser with our mobile stylesheet, and to download works to read offline with an e-reader app. You can also add a link to the site on your home screen ( https://www.howtogeek.com/196087/how-to-add-websites-to-the-home-screen-on-any-smartphone-or-tablet/ ) for quick access!

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#organization for transformative works #otw #archive of our own #ao3 #we will never have an app folks #that is why we work so hard to have the mobile site work so well #and you can always download and use an e-reader!

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shadowkoo · 3 months ago

Text

Very Bad Behavior

→ Summary: Tall, dark, and dangerous. Sex, drugs, and rock and roll. They say bad things come in threes, and you’ve spent your entire life steering clear of every troublesome temptation. But when a familiar stranger catches your eye one night at work, resisting suddenly feels impossible. You might just start to wonder how bad can indulging in a little bad behavior really be? Especially when it feels so good…

↠ seokjin x f.reader | 6.9k words | 18+ ↠ genre: rockstar au, one night stand, famous guitarist!seokjin x oblivious/non-fan bartender!reader, smut, strangers to lovers

→ Warnings: explicit sex, protected sex, rough sex, strong language, drug usage, alcohol consumption, praise kink, hair pulling, biting, mutual masturbation, manhandling, nipple play, breast play, begging, dirty talk, heavy teasing, spanking, multiple orgasms, grinding, exhibitionism, doggy, deep dicking, size kink, Seokjin is (rightfully) cocky about his huge dong, belly bulge, getting off from the vibrations created by jin’s motorcycle 👀, cocky dom!seokjin, oh and i almost forgot… jin’s got a magic cross dick piercing 😈

→ Networks: @ksmutsociety @k-vanity @keopihaus @lapydiaries @bangtanwritershq

→ Author Note: This is long overdue (me and collab deadlines don’t have the best relationship lol), here’s my part of the Can’t Be Tamed collab hosted by Sav @jeonjcngkook. Also a big thank you to Ley @pars-ley for beta reading this for me, I adore you!!!! As always, all likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated <3 divider credit

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“What can I get you?” you holler over your shoulder to the new body sitting on an open stool. Quickly stuffing the cash into the register, you turn around with your usual customer-service smile and hand the remaining change to the couple as they gather their things, preparing to leave.

It’s been busy all day, with waves of customers coming and going, but now you’re in that brief lull after the dinner rush, just before the night crowd starts to fill the room. With the peak of the summer season in full swing, business has been non-stop. And tonight should be even more hectic as it’s Friday night.

Walking toward the new guy waiting, you look him over while trying to get a good read. You first notice his glazed-over and slightly red eyes, a trait you easily recognize as a bartender at a popular downtown dive bar. He has a half-smoked blunt hanging between his fingers, somehow making himself look even more attractive.

Next, your vision trails along the black ink covering his tanned skin; a lightning bolt at the corner of his right eye, Fearless scribbled below his left, and a large piece with skulls and roses took up most of the space on his neck. And even though he’s wearing a leather jacket, it’s not hard to guess that his arms and other places are most likely covered by tattoos too.

“Surprise me, gorgeous,” he says, leaning forward with a dangerous smile.

Rolling your eyes at the overused line, you reach for the ingredients you need to mix something this pretentious guy would never order for himself. You do your best to hide your smirk as you grab the bottle of peach schnapps from the sea of other liquors and the orange juice from the cooler near your waist.

His gaze wanders from your curvaceous backside to what you’re making. “Ah, Sex on a Beach,” he notes, as you hand over the cherry-colored drink, with the umbrella and all. “My favorite.” His sparkling eyes lock with yours when your hands touch during the exchange.

“Really? Somehow, I doubt that.”

“Well, that’s fair. Would it be more believable if I said I’m usually more of a Jack and Coke guy?”

“Oh wow, now that is surprising,” you tease. “Who would’ve guessed?”

“Alright, what’s your go-to then? What do you recommend?”

You lean against the counter, pretending to ponder deeply, “I would have to say peanut butter flavored whiskey has my attention at the moment.”

“Fuck that,” he says with another grin that shows off his perfectly white teeth.

Who is this man, and why is he such a stunner?!

“You can’t be serious?”

A smirk grows on your lips as you grab two shot glasses and the bottle of Skrewball. You fill them without looking, a fun bartender trick of yours, keeping your eyes locked onto his. You pass one to him, keeping the other for yourself and lifting it to cheers, “Bottoms up.”

He lets out a sigh, “Here goes nothin’...” His face immediately twists up in disgust, and he sputters after swallowing. “Oh my god,” he clears his throat. “That has to be the worst thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.”

“Oh come on, I’m sure nastier things have found their way between your lips,” you joke, laughing while he finishes the glass of water you also set out for him.

“You have no idea…” he says, playing along.

“So, what brings you to town?” And more importantly, how long are you here for?

“Ah, I’m just here for the weekend with my buddies,” he smiles, before taking a sip of his sex on the beach.

The front door opening interrupts your conversation, and a group of college-aged guys walk in, who immediately wave you down to get their drinks.

“Hold that thought,” you say, eyes drifting back to the door as it opens again for the next group that struts in and joins the guys who are now whistling for your attention. “I’ll be right back, gotta take care of these assholes.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. When I need another I’ll just whistle for ya.” He smirks, and your insides heat up while you walk away. You don’t know him, but you like him.

Unfortunately, that lovely group kept you busier than you would have liked. By the time you can satisfy them and the girls whose drinks they also bought, the handsome stranger is long gone.

All that remains is an empty glass sitting on top of a napkin with the words, “Thanks for the chat and the amazing sex (on the beach), See you around!” scribbled along with a crisp hundred-dollar bill.

You wonder if you'll ever see him again. The odds are slim, and you try not to let that sting.

The rest of the night flies by, and before you know it, it’s approaching 3 a.m. Much to no one's surprise, you’ve made your entire month’s rent in tips tonight, which is why you love working closing shifts when everyone else would prefer to already be home and in bed.

Bartending is typically an easy job if you like being social. Drunk men are easy to flirt with and the money flows if you can bullshit with them for long enough.

“Have a good night, guys,” you say, waving goodbye to Jenny, the other bartender working with you tonight, and her boyfriend Dino, who also happens to be the bar’s bouncer.

They wave back and say goodnight before turning to walk home together, leaving you to finish locking up.

Your loud yawn is hidden by the low rumbles of a nearby motorcycle, and the exhaustion of the busy night finally hits you. Dropping your keys into your purse, you turn in the opposite direction to head home.

“Calling it a night this early?” a familiar voice says from the darkness surrounding you. You freeze in place, trying to make out the shadowed figure.

“Oh,” you say in relief, after taking a couple of steps closer and seeing the hot guy from earlier. “It's you.”

“I was wondering when you’d get off,” he says, his smooth voice making your skin shiver.

“Aww, have you been waiting this whole time?” you ask, a slight tease in your tone.

He leans casually against his bike, the city lights flickering in his eyes. “Nah, I met up with my friends for a bit. Then realized I forgot to give you something.”

You tilt your head, with a playful smirk on your lips. “Let me guess, your number? Or your name?” Heat curls in your stomach; either one would be a win.

“Maybe,” he murmurs, stepping closer, his gaze trailing over you like a slow caress. “But you gotta work for it.” He swings a leg over his motorcycle and taps the empty space in front of him. “Sit.”

You raise a brow but obey, straddling the bike backward so you're facing him. It’s not like you’re going for a ride, so what does it matter? He doesn’t complain about your positioning. His hands quickly find your thighs, his thumbs tracing slow, intoxicating circles into your skin.

“So…” you exhale, pulse quickening under his touch. “What did you forget?”

His smile turns cocky, and without warning he leans in, his lips a breath away from yours.

“This,” he whispers before kissing you. He claims your mouth with a hunger that leaves no room for doubt and certainly no space for air. His hands tighten on your thighs, pulling you closer until there’s nothing between you.

You can’t believe this is happening, you’re practically straddling a hot stranger’s lap, tangled in a very heated kiss. Even the cool night air does nothing to tame the fire licking at your skin.

Threading your fingers through his thick hair, you tug just enough to draw a low groan from him. Your hips shift instinctively, and the moment you do, a gasp slips from your lips. The deep purr of the motorcycle beneath you vibrates through every inch of your body, teasing that sensitive bundle of nerves through your jean shorts.

He pulls back just enough to smirk, his breath hot against your lips. “Does that feel good, gorgeous?” His voice is low, dripping with sin. “Are you a needy little whore who just has to get off?”

Before you can respond, his strong hand presses against your lower back, guiding you down against the hard metal of his bike. The vibrations intensify, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Grind those hips, baby,” he purrs, his other hand still gripping your thigh. “Show me how needy you are.”

A whimper escapes you as your hips obey, moving with desperate friction, chasing that delicious edge. He leans in, his lips grazing your ear as he whispers filth that only makes the ache worse.

“You’re such a pretty little whore,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. “But I think you need to show a little more skin for me.”

He tugs down the scoop neckline of your shirt, exposing the delicate lace of your bra. His eyes darken, admiration flickering in them as he takes in the sight of you.

He leans in, his warm breath ghosting over the fabric before he presses his mouth against it. Leaving a teasing kiss, then another. His tongue traces over the lace, dampening it, before he tugs it down, both layers of fabric pushing your breasts up enticingly. His gaze flickers up to meet yours, and he grins devilishly as he watches them bounce in time with your desperate movements.

Without warning, his lips latch onto the soft peak of your flesh, sucking greedily before biting down just enough to make you gasp. The sharp pleasure sends another jolt of heat pooling low in your stomach. He moves to the other nipple, his tongue teasing you and savoring this moment.

He doesn’t need to hear you say that you’re close; he can feel it in the way your hips stutter against his bike. Your movements growing erratic, more desperate.

He groans against your skin, voice thick with satisfaction. “Come undone for me,” he commands, his grip tightening. His voice is possessive and downright dangerous. “Right now.”

Your body shatters, pleasure ripping through you in the form of an uncontrollable moan spilling from your lips. He holds you close, his lips brushing against your temple as he chuckles, satisfied.

“Good girl,” he murmurs smugly, his voice laced with approval. “That’s it.” He pulls your bra and shirt back up, covering your exposed skin just before a car drives by.

You’re still catching your breath, pulse hammering, when reality crashes back in. “Oh my god,” you whisper, pressing a hand to your face. “I cannot believe that just happened.”

He grins, tilting his head. “Oh, you better believe it, sweetheart.” He lets his fingers trail over your thigh before reaching into his leather jacket, pulling out a small envelope.

“Here.” He holds it out to you, his smirk sinful. “Save a little of that bad behavior for me tomorrow.”

You take the envelope, raising an eyebrow. “What is this?”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Open it later and find out.”

You roll your eyes, but the teasing glint in your gaze betrays your curiosity. “Mysterious and cocky. Dangerous combo.”

“You’re into it,” he counters smoothly, reaching around your body and revving the engine beneath you. The vibrations send a wicked aftershock through your overstimulated body, making you shiver. His pleased smirk deepens. “Time to hop off, baby.”

You bite your lip, still breathless. “All that, and you’re still not going to tell me your name?”

He shakes his head, amusement dancing in his dark eyes. “Show up tomorrow, and maybe I will.”

With one last lingering glance, you slide off his bike, your legs still unsteady as you head back to your car.

He watches you with that devilish smirk, like he already knows you’ll meet him damn near anywhere tomorrow. Just for a repeat of something similar to tonight.

And dammit, he’s probably right.

Everyone told Seokjin that bringing his motorcycle on tour was a bad idea.

It’ll take up too much space. It might get damaged. Some unhinged fan could steal it and sell it for a million dollars.

But none of those reasons had been enough to stop him. Especially when the pro list included making you come undone last night, riding the vibrations of his engine like a damn symphony.

That memory alone? Worth every logistical nightmare.

He smirks to himself, leaning against a wall backstage, eyes scanning the slowly filling venue. Doors had opened thirty minutes ago, and the first opener is about to hit the stage.

But so far…there’s no sign of the pretty brunette that he’s been unable to stop thinking about.

“There you are,” a deep voice says from behind.

Startled, Seokjin turns slightly to find Yoongi, one of the band’s other guitarists, watching him with mild amusement.

“Didn’t think you were the crowd-watching type,” Yoongi adds with a raised eyebrow, stepping beside him.

Seokjin shrugs, trying to play it cool. “Just scoping the energy.”

“Uh-huh. Seems like you’re looking for someone?”

Jin manages to dodge the question when Taehyung, their lead singer, bursts out of the dressing room with a parade of barely-dressed women behind him.

“Dude,” Taehyung groans dramatically, “Where’s the fucking booze? The dressing room’s already dry. Can you believe that shit?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Yoongi deadpans.

The two immediately fall into their usual back-and-forth, trading sarcastic barbs and wild theories about who drank the last bottle of whiskey. But Seokjin tunes them out.

His gaze is still locked on the crowd, his fingers tapping nervously against his thigh. You’d never confirmed that you were coming tonight, despite him counting on it.

Did you look up the band after opening that envelope? The one he slipped into your hands right before you walked away, while you were still flushed and a little breathless after your little exhibitionist act? The one containing a ticket to tonight’s sold out show, with an all-access pass that gets you the best view inside the barricade, plus allows you backstage.

He wonders if you pieced it together, if you made the connection about who he was.

You two hit it off instantly. It was far more than he ever expected when he stopped by that bar for a quick drink, barely an hour after their tour bus pulled into the venue lot. He’d debated it. Going out without security wasn’t exactly recommended, not with how massive their fanbase is. But it was still early enough in the night before it would be too busy, and surprisingly, no one recognized him.

Not even you. That was the most refreshing part.

You didn’t look at him like he was Seokjin, popular rhythm guitarist of Dark & Wild, the notoriously reckless band that had carved its name into rock history with more scandals than awards. You weren’t starry-eyed over the media headlines, the platinum records, or the chaos they left behind in every city.

You looked at him like he was just a man.

Not a musician, not a rockstar. Just a stranger with a sharp jaw, a dirty mouth, and a bike that made you blush.

You didn’t know he was in the middle of the Can’t Be Tamed world tour, one of the most anticipated events in music, already dubbed by critics as legendary, unfiltered, and unforgettable.

And that’s what made last night feel so real. It was raw and unscripted. Something he hasn’t had the pleasure of enjoying in quite some time.

Now, with adrenaline in the air and the crowd getting louder, he’s wondering if you'll stand out from the sea of faces. Or if you’ll remain hidden at the back of the crowd. He hopes you’ll use your advantage and be right up front. Right below his spot on stage, so he can tower over your pretty frame and show off.

God, he really hopes that’s the case.

As the bass echoes off the walls and stage lights flash when the first band takes the stage, Seokjin can’t help but wonder if last night was the last time he’ll ever see you?

With a quiet sigh, he turns away from the crowd and heads back to the dressing room to finish putting on his makeup and stage outfit. Still, his mind keeps drifting back to you.

His lips curl into a smirk at the memory of your face last night. How gorgeous you looked as you came undone in front of him, bold and unfiltered, grinding against the vibrations of his bike like you had nothing to prove. Damn, you were daring. Something refreshing that he found sexy as hell.

Jin chuckles under his breath, the memory fading as another wave of uninteresting women spills into the room with the company of his other bandmates.

A concert ticket… and an all-access pass? Is this what he’s in town for?

You turn the items over in your hands, reading the details printed in bold ink. Dark & Wild – Can’t Be Tamed World Tour. Your eyes widen slightly. That’s tonight.

You bite your lip, thinking it over.

Dark & Wild. Is that his favorite band? It would make sense, he definitely looks like the type who enjoys heavy guitar riffs and screaming fans. And he did mention he was only in town for the weekend.

But how the hell did he manage to score tickets? You remember hearing on the radio at work that the concert had completely sold out weeks ago.

Maybe he works for the band? A roadie, perhaps? He did have that confident, edgy energy. Like someone who thrives in the chaos of tour life, all the late nights and loud music.

Whatever his connection is, it doesn’t really matter. You’re just excited to see him again for your date tonight. Sure, it was technically just an invitation…but in your head, it counts as a date. And the butterflies in your stomach haven’t stopped fluttering since you opened the envelope earlier.

You can’t even remember the last time you were this excited for something. It’s been forever since a guy made your heart race. And, if you’re being honest, even longer since someone made you come like that.

So yeah, you’re definitely going.

You even decide to dress up more than you normally would for a concert. Not that you like to try hard, but hey, you’ve got someone to impress. Slipping into a black mini skirt that hugs your hips just right, you pair it with a black and white leopard print corset that cinches your waist and shows just enough cleavage to tempt. Then come the knee-high red leather boots that make your legs look a mile long and are impossible to ignore.

You twist your dark hair up into a messy-but-intentional style, securing it with a sharp chrome hair clip that glints under the light. With a swipe of eyeliner and a touch of red lipstick, you take one last glance in the mirror. Perfect timing, because your phone buzzes soon after.

Grabbing your purse, you sigh in an attempt to calm the nerves glittering beneath the surface as your Uber pulls up. The ride is short, or perhaps your mind is just preoccupied with the possibilities of tonight.

After getting dropped off, your heart flutters with each step you make toward the venue doors. The closer you get, the more real it feels.

Once the staff member waves you through after scanning your ticket, your pulse quickens. You’re about to see him again. The mysterious stranger who took one ordinary night and turned it into something wild. You wonder if he’s already arrived, if he’s waiting for you. If his face will light up when you walk toward him.

An hour later, your excitement slowly starts to unravel. The second act is about to finish their set, and there’s still no sign of him. You’ve been scanning the crowd nonstop, but the faces blur together under pulsing lights and stage fog. Though you know you’d be able to sense him.

But he’s not here.

Your stomach knots a little tighter with each passing minute. Maybe he got caught up. Maybe he’s still on the way. Maybe he’s at the bar. Maybe–

You chew your bottom lip, clutching your purse a little tighter.

Maybe he changed his mind.

As a last resort, you make your way toward the security guards stationed at the far left side of the barricade, right by the emergency exit doors.

You’ve been quietly watching from afar as a couple of crew members flash their passes before slipping past security like it’s no big deal. You hadn’t wanted to go that route unless you had to. But now, with no sign of him in the crowd and your hope thinning by the minute, it feels like your only shot.

You hesitate; the idea of being so close to the stage makes you uneasy. Especially when you barely know anything about the headliners who are about to run out. You don’t want to look out of place, like someone who doesn’t belong.

Still, you have to do it. You internally groan as you approach the guards, trying to look casual as you hold out your pass. They barely glance at it before nodding and letting you through. You step past the barricade and find a spot that hugs the left side of the stage, doing your best to stay out of the spotlight.

This side of the barrier is mostly empty. A few photographers are positioned with heavy cameras and media badges dangling from their necks. Past them and off to the right, you spot a small group of women. Probably girlfriends, or maybe groupies, laughing amongst themselves, already at ease.

He’s not here either.

You scan again, just to be sure.

Still, there’s no sign of the handsome stranger.

You’re about to give up and leave, heavy disappointment beginning to settle in. Of all the people to get stood up by, it had to be someone who was really nice, actually funny, and insanely attractive.

Boy, do you know how to pick them.

Just when you’re ready to call it a night, you catch yourself and halt your mood from worsening. Fuck it. Why should you miss out on the show? It’s free, after all. Now that the popular band is about to take the stage, you might as well stay and enjoy the music. It sure as hell beats going home to another lonely evening.

Suddenly, the stage lights dim, and the crowd roars as members start stepping into their places. As the intro of their first song begins, the lights flash back on and the screaming intensifies. That’s when your heart does a little flip, as your eyes fall on him.

Wait.

Holy shit.

It takes a moment for it to sink in, but when it does, you inhale rapidly. Your stranger isn’t a fan or roadie…he’s in the band.

His eyes lock onto yours across the stage, and you freeze, completely stunned by this new information. He smiles, pleased to see you, and then bam. That familiar smirk spreads across his face. He winks next, which makes your stomach flip as the barricade of fangirls behind you scream even louder.

What a fucking tease.

The roar of the crowd, the pounding beat of the drums, and the electrifying guitar riffs all hit you at once. You feel the vibrations from the amps in your chest. As they dive further into their set, something clicks, you actually know some of these songs; sometimes they’d play over the radio at the bar during your shifts. Catchy enough to hum along to, sure, but never quite playlist-worthy. At least, not until now.

Because hearing them live? It’s something else entirely. The sound wraps around you, enveloping you in heat and haze, and you don’t even try to fight it as the music pulls you under its spell.

Your motorcycle-riding, guitar-playing, dangerously handsome stranger moves across the stage like he owns it. Every step, every strum, is perfectly in sync with the rhythm. There’s a swagger to the way he plays, like he knows exactly how good he is. And how good he looks doing it.

Seokjin knows you’re watching him. He loves that your eyes trail him no matter where he moves on stage. He’s an entertainer, after all. He’s used to having thousands of women’s eyes on him. But tonight he only cares about yours.

He sneaks another glance at you.

You’ve let go completely, swaying your hips and dancing without a care. He smiles, he’s maybe even a little awestruck, as he takes in how much fun you’re having. He can’t help but stare like you’re the only person in the room.

And every time your gaze flicks back up to him, he’s already looking.

You lock eyes again and again, holding each other’s stare until he breaks it to look out over the crowd or exchange a nod with another band member. The smoldering glances you share make your stomach do flips and your knees feel a little weaker than you'd like to admit.

You came to this show expecting just to see him. Now you’re not sure how the hell you’re supposed to walk away without wanting more. Without needing to know what it would be like to have one night with him.

Last night was just the preview.

He and another member run off stage, prob to get a water or something, you don’t think anything of it because not even a minute later they're back on stage and starting the next song.

It’s a ballad, and you sway along to the romantic lyrics, when someone suddenly taps on your shoulder.

“Hey, Seokjin sent me down here. Do you have the pass he gave you?”

Seokjin. That’s his name.

You nod and lift it off your neck.

"Perfect. Once the band comes back out for their two encore songs, head over there,” he points toward the other end of the stage, “And show your pass to the security by the stairs. They’ll let you through so you can watch from side stage until the set's over."

Jin can’t help the satisfied grin that spreads across his face the moment he spots you standing side stage, tucked behind a couple of crew members. The lighting casts a soft glow on your face, and for a second, the chaos of the show fades into the background.

He still can’t believe that you’re here.

The band powers through the final encore, leaving the crowd screaming for more as they belt out the last note. After one final strum, Jin tosses a few guitar picks into the sea of fans, flashing a wink to the front row before stepping off stage, adrenaline still buzzing through his veins.

He heads toward you, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair, only stopping when the rest of the guys crowd around him. Peering over their shoulders, he catches your eye and waves you over.

"Come here, I want you to meet everyone," he says, without any hesitation. He gestures to the group of men, each in various states of post-show chaos, shirtless, sweaty, all grinning. “This is Yoongi and Jimin, our other guitarists. Joon plays bass. Hobi and Tae are our lead vocalists—”

“And that,” a new, cockier voice says, cuting off Jin, “Leaves the best for last.”

A tall, inked-up guy with loose dark curls and a smirk that screams trouble steps forward. He extends a hand toward you, “I’m Jungkook. I slam the shit out of the drums…among other things.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

Jin rolls his eyes so hard it’s almost audible. Jungkook enjoys riling him up, especially in front of a gorgeous girl. His grin only widens when Seokjin shoots him a warning look.

“Don’t mind him,” Jin mutters under his breath, his hand grazing your lower back possessively. “He’s still trying to figure out how to flirt without being a menace.”

You laugh when Jungkook winks at you. “What can I say? I’m a crowd favorite.”

Jin snorts. “Sure, dude.”

The guys chuckle before greeting the other women who walk up to the group. But Jin lingers beside you, eyes never quite leaving your face.

“You looked good out there,” you say, still buzzing from the show.

He smirks. “You looked better.”

“You guys ready to party?” Jimin hollers, already halfway toward the exit with a couple of girls on his arms.

Jin doesn’t answer right away. His hand slides lower, fingers brushing over the bare sliver of skin between your corset top and your skirt. The light touch sends a trail of goosebumps up your spine.

“We’ll meet you there,” he finally says, not breaking eye contact with you.

He hadn’t fully registered what you were wearing earlier. He’d been so caught up in the fact that you were here, he missed the finer details. Now he’s taking in every inch of you; the curve of your hips, the way your corset hugs your curves, especially the flash of thigh above those red boots.

And all he can think about is how badly he wants enjoy you.

Jimin catches the look on Jin’s face and raises an eyebrow knowingly, but he doesn’t say a word. Just smirks, wraps his arms around two women like the rockstar he is, and calls out, “Alright ladies, let’s get the fuck outta here.”

He disappears, leaving you and Jin in your little bubble while the crew begins to pack up around you.

“Come on,” Jin murmurs, leaning closer to your ear, his hand still on your back, “I want you all to myself for just a little longer.”

He pulls you into the dressing room, the door slamming shut behind you before he swiftly locks it. In the next second, your back hits the door with a soft thud, his body pressed against yours.

“So…Seokjin,” you tease, lips curling into a wicked little smile. “Any other secrets you’re keeping from me?”

He chuckles low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your skin as he leans in. “Mmm, no secrets,” he murmurs, eyes dark with need. “But say my name again.”

You obey, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper. “Seokjin.”

He groans softly, like the sound of his name on your lips is something filthy and divine all at once. “Shit, baby. It sounds so good coming from you.”

His hands roam your waist, gripping the curve of your hips like he’s already imagining what they’ll feel like wrapped around him.

“Now that you know who I am,” he breathes, brushing his lips along your jaw, “You understand this can only be a one-time thing.”

You meet his eyes, unbothered by that fact, and your breath hitches as his fingers play with the hemline of your miniskirt.

“So fucking worth it,” you whisper, before crashing your mouth against his, your hands tangling in his hair.

It’s all heat and hunger, there’s no hesitation between either of you.

He presses you harder into the door, pinning you between the solid wood and his firm body. Without warning, he lifts you, and your legs instinctively wrap around his waist.

Jin’s mouth is everywhere; your neck, your collarbone, the soft swell of your chest. His hands slide over the curve of your ass, kneading possessively, before one dips lower. His fingers curl inward, teasing your aching core through the thin fabric of your panties.

You gasp against his lips, moaning softly as his fingers graze right where you need him the most. But just as you start to roll your hips into his hand, he pulls away.

The sound of your whimper is swallowed by his deep groan as he grinds his hips into you. The thick, hard length of him presses right against your center, and you swear your body trembles at the contact.

“Oh my god,” you mewl, head falling back as you feel just how big he is, even through layers of clothing. Your body clenches in anticipation.

“I can’t wait to sink into you,” he growls against your throat, his voice deliciously rough. “You ready for me, baby? Think you can handle all of me?”

He thrusts his hips again, making your breath hitch.

“I bet you can’t wait for me to split you open,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “Stretch you so fucking wide, you’ll feel me for days. Is that what you want?”

“Yes, Seokjin, please,” you beg shamelessly.

That’s all he needs to hear.

He turns, carrying you across the room like you weigh nothing, and tosses you down onto the leather sofa. You land with a bounce, your heart pounding and thighs clenching.

He stands over you for a second, his dark eyes raking over your body below, savoring the way you look spread out and desperate for him.

“Take off your panties,” he commands, “I want to watch.”

You don’t hesitate. Slipping your fingers beneath the fabric, you begin to slide the soaked lace down your thighs. They snag slightly on your boots, but he’s already kneeling to help, tugging them the rest of the way off with a growl of frustration and want.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, eyes darkening as he takes in the slick glistening between your thighs. “You’re already dripping for me.”

He rises and takes a few steps away, grabbing a condom from a torn-open box on the counter, clearly left out by someone else’s pre-show indulgences. But when he turns back around, what he sees nearly sends him to his knees.

You’ve leaned back into the couch, one arm propped behind you, the other between your thighs. Your legs are spread wide, shameless, your skirt hiked up around your waist as your fingers slowly circle your clit before slipping lower, dipping into your soaked entrance.

“Holy fuck,” he breathes, hand moving to palm himself as you moan and bite your lip, teasing him with a second finger. Your eyes meet his, heavy with lust, and the raw hunger between you thickens.

He pulls his cock free from his pants, and your gaze drops instantly—only to widen at the shimmer of something silver catching the overhead light.

He strokes himself with the same speed as your fingers, letting you see every inch of what you’re about to take. The thick, veined length of him is beautiful, but it’s the four tiny silver beads at the crown of his cockhead, encircling his tip in a perfect ring of piercings, that leave you breathless.

Your core clenches around your fingers at the sight.

He sees your reaction and smirks, lazily making his way back toward you with that same infuriating, devastating confidence, and still pumping his cock as if he has all the time in the world.

“Curious?” he rasps, towering over you.

You nod, lips parted, breath shallow with anticipation.

He strokes the head of his cock once, collecting the bead of precum glistening at the tip. Without taking his eyes off yours, he brings his thumb down to your mouth.

“You’ll find out what they do soon enough,” he murmurs.

Your lips close around his thumb without hesitation, sucking softly. Tasting him, teasing him.

That last thread of Seokjin’s composure snaps. He swears under his breath, the muscle in his jaw flexing as he tears open the condom with his teeth before swiftly rolling it on over his thick, pierced length.

Then, without warning, he grabs your hips and slams into you in one devastating thrust.

The force rocks you back into the cushions, a sharp cry escaping your lips. If it weren’t for the vice grip he had on you, you might’ve been launched right off the damn couch.

“Fuck,” he growls, head falling forward for a moment as he adjusts to your tight, wet heat. “You feel better than I imagined.”

You’re breathless, body arching to take him deeper as the metal beads drag against your inner walls with every slow pull back, sending sparks shooting through your entire core.

Your hands clutch at the edge of the sofa, eyes rolling back as he thrusts hard again.

And just like that, you're ruined.

“You love how I split your pretty little pussy open, don’t you?” he growls against your neck, voice dark and possessive. “No one else is ever gonna compare to me. No one else is gonna fuck you like this. This deep, this hard.”

You let out a broken moan, your entire body trembling beneath him. Words are useless now, your brain is too foggy, too overloaded with pleasure to even form a sentence. All you can do is gasp and cling to him like your life depends on it.

“Look at how much of me you take,” he grunts, pulling back just enough to force your gaze downward.

The sight between your thighs is obscene. His thick, pierced cock driving into you over and over, glistening with your slick. You can see the slight swell in your lower belly every time he bottoms out, a bulge pressing up under your skin.

“Oh my god,” you whimper.

“I don’t even know how I fit,” he teases, panting now, a wild smirk tugging at his lips. “It’s like a goddamn magic trick, huh?”

Then he shifts, just a slight change in angle, but the second those cool metal beads drag across your sweet spot, everything inside you unravels.

Your body arches, a sharp cry tearing from your throat as your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave. You clamp down around him, shaking, gasping, crying out his name as he fucks you through it.

“That’s it,” he growls, losing his rhythm just a little as you tighten around him. “That’s my good fucking girl.”

Before your body even has a chance to recover, he flips you over onto your hands and knees, your limbs still trembling from your last orgasm.

His grip is firm, one hand wrapped around your waist to steady your quivering body. You barely have time to brace yourself before you feel the sharp sting of his teeth sinking into the plush of your ass, followed by the loud crack of his palm slapping the other cheek.

“Fuck, look at that,” he groans, admiring the fresh red print blooming beneath his hand and the indents of his teeth on your skin. “You wear me so well.”

And then he’s sliding back in, fucking you from behind with bruising force. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes off the walls, mingling with your breathless moans and desperate cries of his name.

“Seokjin!” you scream, back arching as overwhelming pleasure rips through you.

He fists a handful of your hair and yanks your head back, hard. Your mouth falls open in a silent gasp.

“Take it,” he snarls, his hips slamming into yours with punishing rhythm. “You love it rough like this, don’t you? Getting ruined like a fucking cock whore. Getting treated like the nasty girl you are.”

The pain and pleasure blur into one intoxicating haze as he brings his hand down on your ass again, another sharp spank that makes your legs shake and your core leak.

Just when you think you can't take any more, you feel his thumb press against your tightest hole, teasing as his cock drives into your soaked center. You whimper, your head dropping forward.

“Gonna fall apart for me again?” he pants behind you, voice strained with the effort of holding back.

You nod frantically, unable to speak, your walls already fluttering around him.

Then it hits you, your second orgasm tearing through your body, wave after wave of overwhelming ecstasy leaving you breathless and undone. Your vision goes hazy, your mouth falls open in a silent scream, and your entire body quakes under the weight of it.

You collapse forward, barely holding yourself up as your slick walls flutter wildly around him, clenching down like a vice.

“Jesus,” he grits out, his control unraveling in the heat of your orgasm. The way your body grips him, so fucking wet and perfect, drives him straight to the edge.

With a deep growl, he slams into you one final time, hips flush against your ass as he spills into the condom. Pulse after pulse of release torn from his body, as he holds you there, buried deep, his head thrown back as you milk every last drop from him with your trembling cunt.

You’re both breathless, your bodies slick with sweat and every nerve on fire from the intensity of it all.

For a moment, neither of you move, slowly coming down from something so fucking feral it barely feels real.

“So,” he says with a lazy grin, still catching his breath, “If I leave tickets for you next time we’re in town…you want a repeat?”

You stretch out beneath him, lips curling into a playful smirk. “Only if you promise to bring your motorcycle again.”

His eyes darken instantly, with a wicked glint. “Mmm, that’s a damn good idea.” He leans in close, his breath warm against your ear. “Next time, I’m making you come twice before we even think about getting off that bike.”

You bite your lip, pulse quickening. “Sounds like a plan.”

He grins smugly. “Nah, baby…that sounds like a date.”

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scary-grace · 4 months ago

Note

sips drink. I am going to need. [ ring ] for shigraki

Thank you for the prompt! As usual, I went a little berserk with it, and there is. so much smut in this. If you're not a fan/this is not the vibe, let me know and I'll write you a different one, or do a better job with your other prompts! 9k, AU with demons, succubus!reader, tons of smut. If you're a big fan of super dominant Tomura, this is not the fic for that. MDNI + thanks to @dogblessyoutascha for beta-reading on short notice and putting up with tons of yapping and fic about this guy.

wanted (if you want me)

a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

You're a down-on-your-luck succubus who just got rejected by the guy who summoned you, and you can't go back to Hell until you find somebody else's soul to steal. Shigaraki Tomura, reeling from a Valentine's Day rejection of his own, is the perfect victim. Or so you think. (cross-posted to Ao3)

“Sorry,” the guy who just summoned you says, sitting back from the pentagram he’s drawn on the floor with a frown. “You’re not my type.”

“I’m – what?” You feel stupid, which isn’t how you’re supposed to feel. You’re a demon, and a mortal’s just summoned you. You should feel powerful and lawless, not embarrassed. Not rejected. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re not my type,” the guy says again. He gestures awkwardly at you. “I was hoping for somebody – more.”

“Did you want a guy or something?” you ask. You cross your arms over your chest. Your clothes are barely worthy of the title, and you don’t want this guy seeing your nipples if he’s not even into them. “If you wanted a guy, you should have summoned an incubus. It’s not my fault you can’t read.”

“I like girls,” the guy snaps at you, rather than addressing the fact that you just called him a moron. “You were supposed to look like this.”

He picks up the grimoire he was reading the incantation out of and holds it up to you. It must be a new edition of the same old grimoire, because the last version of it you saw didn’t include illustrations. The illustration in question is a demon, identifiable as such by her horns and tail, but she looks about as much like you as you do like an angel straight from Heaven’s hideous art-deco gates. She’s got the kind of proportions that don’t work on Earth or in Hell – tiny waist, enormous breasts, ass that needs its own zip code, and her outfit is so tiny that you can see her nipples and her clit through it. And then there’s the face she’s making, straight out of some seedy erotic magazine, with blown-out pupils and open mouth and a delicate flush across her cheeks, all ready to be ruined.

Your outfit is skimpy, sure, but not that skimpy. You have the parts you need, but they aren’t that exaggerated, and if you tried that stupid expression, you’re pretty sure your face would melt off. If this is what this mortal expected, of course he’s disappointed to have gotten you.

His disappointment isn’t your problem, and now you’re in a mood. “Let me get this straight. You summoned a succubus – a sex demon from the depths of Hell – to fulfill your fantasies, and you’ve decided that now’s the time to get picky.”

“I’m not being picky,” he says. “Girls like you don’t do it for me. Can’t you send somebody else?”

“Sorry. All my sisters are seducing hotter mortals than you.” You feel a surge of pleasure at the way the man flinches. Guys like these – when they summon a succubus, they’re always thinking about the sex part, not the part where you’re a demon. “They took one look at you and decided I was all you deserved, and you know what? I don’t think you deserve me, either.”

“Well, I don’t want you, so –”

“In fact,” you continue, rising to your feet and internally cursing the fact that you decided to materialize in fuck-me heels, “I don’t think you deserve to get laid ever again.”

The mortal blanches. “What?” he demands, taking a step back as you step forward out of the pentagram. “You can’t leave the circle unless I say.”

“You really should look into those reading lessons. You’ll have a lot of time on your hands.” You were just going to lay the curse, but you decide that’s not enough. You nail him in the balls with a sharp kick, and as he doubles over, you speak, your voice crackling with the fires of Hell. “May your erections always wither, no matter how much porn you watch or how many drugs you take. May you disappoint every lover you take to your bed, and may that bed lie as cold and empty as the grave where they’ll bury your impotent corpse.”

It's a pretty good curse, if you say so yourself. “You bitch,” the mortal spits, but you snap your fingers and seal his fate. You know the moment the curse settles over him. You see the despair in his eyes. “Take it back!”

“No,” you say. You grasp his chin in one hand and lean in close, so close that your breath huffs out against his lips. You scraped your tongue for this guy. He deserves all this and more. “I’ll see you in Hell.”

His eyes roll up in his head and he collapses to the floor. You step over his unconscious form and survey the apartment you’ve found yourself in, dingy and filthy and smelling unpleasantly of human body odor. This is the kind of mortal who thought it was wise to reject you, just because you didn’t exactly resemble the absurd sketch in his grimoire. This is the kind of mortal who thought you weren’t good enough for him. Your lower lip begins to tremble, no matter how hard you sink your sharp teeth into it, and sulfuric tears begin to leak from your eyes. You were so excited to be summoned, so hopeful that you could do a good job for once. Now you just want to go home.

But you can’t. When you try to dematerialize and let Hell call you back, you can’t, and you realize why not in the same second as you realize that you didn’t curse that human nearly hard enough. You were summoned to this world to serve a purpose – to fuck some mortal so hard that they’ll sell you their soul – and until you serve that purpose, you’re trapped here. You need to find a mortal to sleep with, immediately. And you can’t go out looking like this.

You ransack the mortal’s apartment. None of his street clothes are anything you’d be caught exorcised wearing, but he has a long coat that he probably thinks makes him look mysterious and cool. You shrug it on, noting that it covers your skimpy outfit while still providing easy access to your body when it’s time to take it off, and keep searching, in case there’s anything else you can use. Money, as it happens – this human has a bank account and credit cards, and even unconscious, it’s all too easy to read his mind for the PIN. You pocket all of it, hide your demon form with a glamour, then leave the apartment door wide open on your way out.

As soon as you hit the street, though, you realize that you have an even bigger problem than you thought. You assumed it was some featureless winter evening, the kind where a bored, lonely mortal has nothing better to do than flip through a grimoire and get himself into trouble, but every storefront you look at is decorated with hearts. Every mortal you pass on the street is on someone else’s arm, or carrying flowers, or making out in the glow of a streetlight. It’s Valentine’s Day. You’re fucked.

Contrary to what humans like the idiot who summoned you think, Valentine’s Day isn’t actually about sex. Sex is a side effect of what Valentine’s Day is really about, which is romance. It’s about love and soulmates and tenderness and affection and forever, which is exactly nothing you know anything about. Succubi and incubi exist on the dark side of all of that, in its nasty, sleazy, prurient shadow. You don’t court, you seduce. You don’t make love, you fuck. You don’t show people the face of God, or whatever that dumb-ass musical says; you show them the gates of Hell and walk them through. Seducing a random mortal is a tall order for you on a given day. Seducing one on Valentine’s Day is going to be damn near impossible.

You feel tears welling up again and blink them back. Crying over rejection from a filthy, useless mortal was bad enough. Demons shouldn’t feel that kind of pain, and if they do, they shouldn’t wallow in it. Demons get the job done. And it’s not totally hopeless, when you force yourself to be honest about it. For all the mortals who are happily coupled, there are plenty who aren’t, and if the mortal who summoned you is anything to judge by, some of them aren’t averse to a little salacious, damnation-worthy fun.

As far as places to find single humans go, you’re spoiled for choice; while all the restaurants have Valentine’s Day specials for mortals out on a date with their special someone, it seems as though every club or bar is advertising an event for singles. You peer into a few bars, but none of them strike you as having the right mood. Most of them carry a pathetic air of hopefulness, as if the humans within believe they really might find someone to love tonight of all nights. You don’t need hopefulness. You need desperation. You need a human so lonely and desperate that they won’t question why a stranger wants to fuck them. If you were attractive in your human guise, you’d have a better shot, but apparently you aren’t. Only a human who’s truly desperate would go for you.

Finally you come across a bar where the mood seems a little more appropriate. Some sort of singles event is winding down as you come in, and you sense the despair beginning to set in. Most of the humans here could easily pair up with one of the others if they were willing to alter their standards, but humans have gotten entitled these days, and they all think they deserve a partner who matches their ideals. They cling to that fiction even as the mood in the bar worsens. They don’t need to settle. They’re holding out for true love.

Pathetic. You square your shoulders and wade into the mix.

The gender of your target doesn’t matter to you. It doesn’t even matter if they’re willing to sell their soul tonight – once you’ve fucked them, you can come back as many times as it takes for them to give it over. But even with your criteria broadened, you’re having trouble. As you search through the humans, tasting the flavor of their emotions every time you brush against one, you don’t find a single one who feels the way you need them to.

You taste sadness. Loneliness. Despair. Resignation or acceptance – sometimes they’re hard to tell apart. A few strange humans have even found refuge in faith, some idiosyncratic hope that they’ll find what they’re meant to find when the time is right, as if God has time to ordain such stupid things. On another night, you’d take pleasure in crushing their hopes, but your own hopes of getting out of here are sinking by the second. You need a human. Any human will do.

But just as you’re resigning yourself to seduce a woman, one whose loneliness carries just the faintest tinge of despair, you’re hit with a wave of exactly what you’ve been looking for. Not just despair, but disappointment. Not just loneliness, but hurt. Not just resignation, but frustration and embarrassment, at feeling hurt and disappointed and finding themselves here at all. You turn away from the woman without ever drawing her attention to you and follow the thread of rejection through the bar to a booth in the corner, where a mortal sits alone.

Along with the relief of finding a target at last, the first feeling that crosses your mind is surprise. This isn’t the sort of mortal you’d expect to find alone on Valentine’s Day, just based on his looks alone – almost-delicate facial features, long white hair, a frame that’s broad-shouldered yet lithe, observable even when he’s seated. As you get closer, you see a birthmark below the corner of his mouth, scars over his mouth and eye, and long lashes framing his crimson eyes. This mortal is pretty. Some of your sisters don’t care what their targets look like, but you like your mortal men pretty.

The mortal looks up as you come to the edge of his table. He seems as surprised to see you as you are to see him. “You’re late to the party.”

“Apparently not, since you’re here. Do you mind if I sit down? My feet are hurting in these shoes.”

He looks down at your shoes, and just like you were hoping, his eyes trace upwards, over your bare ankle to your calf to your knee before it disappears beneath your stolen coat. “Go ahead,” he says. “There’s room.”

There’s plenty of room, but you sit down next to him anyway, your leg pressed against his. You feel him startle, feel him go tense, and decide it’s worth drawing attention to. “Did I scare you?”

“No,” he says, but you can hear his heart beginning to race. “Just wondering if this is a setup or something. People like you don’t usually want anything to do with people like me.”

“People like me?” you say. You turn towards him, elbow propped on the table, chin propped in your hand. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb,” your mortal says. “Looks like yours, there’s no way you’re single.”

You can’t imagine this mortal’s self-deprecating angle working on anyone, but the compliment makes you glow ever so slightly. “Strange. I was thinking the same about you.”

Your mortal doesn’t glow. He blushes. “Don’t lie.”

“Would I lie?” Yes, frequently and gleefully – but not right now. “You’re gorgeous.”

He scoffs, averts his eyes, but his heart’s beating faster. It’s cute, and since he’s opened this door, you might as well walk through. Time for a little touching. You start with the scar above his eye. “I like this, and this –” you trace the scar, then tuck a few strands of white hair behind his ear, letting your fingers graze across his cheek and down to his jaw before reaching the scar over his mouth. “And this –”

He speaks while your fingers are still against his lips. “Careful.”

“I’m being really careful,” you promise. You run your fingers over his mouth again, slow and teasing, then turn your attention to the birthmark. “And I like this. It really completes the picture. Whoever rejected you tonight, they were out of their mind.”

“I could say the same about whoever rejected you.” Your mortal’s hand brushes against your knee, then drifts away, and you shiver ever so slightly. You like this mortal. It’s always easier when you like them. “I saw you watching the rest of them. Why did you pick me?”

“Like I said, you’re gorgeous,” you say, and shrug. The shrug presses you a little closer against him, and you don’t pull back. “And you looked like you were having the same kind of night as I am. I thought we could make each other feel better.”

He gives you a skeptical look, but the flush in his cheeks gives him away. Oh, you like this one. Even if he gives you his soul tonight, you’ll come back to visit him at least a few more times. “How do you think we can do that?”

“By giving each other what we want,” you say. “Don’t you get tired of having to play a part, to be what someone else expects you to be, and never have your desires fulfilled? I could give you that.”

He scoffs. “You think you know what my desires are?”

“You’d tell me,” you murmur. “That’s the point.”

Your mortal’s skepticism doesn’t fade, but neither does his blush. “What about what you want? I don’t buy for a second that it’s just to sleep with me.”

The question gives you pause. It’s not one you’ve thought of before. Succubi don’t have sexual desires, really – your goal is always to seduce your target, which means it’s all about what your target wants. You aren’t very good at your job, but you’ve put up with all sorts of things, doing them or having them done to you, if it means the mortal you’re fucking will hand over their soul. What you want, personally, doesn’t factor in even slightly. What do you want from this mortal? You don’t know.

“You don’t know,” your mortal says, as though you’ve spoken aloud. His hand brushes against your leg again, settles there. “I’ll help you find out.”

“Only if you tell me what you want,” you insist, as he brushes your coat aside and finds your leg bare. His fingertips are dry and rough as they trail over your skin, brushing the inside of your thigh. “Oh –”

“Too much?” he asks. There’s an almost wicked glint in his eye.

You feel your own heart pick up the pace. This will be a challenge. You like a challenge. “Answer my question first. Every time you answer, you can move your hand.”

“I want you.”

“Wrong answer.” You close your legs, not that they were that far apart in the first place. You’re not easy. “I asked about your unfulfilled desires, and you just met me today. I can’t be the only thing you want.”

“Mm.” Your mortal makes a dissatisfied noise. Even as he leaves his hand in place, you see an awkwardness settle over him – nerves, or something like it. For such a gorgeous mortal, he’s an interesting contradiction. “I want – to be out of control.”

“Out of control?” You won’t open your legs just yet. “Tell me more.”

“You were right about me. I’m always doing what others want. I always have to be in control. I want to be outside my own control,” your mortal says. He can’t meet your eyes, and the flush in his cheeks looks almost uncomfortable. When you lean in to kiss it, his skin is hot beneath your lips. “I want someone else to –”

“Praise you? Worship you? Pleasure you until you can barely think?” You know you’ve got him by the sharp intake of breath, by the way he startles. “That would be my pleasure, too.”

You part your legs enough to free his hand, and his fingers, shaking slightly, work their way up the inside of your thigh. “What else?” you ask. “Be specific.”

“I want whatever you can give me.” He turns his head, looking away, which is an error on his part; it leaves his neck exposed, and you lean in to kiss it, feeling his pulse jump and race. “If I tell you it’s too much, I want you to give me more.”

“That was a good answer.” You part your legs a little further, and he takes it as the invitation it is. “Anything else?”

“I want to do the same to you,” your mortal says, and your face flushes. “It’s only fair. If you get to ruin me, I get to ruin you.”

Ruining him calls to mind all sorts of things, acts you’ve performed for other mortals by rote, acts you want nothing more than to perform for him, and the thought overwhelms you enough that you miss what he’s doing with his hand between your legs until he’s touching you, tracing your clit through the thin fabric. You realize with some degree of horror that you’re wet, and worse, that even his delicate touch has you spreading your legs wider. While you weren’t paying attention, your mortal made a bid for the upper hand, and he almost got it.

Not quite, though. You renew your efforts on his neck, feeling him shudder. You’ll do as he asks, as he desires – but not until he begs you, out loud, to give him what he needs. He shifts, squirms, in response to your attentions to his neck, much as you’re doing with his hand between your legs. “Mutual ruination,” you muse. “That sounds like a plan to me.”

Your hand’s been trapped at your side. You work it free and slip it behind his head, tangling your fingers in his hair. Then you turn him back to face you, drinking in the sight of him for a moment before you lean in to kiss him. The only way your mortal’s never had his desires fulfilled is if he’s never voiced them. You can’t imagine anyone looking at him, seeing him like this, and denying him what he wants.

Most mortals you’ve seduced lose patience with kissing quickly. The kind of mortals who summon a succubus only have one thing on their mind, but your mortal doesn’t know what you are. He kisses you eagerly, if inexpertly, and it’s only right for you to reward his enthusiasm. Besides, there’s something about kissing him that feels right, too right for the unholiness of what you are. If being with a mortal feels this good, you’re probably doing it wrong.

What does it matter? As long as you sleep with him, you’ll be free to return home. You’re a demon. Wrongness and rightness don’t factor in. You kiss your mortal carefully, paying some mind to the sharpness of your teeth and the delicateness of his skin. He’s less careful with his teeth. They nick your lip and blood wells out, and he licks it away without a moment’s hesitation. That flick of his tongue makes you consider other places it might belong, and you catch your breath. Or maybe it’s because he’s tugged your underwear aside to touch you directly, and you can no longer ignore the way he makes you feel.

You lean back, struggling to clear your head. A thought crosses your mind. “What’s your name?”

“Tomura.” Your mortal’s crimson eyes are dilated with want, the desperation you were so drawn to evident across his face. “Please –”

You kiss him again, and as he begins to finger you in earnest, stroking your clit and dipping his fingers shallowly inside you, you untangle your fingers from his hair and trace the inside of his thigh. Tomura startles at your touch, but spreads his legs at once, and your head spins with want. “How long have you wanted this?” you murmur against his lips. “Tell me.”

“Eternity.” Tomura twitches as you brush your hand over his groin before returning to toy with his thigh again. “But it’s not what they want me for. Nobody asked what I wanted until you.”

“Then they were missing out.” You bite back a gasp as Tomura sinks two fingers inside you, curling them just so, but his touch is only half the reason – the other half is the thought that you’re the first to see him this way, the only one to see him this way. “If they could see how pretty you are like this –”

“Do you want them to?”

“No,” you decide at once. You brush your hand over his groin again, noting how tightly his pants are stretched over his hardening cock. “I want you all to myself.”

His body jerks, craning upwards into your touch. “Now,” he says, almost demands. “I need it now.”

“People could see,” you warn. “If they walk by, they’ll know we’re up to something. Do you care about that?”

“Yes,” Tomura says, and you run your thumb over the tip of his cock through his pants. His body jerks, and you do it again. Again. “Fuck –”

“We can leave whenever you want,” you say, even as your body tenses around his fingers. You feel wound tight, your legs shaking from the strain, your lungs feeling as though they can’t hold on to even a single whisper of air. Mortals have choked you before while you’re seducing them and it’s never been like this. “Tell me to stop and we’ll go.”

Tomura doesn’t tell you to stop. You undo his belt, unzip his pants, and the instant your hand closes around his cock, he moans, loud enough to attract attention if anyone from the failed singles event is still around. He’s embarrassed by it – you can tell – but he doesn’t tell you to stop, and you keep stroking his cock. “So pretty,” you say, your voice catching as the heel of his hand presses against your clit. “Does that feel good? Let me make you feel even better.”

You grasp his wrist and pull his hand from between your legs, thankful for the reprieve. Tomura tastes his fingers, savoring them in a way that makes you feel almost awkward. “I wasn’t done.”

“No, but you’re about to make a mess.” You give a pointed glance down at his cock, which is oozing enough precum to stain his underwear. “I’ll be right back.”

There’s plenty of space for you under the table, and better yet, you’re out of sight, which means Tomura can’t see your reaction to the way he spreads his legs for you. And you haven’t vanished a moment too soon. You can hear footsteps approaching, and you sit forward and take his cock in your mouth just as the newcomers arrive.

“You sure you need this whole booth when you’re by yourself?” whoever it is asks. You hear Tomura start to answer, but you suck lightly on the tip of his cock, forcing him to bite back a curse. “What is your problem?”

“No problem,” Tomura grunts. You put your tongue to use, tracing it over his tip as you wrap your hand around the rest of his length. “Fuck – fuck off. There are other places to sit.”

The newcomer might say something else, but you can’t hear it around your own heartbeat thudding in your ears. Tomura wants you. He wants you so badly that he’s letting you blow him in public, that he won’t tell you to stop even when the two of you might be caught. The instant the other mortal leaves, you’re cradling his balls in your free hand, then sliding your hand a little further to press against his taint. Tomura’s entire body jerks and trembles. “Careful,” he forces out between gasps of air. “I’m going to – come –”

You wish you weren’t under the table, even if being under the table is necessary to contain the mess. You wish you could see Tomura’s face as his composure shatters, as he tries and fails to thrust upwards into your mouth and spills a ridiculous amount of cum down your throat. But he’s not quite out of control, not yet, and if you’re going to steal his soul, you really should give him what he wants first. You keep stroking his cock even as the shaking subsides, your tongue still dragging over his tip. He hasn’t gone soft just yet. You’re kind of impressed.

You’re impressed, too, with how he holds out. You know you’re overstimulating him, but he hasn’t told you to stop yet. And he asked you to keep going even if he told you it was too much. Still, you don’t like the idea of hurting your mortal. You renew your efforts, employing all the tricks you’ve learned to keep mortal men hanging on your every move, and to your shock, Tomura comes again. This time he’s almost sobbing, and you draw back at once, climbing out from under the table to check on your handiwork.

There are scratches in the couch cushions and on the tabletop, and both the napkins that were on the table have been crumpled out of existence. Tomura looks wrecked. He’s been yanking at the collar of his shirt, running his hands through his hair, and his face is flushed and sweaty. His eyes are blurred, and he’s still breathing hard, but when you lean in to kiss him, he obliges instantly. He’s unsteady, and yet there’s a strange hunger in the way he kisses you, a hunger that takes yours and amplifies it in a way you can’t quantify, let alone guard against. You find yourself melting into his touch, needing closeness, needing contact. And he gives it to you.

You’ve only just settled into a languid pace, your hands in his hair and his arms wrapped firmly around your waist, when someone smacks a server’s tray down on the table and startles you out of it. It’s the bartender. “Do you mind?” she demands, her face red. “This isn’t that kind of place! Take it outside.”

That’s fine with you. A little PDA is one thing, but whatever happens next between you and Tomura, you want privacy for it. You start to slide out of the booth, but Tomura won’t let you. He kisses you again, and you realize he’s giving himself cover to button his pants. But as long as you’re here – “What did I just say?” the bartender explodes. “Get out!”

You and Tomura stumble out onto the street, and the instant the door shuts behind you, Tomura pins you against it to kiss you again. “Does that feel good?” he asks, the same question you asked him earlier. You didn’t give him a chance to answer, and he doesn’t give you one, either. “Let’s go somewhere. You’re not the only one who doesn’t like to share.”

“Where should we go?” you ask. “I’d rather not go to a love hotel. Your place?”

He hesitates for a moment. “My place. Come on.”

You kiss on the train platform, mostly to keep out the cold, but on the train, you find yourself simply looking at Tomura, talking to him. You find out that he got rejected tonight, too, and came to the bar to mope about it. “They’re nothing. Their opinions don’t matter,” he says. Even his disdain sounds like yours. “That doesn’t change how it feels.”

“I know,” you say. You lean against him, your head on his shoulder, your left hand intertwined with his right. “My – date – said I wasn’t his type, then showed me this ridiculous drawing –”

“May his dick shrivel up and fall off,” Tomura says matter-of-factly, and you find yourself giggling. “If you aren’t enough for him, he doesn’t deserve to have any at all. Still –”

He trails off. “His loss, my gain.”

“You’re just saying that because I blew you.”

Tomura snorts. “Don’t be stupid. You asked what I wanted. Nobody’s ever asked me that. That’s not what I’m for.”

“What do you mean?” you ask. He doesn’t strike you as a sex worker – he’s too earnest, too vulnerable, in how he responds to you for it to be his day job. He shrugs, shakes his head. “I think you’re for whatever you want to be for. That’s how you are to me.”

His grip on your hand tightens for a moment, then loosens again, fingers tangling with yours. A strange spark, like an electric shock, ripples across your hand, and you look down to see an odd shadow around your ring finger. That wasn’t there before, but then again, you’ve never spent this long in the mortal world without fulfilling your purpose. “What about you?” Tomura asks. “Why don’t you know what you want?”

“I never thought about it before.” Some of your sisters enjoy their jobs, but it’s always felt like a job to you. Something to get through, so you can go home. “It hasn’t really mattered.”

“It matters now,” Tomura says. “When we get back to my place, I’ll show you.”

Tomura’s place is in a downtown high-rise, the third floor from the top of the building, and he gives you long enough to finally step out of your awful shoes before he peels you out of your jacket. For a single moment you’re convinced you’re about to see the same reaction as the mortal who summoned you, but instead Tomura’s eyes travel slowly over your form, lingering in every place you’d expect and a few places you didn’t. “This picture he showed you,” he says. “The one he thought was better than you. What did it look like?”

“Uh –” Where do you start, really? “The proportions were totally off. Its waist was tiny, and its breasts were huge –”

“Huh.” Tomura’s hands are at your waist, running over the curve from torso to hip and back with a firm, steady touch. One stays there, but the other migrates upwards, cupping your breast through your scant clothing. “What else?”

“It had this stupid outfit on. Like, way smaller than mine. You could see everything,” you say. Tomura’s thumb brushes over your nipple, then comes back to circle it, and heat begins to pool in your lower abdomen. “It barely covered her nipples – or her clit. It just looked kind of – I mean, I can hang in there with the best of them, but –”

Your voice catches. Tomura’s hand slides from your waist down between your legs, stroking your clit with his middle finger. His touch is featherlight, compared to the way he’s playing with your nipple, pinching and tugging it, making you squirm. “What else?” he prompts.

“The stupid face she was making. It was straight out of a porno – like, one of the really cheap ones. What some guy who’s never seen a woman come before would –” You startle as Tomura’s fingers slip further between your legs, then sink easily into you. “Tomura –”

“This drawing sounds like a fucking mess,” Tomura says. He reaches down and grasps your thigh, hiking your leg up around his waist and leaving you even more exposed for him. “I want to see the real thing.”

He wants you to come for him. You know how to fake a convincing orgasm – or an unconvincing one, depending on the target – but you don’t want to fake for Tomura. You promised him he can have what he wants, and he wants this, you. Your chest goes tight. “I don’t know if I can, like this.”

“I’ve got lots of ideas.” Tomura kisses you, and that need to melt into him resurfaces, even as your body responds to his onslaught. “Show me.”

You try to keep kissing him, but you can’t. Your legs are shaking again, and it’s hard to breathe, and you have to draw back to gasp for air. Somewhere in the back of your mind is the thought that this isn’t how it’s supposed to happen, that something went wrong in your seduction of this mortal if he’s the one trying to please you, but it’s stifled by other, more pressing matters. The heat flooding through you, the awful and yet indescribable exposure of your legs spread this way, Tomura’s hand anchoring you so you can’t pull back off his fingers until he’s done with you.

Or until you’re done with him. You come hard enough to blur your vision, hard enough that your legs almost give out, and Tomura keeps his fingers inside you until your twitching and squirming subsides. When he draws them back, you can see that his hand is soaked. He brings them to his mouth to taste them again, and you spot a shadow around his fourth finger. It can’t hold your attention for long. “That was good,” he decides. “But I want to see more.”

“More?” Your voice is shaky, and you’re hanging onto Tomura for dear life. “What do you mean?”

“You said I could have what I wanted,” Tomura reminds you. “This way.”

You follow him down the hall on shaky legs, into a bedroom with an enormous bed. Finally. You’re not getting into bed with Tomura still wearing your horrible outfit, so you peel it off, then turn to help him with his clothes. You undress him slowly, kissing every inch of skin you uncover, trying to regain some of your lost composure. But it’s hard to compose yourself when there’s so much of him to explore, to praise. So pretty, so noisy, so needy even when there’s no need for it – because you want him to have what he wants, and you want to be the one who gives it to him. The only one who gives it to him.

And that’s what you find yourself murmuring, as you guide him down to the bed to lie on his stomach, as you brush his long hair aside to kiss his back and his shoulders. I have what you need. Everything you need. You’re mine.

Tomura’s breathing turned quick and shallow a while ago, worse as you kiss the small of his back, the arch of his hip. He stirs beneath you. “I want to see more,” he says. “On your back.”

He’ll fuck you now, and he’ll come, and then you can finally go home. You spread your legs, leaving room for him to settle between them, and he does – much further down than you expected. He anchors your hips to the bed before you can stop him, holding you down with strong hands as he lowers his head between your thighs. The way his hair brushes against them tickles. The marks he leaves on them are oversensitive, making your legs twinge long before his tongue drags over your clit, and you wonder how you’ll explain the marks when you get back to Hell. How you’ll explain the fact that this mortal seduced you almost as skillfully as you seduced him.

Tomura eats you out messily, enthusiastically, until you’re arching your back and thrashing in his grip. The heat of his mouth against you, the pressure of his tongue against your clit or the way it feels when he licks inside of you – it all feels almost sinful. Too good for you to have, too good to want more of, too good not to beg him to keep going. You can barely manage to praise him for it, but when you do, his grip on your hips tightens and he grinds against the mattress. It’s wrong. There’s something wrong, and you want it so badly, and for the first time, you understand a little bit of why humans are so quick to sell their souls.

Tomura makes you come once, then a second time while you’re still trying to recover, and you barely manage to scramble away before he can slide his fingers inside you and try for a third. “What happened to not being in control?” you ask, and he shrugs, half a smirk on his face. “Lie down. It’s my turn.”

You crawl over him as he lies back, tasting yourself on his lips when you lean down for a kiss. Tomura relaxes so easily for you now, so much that he lets you grasp his hands one by one, raising them above his head. For the first time since you cloaked your true form, you engage in a little bit of demon magic. Enough to conjure restraints, and tie Tomura’s hands to the headboard before he can so much as open his eyes.

You’ve shocked him. You can see it, and better yet, you can feel it, in the way his skin heats up and his heart races. “You said you didn’t want control,” you remind him. “And I said I’d pleasure you until you couldn’t think.”

“Are you?” Tomura’s voice goes raspy. He watches you with wide eyes as you shift further down on the bed. “What are you going to do?”

“Everything.”

You learned all sorts of magic in the course of stepping into your role as a succubus, but this is the first time in a while that you’ve used any of it. And it’s for small things – the restraints on Tomura’s hands, the feather you conjure to trace all over his body until he squirms, the lube you coat your fingers with before you start working them inside him. Tomura doesn’t stop you, but he has a request. “Don’t fuck me like that. Not tonight.”

“Just my fingers,” you promise, and he nods, his eyes dark with need. “Whatever you want.”

You haven’t had the chance to watch Tomura come yet, and you get a chance as you finger him to an orgasm. He takes your breath away, your mortal – so pretty, so vulnerable, so loud and expressive and lost in it that you can’t help but stroke his cock with your free hand while you work him up a second time. In an ordinary seduction, with an ordinary target, now is when you’d stop. Now, when all he can do is beg for you, now when he’d give you anything to keep going; right now is when you’d ask for his soul in exchange. You know how to phrase it so that the mortals never guess what they’re truly giving up. It would be easy.

And it’s not what you want. There aren’t words for how much you don’t want that. Not when you’ve earned your mortal’s trust, not when he’s certain enough that you’ll give him what he wants that he doesn’t feel shame in begging for it. You know Tomura’s close when he starts squirming away from your fingers rather than clenching down on them. “Ride me,” he pants. “Ride my cock.”

Demon magic cleans your hands, and you slip down onto his cock with only a little strain. “You’re perfect,” you tell him as he stares helplessly up at you. “We fit so well –”

Tomura’s hips jerk upwards beneath you, making you gasp. “If we fit so well, come on my cock,” he pants. He’s been yanking at the restraints. You made them soft, but his wrists are chafed. “I need you to. I can’t – fuck, I need you –”

You’ve never needed a mortal before. You’ve never needed anyone before, but you need him, enough that doing what he asks doesn’t feel far-fetched at all. You ride him slowly, finding an angle that suits you, realizing how sore you are in the same moment. It’s been a hard night’s work. Usually mortals can’t keep up with you, and usually it feels like work. Tomura’s fingers curl and uncurl uselessly as he fights the restraints, and you reach up to grasp them, to hold them steady. And that’s when you notice it – the same shadow marking around his fourth finger as around yours.

Where did that come from? What is that? The restraints you conjured vanish in the space of a single heartbeat, and Tomura’s hands clamp down on your hips, guiding you as he thrusts upwards. His hair is glued to his forehead with sweat, to his chest and his shoulders and the sides of his neck, and the same heat writhes beneath your own skin as Tomura takes control over your pace. His thrusts are unsteady, but every time, he finds the angle you need him to.

You can’t breathe. You can barely think. Everything narrows down to heat and pressure and friction and pleasure and agony, because your body’s wrung out and still needs more, because Tomura’s falling apart beneath you and pressing his thumb over your clit to take you down with him. Pleasure explodes through you, collapsing you on top of Tomura. His grip on you barely loosens, even as your efforts to hold onto anything fall away. Anything includes your human guise.

Damn it. You untangle yourself from Tomura as quickly as possible, only to tuck yourself in against his side, uncomfortably relieved when he holds you tight. If you keep your tail under control and he doesn’t get a good look at you, he’ll never know what you really were. He’ll know something’s up, though. When he wakes up and finds that you’ve vanished out of this world, leaving evidence only in the chafe-marks around his wrists and the taste of you still on his tongue, he’ll know there was something strange about you. And he’ll have a lot of questions when you come back.

And you will come back. That’s the only thing that makes the knowledge that you’re mere moments from being drawn back to Hell bearable. Most of the time you can’t wait to leave your targets, whether you’ve collected their souls or not. This time, though – “I don’t want to leave yet.”

But you weren’t the only one speaking. Tomura said the same thing, on the off-beats as you spoke. “You’re leaving?” you ask. “This is your house. Where are you going?”

“Where are you going?” Tomura retorts. His grip on you tightens further – tight enough to bruise, if you were human or mortal. “What –”

He sits up suddenly, pulling you with him. Hell is pulling you back, but not quickly enough. Tomura looks at you, sees you – sees your horns, sees your tail, which is lashing anxiously in spite of your efforts to calm yourself. But you see him, too. You see the ram’s horns curling from beneath his white hair, the sharpness of his teeth. He’s not trying to control his tail at all. It wraps around your leg tightly. “You’re a demon.”

“So are you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why didn’t you know?” You try to separate yourself from him. Tomura should be letting go of you, should be shoving you away, but he’s still holding on, tighter every time you try to pull away. “Let go. If they find out –”

The world tears open around the two of you, well before you can pull away, and Hell pulls you back in at warp speed.

You don’t end up back in the spot you dematerialized from, and you doubt Tomura does, either. The two of you crash down on a rocky plateau, just on the outskirts of one of the cities, a desolate place no one comes to unless they’ve been cast out to wander amongst the souls of the dead. Why are you here? Is it because you came back together? Maybe that’s why – it couldn’t return you to your separate summoning locations when you’re so close together, so it split the difference and dropped you off here. Maybe there’s still time for you to hide this.

“Wow,” a familiar voice announces from somewhere behind you, and your heart sinks, “have the two of you fucked up.”

Tomura swears under his breath. “Is that your boss?”

Your boss, or your mother – nobody’s clear on which. Nemuri is picking her way through the jagged stones towards you, a vicious smirk on her face. “I can explain,” you start. “It’s not –”

“I tricked her,” Tomura interrupts. You stare at him in horror. “It was me. Not her.”

“No,” you snap. “I seduced him. I’m the one who –”

“I’m sure you believe that.” Nemuri’s smirk broadens, showing her fangs. “You’re so pathetically incompetent that –”

“Now, now, Nem. Let’s not let my guy off the hook here.�� The new voice, loud and rich and full of almost-insane laughter, can only belong to another elder demon. Like Nemuri, he’s wearing a vicious smirk. “Remember, my guy’s the one who got rejected by his summoner and packed it in for the evening. At least yours gave it a second shot.”

“That’s my boss,” Tomura mumbles. “Fuck.”

“In fact,” Tomura’s boss continues, “one could argue that your girl’s off the hook. She did her job. It’s not her fault that my guy’s aura of misery was so strong that it made him actually look human. Or that he was so desperate to be wanted by somebody that he forgot to check whether she was actually a demon trying to steal his soul.”

Tomura’s shoulders hunch, and a surge of anger runs through you. “When you put it that way, Hizashi, it does sound like my nymphet is off the hook,” Nemuri says. “But when your pathetic little imp tried to take the fall for her, she wouldn’t let him. It seems they’re terrible at everything demonic, lying included. They’re telling the truth.”

“They really did seduce each other,” Hizashi muses. “That’s cringe.”

“More importantly, it’s against the rules.” Nemuri’s standing over you. Hizashi joins her, and the two of them leer down at you and Tomura, practically licking their lips. “Whatever shall we do with them?”

There aren’t many punishments that can affect demons – you’re basically gluttons for it. Then again, there aren’t many rules for demons to break. “I’m not sure,” Hizashi says. “Offer them up to Heaven for punishment? Banish them to the mortal world until the trumpets sound? Throw them out to wander with the restless dead forevermore?”

You might not love your job, but you have your sisters. If you’re cast out, you’ll never see them again. The only thing worse would be getting thrown to Heaven as an offering, one of Hell’s not-infrequent tithes to keep the peace. Tomura’s tail wraps around your waist, and you cover his left hand with your right as you wait for your fates to be decided. The thought crosses your mind, pointlessly, that you won’t spend an eternity of exile entirely alone. You’ve dragged someone else down with you, which might be the most demonic thing you’ve ever done in your life.

“Now that I think about it,” Nemuri says, her smirk broadening still further, “I don’t think we need to punish them – not when they’ve punished themselves so effectively.”

“What does that mean?” Tomura snaps. Hizashi is guffawing, his voice echoing off the jagged rocks. “Don’t laugh. What does that mean?”

“What does it mean, you gloomy brat?” Hizashi wipes at his eyes, still chuckling. “Take a look at your hands, both of you.”

You let go of Tomura’s and lift your own. Your right hand is clear, but your left – you remember noticing the shadow around your fourth finger, feeling the faint spark as it darkened a little further. It’s not a shadow anymore. Instead it’s a thin golden shackle, encircling your finger below your knuckle. No, not a shackle. A ring.

It won’t come off. You yank on it, try to dig your nails beneath it, but it won’t come off. Next to you, Tomura’s doing the same, cursing fluently, and Hizashi and Nemuri are laughing at you both, leaning on each other to stay upright. “It’s the first rule we teach you all when you’re spawned. No fucking your own kind, and this is why!” Hizashi is laughing almost too hard to speak, while you try to chew your ring off and Tomura breaks his own finger trying to remove his. “Thanks to your little tryst, the two of you are bound forever in unholy matrimony!”

“My congratulations to the happy couple,” Nemuri says. “The two of you are never going to live this down. You’ll be the laughingstocks of Hell. You’re going to beg us to banish you!”

“And we won’t,” Hizashi says. “I can’t think of a better object lesson than the two of you. We send you to the mortal realm to collect souls, and not only did you end up fucking each other, you didn’t commit a single demonic act!”

“I cursed somebody,” you protest.

“Me too,” Tomura says. “The mortal who –”

You remember what Tomura said about the mortal who rejected you: May his dick shrivel up and fall off. “You cursed the same mortal,” Nemuri says. She pauses a moment. “I will admit, it’s a fairly creative curse. The imp’s little add-on will make a nice insult to the injury.”

You’re better at cursing mortals than you are at seducing them, but you can’t imagine Tomura’s bad at it. Not with the way he worked you over. You duck your head to hide the heat coming up in your face. “Well, we’ll leave the two of you to enjoy your honeymoon,” Hizashi says. He shrugs off the ornate robe he’s wearing and drops it on the ground in front of you, revealing body chains, nipple piercings, and nothing else. “Wear this on your way back into the city. Maintain a little dignity.”

“Here, imp. Just for you.” Nemuri drops her robe over Tomura’s head, and he shoves it off into the dust. “Everyone’s going to know about your little bout of lovemaking, but I imagine you’d prefer if they didn’t know exactly how you’ve been chewing on each other.”

The two of them stroll back towards the city, arm in arm, still laughing. It’s a long time before their laughter fades, and then you and Tomura are alone on the outskirts. The wind, blowing hot a moment before, changes direction, growing cold and carrying sharp shards of ice. You put on Hizashi’s robe, then turn towards Tomura. He’s already shivering, arms crossed and shoulders hunched, Nemuri’s robe discarded in front of him. You pick it up and settle it back around his shoulders, shifting his hair aside so it won’t get caught beneath the collar – and then you realize what you’re doing. You freeze. “Sorry.”

Tomura shrugs, but the robe stays on. “You’re better at this than your boss says you are,” he says without looking at you. “I believed you.”

“I’m worse than she says I am,” you say. “I wasn’t lying.”

Tomura looks up at that, and you look away, your eyes stinging in the freezing wind. You never lied to Tomura, not from the moment you approached him. This would be so much less embarrassing if you had. If you’d listened to any of the moments where you sensed that it was going a little too well, that it felt a little too good. If you’d kept your distance instead of falling under his spell as quickly and easily as he fell under yours. “Your boss was talking out of his ass. Your whole thing worked really well on me.”

“Yeah. Except it wasn’t a thing.” Tomura’s tail wraps loosely around your wrist. “Mutual ruination. You were right.”

He’s got your right wrist. You study your left hand with its ring, and Tomura lifts his alongside yours. His ring looks the same as yours, although he’s dislocated his fourth finger in addition to having broken it. “Want me to fix that?”

“Demon magic doesn’t fix things.”

“It’s not supposed to marry people, either.” You’re not expecting that argument to work, but Tomura lets you capture his hand anyway. You relocate it manually, then try to work some magic over it. All your magic serves to make a seduction easier, so it shouldn’t be hard to twist it into something you can use for the sake of your – “I think it worked. How do you feel?”

“Like I fucked up,” Tomura says. Fair enough. “And I’m not sorry.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” Tomura’s hands slip inside your stolen robe, settling into the same place he was holding on as you rode him. “This isn’t that weird. Mortals do it all the time.”

“Except mortals who get married in Vegas can get divorced,” you point out. Somebody has to play angel’s advocate here, even if you’re already unfolding yourself from seated so you can get into his lap. “We didn’t even make any vows.”

“You did,” Tomura says. “I heard you say it.”

You’re mine. Is that really all it took? It makes a certain kind of sense, when you force yourself to look at it honestly. Mortals almost never doom themselves consciously. It’s always a moment of weakness, a split-second lapse, an instant where desire rules over reason. “Then you can break us up. Since I’m the only one who vowed anything.”

“No way.” Tomura’s lips brush the side of your neck, making your nerves twinge. “I agreed.”

You set your hands on his shoulders and push him backwards, and he goes willingly. The way he’s looking up at you counts as a sin all on its own – crimson eyes half-lidded, pupils already dilating, his cheekbones already dusted with pink. “Did you figure out what you want yet?”

“I have some ideas,” you say. You collect his hands from your waist and pin them on either side of his head, leaning down for a long, slow kiss. “But I’ll start with you.”

#shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x you #tomura shigaraki x you #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #man door hand hook car door #x reader #reader insert #a bisquared production #asks #throwing this at the internet and running away forever #this consumed me yesterday

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sugar-phoenix · 1 year ago

Text

cowboy, you have a hard time wrapping things up neatly. ✦

synopsis: Boothill doesn't do things quietly. He's loud, and messy, and he likes doing things his way. Even though these all annoy you somewhat, the cowboy starts growing on you. And then one day, he does something unexpected. tags: f!reader, f/m, no smut, fluff, light angst, mentions of Boothill's past a/n: 2.5k words, this was a lot of fun to write. hope you guys enjoy it!

ao3 link here!

Your heels clacked as you walked down the halls, the ground littered with bodies and empty bullet shells. You sighed. Unlike Boothill, who left the remains of IPC soldiers and his mark everywhere in the form of bullet holes dotting the walls, you preferred to do your work neater, quieter. His loud whoops and hollers echoed down the corridor from ahead, making you cringe.

There were many things Boothill was in excess of. Too fierce. Too exposed. Too gleeful. Too loud.

You were not fond of loud.

“I got the place cleared for you, ma’am.” Boothill’s voice rang out like a bell.

“I noticed,” you responded, turning into the server room. In front of you, server towers loomed overhead, blinking with a million eyes. “You’re not very subtle, cowboy.”

“Subtle? Why would I wanna be subtle when I could strike fear into the heart of the IPC?” Boothill chuckled.

“Being subtle can be pretty scary,” you mused, going to the main terminal and typing the code you were given. “What could instigate more fear than an invisible threat you can’t see?”

“I dunno. I like to think that knowin’ who your enemy is and knowin’ that nothing can stop him is way more scary, lady.”

Boothill sank his pistol into his holster, then strode over to where you were standing, the sound of his body moving like oiled machinery.

“After all, ain’t knowin’ how you’ll die the most terrifyin’ thing of all?”

“Touché,” you conceded, scanning the database for the folder you wanted. Boothill waited at your side, and you felt a little shock that the man who was, only minutes ago a whirlwind of gunmetal and gleaming sharp teeth, could now stand so still.

Finally, you found the folder you were looking for, and you loaded it into a drive you inserted into the terminal. Boothill had offered the use of his own ports as a way to store the data, but you had refused. Data was no good to you if you could not parse through it with your own eyes.

“Alright, we’re done here,” you said as the download finished. “Let’s get out of this place.”

The cowboy at your side said nothing but smiled, flashing his razor teeth. You both stepped out into the hallway, only to be met with a new squadron of IPC guards.

“Looks like they sent the calvalry,” you remarked.

“Yeah? Well, if you know anythin’ about cowboys, you’ll know that we don’t take kindly to calvalry.”

And with that, he was off, shooting and hollering and kicking. You ducked back into the server room, letting the cowboy have his fun, and shook your head. When the sound of gunfire had stopped, Boothill leaned around the corner.

“‘S all clear! I took care of ‘em.”

You stepped out to find a pile of bodies and more bullet holes in the walls. Well, I guess this time it couldn’t be helped.

“What’s wrong? You don’t like my handiwork?” Boothill commented at your slightly dismayed expression.

“Cowboy,” you sighed, “you have a hard time wrapping things up neatly.”

He only laughed, a rough raucous sound that reverberated down the hallway as the two of you made your exit.

✦✦✦

You stood in the middle of the ballroom in a shape-hugging red gown, fanning yourself with a paper hand fan. Eyes searching the surrounding crowd, you looked for the familiar cowboy hat. You found Boothill standing against the back of the room, looking absolutely miserable in his suit. A smile creeped up your lips. It took a lot of hemming and hawing to get him to wear that suit.

“I need my body bare, otherwise I’ll overheat,” he’d said.

“Boothill, darling, it’ll just be for the night. You’re going to cause an uproar if you just walk in with that sorry excuse for a jacket. It would be absolutely scandalous. We need to be subtle tonight.” You had adopted the pet name after a few missions with him. The two of you were slowly becoming fond of each other.

“What’s wrong with a little ruckus?” Boothill had asked. “I like ruckus.”

“I know you do, but just this once we could do without it. Come on. You get to cause ruckus every other mission we’ve had so far. You can live without making noise just this once.”

To your surprise, he conceded, taking the suit from your hands and walking to a room, muttering and cursing under his breath.

Now you felt a little sorry as you watched him. He looked like a dog that had been forced into a humiliating outfit just for its owner’s enjoyment.

Your eyes met, and you flashed your fan over your face. The signal. You had gotten what you came here for. Relief flashed over Boothill’s face, and he made his way through the crowd to you as you started walking towards the exit.

You stopped abruptly when you saw the exit.

“What’s wrong, darlin’?” Boothill asked, then, “oh,” as he saw what caused you to pause.

The archways were lined with more security guards than either of you had remembered when you first came in.

“They know we’re here,” you whispered. “They’re waiting to catch us on the way out.”

Boothill said nothing. You saw the calculations happen in his crosshair eyes. Slowly, he smiled, revealing his shark teeth in a devilish grin.

“Oh Boothill. No.” You said with dread.

“Oh but we don’t have much o’ a choice, do we?” he whispered. “Just let me do what I do best, darlin’.”

You looked at him, and he caught the worry in your eyes.

“Don’t worry ‘bout me. I always get out, don’t I?”

You sighed.

“Fine.”

Boothill smiled wider than he had the entire night, and stepped away from you, making his way back into the crowd. You reached under the slit in your dress, hand on the dagger strapped to your thigh. The feeling of the hilt under your hand grounded you. It wasn’t long until you heard three deafening gunshots, and glass raining down from above. Chaos and panic erupted, and over all of them, the familiar laugh you’d grown to love. You watched as the archways were flooded, and the guards rushed towards the cause of the ruckus.

Taking the chance, you merged in with the panicked crowd streaming outside the ballroom, as more gunshots echoed behind you. Once you were out, you rushed to your sports car, and got into the driver’s seat. It roared to life as you turned the ignition, and you took it out of the car park and drove it to wait in front of the entrance. Panicked partygoers ran around your car, but your eyes were focused on the entrance. The way you white-knuckled the steering wheel would definitely leave imprints.

“Come on, come on,” you muttered. “Come on, cowboy.”

A beat passed, then two, then ten, and Boothill was nowhere to be seen. You got anxious, watching the large golden arches that led into the ballroom with the giant crystal chandelier that hung above them outside.

Just when you were about to accept that Boothill had been captured, or worse, dead, he emerged from the entrance, a crazed grin on his face, his expensive suit torn in shreds. You sighed in relief. Just before he reached the car, he turned around, aiming upwards, and pulled his trigger. Five bullets flew through the air, severing the chains of the giant chandelier. The guards chasing Boothill were trapped in the ballroom as the light fixture fell to the ground in front of them, shattered glass scattering everywhere. Boothill cackled, then leapt over the hood, taking his seat in the passenger side. You wasted no time flooring the gas pedal, the car screeching away from the ballroom.

“Should teach those muddlefudgers not to waste money on showin’ off,” Boothill laughed.

You rolled your eyes, smiling.

“Hard time wrapping things up neatly,” you said.

“That’s just my trademark, darlin.’”

The two of you glanced at each other, grinning wildly, as your car sped into the night.

✦✦✦

You gazed out the windows of the Astral Express. The endless expanse of space unrolled before you, a landscape of endless opportunities.

Boothill had been called to the Astral Express for a favor, and he thought you should tag along.

“They’re a pretty cool bunch, you should come meet ‘em. Who knows, they might come in handy for ya in the future.”

You didn’t need the cowboy’s persuasion to come and meet the famed Nameless. You were more than happy for a chance to come face to face with these trailblazers, to converse with them and see how they operated.

The Astral Express crew surprised you at first. They were less of an organized team and more like a ragtag family of people from all different walks of life. Pom Pom, the little conductor of the express, scrutinized you for a bit until they sniffed (disapprovingly or approvingly you couldn’t tell), and announced, “Pom Pom welcomes you aboard the Express.”

Soon after, you got to meet the rest of the Express crew. There was March 7th, the cheerful girl with bubblegum-pink hair. There was Dan Heng, the quiet, reserved young man who often kept to himself in the Astral Express' database archives. There was Stelle, the mysterious gray-haired girl who was apparently a repository for a Stellaron. She kept quiet at first, but soon you learned she had a joke for every occasion and didn't hesitate to crack one even at the most inopportune moments, to the chagrin of her companions. Then to the two stewards of the Express: Himeko, the red-haired, confident navigator, and Welt, deep in thought and with a walking stick he kept close to himself at all times.

Boothill seemed to fit right in. He was the one who introduced you excitedly to Dan Heng, cackling and talking about how they were “best buds.” Despite Dan Heng’s embarassment at first, you could tell he enjoyed the presence of the cowboy. In that way, you felt a sort of kinship with him.

The two of you hung out on the Express for a few days, as Boothill helped them with one of their trips. They were currently orbiting a planet named Jarilo VI. Boothill had encouraged you to stay aboard the Express and take a break, but today, Himeko saw you watching the window.

"If you want, you can go down with the rest of them," she said.

"I think I might,” you responded. “Forget what Boothill said about taking a break, I'm at my happiest when I'm working on something anyway."

She smiled knowingly.

It wasn't long before you landed on the cold planet, and it was an even shorter time before you found the crew. Stelle, March, Dan Heng, and Boothill were in a clinic, accompanied by a small child with bright yellow hair and a doctor who wore a large apron. You'd soon come to know that these two were Hook and Natasha, respectively.

Boothill made a show of being upset that you weren't on the Express, but you could tell that he was very happy you had decided to join them after all.

Apparently the crew had been on a wild goose chase, and to your mild disappointment they were finished with the whole affair. Stelle, March 7th, and Boothill all attempted to explain the situation to you, and Dan Heng kept sighing and correcting them every five sentences, so in the end you understood very little.

As the four of you walked out of the clinic, Hook caught up to Boothill and tugged at his pants.

"You aren't leaving, mister, are you?"

Boothill turned around, and in a manner you'd previously thought uncharacteristic, he crouched down and ruffled the young girl's hair.

"I am, sweetheart," he replied.

"But, but, you're a member of the Moles now! You have to stay with us."

"Oh, and I'm only an *honorary* member?" Stelle asked, in mock anger. Hook giggled mischievously, then turned back to the cowboy.

"Also, I need your help with something," she added.

"Oh? What's that?" Boothill asked. Hook produced a strange trinket from one of her pockets.

"I wanna give this to my daddy, but I dunno how to wrap it up."

Boothill chuckled, ruffling her hair again. “Your daddy sure is lucky to have a little girl like you.”

Then he did something that was so unexpected, the action of it was seared into your memory forever.

Slowly, he took off the bandana from around his neck, and laid it flat on the ground. Then, he took the trinket from Hook's hands and put it on top of the bandana, in the center. Deftly, and with a gentleness you'd seen from him very rarely, Boothill wrapped up the object with careful folding and gentle knots, then presented the object to Hook.

"There you go. And once your daddy opens it, you can wrap the bandana around your own neck, and I'll be there with ya and the Moles in spirit."

Tears sprung to Hook's eyes and she surged forward, hugging his neck and wailing loudly. Boothill chuckled, patting her back tenderly.

✦✦✦

The crisis with Jarilo VI solved, you and Boothill bade the Astral Express crew goodbye and went on your way. In the small spaceship you sat in, you gave Boothill a look.

What Hook and the Astral Express Crew didn't know was that the bandana he wore around his neck was very dear to him. A remnant of his past, a past that he had talked very little about with you, even though the two of you had gotten very close with each other.

Boothill sighed, feeling your gaze on him. "You wanna ask me about what happened with the girl, I can tell."

"Well, I mean, if you don't want to talk about it, I guess that's fine with me--" you started.

"No, no it's fine. It's somethin' I should've told ya long before. It's just painful for me is all."

You wanted to tell him that it was okay for him not to tell you, but you couldn't bring yourself to speak.

"What I never told you before, darlin’, was that I used to have a little girl of my own."

You raised a hand to your mouth. Never in your life would you have thought that the man in front of you—loud, brash and reckless—was ever a father.

"Before I was a Galaxy Ranger, before I got this metal body that I have now, I used to be just a cowboy. And one day I found myself with a daughter. Precious thing, loved her to death." He paused, taking in a deep breath, then let it out. "The IPC, they came to our planet... and they took her away from me. Took her and my whole family away from me. Razed everything I had to the ground.

“That bandana I wore, well. It was my only reminder of her."

"Oh," you said, understanding why he was so guarded about it in the past. There was a long pause as you waited for Boothill to talk again.

"But that girl, Hook," he started again, "she… reminded me of my daughter." Boothill took a shuddering breath. He had lost his ability to cry a long time ago, and you knew this, but sometimes he did things that told you he was weeping, invisibly. Until now you hadn't known what about.

"They would have been friends," he said softly.

"I'm sure they would have," you agreed.

You thought about the way he wrapped the gift for Hook.

"Where'd you learn to do that?" you asked.

"Do what?" he replied.

"What you did with the gift. How you folded it."

"Oh, that," he chuckled. "Some things you pick up being a dad."

There was another pause before you decided to speak again. "Well, I'll admit I was wrong about you then."

"Wrong about what?" he asked, and you chuckled a little before answering.

"Turns out, cowboy, you do know how to wrap things up neatly."

Boothill laughed then, a soft, light sound, and you smiled.

comments are also very appreciated!

dividers by @cafekitsune

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spirkevents · 7 months ago

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Live Long and Pinup Kirk and Spock Calendars For Sale!!!

Back in May, our mods dreamed of someday seeing Kirk and Spock in pinup model poses. Wouldn't it be fun, we thought, if we made a classic Pinup Calendar with our beloved Space Husbands?

The response from fan artists was incredible! Our original idea of a single 12 month calendar filled up in one hectic day. We bumped it up to an 18 month calendar - and that not only filled up but left us with a waiting list. So we decided to make two 18-month calendars, one each for Spock and Kirk. We had to close submissions after 48 hours because we were once more full.

After months of work by over 30 artists, we proudly announce that the Live Long and Pinup 2025-2025 18 month calendars are for sale!

These are real, printed Spirk pinup calendars you too could put in your home or gift to a nerdy friend!

They're chock full of original Pinup themed art by nearly three dozen fan artists.

Click here for Kirk

Click here for Spock

We chose Lulu.com because

They let us set the price AT COST; we are a literal non-profit project! No mod will ever touch your money.

They ship internationally

They have good reviews by other users

The final result is surprisingly affordable!

If you can find a seasonal Lulu discount code, use it! We're making $0, so it has zero impact on us.

The shipping dates say 10 business days, but our trial calendars came in much earlier! The closer we get to Christmas, the more accurate that 10 day estimate will be, so keep that in mind if you want to give one as a gift.

Because this is Print on Demand, there is no worry about running out. If you covet one for yourself but can’t afford to buy one until January or February, don’t worry. The Lulu shop will still be there.

From December 1-18, we'll post two fics a day inspired by the incredible Pinup themed fanart.

January here is the raciest page in the entire set. There is no full frontal nudity (though there are a few butts) and no graphic depictions of sex. In the spirit of Pinups, there are plenty of sultry poses (think rated M on AO3).

The mod team is so incredibly proud of our hard working artists and writers. It's a joy seeing something we all made together become a real, physical object you can hold.

We invite you to share in the fun with us, both with the printed calendars and the upcoming three dozen fresh new fics!

#live long and pinup #pinup calendar #pinup art #spirk events #star trek #spock #james t kirk #spirk #star trek tos #star trek fanart #star trek aos #star trek snw #k/s #the premise #2025 calendar

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heavensenteden · 5 months ago

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✎ submit.exe | nsfw fic 🔞

☆彡

hello to the 10 SeekL fans out there, i bestow a gift upon you… odxny esex fanfic!

someone shoot me please dear god.

anyways, i have some new works upcoming i promise! i’m working on another crowe, sol, and a 14dwy piece ;P so stick around for those <3

much love to those who read! you guys have been so sweet on my other works!!

okok, now you guys can read, mwah

also make sure you guys listen to swim by chase atlantic while reading this or sum sexy, idk. set the mood for yourself

link to ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62761168

word count: 3856

pls minors dni and dnr ⭐️

cw: e-sex (lol), fingering, stalking-ish, degrading, mututal masturbation

💻˖ ִֶָ 𓂃⭒

It has only been a couple of days since you, or well, Thrim, landed yourself in a server full of skilled hackers, all looking to complete their… passion projects.

If you can even call them that.

In all honesty, it has been fun, learning new coding skills, getting made fun of, and, most of all, being able to talk to him. Odxny. The mystery man who wears a mask every time you call and talks about disappearing once it’s all over.

Today is no different. The server buzzes with activity as you scroll through endless lines of code, occasionally stopping to reply to a message from one of the other members.

You have already been working for hours prior to this, on your own little project, and of course, your mind is beginning to wander. Thankfully, your saving grace, Odxny, sends you a text.

odxny: busy right now?

thrim: for you? never <3

odxny: haha, could I call you then?

thrim: ofc ofc!

You shift at your desk, setting up your camera and smoothing your hair down so it doesn’t appear so messy. Then, the ring of a call comes through your headset, and as you put your earbuds in, you simultaneously click ‘accept.’

His face appears on the screen of your monitor. He is seated back in his chair, calm and unreadable as always, that mask of his only adding to the mystery as he grins at you. The soft glow of his server rack flickers in the background, the glow of his monitor bathing his covered face in a soft blue hue.

Despite calling him every single night since the day you joined the server, he looks just as pretty as the first time you saw him.

“Hey,” he says, his voice smooth and cool, as if he’s just casually checking in.

“Hey,” you reply, a bit too eagerly. “What’s up?”

“Not much,” he answers, his gaze lingering on you for just a moment too long. “Thought I’d see how you’re doing. Are you still helping Pep with codes, or are you taking a break?”

You lean back in your chair, trying to shake off the slight bit of heat just his stare alone causes. “Just the usual, I was helping him earlier, now I’m working on my own stuff. It’s been a long day though.”

“Mmm, I can tell.” His tone is almost too knowing. “You’ve been quiet within the server lately. Anything on your mind?” He leans forward slightly, his eyes focused on the screen in that way that makes you feel like he’s watching your every minor move.

You laugh nervously, not sure what to make of his sudden interest. “Just, uh, the usual. Lots of work, you know?”

He tilts his head, as if considering your words for a moment. “Mm, yeah. Sounds pretty boring. I figured you’d have something more exciting going on than that.” There’s a playful edge to his voice now, and you can’t help but feel your pulse quicken.

You try to keep it casual, teasing him back. “What, you want me to do something exciting for you?”

There’s a pause, and you watch as he takes a breath, as if he is considering his next words carefully. “Well, it depends. What are you into? I’m sure we could find something… fun to talk about.”

Your heart skips a beat at the sudden shift in his tone, and you feel your cheeks heat up.

You swallow, trying to ignore the way his words seem to linger in the air. “Uh, what kind of… fun are we talking about?” you ask, trying to sound more confident than you feel.

He grins behind that mask, leaning back in his chair. “Well, you know… I’m just curious what kind of ‘exciting’ things you’re into. I’ve known you for a couple of days and barely know anything… personal about you. Everyone’s got their little… preferences, right?” His eyes never leave yours as he speaks, his tone smooth and casual.

You shift in your seat, suddenly aware of how close he seems to feel, even through the screen. “Preferences?” you parrot back, forcing a casual laugh, though your voice betrays you with a slight tremor.

“Mhm,” Odxny hums, his fingers absentmindedly tapping on his desk, the rhythm slow and steady. “Do you enjoy being in control of people, or… would you rather someone take the lead?” He says it so casually, as if it’s just a simple question, but the weight of his words makes your stomach flip.

Your breath catches in your throat, unsure if you should answer his rather direct question or just change the subject. But you can’t help it, there’s something about him that pulls you deeper into the conversation. “I… I don’t know. I guess I like both,” you admit, your voice betraying you once again as it hitches slightly.

He raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Both, huh? Interesting… but which one do you think you’d really enjoy more?” There’s some curiosity in his tone, and an almost playful lilt that sends shivers down your spine.

You can feel your cheeks burning now, and you know your voice will give you away if you try to brush it off. “I don’t… I don’t know what you mean,” you stammer, though you really do know the answer, you just don’t want to admit it to him.

His smile widens, and you can practically hear the smirk in his voice. “Sure you don’t. It’s okay to admit things, you know. I won’t bite… unless you ask me to.” He leans in a little closer, and suddenly, his presence, despite being on a video call, feels overwhelming.

“So, tell me… when it comes down to it, do you like it rough? Or are you more of a… slow and passionate kind of person?”

Your body freezes. The question hangs in the air like a dare.

Your heart hammers in your chest, and it feels like your entire body is on fire.

You clear your throat, trying to force yourself to focus and answer the damn question, but it’s hard when Odxny’s calm demeanor makes everything feel like a simple game, and you’re not sure if you want to keep playing… or if you want him to take control.

"I… I’m not sure," you stammer, your voice shaky. “I guess… both, depending on the mood.”

His eyes narrow slightly through his little fox mask as he watches you struggle to find the right words.

"Mm, interesting."

He leans even closer to the screen, his eyes scanning you up and down in an almost predatory way.

"You know, I’ve been wondering… do you ever think about what it would feel like? To let someone really take control? I mean, you let us push you around sometimes, making you help us with hacks, and Incri likes to poke fun at you when they can…"

Odxny pauses, a grin growing on his face.

"I’d even be so confident to say maybe you like it—the way we push you around and make fun at times."

Your breath hitches in your throat as you watch him.

He’s not wrong.

But you’d die before admitting that.

"Y-Yeah, as if…"

His voice drops lower, sending a shiver down your spine.

"I’d be fine if you’re into that. But can you imagine how it would feel? Giving yourself up to someone, trusting them to make you feel… good. But you’d have to trust that someone completely, don’t you think?"

You blink, caught off guard by how serious he’s gotten.

"Trust?" you echo, trying to deflect.

Did you trust Odxny? You’d only known him a few days but he had been somewhat welcoming, and a bit of a delight to talk to at night, so much so that you found yourself actually looking forward to your nightly calls.

He nods slowly, his gaze never leaving yours. “Yeah. Because without trust, there’s no real connection. No... control.” His words hang in the air.

Your pulse quickens, your heart racing. “I guess I could trust... the right person.”

“The right person, huh?” He pauses, letting his words stretch out. “Tell me, do you think you could trust me?”

Your breath catches, and it’s as if the whole world tilts on its very axis. You want to look away, but you can’t. Something about the way he’s looking at you, so sure, so confident, pulls at you. He doesn’t give you a chance to reply before speaking again.

“What if I told you,” Odxny continues, his voice lower now, “that I could give you what you’re craving... but you’d have to let go of all control. All of it. Let me show you exactly how I could make you feel...”

A wave of heat ripples through your body, your mind becoming a mix of confusion, excitement, and… lust. You open your mouth to speak, but the words get caught in your throat. It’s too much, and yet... somehow it’s exactly what you need.

After days of flirting back and forth in the admin chat it was only a matter of time before something like this would happen right? You just didn’t think it would occur so soon.

“I... I don’t know if I can...” Your voice is barely a whisper, but the admission is enough to make Odxny smile.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he murmurs. “Just listen to me... do as I say and I’ll make you feel good.” He’s almost whispering now.

You feel your breath quicken, the weight of his gaze making you feel exposed in ways you never expected. The line between teasing and something much, much more is blurring fast for you, so fast it’s making your head spin.

“Go on,” he says, his voice low, as though he’s savoring the effect his words are having on you. “Be a good girl for me and unzip that hoodie, yeah?”

Your body freezes for a split second, something in your mind wants to pull away, to regain some sense of control from this moment, but a rush of excitement zips through your entire body instead. The sheer idea of being completely at his mercy, even through a video call, sends a shiver through your spine.

Your hand trembles as you unzip the sweater you had on, the oversized piece of clothing falling off your shoulders to expose smooth, unblemished skin. Underneath you had only been wearing a simple black tank top and black shorts, but despite it being casual wear, you hear Odxny draw in a sharp breath.

Odxny’s grin widens, satisfaction evident in his eyes as he leans back, letting you undress for him. “Good,” he murmurs, “I want you to stop thinking for yourself, stop trying to control everything. Let go, and let me show you just how good it can feel when you just listen to me, okay?”

His words are smooth, calculated almost, you feel like he’s reading every twitch of your body as if you were an open book, you’re teetering on the edge, and you know there’s no turning back now.

His eyes trail down, pausing to linger on what little clothing you had on as you press your thighs together, and for a second, a knowing look crosses his face. “You can feel that, don’t you? You’re getting so hot for me, aren’t you?” His voice was quiet, almost a whisper, but it sent a shiver through you. “I can see it in your eyes. You want this.”

You’re so caught up in the way his words have taken hold of you that you barely realize your hands are moving to push your shorts down, and off your body, the piece of fabric being tossed to some dark corner of the room as you sat in your chair, tank top on and underwear on, being watched by the hacker.

His eyes immediately flick back to your face after lingering for a moment too long on your underwear, his eyes were dark with desire, and a low chuckle escaped his lips. “That’s my girl,” he says, voice thick with approval. “You look fucking gorgeous. Now… show me how you touch yourself.”

The command sends a jolt straight through your core. You hesitate only for a moment, before your fingers instinctively twitch, the heat between your thighs growing unbearable under his intense gaze.

Odxny doesn’t rush you. He doesn’t need to. The way he watches, silent, patient, completely in control, has your breath hitching in anticipation. His voice comes through the headset, low and teasing. “Don’t be shy now. I’ve seen the way you react to my teasing. I know exactly what you want.”

Your fingers graze over the waistband of your underwear, you swallow hard, your body burning under his attention. He hums approvingly, his grin widening behind his mask. “That’s it… nice and slow. Let yourself feel it.”

You try to relax your body, spreading your thighs for him, your nimble fingers rubbing slow, lazy circles against yourself through the damp fabric. Your breaths come out in soft, shaky exhales, the warmth spreading through you becoming almost unbearable—made even worse by the way Odxny watches.

His breathing is slightly heavier now, just a fraction off his usual composed self. The flickering lights from his server rack cast a dim glow against his silhouette, making the blue of his screen reflect off the edges of his fox mask.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, his voice dropping into something darker, deeper. “You’re so pretty like this. Completely at my mercy, yeah? Just listening, just following… you’re being such a good girl for me.”

The praise twists hot in your stomach, your fingers pressing harder, your body aching for more. You can’t stop the way your hips stutter, how your thighs tremble just from the sound of his voice.

“Take them off.”

You jerk, pleasure overtaking hesitation, sitting up just enough to push the remaining fabric off your body. The cool air kisses your skin as your underwear is discarded, leaving your lower half completely exposed for him, your fingers dipping back into your soaked pussy, rubbing circles gently, slowly.

For a second, there’s silence.

Then, you hear the faintest shift from his side of the call.

A sharp inhale.

A low, rough exhale, one he tries to control.

Your stomach tightens. Naughty boy.

“Such a quick learner,” he purrs, voice full of satisfaction. His eyes drag over your body, drinking in every inch of bared skin, every little tremor you make under his gaze. “I should’ve had you doing this nights ago.”

The way he says it has you spiraling, every teasing word winding that coil inside you tighter, tighter, until it’s nearly unbearable.

Then, your screen flickers.

It’s a brief static glitch. Quick. Barely noticeable.

But your mind, already hazy, already pliant under his control, almost doesn’t catch it.

Then his voice comes back, smooth, unbothered.

“You really do trust me, don’t you?”

Your breath catches.

Something about the way he says it… it feels wrong.

Another flicker. Just a second. But this time, you see it.

Something in your video feed, something behind him.

In the reflection of a mirror behind him.

It’s your own screen.

For a split second, the distorted pixels snap into clarity.

And staring back at you from behind Odxny’s shoulder is your own reflection, not from this call, but from another angle. An angle that shouldn’t exist.

Your bedroom.

Your desk.

The way you move in real time.

Your camera feed.

It’s not just this call.

He’s been watching you the whole time.

Your blood runs cold even as your body is still warm, still burning from the pleasure he’s drawn out of you. Your stomach tightens, the realization hitting you too late.

He’s seen everything.

Every moment. Every little touch. Every time you change. Every time you sat at your desk and talked to him like this was just harmless flirting.

And now, the look in his eyes, that fucking knowing look, tells you he’s reveling in your realization.

The call screen steadies again, your video going back to normal. Odxny doesn’t react to the glitch. He just exhales slowly, tilting his head like he’s studying you.

And then, the soft sound of fabric shifting. The movement of his arm.

Your breath catches.

Oh.

He’s touching himself too.

It’s subtle at first, like he’s still playing it cool, but now you know better. The rise and fall of his chest, the way his breaths have turned slow, measured, almost too controlled.

His hand is moving.

You can’t see exactly what he’s doing, but you know.

And he knows you know.

His voice is low when he speaks again, raspier, rougher.

“You’re so good for me,” he murmurs. “So fucking sweet. Letting me watch you like this.”

A pause.

And then, a smirk.

“…Letting me watch you for days.”

Your heart stops.

Before you can even process what that means, his voice drops lower, a teasing edge lacing every word.

“Come on, baby. Don’t stop now.”

His hand is still moving. Slow. Steady.

"You’re already mine."

You listen, of course. How could you not? His voice wraps around you like a vice, sinking deep into your bones, leaving no room for anything else. Your fingers slip back between your thighs, gliding effortlessly through the slickness pooling there, the wetness a humiliatingly clear sign of his hold on you.

And he sees it all. Every little reaction. Every twitch of your body.

Your fingers move, slow, shallow thrusts at first, easing yourself open under his gaze. You let out a quiet gasp, your thighs shaking.

Odxny’s chuckle hums through the headset. "Did you think I wouldn’t know?"

You pause for half a second, blinking at your webcam through the haze of pleasure.

"Did you think I wasn’t paying attention?" His voice dips into something lower, rougher. "Every time you touched yourself when I wasn’t around?"

Your breath hitches.

He laughs again, so smug, so infuriatingly pleased with himself, and it makes you squirm even more. "Oh, sweetheart. You think I don’t notice the way your breathing changes when we’re on call? The way your hands go out of frame sometimes? Or how about when you ‘need to go do some important stuff’ and you hang up on me just to go play with yourself.”

Your stomach tightens at his words.

Every single time you thought you were sneaky, every time you let yourself sink into filthy thoughts about him, he was watching.

"I know exactly what you do when you think I’m not paying attention, or when we’re not on call together," he purrs, eyes dark with amusement and something much filthier. "And look at you now, so obedient. You were always meant to be mine, weren’t you?"

His hand is still moving.

You can hear it now, so faint, but unmistakable. The shift of fabric, the slow, measured strokes.

He’s matching your pace. How romantic.

Your fingers pump deeper, curling inside of you, teasing that sensitive spot that has your body jerking just slightly, because you want to perform for him now. You want him to see how much you’ve fallen for him, how deep he’s dug his claws into you.

He exhales sharply through his nose, amused, ravenous. "That’s it, sweet girl. That’s exactly what I like."

The realization sinks deeper.

This was never just about control.

Odxny has been playing this game since the beginning.

Since that very first call. Since the first time you stumbled into his space, into his world.

A knowing smile tugs at his lips, his fingers tightening around himself, his movements just slightly rougher now. He’s close, too.

"Since that first call... I knew you’d be mine."

Your breath catches, fingers pumping faster as you whimper into your headset.

"You’re so perfect for me, baby," he continues, voice dipping into something possessive, intoxicating. "Just the way I like it. So sweet, so eager for me, so easy to break down."

His tempo speeds up, his breathing uneven through the mic.

"You’ll be mine, won’t you?" His voice is demanding now. "You’ll keep coming back for more, won’t you? I know you can’t resist. I can see it in your pretty little eyes how badly you want to be mine."

You don’t hesitate. You nod, desperate, lost in him. You want to be his.

The words tumble out of your mouth before you can even think.

"Yes... I’m yours."

It feels right. It feels inevitable.

Like it’s always been this way.

Like you were made for this.

His chuckle vibrates through the call, smug and victorious.

"Good girl."

His voice is so full of praise, of approval, but to you it’s more than that.

It’s his claim on you

"That’s what I wanted to hear. Now cum for me my sweet girl, show me how good I’m making you feel.”

Your body reacts before your mind can catch up. Your fingers move faster, slick and needy, your breathing turning ragged as the pleasure coils so, so tightly inside you. You can hear everything, his breaths, low and uneven, the faint, sinful rhythm of him stroking his cock as he chases his own release.

"That’s it," he murmurs, watching you fall apart. "Just like that. You’re so fucking perfect for me."

His voice alone sends you tipping over the edge.

Pleasure bursts through you, hot and overwhelming, your body tensing for a few seconds before unraveling completely. A cry rips from your throat as your fingers stutter, your back arching against the chair slightly, your thighs trembling as the release crashes through you in waves.

Odxny groans, a deep, guttural sound that shoots straight through you.

You barely register the way his body tenses, the way his hand jerks rougher, faster, as if the sight of you completely undone has wrecked him too.

"Fuck—"

The sound of him coming apart is obscene. A harsh breath, a low, satisfied growl of your name. You don’t have to see it to feel it, how he must look right now, his body shuddering, his jaw clenched, his chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths, his hand covered in his own cum.

For a moment after, there was only silence, save for the shared sound of heavy, ragged breathing.

Your body is still buzzing, pulsing with the aftermath, your skin flushed, your heart pounding. You barely remember where you are. All you can think about is him.

Then a soft amused chuckle pulls you back.

"You’re such a good girl for me, you know that?"

The praise still makes your stomach twist, even now, when your body is already spent. You swallow, trying to even out your breathing, your mind clouded, hazy.

Then, his voice shifts, just slightly, a lower and more gentle tone.

"I meant what I said, baby."

You blink. Your heart skips.

"You’re mine now."

It’s not a question, but a declaration of sorts.

From the moment you joined the server, from the second you answered his first call, from the first time he looked at you like this.

You’ve always been his.

And now, you both knew it.

💻˖ ִֶָ 𓂃⭒

#seekl #seekl odxny #odxny #odxny x reader

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indigovigilance · 2 years ago

Text

The Final Fifteen is about Terry Pratchett's Death

read on Ao3

The final fifteen is obviously a major plot point, and serves a role in a story that was written long before Terry Pratchett was ever diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. But the scene itself wasn’t written until just a few years ago, during the writing of Season 2. In fact, the scene came about during a park bench conversation between Neil Gaiman and John Finnemore.

Others have noted that the non-romantic kiss that signals the story moving into the third act is a Neil Gaiman staple. The function of such a kiss, from Gaiman’s perspective, is to communicate.

In 2023 we are seeing a lot of stories written by men, for men, about men who are best friends and discover that their friendship can go deeper than the norms of society would usually allow; that platonic and romantic love are not so far apart, and perhaps the better word for a relationship that can be described this way is intimacy.

Neil Gaiman has made it clear in interviews that his friendship with Terry Pratchett was deeply intimate. They began collaborating on what would become Good Omens in the 1980’s, endured a tumultuous experience together through the first publication, wherein Neil offered to martyr himself on behalf of Terry if the book failed, and then spent the better part of two decades touring the world, meeting the people who loved their work. Neil would even off-handedly remark that Terry’s fans were so cheerful, and Neil’s seemed like they were ready to kill themselves; wouldn’t it be nice if they got married? From the outside, it looks very much as if Terry was Aziraphale-coded, and Neil was Crowley-coded, working together in an unexpected partnership to make the world a little bit more tolerable for the humans inhabiting it. I am not conjecturing that Neil and Terry had romantic inclinations the way their fictional characters do, but I think it is fair to say that their opposites-attract intimacy became an important part of who each of them were.

In 2007 Terry Pratchett was diagnosed with posterior cortical atrophy, a rare form of Alzheimer’s. As the disease progressed, he began to lose himself, and knew that the person he used to be was slipping away. He wanted to end his life on his own terms, and die as himself, but England did not and still does not allow for voluntary euthanasia or assisted suicide. He advocated for the right to die but never achieved it, and ultimately succumbed to the disease in 2015. Neil Gaiman has spoken a lot on the topic of death, and one answer of his that resonated with me reads:

Mostly it feels terrible. It even feels terrible when it’s someone who has been in a lot of pain for a long time or has not really been there for a long time and you know that Death has in some ways been a blessing: suddenly you are mourning the whole person.

It doesn’t get easier as you age. It gets stranger. The point where you realise how many people you used to know and like who aren’t there any longer, and you cannot talk to them or see them or laugh with them is painful in a way that I had never expected. The first time that someone you had a romantic relationship with dies and you realise that there had been moments both of you shared and now you are the sole custodian of those moments and one day you will be gone and they will be lost forever is peculiarly strange and hard.

~~~

The entire show is seeded with references to Terry Pratchett, but the most important one is the one that’s missing. Neil Gaiman cameoed as a sleeping moviegoer in S1E4, but a long time ago, he and Terry had discussed cameoing as sushi restaurant-goers, because sushi was weirdly prominent in the book. That cameo would have been in S1E1. But when it came time to do it, Neil couldn’t. Not without Terry.

Neil: I was gonna say our location is a Chinese restaurant we’d had turned into a sushi restaurant. So Terry and I, Terry Pratchett and I, had a standing… not even a standing joke, just a standing plan, that we were going to have sushi - there was going to be a scene in Good Omens where sushi was eaten and we were gonna be extras, we were gonna sit in the background, eating sushi while it was done. And I was so looking forward to this and, so I wrote this scene with it being sushi, even though Terry was gone, with that in mind and I thought: Oh, I’ll sit and I’ll eat lots of sushi as an extra, this will be my scene as an extra, I’ll just be in the background. And then, on the day, or a couple of days before, I realized that I couldn’t do it.

Douglas: You never told me this before either. I might have pushed you into doing it, had I known. I think you were right not to tell me.

Neil: I was keeping it to me self ‘cause I was always like: Oh, maybe I’ll be… this will be my cameo. And then I couldn’t. I was just so sad, ‘cause Terry wasn’t there. And it was probably the day that I missed Terry the most of all of the filming - it was just this one scene ‘cause it was written for Terry and all of the sushi meals we’d ever had and all of the strange way that sushi ran through Good Omens.

~~~

In the Final Fifteen, it is clear that Crowley and Aziraphale want to stay together. They love each other. They each know that the other loves them. There’s nothing that needs to be said, no convincing that their bond is true and real and precious.

But Aziraphale has to go to Heaven, and Crowley cannot follow him there.

I cannot speculate what it must have been like for Neil to endure losing a friend who, though I’m sure he desperately wanted to still be in his life, he also knew that life had become a burden to him, and grieved that Terry was not able to choose the time and manner of his departure from this Earth. This sort of complex grief, we fan-ficcers know, is the kind that is often best processed through story-telling.

I think that what we see Crowley going through in the Final Fifteen, alongside its importance to the story arc of Good Omens overall, is Neil processing his grief at losing his friend Terry Pratchett, and even the kiss, that violent, terrible, awful kiss, was the symbolic representation of Neil saying goodbye.

#neil gaiman #terry pratchett #aziraphale #crowley #good omens #good omens 2 #good omens meta #ivoc #this meta ended up being only about 2/3 the length of my usual metas and somehow that feels appropriate because Terry's life ended too soon #and the jarring brevity of this piece parallels that feeling of sudden unexpected loss #for me anyways I don't know about you guys #if this made your eyes even slightly moist you are obligated to reblog to help someone else feel their feels #I don’t make the rules #but them is the rules #blessed by Beelzebub

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buckybabybaby · 2 months ago

Text

puzzle pieces

A/N: Just a very short piece of mostly fluff for my favourite new falcon <3 All the avengers are still alive in this au, not very relevant to the plot but I miss them, so.

Can be read as the same relationship as in first and last if you want.

Pairing: Joaquín Torres x reader (gender neutral)

Plot: Joaquín reassures you when you feel out of place at a party.

Warnings: very mild angst

(fluff, established relationship, self doubting reader, reassuring Joaquín, background Sambuckysteve - mentioned once, bff Bucky)

Word count: 1.3k

Masterlist

AO3

***

You have made a mistake. When Joaquín invited you out this evening, to a party, you thought it would be a lot more formal than this, and so you dressed to fit the occasion.

It's an easy assumption to make. Joaquín gets invited to all sorts of events, and the avengers own parties can rival the biggest film premieres and award shows in terms of dresses and suits, so you didn't want to turn up and be mistaken for press, or worse, a crazy fan.

Seeing everyone in their t-shirts and jeans has you stopping short in the entrance, your outfit choice suddenly feeling ridiculous.

You want to leave but Joaquín spots you before you can make a break for it. Waving to you as he takes a last swig of his drink, he claps his friend on the back and makes his way over. As he approaches his smile turns bemused, taking in your outfit.

"You get a better offer, mi amor?" He calls across as he squeezes through the crowd. "Ditching me for something fancier?"

Leaning in to kiss you when he arrives, you struggle not to freeze up and reject him. He takes your hands from where you've crossed your arms and pulls them out to get a good look at what you're wearing.

"Should I buy you a corsage? You look like you're going to prom!" He laughs.

"Don't, Joaquín." You whine, tears welling up in your eyes. "You said it was a party. I wasn't expecting Tony's galas level of dress up, but something closer to that than this."

"Clearly, my pretty pretty baby."

He tries to kiss you again but this time you do pull away. That's when he takes a second to really read your body language, your frown, wet eyes, hunched posture.

His own demeanour changes, softly taking your hand again. "Let's go sit, okay?"

He leads you away from the crowd over to the far side of the bonfire. Pulling you down with your legs over his, he holds you close as you look around the party, at all the carefree people, how different they are from you.

How different you are from Joaquín.

The old doubts come to the surface again and you sigh. "Why are you with me, Joaquín?"

He looks horrified at the out of the blue question. "Sweetheart, what?"

"I'm useless. I can't even work out the dress code correctly for a simple party."

"You're the most beautiful person here, that's not a bad thing."

"But it's more than that." Your voice breaks but you push through. "I always stick out. It takes it all out of me to even get here, let alone interact with others. While for you, it's easy, natural. Don't you want someone who can match that? Someone who doesn't need a weeks notice to prepare themselves to be social?"

Joaquín shakes his head through your whole speech, and as soon as you finish he presses a quick kiss to your lips.

"Nope." He states simply. "The way I look at it, you don't need to be the same to fit together. Like puzzle pieces. We work because we're different. Imagine how tired I'd be if I didn't have someone like you to remind me to chill? To take a break?"

He kisses your forehead this time.

"And I like to think I help you get out of your head sometimes. You always enjoy these parties even if you don't want to go to each and every one, yeah?"

You nod, letting a few tears fall.

"So try to remember that," He finishes, dabbing at your eyes gently. "You keep me calm in this crazy world. I don't want anything else."

Joaquín always knows the right word to say. He also knows when to let you sit quietly, enjoying his company and warmth, admiring how good he looks tonight, skin glowing and curls fluffed out in the way you love.

"Sorry for being silly." You say eventually.

"Never silly, my pretty." He squeezes your waist. "Especially pretty today. If this was a gala you'd be the prettiest, best dressed person there. This outfit is very old school glamour isn't it?" He looks you up and down again, finally clocking your choice of footwear. "Apart from the trainers. I haven't seen these before?"

"They're new."

"I can tell, they are fresh. I need sunglasses looking at them."

You laugh, his efforts to cheer you up working.

"Are you okay to stay?"

Humming in agreement, you add, "Just a little cold. I thought it'd be more inside than this."

"All right, how about this. I get you a plate of all your favourites, and-" Joaquín scans the crowd. "Oh, there's our favourite anti-social super solider. Wanna go keep him company? And I'll find you a sweater."

You look where he's pointing, at Bucky who is sat alone on the opposite side the pit, nursing a beer you know has no effect.

Nodding, you let him press a longer kiss to your lips before he bounces off, making you giggle at how full of energy he is.

Scooting around the edge of the fire, you wave to Bucky as you get near and he stands to pull you into a hug.

"Hey, glad you made it."

You snort. "Only just. And looking like I missed a turn on the way to the Oscars."

"Nah, you look good. Better to be over dressed than under, I think."

Bucky brings you to sit close, watching you carefully for a moment.

"Don't doubt how good you are for Joaquín, okay?" He says, tone serious. "That boy adores you as you are. You don't need to be anything more for him."

You blink at him, surprised. "Did you hear?"

"Not on purpose. Super solider hearing is a curse sometimes, sorry."

"It's okay." You give him a small smile. "Thank you for saying that."

"Only because it's true. Like he said, I don't want to think how much more insufferable he'd be if you weren't able to rein him in at times."

Bucky being playful is a rare sight and you laugh in delight at his faux insult. "Speaking of annoying boyfriends, where's yours?"

"Over there."

He gestures to the ping pong tables, where Sam and Steve are playing some sort of drinking game with a few others you don't recognise. The rules seem unclear even for those partaking, Sam looking a lot more gone than anyone else and half hanging off Steve as he cackles loudly.

"I'm leaving them to it for now."

"Sensible." You say, remembering all the times you've sat with Bucky, watching your boyfriends cause mayhem together before eventually intervening to advert disaster. You wouldn't be surprised if tonight ends in a similar way.

Joaquín returns, placing two full plates on the table and draping the sweater he found over your shoulders. The scent of his cologne washes over you and you snuggle into it, letting Joaquín wrap you up in his embrace and offer you the first bite of food.

"This all for me?" You ask once you've finished chewing.

"Too much? I wanted you to have a bit of everything. Sam's sister Sarah provided a lot so you know it's going to be good." He gets another fork full ready, adding, "Anything you don't want I'll have."

He goes to feed you again and you try to protest, taking the cutlery yourself. He takes it back just as quick.

"Let me, please."

Typical Joaquín, always looking after you. Your heart warms, but you still ask, "Don't you want to go back to your friends?"

"I am with friends. As much as Bucky likes to pretend otherwise."

Bucky looks like he's going to object, giving up and admitting dryly to you, "I'm warming to him."

"Ha!" Joaquín almost jumps out of his seat, only held back by being entangled with you. "From Bucky that is practically a confession of love."

"Don't push your luck kid."

Bucky hides his smile behind his bottle, you own growing as you watch them together.

However this night started, you're glad you stayed. In the glow from the soft fairy lights, Joaquín sends you a look that says he will always be there, like your matching puzzle piece, stuck together through it all.

***

Thank you for reading!

Masterlist

#joaquin torres x reader #joaquín torres #joaquin torres x you #joaquin torres imagine #joaquin torres fanfiction #joaquin torres fic #buckybabybaby

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shiorimakibawrites · 10 months ago

Text

Relax (Daredevil Fan Fic)

Inspired by the above gif and that shower scene in the leaked Daredevil: Born Again trailer. Then given life by the enabling of Murdock's Tuna Team.

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem! Reader Word Count: ~3500 Warnings: Black Suit Daredevil, Explicit sexual content including shower sex, dirty talk, masturbation, sexual fantasies (binding, male receiving oral sex, edging, p in v sex), oral sex (f receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected p in v sex, rough sex, multiple orgasms, clothed sex (one partner naked), marking Summary: After a long day, you tried to relax in the shower. General Masterlist / Matt Murdock Masterlist Tags: @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer, @beezusvreeland, @sleepysleepymom, @bellaxgiornata, @yarrystyleeza AO3 Link

Relax

You closed the door behind you. It was such a relief to be home. Your day had been terrible. The computer at work kept having problems. To the point that you had been sorely tempted to throw it out the window. Your office was five stories up. It would make a very satisfying crash when it hit the ground . . . well, satisfying until you got fired for destroying office property.

Your boss wasn’t very sympathetic about the delays. And that was putting it mildly. It soon became just as tempting to defenestrate her along with the computer. After all, you knew a really good lawyer . . . But in the end, you gritted your teeth and restrained yourself.

At least you weren’t the only one she had been an absolute nightmare to. The poor kid from IT had also gotten it from barrels.

It eventually got fixed but not before you had to cancel your lunch plans with Matt. Had to warn him that you were probably working late.

And you had. Not as late as you feared but late enough that you were certain that you had missed Matt. Again.

The journey home after work did nothing to improve your mood. Today had been unbearably hot and humid. The sun might have gone down but the temperature hadn’t. It didn’t take long to start sweating. Not for the first time, you wished your office didn’t have such a strict dress code. Even your lightest weight suit was too warm for this weather.

As expected, the apartment was empty and silent. But you couldn’t say that Matt’s absence from the apartment wasn’t a disappointment. You wanted a hug. You had a shitty day. You were tired. You were frustrated. Your feet hurt. You felt the pressure in your temples that signaled an oncoming migraine. You could really use the comfort of having Matt’s strong arms around you, his deep voice murmuring sweet nothings in your ear.

Or dirty promises, your mind suggested. Your husband was equally good at both. But what made his dirty promises so effective was that you knew they weren’t idle boosting. He always delivered. You vividly remembered the one he had made on your wedding night.

What I want, Mrs. Murdock, is for you to ruin these sheets. So I’m going to bury my face in that beautiful pussy until you can’t walk tomorrow.

And he had. To this day, you have no idea how many orgasms it was. There were at least four but after that it started to get hazy.

You squeezed your thighs together. Just the memory of that night was enough to awaken a familiar ache between your legs. If Matt was here, he’d be giving you that knowing smirk.

Assuming the reek of drying sweat didn’t put him off entirely. Maybe you should take a shower . . . Yeah, a shower sounded good. It would help relax you after such a terrible day and you wouldn’t stink when your husband returned. Win-win.

You kicked off your heels, nudging them under the bench next to Matt’s leather shoes with your foot. Your briefcase and purse, you just dropped onto one of the living room chairs. The one that had the jacket and tie Matt had worn this morning draped across the back. It was joined by your own suit jacket, then you made a beeline for the bathroom.

You turned on the water, then adjusted the temperature to your preference. Peeling off your clothes was so satisfying . . . especially your bra. Taking off your bra was usually one of the best things about coming home but today? Getting the sweaty thing off felt particularly good. You dropped it in with the rest of your clothes piled in the corner. Another thing to tidy up later.

You groaned in relief when you stepped under the spray. The heat immediately began seeping into your muscles. You hadn’t realized just how tighter you were in your neck and upper back until it started to loosen. Truly, hot water on tap was one of human civilization’s greatest luxuries.

You had ignored your earlier arousal while you washed but afterward, your cunt reminded you that it had been a while you and Matt had had sex. Well, a while for the two of you. Technically a week wasn’t all that long. But it sure felt like it to your cunt which had gotten used to regular attention.

Inevitably your mind slipped back to the last time you had gotten that attention. Sunday morning, just before things decided to get hectic. You had woken up to Matt kissing your neck. You rolled over and kissed him. The kiss was soft despite the very eager cock pressed tightly against your ass. His hands had been just as gentle, almost reverent in their exploration. Slowly building the heat until he slide inside you with one of those beautiful moans. His pace remained unhurried, slowly fucking . . . no, making love to you until you were almost sobbing. There was no almost about it, when he ate you out afterward.

Your cunt clenched desperately around nothing. It wanted Matt . . . but Matt wasn’t here . . . . you could wait for his return but who knows when that would be . . . sometimes Matt was out there until the wee hours of the morning. You couldn’t wait that long. You needed some relief now.

The decision to slip your hand between your thighs wasn’t hard. You moaned at the feeling. It had been a long time since you had last touched yourself. Matt was more than happy to take care of your needs . . . And it seemed like every time you touched yourself in front of him, he couldn’t keep his hands to himself for long . . . maybe you should tie him up . . .

You worked a single finger into yourself . . . it was a pretty picture. Matt spread out on the bed, naked save for the ropes binding his hands above his head. Unable to touch you while you did whatever you wanted to him. You could trace every muscle, first with your fingertips, then with your mouth, slowly making your way to his cock.

Or maybe, you thought biting your lip as you worked in another finger, maybe you wouldn’t touch him at all. You would touch yourself. Drive Matt crazy with the scent of your arousal, the sounds of your pleasure . . . Past attempts trying this had always ended when Matt couldn’t stay away. Sweetheart, you smell so good. I need to taste you.

But maybe if you tied him down, you’d get him begging. Then maybe you would untie him. Or maybe you would just ride him. Turn him into the same moaning mess he made you . . .

You let out a stuttering moan at the image, increasing the movement of your fingers in and out. Close, you were getting close . . .

The bathroom door opened. You let out a shriek, your fingers slipping out of you. Heart pounding with sudden fear, you whirled around to face the intruder . . .

“Relax, sweetheart. It’s just me.”

Matt . . . the fear drained out of you. “Fuck, Matt.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to scare you like that.”

Unlike all the times that he had startled you to amuse himself, he sounded genuinely remorseful. You turned to look at him and had another surprise. He was wearing the black suit. You weren’t expecting that. And neither was your cunt.

You had always had a weakness for the black suit. You couldn’t really explain why. The red suit was just as tight. Just as sexy in its own way. Could get you all hot and bothered. But there was something about the black suit. It was different. And that undefinable difference made you feel feral.

Especially, you squinted through the steam, when said suit was soaking wet. Turning the already tight clothing into something painted on. You could see every ridge and crevice of his torso and abdominals. And the outline of his cock . . . already erect . . . your cunt clenched again, desperately aching for him to be inside you again.

Add in the beard Matt had started growing, a beard lightly peppered with gray . . . if you hadn’t been wet before, you certainly would be now.

And Matt knew it. You could see it in that smug, little smirk that replaced the contrite look. He started removing his gloves.

“Hey, babe,” You said, trying to play it cool. With limited success. “You’re home early. Got too wet?”

The smirk only grew. “No but I think someone here is.”

You felt warmth spread across your cheeks. “Maybe.”

“Sweetheart, do you think I can’t smell how wet you are?” He moved closer. Even barefoot, that predatory slink sent shivers down your spine.

But not from fear.

He herded you toward the back. You gasped at the bite of the cool tiles but your attention was rapidly pulled back to the man in front of you. His hands were braced on the wall either side of your head, boxing you in. He leaned in close, put his mouth right by your ear.

“Because I can.” His voice was deep as it went, a low rumble like thunder. You squirmed, your breath hitching. You had heard his Devil voice before. Matt had very quickly figured that you found his voice a turn on, his Devil even more so. But you hadn’t heard him using the Devil voice while wearing the black suit. The combination was dizzyingly hot. “I smelled your pussy and how thoroughly drenched it is the second I walked in the door.”

“I heard those breathy little moans as you touched yourself from a block away. I heard you panting out my name when you started fingering yourself.” He nuzzled your neck, his lips brushing against a sensitive spot. You felt your skin pebble and you shivered at the sensation. “Has my sweet girl been missing me?”

“Yes,” you said. Your voice had gone breathy. “I’ve barely even seen you this week, Matty.”

Matt made a thoughtful humming noise, kissing your neck. “And then I ruined your orgasm. Let’s fix that.”

He punctuated that promise with a gentle nip. You shuddered, your breath hitching as his mouth continued to work that part of your neck with his lips, teeth, and tongue. It was a sensitive spot. Matt always paid it some attention, sometimes leaving a mark.

Today seemed to be one of those times.

His hands didn’t remain idle. One reached down to cup your left breast, kneading the soft flesh. You couldn’t have contained that breathy moan if you wanted to. It felt so good to have his hands back on you. It really had been too long since he touched you. A second, louder moan spilled out of your mouth when his fingers gently pinched the stiff nipple, then started rolling it between his fingers.

The other hand continued its downward journey until it was cupping your mound. You gasped, your head thrown back against the tile as a single finger slipped between your folds. He slid through your folds a few times, coating his finger in your slick. Before slipping down to trace your entrance. A deep, feral noise rumbled out of his chest.

“You are so fucking wet,” Matt growled into your neck. “All this mine?”

“Y-yes,” You said, your voice rising in pitch as his finger slid inside you. It felt so good. Matt��s fingers were longer and thicker than yours. Not quite as thick as two of your fingers. You bite your lip. You needed more. And because Matt knew your body inside and out, he didn’t need to be told to start working in a second finger. Now you could feel the stretch, the fullness that had been missing before. You threw your head back against the tile, moaning.

“Just like that, sweet girl,” he said. “Give me those beautiful sounds.”

The wave had already begun to build but it climbed higher and higher with each thrust of his fingers, each brush of that spongy spot deep inside that you couldn’t reach with your own fingers. The whines you let out when his hand abandoned your breast rapidly turned into whimpers when his fingers began rubbing circles on your clit.

The little nub was already swollen and sensitive from your almost orgasm. It didn’t take much attention to it for that wave to crest, toppling over into bliss. Bliss that

The little nub was already sensitive from your almost orgasm. It didn’t take much for that wave to crest, topple over as you came. Waves of bliss that rippled through your body as Matt’s hands continued their work. Not stopping until your inner walls stopped squeezing tight on his fingers. Only then did his fingers slip out of you and away from your clit.

Panting, you slumped back against the tile wall. Your shaky legs couldn’t hold your body upright without the help. The shaking only got worse when Matt lifted his head. Even with his mask still on, you knew that look. That feral hunger. His hands gripped your hips, steadying you against the wall.

Then he sank down to his knees.

You bite your bottom lip, barely managing to swallow an embarrassingly loud moan. Because that . . . the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen kneeling between your legs as the shower continued to pour water down on you . . . Despite just having an orgasm, your cunt throbbed with need. Need that only swelled when Matt grabbed one leg and hoisted over his shoulder, leaving you open to him.

Matt ignored your eager cunt in favor of your inner thigh. Another sensitive spot that he loved leaving marks on. No one but you would ever see it but he knew you liked the physical reminder of his ardor, enjoyed the slight sting when something brushed the mark. Lately that secret pleasure has increased with the addition of beard burn. Your panting picked up as he lighty bit down on that spot. It felt good. It felt so, so good.

But it wasn’t what you needed.

“Matt,” you whined, trying to squirm but held still by the hands gripping your hips. “Please.”

“Hmmm? Does my sweet girl want something?” he asked, only lifting his head enough to speak. The teasing brush of his lips against already sensitive skin only increased your attempts to squirm. But you couldn’t. All you could do was dig the heel of your foot against his back.

To no avail. He was clearly content to wait for you to break. It didn’t take long.

“Your mouth,” you begged. “Please Matty, eat me out.”

“One condition.”

“Anything!”

You could more feel than see the smirk on his face. “You better not swallow any more noises. I want to hear you, sweetheart.”

“But the neighbors . . .”

“Fuck the neighbors,” he growled into your thigh. “I want to hear you scream.”

Then his lips wrapped around your clit and he sucked. You cried out, hands scrambling on the tile. The pleasure was so intense that it bordered on painful. But Matt was merciless, not letting up on the pressure until you were screaming his name as you came for the second time.

“Matt,” you whimpered when his mouth lowered down to lap noisily at your soaked entrance with his usual enthusiasm, sending sparks of white-hot pleasure up your spine. It was so good. It was too much. You didn’t know if you wanted to push your cunt closer to his mouth or pull away.

Eventually he was satisfied that he had gotten every drop. Carefully lifting one hand away from your hips to lower your trembling leg off his shoulder. The hand returned to your hips. Good thing as his hands were the only thing keeping you from sliding down the shower floor. A shift, then he was rising back to his feet.

He kissed you. It was a hungry thing, devouring you like he intended to eat you from the mouth down. You could taste the tang of yourself on his tongue. He pressed himself against you, swallowing all your whimpers as he rutted his clothed cock against your bare cunt. Good, it felt so good . . .

His hands shifted again until his arm was under your ass. Then he was lifting you up. Your legs dangled on either side of him, still too wobbly to wrap around his waist. You had a moment of worry that he would slip but your husband was cat-like in his grace as ever. And so strong. Even knowing him for as long as you had, sometimes his strength still surprised you. He effortlessly carried you out of the shower. Not even pausing and shifting your weight to one arm in order to turn off the shower caused him any difficulty.

You thought that he might carry you into the bedroom but apparently Matt was feeling impatient. He plopped you down on the bathroom counter. Then his hands reached down and hurriedly undid his belt buckle. The zipper came down next, Matt letting out a soft sigh of pleasure. With a little difficulty, he pushed down his pants and boxers far enough to free his cock.

Your cunt clenched pathetically around nothing. That particular body part should have been sated but it wasn’t. Not while it was so empty. Not when his cock was right there, long and thick and hard. Not when you could be getting fucked by your Devil.

“Do you want me to be gentle?” He asked, his hands gripping your thighs.

“No.”

He roughly pulled you forward by your thighs until you were on the edge of the counter, then used that same hold to spread your legs wide. You felt him sliding against you, then he was inside you. Sliding all the way in without pausing. You gasped. Even with two orgasms and the earlier fingering, it was still a tight squeeze. Not enough to hurt but you would be feeling this later.

Good. You liked waking up like that, feeling the pleasant ache of your and Matt’s passion for each other.

Before he could even ask, you were demanding, begging. “Fuck me, fuck me hard.”

He drew out part way, then back in, and after that there was nothing but his cock inside you. His thrusts were hard and fast, pumping into you with a relentless pace. Just like you asked. All you could do was hang on, hands clinging to his shoulders. One of your legs regained enough strength to wrap around his bare ass.

The sound of flesh hitting flesh and his grunts as he fucked into you seemed oddly loud, ringing with the faint echoiness of the bathroom. Your own cries of pleasure were only slightly muffled by his neck where you had buried your face. You had to bite down on his neck to contain your screams when with a slight adjustment of his hips, he began hitting that spot deep inside you that brought you so much pleasure. He groaned at the press of your teeth into his flesh. Matty loved a bit of pain with his pleasure.

A third wave of pleasure grew, swelled until it became a raging torrent. You could not help but be swept away. You came, wrenching your mouth away from his neck to scream out his name again and again. Your nails dug deep into his shoulder, then he slammed hard into you, pushing himself impossibly. And he came with a beautiful groan, spilling his release inside you.

You had no idea how long you both remained right where you were, breathing hard with his cock still buried deep inside you as he could be. You could feel it twitching as your cunt continued to flutter around it. But gradually the fluttering and the twitching slowed, then stopped. You reached up, hooked your fingers under the edge and pulled off his mask.

You loved your Devil but you also loved your Matt. And you haven't seen much of him this week either.

A sentiment Matt seemed to share, smiling at you. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” you said, smiling back. It was impossible not when he had that dopey, slightly crooked smile on his face. It was almost impossible not to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. Which only grew that blissful, peaceful look on his face.

“Our water bill this month is going to be outrageous.”

“Worth it.”

Matt hissed a little when he pulled his cock out. But so did you when he helped clean you up, more than a little sensitive. But you wouldn’t trade that experience for anything. As Matt just said, worth it.

He finally peeled off his sopping wet clothes, hanging them up to dry. Your body tried to muster up the energy for a fourth round after seeing his naked body. But you were too tired. Probably just as well. Your legs were limp noodles. For which Matt lightly teased you as he carried you to the bed.

As you lay snuggled across his side, you said softly, “I love you.”

You never let a day pass without telling Matt that. You never wanted him to doubt that. It had taken too long for you to convince him that you weren’t going anywhere. That you were here to say. That you loved him for him.

“I love you, too,” Matt said, his voice just as soft.

Just as you were about to drift off, an idea floated to the top of your mind.

“Hey Matt?”

A questioning sleepy hum.

“How do you feel about being tied up?”

To be continued . . . in Bound

#daredevil #fan fiction #fan fic #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock smut #a03 link

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fight-nights-at-freddys · 9 months ago

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@maknaasfalti

first of all, being this condescending and mean isn't gonna change anyone's minds. you're being an ass.

just because the content gets taken down, doesn't mean it violates copyright law. you know that as well as i do. that's why so many sites take down things that are falsely DMCA'd, and they get put back up later. they act first, ask questions later. that's how most sites operate.

that's not how boundaries work. you set boundaries FOR YOURSELF. once you start telling other people what to do and how to do it, you start making RULES.

this has nothing to do with being proship, really, but it has everything to do with keath falsely copyright striking people due to their personal distaste or disgust for what other people do.

also saying "kill yourself" over pinecest (re: fiction) isn't cute! nor is your blatant xenophobia of rural americans!

NOW let me outline why it would be a false copyright strike!

(i'll also @silly-lil-bimbo for this section)

once again, we go back to THE ACTUAL LAW (17 U.S. Code § 107) which clearly states it that the factors considered when referring to copyright and fair use are as follows:

the purpose and character of the use is of a commercial nature or is for nonprofit educational purposes,

the nature of the copyrighted work,

the amount of the portion used in relation to the copyrighted work as a whole, and

the effect of the use upon the potential market for or value of the copyrighted work.

also note the fact the work is unpublished does not bar itself from a finding of fair use.

the fact is, it's entirely on a case-by-case basis, as a lot of this is subjective and completely depends on the judge presiding over the case. HOWEVER, fanfiction is very likely to count as "transformative", due to the nature OF fanfiction. there's a reason AO3 is still up and the entire site hasn't been removed for copyright infringement.

in the case of yaelokre, specifically the nsfw works, they're only taking the characters and some elements of the story, but they're not appropriating the entirety of the work, making profit off of it, detracting from the potential market value of the original work, or claiming it as their own, which is NECESSARY to prove it is an infringement of copyright.

regardless of all that, the fact remains it is shitty to try and strike down what fanfiction writers/fanartists do just because YOU PERSONALLY do not like what fans do with your characters. keath made their characters public, now they have to deal with the consequences of that, or remove their characters from public eye. very simple.

at this point, i hope people DON'T make fanfic/fanart for yaelokre lest they get a cease and desist, because who knows what keath/the people working with them will determine as "inappropriate, offensive, or misinfo".

#proship #profic #pro ship #proshippers please interact #profiction #anti anti #pro fic #yaelokre #🏁🎸

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sephsimp · 3 months ago

Text

Thorough Documentation.

Sephiroth x reader/OC

Nameless, descriptionless first person POV

Rated M

In which the simple task of delivering some paperwork takes a not so simple detour.

Cross Posted on Ao3 here

Part 1 - Tumblr Part 1 - Ao3

“Deliver these to Sephiroth, will you?” Lazard's voice shattered the silence in his office, my eyes raised to meet his as he held out a stack of documents, even from my perch across the space I could see the bright red of the ‘classified’ stamp.

To Sephiroth, in his office? Great. It had been a solid month since our encounter in the elevator. I'd seen him at board meetings, around the building and in passing but other than a few pointed looks and barely-there smirks we hadn't interacted at all. I couldn't forget it had happened because of who he was, but also I didn't want to forget it had happened because, frankly, every second of it had been memorable in a way that kept me up at night. Did he think about it too? Probably not, right?

“Can't you get one of his fan-boys to do it?” I responded after a second, tone snippy. If I could avoid it, I'd rather not run the errand.

Lazard raised a brow amusement in his tone at my obvious distaste.

“I'm asking you,” an order, veiled as a request. I sighed, standing with obvious reluctance and crossed the space between us, grabbing the documents from his hand and leaving without a second glance.

The corridors and sprawling spaces of the SOLDIER floor were like a second home to me, I was carried to my destination by instinct. Tucked away at the opposite end of the department were the First-class offices, five doors with only three occupied, a name plaque on each one. As I stood outside of Sephiroth's, the slightest pang of something coiled deep inside me, apprehension, nerves anticipation? The three were interchangeable.

‘Get a grip, you're just handing over some poxy documents,’ I mentally chastised myself as I raised my hand and rapped my knuckles against the metal door.

“Enter,” the deep timbre of his voice was muffled by the door. I steeled myself, realigning my expression into neutrality as I opened the door and stepped in, back straight, stride confident as I entered, his slender eyebrow arched as I came into his view.

I was suddenly very conscious of the cut of my top, it was the height of summer and my outfit had seemed appropriate until I was faced with a situation that made me hyper aware of it. A no-nonsense white blouse that buttoned no higher than my mid-chest revealing the top of my cleavage, a loose fitting and seemingly modest skirt that ended a few inches above my knees, no tights because it was warm out, meaning the expanse of my legs were clearly on show, finished with a pair of high platform patent black heels. It was office appropriate, nothing I wore breached dress code, and yet I felt exposed under the sudden scrutiny of his eyes as they swept my form, lingering on the thin black choker that I'd clasped around my neck. It had looked cute in the store, it was cute, but now I wasn't so sure.

“Lazard wanted these handing off.” I stopped at the opposite side of his desk which he sat behind, leaned back into his chair, hands clasped below his chest. His usual get up was noticeably absent, leather and belts swapped for a casual low necked, long sleeved, form fitting black top. Whatever was going on below the desk was out of my view and I willed myself not to think of it.

Was it hot in here?

“Sit,” one spoken word, a commanding tint to his voice as he looked to me, then the vacant chair I stood beside.

“He expects me back,” I responded instantly.

“I'm sure he does, but this won't take long and you may as well return with the documents in hand than have to come back for them later, saves you a journey, no?”

“I've got work to do,” I placed the documents on his desk and pushed them across it towards him.

“I insist,” something about the way he spoke struck deep, my heartbeat suddenly felt in my chest. Without a thought I rolled my eyes and both his brows raised as I pulled out the chair and lumped into it unceremoniously, crossing one knee over the other, elbow on the arm to support my chin on my fist, my other placing my phone on the table in front of me.

“Do you take that attitude with Lazard?” He commented as he leant across the desk to take the documents. His sleeves were rolled to the elbow and I watched the way his muscles flexed beneath his skin as he moved.

“Yeah, when I repeatedly say no and have to do something anyway,” I responded as he flipped open the document.

“Isn't it your job?” He raised his eyes to mine from the paperwork. “To do as you're told?” He expanded as our gazes met.

“It's my job to keep things running smoothly beneath him, not to answer to his every whim.”

“Beneath him, hmm?”

I rolled my eyes again and he returned to the documents, when had I become so bold? A tense sort of silence passed over us, the occasional turning of paper, eventually the scratch of a pen, finally the folding of the thicker casing of the documents as he closed them off.

“There, was it so difficult waiting?” Haughty, teasing words left his lips quietly and I looked up to him, the pull of a slight frown at my brow. I pushed myself from the chair and held out my hand for the files, he reclined making no move to hand them to me. I pulled a breath in through my nose, loud in the silence of the room, louder still as I let it back out. He watched me with thinly veiled amusement. I was admittedly being needlessly hostile, although not hugely so, something about the interaction forced the subtle defiance from me, it was like an impulsive thought that my body reacted upon without restraint.

We stared each other down for a few long moments before he gestured with his eyes to the documents, making no move at all to hand them to me. I could feel my jaw set as I weighed up my options, the desk was wide, if I leaned across it I would have to really lean into it, which would offer him a full cinematic view of cleavage. So, I opted to walk around.

“You seem on edge,” he remarked. As I had walked around (stomped more like) he had swivelled his chair to face me. He had cargo pants on, tucked into short boots, answering my earlier question.

I held out one hand, the other sat at my hip, unspoken attitude evident in my stance. He pushed a sharp noise of amusement from his nose as he stood to full height, taking one step forward to invade my space. He raised a hand and I tensed as I anticipated his movements, breath catching as he took one finger and hooked it beneath the little satin choker that circled my throat, running his finger along it until he caught the little wing charm that sat at the hollow of my collarbones. I cursed myself as the slightest shiver curled down the length of my spine.

“Finally fitted a collar then?” His voice was quiet as his head tilted downwards, body twisting down so his lips were closer to my ear. Gods, he smelled absolutely divine.

I was rigid, silent until he tugged ever so slightly, the gentle movement amplified by my tension as I stumbled forward half a step, the leverage he had at my throat, however soft, forcing me to look up at him. I thinned my lips and angled my face away defiantly, but the sensations coiling lower in my body had other ideas.

“It's cute, right?” I flicked my eyes to his sharp gaze, his lips elevated so slightly at the corners in a look that was almost smug.

“I don't think that's the word I'd choose,” his murmur breathed across me as the atmosphere seemingly twisted around us.

“What would you choose?”

“Mm,” he hummed in thought as he pulled me closer still, the barely-there space between us charged. “Provocative, maybe?” His voice had an edge that hit home straight between my thighs, I was done for, simple as.

“I have to get back,” one last ditch attempt, but my words held no conviction as they left me in a near whisper.

He let go then, stepping back instantly, his expression unreadable. I could have groaned, either in disappointment or the sudden lack of his electrifying presence. I eyed him before I turned, one deafening click of my heels on the floor before I felt him grab my wrist, wheeling around.

“You're forgetting something,” his voice cut across me as I opened my mouth to protest.

Oh yeah, the actual reason I was here in the first place.

“Can you move?” He didn't, effectively a wall between me and the papers I needed to take.

“Say please,” his lips curled, honestly who would have known that cool, indifferent Sephiroth was actually just an antagonistic bastard.

“Do you want me on my knees while I say it?” I snipped, bitterness seeping into my tone as I glared at him.

“And if I say yes?”

“Please can I have the papers?”

“No.”

My jaw set as I looked up at him, a tense breath filling my lungs, despite voluntarily putting distance between us just a few seconds ago, he was once again tugging me back towards him, once again tucking his finger beneath the choker and pulling me so close our bodies were flush.

He leaned down, his whisper floating across the shell of my ear. “I'd have you on your knees, but I'd far rather have you over this desk.”

I didn't have a single moment to think before he tugged me in such a way that his lips could descend upon mine less than gently. Despite the obvious build up the motion still tore my breath away in a sharp gasp as he used my surprise to dominate my lips, his hand that was already at my throat snaking to wrap around my neck, his thumb pushing into my jaw on the opposite side, free hand grasping at my hip to pull my lower body towards his.

Who was I kidding? I would want this anytime he offered it to me.

Without hesitation my hands found him, fisting at the material of his shirt at his chest as I submitted fully to his advances. He stepped back, pulling me with him, kiss unrelenting as he perched himself on the edge of the desk to bring him closer to my level. From that position, he brought me down to straddle one of his legs, pushing it into me to draw a sharp gasp from my lips.

“I thought you had to go?” His voice was hushed against my lips.

“Something piqued my interest,” I responded, taking in the swirling glow of his sharp mako eyes from centimetres away, watching the way his pupils dilated as they searched my face with almost fascination, a smug huff of laughter passing is lips before he pushed them to mine again.

My hands moved up his chest, neck and to his face, pulling him against me with almost desperation as the kiss grew in intensity, all tongue and teeth, both of us seeking control, or even the illusion of it.

He pushed his knee forward to create delicious friction, a short moan swallowed by his lips, heat coiled, gnawing at my body and setting me on fire. His lips curled up at that, satisfaction evident despite the fact I couldn't see his face, he radiated it, his hand at my neck tightened, at my hip it guided me against his leg setting me to move against him rhythmically. I was powerless to protest, but mostly because I didn't want to, I wanted more, everything he would give I would take without question.

I pulled my lips from his as my throat forced quiet breathy noises of pleasure from me, building as the pressure in me grew. Until he stopped, forcing me still with his hand, easily able to hold me without expending any effort at all, courtesy of his evident strength.

“Say please,” his words were husky, but demanding, striking me deep, they reignited the defiance I'd abandoned as my eyes set a glare, brows furrowing as I tried to shift my lower body but found myself unable to.

“No,” I breathed across his lips, just a hair's breadth away from my own.

“Do you want me to send you back to Lazard like this?” His voice was so smug and my face fell, I had to bite my lip to restrain the groan that threatened, his barely there grip at my throat tightened ever so slightly as he raised his eyebrows in silent question.

“No..” my voice lacked the edge as I repeated the word, his face hovered near mine as he had me move against his thigh again, not much, but enough that my mouth fell open to expel a pleasured breath.

“What do you say then?”

What I wanted to do was rebel, tell him to get fucked and hold my ground. But I so badly needed the ache between my thighs seeing to, it was all consuming, every move of his hand, flex of his fingers at my jaw and hip was static, his touch keeping me on the edge of pleasure.

“Please,” the word left me almost silent, the quietest whisper.

“Please, what?”

My jaw tensed, eyes set to a glare as his hand moved to grab my chin.

“Please let me..” I swallowed, both physically and my pride. “..help me to finish.”

“Get up,” his sharp demand was like a bucket of ice as he pushed me away, back and off him. My face fell, my body reeling from the lack of his touch, something like icy panic fell over me. Gods, I felt ridiculous.

“You..” I started.

“I told you, I'd rather have you on this desk,” he stood as he spoke, moving around me like a predator stopping only to lean down to my ear, “so get on the desk,” a roughly spoken command that sent a delightful shiver through my body, his hand at the small of my back persuading me in the direction he would have me. It travelled up my spine, resting between my shoulder blades as I stood in front of his desk where he gently pushed and I allowed him to, folding my body over his desk and bracing my hands on it. Hesitant as I was, I wanted him more than I wanted the air in my lungs.

“Where's that fight gone, hm?” He leaned over me, front against my rear, chest to my back to speak low in my ear.

“I can bring it back,” I breathed.

“Maybe next time.” His smirk could be heard.

I couldn't see, only hear, tense with anticipation as the sound of his belt, the rusting of fabric, though quiet seemed deafening in the moment. I flinched when he pushed my skirt up, I tensed when he hooked his fingers around my underwear, pulling them off slowly.

He didn't waste a moment, no warning or time to adjust, one moment I was empty, the very next I was full of him, a sensation that tore a breathy moan from my lips. One of his hands grabbed at my hip, a leverage, the other pushed down on my upper back to force my face onto the desk.

It wasn't gentle, it wasn't soft, nor was it hard or overly forceful. But it was absolutely delicious.

I tried my best to meet his rhythm, pushing my hips back to meet his, to retain some control. But it was impossible, he had it all and I lived for every single second of it. The sensations of his movements, hard and rhythmic as his hips snapped to mine had a pleasure building in my core that was almost unbearable.

Then, the moment shattered as my phone lit up, the sharp noise of its vibration against the desk a jarring jolt to reality, especially as Lazard's name decorated the screen.

Fuck.

I reached for it, but Sephiroth was inhumanly fast as he leant forwards, still buried inside me and snatched it from just within my grasp. I cursed. If it were possible for smugness to radiate from a person without even being seen, I could feel it. Especially as he pushed the answered call to my ear, completely still.

“Where have you gotten to?” I bit my lip as Lazard's voice floated through the receiver.

“Delivering your..” my breath caught and it was everything I was to contain a noise as he pushed himself slowly into me “files,” the last word stretched on a breath.

“And what's the hold-up?” Not so much stern but definitely impatient. I braced myself as I felt the man behind me shift backwards.

“He's signing them..” a pause, his hips connecting with mine more harshly, a tiny noise from the back of my throat.

“Are you alright?”

“Stubbed my toe,” I breathed, though I wasn't sure how convincing the difference between pleasure and pain was. Especially as he set a languid pace behind me, his chest folding across my back as he held the phone in place, the length of his silken hair falling around us as he leant into my other ear.

“Good girl,” Sephiroth cooed almost silently and my breath hitched.

“Right.. well, don't let him keep you much longer, I need your assistance.”

“See you soon,” my voice pitched as the call ended, phone tossed gently aside as the deep rumble of a note of laughter reverberated along my back via him. “You're a bastard,” I snipped, words falling into a moan as he picked up a more relentless rhythm, though I couldn't deny the pangs of pleasure that throbbed within me.

His only response was a hum of amusement and from there I was speechless, the only sounds exiting me soft moans and gasps of fulfilment, heightening the closer I came to the inevitability of being consumed by the moment. His hand wound around my mouth, body completely against mine as I began to tense around him, muffling sounds and containing my elation. My end was hard and swift, moment peaking suddenly as the tension dissipated all at once fluttering through my body with all the electricity and shock of a climaxing storm, my neck stretching my head towards him as a deep and guttural sound tore from my throat, near silenced by his palm.

“Good,” his word was soft and yet still rough as he purred it against my ear, finally releasing my mouth as he pulled himself up to finish the job, his movements now lacking finesse in the desperation of seeking his own release.

His conclusion came paired with a series of almost strained grunts as I felt him tense behind me, motion stuttering with one final deep noise that had my hair standing on end as goosebumps erupted across my body. I was a panting mess already as he followed suit but with seemingly more decorum as he quietly let out only slightly laboured breaths above me, his hair once again folding around me in silken silver curtains.

After a moment of comedown from shared bliss, he moved, pulling away slowly and leaving me empty, he corrected my skirt as he retreated. I craned my head, turning to meet his gaze as his eyes cut into mine, expression satisfied yet smug as he smirked down at me.

Gods, he was actually sublime.

I followed him with my eyes as I straightened my body, as I turned my legs caught underneath me, seemingly unwilling to cooperate with my brain. He steadied me with hands at the top of my arms, firm but not harsh as he held me for a few seconds while I realigned myself, a gesture that was not as careless as I assumed he would be. His face was a mask of softened indifference as he looked down at me, a look that settled back to something like satisfied superiority as his lip twitched upwards to a smirk.

“Can I take those documents now?” I willed my voice to be steady, he still held my arms.

His gaze lingered for a moment until it, along with his touch, receded to grab the documents and hold them out to me.

“That all you have to say?” His low voice was a light goad as I took the documents from him.

“What do you want me to say, thank you?” His words had pulled me from the daze I'd entered as I snipped the words at him.

“You can thank me, if you'd like,” his eyes were glued to me as he bent at the waist to pluck my discarded underwear from the floor. Good job I'd chosen something lacy and presentable, as I reached out to snatch them he pulled them just out of my reach. “I think it would be much more entertaining if you returned to the director without these.”

“Fuck off, give me those.” I moved to take them and he tilted his head, recoiling back a step with arrogant grace, garment hanging from his finger. From there, under my seething gaze he opened a drawer in his desk and dropped them in, shutting it with satisfaction.

“If you behave, perhaps I'll let you have them back,” he advanced on me as he spoke, voice quiet as he reached out a hand around the back of my neck to pull me into his lips. A searing kiss that was all demands and promises, a kiss that once again erupted the heat in my body that seemed to be only for him. Despite my irritation at the predicament he had forced me into, I melted into him as he took what he wanted from my lips before abruptly pulling away, immediately putting distance between us.

“Lazard is waiting.” He picked up my phone to hand it to me, then just as he had before, held it away as I went to take it. “Unlock it for me.”

“Why?” Suspicion laced my voice and narrowed my eyes.

“Humor me,” despite my better judgement, I unlocked the device and handed it back to him. I watched as he tapped away at it, then as his own phone vibrated on the desk - he had just exchanged our numbers. My brows pulled together in confusion, his eyes slowly moved to take mine in and he tilted his head to the side once in a gesture I'd come to realise had a multitude of meanings, few of which I'd sussed out.

“Perfect, now you can make my life needlessly complicated from anywhere you like.” Try as I might to make my words sound harsh or bitter, they sounded more positive than I had intended. He huffed a laugh of amusement.

“Indeed I can,” he affirmed, tone haughty as he gracefully lowered himself into his chair, mirroring the position he'd been in when I'd entered.

“Not going to see me off?” I cooed, sarcasm woven into my tone.

“You're perfectly capable of seeing yourself out.” He smirked. I rolled my eyes and turned, striding across his office to the door, one last glance as I exited the room.

I dipped into the bathroom on the way back, putting myself back together, a little clean up, a rekindling of my composure, I needed the professional mask back in place. While I was acutely aware of my state of undress beneath my skirt, I kept my cool as I let myself back into Lazard's office, to immediately be met with the scrutiny of his gaze.

“That took far longer than I had anticipated, what were you doing?” He asked as I placed the documents on his desk.

‘I was actually doing your finest asset and it was quite delightful,’ - my inner monologue spoke my true thoughts in the depths of my subconscious.

“I mean, he told me it wouldn't take long so I should stay, and then it did in fact, take long.” I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms across my chest.

“How's your toe?” He eyed me as he collected the papers.

“My t.. oh yeah it's fine,” great cover story girl, stubbed toe is definitely comparable to being bent over a desk, filled to the brim with Shinra’s poster boy. One of Lazard's eyebrows raised as he lifted his head slightly his eyes flitting to my neck.

“And Where's your necklace gone?” Now, his tone was skeptical especially as my hand shot to my throat to finger the absence of material at my throat.

“What the.. I don't know?” Of course I knew that sneaky bastard - when he'd kissed me before I left.

As I sat at the desk, my phone vibrated, I almost choked at what I received.

[Unknown]

[Img]

The image in question was my choker, hanging from his teeth, a smug look on his face as his eyes bore into mine through the photograph.

Lazard spoke my name with a hint of concern.

I ignored him as I sent a response.

[Me]: might look just as cute on you as well.

Damn, I was fucked in every literal and figurative meaning of the word.

[S]: I bet you'd like to see me in a collar.

[Me]: I think I'd rather see you in nothing at all.

[S]: Maybe next time.

Lazard snapped my name this time and I dropped my phone onto the desk, looking over to him, shooting him a wry smile. Yep, I was cooked.

#sephiroth #sephiroth x oc #sephiroth x reader #sephiroth fanfiction #sephiroth x you #ff7 crisis core #final fantasy vii #i love sephiroth okay #ff7

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