#don’t know if this calls for a ‘CW’ because it’s technically right there. at the beginning of the video

[lethal-raindrop]

Fuck I forgot to put this here yesterday

[omgeto]

☆ WHEN YOU HAVE SEX WITH YOUR PROFESSOR — NANAMI, TOJI, GETO, GOJO.

summary: you have sex with your professor. for many different reasons.

wc: 4.2k (each of these were meant to be 500 words long so idk what happened)

cw: smutty smut afab!reader who's in university, mutual masturbation, spanking, semi public sex, toji is not a professor but a gym coach who rails you in a supply closet, but theres a lot of sex on a lot of desks so mdni.

an: theres actually a smidge of plot in this just a tiny bit if you do a deep squint, but the smut id personally say is my best yet. so give it a chance people, but come for the smut stay for the dialogue. hope you enjoy! not proofread ignore mistakes pls

☆ NANAMI

nanami kento, was the strictest teacher you have ever had. you couldn’t get away with your usual tricks that you did with some of your other professors — strutting past their office during office hours in your skimpiest clothes to get a better grade. it was as if nanami was immune to all your devices.

but with a big exam coming up, you knew you had to make something happen since studying was not your forte. so you were prepared to do anything to get that A.

“come in," his deep voice calls from inside.

as you enter his office, you are met with the sight of your professor, his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, reviewing a stack of papers. he glances up at you briefly before returning his attention to his work.

"what can I help you with?" he ask, his tone professional.

“i wanted to see if we could talk about the exam you set for us tomorrow,” you start to say, his eyes still focused on his papers, not sparing you a glance. “i was thinking we could figure out a way for me to get extra credit… sir.” 

you had his attention now. technically you’ve always had his attention — yes nanami was different to all the other professors you’ve ever had but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t a man at the end of the day. 

he always noticed the way you’d sit in his classroom, your pouty mouth always gnawing at your pencil as you never had a clue what was going on. nanami always had to hide his dick feeling tight in his trousers whenever you walk into his classroom. little did you know that you actually would’ve failed his class a long time ago, but because he just couldn’t let go of the sight of how your pretty tits bounce everytime you raise your hand, he always made you pass. 

“well what are you willing to do for that extra credit?” he says, his tone slightly amused.

“whatever you want” you respond a bit too eagerly, you were coming onto him hard. but it was working, you could already see the crack in his usual stoic facade. “c’mon professor nanami, i need to pass this class,” you practically beg. 

“oh yeah, you definitely need to pass this exam, you’re one more failed exam to flunking my whole class,” he affirms — lying through his teeth. “so i think you should come sit up here, and show me what you’re willing to do huh.”

suddenly, you start to feel nervous. usually you’d have control of the situation, you’d flaunt your ass, fuck your teacher and get an A, easily. but this time, you could see in nanami’s eyes that from when you entered his office — that he was running the show.

you saunter over his desk, and he pushes his seat back allowing you to have room to perch on his desk in front of him. “take off your shirt,” he commands, and you’re quick to fling off your top — that was barely covering anything anyways, “wow no bra, why am i not surprised.” he stares at your hardened nipples smirking as he continues to say, “you know i see your nipples peeking at me through your shit all the time in class.”

“really?” you question coyly.

“you don’t think i see how you practically fuck yourself in your seat when i’m doing a reading,” he continues, his arms folding as if he was telling you off, “a bit disrespectful, right?”

“no i-it’s just i really like the sound of your voice,” you stammer, embarrassed at him calling you out. you couldn’t deny that your professor was hot, everybody thought so and you hated school the only thing that got you through your classes was your day dreams of him fucking you.

“oh really, well i wanna see you get off to it for real this time.”

“wha—”

“touch yourself,” he demands with a grin, “fuck yourself on your fingers, put on a show for me,” he loosens his tie, and unbuttons his cuffs, ready to watch you perform for him, “and if you do well, then we could talk about your extra credit.”

you take off your pants, your hands moving directly to your throbbing pussy — since of course you had no panties on. you press your thumb down on your clit as your fingers work their way into your cunt. you were already soaked, just from hearing your professor speak to you, so it was easy to slide your digits in and out of you. 

nanami’s grin grows wider, loving the way your work your pussy,  “you not gonna play with your tits?” and you take his hint, your other hand sliding up to cup one of your boobs, your fingers pinching and pulling at your nipples. “good girl,” he praises.

you add another finger inside of you, writhing down hard on his desk against your digits. you quicken your pace, rubbing your thumb vigorously against your clit. his gaze on you served as an encouragement, your ultimate goal was shifted, at this point you didn’t care whether he passed or failed you — you just wanted to put on a good show for him.

“you gonna cum for me?” he taunts, the sound of your pussy squelching around your fingers as you drive them in is like music to his ears. you barely even noticed him fisting his dick, stroking it hard — matching the pace of your fingers hammers your cunt.  “you gonna make a big mess for me all over my desk?”

“professor i-” you whine, wanting more than just your own fingers inside of you, “please i need—”

“professor? what was it that you called me earlier?” he teases, “remind me of that and then maybe i’ll give you what you’re begging for.”

“s-sir please,” you sputter, barely being able to string a sentence together. you could feel you were about to cum hard. your fingers were still drilling into your pussy, and your hands were still suctioned on your tit and nanami's dick was taunting you. “i need you.”

“you need me hmm?” he mocks, his eyebrow tilting as he stares at your fucked out face.

“yeah p-please i need your dick,” you beg, your pussy was gushing all over your fingers, as your strokes got sloppier, “i need you i-in me.”

“oh really?” he asks with a smirk, a slight chuckle as you nod eagerly, “well too bad.”

“wha—”

“you really thought i’d put my dick in a slutty student that’s not even smart enough to even pass my class?” he lectures, he tuts his teeth, shaking his head, “now finish off for me and leave office hours end in a few minutes.”

“f-fuck,” you moan out, you could barely even process his words, too busy focused on cumming all over your fingers to think about how he just denied you of what you really wanted, your hand falls off your tit, your head jerking back as your release over his desk. he’s quick to cum too, biting down on his fist to surpress the loud moan threatening to come out

“you really made a mess for me huh,” he observes, swiping his fingers across the pool of cum you left on his desk and bringing it into his mouth, “sweet.” you were at a loss for words, you were just coached through one of the best orgasms you ever had from your professor — and he didn’t even touch you — yet you still don’t know whether he’s gonna pass you or not.

“so about that exam…?” you voice trails, as you put back on your shirt, hopping of his desk.

“i’ll think about it, sit the exam first and i’ll see what i can do,” his voice turns serious, and he nods his head in the direction for you to leave indicating for you to get up out of his office. but just before you're about to leave the room he calls out to you, “oi.”

“thanks for the live show.” 

☆ TOJI 

“why do we always have to fuck in such awkward spaces,” you complain nearly tripping on a basketball as toji holds you upright.

“you know you love it baby,” he smirks, pressing a kiss to your cheek, thrusting up into you further. 

you were in the gym supply closet, having your weekly sex with your university's gym teacher. you don’t even know how your little routine came about but once he started to hammer into you every friday after basketball practice, you’ve never missed a meet up.

“don’t call me that,” you groan out at the use of his pet name.

“why not?” he grumbles, cupping your tits with his hands as he stands behind you, “aren’t you students s’pposed to listen to your teachers and all that.”

you take a sharp inhale as his large hands smother your boobs, his thick things toy with your nipples, “but y-you aren’t a real teacher, in case you forgot.”

“am too,” he mutters like a child.

“a-are not,” you spit back just as childishly.

“am, too,” he persists, thrusting into you hard. pushing you down by your nape, forcing your hands to grip onto some random gym apparatus. he uses his foot to spread your legs apart wider so he can fit right behind you. fucking into you with something to prove.

“you teach gym to a bunch of brain dead j-jocks, wouldn’t say that classifies as being an actual professor toji.” you continue riling him up, biting your lip as his hammers into you harder. “you’re more like a glorified personal trainer than a teacher.”

he drives into you deeper, “oh and your just an uppity bitch, who still ended up fucking this ‘personal teacher,’ in a gym closet,” his mouth moves close to your ear, as he whispers, “so what does that say about you baby?” he presses a kiss underneath your ear lobe, before lightly sucking on it.

his words go straight to your core, him calling you an ‘uppity bitch’ had the exact effect he intended them to have — you throwing  your ass on his dick, fucking him back as hard as he was fucking you. 

he sends a smack to your ass, biting his lip as it ripples at the contact of his palm. his slaps were merciless, having you scream out every time he hits your cheek. “how’s this for a glorified personal trainer huh?” he coos in your ear, feeling dignified as you rut against him more feigning for more of his dick in your throbbing pussy. 

“ah you f-fill me up s-so so good,” you mewl out, as his dick pumps in and out of you stuffing you with every thrust. his mouth latches onto the nape of your neck, sucking on it as he ploughs into you deeper, hitting your spot with pinpoint accuracy.

“i know i do baby, i always stuff you good don’t i?” he groans out, your pussy was a vice grip on his dick, had him suppressing his moans whenever you clenched around him, “don’t know why you fuck around with these lame ass boys in your classes, they can’t fuck you like i do. do they?”

“well…” you voice trails in a teasing tone.

“dont f-fucking play with me,” he sputters, feeling himself about to bust all inside of you, “i’m the only one you fucking right,” when he doesn’t hear an immediate answer, he shoves himself into you his hips pushing right against your ass, “right?”

“y-yes fuck, right,” you sigh rolling your eyes at his act of possessiveness — ignoring how you pussy got even wetter at his words. “you’re the b-best i ever had, toji.”

“you’re damn right i am,” he scoffs out giving your ass one final slap as he says, “you going finish all over my dick, c’mon baby coat my dick with your sweet sweet,” and you do just that. you cum with a cry, releasing all over toji, as he shoots into you a loud groan leaving his mouth.

“aww i forgot how loud you get for me,” you tease him as he pulls out of you, turning to look at him with a grin, which he huffs out, “anyways what did i tell you about cumming in me, i'm not one of those cheerleaders you run around with,” you fuss swatting at his chest.

“yeah you aren’t one of the cheerleaders i run around with,” he repeats, “hence why i can cum in you, you know you’re my favourite fuck out of all my students”

“ugh you’re so gross.”

“you say that with my cum running down your legs,” he says, giving you a pointed look, his eyes staring down at your thighs, “i do have another hour till my next class i gotta teach, so i could clean it up for you?” he offers, already going down to his knees, knowing that was a suggestion you would not deny.

“if you insist.”

he starts to suck against your thighs as you lean against the wall, sandwiched between a goal post and a hockey stick, but just before his lips latch onto your pussy, he looks up to you with a pout, “do you really think gym coaches aren’t teachers?”

“oh shut up toji,” you mutter, pushing his head to your cunt.

☆ GETO

you storm into your professors office, pissed off. professor geto was the worst teacher you’ve ever had. he was cocky, arrogant and most of the time he didn’t have a clue what he was teaching. 

“ah miss know it all,” he muses, his personal nickname he created for you during his first semester of being your professor, “to what do i owe the pleasure this time.” you were no stranger to geto’s office, you were practically the only student that actually used his office hours. geto didn’t mind it though. the unplanned visits, your impoliteness — he was amused by it. 

“could you explain why you gave me a B, on my last paper?” you interrogate, waving said essay in his face furiously, “when we both know that this is easily worth an A.”

“i just think you could do better,” he shrugs nonchalantly, “i just think you haven’t harnessed your true potential, that’s all.” geto knew you were smart, the smartest person he’s ever taught. he just needed to get you in his office. and he knew a below average grade on an essay, that didn’t even matter, was the way to do that.

“and what do you know about potential?” you mutter, more to yourself than anything, “i don’t even know how you managed to get this job.”

he rolls his eyes at your comments, “do you really want this A?” 

"of course i want the stupid A," you reply, your tone determined. "i've put in the effort, and i've met all the requirements for this paper. there's no reason for you to give me a B except for your own personal bias against me."

“personal bias? some may argue that you’re actually my favourite?” geto leans back in his chair, a sly grin on his face. "but alright, then. here's the deal," he says, folding his arms. "if you can convince me right now, in this very moment, that you deserve an A for this paper, i'll change your grade. but you'll have to persuade me.”

“persuade you?” you retort, “what you want me to do a powerpoint presentation or something…?” 

he chuckles, shaking his head at your naivety, for someone so smart you somehow lack social awareness, “no i wanna see if you taste as good as you look.”

“you mean…” your voice trails, finally catching on to what he was getting at.

“come lay down on my desk,” he says casually as if this was a usual ordeal between the two of you. he could see you hesitating, “you do want that A right?” 

your feet were stuck in the ground, you never wanted to be one of those girls — ones that had to fuck a teacher just to get through university. but, regardless of your below A grade, you were more curious about what it would actually be like. especially with a professor that looked like geto. 

you lay down on his desk, nervous, you could feel his breath on your stomach as he slides down your jeans. he was kneeling down, his face at the same level as your pussy. he toys with your underwear, pulling at it and snapping it against your skin, giving you a smile of approval in your choice of panties. but just before he pulls them off you he asks, “you sure you want to do it smarty? you can run back to your dorm if you want?”

“anything to get the A,” you grit out, basically lying, since getting your grade improved was the last thing on your mind as he pulls off your underwear. 

he takes his hair — that was usually tied up in bun —  down, releasing his long hair, “just in case you need something to pull on,” he smirks.

his fingers slide across your wet slit, spreading your lips. he presses a kiss on your clit, slightly nibbling on it before working his mouth down to your pussy. you gasp at the contact as he latches his mouth on you, his tongue darting into your cunt at a quick pace. 

geto hums in satisfaction as you hands immediately go to grab his hair, pulling at it as his tongue gives you long strokes, lapping up all the juices already spilling out of you. “i didn’t think my star student would be this needy, if only the class could see you now.” he taunts lifting his head up, “i guess they wouldn’t be surprised though, your as hungry for my tongue as you are to answer questions in class,” he finishes with a chuckle pressing a kiss to your thigh.

but you’re quick to silence him, clenching your thighs against his head, “s-shut up,” you whine, thrusting your hips up in his face to meet his tongue. your head was swirling, you could barely remember how you ended up on your professors desk in the first place. but all you were focused on was clawing your fingers through his scalp as he slurps and sucks on your pussy.

“oh m-my god,” you murmur, soaking his face. he could tell by the way you pushing his face deeper into your cunt, his nose forced into your arousal that you were close.

“ready to let me taste you” he asks, his voice sending vibrations over your pussy, “wanna taste you so fucking bad.”

“fuck d-didn’t think it’ll be this g-good,” you whine out. he brings his thumb to you clit rubbing it as fast as he could taking you over the edge. you moan out, practically squealing, as you squirt all over his face. he smirks, trying to get as much as it as he can.

“i didn’t know my star student could squirt,” he teases, his mouth glistening with evidence of you, “or should i call you my star squirter.”

“haha, very funny…” you deadpan, becoming slightly shy at seeing him lick his lips wiping the last remains of you off of him.

“i guess my theory was right,” he concludes.

“what theory?” you ask, puzzled, forgetting the whole reason you let him eat you out in the first place.

“you do taste as good as you look,” he comments with a pleased grin, already reminiscing about you squirting all over his face.

“so about my A?” you ask pulling up your jeans, and collecting your things.

“yeah i’ll expect your rewrite on my desk by friday,” he shrugs, going back to his nonchalant persona.

“rewrite? did you not promise me an A if i can ‘persuade you,’ at how badly i want it?” you question, going back to your original state of being pissed off, “did i not persuade you mr ‘you do taste as good as you look.’ this is so unfair”

“ask me if i care about fairness?” he smirks, a laugh leaving his lips as he watches you storm out of his office, “hey! you left your underwear,” he calls out behind you, his laugh growing as you say nothing, putting up your middle finger at him and slamming his door shut.

☆ GOJO

“do you want to lose your job?” you chastise, “shut the fuck up.”

“but i can’t help it,” he purrs, nuzzling into your neck to suppress his non stop moans and whines that he was doing as he pushed his dick in you, “your pussy’s just too good.”

you were leaning against the desk of your professor gojo’s lecture hall, your legs wrapped around his bag as he hoisted you up, grinding his body against yours as his dick drives in your pussy. 

it was after hours, and gojo forgot to lock his classroom doors. as soon as your peers left the room he was quick to put his lips on yours, throwing all the stationary on his desk on the floor in the most dramatic fashion ever. 

you don’t know how you got entangled in a relationship with your teacher. since you didn’t actually benefit from it, and he was needier and clingier than an actual student your age. but the mind blowing orgasms he gave you every now and again made you forget all of his ‘bad qualities.’

“c’mon don’t tell me it’s not making you feel wetter,” he murmurs in between kisses, “the idea of someone walking in on me fucking your pretty little pussy.” you ignore him, your arms tightening around his neck as you bounce on his dick. “tell me that doesn’t make you hot,” he eases his dick out of you slightly, drawing both of your attention to his member already covered in your juices. his eyebrows raise when you look back at him as if he’s just proved his point.

“whatever, i guess the idea of us getting caught isn’t that bad,” you lie, knowing it was causing you to get better, “but if we do get caught then it's your ass gojo.”

“aww you’re so thoughtful,” he coos, “you really care about me and my job, will you miss me if i get fired?”

“well i’ll miss my on campus dick,” you mutter, scratching at his back, as he thrusts into you deeper, “but i’ll be able to replace you quickly i guess.”

“oh how you wound me,” he mocks, pulling you into a deep kiss, desperate to taste you. that was gojo’s favourite thing to do to you, of course your pussy was great, but your lips were his favourite thing. sometimes he’d even drag you out of the hallway into his office —not a care in the world if anyone was around— and pull you into his lap just shove his tongue into your mouth and fondle your tits.

for a lousy professor, gojo sure knew your body well. he knew every spot to hit, every place to kiss, every stroke to make and you loved it. the scratches you were giving him on his back, encouraging him to go deeper, stuffing you to the brim. “f-fuckk you take me so so well,” he moans in your ear, whining and grunting as you tighten your hold around him. 

“i’m close,” he mutters, his pace slowing. he lowers you down so your back is laying on the desk and he swoops his mouth down to your tits. enveloping your left breast with his mouth, greedily suckling at it. 

“wow already?” you taunt, “you’ve really lost your touch professor, when i was an undergrad we could go at it for days.” his mouth pauses, as he looks up at you with a pointed look that reads as ‘girl really? as if you aren’t close.’ he wasn’t wrong, from his deep long strokes in your pussy, and his tongue twisting on your nipples, you were ready to cum all over him.

“gojo shit,” you curse, your hand coming down to your clit, flicking at it fast to speed up your orgasm. but gojo slaps your hand away, almost offended that you would try to cum off of something other than his hands and mouth. he bites down on your nipple, punishingly and that sends you overboard. you let out a shriek as you cum all over his dick, your hand quickly coming over your mouth to suppress your whines.

“what happened to being quiet huh?” he mocks your warning from earlier, “don’t want to get caught, do we now?” but he’s quick to let out a deep moan, as he releases into you, spraying your walls with all your cum. he slumps over you, exhausted, and wanting to just feel you — gojo was always needy after sex.

after you both come down from your highs and clean up — thankful that nobody stumbled across you. gojo pulls you into his lap, dabbing kisses all over your neck, “so when you gonna let me take you out, outside the classroom?”

“y’know that’s not allowed right?” you remind him, looking at your professor as if he’s lost his mind, “what we’re doing now isn’t allowed, but out in public is a no go, gojo.”

“not allowed?” he retorts, as if it’s news to him, “i thought it was just heavily frowned upon?!”

an: sooo what did you think? which one was your favourite. me personal lame gym coach toji really did it for me. tagging my girl @jabamin mainly just for nanami. but yes ALSO IDK WHY I MADE THE READER DUMB IN THE NANAMI FIC, but I juxtaposed it by making you super smart in the geto fic so it balances it out. anyways lmk what you thought, thanks for reading!! DONT USE MY DIVIDERS

[kazumist]

COULD IF YOU WOULD .ᐟ

✩ — the two times aventurine referred to you as his "work wife" and the one time he seems to have left out the "work" part.

✩ — includes: aventurine x f!reader. fluff (?), crack. cw: ooc!aventurine probably, very messy and i kinda hate this piece LOL. wc: 820. reblogs are very much appreciated !!

✩ — note: trying to write aventurine as his usual self now and not some delusional hc that i have of him yay! (i went through hell and back writing this just to get the dialogue match his way of speaking.) pretend that the ipc holds company dinners btw 🥹.

you don’t really know how it started. but maybe it’s because your co-workers tease you both too much about how you and aventurine act like an “old married couple” due to your constant banter, or maybe it’s because of aventurine’s (annoying) flirtatious remarks towards you.

however with the constant jokes and all, even aventurine got infected because there’s times when he would refer to you as his “work wife” as well. the first was when you were out at a company dinner. working in the same department with aventurine didn’t really help your… predicament, but for some reason, it wasn’t so bad.

“so how are you two love birds doing?” a co-worker asked, clearly drunk from the way they slurred their words and how red their face was slowly getting. aventurine just laughs at them—casually swinging an arm and resting it on the back of your chair. “my work wife here seems to be doing well, right?” he glances at you, a whiskey glass in hand, as he rotates it with his wrist. he was simply met with a glare in return. people wouldn’t care if you responded anyway because they’re too drunk to even remember this in the morning.

the second time was when you two got stuck in an elevator ride. and the worst part? aventurine purposely pressed at least four floors below your destination on the panel just so he could chat with you. “wouldn’t it be a nice idea to ditch work for today?” he asks, his eyes focused on both of your reflections from the elevator’s doors.

“you’re insane.”

“my dearest work wife, you wound me! i was simply asking you out.”

“no one would ever agree if you asked them in that way.” you refused to make eye contact with him.

“if i asked normally, then where’s the fun in that?”

when the elevator hit the current floor, you made your exit despite the floor not being your destination yet. 

of course, he had called or referred to you as his “work wife” many more times than this. however, as for the third one, it was when you were assigned to work with aventurine to dig up some information in a bar of sorts. a bar is quite a dangerous place in general, but you both had no choice but to split up so work would be faster.

that is, until you started being pestered by some stranger at the bartender’s counter.

no matter how many times you told him to go away (in reality, you really wanted him to go fuck off already), he was just being too persistent. but you couldn’t do anything because it would most definitely cause a scene—and you don’t want that. it was starting to suffocate you, how the stranger kept getting closer.

“dear, who is this?” you knew that voice from anywhere. you looked over to your side and saw aventurine next to you, already wrapping his arm around your waist as he looked at the stranger from head to toe. after telling him that you had no idea, you swore you could’ve seen his jaw clench for a quick second. playing along was mandatory with how the situation is turning now, even if aventurine had to pretend that he was actually your partner (well, technically, he is your partner for this assignment).

“who knew that there was actually someone indecent enough to hit on someone’s wife?” it was weird. you always felt icked by how aventurine kept calling you his “work wife." but this time, it was weird. and you hate it.

because you had a revelation that you liked the fact aventurine called you his wife at this very moment.

aventurine has a way with words. he always does; he knows what to say to rile up someone—to provoke them. it was no surprise that the stranger became another one of aventurine’s victims when it came to his provocative terms. yet, it was all over in a blink of an eye because the guy retreated. (you weren’t able to understand what aventurine specifically said to him, but does it really matter at this point?)

“are you alright?” he asks. 

“yeah. thank you.”

“how about we hit the hay for tonight? i managed to gather some information anyway.”

“agree, i was able to catch some as well.”

“really now? we make a great team, don’t we?”

“don’t let it get to your head, aventurine.”

he chuckles. “i was serious, though.” you look at him, confused. “about…?” aventurine leans to your ear and whispers low: “we could actually get married if you would let me do the honors of asking for your hand.”

thwack!

“ow! hey! i was only kidding! okay maybe i wasn’t but—hey! that actually hurts a lot now!” he yelps as you slap him by the shoulder repeatedly. “you’re insane, i tell you!”

maybe being called aventurine's work wife had its perks after all.

[dabislittlemouse]

“𝐈’𝐥𝐥 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞, 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐦𝐞…”

Part 2 | Dabi x fem!Reader

CW: yandere themes, some mentions of noncon, gaslighting, manipulation, kidnapping, complicated feelings, stockholm syndrome

SYNOPSIS: you are finally saved from the hands of your captor, who was now locked up, far away from you. But to this day, the memory of him still haunts you in your dreams, still so present in your life, still reminding you that you are his girl.

A/N: here the reader finally decides to read Dabi’s letters, we’re taking it slow guys ;)

Part 1 | REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!

Your hands rummaged through the mailbox to grab the letters that were sent from Tartarus. You stared at the envelopes, your chest suddenly feeling tight, for a second you were about to change your mind and throw them away. Though you felt something gnawing inside of you, the guilt and fear of ignoring Dabi, you felt like you were still obliged to him even if he was now locked away, technically out of your life. You must read those letters and you must reply back. You wouldn’t want to anger him would you?

“You know what happens when you make me mad..” Dabi would whisper in your ear, grabbing your wrist tightly. “Don’t get out of my eyesight, I won’t repeat myself twice.”

You vividly remember how that day he had taken you to the shopping mall, wanting to spoil you with nice things since you’d been so good to him lately. Though as you would go through the aisles, staring in awe at the variety of clothes and cute things you could buy, you forgot that you had separated from Dabi, when he had clearly told you not to go too far and wait for him.

“Shall I put ya on a leash and drag you around for you to finally understand?” he scoffed.

“I’m sorry” you mumbled. “I won’t walk away again”

First thing you would always do was apologize of course, because you knew how far Dabi would go. If he said something, he would actually do it. And you didn’t want to be on the receiving end of his heinous acts. You remembered how tense you felt, if you had run away and called for help back then, would someone have helped you?

“No” Dabi’s voice echoed in your head. “They would ignore your pleas, leave you there to die, thinking that some righteous hero will come to save you soon. But they don’t care. This is what society has become, rotten to the core.”

This was what he was fighting against, to burn down the whole system, take down the corrupted heroes, and he would passionately talk about it with you, making you part of his bright future.

You shook your head off the thoughts taking over your mind, and opened the envelopes, grabbing the one of the letters.

“My pretty girl,

wonderin’ what you might be doing right in this moment as I write this. Have you been good? Are you inside your little apartment, watching those favorite TV shows of yours? Or are you outside, going to places that I don’t know of? Meeting new people, having fun and all that? Trying to create a new life after our separation, trying to fit back into society…

I bet you are. I wonder how that is going~

As for me, I am sitting here, losing count of days while being surrounded by these four walls 24/7. Kinda boring to be honest, nothin’ much happenin’ around here. You are all I think of baby, and the remains of your pretty face in my memories. My hands are itching to just grab at it and kiss it just how it deserves to be kissed. I gotta admit, this punishment is much worse than being locked up, it hurts a lot baby. Knowing that all this time you haven’t bothered to check on me once…damn, it really hurts a lot~

You like hurting me though don’t cha? I guess it’s fair, knowing the ways I’ve hurt you and marked your body all over. But you know that it was all out of love, right? That’s how I like to express it, just imagining what a piece of art your body looked like whenever you ended up on my hands baby..

Fuck it- even now as I think about it I’m aching, and your pretty mouth, that soft tongue could be the only solution to my problems~

Do you realise how much I crave you? Physically and mentally, look what you do to me princess. And the more you ignore me, the less that fire goes away. I guess distance strengthens relationships don’t you agree? I wonder how you’ve been feeling lately, do you miss me? Just a little bit? I bet ya do~

I miss you a lot. Terribly. I ain’t good with words so that’s how much I can express it. Y’know I’m mostly a man of actions, words don’t do it for me.

You can ignore me all you want, I won’t stop writing you. I know one day you will be sitting down to read these letters, because I know you feel the same fire inside of you that only I ignited. We are made for each other, you are just meant to be mine, never think otherwise.

Waiting patiently for a letter back. Make sure to put something in your envelope as well. A recent picture of you, your perfume, or maybe something else, y’know it~

Yours only,

Dabi.

For a while you stared into nothingness, only the sound of your heartbeats in your ears. The letter was clutched tightly on your hands.

“Fuck..” you whispered, before letting out a breathy laugh. You continued laughing to yourself, all while your eyes filled with tears. You weren’t sure if those tears were tears of anger, sadness, hopelessness, fear, love, maybe altogether.

You were terrified, that was certain. Terrified that he still hasn’t forgotten about you, nor given up on you. Terrified that he still thought that this fucked up relationship was true love, despite all the suffering you endured. Through all those sentences and words, you could feel as if Dabi was right in front of you, you could even hear his voice reading the letter for you. It’s like he had possessed you, like a demon that took place in your body and mind forever.

“This isn’t love..” you mumbled. “This is not love, this is NOT LOVE!”

You screamed at the letter, throwing it away.

“I hate you!” you finally burst into tears. “Why can’t you leave my life?! Why, why, why?!”

Why do I miss you like this?

Have you become addicted to the hurt and pain? Or maybe the way he would hold you close and kiss you and worship you right after he completely broke you, maybe you got addicted to that. You could only imagine his reaction if he knew what you’re feeling.

“Told ya so” he would say with a cocky smirk on his face and his cerulean eyes glaring at you hungrily. “Me and you are meant to be”

The rest of the letters pretty much held the same content, though the more he wrote, the filthier he got. It was clear that he craved you badly, as he sat there alone in the prison cell. You squeezed your thighs shut, swallowing nervously while your body remembered the feeling of his cock thrusting in and out of you, always hitting that one special spot deep inside of you and making you see stars.

Apart from everything, Dabi was sexually frustrated. Hands just weren’t enough for the job, they could never replace the way your wet cunt wrapped so nicely around his aching cock. He was getting off on memories, every day and every night, bringing back on his mind the ways he would take you, softly or roughly, just as he pleased. He loved the way you screamed and cried and begged for him to stop, he got addicted to it, nothing and nobody else could even get him hard anymore.

“Do you still get wet for me baby?” Dabi wrote in one of the letters. “Do you play with yourself late at night while remembering the way I ate that pretty pussy of yours, slurping every remaining juice, licking that sweet clit.. I almost drool as I think about your flavor, need to quench my thirst so bad. Just need to dive in between those plush thighs of yours and devour you all damn night, until it gets too much and you start crying. And even then I won’t stop, cause y’know hearing you cry just gets me off real nice. Yeah I am sadistic like that, you already know it baby. And yet you like me just the way I am, you always feel that thrill, I can tell by the way your pussy fluttered each time I got my hands and fingers on it, each time I left marks on you, my little painslut”

Dabi was sure he had turned you into his little masochist, he trained you to cum only when he inflicted pain on you, and the pleasure mixing with it sent you over the edge.

You took all the letters and made sure to get rid of them, burning all of them until they were nothing but ashes. Though the words written in them never burned away, they planted themselves deep inside of you, not leaving your mind for the rest of the day. As the days went by, you decided to distract yourself as best as you could. Meeting your old friend, going out for a walk, going shopping, karaoke nights, watching movies, going for a drink, you name it. And yet you couldn’t shake off the feeling of emptiness, that in some fucked up way only that monster could fill. How could you be so terrified of someone and yet so addicted at the same time? You were sure it would pass as time went by, but it never did. Your body still held the memories of the past, the nasty burn marks were there, probably would stay there forever too. For some reason you found comfort at the old memories, at the old feelings, the abuse had become a familiar thing to you, and you wanted familiar. The outside world and its people, no matter how much you tried to fit in, it was all foreign, unfamiliar, you didn’t belong there.

You belonged to him only.

“Face your fears” someone used to say. “Once you bravely face your fears, they won’t haunt you anymore. Make it known that you don’t submit to them anymore, they don’t affect you anymore, they don’t scare you. And it will all go away”

Should you face Dabi? Should you tell him right to his face that things between you and him have ended forever, that you now are living a good life, happy, away from him? Would that be a lie? Yes.

“I don’t like it when you lie to me” Dabi used to say. “I can tell when you’re lying baby.. I hate liars”

***

“Two more weeks” the guard said, not turning to look at the prisoner. “The boss said we are at the last steps of preparation. We will finally get you out of here, sir”

Dabi nodded, exhaling the smoke of cigarette. “I am a patient man”

The guard continued. “One of our men informed me that the girl had called the prison yesterday, asking how the visiting hours worked in here”

Dabi quirked a brow, slowly turning his head towards the guard outside of his door. A grin creeped up his face, his eyes widening in pure thrill. “Is that so? Haa, m’getting excited now, seems like the little angel indeed misses me a lot”

He stood up, heading towards the door and peeking through the small window.

“Let me know as soon as she decides to come and visit. Must look decent in front of ‘er”

The guard chuckled.

“Of course, sir”

🏷️ tags: @hunajan @touyalove @murderous-snail @syrenkitsune @baby-tini

[scaredpigeons]

A debt, recurrent.

A sequel to A debt, repaid.

BSD Ogai Mori x fem!reader

NSFW 18+ MDNI

Authors Note: I had previously skirted around the idea of writing something that directly involved Elise, just because her existence is like— one of the major icky points of this character, but I had a request to do like a nanny!reader x mori, and I was like “how can I do this in cannon universe while making it make sense while also making sure it isn’t gross.” And this is what popped out. In this story, it is implied in this that Mori does not actively use Elise in any sexual activities, even though I have no idea if that’s been confirmed or denied in the manga/show. I just prefer the thought that he hasn’t. Makes me sleep better at night. That being said, I still don’t condone any actions associated with this character/the entire Lolita-loving trope, but being able to interact with things that have caused me trauma in the past in a Safe space makes me very horny happy. and I am so uncomfortably horny for this old man.

Word count: 5k

Synopsis: Mori needs to go to a meeting, and needs someone trustworthy to watch Elise. She chose you, much to your displeasure, and you spend the evening catering to her every whim. Mori returns home to find you in a vulnerable state, and who is he to refuse such a gift?

PLEASE READ WARNINGS BEFORE READING! DARK CONTENT WARNING! READ RESPONSIBLY!

CW: technically non-con somnophilia.(sexual actions while one party is asleep) Reader is into it, even though she tries to deny the fact that she is at first. Mori has very dark and possessive thoughts towards reader, reader doesn’t wake up until Mori is actively (p in v) fucking her. Touching, oral (fem receiving) fingering, very little vaginal prep, creampie, dirty talk. Mild aftercare, though it’s implied that he’s not actually done. ELISE IS NOT INVOLVED IN ANY NSFW CONTEXT, AND IS ACTIVELY TAKEN AWAY AND TUCKED INTO HER OWN BED BEFORE MORI DOES ANYTHING TO READER

You flinched at the sound of the door to the lounge swinging open, and very light footsteps accompanied by heavier, slower ones. 

You were just trying to have lunch with your coworkers, and you certainly weren’t expecting to interact with the boss today, or his… ability.

”hmm…” the little girl seemed to tap her foot in thought, and you kept your head down, though if you looked up and to the side, you could see her shoes in the corner of your vision. You could see his shoes too, standing directly behind her. 

“I want to play with… that one!” She said with a demanding tone that really grated your nerves. It’s not that you disliked children, you just despised spoiled brats, and Elise was notorious for being just so, which was exactly what Mori wanted from her, the sick bastard.

”Are you sure, my dear? That one has a bit of an attitude, I don’t know if she’d make the best playmate for you tonight.” 

Your heart sank into your stomach. There were only two women in the lounge today, yourself and another young recruit who was well known for keeping her nose down and following orders without question. 

Is it too late to throw yourself out a window? You're only on the fourth floor, it should be fine, right? 

“I said I want that one!” The girl, if you can even call her that, stomped her foot with furious impatience. “Did you not tell me I could have whatever I wanted today, Rintaro?” 

The boss of the port mafia sighed, the smile reading through his voice— you could hear it in his tone, though you refused to look up, still staring blankly at your sandwich as if you could disappear into it if you tried hard enough. 

“Yes, that I did, my darling.”

Mori called your name, making everyone in the lounge snap their gaze to you. 

If you weren’t so pissed off, you might’ve felt your cheeks heating up. 

You stood, setting your sandwich to the side as you made your way to stand in front of your boss, back straight and eyes forward. 

“Yes, boss.” 

“Come with me, I have an assignment for you today.” 

The entire walk to his office was silent, save for Elise whining about not wanting to see another tailor for another year. The girl seemed adamant about having enough dresses to last the rest of Mori’s life, and even threatened to cut that life short if he pushed her any further. 

Could she even do that? Could an ability kill its user? You almost hoped she would actually try it. 

When inside Mori’s office, he sat, gesturing for you to take the seat in front of his desk—which was strange, as most of the time his underlings would just stand to receive their orders. 

Elise just wandered off, sitting in the corner with her pencils and paper. 

“I’m going to be out for the rest of the day, well into the evening, and I need you to entertain Elise for me while I’m gone.” 

You knew this was coming, but it still felt like a lead brick was sitting in your stomach. 

“Why can’t you take her with you?” You hissed. 

“I’m going to neutral ground for a very important meeting, where the usage of abilities will be prohibited.” Mori rested his head on his folded hands, his dark eyes flickering between yours, face unreadable. 

“Then why can’t you just send her away?” You said, eyes flitting to the side as you kept your voice low, not wanting her to throw a fit because you were talking shit. “Just… release the ability, or whatever?” 

Mori smiled, his head tilting to the side. He reminded you of a venomous snake. Beautiful to look at, dangerous to let close. 

“It takes a lot of energy to reform her once she’s gone, you know. I have to be at peak condition in case of emergencies. Why else do you think I keep her around, give her a room on my floor of the building, and take her with me wherever I go?” 

Because you’re a fucking pervert. 

“Because you’re sick in the head, Rintaro!” Elise voiced your thoughts aloud, chucking a crayon across the room that smacked your boss directly in the side of his head with an audible thwack. 

Huh. Maybe the kid wasn’t so bad after all. 

He merely smiled, as if he was as happy as he could possibly be. 

“So you see, I need someone to watch over her, someone trustworthy, and entertaining.” He said, looking at you from beneath his long lashes. “And she just so happened to choose you.” 

“You think I know how to keep a kid occupied? I’m probably the least entertaining person on the fucking planet.” You hissed, white knuckling the arms of the chair. 

“I don't know,” he said, voice low and teasing. “I find you very entertaining.”

You certainly felt your face warm that time, and you couldn’t necessarily blame it on anger. You were pissed, sure, but it couldn’t be that hard, could it? 

“Fine.” You said, crossing your arms across your chest. “But you owe me.” 

He raises a sleek brow at you, as if surprised by your words. 

“I owe you?” He said, voice light and airy. Deceptive, poised. Ready to strike. “What makes you say that? Am I not your employer? Do you not take your orders from me, from those above you in rank, little one?” 

“Babysitting isn’t in my fuckin’ job description, asshole.” You hissed, somehow not afraid of the consequences. “So you owe me one.” 

What, do you think he’ll give you special treatment because you let him fuck you? 

Surprisingly, that almost seemed to be the case, as he merely relaxed back into his chair and smiled, his tired eyes roaming your body without a care in the world, as if you weren’t paying attention. 

“Very well. If I’m satisfied with Elises care, I’ll owe you one.” He said. 

Suddenly, his eyes turned very dark, his smile a tad more menacing. A snake in the grass, showing its colors. 

“However, if she is displeased with your performance, I’ll have to implement some kind of corrective action, yes?” 

You glanced off to the side, looking at where Elise was sat, scribbling on the paper in front of her like it wronged her somehow. 

“Deal.” You said. 

How hard can it be?

————————————

Mori must've said something to the staff on his level, because once he left, Elise dragged you to a floor of the base that you’d only ever been to once before, and all the guards simply ignored your presence entirely. 

They opened doors for you and the girl, closing them behind you, but otherwise there was no acknowledgment that you might’ve been somewhere you weren’t supposed to be. Completely unlike the last time you snuck in here, having to wait until the guards were switching shifts to sneak in unnoticed. 

Elise was bratty, demanding, borderline unbearable. But you squared your shoulders and muscled through, just like you would any other job. 

After dragging you around aimlessly for what felt like hours— she wanted a tea party, but you had to follow the dress code to enter, as per her rules. Which means you had to drag her all the way down to your apartment so you could bring that stupid fucking dress you’d bought upstairs, changing into it in one of the many bathrooms lining the halls. 

Elise seemed satisfied though, and spent time putting little clips and bows in your hair, lining your wrists with bracelets and your neck with a couple little necklaces. 

She requested sweets, and real tea, though you weren’t entirely sure if you brewed it properly, but she didn’t complain, only sipped it from her pink tea set and poured her gigantic teddy bear another cup. 

“Do you really have to keep up the act even when he’s gone?” You asked, though you kept your voice small, as not to offend her. 

“I am what he desires me to be.” She simply said, eyes closed, prim and proper as she sipped her tea, like a little girl pretending to be a princess. 

“Were you always like this?” You asked, cringing a little. 

“No.” She said, huffing. “People change, but Rintaro’s always had a few screws loose, so it only makes sense.” Hearing her speak such words in such a tiny little voice almost made you giggle. 

”I suppose he’s lucky he has you, or he’d probably be in prison.” You rolled your eyes, then realized what you said, finally laughing a bit. “You know, for things besides being the boss of the port mafia.”

To your surprise, she let out a snort, sitting down her teacup as she giggled a bit. 

“I’d like to see him locked up.” She said, “He wouldn’t last a day in there without me!” 

That made you snort too, picturing your boss without all the luxuries of his rank was certainly amusing. 

Your sick curiosity got the better of you, and you weren’t sure if she would answer, but you really wanted a reason to hate Mori, to get over the strange, twisted feelings that had been brewing in the pit of your stomach, so you tried to ask anyway. 

“Has he ever…” 

Her eyes thinned, and it didn’t look entirely like anger, but she certainly wasn’t giggling anymore. 

“If your ability conjured the perfect knife to cut up strawberries for cake, would you turn around and try to use it to brush your hair?” She asked.

Your brow furrowed, trying to wrap your head around what she was saying. 

She rolled her eyes, scoffing at your confusion. “I am a weapon. Whatever form I take is irrelevant to my use. You would want your knife to suit your own personal ideals, would you not?” 

She didn’t outright answer the question, but you think you get the point. Considering your strange and mixed feelings towards your boss, it's probably best if the answer to that question remains an inferred ‘no.’ 

Such complex thoughts coming from such a tiny looking girl kind of made you laugh again though. 

“Enough talking!” She suddenly stood up, stomping her foot. “I want to watch a movie!” 

It turns out, she didn't want to watch a movie in her own room, or the living room, but instead demanded that you watch the movie with her in Mori’s room, which apparently had the “big big TV.” 

The sun was setting, and you were exhausted from following her every whim all afternoon and evening, so instead of getting flustered and trying to convince her the living room was a better idea, you just gave up, stripping off that stupid dress and chunky jewelry and crawling into the bed with her in your shorts and undershirt. 

You felt embarrassed crawling into his bed after what you’d done here weeks ago, but the sheets were different, and the blankets smelled fresh, so you could delude yourself into thinking it was an entirely different bed. 

She picked Spirited Away, saying she liked the ‘no face guy’, and how hungry he was. She giggled and said that the parents deserved to get turned into gross pigs for being so stupid in the first place, and that might’ve disturbed you if you weren’t so tired. 

The last thing you remember is the feeling of Elises head falling on your shoulder, and wondering what you did to get on her good side. She’s a nightmare. She actively terrorizes the other members of the Port mafia just for her own amusement, and she’s just falling asleep on your shoulder? Do abilities even need sleep? But sure enough, her breathing was even, and her eyes were closed. 

You smiled, realizing you can’t have done too shitty of a job if she was so relaxed. 

———————————

When Mori peeks his head into Elise’s room and doesn’t see her sleeping form in her frilly pink bed, he worries a little. 

Not much, maybe mostly for you, in fear that she’d have you strung upside down and dangling from the roof somewhere in some midnight game to amuse her, but he’d told her to behave, so he hoped all was well. 

Mori thought that perhaps he should get out of this ridiculous suit and change before he goes looking for Elise, that meeting had been far too stifling, so he at least needs to hang up his jackets and get more comfortable before he can go on any longer. 

When he steps into his room, the first thing he notices is that his TV is on, its large screen illuminated with the ending credits of some cartoon, and then he looks into his bed, and his heart stops. 

Elise is cuddled up right next to you, snuggled in with your arm wrapping comfortably around her little waist as you both sleep peacefully beneath his luxurious blankets. 

The soft part of him wants to coo and take pictures to torment Elise with later. Another darker, more urgent part of him is eyeing you, your tiny, tiny shirt riding up your waist, your hair sprawled out on his pillows, a few stray bow clips still caught within, your arm around such a treasured piece of him— like you valued it just as much as he did. 

He eyes that frilly little number you wore for him those few weeks prior, just sprawled out, lying on his floor; and surmises that Elise must have demanded some kind of dress up game, the little tease. She probably did it just to annoy you, not thinking you’d actually have something to suit her criteria. 

He rounds to the side of the bed that Elise is on, carefully and slowly prying her from your hold. He very gently takes her down the halls to her own room, tucking her into bed. Any other night, he might have stayed, maybe woken her up to talk with her about her day, tease her a little about how good she must’ve been today, but he had far more pressing things to focus on, like the little one he’d left still sleeping away in his bed. 

After all, if you’d done a good enough job that Elise fell asleep comfortably in your arms, then he owed you one, didn’t he? 

Keeping his steps light, he made his way back to his bedroom, standing at the side of the bed to observe you once more. 

Your brow was soft, face passive and serene, so unlike your waking moments where all you seemed to do was stare ahead with that tortured look on your face— like you hated everything and everyone around you. 

How he craved to see you lost in yourself again, falling apart at his touch and untroubled by the burdens of your life. Having that kind of power over you sends his mind reeling, and ever since that last evening in this very room— his fingertips twitched at the mere mention of your name. 

The crushing desire to claim, to take and mold you into a perfect little doll, just for him— it was overwhelming.

But he resisted.

After all, it was that fiery spark that drew him to you in the first place. If he were to break you of it completely, that would ruin the entire appeal. 

Perhaps just in these private moments then, he’ll train you to let go slowly, but give you enough leash that you may still keep that delicious fight in you.

He saw the way your eyes trailed over him whenever he was in your presence, no doubt remembering the way he pulled you apart and pieced you back together over and over again that night. He knew you hadn’t been going to any of your little friends anymore, your evenings spent alone in your apartment, or so his people tell him. You still wanted him, that much was evident. 

So surely you wouldn’t mind if he helped himself? You seemed to be begging for it, placing yourself so sweetly on this silver platter of silk sheets, sweet and ripe for his taking. 

He removed his jackets and scarf, setting them on the desk chair before unbuttoning his dress shirt and crawling slowly into the bed behind you. 

You stirred slightly, making him pause, but you simply rolled onto your back, hand twitching against his pillow. 

“Heavy sleeper?” He whispered, a grin spreading like a wildfire in a dry field. “Or did my little darling just tire you out?” 

He lay on his side, still observing you like a hawk, watching for any change of breath or movements that may indicate your return to consciousness. 

He allowed himself to indulge a bit, dragging a fingertip up the soft skin of your stomach, raising your little shirt even further until it was tucked underneath your perfect breasts. He swirled the pad of his index finger along the center of your torso, watching the goosebumps raise as he circled around your navel softly. 

He dipped lower, toying with the hemline of those itty bitty shorts you were wearing, the spandex clinging to your form deliciously. 

He pushed the blankets down just a bit further, below your knees, not wanting the change in temperature to startle you awake if he removed it completely. 

He watched your eyebrows twitch ever so slightly as he ran his fingertips along your covered core, just a tease of a touch, simply for his own amusement. 

Then he pressed a bit harder, enjoying the little groan you let out. 

“Even in your sleep, you’re still so responsive.” He whispered, licking his lips. 

He brought his hand up to toy with the hemline of those shorts again, watching your stomach dip at the touch of his fingers slipping beneath. 

“I wonder if you’ll let me slip these off, hmm?” 

He slowly rose to kneel beside you, hooking his fingers into the sides of the spandex, shimmying them down slightly to gauge your reaction. 

You were as still as stone, breaths even and eyes closed, save the occasional twitch of your fingers. 

“So good for me,” he mused. 

He continued sliding them down your thighs, exposing you fully as he realized— much to his satisfaction— that you wore no panties underneath. 

He grinned at the slight glisten to your folds, stopping the pull of your shorts right above your knees to admire the sight for a moment. 

Still, you slept, completely unaware and unbothered. He slipped your legs free from the blankets, fairly certain that he could be a little less cautious than before, and pulled your shorts off completely. 

He sat your legs back down, a little more spread than before, and kneeled between them to admire you closer. He ran his hands up your delicious thighs, loving the way your skin prickled as he went. 

He saw the way your nipples perked beneath your shirt, smirking to himself as he pushed the little scrap of fabric further up your chest, exposing your breasts to him completely. 

“A little cold, are we darling?” He whispered, running a finger along one pert nipple. 

As much as he desired to toy with your breasts a bit further, he did not know how long this glorious window of uninterrupted play would last, and wanted to enjoy himself to the fullest while he was able. 

Pushing your thighs to spread completely for him, he laid down on his stomach to watch up close as he spread your folds, using his thumbs to pull you apart and gaze at the glistening treasure you kept so guarded from him. 

He gingerly lapped a firm strike from bottom to top, eyes watching your face for any changes as he savored your taste. 

“You taste just as delectable as I remember, little one.” He whispered against your clit, flicking it with the tip of his tongue and enjoying the sleepy little whines that poured from your throat, still lost in the throes of slumber. 

He indulged himself further, licking and suckling along your core and pressing his tongue shallowly into your little hole until you were absolutely dripping for him, his cock twitching at the way you whined softly in your sleep. 

He removed his gloves and tossed them aside, gingerly easing an index finger into your waiting hole, your juices easing the slide. 

In your sleep, you were so soft, so pliant. Your walls gave a little clench at the intrusion, but he was very amused at how unrestrained you were. He added a second finger, marveling at how easily they slid in, your walls so accommodating, so plush. 

“You know, darling,” he whispered, pulling back to kneel up and work his belt open, uncaring of the wetness along his fingers. “Like this, I don’t even think I need to work you open for me.” 

Unbuttoning his pants, he finally pulled his aching cock free of its confines, having been neglected from the very beginning in favor of the mental satisfaction of such activities. 

“I think you could take me just like this,” he said, stroking himself as he watched your chest rise and fall, unfettered, head resting beautifully on his pillows. 

He pulled a spare pillow from the opposite side of the bed, gently pulling up your lower half to place it under your ass, hoisting you up to a proper height. 

You squirmed, mumbled a bit as your eyes rolled beneath their lids, your hands twitching and thighs shifting. 

He paused for a moment, almost worried you’d wake before he got to the best part, but it really didn’t matter when you woke up, you’d be taking his cock so sweetly for him either way.

After you settled back down, he thumbed over your clit once more, enjoying the way your sex clenched and glistened for him. Stroking himself a moment longer, he finally gave in and leaned forward, rubbing the head of his cock along your folds, reveling in the way your wetness coated him. 

With one hand supporting himself in the bed beside your waist, and the other guiding his cock, he finally, finally pushed against your entrance, groaning at the warmth parting so deliciously for him, wrapping him in your hot and pliant embrace. 

He was right, your walls graciously sucked him in, still snug, but the lack of preparation didn’t seem to matter. As he pushed further into your welcoming softness, he shifted, placing his hands beside your head to lean down and press open mouth kisses along your neck, sucking marks in plain sight, where everyone could see. 

He wanted to own you. He technically did— given his rank compared to yours, but he wanted more. He wanted to consume you entirely. 

He didn’t care anymore, in fact, he wanted you to wake now, to wake to the feeling of him inside you, fucking into you like you were his to do with as he pleased. 

With a rough snap of his hips and a nibble beneath your ear, he finally pushed in fully, his hips slapping against yours. 

You gasped, eyes finally popping open as your head rose from the pillow, a rough moan ripping from your throat as he started a rough and steady pace. 

“There she is,” he groaned in your ear. “How nice of you to finally join us.” 

Your walls clenched tight around him, your eyes wide as you pressed against his shoulders in a half hearted attempt to push him away. 

“B-boss?!” You stuttered, your brow furrowing in confusion, in worry. “What are you— Mori!” 

You moaned as he grabbed your thighs, pressing them into your chest as he threw your calves over his shoulders. The motion left your little white socked feet dangling uselessly behind his head as he brutally angled each thrust against your g-spot. 

Your hands moved to grip at the loose shirt hanging by his collarbones, fingernails digging in but not hitting his pale skin. He almost wanted to shift positions to remove his shirt, maybe let you rake those blunt nails down his back so he too could wear marks of this moment. 

But the way your eyes rolled back and you pushed your head to the side was too good, it was like you were trying to hide from him, hide how much you loved this. 

“Where are you trying to run, little darling?” He breathed, a wicked smile ghosting along your cheek as you flinched, biting back moans that made your lips bruise. 

“I… why are you—“ you couldn’t form proper words, let alone a sentence, and he shuddered at how far gone you already were, your mind still blurry from your slumber, body reacting to him so beautifully. 

“You were so pretty in my bed, laid out for me like a little treat.” He bit at the sensitive flesh of your throat, groaning when you squeezed around him. “I simply am just taking a bite of what’s mine.” 

You cried out at that, squirming under him as he felt your walls twitch and tremble, your slick forming a ring around the base of his cock, the filthy, slick sounds making his head spin. 

“That’s what you are, isn’t it?” He said, bringing a hand to your face to force you to look up at him, your big doe eyes wide and wet with unshed tears. “That's what you desire to be? Mine?” 

You bit your lip, and he could feel you tense, trying to stave off your orgasm, as if he would ever not succeed in making you cum. 

“Say it,” he hissed, thumbing your bottom lip from between your teeth. “Tell me what you are, hmm?” 

His hips continued to slam into you, and he could feel himself nearing his own limit, but he knew you were right there— right at the precipice. 

You were so stubborn, and oh how he loved that about you. How he throbbed when you shook your head, refusing to speak even though you clung so tightly to him, even though he could feel your walls pulsing with the need to release. 

“Tell me.” He nearly growled, his pace never faltering despite the burn of his own orgasm being held back. “Who do you belong to?” 

You looked like you were going to deny him once more, but he saw that sparkle of need in your eyes, so he wrapped his hand around your throat, applying delicious pressure at the sides, restricting the blood flow to your pretty little head. 

He was reminded of how small you were like this. How easy it would be to snap your little neck if you were an adversary. Instead he was delighted when your eyes rolled back once more as he growled down at you. 

“Who do you belong to?” 

He released his hold, and you gasped as your walls fluttered, your release crashing into you like a train, moaning and babbling up at him in your pleasure. 

“Mori! I’m yours! I’m yours— I wanna be yours, I wanna belong to you—!” 

He groaned, letting himself go as you continued your babbling, feeling his cock twitch against your still fluttering walls, the pressure of you squeezing him so tightly was almost unbearable. 

“That’s it,” he moaned. “Mine, all mine.” 

He felt himself tip over the edge and leaned down to bite at your throat again. 

“Now take what I give you, take it all.” 

You cried out as he spilled into you, his hips finally stuttering with each pulse of his hot cum into your cunt. You gripped him tightly, keening as he panted in your ear. 

When he was finally done, you fell back, arms spread wide as you stared lazily up at the ceiling. 

“Did you enjoy your evening?” He grinned, pulling his softening cock from your leaking core, enjoying the way a little dollop of his cum oozed at your entrance. 

“You’re a fucking asshole.” You groaned, throwing an arm over your face. 

He tucked himself back into his pants as he chuckled. 

“After all that you still have the energy to be so acrimonious?” He teased, getting up to retrieve a cloth from the en suite. 

“You’d be pissed off too if someone woke you up by shoving their cock in you!” You shouted from your place on the bed, clearly spoiled rotten from the last time he fucked you, knowing full well that he intends to clean you up before letting you sleep. 

He rolled his eyes to the side as he made his way back to you, waving his hand dismissively to tease you. “I wouldn’t be pissed, per se. Perhaps a bit startled, maybe murderous, maybe indulgent. Depends on how nice the cock is.” 

He grinned as he watched you get flustered, tugging your shirt down and crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Salacious, depraved, idiot old man.” You grumbled, and he laughed. 

“Are you saying you didn’t enjoy yourself, little one?” he leaned down to wipe the sweat and juices between your thighs, and watched with keen eyes as you relaxed, letting his cum pool out of you and onto the waiting cloth. 

His spent cock twitched in interest, and he flashed his eyes back to your face, gauging your reactions. 

You were red, still indignantly looking at the ceiling as he cleaned you up. 

“I’m not saying that, don’t put words in my mouth.” You said, pouting like a spoiled rotten child.

Oh, how he enjoyed you. He was going to soak in every second of your time. He wouldn’t let you run away again and pretend like this wasn’t happening, like you didn’t want him. No, you were stuck this time. 

His cock swelled again, watching you grumble and pout. 

“You’re right, darling.” He said, pulling away to undo his pants once more, reveling in the way you chewed on your swollen lips, your thighs clenching together. “I have better things I can put in your mouth.” 

—————————————————

[latimeria-fell-from-heaven]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐘

# day 1 — dp 1 hole.

s. having the attention of two of liyue's strongest women isn't so bad when they keep you as their pretty pet.

cw. fem!reader, sub!reader, dp 1 hole, threesome, squirting, pegging, use of strap-ons, cervical stimulation, overstimulation, multiple rounds & dirty talk.

wc. 2154

You’d never really enjoyed attending the high-end parties that were hosted in Yujing Terrace, seeing as how a good majority of them were held for business reasons. Those were the absolute worst, with the suffocating stiffness drowning out any possibility of having any real fun. Thankfully, tonight’s party had been one of the rare occasions where no one was concerned about the other's so-called “status” and the mood was a lot more livelier. Even the normally stuck-up elites seemed to be more relaxed, though you suspect it’s because of the plentiful amount of champagne they’d indulged in.

Beidou hadn’t taken her eyes off of you the entire night ever since she’d seen you wearing that beautifully exquisite dress which perfectly accentuated your body in all the right ways. It was a gift from Ningguang, and an expensive one at that, so it’d be a waste to not show off. You’d seen her watching you with playful smirks and sending winks your way, to which you gave her your best coy smile and pretty flutter of your eyes.

Beidou always likes it when you tease her back. It always gets her all riled up, and you quite like it when your pretty little smiles get the captain all hot and bothered. It makes everything so much more fun.

Nigguang was much more subtle than the captain, her methods far more sneaky and sensual, but just as exciting and fun. When everyone was too busy enjoying themselves and chatting up a storm, she appeared by your side, sporting her usual sultry smile. Her voice is like a siren song, gloved fingers gliding along your shoulder as she whispers about how badly she wants to take you, how she wants to utterly ruin her sweet little toy, and so many other intoxicating words that make your head woozy with need. And just as quickly as she arrived, she left your side, only giving you another smile as she sauntered off.

Ningguang always likes it when you react so nicely to her sultry words. Knowing that you’d be stewing in your arousal with no relief until she provides it, gives the Tianquan quite the tantalizing thrill.

And of course, they cornered you when you’d least suspected it, exchanging knowing looks while they murmured sinful words and caressed you with enticing touches as they ushered you away so they could act on their intentions—

Beidou is under you now, barely moving, lazily grinning as she watches you quiver rapidly. You’d just let out a shrill cry, eyes now puffy with fat tears staining your cheeks as you so desperately tried to accommodate both of their sizes in your cunt. The strap-on that Beidou sports is thick, heavy, and brushed up against your g-spot without any effort; and Ningguang’s is long, slender, and a little too curved in a way that meant she hit your cervix each time.

“Hey, you gotta keep your voice down sweetheart,” Beidou chuckles heartily, giving your thigh a firm squeeze. “Don’t want anyone hearing ya and walking in on us.”

She’s right, as the party is still technically going on outside. Just barely above the loud buzzing in your ears, you can hear the clamor of the crowd and flowing music. But you could care less about the crowd outside and any potential intrusions on your sweet little afterparty. All that is on your mind is Beidou and Ningguang, and being their pretty little toy.

“M’sorry, f-forgive me…” Despite your timid plea, you were bursting with joy—you were just so happy to have your cunt filled to the brim—as evidenced by the woozy grin on your face.

“Oh my, you’re such a needy little whore aren’t you?” Ningguang croons, amused at the way you unconsciously grind your hips against their shafts, and she even thrusts into you—and oh, does she love how you moan when she does. “A shame I couldn’t arrange a punishment for you. But I’m sure that a toy like you would enjoy it.”

Beidou snorts so loudly that you jump in surprise—and you squeak in reaction to the movement of the two lengths that slide in just a bit deeper.

“Ugh, always on about punishments and whatnot. If you’re always doing that kind of crap, then it just gets boring after a while.”

“You’re one to complain, Captain Beidou.” The aforementioned woman rolls her eyes hard at the use of her title.”Don’t think I haven’t forgotten all of those times you would fuck (name) relentlessly just because some of your crew had flirted with her. Or when you’d done it in a public place. Such insolence.”

“You’re no fun at all, Tianquan. You sometimes gotta live a little.” Beidou huffed. Ningguang just smiled at her. “Besides, (name) enjoyed it, pretty girl even begged for me to do it again.”

“Did she now?” Her attention is back on you and you can feel the smirk growing on her lips before she hums. “As expected of our sweet pet, she even enjoys it in public, of all places. I suppose I’ll keep that in mind for later.”

“Make sure to invite me. I might get a bit jealous if you hog her the whole time.” Ningguang just snorts in response.

Having paid little attention to their quarrel (they’d always go back and forth like this even when you weren’t involved), you’re far too focused on rolling your hips, testing your body’s readiness for what is to come. It doesn’t matter that your cunt is still aching a bit—you need to be fucked like the little slut you are.

“Oh? Want us to move now?” The pirate beneath you raises her eyebrows, lips upturned with mirth.

“Y-yes, please move, I want it s’badly..”

And move they do. Their movements are a bit awkward, what with how they're positioned and how you try to grind against both lengths simultaneously, but they seem to get the hang of it. With your clit smooshed up against Beidou’s groin, the friction gets you even wetter, allowing the two women’s movements to be smoother. You can’t see what kind of face Ningguang is making, with how she pushes into you deep, deep enough for the slender tip to be giving your cervix little love pecks; and Beidou has a good view to watch your pussy swallow up her strap-on greedily, grinning at how soaked you are.

“Can’t believe you’re taking us so well. It’s like you were made for us,” she marvels, delivering the compliment with a playful squeeze of your thigh—she knows that your thighs were a weak point and had no qualms about teasing you just for you to whimper and jolt from sensitivity. She enjoys your yelps, loving the pleasured faces you make with hardly any shame. “You’re so wet. You must’ve really wanted us that badly huh?”

You blink back tears and nod fervently. Your panties were practically drenched by the time the two women had dragged you away. “M-mhmm, I wanted you s’much, felt like I’d die if you didn’t fuck me.♡”

And it’s the truth; if they hadn’t whisked you away when they did, you might’ve really died from how aroused and pent-up they’d left you. You know, that might’ve been a bit of an exaggeration on your part, but it was really hard to keep a straight face while you were dripping enough arousal that it had already begun to drip down your legs. And of course, Beidou responds positively like she always does, grinning her usual wide smile, though much sexier (if that was even really possible, she was already super sexy as is).

“You’re so cute, y’know that? You’re such a doll. Makes me wanna fuck you senseless until you can’t walk anymore,” she tells you, looking as if she wants to kiss you because you’re such a cutie. You do her the favor and sloppily kiss her yourself, having to lower the weight of your trembling body on hers. She doesn’t seem to mind, with her hums of amusement vibrating into your mouth as she dominates the kiss.

Beidou was always more fond of kissing than Ningguang, claiming that you were simply too cute for her to resist and she really couldn’t help herself. Not that Ningguang was one to indulge in such an intimate action, but when she did kiss you, it was the best feeling in the world. Kissing her was a very special privilege if you’d been especially good for her and she was feeling rather generous.

But it’s a bit hard to focus on the kiss when Ningguang pushes forward with a particularly deep thrust, and you have to break away so you can gasp and moan. Sometimes she gets a bit irked if you pay more attention to Beidou than her (no, no, not jealous, that’s not the correct word even if it’s kind of the truth), so she just angles herself to bully all your sweet spots—because she knows that you’ll be a goner if she keeps grazing your cervix.

Ningguang presses a kiss on the small of your back as she presses her entire upper body on top of you. This position seems to be a bit easier for her, especially on her back. The insides of your cunt are going crazy; squeezing, fluttering about from the pleasurable assault on your body—their shafts are compressed tightly in your walls and pressed snugly together. It’s so good, it’s too good..!♡

“Bei..dou, Ninggu—f-feelsh so good, wanna..” You wanna cum so badly. Even if they hadn’t fucked you for too long, you can’t help yourself in begging for release like the needy toy you are. The begging was also required since Ningguang wouldn’t be too pleased if you came before she said so. “Please, m’so full, s’so good…”

“It's alright.” Ningguang’s voice is a honey-sweet melody against your ear, arms wrapped tight around you as if you’re her stability. “You’ve been good for us today.”

And, like the well-trained dog you come off like, you finally cum, and it hits you hard. Your release gushes out from you violently, drenching Beidou’s abdomen and soaking into the bedsheets below. Consequently, you end up collapsing back down for good, tugging Ningguang’s shaft forward with you. You’d been so pent-up from tonight’s earlier events; the anticipation of getting your cunt fucked how it was meant to be having done absolute wonders for you. Even if you had rubbed your thighs together or taken a sip of cold water, none of it did anything to soothe the aching heat of your needy pussy.

But despite your intense orgasm, neither woman slows their movements; they move harder, burying themselves so deep that it doesn’t seem healthy but sure as hell feels good. With your hypersensitivity, the pleasure feels so good that it hurts. And yet you want more.

“You may be done. We’re not.” And Ningguang? She leans up, and nips at the side of your neck. It was pretty typical for Beidou to bite your shoulder when she was getting really into it, but when Ningguang bites, it stings, like the whole point was to hurt. At least it snaps you out of your stupor—you gasp, moan, beg for more (oh they both really like it when you act so needy for them like the dumb whore you are), and do whatever you can to satisfy them. Grind down into Beidou, wiggle your hips to make Ningguang go harder, and show them how good of a pretty little toy you can be for them. Overstimulation and exhaustion be damned; you were getting fucked regardless.

"Little.. more..." Ningguang gasps, and in response Beidou seizes your hips—and if she was adamant about shaping your pussy into her shape before, then now she’s engraving Ningguang’s into your walls as well. She's picking you up, pushing you down, treating you more like a hole to fuck rather than a person as her head is thrown back, and Ningguang buries her face into your neck, moans becoming breathier with a hitch and—

“Fuck, you’re so tight, better not pass out—”

You wouldn’t dare; neither one of them would allow you to just drop out when you were just getting started. You know, on the off-chance that Beidou's thrusting or all that dirty talk or the reminders of how filthy a girl you are for fucking two of Liyue's most renowned women isn’t enough to have set you off already.

Both women groaned in satisfaction, finally pumping their hips, hard, sharp thrusts to make you come for them and finish themselves. When you're freed from the kiss, Beidou looks relaxed. At ease.

They both still, panting heavily as they sink down bonelessly, soaking in the afterglow of the intense session. The air is filled with heavy gasps, faint moans, and whimpers (though most of the noise is courtesy of you).

After a while, Beidou speaks up.

“So, how ‘bout another round?”

🏷. @lakeside-paradise @sakurakiko @arissecretstash

© latimeriafellfromheaven

[whydoeseveryonewanttobangchan]

🌜 Sweetheart, having a big nose isn’t a bad thing. In fact, most people prefer it… 🌛

✎ Pairing: Chan x fem!reader

✎ Genre: Fluffy smut / smutty fluff

✎ Summary: Chan feels insecure after commenters discuss his nose. You show him the benefits.

✎ CW: Oral sex, face riding, established relationship, body insecurities.

✎ Word count: 1,542

❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥

Pop pop pop pop ping!

The tiny noises coming from your phone indicate that you’ve won another level of ball crusher, or whatever it’s called. The game you obsess about this week after being accosted by ads and finally giving in.

Chan’s doing a livestream, leaving you alone in his room looking for ways to pass the time. You watched the first half of his live, but tried to distract yourself in other ways once it got a little boring.

You’ve stared at the ceiling, laid on your side to observe the posters on his walls, and finally settled on your stomach, facing the end of the bed and supporting yourself with your elbows.

Pop pop pop pop waahhh!

Welp, you lost this round. You don’t have time to restart because the bedroom doorknob twists and the door swings open forcefully, revealing your boyfriend’s large frame in the doorway.

“Hey,” he says, taking a few steps into the room and shutting the door behind him. He shuffles over and sits at the end of the bed. You can tell he seems down.

“Hey, honey, what’s up?” you ask, shifting your weight so you can reach up and rub his back.

“It’s nothing. I mean, it’s not but…” he trails off, but you give him the time he needs to express his thoughts. Then he sighs before he speaks again.

“It’s my nose.”

“Your nose?”

“Yeah, a lot of people pointed out how big it is, and they’re not wrong. It is big,” he says. “But sometimes… I don’t know. Just something that hits me every now and then.”

“Baby, your nose is perfect,” you reassure and push your body up to sit next to him. “It suits your face and it’s proportionate and honestly… it’s just a really great nose, Channie.”

He chuckles, but still seems stuck in his head. He’s staring down at his hands clasped together between his legs.

“Of course you would say that, you’re you,” he replies. “And your nose is so small and so cute.”

He reaches out and boops the tip of your nose, and you catch his long fingers in yours.

“Small doesn’t equal good,” you say, changing your grip to hold his hand. “Sweetheart, having a big nose isn’t a bad thing. In fact, most people prefer it.”

“No they don’t,” he protests. “It’s fine if you like my nose, but you don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not lying! You’re not thinking of the benefits, look,” you say, lifting your other hand to his perfect face, running your thumb over his chin and cheeks and nose. He was sculpted by gods, you’re sure of it.

“There’s more surface area on your face for me to touch, so technically more to love,” you argue as you caress his face, leaning in to give him a quick peck on his nose.

“And when we kiss…” you continue, tilting your head to the side to better access his full lips, “we can rub noses a little bit, which is so sweet and nice.”

You kiss him deeply, holding his head with your thumb just under his ear, fingers buried in his thick hair. He kisses you back, but the rest of him is still.

You pull back and slowly turn your head left and right, brushing your noses together. You see a soft smile form on his lips and he lightly squeezes your hand that’s still holding his.

“You’re sweet, but…” he starts, but you interrupt.

“Excuse me, I wasn’t finished.”

His eyes widen and the corners of his lips pull up into a smirk before he replies, “Oh, yes, of course. Sorry ma’am, please go ahead.”

“Thank you,” you say. “Rude ass mother…”

“What was that?” Chan asks playfully.

“Nothing, nevermind,” you reply with a wink. “But as I was saying before I was interrupted, noses are also great to ride.”

“Ride?”

“Yes, ride.”

“Oh, really? Is that so?”

“Mhm, it’s true,” you answer, using your thumb to rub the back of his hand in your lap. “Having a big nose is like having a bike seat cushion with, like, uhhhh… a bump? Like a nice, hard bump.”

Your beautiful boyfriend’s eyes narrow at you, and he tilts his head to the side.

“But why would you want a bump on your seat?” he asks, trying his best to feign ignorance — even though he let go of your hand and started rubbing your thigh slowly, teasingly.

“Well, because bumps can feel good when they’re pushing on the right spot, does that make sense?” you say.

“Hmmm, not really. Could you maybe show me? Just for informational purposes,” he reassures, dipping his hand further down to feel the warmth between your inner thighs.

“Yes, of course. For research.”

In one quick motion, he rotates his torso and pushes your shoulders down onto the bed. His mouth eagerly meets yours and he tastes like pineapple juice and it’s making you dizzy. But you manage to push him back.

“Hey, slow down. Gotta save those pretty lips for research,” you remind him.

“Why put it off then?” he says, getting a firm grip behind your knees and pulling you to the edge of the bed and kneeling between your legs on the floor.

“Lift your hips for me, baby.”

You do as you’re told and he easily slides your shorts and underwear down. He signals you to sit again with a tap on your hipbone then he lifts your lower legs to throw the garments to the floor.

Suddenly, his playful confidence fades away and he stares at your pussy like he’s doing math in his mind, calculating what should go where and how much and when. He tilts his head to the left, then up a little, back down, to the other side. He’s used his nose before, but probably not intentionally, and he wants to do his best this time.

The sound of your soft giggles drags his attention back to your face, and the stress lines on his finally smooth out.

“Sorry, I just…” he starts, trailing off as he gets overwhelmed and distracted again.

“It’s ok, here, I got you,” you comfort him as you stand and grab his hand to guide him around his side of the bed. Your palms gently press on his strong shoulders, guiding him down onto the soft comforter. He lies flat on his back and you climb on top of him to straddle his chest.

He reaches up to stroke your face, cupping your cheek in his palm.

“I love you, you know?” he says, his dark chocolate eyes full of adoration.

“I know, baby,” you beam back at him and plant a quick kiss on his nose. “You ready?”

“Ride away.”

On all fours, you crawl up the bed until your knees rest on opposite sides of Chan’s head. You shimmy your heels under his shoulders, looking down to make sure he’s comfy before settling in. He’s still smiling up at you like you’re the actual sun keeping him warm and happy and alive — it sends shivers down your spine.

You slowly lower your hips down, angling your pussy toward his face. One slight adjustment, then his mouth is on you and your clit sits right beneath his nose. Perfect.

He lightly grips your ass with one hand and bends his arm to hold your thigh in the other as he starts licking and sucking your folds. His warm, rough tongue flicks and drags and his pillowy lips suck and his teeth bite down gently and his hands caress and massage in a way that has you absolutely melting into his mouth.

Then his grip gets more forceful and he pulls your hips toward him, angling his chin down to get his nose closer. You close the distance and rotate so it’s less mouth, more nose. And oh god, is it good.

His wide bridge settles under your clit and his tongue goes back to work pushing into you as far as he can, then dipping back out.

“Channie…” you moan, running your fingers through his messy hair.

You instinctually start to move your hips back and forward, up and down. Just enough to get some friction without losing contact. He’s following your movements with his soft mouth and hard cartilage, loving eyes still focused on your face.

Your breath quickens and your hips move unsteadily as you get closer and closer. Chan focuses his attention on your clit, extending his neck to press into you as much as he possibly can. He rubs and steadies your shaking thighs, staring at you with those big, beautiful eyes that just scream come for me.

And you do.

You’re a shuddering, moaning mess, grasping at his hair for some control over the pure elation you feel. You pull him as close to you as you can, seeing if you can somehow keep him and this sensation right here forever.

You come back down from your high with a heavy sigh and plop your body down next to your boyfriend.

“Good?” he asks.

“Great…” you answer. “I told you, great nose. Amazing nose. Perfect nose.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he says, blushing. “I guess you may be right.”

[xhdream]

why did you drink?

pairing: coworker jiseok x fem!reader

genre: smut wc: 1.2k

cw: alcohol consumption, exhibitionism kink, enemies to lovers trope, oral (f)

The worst thing that could happen is the bottle to point at you, and that’s exactly what happens. It seems that you can never hide from Kwak Jiseok.

Well, technically he didn’t do anything this time - it’s not his fault that the bottle stopped where it shouldn’t, unless he’s secretly gifted with a superpower you were not aware of, and he craved to get on your nerves even outside of work.

Nevertheless, you’re frustrated - with his smug smile, almost devilish sparkling eyes, plump lips that you keep seeing in your dreams.

“Ohhh, I can’t wait to see this.” Seungmin, a mutual friend of yours, bursts out from the circle you were sitting in, but your friend bumps the guy’s shoulder to shut him up. He’s not intimidated by her warning though, and begins to chant at you and Jiseok to kiss.

Of course, everyone else starts to do the same.

You look at the shot sitting in front of you on the floor, then at Jiseok, then back at the shot again.

He keeps staring at you with a challenging expression, secretly enticed by how long it takes you to make a decision.

You pick up the glass and gulp the shot, scrunching your face. The group instantly hoots disappointingly at you.

“Damn, sorry dude.” Amused Seungmin pats Jiseok on the back while he on the other hand grins unbothered.

The next moment it gets worse.

When you see Jiseok turning to the girl on his left and kissing her with an open mouth, you wish there was a way the ground could open and swallow you whole. Your insides begin to burn from the sight of his hand on her cheek, and his tongue sliding between her lips; it burns just the same as when your throat was inflamed by the alcohol seconds ago, but everywhere. And although you know you shouldn’t give in to the emotion, because there’s nothing between you and there never was, you still let it consume you.

Thankfully someone calls for a break, cause you’ve been playing for a while, and you manage to escape.

Jiseok pulls away from the kiss turning in the direction of your seat only to see that it’s empty, because you’re already headed alone towards the balcony.

“Go away,” you whine, turning back around to the night sky.

“What if I don’t?” Jiseok comes next to you and whistles at how high it is.

“I might push you and go to jail. Doesn’t sound too bad to be honest.”

“Why did you drink?” He asks still smirking at your comment.

“Why did you kiss her?”

“I asked first.”

It’s because you didn’t want your first kiss with him, if there ever was going to be one, to be during a lame drinking game with multiple eyes on you. You didn’t want it to be a dare. You wanted it to be intimate and more than anything - real.

“If I did you were just going to use it against me at some point…” you turn to him, raising a brow.

Jiseok nods thoughtfully, slowly shifting his fixated gaze away from your face.

“True,” he mutters, pressing his lips together.

You roll your eyes at him and relax your elbows on the railings. For a while you stay in silence, just gazing at the night sky. It was uncommon for you both to stay quiet for so long without picking up a fight, but surprisingly not uncomfortable.

“There are many stars tonight.” You think out loud, watching the sparkling dots.

Jiseok can’t be bothered looking at them right now. Not when your bare arm is almost touching his; or when your hair is moving hypnotizingly from the wind, exposing the side profile of your face he learned to analyse almost each and every expression of. Well, mostly the angry ones, but they were even more irresistible.

“What if I want to?” The question drops from his tongue.

You turn to the side confused, but only to see him staring down in the distance.

“Want what?” You ask.

“You know what I’m talking about.”

You gulp nervously after he leans forward. His alcoholic breath is now sticking to your lips which are so close to his… But for some reason he doesn’t do anything to cut the miniature distance that’s separating them. He only brushes his features against yours, building up the tension between your bodies till it becomes insufferable.

“Do you…” you mutter into his slightly parted mouth. “Do you really want to?”

You hold your breath, feeling the bridge of his nose touching yours.

“Y/N, I want to do many things to you.” Jiseok says, gripping the steel railing behind you.

He relishes the way you lick over your lips after you hear his words; the way your hands slowly, but surely move forward to feel his shoulders.

“Just tell me if you want it too.” His lips lightly touch yours, but not in a kiss. Just a small fragile touch; enough to give you a small taste of what it could be.

You’ve dreamt about this for so long that it feels like you finally found the missing piece of a puzzle after with no hesitation you just go for it.

Jiseok brings you as close as possible by the waist, making your heart skip a beat. He’s completely focused on your sweet taste coming from your tongue that leaves him breathless. All of these months spent in fighting and competing over the most petty and trivial things made him crave you so much more, that now he became completely addicted to you just from one taste.

“Fuck, don’t do that.” Jiseok grunts after you slip another muffled moan into his mouth. “Don’t baby, you’re making me hard.”

He moves lower down your neck to bite on the surface. His teeth graze your skin, suck hungrily up and down creating pink and reddish marks he can enjoy the look of tomorrow when you see each other for your shift. His hands are busy gripping your ass obsessively with force that has your tight dress lifting up.

It’s like he wants to make it difficult for both of you.

How are you supposed not to moan? How is he supposed to stop?

Jiseok shoots a quick glance behind his shoulder. The door to the balcony is closed and no one can see anything from the curtains unless they decide to come look for you.

He moves your skirt up to your tummy and slips your panties down. The chilly breeze brushes the area between your legs bringing you goosebumps, but Jiseok doesn’t waste time, and quickly warms you up by running his tongue between your folds. He laps your slickness creating a mess on his face and buries his mouth as much as possible when you lift one leg giving him bigger exposure to your heat.

“Can’t help it, baby, I need to taste you.” His voice finds you in the dark with a hint of desperation. “I’ve wanted this for so long…”

His palms crawl up your thighs just like they always did in his fantasies - the ones he created in his mind during the long hours of his shift.

You throw your head back holding tightly on the cold steel, as his quick tongue concentrates on your sweet spot making all the frustrations you went through together totally worth it.

! please do not repost, copy or translate my works

[shcyc]

! KINKS

i am so sorry for the long post but tumblr fucked up my format so i cant add the “readmore”

synopsis: haikyuu men and their kinks! — msby4, meian, shion

cw; kinks. these are just my opinions so yah

HINATA SHŌYŌ

don’t let this man’s good and innocent looks fool you, he’s a fucking sex machine and im sure he has a lot of kinks but if I had to pin it down to two, its definitely praise and size kink!

tell me he wont call you names like pretty girl and sweetheart <3 likes it both ways for praise kink — if you tell him how good he’s making you feel, he’s gonna fuck you into oblivion, like you probably wont be sleeping till morning (not that I’m complaining)

him being "small" his whole life honestly deflates his ego a little — so when you whimper and claw at him as he pushes inside you because of how big he is, he can't help but get even harder, stretching you out even more

SAKUSA KIYOOMI

he’s so mean, we all know that, so we aren’t surprised when he runs that dirty mouth of his whenever he fucks you hard — so degrading and dacryphillia are probably his top two kinks!

but sometimes, I feel like despite him being mean all the time, he just really likes soft sex and the intimacy the two of you share during that period it’s just something very precious to him

his favorite thing would be seeing you on your knees, dick in your mouth as you tear up while he thrusts himself into you — he just thinks you look so pretty whenever he does that while you struggle to make him feel good

MIYA ATSUMU

dacryphillia and probably exhibition / voyeurism? you crying because hes stretching and fucking you out so good makes his head fuzzy and will have him weak in the knees, though he’d never admit it because you’d tease him — he just loves seeing your puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks when he pleasures you

likes to watch and be watched. wants to see you pleasure yourself and moan his name, he wants / hope people watches when he fucks you to show everyone how good he’s making you feel

won’t be surprised if he was the one to suggest a gang bang with the rest of the MSBY / inarizaki team! (sounds like a new smut idea)

BOKUTO KŌTARŌ

hes such a baby so cute so precious! but bondage and overstimulation is in my head whenever I see him — he likes to see you all wrapped up and presented to him on the bed, just for him to “unwrap”

ok but tie his wrists up when you wanna take control and he will worship you like you’re his god (which you technically already are in his mind) — but yes he likes it both ways! tell me otherwise

he overstimulates because — one, you’d be crying and begging him to stop / for more. two, he gets to go again and again until he passes out. three, both of you feel good, simple as that

MEIAN SHŪGO

ah the captain <3 this man is another sex machine! he’d edge you so much because its both enjoyable for him and you, which is similar to bokuto — more so for him because he gets you hear you whimper and chant his name over and over like a prayer

manhandling! (is that a kink tho?) I mean, he’s just so big and strong that he can’t help but “throw” you around like a doll — side note: he calls you doll and I think that’s pretty cute!

I also think he’d be really into degrading you — fuck, he just can’t help it, you know? you’re so cute underneath him, the dirty words just slip right out of his mouth like honey

INUNAKI SHION

based on haikyuu wikipedia, he teases a lot so I’m assuming he’s into teasing but that isn’t really a kink so I would believe that he has similar kinks to hinata and atsumu? praise / degrading and exhibition

I feel like his praises would sound degrading — “such a good little slut for me”, etc. he’s mean but definitely on the kinder side (though I do think he can be quite rude and mean at times)

and he’s probably the type to pretend he doesn’t like exhibiting but would be so down to watch you try to finger yourself and fail terribly just so you can whine and beg for him to help you!

© 2022 shcyc — this one is for @shuian because I missed you so much <3

[tropes-and-tales]

Alone Time

Day 13:  Masturbation (Frankie Morales x F!Reader)

(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!) 

CW:  Frankie is mildly creepy and a thief; pining; smut (masturbation, male; Frankie's imagination; a pinch of voyeurism); 18+ only.

Word Count:  2415

AN:  This was requested by an anonymous person!

It’s not rock bottom, but it’s damned near close.

Other men Frankie’s age have so much more:  family, a mortgage, a steady job.  What does Frankie have?  An ex-wife, a suspended pilot’s license, and a shaky year’s worth of sobriety.  He’s got a head full of bad memories—his time in the service, Tom’s death, the implosion of his marriage.  He’s got a tricky back that aches in bad weather and pinches his sciatic nerve if he breathes the wrong way.

The sum total of his personal belongings are stored in your garage and in your spare bedroom, where Frankie has been crashing since…well, when he sits and counts out the months, it makes him feel like the world’s biggest asshole loser, so he doesn’t dwell on it.

It was supposed to be a temporary thing.  It’s been ten months.

Hell, it takes less time for a baby to be formed and born.  Frankie Morales?  Ten months of crashing at your place and he’s no closer to launching on his own.  Rent is too high, his credit is abysmal, his mechanic job pays next to nothing, and he’s so damned broke that he’s technically owed alimony (though his pride will not allow him to accept it).

But if he sits and ticks off all the reasons why he hasn’t left your guest room yet, there’s a couple of reasons he won’t voice. 

That you stopped calling it your guest room and started calling it his room almost immediately after he moved in.

That you integrated his stuff into the wider home—his chipped coffee mug in your kitchen cabinet, his beer in your fridge, his scuffed work boots lined up neatly beside your shoes in the entryway—so he’d feel at home.

That you cook for him, that you wheedle his favorite meals from him and have an uncanny ability to know when he’s having a rough day and needs the comfort of a good meal.

That you eat his paltry attempts at cooking for you, a poor stab at repaying you, that you smile and thank him and pretend not to wince when something is burnt or too heavily salted.

That the casual intimacy of living with you—even platonically—has knocked something loose in him.  That seeing you early in the morning, mussed hair and sleepy eyes, rumpled pajamas as you get the coffee started…or seeing you before bed, after you shower, your skin soft and damp and smelling like your herbal soap.  It all makes something warm unfurl in his chest, and when Frankie starts to think on it, it makes him feel out of control.  He has no right to develop feelings for you.  You’ve been nothing but generous with him, and he cannot repay your goodwill by being a creep.

So he doesn’t dwell on it.

-----

He doesn’t dwell on it, and he doesn’t give it voice. 

He sits on the couch and listens as you dart between your room and the bathroom, getting ready for a work holiday party.  He listens to your muttered curses, your bathroom mirror pep talks you give to your own reflection.  He listens to the patter of your bare feet as you bounce between dressing and doing your makeup.

A moment later, you appear, a clutch in one hand and a pair of heels in the other.  You stand in the doorway and fix him with a nervous smile before you ask, “do I look alright?”

Frankie has a beat to study you—the dark green dress, the tasteful amount of cleavage, the skirt that flares just above your knees.  He looks closer and sees that you’re in stockings, subtly patterned, and as he watches, you brace yourself in the doorway and slide your heels on one at a time.  You usually don’t wear much makeup, but for this party, you’ve gone all in:  dark lashes framing your eyes, velvety red lips.

You look beautiful.  You look like a damned present just begging to be unwrapped and ravished, and Frankie clears his throat roughly before he answers you.

“Yeah, you look alright.”

You snort, shake your head.  “Jerk.  Seriously, is it too much?  Not enough?  Give me something to work with here, Francisco.”

“You look nice.”  He swallows hard, amends it by adding, “you look beautiful.” 

“Alright, nice, beautiful,” you laugh as you pull on your coat.  “Good adjectives.  Thanks, Frankie.”

He gives you a mock-salute.  “Anytime.”  And because he feels like a sulky asshole now—he can never strike the right tone with you, tries too hard to hide his feelings and so swings too hard the other way into sullen indifference—he adds, gentler, “no, you look great.  Seriously.”

That earns him a hug.  You walk over to where he sits, and you lean over to wrap an arm around his shoulders.  Even the brief press of your body against his is enough to fuel a month of fantasies, because you look feminine as hell—dress, heels, deep red lipstick on your kissable mouth—but you’re wearing a warm, almost masculine perfume.  You smell like tobacco and rum, undercut with the sweetness of vanilla, and the juxtaposition makes him perk up at a cellular level.

“Be good,” you tell him once you release him from the hug.  You walk towards the front door and gift him one of your sweet smiles.  “Enjoy your alone time.  I’ll be back late.”

“You be good,” he replies.  “And drive safely.”

-----

You leave, but your presence haunts Frankie.  The ghost of your perfume lingers, as does the click of your heels as you walked out.  The image of you in that dress feels like it’s burned on the back of his eyelids.

He tries to settle.  He tries to relax.  He orders in, puts on a mindless movie.  He picks at his food, drinks a beer, then a second beer.  Hours pass and he still feels jittery, and it’s like the early days of his sobriety, but he’s not craving cocaine.  He’s craving you, which is stupid because he’s never had you, so it’s all conjecture—pure imagination, pure pining.  Pure want.  But the fact remains:  he’s not hard, exactly, but he’s at the point of near-arousal, the ghost of you just in his periphery.   

Frankie puts his picked-over food in the refrigerator.  He cleans up a little.  He should go to bed, try to sleep, and so he makes his way back to his room.

But in the hallway, he pauses by his doorway and glances towards your bedroom.  The door is cracked.  Frankie has been in there before, has sat on the edge of your bed once when you were sick with a migraine and he nursed you back to health.  Alone, with you out of the house, your bedroom feels like something in a gothic novel:  the forbidden chamber, your sanctuary.

Be good, you told him, and Frankie wants to be good, but his feet lead him the few steps to your door, and his hand pushes your door open wider.  The scent of your perfume is stronger here—the incongruously masculine scent that reminds him of a dark-lit jazz club, even though he’s never been to a dark-lit jazz club.  The scent curls around him, fills him up, and he steps inside your bedroom.

You’re neat but not painfully so.  A neat stack of books are on your bedside table.  A basket of freshly folded clothes sits on the bench at the foot of your bed.  He steps further inside and studies the top of your dresser:  the little dish that holds some of your jewelry, a half-burned candle, a row of lotions and perfume bottles.  He leans against the dresser and looks at your bed, and of course he pictures you lying there, which leads to him imagining more.

You lying on the bed.  Naked.  No, in that green dress.  He imagines unzipping it, pushing it off your shoulders, dragging his nose along your warm skin and smelling the perfume on you, your fingers threaded through his hair as he—

No.  He rewinds it in his head, starts over.  You lying on the bed.  In the dress.  He imagines pushing up your skirt, imagines you in garters, imagines shoving your skirt up—

No.  He shakes his head, goes back to the first scene.  Stripping you slowly.  Yes, that’s better.  Frankie was always the kid who unwrapped his Christmas presents slowly.  His mother saved the paper, so it was a contest between him and his brothers to see who could unwrap it the best while saving it for future Christmases.  He could strip you just as carefully, his fingertips dancing over your skin, making you twitch at too much sensation, moaning out his name—

No.  It’s still not right.  He switches the two of you in his mind, imagines himself on the bed, you perched over him.  Your hands undoing his belt, his zipper, grasping his cock and stroking it before lowering your head, wrapping those red fucking lips around him, your dark-fringed eyes gazing up at him while you—

“Fuck,” he breathes out, aware of how he’s passed the threshold of near-arousal into outright excitement.  He’s hard just from imagining it, and his erection presses painfully against his jeans.

He turns to leave, but his gaze falls on your basket of clean clothing.  Christ, he could swipe a pair of your panties, and the thought tempts him but it’s going too far…so he reaches out and swipes one of your t-shirts instead—a soft cotton one you wear around the house.  He’s still crossing a line but it doesn’t feel quite as bad, so Frankie flees to his own room with your shirt clutched in his hand.

But not before he pauses, hesitates.  He snags your bottle of perfume and spritzes your shirt with the scent. 

He has no plan; he’s operating on lust alone, but he figures he can just wash it on the sly and give it back to you, give you some tame lie about it getting mixed in with his own laundry.

-----

In his room.  Door locked, just to be safe.  Lights off, naked in his bed, the soft scented cotton of your shirt clenched in one hand and held up near his nose.

His other hand gripping his cock, stroking himself.  Eyes closed.  Pretending it’s your hand and not his own.

Frankie tries out the fantasies from in your room.  You on the bed, you in the dress, you with your skirt hiked up around your waist.  He tries out other fantasies he’s entertained in the past:  taking you against the kitchen table, taking you on the couch.  A million positions, a million scenarios, and he can’t settle on one.  His orgasm feels far away, unattainable.  He’s never been good at just imagining things, has usually relied on a handful of tried-and-true porn clips he’s saved on his laptop, but he doesn’t want that now. 

He wants to imagine you.  He sighs, refocuses.  He reaches over to his nightstand and squirts a fresh dollop of lotion into his palm, then grips himself again.

You….you wouldn’t rush it.  You’d go slow.  If it was your hand and not his own, you’d go slow, so Frankie goes slow.  Strokes his cock slow and steady, imagines you pressing those kissable lips to his neck, his chest.  You’d leave smudges of dark red lipstick on him, a trail marking him as yours.

“Good boy,” you’d whisper to him.  “Such a good boy for me, Francisco.”

“Yes,” he whispers in the silence of his room.  “Always for you.”

“Such a big cock,” you’d whisper to him.  “So thick I can barely get my fingers around you.”

Frankie tilts his head back, brushes his nose against the bunched-up t-shirt.  He takes a deep inhale, feels the answering throb in his cock as he strokes a bit faster.  He imagines you whispering more to him, imagines you telling him how you can’t wait to feel him inside you, his big, thick cock splitting you open, your pussy molding to the shape of him, how wet you already are for him just from jacking him off—

“Always wanted to do this,” you’d breathe in his ear as you stroke him faster, harder.  “Touched myself at night thinking about you, Francisco.”

His orgasm, so far away initially, takes him by surprise.  He feels the hot coil of anticipation snap, and he groans out your name over and over in the darkness of his room as he comes, spurts of cum painting his belly and thighs, coating his hand.  He lays there a long moment, his blood and heartbeat roaring in his ears, his harsh panting slowly calming.

Frankie lays there a long moment, and the post-orgasmic bliss fades too quick.  Masturbating is a release, but it always leaves him faintly sad afterwards.  He’d rather have the real deal, obviously, but he’d rather have all of it.  He wants the afterglow of sex with you, wants to fall asleep beside you.  Wants to wake up too early and take you again.  Wants to know how that smoky, whiskey-tinged perfume of yours pairs with the scent of sex.

Frankie wants all of it, and when the post-orgasmic bliss fades, he despairs that he’ll never have it.  That he’ll be stuck contenting himself with these pathetic moments, jacking off to the smell of you, your soft shirt laid against his skin.  That he’ll be stuck at rock bottom.

But the nice thing about rock bottom, as they cliché goes, is that there’s nowhere to go but up.  Frankie has hit his bottom and is on an upward trajectory—he just doesn’t realize it yet.  It’s the final moment of him not realizing, of feeling maudlin about himself.  When he stands up and reassembles himself enough to leave his room and clean up in the bathroom, he’ll run directly into you:  standing outside his door, high heels in hand, eyes wide at what you’ve just heard.

You’ve heard everything.  Frankie and the obvious sound of him masturbating.  Frankie and the sound of him groaning out your name over and over as he came.

Frankie so wrapped up in his fantasy of you that he failed to hear your car in the driveway, the click of your key in the door.  Frankie so wrapped up in his own world that he hasn’t realized that hours have passed; that it is late and you’re home when you promised.

[icallhimjoey]

In 120 Hours

♥ ♥  Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: You work as a temp and are offered a very exclusive interview for a very exclusive job. You see, someone needs a personal assistant for a very eventful week, and you happen to be the perfect fit.

CW / disclaimer: 18+, language, mentions of drinking, rpf, fem!reader

Author’s note: I have no idea what being a personal assistant entails, or what London Film Festival is actually like, but we can all pretend that this is accurate shit, right? Enjoy!

Wordcount: 3K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

“Have you got any–”

You were already holding a hand out to him. Joe saw, grinned, opened his hand to receive a piece of gum from you and looked out the car window, hand on the door handle but not quite stepping out just yet.

Then he turned in his seat, back towards you a bit, but stared into the space in front of him.

“I’m not sure how I...” Joe trailed off, then looked at you, not finishing his sentence, but hoping that his eyes would do the talking for him.

“Could thank me? Have ever managed to function without me? Will go on living your life without me?” they were all jokes, and you were smiling, but Joe just nodded and went, “Yea,” with a crazed sort of look in his eyes. “Exactly all of those things.”

Joe stalled, looked at you, until you nudged him with a knee.

“Go on, the people are waiting,” Not just the people you could see from the car, but you imagined also all the important people, actors and actresses alike, in the cars queueing up behind you.

“Come with me,” Joe suddenly said.

“I will, I’ll see you right after the–”

“No, come with. Let’s do the whole thing together,”

You hesitated. This wasn’t in the job description. Lots of things hadn’t been, sure, but those things had been, you know, not quite so out in the open. Not like red carpets were, anyway.

“I think we’ve been spotted together enough as it is, I don’t want you to-”

“I kind of don’t want to get out without you.”

And you frowned, but only slightly, because there was that smile again. Fuck, that smile had gotten you into enough trouble as it was, and Joe fucking knew it too.

You checked the time. There was over twelve hours left still, technically speaking. That was over ten per cent of the entire job – quite a few too many hours to screw everything up and risk not getting paid. You had said you were reliable. Professional. You couldn’t, really...

“Please?” Joe opened a hand, presenting you with his palm.

But, ugh.

Fuck it. Why not?

You grabbed Joe’s hand and silently wondered if this was breaching the NDA you’d signed. Maybe not. You knew exactly who it was going to piss off though...

Stepping out of the car with Joe, you were met with girlish screams of adoration. Well, Joe was met with girlish screams of adoration. Then cameras flashed brightly, blinding you almost instantly, and you thought back to how precisely one hundred and six and half hours earlier, you would’ve never envisioned that this is where you’d end up.

Doing a red carpet with Joe.

In a slutty dress. With slutty high heels on. Without the engagement ring on.

Not even a full five days had passed...

Not even a full six days had passed, since you’d phoned your friend and she had told you about the vacancy. The whole thing felt like a vague fever dream now, like it had happened years ago.

“Please tell me you have nothing going at the moment,”

It was a weird way for your friend to answer her phone when you called to ask her if she had time to go for drinks that week. Because, consequently, you had all the time for all the drinks, you see, because you had absolutely nothing going at the moment.

No professional things. No personal things. Zero job. Zero fiancé – you really had to remove that ring, but you couldn’t yet. It used to belong to your grandmother before, after all, so it kind of felt like if you just wore it on another finger, it’d be fine.

Still adjusting to life as a single woman - with big bills that belonged to single women - working as a temp and having a best friend work at a temp agency, the two of you seemed a match made in platonic heaven. She always kept all the good stuff back for you, called you on her breaks to slip you information she definitely wasn’t meant to be giving you, so you could officially apply for the right jobs at the right times and use the right words to actually be invited to the interviews. It was perfect.

Sometimes, the good stuff would be going through PowerPoint presentations in stuffy conference rooms in deeply exotic places, like Belgium. Or you’d manage an entire office for two weeks, a holiday-cover that would start Christmas eve and left you in charge of a lot of empty desks because, didn’t everyone take time off around Christmas and New Year’s?

But then, other times, the good stuff was actual good stuff and had you help run huge music festivals, unexpectedly brushing shoulders with the likes of The Wombats and Liam fucking Gallagher backstage wearing knee high wellies, covered in mud.

“Oh my God, what have you got?”

No dillydallying. As a temp, there was never time. All jobs came fast, and all jobs went fast.

“It just came in, this phone call is unbelievable timing because I’m allowed to recruit for fucking once, finally, and you’d be so perfect for it!”

She had said that too when you’d been hauled off to dog-sit a poodle for some CEO of a company you had never heard of for two months, so you held off on the jumpy excitement your friend seemed to be exuding down the phone.

“It’s very short term and the money is amazing – I need a personal assistant for a high-profile client.”

“How short term, how much money, how high-profile?”

Like you said, no dillydallying.

“We’re talking not even a full week, just five days, all expenses covered and the salary’s generous. Very generous. And the money isn’t even the best part.”

Temping meant everything was short term, but this was the shortest a possible job had ever lasted you.

“Okay,” you said, knowing things were always too good to be true. There had to be a catch.

“If this is for a tory politician, or like, actual royalty, I’m out,” you warned, earning a huffed laugh from your friend.

“Don’t let this put you off, but there’s nothing else I’m allowed to tell you. You’ll have to sign a non-disclosure agreement before I can even send the job description over, and I’ll need you down in London for the interview as soon as possible, like, today? Could you do today?”

Oh, she was serious serious.

Okay, so... what was five days, really? If it was shit, it’d be over quick enough. You could really use the money too if it really was as good as your friend was making it out to be. And maybe you’d meet Meghan Markle, you know, if it was actually going to be royalty.

“Are we... are we talking like, Hugh Grant or whatever? Adele, maybe?”

Your friend laughed heartily.

“I can’t tell you anything else until you sign the NDA, but, I’m being so honest with you right now, you’re not going to want to pass this one up.”

And so, you’d given her the go ahead. Sure. Try get me in for an interview, why the fuck not? She said she’d make a call, get your CV into the right hands, and would call you back in a minute. When she did, not all but 11 minutes later, she’d already e-mailed you the NDA to sign. The interview wasn’t that day, but the day after – still too soon, but ok – and if successful, you’d start immediately too.

“Don’t worry, I think the interview’s just a formality – they love your CV, and from the sounds of it, they’re desperate. You’re a shoo-in. Get that NDA back to me and I’ll send you everything you need to know.”

She ended the call letting you know to reach out to her if you had any problems, and you said you would, knowing very well that you wouldn’t. You didn’t have problems. It was part of your charm. You carried solutions. You were dependable, reliable, one hundred percent guaranteed to make everyone’s life easier.

The only person you ever made things difficult for, was yourself. The proof of it was around your ring finger – on the wrong hand now, but still there.

From the names mentioned in the e-mail, which you’d immediately googled, you became none the wiser. They really kept you in the dark about who you were going to be working for, and the job requirements list was a lot. But you were good at job interviews. You knew the right things to say, the right energy to exude, the times to smile, the times to frown in serious thought – you could sell yourself better than you could sell anything else.

And you were competitive to a fault. No matter how arrogant of a celebrity was going to need someone handling their business for five days; you were going to get that job, and you were going to excel at it. Watch me, you thought, as you packed a carry-on with enough underwear to last you five days in case you were right. And if you were wrong, you could just spend money you didn’t have and maybe stay in London for a few days anyway. Visit old friends and old familiar places, because you kind of missed the place if you were being honest.

The next day your train had been late, and the tube had been packed, and you’d almost been run over three times, but you didn’t care. London was gritty and grimy and perfect. The London-shaped hole in your heart could really only be filled with the smell of searing, hot dust that lingered underground and became thicker and more prominent the deeper down escalators would take you.

You aced the interview. Of course you did.

Every question you were asked felt like they were trying to find reasons to not give you the job. They were all questions about what you thought about certain things, what your opinions would be about certain situations, what you really wanted, and you’d rudely interrupted. You’d said that none of it mattered, did it? It didn’t matter what you thought about anything, what your opinions were or what you really wanted in any situation – what mattered was that you would do your job. What mattered is whatever the client wanted.

They’d congratulated you. Said you got the job. And then, right on cue, the door had opened behind you.

“Joe, come in, meet your new PA who’s going to be with you for the rest of the London Film Festival.”

Joe mother fucking Quinn walked in, smiling, looking at you, like you were an actual person that people could actually perceive.

“Hi, nice to meet you.”

It was only a brief introduction before Joe was off again, called out of the room by someone else, and he said he'd see you later. Smiled again, and God, it was the kind of smile that could defrost the coldest of hearts. Joe's expression was objectively neutral, this was just his face, but his eyes exuded kindness in its purest form. Almost dreamily so.

You cleared your throat as the door shut behind him. All right. Back to business.  

You were talked through the things you had already read the day before; the things you'd received in your e-mail. Things that didn't really need further explaining, but you listened politely anyway. You got a long explanation of how NDAs worked and it was almost laughable. Yes, they'd sue you if you broke it. You got it. But they were very adamant, needed to make sure that you really did in fact get it. Having to drag you to court wouldn't just be an awful thing for you personally, they also didn't want to do it because it was a lot of work on their end which they didn't have the time for.

Noted.

"All right. Get your things and meet us downstairs, your car is waiting."  

"Car? Where are we going?" 

"We're not going anywhere. You are. The itinerary, his full schedule, you'll find it all in your e-mail."  

And when you looked at your phone screen, you saw you'd just received it, mere seconds earlier. Man, these people ran a tight ship. 

Opening your e-mail in the car, you were greeted by a digital calendar that had all of Joe's days planned out, down to the literal minute. You could see past the five days that you would be working for Joe too, and although less busy, Joe had things happening nearly every day for at least the upcoming three months it seemed.  

"Wow,"  

This was... a lot.

It had everything on there. Wake-up calls, car pick-ups, lunch time, phone calls, coffee breaks, fittings... 

There were several film screenings scheduled every day, obviously, that was how film festivals worked, and you wouldn't get to go to any of them. You weren't hired to sit and watch films with Joe, unfortunately. You were hired to haul Joe from one place to the next. Accompany him. Get him coffees. Check for schedule changes, because, “Everything is always up for change, so you better keep an eye out!”. Things could be delayed, or be postponed, or switched around – times, or locations – and it'd be up to you to sort things out. Make it all run smoothly. It was your job to make sure Joe would get to the places he needed to be on time.  

"And he needs close eyes on him, because he tends to wander. Keep him company. He's used to having someone with him. A family member, a friend, but none were available for this. So, now he'll have you."   

So... you were a luxurious babysitter, if you really thought about it.  

"What other things are important? Anything that’s not been mentioned yet that needs special attention?" you had asked, and were met with a fast answer. 

"Networking."   

This whole week was all about Joe being seen and being spoken to by industry giants. Joe was invited to see many films, just about all of them, but it wasn't necessary for him to actually watch all of them. As long as he went to meet the directors, he'd be solid. 

There were other obligations too. Besides the screenings there were screen talks, in depth-interviews, panels, debates, workshops, partner events (Joe wouldn't be going to those, no worries) and networking events (Joe had to absolutely be going to those, worry a lot). The industry happy hours were where it all happened, you'd been told several times. 

Then, on Monday, day four, there was Joe's film screening - not his film, but the one he starred in. That showcased him. It'd be followed up by a Q&A, and then of course, happy hour after.  

To make things even easier, more simple, not at all hectic or stressful: Joe also had studio photoshoots, two of them, and phone interviews to accompany the shoots. They were scheduled, slotted tightly in between all the in-person events and to be honest, it all seemed a bit much. Too much. No wonder they hired a PA for the week. This was overwhelming to say the least. 

Your duties would end after the most important day. The awards ceremony. Film Festivals were a competition, and there were awards up for grabs. You'd need to make sure that after five extremely busy days, Joe would make it to the ceremony in one piece, in the right outfit, and at the right time, because people had already been talking, and Joe was meant to give a little speech up on stage if his film was to win.

"Remind him of that. Maybe help him with the writing, too?"  

Sure. Why not?  

"And there'll be two boxes delivered, not huge ones, it'll only be about 5000 copies, but they all need signing,"  

Delivered where? Copies of what? 

"Copies?" you asked, deadly afraid of sounding stupid. 

"Photographs."  

Oh. Alright. Of course. Yes. Fine. 

In the backseat of a car, on your way to wherever they were taking you - they hadn't been clear at all - you saw that the signing of the photographs hadn't been added into Joe's schedule yet. You put down a few options and would check with Joe later until what time he minded working before you'd set it in stone. First task done. Your job had officially started. 

Five days. One hundred and twenty hours of this. You checked the time. One hundred and eighteen still to go, technically, but, who was counting?

The car stopped and you heard the ratcheting of the handbrake being pulled by the driver. You'd arrived. 

"Um, where are we?" you asked, undoing your seatbelt and gathering your things, but before the driver could answer, your door was opened from the outside. 

"Hey, welcome," it was Joe, and he held out a hand to help you out of the vehicle. What a gentleman. That warm smile, there it was again. 

"Are you ready?" Joe asked, taking your suitcase from you with an excited glint flickering in his eyes, and you weren't sure exactly what you were meant to be ready for. The whole week, was the correct answer.

Joe walked ahead of you, up the steps of a beautiful South London terraced house. Quite the mansion, by London standards. Joe stopped and turned as he reached the door. "I've only just moved in, so please, don't mind the boxes and, um, the lack of furniture. It's a mess. The only room properly done up is yours, so don't worry about that! They've made sure that at least one of us has a nice bed to sleep in,"  

 Oh.  

"They made it look like a proper hotel room, I'm kind of jealous of it,"

This was Joe's home. His actual place, where he... you know, lived, and stuff. And where apparently, you were going to be staying too.  

"This is your house?"  

Joe stood in the door opening, and beckoned you in.

"It's just easier to have you close, come on in,"  

Oh, this was going to be an interesting couple of days. 

"Wonderful, thanks."

---  

The Taglisted: 

@ghostinthebackofyourhead @dirtyeddietini @kiwisa @jasminearondottir @josephquinned @cancankiki @sidthedollface2 @dylanmunson @munsonsgirl71 @alana4610 @emmamooney @xomunson @sadbitchfangirl @thatonefan-girl @paola-carter @eddiemunsonfuxks @figmentofquinn @haylaansmi @thewondernanazombie @munsonmunster @kellysimagines @mybffjoe @harrys-tittie @chaoticgood-munson @jenisnotlost @sherrylyn628 @bdpst-massacre @xeddiesbattattsx @05secondsofsexgods @lovelyblueness @adoreyouusugar @nadixq @prozacandnicotine @munsonswhore86 @alwayslindie @thefemininemystiquee @hauntingbastille @eddie-joe-munson @ali-in-w0nderland @pepperstories @phyllosilicate-s @thebellenouvelle @luvrsbian @joesquinns @choke-me-joey @alizztor @thelostmoonofpooosh @did-it-work @capricornrisingsstuff - (tag list currently full)

[elmhat]

Sixteenth Day Event Prompt:

Purpled pours Dream a drink

So technically this is my own event — @sixteenth-day-event — and technically I'm the one who's supposed to make the prompts, but listen. I felt left out. I wasn't even planning to do anything originally, I literally wrote this today. There were a few prompts left over from other people's suggestions, so I randomized them to get one for myself. (Based on my own preferences, of course.) So I hope you enjoy!

~

CW: alcohol issues

// dsmp rp

If Dream had to describe Purpled’s base in a word, it would be claustrophobic. Both in the literal sense, all tight stone passageways and rooms with far too few exits, and in the abstract but ultimately more important sense that this place could easily swallow him whole. Unfamiliar territory was always a risk; if this was a trap, he was already in it.

Still, it was better than meeting out in the open, and Dream could frankly deal with a little discomfort if it led to Las Nevadas in flames.

“So what’s in it for you?” Purpled asked him. He poured his own drink first. Figured. “I mean, you hate Las Nevadas, how do I know you’re not gonna fuck me over the same way as Quackity?”

Dream, sitting at the table with him, chose his words carefully. “I just think that… it’s not good for anyone, y’know, if unstable people… are in positions of power.”

Purpled gave a wry smirk. “You think I’m stable?”

Dream considered. “I think that you’re reliable.”

Purpled looked suspicious of his answer, but satisfied enough not to question it.

As he went to pour Dream a drink, something inside of Dream twisted. Coiled, then writhed, then shriveled. He wanted to stop him but he didn't. He did nothing; just watched the alcohol spill into the glass.

“To chaos, then,” said Purpled, raising his own glass before taking a sip.

Dream smiled. Not that Purpled could see it; it was more for himself than anyone. “To reliable chaos.” He didn't really think that Purpled was reliable—he didn't know him well enough to make that call—but trust was a vital component of any alliance. In small doses.

Dream was sure that Purpled was thinking about trust, too, when he noticed that Dream wasn't drinking.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

Dream waved him off hurriedly. “No, no, it’s not, it’s just— I don’t know, it’s not, like— me. My taste. I guess.”

Purpled raised an eyebrow. “Right.”

Dream should have just said he didn't drink. That would be normal. That would have made more sense than whatever just left his mouth. As it was, they were left with stilted silence.

When Purpled took another drink, movements slow and methodical, he stared pointedly through Dream’s mask. “D’you think I’m poisoning you?”

“What? Why would I— No! Obviously not!”

The thought hadn't even crossed Dream’s mind—although now Purpled was making him consider it. Instead, he looked at the glass and he thought about obsidian and he thought about lava, and he suddenly felt very sick.

Purpled was still watching—no, judging him. Dream knew that expression from Sam: it meant that he thought Dream was lying. Because everyone, always, thought Dream was lying. So, lifting his mask, Dream picked up his glass and took a long, deliberate swig, and he tried not to let it touch his tongue.

“Happy?” he said when the glass hit the table.

“Dude, you don't have to drink if you don't— Whatever.” Purpled shook his head mildly. “You can do what you want.”

Dream was suddenly aware of how incredibly weird he was being—but it was fine. Purpled was fine; it would be fine. The sooner this alliance was over, the better.

[mayariviolet]

I Don’t Smoke.

Pilot/ Episode One of ‘First Love/ Late Spring’

summary:

“So if you need to be mean, be mean to me. I can take it and put it inside of me.” // “I’m stronger than you give me credit for.”

-

Some letters addressed to Suguru before and after he defected were written by you, still in their sealed envelopes.

══════════════════

cw: angst, no use of y/n, allusions to graphic violence, swearing, suggestive themes (but not really), references to blood, afab ‘reader’ x Suguru (I put the reader in quotations because technically they’re the ones writing the letters), fluff (if you squint really really hard), minor f! reader x Satoru.

a/n: I wanted to try something new! I love you, Geto Suguru! My bad for what I’m gonna do! Also on Ao3.

wc: ~4.5k

🏷️: @tacobellfreshavocado, @jeanboyjean (Reply below to let me know if you want to be tagged in the next chapters!).

September 2007

The day before, he defected…

Dear Suguru,

I'm slipping this under your door because I'm feeling a little exhausted after our last conversation. Even though it's been a while. I know our last argument has been 'solved' per se.

But consider this insurance if I don't wake up in time to say goodbye like I usually do! I've been feeling a little more drained lately; I'm sure you know why. I'll keep writing like this if this mission takes a long time. Although, I know we will talk soon. Good luck tomorrow!

With love,

Two days after he defected…

Dear Suguru,

It still feels weird doing this since we haven't talked like this since we were kids, but anyway. We haven't spoken in a couple of days. It's kind of like when we were kids, too. I guess. I heard Satoru and Yaga talking the other day, but I couldn't fully understand what they said. Only bits and pieces. It's like they cast a curtain in the hallway… haha… I know I'm eavesdropping again (don't tell my parents), but I can't help it! It's hard to get any honest conversations out of anyone here. Yaga is probably on our ass about that assignment we haven't finished. I mean- I'm just waiting for you to do your part. Suppose that isn't too much to ask.

Also, they should have fixed my door if they didn't want anyone to hear! It's still creaking! Maybe when you get back, you could also look at it. I'll probably slip this into your room again. But you don't have to respond right away. Just take your time. I know you've been busy going on all of these missions alone. I'm sorry about that. You're probably exhausted. I don't blame you.

Just know that my door is always open (unfortunately).

With love,

Five days after he defected…

Dear Suguru,

Satoru fixed my door finally! He truly is good at everything. It feels emptier without you here, even though it hasn't been long. But you'll be back soon to fill the void. If you visit your parents, could you tell them I said hi? Mine too. I miss them greatly, but I know our work will make them proud. Satoru has been hanging around my room more, even after some tough training sessions. It's friendly company, but it's not you. He won't tell me why he's always loitering in our my room.

I forgot to mention that he asked me to heal his hand in my last letter. It's strange since he can do it himself, but I digress. It felt… nice to be wanted. Even Shoko seems gloomy! Uncharacteristic for her… Do you think she and Utahime got in a fight? Anyway, she's been helping me with my technique and some hand-to-hand combat stuff! It's a little hard to follow, probably because we train in my room. I wish I were granted a little more space…

Shoko also helped me finish our assignment- we got an A! I hope Yaga isn't too mad, but he's been getting quiet whenever I ask about you. Rather weird, but not as weird as Kento's haircut, right?

They're calling for heavy rainfall soon (according to that sweaty weatherman we liked to make fun of), but at least it's better than the unbearable heat. However, you felt the sting of summer more than anyone.

If you're home, eat more and say hi to my parents! They always tell me how you'll change the world one day.

With love,

One week since he defected…

Dear Suguru,

Sorry about this letter being so close to my last one, but I feel bad. Kento's been avoiding me lately despite not saying anything about his haircut. Then again, he's been avoiding everyone. Do you think he knows what I wrote? Hopefully not. As I write this, I can hear him shuffling back and forth. Inside and then outside. His heavy shoes hitting the stone walkways reverberate in my room.

Haibara, being gone, has started to settle in even though I wasn't as close to him as Kento or you. Is the work we do… is it worth something? It has to, right? Otherwise, you wouldn't be taking so long. This letter is a bit of a throwaway, so don't worry too much about responding.

With love,

One and a half weeks after he defected…

Dear Suguru,

Kento left. The rain is starting to get worse, but it's still manageable. Thankfully, Yaga gave me that empty patch near our dormitory to start gardening. I'm planning on planting some yellow roses, amongst other things. They remind me of you. The cicadas seem to be chirping a little louder every night. Maybe they're having nightmares about Riko, too.

With love,

Two weeks after he defected…

Dear Suguru,

It's been getting bad again. I wish you were here.

Do away missions usually take this long? I can't remember since Yaga has kept me holed up. I forgot to mention that in my last letters. Something about the higher-ups wanting to 'keep tabs on Satoru and me.' It's weird because Satoru can strut around, but I'm just confined to the campus.

However, he is kind enough to get me sweets whenever he heads into the city (he teases me about my sweet tooth, but he's worse!). I'll have to get used to telling him which ones I like before he spends his money, unlike you, who always got it right. I think Satoru just likes to eat my leftovers…

The days are starting to blur together.

With love,

Two and a half weeks since he defected…

Dear Suguru,

I think my technique is getting worse. You'd say otherwise and that I'm only getting better, and then give me a big hug. Is it creepy to say that I miss the smell of your shampoo? Probably. But it was so strong that it burrowed into my senses, like Satoru's six eyes. Since you've left, I'm unsure what to do with my free time.

I hope the break you are taking from school is refreshing. Heaven knows you need it. Hell, you deserve it. The tree we used to read under together is already yellow and threatening to drop its leaves, and the sun is starting to set earlier. Shoko offered me a smoke, and I felt…relief. Maybe I'll start doing that instead of thinking about how you take your tea. Sorry, I know how much you hated the idea of smoking.

My parents stopped answering my calls (they have been for a while). Even writing this feels like a waste, but I know you'll respond soon. Feel free to do it in person. My door is fixed now, but it is always open for you.

With love,

Your dear friend

Three weeks after he defected…

Dear Suguru,

It's been hushed lately. The cicadas stopped screaming, but I haven't. I walk by your room every day. It's weird. I used to get annoyed whenever you and Satoru were loud, especially when we had early missions. I would storm into your room, ready to be angry, but then you would flash me that beautiful smile, and everything else seemed to matter a little less.

Sometimes, I think you guys liked to make me mad on purpose, but I know it was all love. However, in your absence, I realized silence is worse. Suppose you cared, probably not since you haven't answered my letters. Shoko said my RCT has been getting better than before. People keep saying I'm an "asset" because of it. It's stupid because I don't feel like one. If I were, then you would have asked me to come with you. I wish you asked me to go with you.

Your dear,

With love,

Your dear friend.

══════════════════

October 2007

Four weeks after he defected…

Dear Suguru,

Sorry about the short letter. Satoru is a little freer these days, so I guess I found something to fill the silence. Digimon is cooler than I thought! It's a little hard to understand sometimes, kind of like you. He's been spending more time in my room. I hope that doesn't bother you, considering our last conversation. Then again, we didn't talk much before you left, so you probably don't remember. Please come back soon.

With love,

Your dear friend.

Four and a half weeks after he defected…

Dear Suguru,

I have been missing the way you make me tea. So, I've been desperately trying to recreate it to no avail. Satoru suggested I add honey, and it made it almost too sweet. Still good, though. I realized on my third cup that what makes it special is you. But enough of that. Today, Satoru has been giving me tips and ideas on what to plant next season. He suggested some lily of the valley or some iris! I'm surprised he hasn't tried to convince me to plant some flowers that are as blue as his eyes. Granted, they are beautiful. Sorry, I should refrain from talking about how nice they are. He's been itching to tell me something, but I told him that we should wait until you come back.

With love,

Your dear friend.

Five weeks after he defected…

Suguru,

Satoru finally told me what you did. I'm getting that shaking rage again. There's a pain so deeply woven into my soul that my technique could never heal. I know writing these letters used to help us solve our problems when we were kids, but honestly? This feels a little ridiculous now.

There's not much I can say other than I hope wherever you are, there's eternal suffering- that whatever vomit-soaked rag curse you consume next swallows you whole. How dare you do this to our my family?

There's no way you could have known this, but after our weekly dinners, my dad used to go on and on about you. How you were 'the child they never had.'

How fucked up is that? I remember thinking, 'I'm here too! I'm here too!' They saw no value in something that couldn't clean up the fucking trash they created. That much was true. You saw that every time my father made ME cry, he made ME apologize.

Imagine a CHILD begging to be loved when that's all they should ever feel. I was just a KID. How burdensome it must be to demand what should come as second nature for parents. Their pure vitriolic energy seeped into my heart one night, and I considered destroying everything.

You knew that, and it was YOU who stopped me. Just like how you stopped Satoru after that day. God, you're a fucking hypocrite! Well, that doesn't matter anymore, does it? I was so close to getting their love back to how it was when I was six and didn't know anything. You stripped that away from me. God, you are such an asshole. Did you think you were doing me a favour? I keep replaying our last conversation in my mind. Each time, it's getting fuzzier, like a broken VCR tape. Rather than trying to remember how you smiled (which I am glad I am forgetting), I see this dingy aura. This whole 'monkey' talk is just the ramblings of a broken man, and I am not your repair shop.

You're a goddamn psychotic and selfish prick. How dare you murder all of those innocent people? What happened to us, making the world a better place? Was it all a lie? Just like another drunken kiss, perhaps? These stupid fucking letters never did anything when we fought as kids, and both of our parents made us you apologize like this.

You've poisoned us, me. There's not much else I can write other than I fucking loathe you. I always did. You were constantly parading around like you cared about me. You were saying that your 'Special Grade' status would never get in the way. How stupid was I to think that wouldn't get in the way because you were supposed to care for me? At least that's what you said to me repeatedly.

You were right about that. It wasn't your status. It was you. It was always you.

Yours,

══════════════════

January 2008

Three months after he defected… 

Geto,

I don't regret what I said in my last letter. As I write this, the trees which granted us shade now threaten to break underneath the weight of the snowfall. Which we have been fortunate enough to get. There are icicles that hang on my window sill. Clear and cold. It reminds me of how you're soulless and void of any emotion. Ten years of friendship have gone down the drain for a fucking pipe dream.

And what a waste! When I scream at night from the memory of you, Satoru comes into my room now. He holds me until the sun rises and I've calmed down enough or until I pass out from exhaustion. I hope this information wounds the depths of your soul. If you even had one, to begin with.

A friend

Three and a half months after he defected…

Geto,

I've been smoking more.

Almost four months after he defected…

Geto,

Satoru and I have been getting close. I'm unsure why I'm telling you this again or even why I keep writing these letters, but whatever. I've been going on more missions. Digimon, missions, sweets, and then staring at the dust that coats your bedroom door. It's a little repetitive and draining, for sure. But then again, so was loving you.

══════════════════

February 3rd, 2008

Geto,

Do you remember when we first met? I do. This slimy worm thing smelled awful, and it kept following me! It had just rained, so I thought, 'Oh, maybe it's just the mud that was still on my backpack after that kid pushed me.' Which was a little annoying because I was on my way to that grandmother's house to tend to her garden. No matter how far I walked, the smell kept following me.

You were trudging behind closely, and with one quick gulp, there was an overwhelming relief in my body. It was as if Sisyphus was able to complete his task. Then again, you're more like Sisyphus than I ever will be. I understand that now. Maybe that's why you kept me away after what happened with Tengen. Or, I should say what didn't.

I'm sorry I didn't do enough back then and also that I ran away after you helped me when we were younger. Then again, when I tried apologizing for running away while braiding your beautiful hair like always, you said it was fine.

I don't know why I'm writing this letter, to be honest. Maybe it's because I'm feeling nostalgic.

From your former classmate,

══════════════════

April 2008

Six months since he defected…

Geto,

I have been thinking a lot about our childhood, our parents' expectations and just things of that sort. In general, I've been thinking about a lot and nothing at the same time. Mostly, I think about how stupid I am to keep writing to a man who would rather burn the whole world than try to nourish it. This is more for me than it is for you at this point.

My garden has been flourishing (well, it's attempting to). But Satoru is very encouraging when things get overwatered, and also a little annoying about the technicalities of it all. Satoru twiddling his thumbs while I tend to my wisteria tree is comforting, to say the least. Even though I know he is just itching to help. Sometimes, I let him.

From your former classmate,

Six and a half months since he defected…

Geto,

I think we're planning to move somewhere else soon, just as roommates, though. It was Satoru's idea. He made a good point of needing a change of scenery. Also, he has been very comforting in general, so I don't mind. I know whatever house or apartment he decides to buy will be way better than the hovel you're living in (hopefully).

From your former classmate,

══════════════════

May 2008

Seven months since he defected…

Geto,

The house Satoru picked out is very nice indeed. However, I expect nothing less from a clan head. My room is spacious, and it overlooks some lovely green spaces. It is a nice break for my eyes. Thankfully, it's still close enough where I can tend to the garden on campus, but Satoru was also smart enough to find a house where I can expand my green thumb. If need be.

It makes me miss our old town. When we had the warm summer sun kiss our faces, the promise of a better tomorrow. I almost asked Satoru if he wanted to visit whenever he had free time.

Although, he always makes himself free whenever I ask. But then I remembered that our youth, or lack thereof, is simply a ghost that will always haunt me. He's a good friend.

I still hope you're struggling. However, from what I have heard, you were able to take over the Star Plasma Church quickly. Or whatever you call it now. Congratulations. You've become everything you hate.

From your former classmate,

══════════════════

July 2008

Almost one year since he defected…

Geto,

It's approaching that time again. Sorry. I meant the anniversary of what happened. I think I have been able to process most of the merger that never happened. You were trying your best to stay as righteous as possible. I admire that about you. I've always struggled with that, but I guess I did better at masking it than you.

I know I said this before, but I am genuinely sorry about not doing enough back then. I went ahead and got myself stupidly injured when I should have stayed with you instead of following Satoru. He could protect himself. I'm not saying you aren't able to, but I guess I wanted you to see how strong I am. I want to say that none of it was your fault.

Although the hardship you've created after what happened with Riko is.

From your former classmate,

══════════════════

September 2008

One year since he defected…

Geto,

It's been more than a year since I last saw you. Summer came and went. Satoru and I were actually able to get our schedules lined up to visit Okinawa. It was a little painful, and I was reluctant. But you know him, it's hard to say no. He even checked the plane for anything that would be amiss.

'Cross my six eyes and hope to die, there's nothing here!' he told me when I was annoyingly asking for reassurance. I couldn't help but feel a swelling in my chest that I thought would never return. Once we actually arrived, it was a very relaxing time (He's finally figured out how to make my tea just how I like it).

It was such a nice gesture, and he was kind about the whole thing, so I bought him some sweets and wrote a note. He asked me if I would ever want to return, and I was about to insist that you come as well.

Luckily, we arrived back in Tokyo before the rain started to pick up. I've been getting assigned more missions, but this is what I've been working towards. Cleaning up your mess, no doubt.

From your former classmate,

══════════════════

August 2009

Almost two years since he defected…

Geto,

One of the more fucked up things in my life (other than continuing to write letters you'll never read) is how even after all this time, you are the only person I want to talk to. Shoko is going to school to become a doctor soon; from what I heard, Kento is doing well and- Satoru is a good boyfriend and a better dad.

Someone who knew you,

══════════════════

September 2009

Two years after he defected…

Geto,

I should have clarified in my last letter I am not pregnant. There are parts of my body that will always belong to you, no matter who decides to enter our home. Satoru adopted this boy and his sister. I didn't bother asking how or why we spent weeks tracking two orphans.

I know, even if Satoru won't tell me.

It's a little daunting sometimes being young parents. But I'm trying my best not to repeat any mistakes my parents made. However, there are certain moments when I can feel my father's venom come out to try to sting Megumi or Tsumiki. I would never let that happen.

I'm getting stronger for their sake. Maybe I'll try to cheat my way through medical school like Shoko.

From your former classmate,

══════════════════

December 22nd 2009

Two years after he defected…

Geto,

It's blistering outside but I will write something quickly as I am preparing for Megumi's birthday. Satoru and I have been making hasty preparations and a crappy cake (he insisted we tried when I said that I always wanted a nice homemade cake when I was younger) that will no doubt be replaced by one from a much better bakery. For a while, I was feeling jaded and jealous about how lavish Megumi's birthday party would be. But then I thought back to all of my birthdays those long forgotten years ago and thought about how I am so glad to have an opportunity to shelter a child from that experience.

In my reflections, I remembered your sleepy eyes and face smeared with an ice cream vanilla cake that your parents bought for me. I was fuming. Especially since my dad forced us to take a picture shortly after. I did a pretty good job of hiding it, though.

While moving to our new house, something fell out of my journal. It was the picture of that day. I'm sure you've thrown away your copy to forget your old life rightfully. Tsumiki came into my room right as I was about to put it away and asked who the dirty kid was in the photo. At first, I thought she was referring to me, but when I asked her to repeat the question nicely, she pointed to you. I told her the truth.

'It's just an old friend.'

══════════════════

March 2011

Three and a half years after he defected…

Dear Geto,

There are so many letters I have written, but I decided this is the best one for now.

Satoru is kind enough not to notice my fervent writings to a man I've been mourning who isn't even dead. I understand what you did. Sometimes, I'm even jealous that you had the courage to take action. You were trying in your way.

I have always felt like a passive observer, but now that love I carried for you burdens my family instead, with Satoru taking the brunt of it. I don't know if you remember, but you told me you wanted that. A family. Our family. Then again, I was half asleep, and I could have dreamed of you whispering that to me as I was lulled in the safety of your arms.

Wherever you are, I hope someone can give you what you deserve.

From an old friend,

══════════════════

September 2012

Five years after he defected…

My Dear, Geto,

I apologize for not writing that much. Then again, no designation could ever accurately describe our relationship. There's not much else to say other than I miss you. I finally cut my hair, not by choice. My son decided that gum belonged to my hair rather than a tissue thrown promptly into the garbage. I was annoyed, but then I remembered what a blessing it is to have him in my life. The ability to live in a world free of curses… I hope you're able to give it to him.

Maybe he'll inherit his father's technique one day. Perhaps not six-eyes since it seems a little exhausting. Once he's a little older, we'll find out, and then I will finally be able to return to work (despite Satoru's strong objections) alongside Shoko with less worry. Then again, if he were not to have a technique at all, I think that would be a greater blessing.

I do not wish to pass on the burden of our sins.

I just hope that if the time comes and he has nothing to protect himself from this unforgiving world, you will spare a child who has the wonder in his eyes you once had.

If I'm being honest, I knew you would never come back. I understood that the moment I slipped that note under your door only to find it unlocked and stripped clean. Still, a naive part of me kept writing and hoarding all the love I had for you in the hopes that you would one day return and take it all.

My garden, both on campus and at my home, is sprawling. In the spring, my children like to play in the large backyard pond. They're careful not to disturb the lotus that I've been careful to curate. Sometimes, I blink, and there are flashes of our childhood that I see. Specifically, summers which were spent in that grandmother's yard, tending to her vegetables and running errands. I hoped you would never tire of me dragging you along to this random grandmother's house, but deep down, I know you liked helping her as much as I did. It was a nice escape from the chaos of it all. I really started dreaming in those peaceful moments spent with you in that old house.

I have forgiven my parents, and now it's time that I try to accept what you did, along with the things I cannot change.

There has been an unnerving comfort in speaking to the ghost of who you once were. This will be my last letter for a while. Even though my writing, in general, has been sparse. I have a family, after all. I'm sure you do, too. I may be imagining things, but lately, these twin girls have been popping up wherever I go.

It seems stupid, I know, but they remind me of you despite their brown hair and large eyes. Both of which emit a warmth that I once felt whenever intertwined. In another life, maybe they could have been ours. Satoru listens to my concerns and is quick to calm me down. Ever since he's been checking in on me, I don't have nightmares anymore.

Sure, some nights are more challenging than others, but he whispers such lovely things that I can't help but fall asleep faster than I did with you. Sorry. That was an asshole thing of me to write. But I thought you would like to know I am being cared for.

You were my first love and best friend. My one and only.

With love,

Your dear, friend.

a/n: This is my first time trying this format, and I really like it! I might try it with another series of characters once I finish this. Also, the other chapters are written, but I am very anal about editing, so they're gonna have staggered uploads throughout March and April!

══════════════════

© Please do not copy or replicate my work. Inspiration is appreciated, but credit properly! ♡

[devilfic]

Hii <3 Can you make a Bruce x Surgeon reader?. Love your work btw.

❝right place, right time❞

parts: next plot: you took the hippocratic oath. you swore to help those in need. you didn’t sign up for a man crawling through your apartment window bleeding to death, but you’ve unfortunately seen worse. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: surgeon!reader, secret identities, slow burn, meet ugly but it’s kind of cute, vigilantes breaking into medical professionals’ houses but it’s not because they don’t heave health insurance, bruce wayne is a masochist, mentions of blood, bullet wounds, and surgical stitching. words: 4k. edited: 2/28/24.

a/n: I struggled a bit with this idea, but I ended up really liking the outcome! hope you enjoy.

Contrary to what your mother believed, you had started looking for a new apartment. You’d stare at newspaper clippings stuck to your fridge and imagine yourself living in those nicer buildings and say “I’ll call them on my lunch break” but never did.

But it wasn’t your fault, you just got busy. And busier. And you liked this place. Since you’d enrolled in medical school, it hadn’t done you wrong. You might as well have had lamb’s blood over your door the way the angel of death never came knocking.

And technically that was still true. He had to have been there before you slipped in, the stove clock reading 11:15 in neon green just a minute before you noticed his sinister silhouette outlined by your window. It had been a long shift, but you definitely weren’t just seeing things.

A chilly breeze shuffles his cape. He shifts and you realize the window he was blocking had been pried open. It’d stopped opening for you years ago. His body shifts (sways) again, saying nothing.

“What are you doing in my house?” He hears you. There’s no way he can’t hear you, the distance between the front door and the window mere feet in between. He shifts one more time, hulking forward with the ears of his cowl resembling bull horns, and you grab the doorknob in fear that he’s about to charge forward and trample you... but he hits the floor.

Slowly, you open your front door again, hallway light illuminating the body on your living room floor. Completely still. You stand there for perhaps a few beats too long just looking at him. Then, extra slow, you let your door shut and flip on the overhead light. In the time it’d taken for you to collect your thoughts, a small pool of blood had begun to stain the carpet underneath him.

Your shift had been long, and this definitely wasn’t the first time today you’d seen that much blood, but you’d been prepared then.

“Shit, shit, shit,” tossing your things to the side, you all but throw yourself onto the ground next to the Batman’s body. You note with increasing concern that he doesn’t react at all, “do not die on my carpet!”

He doesn’t react to that either.

It takes your eyes a moment to adjust in your flurry of thoughts, relieved to see that his back was still rising and falling with life, but the blood soaking the floor and eating up your security deposit didn’t leave you feeling very confident. Tucking his cape out of the way does nothing to help show you his injury, and you realize that you’d need to move him and remove the layer of armor in your way if you wanted to stop the bleeding.

Even splayed on the floor, it’s clear he’s a mountain of a man. There was no way you could flip him all on your own. “Hey,” you call, “what happened to you?”

There are slits in the cowl where his eyes should be and black paint spread around his eyelashes that do not flutter when you speak. Careful, you take your thumb and peel one eyelid back to reveal a brilliant blue eye staring back at you—or rather, your direction—unresponsive.

There’s a neat protocol for this. You’re a professional with over a decade of training under your belt and over a hundred different emergencies that hadn’t made you flinch or falter. You know what to do and how to do it right, but you really haven’t got the time.

Winding your hand back with just enough force, you bring the palm of it down onto his exposed cheek, startling him awake instantly.

The victory is short-lived when he suddenly arrests your hand in an iron-clad grip, stunning you with the sheer strength he puts behind it. That was a good sign, at least. He wasn’t quite seeing the light at the end of the tunnel yet. You’re quick to get your words out before he can fling you across the room in a rage, “I need you to roll over so I can get your suit off.”

You kinda feel bad for the guy. His eyes are slow to follow your hand’s movement, brain even slower to process what it is you’re asking. He can barely lift his head off the ground to assess his surroundings. You watch the way he struggles to focus on you, frantic as you are, and his nose twitches at the idea, “No.”

“No?”

The labored breathing isn’t a very good sign, “I can’t.”

“I need to get to your wound. I can’t do that with an inch of Kevlar in the way.”

He musters some of the strength he used to take you captive to push himself up and over onto his back. Still, he refuses to move any further, “I got the bullet out. Just stop the bleeding.”

Sure enough, the material around his wound had shattered open from the impact of a bullet, no doubt holding up for as long as it could under a barrage. His entire suit had taken a beating. You cringe at the blood still free-flowing and remove your cardigan, bunching it to press against the wound. “You’re an idiot,” you hiss, forgetting yourself and who you’re talking to, “you probably agitated the wound doing that. You need stitches. You know that, right?”

“Just... stop the bleeding.”

You’d handled legions of mafia goons, clowns, and freaks, but Batman was shaping up to be your most annoying patient. “I can’t if you don’t let me stitch you up. I can’t stitch you up with this armor in the way.” He even has the audacity to doze off a little while you talk, coming back to only when you give his cheek a few more taps, “You’re not dying in my house. If you want to bleed to death, get out. Otherwise, let me help you... please.”

If you were in the operating room, maybe you could’ve cut the thing off him by now, but you’re in your mediocre apartment with tools only a little more helpful than the average first aid kit. What stands between you and the grim reaper is an exposed identity. You were a little alarmed that he was still deliberating on which was worse.

His eyes stare down at you, eyelids drooping by the second. You hope that’s not another bad sign, “I’ll blindfold myself.”

“Tell me how bleeding out is worse again.” At least he had a sense of humor about it.

You laugh because it’s all you can really do with that, “I’m a pretty good surgeon from what I hear.” His eyes flicker to your scrubs as if he had just noticed what you were wearing, “It’s just this upper part, right? You have to take your cowl off to remove it. So I’ll blindfold myself. Then you can put the cowl back on and I can work. I promise.”

Batman watches you with those haunting eyes, rimmed with blackness that makes the blue look like it goes on forever. Then, his hand slips down to the place where his breastplate meets his belt. His fingers make quick work of loosening the latter. That’s all you need to get moving.

You retrieve your first aid kit and meager surgical tools from the bathroom, and there’s a scarf from last night’s shift on the arm of your couch that you quickly tie around your eyes, listening for movement as you kneel by Batman’s side. You hear grunts of pain and the shifting of fabric, a breathless whine and sigh. You feel him shift in front of you, cringing when you realize he’s sitting up now. Reaching your hands out to help him, he grits through his teeth to dissuade you, “It’s fine.”

“You’re gonna tire yourself out.” Your voice is much gentler this time, a reward for his compliance, and you let your hands feel for where his own are hooked under his armor. You think you hear him suck air through his teeth at the touch. “Let me.”

He doesn’t use his words to reply. His hands engulf your own and it’s your turn to gasp now as he moves them into position, hooking your fingers between the Kevlar and the fabric underneath. You feel his body flex with the effort as you heave the top off him, your fingers brushing over wisps of hair as your hands pass over his head. It thuds somewhere off to the side.

The sound of him falling back against the floor is none too comforting, though his voice confirms that you can look again.

The fabric of his under suit is easy to cut open with scissors, and once you’ve got a good vantage point, you begin wiping around the wound to prepare. “There’s no anesthesia here, sorry. You’re gonna have to tough this one out.”

The Batman keeps his gaze on your ceiling with his jaw clenched. With your needle prepared, you steady your hand against the warmth of his skin and begin stitching.

He’s good for a few minutes and you watch his face for any signs that you should stop, but every time he meets your eyes, you force yourself back to work. You’re just in the homestretch when he stutters out a pained breath, grasping at your bloodied cardigan for something to distract himself from the pain. You spread the hand that isn’t stitching him up against his torso and begin brushing your idle pinky back and forth, attempting to comfort him, “You’re doing great. I’m almost done.”

Your touch makes him stiffen and you wait for him to tell you to stop, wait for him to pry your fingers from his skin, but he does nothing of the sort. “You said you’re a surgeon.”

You make another loop, pleased that he’s more alert now, “I’d say you must be pretty lucky for breaking into my place, but you’re also the one that got shot.” His shoulders relax the minute you tie off your thread and snip off the excess. The gauze and tape is the easy part.

His eyes shift from you to the window he’d crawled in through, blood dried on the white wood. You think he’s cold and are about to get up and shut it when he speaks again, a little gentler, “Why here? You could live anywhere.”

“Be careful. You sound like my mother,” you joke, “I just haven’t gotten around to it. 16 hour shifts take precedence.”

To your surprise, his eyes flash with remorse. “I was looking for somewhere to hide. I wasn’t going to stay.”

“But you did.”

“I’m usually more bulletproof.”

That gets a laugh out of you. You think Batman even quirks a smile, however faint. “I’d hope so. I’d like you to stick around a little longer.” Batman’s confusion is obvious this close up. You continue, “Long shifts, you know. Get a lot of casualties. It’s really... gruesome stuff. They don’t sugarcoat it in residency, but when you’re really out there, seeing it every night... anyway, it’s been different since you came along. People sleep a bit easier. Me included.”

You don’t tell him that he’s part of the reason you hadn’t up and moved to a better city yet. It feels implied.

The clock now reads 12:32, a warning of how late the night had gone on, “Well, are you sleeping on the couch or the floor? I prefer the couch but you seem like the masochistic type.”

Batman brushes off your dig a little too easily, “Neither.”

“I’m not letting you leave after all that, if that’s what you’re thinking. You narrowly avoided death.”

“I’ll be fine. Thanks to you.”

Oh, oh this man. Was your heartfelt confession not enough? “You won’t be fine if you get up and leave.”

“I can’t stay here.”

“You will if you want to live.”

“I’ve been through worse.”

“I will tie you to a goddamn chair before I let you ruin all my hard work. I’ll keep you here all night.”

He sits up again, more confident now that his wound is handled, and you’re quickly reminded that even unconscious, he’d been too strong to manhandle. With him looming over you with purpose, you wouldn’t stand a chance.

Your eyes discreetly rake over the heavy, sturdy planes of his body. You weren’t much in the way of him. Your last-ditch effort is a little pitiful, “Please. You obviously do this vigilante thing for a reason. You don’t have to stay the whole night. At least rest for a few hours. There are a lot of people who need you here tomorrow... again, me included.”

Your puppy dog eyes are a little rusty, you know. The sincerity works for you. Even when the Batman feigns undecided, you can tell his choice by some of the tension leaving his body.

You just wish he wasn’t so stubborn.

You scramble to hold him when he starts pushing himself to stand, your arm linking around his almost naked waist. The fabric clings closely to the dips and curves of his hip, and you press closer to tuck under his arm. He must be more tired than he lets on because he barely resists you.

You’re thankful that he can shoulder most of his weight on the slow, stiff walk to the couch, and your worry overpowers your smugness when he drops to the cushions the second you get close enough. You’re gentle checking the gauze for any red that might seep through, but the stitches remain intact. “If you eat something, you’ll heal a bit faster.”

“I’m-” He catches himself before he adds on a “fine”, “water would be... good.”

The bottle you retrieve remains unopened until you put it in his hands, “A few hours, okay? At least two.” Batman frowns at you, jaw pulling taut at the thought of staying still for that long. His mulishness would be endearing if he wasn’t playing with life or death. “I’m gonna be in that room at the end of the hall. I’ll keep my door cracked in case you need me.”

“You shouldn’t do that.” Batman warns, a strange edge of concern to his voice, “With strangers in your house.”

You laugh, “What? You mean you?”

His hand takes your wrist but gentler this time, “Three hours. And you’ll run next time someone breaks in.”

You’re kind of stunned. Not because you didn’t think he’d care, but because, in all this commotion, you hadn’t really paused to think about what would have happened if it hadn’t been him at your window. You’d been lucky for this to be the first time anyone had ever broken in, but what if tonight had gone differently? It’s a simple, reasonable request. “Yeah,” His eyelids flutter closed a little at your agreement, “Three hours.”

You’d worked shifts longer than a day and they’d never exhausted you this badly.

You know you should be putting on a better face for the day, especially with who you’d be meeting in less than an hour, but you’d barely slept a wink with your guest only feet away from your bedroom door, no monotonous heart monitor to fall asleep to. What little sleep you did get only came after he’d left—true to his word, he’d stayed for three hours—and then worries of whether he’d made it home safely had consumed you.

That was the thing with masked vigilantes, you supposed. This was your first after all.

“You look rough. Long night?” You recognize the voice as one of the pediatricians, Emily, who had been handpicked alongside you for the day’s special event. She looked far more alive in comparison.

“You’ve no idea.”

Emily sidles up beside you, radiating excitement, “I could barely sleep either. I’ve never met a celebrity before!”

You muster up enough energy to laugh, humorless as it was, “CEOs don’t count as celebrities, Em.”

“Yeah, they do. Elon Musk hosted SNL. Only celebrities do that.”

And thank God that wasn’t who you were meeting today. You weren’t that good of an actor.

It had been between you and one other general surgeon in your department for the day, and though you’d remained adamant that it should be literally anyone else but you representing your department, your boss had nominated you.

That’s why you were standing here on only an hour and a half of sleep, second coffee in hand, waiting by the front doors of Gotham General for the fanfare to start. They’d be here any minute.

For every second you weren’t agonizing over what you’d have to say (”Thank you for your generous donation, we really need it in a city that implodes on itself once every afternoon”) or buzzing from the caffeine, you were checking local news for any sightings of the Batman. It had gone from curious to obsessive in about a few hours, and now you were doing everything in your power not to sneak your phone out and check again.

Just as your fingers begin to itch over the mouth of your pocket, a sleek Rolls Royce pulls up beneath the porte-cochère. It’s obvious who it belongs to. No one who owned a car like that would make Gotham General their first choice for healthcare.

Your boss materializes out of thin air, running outside to greet the greying man who steps out of the passenger seat first. You’re confused, wondering if they’d sent a representative instead, only for that same man to open the backseat door a moment later, and out steps the man of the hour: Bruce Wayne.

You’d never seen him in person before. “Have you ever seen him in person before?” Emily asks, bouncing up and down beside you. “He’s more handsome up close.”

She... wasn’t wrong.

Bruce Wayne looks a lot like his pictures, but there are subtle differences. His height, for one, cannot be overstated. He hovers over the man who’d come with him and your boss easily. Though you’re separated by glass doors, you’re able to make out the sharp point of his nose and squaring of his jaw. He looks every bit like his father.

It’s only when the three of them make their way into the lobby—where you are—that you notice his eyes.

You weren’t like Em. The Wayne tragedy had been just that: a tragedy. Summers weren’t for the arrival of Bruce Wayne back from boarding school, every tabloid and teenager with nothing better to do scrambling to get a picture of the sole heir. You couldn’t even say if his hair was black or brown. You’d never cared past the statue in the courtyard dedicated to his father. So you had no idea just how blue those eyes were. So... familiarly blue. You hadn’t seen eyes that blue for the last eight hours.

It doesn’t help that as soon as Bruce spots you, he stumbles in his walk behind your boss. You swore he looked like he knew you.

“...and this is Dr. Emily Madison, one of our pediatricians here. These two are extraordinary and a big part of why Gotham General is the trusted facility it is today,” your boss is all smiles and glamour, cutting his eyes to you, “why don’t you say a few words to Mr. Wayne and Mr. Pennyworth?”

Right. Your script. The one you’d written more like a joke because you couldn’t focus on anything other than- “Thank you so much for your generous donation, Mr. Wayne,” you step forward to shake both hands in order, “the Wayne Foundation will help so many of us in the field working tirelessly to serve Gotham, as I know your father was very passionate about.”

“Yes,” Bruce sounds a little breathless, “he’d be very proud of the work your team has done so far.”

Your mouth dries up a little. You had to be exhausted. Your mind was running away from you at the timbre of his voice. You’d heard it before too.

Emily’s voice is petering off into white noise as she shares her own gratitude, Bruce focusing on her instead, and suddenly you’re looking at every detail, fitting your thumb in the space between his eyelid and brow in your mind and wondering if that had been the same eye you’d peered into last night.

You haven’t slept at all, you remind yourself, thoughts forming faster than your logic could bat them down, you’re not thinking straight. It’s just that... you swear that...

Suddenly the group is moving, your boss at the forefront. His voice trickles back into your ears as you come back down to earth, “Well, shall we take a look at the new wing? It’s still under construction, but we’d love to show you what we have so far.”

You follow far behind as you approach the grand staircase in the middle of the foyer, eyes following the silhouette of Bruce. You’re comparing shadows, legs, shoulders, cheekbones, finding more similarities than differences. If he feels your eyes burning into him, he isn’t acknowledging you.

He’s barely taken five steps up the staircase when you notice the awkward tilt in his walk. The few glimpses you get of his face as the group begins to ascend looks strained, every step looks painful. Before you can stop yourself, you reach out a hand to grasp his elbow and stop him in his tracks, “Are you hurt?”

You’re just as shocked as he is. The instinct to grab him had been faster than your logic.

He’s got this wide-eyed, almost hysterically doe look as he flits his attention from your hand on his sleeve to your eyes. Seconds later, a more weathered hand pries you two apart. “Apologies, but I’ll have to ask you to refrain from touching Mr. Wayne without-”

“No, Alfred, it’s fine.” “Alfred” releases you at the behest of his employer who hasn’t taken his eyes off you, “I should be the one to apologize... I overexerted myself these last few days at work and believed I might be able to tough it out. If anyone were to notice something wrong, it would be a skilled professional such as yourself.”

His response is corporate and clean, and just as quickly as his shock had appeared, his face returns to professional distance once more.

Emily looks sympathetic over the PR statement. Your boss is quick to scramble back down the stairs, only a little hurt when Bruce waves away his arm to help him back down, “Mr. Wayne, you should have said something! We can take the elevators instead. The last thing we’d want to do is make you uncomfortable. Please, this way.”

You find your way to the back of the group again, now thoroughly embarrassed at your behavior, and begin plotting excuses to step away in the middle of the tour. Emergency surgery, maybe? You had friends in the ICU who could ping you for a false alarm. Maybe then you could sneak in a well-needed nap back at your office-

“I should thank you.”

Bruce had materialized beside you at some point on the trek to the elevators, not as keen on hiding the stiffness in his walk after being exposed. Once his words catch up with you, you stumble out a response, “Wh- oh no, that’s not-”

“Alfred often has to remind me to take care of myself, but it’d be unlike me to not give him a hard time.” Bruce offers a smile, genuine enough that you’re kind of pleased he’s not playing up the friendliness for business. You hate that his smile is the only thing that sets him and Batman apart in your exhausted mind.

You return the smile as you all wait for the doors to open, “He seems very protective of you. And he’s right, you should take better care of yourself. There are worse places to get hurt.”

You’re about to look away, about to follow Emily and your boss and Mr. Pennyworth into the elevator, but you’re a second too late and catch a glint in his eye as soon as you finish your sentence. It’s gone before you know it. “Maybe.” Is his only reply. His smile remains genuine.

taglist: @yikes-buddy @alexxavicry

[uwingdispatch]

Wayward Evenings

Notes: Ezra Bridger/Reader, established relationship, gender neutral reader, post-rebellion/post-war, hurt/comfort, chronically ill/disabled reader

CW: alcohol consumption, the aftermath of alcohol consumption, implied sexual intimacy

Ao3 Link

★★★★★★★★

You hadn’t expected to spend your evening holding your husband’s hair back in the refresher. In fact, you’d had other plans. But when Hondo was in town…you’d learned to expect this kind of thing. Perhaps it was your mistake to try and do tonight any other way, but you’re still annoyed that Ezra is just so…Ezra when it comes to the former pirate. 

“You’re lucky you’re pretty,” you tell him. Ezra is leaning against a cabinet on the floor doing his best to stay upright. Despite your irritation, you’re right there with him, smoothing his sweat-slicked hair away from his face. “Every time,” you say. “It’s like you’re incapable of making good decisions around that man.”

“I think you’re onto something there, sunshine,” he says. “But can we talk about it tomorrow? I feel like I’m going to die right now.”

You let out a deep sigh. “Sure,” you say. “If you promise to never drink pirate moonshine again.”

“It was made on Batuu, so technically it’s moons-shine.”

“You know what? I’m just going to leave.”  You have no intention of leaving.

“I’ll never touch that shit again,” he says. “For you, of course.” And then wretches again. 

An hour ago someone at the cantina had called you to come get your idiot husband. They normally would have called Sabine—she was more physically capable of dragging Ezra out of a bar and throwing him into a speeder—but she’s been off planet for the past few weeks and that left you and your droid to come coax Ezra out of the building and get him home. 

“I know you had plans,” he says. “I’m so sorry,”

“Too drunk to stand up,” you say, “before the sun’s even fully set!”

“I guess I was just feeling ambitious.”

“When they called me to come get you they were worried you were going to try and fight a Dowutin. Over an insult to Hondo’s ‘honor.’”

“I would never actually—” 

“If you weren’t who you are you might have gotten arrested.”

“I know.” 

“Ezra, I love you, but I really don’t love this.” 

Even still, you’re rubbing his back, holding him steady. There are people you meet at a certain age and somehow, whenever they’re around, you become that age again. You understand this. It just doesn’t make your current predicament any less frustrating..

C2-B35 rolls in grumbling and hands you fresh towels, which you pass off to Ezra, who seems to be regaining his balance as he stands, the nausea abating.

“I think the worst is over, Cee,” Ezra says.

Ceetoo, being a therapy droid ultimately concerned with your wellbeing, chirps and whirrs—a curse-ridden message for Ezra that you don’t bother acknowledging. Because despite her vitriol, the little astromech has been monitoring his vitals since the two of you picked him up earlier. 

“Get cleaned up,” you say. “Is there anything you need?”

“You’re too good to me,” he says. “But all I need is you.”

In the kitchen, inhaling a bowl of leftover pasta, you remind yourself that this is not a regular occurrence. You hear the shower running and feel a bit of relief knowing you’ve moved on to the part of the evening where Ezra can take care of himself. Which means the vomiting is over. And given how much of that had gone on earlier, you’re pretty sure he meant it when he said he’d swear off Hondo’s moonshine.

When he emerges he’s wearing just a pair of gray lounge pants and a soft red robe—yours—left open. 

Ceetoo is nearby watering her plants and in a series of beeps and whistles she asks if she needs to still be monitoring Ezra. 

“I’m good, Cee,” he says. “I just need to rest. And make up for…all of this.”

He slips his arms around your waist and nuzzles your neck before pressing a soft kiss to your temple. 

“Feeling better?” you ask.

“Eh…mostly.”

“Still a little drunk?”

“A little.”

You take his face in your hand, brushing your thumb over his cheek before tucking a few wayward curls, still wet from the shower, behind his ear. He leans in as if to kiss you and you stop him. “Not before you drink that water,” you say, pointing to a large glass on the kitchen counter. “All of it.”

“And then?”

You shrug.

“You know I’d do anything for you, sunshine,” he says, his voice low, his lips almost touching your ear.

You reply: “I know.”  

***

You’d been dating Ezra for six months when you first met Hondo. Ezra had described the old Weequay as “kind of like an uncle, but not the kind of uncle you call in an emergency…unless it’s like a real emergency, he’ll show up for that.”

And after a night out with Ezra’s “uncle” you wondered if you really knew who you were dating. It wasn’t that the liquor had changed his personality, or even that Hondo had. You just hadn’t seen this side of him before.

“I think I overdid it,” he said.

“You did.”

“I should have warned you.”

“Ezra,” you said. “I don’t know if there’s any way to warn someone that one of your dearest friends is the kind of person who thinks axe-throwing while drunk is a good idea.” 

You were walking a rather tipsy Ezra home after what you had thought would be a casual dinner with a quirky family friend. But that was not how time with Hondo would ever go. You’d threatened to leave over the whole axe-throwing throwing thing, but stayed a while when Ezra reluctantly backed down from the challenge.

“I forget that Ezra Bridger cannot hold his liquor,” Hondo had said. “I would do anything for this boy, but he would have made a terrible pirate.” 

Ezra looped his arm around your waist and sighed. “With Hondo,” Ezra said, “sometimes it feels like I can go back in time. Like…”

“Like all the time you lost while you were away didn’t happen?”

“You get it,” he said. “Of course you get it.”

“I don’t know if I get it, but I think I know what you’re saying.”

Ezra never got to go through a wild phase—not the way most people did as young adults. Hondo, however, seemed to make space for the chaotic teenager in anyone. Which maybe under other circumstances might have been fine, but Ezra’s limit was usually a pint or two of ale. Tonight there had been Correllian wine. And then shots of something that smelled like explosives.

Just outside of his house now, Ezra mumbled, “I would have been a great pirate.” 

You swiped his key card to open the front door and, as soon as he could get to it, he flopped into his bed. 

You sighed, watching Ezra struggle to take off his socks. “I’m sure you would have been legendary.”

“Legendary!” he repeated.

You got ready for bed, using the items of yours that had started to collect in the refresher. Some you’d left at Ezra’s place over the last few months. Others Ezra had bought for you, wanting you to feel welcome and at home with him. He called your name, and you went to the kitchen to get him a glass of water, knowing he’d be feeling this in the morning if he didn’t at least try to hydrate.

“Come here,” he said. “Let me hold you.”

When you joined him in bed, he pulled you toward him, undressed now, his skin warm against yours. “I don’t usually drink like this,” he said.

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ve seen you this intoxicated before.”

“That’s on purpose,” he said. “I can’t believe I let myself…you know what? It doesn’t matter. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Drink the water,” you told him.

“I will,” he said. “Hey. Hey…can you look at me?”

You tuck his hair behind his ear, let your fingers trail down his neck and along his jawline. “I’ve been looking at you this whole time.”

“I’m just so glad you came out with me tonight. I know Hondo is a lot, but he’s family.”

“He’s probably not too fond of me.”

“Are you kidding? He loved you.”

“Really?”

“How could he not, sunshine?” he said. And after a pause, “Do you know how important you are to me? How much I love you?”

It was the first time either of you had said these words to the other. And you hadn’t expected to hear them as a drunken confession. “Ezra, I—”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

“It’s okay. Just…tell me again when you’re sober.”

“I will.”

He pulled you close and you rested your head on his chest, breathing deeply. He smelled of sweat and alcohol, of course. But also of him. Of a man you’d very much fallen in love with. Sometimes you thought you’d fallen in love with him the day you’d met. But you’d held those words back, wondering sometimes whether Ezra Bridger was the type to settle down. 

But now, there was something about the way he stroked your hair as he started to doze off. And when he said “I’ll tell you I love you every day for as long as you’ll have me,” tipsy or not, you believed him.

***

You’re in the kitchen brewing a fresh pot of caf when you hear Ezra stumbling down the hallway, followed by the loth-cats that had been sleeping at his feet.

“You’re never up this early,” he says.

His hair is wild, and he’s wearing a robe—his this time—and not much else. You don’t need to tell him he’s a mess. He knows. And he knows how he got here.

“There’s no Jedi trick for hangovers,” you say. “Or at least that’s what you’ve lead me to believe.”

You put a plate of eggs and two headache tablets on the table and he sits, a look of defeat in his big blue eyes.

“I’d been hoping to make you breakfast today,” he says. “I really kriffed things up last night.”

Ceetoo comes in the front door carrying a shopping bag, looks straight at Ezra and starts grumbling in binary.  

“I know,” he says. “I’m profoundly aware of this. Can you please lower your volume?”

You bring two cups of caf to the table and sit beside Ezra. A man who’s stayed up with you through countless nights when your chronic pain was at its worst. Who makes a point of bringing you your favorite tea anytime you have a particularly bad migraine. A man who, when you’d first met, lived on the opposite side of town—but when he found out how difficult your anxiety could get, he started making that long drive to you any time you were struggling and he thought he could help.

He did kriff up last night. But you can’t find it in yourself to hold it against him. “It was a rough night,” you say. “But it’s behind us.” 

Sipping his caf he says, “Thank you, love.” 

“You would do the same for me.”

“I don’t mean the breakfast. I mean, I do. But you deserve better than a grown man who can’t get his shit together for one night so you can go out with your friends.”

There’s something sheepish about him as he takes your hand, and you see the “boy” Hondo always refers to when he talks about Ezra, despite his being in his forties. 

“You have your shit remarkably together ninety-nine percent of the time, Ezra,” you say. “I can make new plans. And you were sick enough yesterday that I think that might be punishment enough.”

Ceetoo grumbles as she brings you a plate of sliced fruit. She’d happily gone to the store for you but had been less than enthusiastic about it when you told her the fruit was for Ezra—she could hold a grudge as well as any organic. But you reminded her of how many times he’d been there for the two of you, and that if you could forgive him for one ruined night, she could, too. 

As she’s leaving the kitchen she beeps and whistles: try not to barf.

Ezra laughs. “I’m so glad she doesn’t actually hate me,” he says. “Though sometimes I wonder.”

You sit in silence for a while, listening to the wind blowing a tree branch into the window outside, the birds singing in the garden. And you remember planting that garden with Ezra when you first moved into this house, how you reminded him again that you probably wouldn’t be able to help much with maintaining the garden because of your chronic pain. And he’d taken your hands and told you that he didn’t expect anything of you other than that you being in his life. That just you being here, making a home together—that was enough. He’d wiped the tears from your cheeks when you began to cry, your heart so full it was spilling over.

“How are you feeling?” you ask.

“Better now that I’ve eaten, actually.”  

He gives your hand a squeeze before you get up to feed the two tooka cats who have gathered under the table, nipping at your feet. One you’d had when you met Ezra—the other was a three-legged stray Ezra had found living in an alley behind his work, far too friendly to be a street cat. You nearly trip over the little guy as you turn to put the kibble away, only to be steadied by Ezra—you hadn’t even realized he’d gotten up from the table.

“Hey,” he says. “I’ve got you.”

“I was fine,” you insist.

He smiles. “Sure.”

His grin is infectious, and soon you have your arms around his neck, unable to stifle the smile on your own face. He ghosts his fingers along your cheek, his thumb swiping over your bottom lip for a moment before leaning in to kiss you, slow and lingering.

“You can make me dinner tonight,” you tell him. 

“And in the meantime?”

You can’t imagine he’s recovered that quickly. But Ezra is always full of surprises. So when he leads you back to the bedroom you follow. He discards your clothing in the hall, piece by piece as you stumble over each other, a feeling of lightness filling you as he kisses your forehead, your nose, your neck before you tumble into bed. And when you find yourself beneath the sheets with Ezra, you’re thinking about how seamlessly he fit into your life, from the very beginning. And now, how perfectly your bodies fit together, his deft hands finding exactly where and how you love to be touched. 

He whispers in your ear: “Let me make this up to you.”  

And you melt into him, your fingers lacing into his hair as he kisses you deeper, a spark of electricity running through you as if it were the first time he’d ever kissed you. 

“You still owe me dinner,” you tell him.

“I’ll give you anything,” he says, pressing a kiss to your clavicle. “Anything you want,” he says, “it’s yours.”

And, if only because he’d never once given you a reason not to, you believe him. 

★★★★★★★★

Thank you so much for reading! Once again I am here to be a gremlin about Ezra Bridger somehow growing up to be Blorbo. I hope this fic made you feel seen and loved.

I have a taglist now! Sign up here if you want to be tagged in future fics. (And choose if you only want to be tagged for certain characters.) In the meantime, I’m tagging my taglist as well as some folks who have been reblogging my fics. Love y’all!

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[ghost-whump]

Oh, requests are opened? 👀

What about... a Whumpee who ran away from Caretaker/their team (whichever works for you!) after an argument with them, only to be kidnapped, and just as they're whisked away, they heard Caretaker/the team calling for them...

Also, nice to meet you, and welcome to the community! ❤️

-- @whumperofworlds

hello!!! thank you so much for the request, this is technically my first writing request outside of ask games, so i am SO excited!!!!! i hope you enjoy <3

“Are You Okay?”

CW: kidnapping, non-con drugging, self-blaming victim, references to depression and/or other mental illnesses, creepy whumper, implied future whump. Let me know if I’m missing anything!

The door slammed shut with a loud bang.

Whumpee took off running, furiously wiping their eyes with a sleeve. They ran down the flight of stairs and out the door of Caretaker’s apartment building. They needed a break.

The dark sidewalks, illuminated by dim and flickering streetlights, are uncharacteristically empty. Only a few pedestrians and cars pass them as their sprit slows to a jog, then a walk, and they finally stop.

Stupid Whumpee, they thought, always fucking up. Caretaker asked them to do one thing, and they already failed. And then ran away about it.

“Please,” Caretaker had asked, “Empty the dishwasher before I come home.”

Whumpee wanted to! They thought about it all day before Caretaker came home. Every time they entered the kitchen, that request rang through their head. Every minute, a chorus of reminders and “I show do the dishes now”s plagued their mind, but…

They just never got around to it.

And the way Caretaker had reacted? Whumpee shivered. Caretaker never hurt them, not once, but that look of weary disappointment followed by the smallest of tired sighs as their bag was slowly slung to the floor…

Whumpee would have preferred a beating.

No amount of apologies or promises to do better did much to quell Caretaker’s mood. They remained quiet and distant the whole night. Picking at their TV dinner (because there were no clean dishes to cook with) just exuding an aura of depression. And Whumpee couldn’t fix it.

“I ask you to do one thing,” Caretaker finally snapped, “All I wanted was the dishes! I thought it would help you get out of this—this funk you’re stuck in! Just a quick, simple task during the day. Clearly it didn’t work, and… I- I don’t know how to help you anymore, Whumpee.”

They sobbed again at the memory. Maybe Caretaker would actually want them if they stopped be lazy. If they were just good, none of this would have happened.

After a minute or two, allowing themself time breathe, Whumpee shakily began to collect their bearings. Street signs indicated they had run almost three blocks from Caretaker’s home. Now Whumpee has never been in the best of shape, and the exhaustion was starting to hit.

They leaned against a streetlight, hand bracing their bent posture. Just a minute to catch their breath, then Whumpee will be on their way home. All they needed was-

“Are you okay?”

Whumpee’s head snapped up, “Huh?”

A dark figure stood over them, face obscured by the shadow cast from the awkward light. “I said, are you okay? You seem a bit out of breath.”

“Oh, yeah,” Whumpee chuckled, giving this stranger a little smile, “I’m fine. I just—just need to head home.”

The stranger leaned in closer, “I’ll walk you. It’s dangerous this late at night.”

Whumpee righted themselves and back up a bit. They could sense creep-behaviour from a mile away. “N-No thanks. I live very close, I’m fine by myself.”

“Please,” The stranger suddenly leapt forward and grabbed Whumpee’s wrist, pulling them close, “I insist.”

“Hey! Let me—mmf!” A gloved hand wrapped around their head and covered their mouth. The glove smelled of antiseptic, or some kind of bleach. Whumpee thrashed. They fought and tried to shout but it all came out muffled by the hand.

“Shh,” The stranger lifted them off the ground with ease, carrying them swiftly out of the light and into an alley. “Calm down, dear. Take some deep breaths. You’ll be fine…” They soothed, pressing their chemical-laced glove further towards Whumpee’s nose.

The more Whumpee tried to fight and scream and cry, the harder it became. Their limbs felt weak and eyelids, heavy. They couldn’t even bear to keep their eyes open anymore, too tired to even see where they were being dragged.

“There’s a nice pet, all sleepy for me.” A careful hand brushed through their hair. Like how Caretaker would when they snuggled in bed to put them to sleep. “Yes, that’s good. Don’t struggle. Go to sleep, dear.”

So, as much as Whumpee might not have wanted to, their consciousness started to slip. Blipping between awake and asleep for what could have been hours, minutes, or even seconds.

The last thing they heard while going under, a frightening shiver rocketing down their spine, was a familiar voice shouting from far away; “Hey, have you seen someone running past here? They’re name is Whumpee.”

thanks so much for this request! it was so fun to write, so i hope you enjoy it just as much <3 @whumperofworlds

General Tag: @morning-star-whump