#flirting in front of a sleeping client!

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | oneshot smut [18+]

luxury & lingerie. a retail au

“𝐀𝐥𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲’𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞. 𝐋𝐞𝐭’𝐬 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐭. 𝐈’𝐦 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐡 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤.”

ᰔ pairing. retail au - rolex salesman gojo x victoria's secret associate reader (f)

ᰔ summary. gojo is the rolex watch shop's pretty boy & you're the victoria's secret lingerie store's new hire that works across from him. let's just say he's determined to get inside your pants.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, porn with plot (seriously that's all it is), smut, casual sex, possibly comedic, lots of terrible flirting, tiny bit of fluff if you squint, gojo's got a daddy kink that you really have no interest in entertaining, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, creampie, blowjobs, oral sex, praise kink, some degradation, sort of cum play, banter, suguru & choso are in it too (the hot-boy sales trio)

ᰔ word count. 6.5k

a/n. hellooo this started with this concept idea i had of hot retail worker gojo who just wants to flirt with you instead of actually do his job lmfao. this was seriously just a stream of my consciousness. hope you enjoy! and thanks to everyone that wanted to be on taglist for this. creds to @quinnyundertow for the sephora lipstick idea.

The sound of Suguru’s voice was the last thing going through Gojo’s mind right now.

“Anyways, I put the car in reverse, she’s on aux. I’m thinking, she’s gotta have good taste, right? She’s the one that suggested the Maneskin concert in the first place. But you know what she starts playing? Country music. Fucking country music. And I’m not necessarily opposed to a good— dude, are you even listening?”

Choso leans over the polished display case of the mens’ latest Rolex models, staring at the two idiots in front of him. “No, he’s not. He’s been ogling the tits on that mannequin over there for the past five minutes.”

Gojo finally blinks out of his trance, irritated. “I’m not staring at the mannequin, I’m staring at—”

You. New hire. Over at the Victoria’s Secret that was across from his turf at the mall. You were standing on your tiptoes on a mini ladder, wobbling a little, reaching up for a mannequin at the display window to switch out the corny yellow sleeping mask on its face for one that was a more sleek, satin blue. 

The fabric of your uniform slid up slightly, skin of your midriff exposed, and he has to suck a breath in through his teeth.

“I called dibs on that a week ago,” Suguru says from where he stood, lazily leaning on the counter.

“No fucking way. I’ve got dibs.”

“Dibs? Really? I work with a bunch of prepubescents,” Choso groans, tipping his head back to stare up at fluorescent mall lighting.

Suguru’s voice sounds like he’s lax at the jaw. “Is anyone gonna tell her that’s the ladder they use to prop the door open, and not the one to flash Satoru’s horny ass while changing out a mannequin?” 

“I’ll be the one to tell her,” Gojo says.

At the display window, you slowly peel the panties off of the mannequin without a thought in the world to use the store’s modesty curtain, and Gojo, Suguru & Choso are all staring. And probably every other man within the store’s radius.

“Holy fuck,” Gojo says, strained.

“Holy fuck, indeed,” Suguru marvels.

“She’s clueless,” Choso sighs.

“You can have the mannequin, I get the girl,” Suguru offers, something just to get under Gojo’s skin.

“Shut up. I’m going over there.” He stands up onto his feet from the leather client chair he had been sprawled across up until this point of his shift.

“Can’t wait for you to royally fuck this up,” Choso muses with a smirk, arms crossing at his chest.

Gojo grumbles something under his breath when he hears Suguru’s coo of agreement, and then he’s making his way across to the Victoria’s Secret entrance. He unbuttons the top two buttons of his black dress shirt, as if he expects the sight of the skin at his collarbone to have you seduced like a victorian man seeing a lady’s ankle for the first time.

He makes it through the welcoming glass doors that lead into the sultry & dark ambience that you would expect of a lingerie store, and he rounds to the right, stopping a few feet away from you.

You were combing through a rack now, lips pursed in concentration until he clears his throat.

Glancing over, your shoulders tense and you pull your retail headset earpiece down, leaving it hanging by the wire that was clipped to the neckline of your shirt. His eyes flicker to the nametag pinned above the curve of your breast. You look at him with wide eyes. “Oh, hi sir. How can I help you?”

“Oh, no, I’m not a customer,” Gojo quickly corrects you, although he liked the sound of sir from your lips, “I work over there.” He points with a jerk of his chin towards the obnoxiously gaudy exterior of the Rolex watch store facing the two of you.

You blink at him. “Ah, I see.”

“You new here?” Gojo asks, taking a step forward and resting his elbow up on the metal bar of the rack just to get more into your space. “Haven’t seen you around.”

The corner of your lip turns up slightly at his words. “Why? Do you keep a roster?”

“I—no, not really,” he responds, already a little speechless, “wait, a roster of what?” He’d say he does if it’s a roster of pretty girls he’s been fantasizing about tit-fucking all day long, with you being at the top—no, the only one—on that list.

You shrug a little. It’s kind of meek and cute. “Of new hires?”

He breathes in deep. “Yes. Yes, I do. I just like to make sure the newbies feel welcome around here. Y’know, taken care of.” 

You smile, turn to face him and relax your posture. “Oh. That’s sweet. Yeah, I feel pretty welcome here, thanks.”

“That’s good.”

“I mean, everyone’s been really nice to me so far.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm, and I really like the break room on this floor. The last place I worked at didn’t have a toaster oven.”

“No way.”

“I wish the clock-in machine was easier to use though…”

“For sure.”

You glance at him suspiciously in the middle of your rant. “Why are you staring at me?”

“Cause you’re real pretty, angel.”

Your brow raises, the keys hooked to the loop of your jeans jingling as you place a curled hand to your hip. “Angel? Really? Cause of— cause of Victoria’s Secret angels?”

Gojo’s stiff, his elbow still resting on the cool metal pole, and he glances up at the ceiling before looking back down at you. “Uhh…sure? Yes.”

“That’s not very original.”

“Man, you’re really making me work hard for this. Unfortunately, that only makes me want you more.” He leans down closer to you, to catch the scent on your skin, and he can’t tell if you’re amused or annoyed from the way your cheeks round as you narrow your eyes at him.

“This is you working hard for it? You haven’t even told me your name yet, watch boy.”

He sees your fingers wrap around the cold metal bar of the rack, and he tries hard not to picture them wrapped around something else, but to no avail. You jut your hip out to bump him, pushing him out of your way, before you start rolling the rack down the store.

He trails behind you. “My name. It’s Satoru. But to you, I can be dadd-”

You stop in your tracks, turning around to face him with a scowl, but he was too distracted by the shape of your backside to be reflexive enough to stop himself in time, and he ends up crashing right into you. The momentum has you falling back with a gasp, tripping over the foot of the rack, and his arm flies around your waist to keep you upright, and then pressed up against him too just for good measure.

His face is just inches away from yours. “Shit. Sorry.”

Your arms are squished between his chest and yours, pinky tickling the skin at his collarbone, and the contact has him reeling. “I-It’s fine,” you say, lashes fluttering, “now let go of me, before I file a harassment complaint.”

He instantly retreats, releasing you, watching you stumble a bit before gaining your balance again. “God, no, please,” he sighs, “I really need this job.”

“You don’t act like it,” you mumble. You fix your hair in front of him and tuck the fabric of your shirt that came loose back into your jeans. He doesn’t have to touch your cheeks to know they feel hot, he can tell from the purse of your lips and the way you won’t make eye contact with him. 

The voices of a couple women are heard from down the aisle, as well as the plastic clinking of hangers on racks as they peruse the sheer bralettes dangling in color-coded fashion. Gojo sees you struggling to pull the rack you were working with away to the side to let them through, and he comes up behind you, gripping the metal bar to do it for you. He catches the fragrance of your hair at the crown of your head, and he inhales slowly.

The women walk by, throwing a few curious glances at the two of you, and Gojo doesn’t move from where he’s holding onto the rack and has his arm pressed against yours, his only lifeline to find some reason to touch you right now.

You start pushing the rack forward again, and he continues to follow you, keeping a more respectful following distance this time. He’s distracted by the pair of crotchless panties hung over your shoulder. He picks them up by the string. “Who the fuck actually wears these?” he asks, dangling them in front of his face and turning them around in the air to inspect it.

Your eyes are set forward for your destination. “Middle-aged women that are desperate to seduce their husbands before those men ride the high of buying a $100k watch by fucking a twenty-something-year-old instead.” You snatch the pair from his hand. “I’m rooting for those women. The men at your Rolex store? Not so much.” 

He’s on your heel until you round to a smaller section of the store, wheeling the rack over to a corner near the collection of lace panties sprinkled across cubbies under dim purple lighting. He glances over his shoulder and takes note that this area’s tucked away from the eyesights of the cash registers and storefront. 

He hears you sigh, then say “Why are you following me?”

He meanders closer to you with his hands shoved in the pockets of his slacks. “Because…y’know, like I said, I wanna make the new hire feel settled in.”

“I literally feel so very unsettled by you right now,” you say to him with a wry expression as you start sorting through lace underwear, referencing some chart in your hand to get it right.

He walks up to you and peers over your shoulder at the illustration, and notices the way you stiffen a bit but also lean back into him. “Huh…so the cheeky panties go in the left top & bottom cubes. And they’re the ones with medium coverage and…” he squints his eyes at the chart, dim lighting doing him no favors, “and they have an alarming fit.”

You scoff through your nose. “It says alluring fit. Can you read?” 

“I— shut up. Yes I can read.”

You twirl around to face him, a hint of an amused smile to your lips. His eyes widen a bit at the sight of it, until he registers it’s a cheeky one, like those panties.

“Watch boy is illiterate. Must be why you still work in retail.”

“Yes, keep being mean to me, new hire. It’s hot,” he groans, hands still in his pockets as he leans towards you. You don’t shy away, just keep on looking up at him in this little corner he has you in, a twinkle in your pupils now that he wasn’t seeing earlier. 

He’s surprised when your finger hooks the fabric in between two of the buttons on his shirt. You play with the material, pinching it, but never tug on it. “What’s a grown ass man like yourself doing still working for commission at a mall?” 

“Okay, ouch, a little too mean,” he backtracks, watching your tongue briefly swipe across your lip, “let’s be a bit nicer.”

Now you’re tugging on the fabric, hooked finger pulling him closer to you until his hands have to fly out of his pockets and his palms press against the wall, caging you into it. “Illiterate and can’t take a dig. Pick a struggle,” you say to him with a sweet look up.

He’s getting the sense that you’re into him too. He grabs hold of your waist, thumbs rubbing your torso over the fabric of your uniform just to get a feel. “Well,” he starts, bringing your hips forward to his, pressing the erection he was building against you, “this illiterate retail worker could fuck you real good if you’d just give him the chance.”

A small gasp leaves your lips, eyes widening and you tuck your bottom lip under your teeth. Fuck, he wants to kiss you. Wants to be the one biting your lip right now. Your hand grabs his forearm, over the veins strained from his grip on you, your nails sinking into the skin left exposed by his rolled up sleeve. “It’s…It’s real well, watch boy. You’d fuck me real well.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, I’ll fuck you real well,” he tells you, as his head tips towards your cheek, lips brushing against it. It was just a tease, so he pulls away but still looks down at you in closeness. There’s voices around the corner, but he doesn’t really care.

“You’re awfully forward,” you breathe out, and he almost goes insane at the soft whimper that leaves your lips when he can’t help but jerk his hips forward a bit. 

“Y’know what? Fuck it,” he grumbles, pulling the rack across behind him so he’s created a covered haven for the two of you against this wall, and then he kisses you.

There’s a yelp that he muffles from you as his lips move against yours, slow, because you're new to him and he wants to savor it. His hand finds the small of your back, spreads across it, pushing you to arch towards him, and his teeth catch your bottom lip when he feels your breasts press against him. You’re pliant, opening your mouth for him, and he takes up the offer to taste you. Soft & warm pressed up against him, a subtle sweetness on your tongue, and he only pulls away because you squeeze his shoulder hard.

You’re breathing fast, cheeks shy, a little cutely cross-eyed from his proximity when you look up at him. “I-…okay, I’m a little mad that you’re a good kisser.”

He hums, tip of his nose brushing against yours slightly and you grip the collar of his shirt to keep him close. “I’ll kiss you nice in a lot of other places too.”

It doesn’t really take much convincing after that.

“Oh…oh my god—,” you mewl, back against the mirror of one of this fine lingerie establishment’s fitting room stalls, legs wrapped around his waist as he fucks you raw with the aim to please.

“Shit, knew you’d be tight,” he groans, pressing a kiss to your jaw when you tip your head back in pleasure, throat loose with a moan, “pretty little new hire. Just had to break you in.”

“S-Satoru,” you moan through a breath, the sound of his name on your tongue having his cock twitch inside your walls, mixed with the pain of the grip you had on the hair at the back of his head. 

He has your shirt bunched up along with your bra, tits exposed for him. His head dips to pull a nipple through his teeth as he feeds you with a few slow, deep thrusts, and his eye catches the earpiece of your headset, still clipped to your shirt, bouncing around with every one of his movements inside you. “Really hope that thing’s off,” he mumbles against your skin, “but if it excites you to have it on, I—fuck, I wouldn’t really mind either way.”

Your hand flies to his bicep when he runs his thumb over your clit, legs wrapping around him even tighter. “More. Need more,” you say, head in a haze, and he really could’ve cum inside you right then and there but he holds out to enjoy some more time buried in the warm pleasure of your cunt.

“If you want something from me,” he grunts between thrusts, “you’re gonna have to beg me for it, love.”

“Fuck me harder,” you cry, eyes shut closed, and he almost feels sorry for you.

“That’s a demand,” he informs, pinching the flesh of your ass and enjoying the way you clench around him from the action, “I told you to beg.”

“Please, oh my god, please—,” you start, moving your hips against his now, and he hears the lewd sound of your flesh slapping more fervently against the mirror. “Please fuck me harder.”

“Good girl. Pretty girl,” he praises you, thumb finding your clit again as a reward, “see what you get for being so nice to me now.”

He bucks his hips harder, your arms wrapping around his neck in desperation, chin resting at the top of his head as his lips fall to your neck, and he kisses, nibbles, sucks, anything to get that sweet taste in his mouth while he draws stars over your sensitive bud, eliciting broken whimpers from you over and over again. 

“Gonna let me cum inside?” he asks, feeling his balls jump at just the thought of filling you up, his thighs feeling hot from the anticipation of you giving him the permission. “All that shit talk earlier about me being a dumb mall worker, but you’d still let me finish in you, right?” His hips stutter slightly, vision starting to blur, and he feels your walls flutter tightly too, “cause I bet it turns you on that you’re letting this dumb retail man fuck you senseless in a flimsy little fitting room right now, regardless.”

“Satoru, please,” you’re begging, the crack in your voice hoarse like you’re about to cry from the pleasure.

“Answer me,” he demands, retreating the thumb that was toying with your clit. He pulls one of your arms from where it was wrapped around his neck to pin your wrist to the mirror. “You want me to cum inside you or not?” 

Your hips press so harshly against his that he hardly has any leeway to thrust anymore, and it makes him hiss in protest, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass to let up. “I want—mhh, I want you to cum inside me, please, please,” you plead, desperate, grinding your clit against the skin above his cock, above the place he was buried to the hilt inside of you.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, the sweet words processing in his head, and he loses all sense of control, motions eager and desperate, chasing after his high and his thumb is barely considerate enough to chase after yours too as it rubs relentlessly over your puffed up clit. You shiver against him, walls clenching around his cock impossibly tight, legs wrapping around his waist possibly even tighter, and he feels every nerve as you come undone around him. The gripping sensation your orgasm had on him has him faltering with harsh thrusts forward, and he holds your hips flush to his as the first spurt of his cum spills into you, followed by more with repetitive juts of his hips until he’s emptied himself entirely into you, and you’re just pumped full of him.

You swat at his chest, squirming as he leaks the last drop from the tip of his dick, and he can tell you’re overstimulated.

“Sorry,” he says through a short exhale, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, and he slowly pulls out of you, cock falling limp over his thigh, and he holds you until you find footing on the ground, albeit a bit wobbly. 

“Oh no,” you mewl, clenching your thighs together when you feel his cum starting to drip out, and he quickly bends down to hook your panties up back into place. You give him a pointed look. 

“What? The easiest clean-up is not letting it out,” he says, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you to him so he gets to feel the plushness of your bare breasts against him and he kisses the top of your head. “You’re real good, new hire. Or whatever the fucking proper way to say it is.”

He can tell you’re rolling your eyes even though your face is buried in his chest.

“You’re a dumbass,” you say, sounding muffled.

—

Gojo spends about 90% of his shifts meandering across the shimmering tile floors of the mall to the Victoria’s Secret, and only spends about 10% of them actually being a watch salesman. His boss was starting to get real fuckin’ fed up with him, threatening to fire him yesterday for the two-hour lunch break he took because he was eating you out in a storage closet, but he really couldn’t be bothered to care. He was an addict, and he needed to get his fix. Not before annoying the shit out of you, though.

“Alright, daddy’s home. Let’s get to it. I’m on my lunch break,” he says, walking right up to you in the middle of your shift while you’re folding slip dresses onto a display table, his hand reaching for your waist but you retreat from him.

“For that, get the fuck away from me.”

He sighs. “I’ve been wanting to touch you all day long. Do you purposefully walk your gorgeous self across the front of the store that many times just to tease the hell out of me? I’m suffering.”

“I walk across the storefront because I’m doing my job,” you mumble to him.

“No, I swear, you do it to—”

“Sweets,” one of your coworkers calls out to you from the other end of the store, the one with a pink buzzcut that acts kinda scary. “Is that man bothering you?” she asks through a smack of her gum, “want me to call security?”

“Yes.”

“What—”

After a couple of minutes of vindicating himself to mall security that he is not a threat to public safety, which you watch in amusement with no help at all, he’s shortly back at your side in a different section of the store to annoy you.

“When are you gonna wear one of these for me?” he asks, holding up a pair of jaguar-print panties. 

“Never,” you say to him, scanning the tags on the underwear in a box of new arrivals, “those are ugly.”

“Okay, how about these,” he says, pulling a pair out of the box. “They’re see-through. I like that.”

“No,” you say, snatching it out of his hand.

“Oh c’mon,” he groans, doing a quick glance over his shoulder to check if the coast is clear before taking a step forward, pulling you to him by a finger hooked through the belt hoop of your jeans. “I’ll buy them for you. Ring me up.”

You look up at him, hand placed on his chest but you weren’t pushing him away just yet. “Really? You’re gonna buy me panties from the store I literally work at? At least have the decency to shoplift them for me.”

He has a smile on his face when he leans down closer to you, both hands now playing with the loops of your jeans. “Ohhh you’re into criminals. Will you tackle me to the ground if I do?”

“Yes, to arrest you. Not to fuck you.”

“Why not both?”

“Satoru,” you chastise him when you hear footsteps around the corner, and now you’re pushing him away and clearing your throat before busying yourself with the box again as a few customers walk by. Gojo shoves his hands in his pockets, and then his eyes widen a bit when his knuckles hit something.

“Oh yeah,” he says, “I got you this.” He pulls out a small, shimmering black tube and holds it out to you with an up facing palm. 

You lean forward to glance at it. “Is that…lipstick?”

“Yeah,” he says, “the lady outside Sephora was giving out samples.”

You cross your arms at your chest. “The lady outside Sephora was giving out free samples of lipstick to you?”

“Can you just take it already? My arm’s starting to hurt.”

You swipe it from him and inspect it. Popping the cap open, you twist the cheap plastic adjuster so that the tip of the wax peaks out. It was a deep shade of red. “Did she try to talk to you?”

“Uhh, yeah. Something about how this new formula is smudge-proof or something. Was hoping we could test that out.”

You roll your eyes. “She probably wanted to test that out. With you.”

“What, are you jealous?” 

“Not really, no,” you say and hand the lipstick back to him. He looks at you puzzled. “Lipstick isn’t really for me, sorry.” 

“I literally saw you wear some the other day. That’s what gave me the idea,” he says, “of turning my dick into the shade of your lipstick.”

“Could you be any louder?” you hiss at him, glancing at a coworker who could’ve potentially been in earshot.

He shrugs and pinches the tube of lipstick between two of his fingers, holding it up between the two of you. “You sure you don’t wanna?”

Turns out you were not too opposed to the idea, but he had to earn it by making you cum a couple times in the janitor’s closet at the end of the floor. He likes having to earn the sight of you on your knees, it turned him on way more than he had expected.

“My jaw is so fucking sore,” he complains, opening and closing his mouth a few times to stretch it out, then runs a hand across his jawline. “You were a lot less sensitive today. Took way longer.”

“Maybe you’re just not as good as you think you are,” you say, pulling the buckle of his belt loose, sitting back down onto your heels to get more comfortable while you undress him.

“Bullshit. Should’ve used that insult maybe the first or second time I gave you head. It’s too late now, after the filthy things you’ve said to me in your desperation to cum.”

He watches you flutter your lashes a few times, fingers stopping their movements, and you shift a little from where you were seated on the ground. You were aroused, but still committed to the attitude. “I don’t have to do this for you, you know.”

He shudders a little. “Wait, you seriously don’t want to? You don’t have to.”

You sigh. “You were supposed to demand me to do it anyways. Would’ve been hot.” You pull his belt loose and your thumb and index finger pinch the button open with ease. “You don’t wanna fuck me, though?”

“Of course I want to fuck you, I will always want to fuck you. But the last time we got rowdy in here, I almost killed you when I knocked the shelf over.” A chill runs down his spine. “Not taking any more chances.”

You giggle a little at the memory while zipping down the front, then your fingers dig into the fabric of both his slacks and his boxers, pulling them down until he’s sprung free, fully thick and hard, courtesy of the cute sounds you were making earlier while his tongue was playing with your clit.

“Are you not gonna put the lipstick on?” he asks.

“No.” You grab a hold of him mid-way, giving an experimental tug, and raise from your seated position onto your knees. 

“But—”

“I told you, lipstick isn’t my style,” you say, eyes flickering up to him when you kiss the tip. He sucks a breath in.

“Damn, okay. I was genuinely curious if it was smudge proof. The lady was really hyping it up,” he says and he sees your shoulders drop.

“Enough of the Sephora lady,” you mumble, pressing your lips against his tip again, but as less of a kiss.

There’s a sulk in your posture from where you look up at him on your knees. His heart does this weird thing where it aches a little, and he wants to get rid of the pout on your face with a few sweet words, but he settles for pushing the tip of his cock past your lips instead. Works all the same in the end. “Good girl,” he groans when you take him all the way to the back of your throat, and your fingernails dig into the skin of his thigh as you let out a muffled moan.

“Fuck…” He pulls his hips back slightly, allowing you to adjust, but when you swallow and his tip feels the roll of those muscles, he’s pushing into your mouth again. “C-Can you take more?”

You try your best to give him a nod and you bob your head once, tongue swiping over the vein that was throbbing the proof of his need for you right now. 

“I’ll finish fast, baby,” he tells you, voice husky, fingers combing through your hair gently, “just take it how I want it, and I promise I’ll be quick, okay?”

You nod again, thumb rubbing the skin near his groin in reassurance. You squirm a little and press your thighs together when he grips your hair tighter now, encouraging your head to bob up and down on him, and you do as he wants. Your cheeks hollow out, sucking on him, and he swears he’s already close to cumming.

“Yeah…fuck, yeah,” he grunts under his breath, “good. Just—just like that. You’re so good. Pretty girl,” he juts his hips forward to see if you can take it, and you do, “on her knees for me.”

Your throat vibrates with a moan, and he sees you squirm even more. You take him all the way in, to a place deeper than the back of your throat, so well without a gag but there’s a prickle of tears in your eyes, and he rubs your cheek softly while he feels the sweat collect at his temple. “Oh fuck, I’m— shit, baby. I’m close.”

You drag your lips across his length, retreating with a thorough hollow to your cheeks, and release him with a pop and your tongue stuck out connecting a string of your spit to his tip. Your hand immediately starts to rub him up and down as you look up, and the soft panting leaving your lips and fanning across his cock has him swallowing hard. “S-Sorry, needed a break.”

“That’s okay,” he says, swiping at some of the saliva pooled at the corner of your lip. “Take your time.”

You kiss his tip in acknowledgment, then take him in again, this time both hands working at the base as you bob up and down, more free with your moans and the sensation of them reverberating in the canal of your throat makes him grip your hair with both hands, desperate.

“Yes—fuck, yes,” he grunts, head tipping back and hitting the door. “Real close. Your mouth feels so good, you’re driving me insane.”

You suck on him, hard, taking him in to his favorite place that’s at the back of your throat, and when your hand reaches out to play with his balls, paired with the sensation of fast exhales through your nose onto the skin of his groin, his eyes close shut and strained and he’s jerking his hips forward to spill his cum down your throat. “Fuuuuck. Oh my god.” He exhales, watching you swallow over and over again as he pumps into your mouth, then he slowly pulls out when he feels that he’s done.

You sit back down on your heels, hands now neatly folded on your lap, looking up at him and his thumb prods at your bottom lip for you to open your mouth. You do as he wants, tongue hanging out in the process, and he sighs in satisfaction when he sees you’ve swallowed it all. “Beautiful, baby. Come here.”

With a hand wrapped around your arm, he gets you up on your feet and kisses you. You hold onto the fabric of his shirt for purchase, and he pulls away to rest his forehead against yours. “Doing okay?”

“Mhm,” you nod, tightening your grip on his shirt, “I liked it. Liked it when you said I was good.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead. “More than good, angel. You’re perfect.”

—

“C’mon, it’ll be fun. You look like you could use a break,” Gojo says to you in Victoria’s Secret on a random Saturday morning. He usually always works on Saturday, but he’s never seen you here on a Saturday before. Apparently you were picking up extra shifts since you were going on vacation next week, something about a wedding in Spain. But you’d worked six consecutive shifts in a row, and the exhaustion was starting to show.

“I don’t know…your store scares me,” you respond back to him. You were behind the register, and he was pretending to buy forty-two pairs of panties just to talk to you.

“It’s not scary. I just want to show you around,” he says, standing up straight from where he had been leaning over the counter.

You eventually give in, toying with your name badge as you make your way around the counter to him, eyeing the smile on his face before he leads you through the aisles and eventually across the mall to the Rolex watch store.

It wasn’t horribly busy for a weekend, but there were still a few clients around. Choso was helping out a regular, a man who has bought four $200k watches within the past two months, and Choso’s been biting his nails worried he’s going to have to play witness in a tax evasion court case should that client eventually get caught by the IRS for fraud one of these days.

Suguru comes around the corner the second he sees you walk through the polished glass doors, and Gojo’s already annoyed.

“Hey, it’s the new hire,” he greets you, stretching his hand out and you accept it in a shake. “I’m Suguru.”

“Not really new here anymore,” you say to him after introducing yourself, “been here for a couple months now.”

“Oh really? Time flies. Thanks for all the shows, by the way,” he jerks his head off to the Victoria’s Secret store, “I’ve enjoyed watching the 101 ways you can remove a bra on a mannequin. Might have to incorporate some of them into my personal life.”

Gojo scoffs. “Yeah right, like a woman would let you within a hundred feet of her bra.”

Suguru raises an eyebrow with a sleazy smirk on his face, before leaning closer to you. “Should we prove him wrong about that, darling?”

Gojo hates the way he sees you blink your lashes at him and blush, so he’s grabbing your hand and walking you across the store, away from Suguru. He circles you around to the back near one of the display counters. Ladies’ new Datejust models, pretty classy and feminine. He walks to behind the counter, with you staying on the other side, like you were a genuine sale.

“See anything you like?” he asks, resting his elbow on the glass and peering down through it.

You blink at him. “Uh…of Rolex watches?”

“Yeah.”

“Mm…” you press your index finger to your chin and glance at a few. “I like that one.” You point with that same finger and he follows the line with his eyes.

“Hm,” he says, using his key to unlock the case, then slides the opening to the side to gently pull the watch out. “Oystersteel and yellow gold, 18 karat. Wanna try it on?”

“Sure.”

He releases the safety clasp, pulling apart the band, and slides it through your hand down to your wrist, then fastens the clasp until he hears a click. You immediately raise your wrist up into the air, twisting it to assess, and there’s a sparkle in your eyes.

“How much is it?” you ask.

“Thirty.”

“Thirty-what?”

“Thirty-thousand.”

Your jaw drops. “Oh my god. Get this thing off of me.”

He laughs and his hands find the clasp at your wrist, unfastening it and you’re trembling a bit as you shake it off before he catches it in his palm. “Not my fault you literally chose one of the most expensive watches we have in this section.”

“This is insane. How do people afford any of these?” you ask, feet wandering and now you’re clearly curious as you inspect the cases.

“We have more affordable watches available for lingerie store workers,” he tells you, clicking his tongue to get your attention and you turn around then follow him to the other end of the counter. He points at the glass. “These are all under three-thousand.”

“Oh…” you peer at them with interest, and he watches you. His eyes fall to your wrist.

“Here,” he says, sliding the display case door open, and pulls out another watch, “I think you’d look nice in this.”

He shows it to you for a second before releasing the clasp and holding onto your hand to slide the watch through it. After fastening it, he looks up at your expression, and his heart’s beating a bit faster. You turn your wrist in the air to marvel at the watch, and he thinks your eyes look stunning from the way the shimmer of the watch reflects off of them.

“Wow,” you say.

“I knew you’d look good in anything rose gold,” he says, both elbows on the counter as he watches you, “this one’s only a couple thousand.”

You’re still a little speechless as you look at it, right index finger tracing the dial. He wants to buy it for you. He could, it’s not much of an issue, he’d just have to kiss goodbye to that used gaming PC he’s been eyeing on craigslist for the past couple of months, but something in his gut tells him it’d be worth it. Something in the soft look in your eyes right now tells him it’d be worth it.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, his voice quiet.

“That it’s beautiful,” you say to him, swallowing and then extending your wrist out to him. “Sorry, wearing it for too long. Probably lost a few hundred bucks in value just from the two minutes it was on my wrist.”

He shakes his head. “I’ll buy it for you.”

Your mouth gapes. “W-What?”

“I mean—if you actually like it. Then, I don’t mind,” he says, suddenly a bit flustered.

“Satoru. That’s insane. This is a two-thousand dollar watch.”

He shrugs. “I know, but it looks good on you. I can’t shoplift this one for you, though. But I’ll buy it if you actually want it. And if you lie and say you don’t like it, just to be nice, I’ll read right through it. So be honest.”

“I…” you start, “I really can’t accept that.”

His eyes are level with yours, and something about your persistence in your refusal just makes him want to buy it for you even more. But he’s not gonna push it anymore. He’ll just try to work towards a day where you’ll accept it from him. Where it won’t even be a question to want to decorate you in something as pretty as you are.

“Alright. Then give it back, it’s probably only worth a couple hundred now.”

a/n. hope you enjoyed!! this was fun to write. it was supposed to be longer but i cut it short so maybe part two lol?? i also wanna write versions for choso & suguru in this au lol maybe like a multi in one verse kinda thing haha i like the idea of a hot watch salesman trio. thank you for reading 💕

taglist: @ohsehuniiee @lost-resonance @whereflowerswenttodie @horisdope @therealestpussyeater @satorminniett @tobaccosunbxrst @alekssashka7 @ritsatoru @angrychinchillanoises @shleepyking @crimsonmarabou @mxlktae @bloopsstuff @slut-4-gojo @lil-cinn @wateronlyhaha @strawberiicreme @wintertoru @mo0nforme @whispersofbeskar @who-can-touch-my-boob @quinnyundertow @ramluvr @anthastudios @sabokunsmalia @ninjaturtletoes @rylierev @dvarlinggg @heyitsmirae @sleepyyammy @lofasofabread @lolthatsnice @tetsuski @bakuhoethotski @sureconfused

[ceilidho]

He’s late for his own trial.

You’ve been standing outside the courthouse for what feels like twenty minutes now, tapping your heel on the ground and checking your watch for the umpteenth time. The two of you are already supposed to be inside the courtroom getting set up and going over the details of his case, but instead of grabbing a coffee at the shop across the street and combing over the case notes, you’ll be pressed to even get a couple hissed whispers out between you two before the judge steps up to the bench. 

You think about calling your client again, but that thought quickly evaporates when the sound of muffled heavy metal rumbles out of the gunmetal sedan that just pulled into the parking lot at around thirty miles an hour. You take a deep breath when he parks, already trying to talk yourself out of the bad mood you’re in.

In the back of your mind, you’re about eighty percent sure that there’s no way you’re leaving today without a guilty conviction. When Johnny steps out of the car, the cheap sunglasses obscuring his eyes do nothing to distract from the way he’s obviously hungover. He’s buttoning up his suit jacket from the middle button as he walks up the stone steps towards you, sliding his sunglasses into the breast pocket. 

“Don’t you look sharp,” you remark dryly when he’s close enough to lock eyes with you. You have to force down a shudder that threatens to ripple down your spine at the cocky grin that spreads over his face. 

You’re obviously being facetious. Johnny’s suit is two sizes too small for him—it looks like the last time he wore it was to his high school graduation and he’s grown at least a foot since then—and his shirt and pants are rumpled like he wore them to bed the night before. The scruff sprouting from his cheeks and chin also supports that notion; he’s still rubbing the sleep out of his eye when he walks up to you.

“‘N’ ye look—I wanna say exquisite, but we should probably keep it professional, huh?” 

He winks down at you and the twinkle in his eye infuriates you as much as it ingratiates you. You didn’t spend nearly ten years working your way through undergrad, law school, and years as a public defender to start preening at the attention of the first cute guy you’ve had to represent in your career. 

“I think we passed ‘professional’ after the seventh pass you made at me.”

“‘N’ it won’t be the last. Anyway, stop wasting time—let’s get this show on the road,” he says, side-stepping around you towards the court doors. “I’m not going to jail because someone wanted to flirt with me before my trial.” 

Your jaw drops. He acts like he isn't in this situation because he was accused of holding up a gas station six months ago. You think he’s about to brush past you until you feel a hand plant itself on the middle of your back and push you forward, making you almost stumble into the courthouse. 

“Anyway, we can pick up this conversation in the bog during the break if yer that hot for it,” he murmurs into your ear before you’re separated and searched upon entering the courthouse. Your cheeks do not—absolutely do not—heat up at his tone of voice. 

You’re right in that the two of you barely have any time to prepare. The prosecution is already set up at their table and even the court reporter and judge’s clerk are already present. You squirm at a side-eye from the other counsel, hurrying Johnny over to your table and spending the next ten minutes with your lips practically pressed against his ear.

All throughout the trial, he leans back in his chair and looks like the picture of a petulant child who’s been dragged along by his parent. If you could sink your head into your palms without immediately losing face in front of the judge, you would; all he had to do—and you’d reminded him this for weeks before the trial—was sit straight and not roll his eyes when the prosecution brought up their witnesses. He can’t even manage that.

Somehow though, miraculously almost—and in your defense, even Johnny looks shocked when the verdict is rendered—he’s not found guilty. You’re still a little shell shocked walking out of the courthouse, the sunlight making you squint and then a cup a hand around your eyes. 

He fits a big hand around your waist when you’re about to part ways with him, pulling you back into his chest. Your head whips up to stare at him, ignoring the clench in your belly when his fingers curl into your flesh and that same smug grin quirks up on his lips.

“Why don’t we go grab a drink to celebrate our win, hen?” he suggests. 

“I don’t grab drinks with clients,” you snap, trying to put some distance between you and him. 

Johnny leans down a bit more, always towering over you, until his face is so close that you almost go cross-eyed. “We dinnae have to go out then. We can just go back to my car. Ah can show you how much ah pure appreciate a’ ye did fer me.”

“I don’t need your thanks, I get paid for this—”

“Baby,” he murmurs, stressing the word out, and the moment suddenly feels cramped and intimate, despite the fact that you’re standing in the middle of a crowded parking lot. “Just let me eat ye out in th' backseat.”

You’re stunned for all of ten seconds before you try to glance inconspicuously around the parking lot. It doesn’t look like anyone’s paying attention. Johnny notices it at the same time as you and his smile goes devilish, teeth showing behind his lips. 

“Aye, ah ken that look. Come on—I ken a spot down th’ road where we can park.”

[jakecockley]

- it's you again -

✧ pairing: remmick x f!vampire/healer!reader

✧ summary: you're a lone vampire living out in the arid border city of el paso, healing and helping its people. until one normal night, a love that had burned and broke, ultimately finds its way back to you. your maker once left you in ash. now, you make him beg at your door.

✧ genre: southern gothic romance, past betrayal, slight angst, hurt/comfort, fluff at the end of it

✧ warnings: explicit content soon/18+, yearning, obsession, bit of jealousy, client flirts w/ reader, implied stalking i guess. remmick's pathetic here. btw, reader is a woc & latina. and if this does well, i'll post part 2, which contains the smut.

✧ word count: 2.9k

✧ author's note: i'm like sweating balls, i haven't written a fic in FOREVER. pls be gentle w me y'all, i may be a bit rusty. AND thank u sm @hatethysinner for beta reading ;; also, yes, rem ain't tall by most ppl's standards, but when you're surrounded by your people (mexicans) everyday, i consider him tall LMFAOO anyways, the events of sinners didn't happen, everyone's safe n sound. and i know vamps need an invitation to someone's home, but it only applies to humans. remmick doesn't need permission, but he sure as hell wants it from you again.

El Paso, Texas - 1932

☾

It had been a long day for you.

The late desert afternoon had breathed dry, its heat clinging to adobe walls, carrying the faintest hint of dust and creosote on the cracked window panes.

Your botánica sat connected beside your home, its painted sign faded but unmistakable.

CURACIONES - LIMPIAS - REMEDIOS

Safe inside, you watched the sun set just low enough to take back its gold glow through the glass, eventual darkness crawling across the terracotta tile of your floor.

Dried herbs hung from the ceiling like blessings.

Usually, a vampire like you would sleep during the day, but you had quite the number of patients coming in and out when the sun glared. Not that you minded, of course, you liked what you did, but it had taken some adjustment to the schedule.

And either way, you fed earlier.

You let out a sigh, until the bell above your door chimed low.

The smell of sage, sweat, and copper cuts through the heat.

You already knew who it was.

You didn’t look up at first, having to rinse dried rue and tobacco leaves in a chipped bowl, your hands steady, face unreadable. You had heard his boots and smelled the iron tang of blood before you saw it. Thick steps across the tiles, heavier than the last time. Always heavier.

The silence after the bell stretched, then ended with a familiar voice—deep, slow, always trying too hard to sound casual.

“Afternoon, señora.”

“Mr. Cabrera,” you answered, still not turning. “Did you come here to flirt again?”

The man, named Agustín Cabrera, was apparently a cattle rancher who frequently visited you for his injuries at the ranch. He always had a new one to show off every couple of weeks.

He’d come through your door and give you a somewhat embarrassed look.

You weren’t sure if he was just that bad of a livestock handler, or if he just tries to get hurt in order to see you often.

Stupid, but you’d admire the determination if you fancied him the way he fancied you.

“Wasn’t plannin’ to. Swear it.” A pause. “Well, not much, anyhow.”

You finally turned.

He still had the same dusty hat, same leather boots worn soft at the ankles, and the same self-satisfied tilt of the chin. And of course, an injury. This time his forearm, wrapped in a dirty handkerchief, crimson seeping through.

The gums of where your fangs lay ached at the common temptation from it.

You brushed it off and crossed your arms, brows furrowing at the man standing in front of you. “Did the fence try to kiss you again?”

He smiled sheepishly. “Wild colt got loose. Tried to be the hero. Y’could see how that worked f’me.”

You walked over to him slowly, your sandals sounding across the tile. “A horse,” you say flatly, not entirely convinced.

“A fast one.”

“You’re slower every time you come limping in my store.”

Agustín shrugged. “Could be I’m gettin’ older.”

“Could be you’re inventing excuses.” You huffed, then pointed to the back room. He moved without complaint.

The air in the botánica was thick with dried herbs: epazote, yerba buena, cinnamon bark, and candles that burned all day without ever being lit.

You tied your hair back in a loose knot, rolled up the sleeves of your blouse. “Shirt off.”

He blinked. “Didn’t think we were there yet.”

You met his gaze, scoffing at him with a hint of amusement laced. “You want me to clean the wound or just give you something to drink and wish you luck?”

He grinned and unbuttoned slowly, watching you the whole time.

You ignored it and pulled a stool beside him, then gathered clean gauze, a small bottle of mezcal for sterilizing, and a bone-handled pair of shears.

“You get a thrill out of this?” you ask, dabbing the wound.

He flinched from that. “The pain?”

“No. Me patching you up while you pant like a dog.”

He grinned. “Depends on the view.”

Unsurprised, you hum, then tighten the cloth around his bicep. He groaned, not entirely from the pressure.

“Goddamn, you always tie it like you mean it?”

You leaned close, your voice velvet and blade alike. “I do mean it.”

His smile slipped for a moment.

You dipped a cloth in the mezcal and cleaned the wound gently. “What are you doing here, Cabrera, really?”

“You know I work south of the rail line,” he answered, as if that’d convince you any better.

“You could see any doctor in this city, any nurse.”

“But they don’t make tea with scorpionweed and basil.” He gestured towards the simmering kettle on the back burner. “And they sure don’t smell like roses after rain, neither.”

You stilled slightly, then slowly looked up at him. “You’re bleeding on my floor and still trying to charm your way into something that’s not yours.”

“Maybe I just like your company.”

“Maybe you like chasing things you’ll never catch.”

Agustín chuckled, but softer now. “I don’t mind the chase.”

“Then enjoy limping home alone.”

You stood, tossing the bloodied cloth into a nearby bowl. Your hands moved with swift purpose, wrapping, tying, knotting.

“You always this mean to men who pay you in compliments?”

“I ain’t mean,” you corrected, glancing up at him. “I just don’t waste sweetness on men who fake injuries.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You think I fake this?”

You tilted your head, giving him a knowing look, scoffing. “Ay, you work cattle, you mend fences, but ain’t dirt under your nails. No fresh calluses. Your boots are polished, but your arm’s bleeding.”

You leaned in, close enough that he caught the scent of jasmine on your throat.

“You think I don’t see through it?”

For a moment, Agustín was quiet. Then, “Maybe I just wanted to see your face.”

“Mm, well,” you sighed flatly, “here it is. Hope it was worth the limp.”

He laughed, genuine this time, low and rough.

“You’re something,” he murmured your name.

“So I’ve been told,” you chuckle softly.

He watched you as you cleaned your tools. “You ever let anyone in, or do you just stitch people shut and send them out the door?”

You didn’t answer right away, standing by the shelf of tinctures, back to him. Your fingers traced the label of a cobalt glass bottle.

“I let in those who don’t ask for more than I’m offering.”

“And what’s that today, morena?”

“A stitched wound, a clean bandage. Nothing else.” You turned, now facing him again.

He hummed amusingly, standing up slowly, and placed his hat back on his head, tilting it to you. “Well, gracias, señora.”

“Three days,” you reply. “If it gets red, hot, or smells like death, come back.”

Though you hoped he wouldn’t, hoped he’d give up this chase and finally have his wounds fixed elsewhere. Find himself a pretty nurse, maybe.

“And if it doesn’t?” He asked, walking to the entrance door.

“Then count yourself lucky.”

He hesitated in the doorway, looking at you over his shoulder. “You ever get tired of being alone in here?” He asked you.

You glanced at him, meeting his dark eyes with your own. “You ever get tired of pretending you’re not?”

For once, he had no comeback to give you this time, relenting finally.

The bell above the door jingled softly as it shut behind him.

You exhaled, long and deep. You then turned back to the sink, rinsing your hands in silence.

Behind you, the candle in the corner flared a little brighter.

Then steadied.

- 

Outside, far across–beneath the vast shade of a live oak tree, a man watched.

Though he had seen enough. 

The rancher with the bloodied arm. The slow smiles, the laughter. The way your hand had lingered when you tied the knot in his bandage.

You had touched him, touched him gently. A kindness Remmick had not felt in years. 

Something bitter bloomed in his mouth. Jealousy was not a feeling he often entertained, but this was not mere envy—no. No, this was longing twisted into something sharp.

The wind kicked up dust.

He could smell you even across from where he was—your scent of florals and fever and salt.

His jaw clenched. He had searched years for you.

And here you were, with a man who did not deserve even your scorn.

He stepped into the dusty pathway, boots crunching gravel as he went.

Right to your front door.

-

You sat in your kitchen, the kettle hissing just before the boil. The scent of guava leaf and cinnamon clung to the air like memory. Your sleeves were still rolled from earlier, a thin smudge of dried blood beneath your right thumb was there—a remnant of Agustín’s latest excuse to see you. He’d left with a stupid grin and a half-healed wound. You hadn’t rolled your eyes, but you’d thought about it.

Then, a knock.

It wasn’t loud or frantic, wasn’t urgent in its sound. Just three slow raps to the door, patient as death itself.

You stiffened. You couldn’t feel the strong heartbeats of a person outside, blood pumping, lungs expanding. You drew a breath, drawn slow. The weight behind it wasn’t fear.

It was recognition.

You crossed the floor, footsteps nearly silent on the old tile. You didn’t bother looking through the peephole. You knew.

You placed a hand on the handle, and pulled.

The door creaked open.

Remmick.

Your maker… your once-was lover stood there in front of your eyes. Tall, lean, and pale, curled brown bangs hanging down just above his brows.

He wore a button-up shirt of the lightest blue shade, with the sleeves rolled up, and suspenders crossing his shoulders, holding up dark high-waisted pants. The glint of the metal of his belt buckle caught your attention, but you brought your eyes back on him immediately.

And his collar was open enough to show a white undershirt and a thin gold chain sitting on his neck, a slight shimmer catching where sweat had gathered.

You breathed out softly through your nose.

Time hadn’t touched him.

Neither did it touch you.

Your blouse stuck to the curve of your back in the heat, its collar lightly loosened to show the brown skin at your collarbone. And the scarf you wore, knotted neatly beneath your throat, fluttered as you shifted.

Remmick’s eyes found yours like a dying man finding water. Wide and unblinking. Hungry and desperate in a way that had nothing to do with blood.

His voice murmured your name, southern drawl loose on his tongue. You hated the way you liked it when he said it.

He exhaled then, and it was almost a laugh. Almost. His expression shifted.

“I saw the rancher leave.”

You said nothing at first.

Your gaze dragged over him like a knife. His cheeks were slightly hollowed, jaw tight. But it was his eyes—those pale blue, aching eyes—that looked the most starved.

Yet those were his first words to you in god knows how many years?

You took it in with a cruel sort of patience. You’d grin if you didn’t have the restraint.

Your voice, when it came, was low. Smooth. Like smoke curling against glass.

“And?” Your head tilted curiously.

His voice sharpened. “He visits often.” He said it like a fact, not a question, and you began to wonder if he’s been watching you.

But your smile crept, slow and feline. “Agustín gets hurt a lot. Or so he says.”

Remmick’s jaw clenched.

Your eyes subtly narrowed at that and you hummed, amused by his reaction. “Are you jealous?”

No matter how many years pass by, this damn vampire still manages to stay the same man as before.

So, as expected, he didn’t answer you, but his eyes said everything for you.

“You’re ridiculous.”

His throat finally worked. “Let me in, darlin’.”

“You don’t need an invitation. Not anymore.”

He almost flinched at that. You were right. You were equals now. Fangs and all. But still—he waited.

“I know,” he said. “But I want one.”

You leaned against the doorway, one arm resting high on the frame. The movement pulled your blouse taut across your chest, and Remmick’s eyes, desperate and haunted, fell to the curve of your shoulder. The way your sleeves clung to your skin. You caught the shift in his gaze and didn’t shy from it.

You let him look. Let him want.

You arched a brow. “All these years, and you come crawling.”

“I didn’t crawl.” He retorted flatly, eyes flitting back to yours.

“You sure as hell are close to it, though.”

He huffed a bitter laugh, eyes falling shut for a breath, then reopening with a flicker of anger—no, of shame. He wouldn’t meet your dark gaze now. Instead, he stared at the edge of your scarf, at the soft hollow where your throat began.

“I looked for you,” he said. “Everywhere.”

“Not hard enough, apparently.”

He bristled at that.

The silence stretched long between you two, taut. He shifted his weight on the porch like a schoolboy made small by your calm. And you watched him. Always watching.

“You think I should forgive you because you now gained the courage to step up on my doorstep out of nowhere, hm?” You gestured to the wooden floor underneath his boots.

“No.” His voice cracked. “I don’t think you should forgive me at all. F’any of it.”

That stopped you, just for a moment. The cruelty in you faded slightly. Didn’t soften, but tilted. Studying him from a different angle.

You narrowed your eyes. “You left me like nothing and suddenly decided to look for me?

“No. You turned me.” You glared.

“You don’t get to want me.”

But the words rang hollow, because a part of you did want him. You always had, and the hate for that fact faded within you.

And you think he knew that.

The vampire’s eyes drifted from your face, down to the ground he stood upon. You were surprised he even had the ability to look somewhat ashamed. Then his head lifted level to yours.

Remmick stepped closer, the brown-reddishness of his hair catching the moonlight. The silver of it traced his face, the wear in his bones. And when he spoke, it was softer than before. Almost reverent.

“I never stopped,” he whispered. “Wantin’ you.”

He didn’t let you respond, didn’t let you get the chance of opening your mouth to speak.

“You want me to get on my knees and beg? Is that it? Cause, darlin’, I swear ‘fore you, I will. I will, baby, believe me. I won't leave you this time, if you'll let me."

You stared at him, watching the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed.

Your name whispered to you, like the soft breeze of the Texas air. “Please.”

He stepped closer now, slow, cautious, like he was afraid if he took another, you’d reject him completely. Then, he was on his knees.

Just like he said.

“Begging, really?” You asked, lifting a brow at him.

“Yes, if that’s what it takes.” He breathed, his words urgent and wretched.

“I need to see you. Talk to you. I need—”

“You need,” you repeated, voice mocking and sharp. “And what do you need, Remmick?”

“You, baby, I need you.”

And the way he said it to you… You sighed.

Silence once again. It stretched between y’all, thick and pulsing.

“You’re pathetic.” You clipped.

He nodded. “Yes, yes, I am, only f’you, darlin’. Only you.” And he watched as you stepped forward, shadow falling over him. He took in the darkness. Took in you.

Remmick looked up like a starving man before a feast.

You tilted your head. “Tell me. Say it.”

He stayed locked on you, his gaze silently questioning what you had voiced him.

“Say that you missed me. That your hands ached to touch me, that you dreamed of my scent, my skin, my teeth at your throat.”

“Say it.”

His breath caught, then—

“I missed you. I missed the way your fingers left ghosts on my chest. I missed your skin 'gainst mine, your scent that clung to your sheets. I missed your mouth, the feel n'taste of it like nothing I ever had.” His chest rose and fell in shallow waves, as if the words had taken the air straight out of his lungs. His expression creased with something caught between restraint and desperation. The column of muscle at his neck tightened each time he swallowed back more than he dared say.

His eyes, akin to a storm at sea, didn’t stray from you. They flickered over your mouth, then your hands, then lower still, but always returned to your face, as if looking too long at anything else would undo him.

“Please.”

There was something fractured in him now, something raw and worshipful. His jaw flexed, his fingers curled slightly at his sides, knuckles pale, like he wanted to hold back the need to reach for you again, fearful that it would split you both open.

Cedar smoke and blood. Hint of rain.

A flash of teeth from you, not a smile, but close.

You lowered yourself to his level. Your hand held the side of his face and cupped it like a lover would, thumb brushing his cheekbone.

He felt the soft prick of your sharpened claw on his skin.

Remmick leaned to your touch like nothing ever before. Yearning for it. Desperate. Wanting. Needy.

“You want me to ruin you, Remmick?”

“I want it more than breath, sweetheart.”

You hummed, then rose, your hand going to brush against the door. Then, slowly, you stepped aside.

“You always did talk pretty."

✧ tagging: @slenderclaw

liked this work? comments and reblogs are appreciated my loves, as well as requests :]

[halkyona]

CLEANSE MY SOUL

yukimiya kenyu x gn!reader

includes: pro/model yukki. small soap maker reader. flirting. pining. late night encounters. just cuteness idk.

notes: this has been haunting me. i’m gonna throw up.

Staring at your front door, barefoot and half dressed with your robe thrown lazily around you is not how you intended to be spending your Tuesday–is ten p.m. still considered evening?–night. It’s not how you spend any of your nights, really. But there are knocks coming from your door.

You never get knocks at your door. 

You blink, and again. You had just managed to drift off to sleep after a long day of working your second part time job. After all, small businesses never really fund themselves the first year (or the second, it’s looking like..) Then, you’re taking a step forward.

“Who is it?”

No answer. This worries you. Only two things strike fear in your gut: the all high and the IRS. You’re thinking it’s too late for either to be showing up at your door unannounced. So, with all the poise a half asleep human has at ten in the evening, you reach for the padlock and flip it. You regret it a second later.

Because there, in all of his beautiful, stained glass glory, is none other than Yukimiya Kenyu. Hair wet and wavy, laying charmingly messy atop his head, in a button down that’s halfway undone. No coat–even with it being the middle of January. He’s going to catch a cold.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” you level, throw a glance over your shoulder just to double check the time on your stove. 

“Oh,” and he’s breaking, now. Finally relaxing out of his poise in just the smallest way; the tiniest bits of imperfection in a showcase you have never seen from him. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry. This is so rude of me. I’ll go–”

“No! No, I mean,” you’re fumbling, reaching out a hand as if you’re going to make a move to grab him. Of course you’re not, that’s absurd. It would be inappropriate. Then again, you’re not sure how appropriate it is for him to be here, at ten p.m. You shrug that off. Nuance or whatever. “What do you need, Yukki?”

And it comes out so easily, tonight. The nickname your client told you to use to address him after the second (or was it third?) meeting. He gazes at your hand, then your face. Rubs the back of his neck and smiles and–if you didn’t know any better–blushes, ever so slightly.

“Soap,” he pauses–potentially at your quirked brow, you find tiredness makes it hard to clock yourself–and fixes his broad shoulders squared again. “I’m out. I guess I left my spare at the agency and I had a late shoot and they were locked up by the time I got back and–”

“You came by this late for soap?”

“Yes. I’m sorry. This is so inappropriate to turn up unexpectedly. I should’ve just bribed security to–”

“I’m out of your soap.”

You want to kick yourself for saying it because the defeated look on Yukimiya’s face at your admission is sick. Not in a way that’s necessarily heavy or holds any true weight, but like staring at a kicked doberman. Something that shouldn’t be so easily wounded so it catches you off guard–on edge–enticed. 

“Oh,” he sighs, “Oh, okay. I’m sorry for bothering. I’ll just go–”

“But I could make some real quick!”

What. The fuck. No, seriously, what the fuck has come over you tonight? There is no “quick” about this, none of it is. And it’s ten p.m. and you were already asleep and all of your supplies are put up and–

“Really? You could do that for me?”

I could do anything for you.

“Totally,” you say, instead, and take a step back to open your door wider, “Come in. Pardon the mess.”

You walk further into your apartment and snatch the underwear off the back of the couch, kick a sock out of sight. Curse your cat for poising himself directly in the way of Yukimiya’s path but halfway thanking him because it buys you some time to do some spot tidying before your habitat is exposed.

Not like you can really hide much mess in a studio apartment, but whatever.

“I’m surprised you remembered my address,” you settle on saying, to break the ice, as you pull your box of supplies out from behind a makeshift closet of tapestries and curtains. What can you say you are if not crafty. “You just came by, what was it? Once? In November?”

“October,” he corrects you, slips his bag off his arm and sits in one of the chairs in the kitchen. (Or what you could call it, anyways). “Halloween.”

“Right,” you smile as you carry your box over to him. You place it on a stool by the stove, intent on getting to work. “You had a surprise shoot. You needed it because of all the–”

“Face paint,” he finishes, and you both chuckle. 

You remember him messaging your business page with an urgent request of the soap he likes, saying he needed it right then. And, well, his shoot happened to be close to your apartment and you were waiting on a package to arrive so, yeah. You forked over your address–something you never do–and he came by with his agent to pick it up. He’s always personable like that; makes sure to see you with every delivery. Actually, you’re not too sure why you’re so shocked he remembered.

Or why it has a weird sort of fluttering blooming in your stomach. 

“Right,” you hum, and pull your measuring cup out of the box. “I had you down for a week from now, I usually try to stay stocked for my regulars.”

“I lent some to a friend to try,” he supplies as an answer, but by the faint flicker of a grimace on his face, you think ‘lent’ is more akin to ‘was taken from me’. How funny. “I guess I didn’t realize how low I was.”

“Ah,” you nod, pull out your soap bases and your loaf mold. “I am constantly lending things to my friends as well.”

“So you understand.”

“Perfectly.” 

A comfortable silence tucks itself into the room; like a warm blanket over chilly legs. Something about Yukimiya is uneasy but so easy. Like you’re always on your toes but second nature takes over anyways. Talking to him is nice. He’s nice. Especially considering the difference in status between the two of you.

Are all models so humble?

No, that’s not right; you’ve read his interviews. Humble isn’t exactly the right word to describe him. Charismatic? Charming? Suave? Sure. but he is teetering the line of his ego–you know this. You bite the corner of your lip and start cutting down your bases.

“I’ll pay you extra,” Yukimiya breaks the moment, “For the inconvenience. And I brought some tea with me, as well.”

“You brought tea?” You quirk a brow at him, choosing to ignore his first offer (because, really, you could use the money, but you don’t want to seem greedy; you’d do this for him for free). “You always keep it strapped, or..?”

“No,” he laughs, a beautiful, angelic sort of thing. Your knees feel a little weak at the chimes of it. “But I brought some with me to the shoot today. I’m very.. particular about what goes in my body.”

You could go in my body.

“Ah,” you nod, snap your gaze away, try to swallow down the flush in your cheeks. “Tea is nice.”

That’s all it takes for Yukimiya to stand; something that has the hair on your arms beginning to rise; tickle the skin. He’s walking over to you, next to the stove, two tea bags in hand.

“Earl grey,” he supplies when he notices you eyeing them, “That alright?”

“Yeah. Yes.” You’re so embarrassing. “Love it.”

You’ve never had it.

He smiles again (or has he even stopped?), quirks his lips up in a way that is so devilishly handsome it’s damn near sickening. He pulls the kettle off of your back burner and turns to the sink to fill it up. He knows, somehow.

“Not many people love it,” he wagers, places the kettle back on the burner then turns; leans back against the counter beside you to wait. His strong arms cross over his chest in a practiced sort of leisure. You wonder how one man can exude so much divinity. “An acquired taste.”

You swallow, dart your eyes away. Useless, you find, as they keep trailing back to the broad build of the man beside you. You pray he is not close enough to feel the heat coming from your face; or you could pass it off as the steam coming from the stove. 

“You know,” you tease, pointing at him with the blade in your hand, “I’ve been told that I am an acquired taste.”

“I can see that.”

You gasp, he chuckles, and you smack his bicep with the towel that was over your shoulder. So easy, so light.

“Rude,” you huff, but there’s still a smile on your lips, a tingling in your fingertips. You add your base to your measuring cup and place it in the pot on the stovetop. 

There’s the comfortability again; the ease. You wonder when it became this way. When you could talk to him just so; where the shift was. When he turned from client to.. What, exactly? What is this? What is he doing? What are you doing?

This isn’t professional at all.

“Do you mind if I ask you a question?” Yukimiya speaks up after a few beats. He’s fiddling with your oils, peering through them passingly. You nod. “What made you want to start doing this? Surely it is just easier to leave it all to someone else.”

“Oh, definitely,” you agree through a chuckle, blow it through your nose like a half handed sigh. Now, as you wait for the base to melt you turn to him, move the box off the stool by the stove and sit by him. “But I couldn’t find any soaps that would work for me. My skin is so sensitive and.. Yeah.”

“I see,” he nods, and he’s standing so close, you realize now. He shifts, your knee is touching his hip. You wonder if it feels searing hot to him, too. “I can admire that. Finding a solution for yourself. It’s very respectable.”

“Oh, I don’t know about all that,” you wave off, chuckle nervously. Why does it feel like you are a specimen being observed under a petri dish? “It’s just soap.”

There’s a beat of silence, of understanding. Then, Yukimiya is moving again, pressing in closer. Not enough to be fully inappropriate but more so than any of your other clients have gotten, for sure. (Or anyone, recently, for that matter).

“Well, your skin is beautiful. So you must be doing something right.”

You want to die. You want to curl up in a big, deep, dark hole and die. Right here, right now. What the fuck. What the fuck. The kettle is whistling, you tuck tail and turn your attention to your soap on the stove.

“Well, thank you, Yukki.”

“My pleasure, (Y/n).” 

And it’s soft, sweet; the palm to the small of your back as the man pushes off the counter and goes to search for two mugs. He finds them in the drainer and brings them back to your shared work space. Joins you in tandem like this is what you normally do at ten o’clock on a Tuesday night; like you’ve always done this. How, you ponder, is it so easy?

You stir your oils in as Yukimiya fills the mugs up, places the tea bags in. Your attention is so sparse tonight, so all over the place. You hardly notice your arm getting too close to the pot on the stove. But Kenyu doesn’t.

“Careful,” he warns, grabs your wrist to pull it away from its impending doom. His grasp is warm; stern, but soft. He’s so close, you blink up at him. “You almost burned yourself.”

“Oh,” you mumble, gently pull your arm from his warm clutches, “Wouldn’t be the first time. See?”

You hold out your arms to show him your battle scars; faults of the trade. Working with hot and melted substances isn’t easy, and while your face’s skin may be good, your arms have seen better days. You chuckle, Yukimiya does not.

No, he pouts. “You should take better care,” and he’s reaching for you again, both wrists in his palms this time. He’s observing, cataloging. You want to shrink under his gaze. “I have some scar cream, that would help.”

“Okay,” you aren’t even sure what he said but you don’t care. It’s fine, you can agree. “We’ll call it a fair trade.”

“Okay,” he levels, but you both know full well he is still going to pay you (and extra at that) for your services tonight.

After that, he lets you be for a bit. He takes his seat once again and watches as you get to work. No dyes because Yukimiya doesn’t like that. Extra shea butter because he does. Oatmeal bits to soothe his skin after so much makeup throughout the day. Piece my piece you construct his soap until it is time to pour. And you, well, you’re nothing if not a hospitable host.

“Do you want to pick the mold?” you ask, because he’s here. And this batch is just for him. “I know I normally just use my square one, but if you wanted a change..”

“Flowers,” he says, smiles, “I’d like one with flowers.” 

“I can do flowers.” You pick one that’s still rectangular, but has flowers printed on the top. Something old and something new. A subtle change, something you think suits him better. He doesn’t protest and you think that to be a good sign. You set it on the counter and begin to pour.

It’s always painstaking; this part. Trying to make sure you don’t spill or overflow or pour too fast and get bubbles on the top. It’s even worse when you have Japan’s next top model and top ten soccer pro watching and dissecting your every move. Still, your pour is good and when you’re done you set your measuring cup in the sink.

Usually, you like to clean up immediately after. Now, though, it seems rude to do so when you have a guest. So you discard your things to the sink and come back over, drag your stool and sit across from the Yukimiya Kenyu at the counter. You tug your robe higher over your shoulders, lean forward a little on your elbows. 

“It takes a while to cool,” you bit the corner of your lip, fiddle with your thumbs as you peer through heavy lashes, “I’m sorry, there’s–”

“It’s completely fine,” Yukimiya grins, fingers skimming your arm across the countertop, and you wonder what has happened to that line of professionalism, “I have all night.”

“No shoot tomorrow?”

He shakes his head. And you know–not because you watch every single one of his games or anything, don’t be absurd–that it is the off season for soccer, so there’s probably no practice either. You hum, nod to yourself. You’re doing that a lot tonight, nodding like a bumbling idiot. You can’t help it, you think, not when a man such as this is in your apartment.

Your counter isn’t very wide, the two of you are much closer than either of you think. And Yukimiya is still playing with the hem of your robe sleeve. Toying with it and your heart and the heat in your tummy. You peer at him and he adheres to you and you, well.

You kiss him, because he’s right there.

“Oh. Oh! Oh, god, I’m so sorry,” you’re blubbering, pulling back. Whatever kind of sleepy delirium you're in has really caused you such a deadly demise. You want to keel over right now. “That was so inappropriate, I’m–”

“Completely alright,” he levels, takes your hand and pulls you back in, as much as the counter separating you will allow. 

“You sure?” you’re leaning in again, he’s pressing forward.

“Yes,” he breathes, hot and heavy against your lips and, oh. You’re kissing, again.

His lips are velvet and his skin is silk and you think such delicacies do not belong in your shoddy apartment, but maybe–just maybe–belong in your arms. You kiss him back and revel in it for as long as he lets you. A prince and pauper, in the open kitchen of your studio apartment. 

He pulls back enough to gaze at you, rub his thumb over your knuckles. Reach a hand up to do the same over your cheek. You blink, dumbfounded and dazed.

“So,” he says, finally, after what feels like an eternity, “Does this mean I get to have a soap named after me?”

You laugh, light and airy and warm, and nod your little head again for the millionth time. 

“Yeah, I think we could work something out.”

You do, name a soap after him. And it becomes a best seller overnight. And, suddenly, you can afford much more than a studio apartment on the semi-rough part of town for you and your cat. 

And Yukimiya Kenyu makes you tea every night, and kisses you too. 

likes & reblogs appreciated !

[leah-lover]

Ibiza.

Part 1.

Alexia putellas x reader. Smut 18+

It was agreed upon in the woso community that a stay in ibiza was the usual holiday for football stars. Ibiza offered them a beach, cool resorts, adventures, and most importantly parties to celebrate the triumphs of the season. .

For you Ibiza was home, you lived there for the entire year. You witness celebrities, businessmen, and frat boys party all the same. However, your favorites were the tanned, mostly happy footballers that came to blow off some steam from all around the world. You liked hearing their stories and overall you loved their company.

This year was no different, coming off of a world cup, you knew the parties were going to be interesting.

The club you worked at was popular because of its strategic place in front of the beach. In it there was a place to party and another place to just relax. It was what drew the footballers to it as it was their favorite spot to hang out.

As you tended to the customer asking for tequila shots, you saw her enter the room. The impeccable queen of football, or as some might call her alexia putellas. She was as gorgeous as you remembered her to be. Her hair was less blond than the last time you two met. She was wearing a black, shoulderless jumpsuit with her hair resting on her shoulder. Surprisingly she was alone this time.

As she approached you, you got more and more nervous.

“Hola preciosa” she said with a big smile on her face. You tried to contain your smile as you looked in her hazel eyes, eyes that you have missed so much.

“ Sorry, do I know you?” you responded cheekily. You couldn't hold the joke any longer as you looked more into her eyes.

“You still drink vodka sodas? ” you rhetorically asked while preparing her drink.

“ no hey, i missed you, how are you?” she said with a pout on her face.

“ ale I am working now. You know I can't flirt with clients.” you respond as you hand her her drink.

“ So I am just a client.” she continues with the same pout on her face. You hand her her drink and she hands you her credit card.

“ No ale you are the light of my summer.” you smile at her. “ But you know my rules while I am working. I can't do this. Go enjoy your drink and say hi to your friends for me . Once I am done I will join you.”

She took her drink and left you after that and you continued serving your clients. You watched as one by one her friends all joined her. Her company included Mapi, ingrid, jenni, parti, and aitana. They all said hi to you as they ordered their drinks, patri even ordering a bottle of champagne. You watched from the corner of your eye as they laughed and drank until they were visibly tipsy.

“ Alright boss this is me.” you said as you closed all your tabs and headed to change your clothes.

You didn't know that Alexia was gonna join you tonight so your outfit was underwhelming compared to hers, nonetheless you still joined her at the beach.

She was again alone nursing her drink. “ hola.” you said as you made your way to her and sat on her lap.

“ Hey, how are you? I missed you.” you whisper into her ear. As she rubs her hand on your back she responds. “ I missed you too.”

“ what i heard was that you had your fun this year without me.” she continues.

“ Ale, you don't own me. We have our fun, but I can sleep with whoever I want whenever I want. No need for jealousy. ” you respond.

“ I know , I know. But I bet none of them make you cum like I do.” she whispered.

“ It's been a long time i think i forgot how you felt inside of me.”

“ Well that's not right. Let's go back to the villa and I will remind you.” she says as she takes your hand and walks you to her villa.

On the way there you talked about everything that went down since you last met, from her history making 4 trophies, to her struggle with injury.

Once you got to her house she eagerly pushed you towards the nearest wall and locked her lips with your in a needy hungry kiss. Her hands were all over you touching every available part to her as she bruised your lips and devoured your tongue.

You pulled apart just for a short while so that you can retake the breath she stole from you with her mouth.

“ Now I remember clearly all the times you made me cum and how hard I did reina.” you say with your voice filled with lust.

“I have been dreaming of this all year. Dreaming of you and of what I can do to your body. “ you say while looking in her eyes.

“ Let me show you how proud I am of all that you have done this season. Please reina.” you ask her.

She looks at you with confusion in her eyes because this is the first time you have ever asked to top her.

Without a word she takes your hand in hers and leads you to the bedroom. When you two arrive she lays on the bed and looks at you seductively. You take the hint and undress slowly.

Once you are naked you straddle her lap and begin to take her shirt off, then her bra.

“ you are so fucking beautiful.” you say as you memorize her upper body.

“ not more beautiful than you.” she says as she takes your face with her hands and gives you another kiss.

“ alexia tonight is about you.” you say to her when you pull out of her hold. You then move to her neck, her collar bone, her chest, and her stomach, giving her bruising kisses as you move down her body. Alexia wasnt loud when it comes to sex, so the small whispers you managed to get out of her as you kissed and squeezed her boobs were music to your ears.

You slid the rest of her jumpsuit off of her and pulled off her damp underwear too.

“ Are you enjoying the show reina. Because it looks like you are.” you say as you show her how wet you fingers are when dipped them in between her folds.

Alexia has previously shown you how she liked to be eaten so you didn't waste any time once you lowered your head to her core.

You gently kissed her folds before parting them with your tongue. Your tongue made slow contact with her clit a few times before you moved up to kiss her again.

“ I am so proud of you reina. You did so well this season despite everything. You deserve all the best in the world. “

You went back to her core again moving with more determination to make her come. Your hands roamed her body in the process before settling on her chest. Her fingers tangled in your hair as you do so.

She soon because to arch more and more as you changed you stepped.

“ just like that corazon. You are doing so well. So so good.” she said breathlessly.

You smile onto her clit and continue your motions.

“ I am gonna come nena.” she declares before her legs start to violently shake around your head and her cum and her come drops on your face.

After she settles down you clean her up and move to kiss her with her cum all over your mouth.

“ How do you taste?” you ask her.

“ not better than you.” she responds.

After she retakes her breath you ask her “ did you bring my favorite strap? ” to which she responds by getting out a thick rainbow colored strap from her bedside table.

“ Can you wear it?” you ask her.

“ do you want me to fuck you?” she asks, confused be you demand.

“ Please wear it and you will see.” She does as she is told and secure the harness on her core.

You then proceed to get on top of her and sit on the stap. It was painful at first but you got used to it quickly.

“ I told you I would give you a show.” you say as you blue on her cock.

Still shocked you take her hands and put them on your chest. She quickly realized your message and started moving her hands on your body. You kissed a few times before you threw your head back and focused solely on how the strap felt inside of you. Theatrical moans were soon to follow as alexias eyes and touches, and the strap were overwhelming you.

“ eres tan jodidamente sexy” says Alexia as you continue to bounce.

“ I am soo close ale. Can I come please?” you say desperately.

“ yes amor, come all over my cock.” it only took you a few more thrust for you to come undone. Alexia followed you soon after with the second orgasm of the night.

After you calmed down, you moved off the strap and layed next to her. She then disposed of it too and held you close.

“ if i knew this is what was in store for me i would have come here sooner.” she joked.

“ I am glad you liked it reina.”

“ We agreed you would stop calling me that last year.”

“ The nickname is still true isn't it you are still the queen.”

“ That's debatable.”

“ not really i would only put this show on for you and only you.”

“ So I expect that you will only be sleeping with me this summer.”

“ You wish but I have other plans with other people.”

[slowdrawl]

Shear Luck | joel miller x f!reader | {18+ minors DNI} [masterlist]

{TLOU AU, modern-ish, no outbreak, Sarah lives!} |part 4| Wildflowers and Wine | 2.3k words|

Joel Miller, a single dad, came into your salon for a haircut, but he never expected to leave with a crush. Sarah's alive, tension's are high, the jokes are bad and the chemistry is crazy!

Fluff ?✔️ Slow burn? ✔️ Age gap? ✔️ Puns? ✔️

sprinkle in a little bit of smut 🔥 and dbf!joel energy and BOOM. You got this sweet-feel good fic.

“You bite back a laugh, heat flooding your face. You stand by the front for a minute, feeling a little dumb for moping around all morning thinking he didn’t really give a shit. You should’ve given him more credit—what a softie." |A/N Part 4 of these cuties. I'm thinking we might only see one more chapter for a while after this... unless I get some protest about it. not that I'm planning on wrapping them up forever, but I do want them to live hea and I have a few other fic ideas on the go. xox

Warnings: Mild language, alcohol use, flirting, fluff, puns, age gap (Joel's 38, reader's 23). eventual smut, alcohol use, YEARNING.

An alarm blares on your phone, and you groan yourself awake. You tap the screen and hit snooze. It’s been two days since the party, and the hangover is still lingering, fogging your head. You’re dehydrated, out of it, exhausted. You just lie there with your eyes clamped shut, willing yourself back to sleep. It’s no use. You spend the next fifteen minutes staring up at the ceiling fan, telling yourself you need to wait. You’ve spent the last 48 hours of your life checking your phone every fifteen minutes for something, anything, but—

bzz.

Your heart jumps, and you rip the phone out from under your pillow, tapping in your passcode with frantic fingers.

(8:07 PM) Kim: idk abt cam, hes cool but also lowkey clingy. hows old dude?

Disappointment floods into your chest, hollowing you out. You sigh, and it comes out half-strangled, throat tight with something—anger? Embarrassment? Shame, maybe? You roll yourself out of bed, bare feet hitting the hardwood, dragging yourself to the shower. You crank the handle to the left, letting the water rain over you, practically scalding. It soothes your muscles, but it doesn’t calm the ache.

//

The salon is humming with the sound of your hairdryer, clippers, and quiet conversation. The afternoon sun is shining through the blinds, hitting just low enough in the sky now that it’s blinding your left eye—sending a pang of pain through your skull, still recovering from the long weekend. You’re standing behind your client, Erin, applying her root color. She’s droning on about her daughter’s wrestling match out of town and her overnight shift in the ER clashing. She’s a single mom, three teenage daughters, working doubles just to make ends meet. You’re barely paying attention to what she’s saying, your mind entirely elsewhere, total dissociation. You hum and work, throwing out a “That’s crazy!” every once in a while for good measure.

The front door chimes open, and you hear heavy footsteps come in. You don’t turn, almost afraid to look. You stare forward and slow your hands, waiting for a natural break in conversation, trying not to be rude. The person at the front desk clears their throat. “Excuse me, Miss. I got a delivery for—” Your head whips toward the desk. You don’t remember ordering anything—probably a mistake, wrong address. There’s a man standing at the desk in a brown button-down shirt, “Freytag Floral” embroidered on the chest. He’s holding a bouquet wrapped up in brown kraft paper, a dark green ribbon tied around the stems.

“Uh, for who?” you call out, voice high enough to carry over David’s blowdryer, but it cracks. You slap what’s left of the color on your tint brush to Erin’s head and pause, placing the brush down in the bowl. “One minute, darlin’. Be right back.”

You walk over to the desk, watching the guy fumble with the flowers. He pulls out a little green card and squints as he reads it. “Looks like—you, if I had to guess. You’re the hairdresser?” He looks around the room like he’s deciding if it’s a safe bet to assume or not. He’s right. It’s just you and David today—unless his husband sent them. “Card says ‘Trouble.’ You Trouble?” He raises his eyebrows at you from behind the cardstock. David shuts his dryer off and shoots a smirk your way before going back to styling.

Yup, that would be me.

Nobody has ever sent you flowers before. You’re stuck standing there, wide-eyed and nervous, picking at the skin around your thumbnail and chewing your lower lip. “Oh—okay, do I have to pay—or sign? Anything?” you mumble to him, eyes on your feet.

The delivery guy just smiles and shakes his head at you, placing them down gently on the desk. “Nope, have a good day, Miss. Here ya go.” He turns and leaves the shop—thank God, because that was really fuckin’ awkward.

Erin’s already swung her chair to face you, grinning. “Who’s the admirer—secret or what? Go on, kid, read it!”

You slip off the dye-covered nitrile gloves you’re wearing, throwing them in the trash under the desk, before picking up the arrangement. It’s stunning—wildflowers, daisies, sunflowers, and lavender filling the spaces between. A single red rose sits in the middle; it’s messy and perfect and absolutely you. You stop for a second and wonder if it was Kim who sent them—she knows you well enough to pick out your dream bouquet like that. Maybe an apology for the “use protection” jab or something? You grab the card, fingers brushing against the rough paper, opening it, your heart hammering in your chest.

The envelope does indeed say “Trouble,” handwritten in sloppy, boyish cursive. The inside of the card says, “dinner, my place, tonight, 7. No complainin’, bring the bratty attitude with you.”

Yup—Joel for sure. What a dick. Two days of radio silence and then this stunt?

You bite back a laugh, heat flooding your face. You stand by the front for a minute, feeling a little dumb for moping around all morning thinking he didn’t really give a shit. You should’ve given him more credit—what a softie.

You slot the card back into the flowers and shove them under the desk. You take a deep breath, trying to play it cool, but Erin’s craning her neck, staring like she could read through the envelope with X-ray vision or something. You smile at her and walk back over.

“So, who was it? Spill it.” You can’t hide the smirk curling at your lips. “Just a friend, no big deal.”

She scoffs. “You’re so full of shit! He cute at least?”

Disgustingly, and so is his daughter.

“He’s alright, little rough ’round the edges.” You pick up the color brush and finish applying, glancing at the clock. It’s already 4:30—Erin’s gonna have to sit for half an hour, then another to rinse and finish. You’ll be out by 5:45 after cleanup. You look in the mirror and cringe—it wasn’t hair-wash day, and you’re wearing fucking cargo pants.

You text Kim and pace in the back room while Erin processes.

(3:42 PM) You: Joel sent flowers, dinner tonight at his place. I look like i crawled out of a dumpster. 👍

(3:45 PM) Kim: oh shit, you shave today? or is it like… the amazon rn. 😂

You did not.

You map out your plan of attack as you rush to finish Erin’s hair. You convince her to skip her haircut today, knocking off a good fifteen minutes or so. She heads out the door, but not before giving you a cheeky smirk, saying, “Have fun, be safe!”

You decide to do your hair at work, curling it into soft waves, nearly burning your forehead when your hands start shaking. You grab your purse and a plastic shower cap, practically running out of the shop to your car, flowers tucked under your arm. You’re nervously sweating the entire ride home, checking the clock every few seconds like time’s going to bend and disappear on you.

You rush into the shower, listening to the water hit the plastic on your head,distracting you. You move onto taming the beast, shaving every inch of your body until it’s slick like a hairless cat or something. When you get out, you lather yourself up in a lotion you bought a few weeks ago from the farmers market—it smells like patchouli and rosemary, real hippie shit. You bet yourself five bucks Joel will make some stupid comment about you smelling like a Portland bookstore or someone fresh from Burning Man.

You throw on some mascara and a bit of lip gloss and head to your closet, picking out something comfortable but cute, a black sundress that sits low across your shoulders and hugs you in all the right places. You’re about three minutes from leaving the house when it hits you—fuck, you don’t even know where this guy lives.

(6:45 PM) You: Hey, i tried texting the other guy, he said it wasn’t him who sent the flowers so ur my last guess.

(6:46 PM)  Joel: ha ha ha, very funny. Brat.

(6:46 PM) You: I dont have ur address, cuz im not a stalker like u are. plz send it.

He turns on his location and sends it to you.

Okay—domestic! Weird, but I like it.

(6:48 PM) Joel: there, now cool it with the attitude before i do something ’bout it. Don’t be late.

(6:50 PM) You: shaking in my boots rn. See you in 10 🤠

You do not see him in ten—it’s more like twenty, no surprise at all.

You pull up to his house, parking in the driveway next to his truck. It’s a cute craftsman rancher with a rocking chair on the front porch—very Joel. It’s only a few blocks from your house, the yard overgrown with shrubs. You laugh to yourself, thinking contractor, not a landscaper. You do one more mirror check, then stare down at the flowers in the passenger seat, picking them up as you push open the door. You give yourself a mental pep talk, psyching yourself up to walk to the house. You’ve got fuckin’ butterflies in your stomach like you’re a teenager again.

You knock twice, and he swings the door open like he was standing there already. He’s wearing dark-wash jeans low on his hips, a plain black t-shirt stretched across his chest with a—say it with me—flannel over the top, sleeves rolled up tonight to show off his forearms. The sight alone makes you salivate. His hair’s still damp from the shower, slicked back and off to the side just like you’d do it for him. He smells good too—cologne, no cedar today. He’s smiling at you, dimple flashing like he knows you’re already a goner.

What a slut.

“Well, well, well, look who showed up,” he drawls, leaning against the frame. “Thought you might’ve changed your mind—or chickened out, at least.”

“Me? Chicken out?” You scoff. “You’re the one who ghosted me for two days, remember that?” You grin, shoving the flowers into his chest. “Now you pull this corny bullshit? What’s wrong with you, Miller? What’s your game?”

He takes the bouquet from you, smirking as he steps aside to let you in. “No game. Figured you’d be less of a brat with some food in you, though. C’mon, dinner’s gettin’ cold.”

His house is decorated exactly how you’d imagined it—with mismatched furniture and paintings of woodland creatures here and there. Sarah’s drawings are Scotch-taped to the walls; it’s a little cluttered but in a homey way. You follow him toward the kitchen. It smells like rosemary and something roasted, vegetables, chicken maybe? Joel’s kitchen is airier than the living room, with big windows facing the backyard and an open layout. He grabs a mason jar and uses it as a makeshift vase for the flowers, setting them on the dining table. It’s set already, real proper-like—how fancy.

“Sit. You’re gettin’ the full Miller treatment tonight.”

You plop down, eyeing the spread in front of you—roast chicken, mashed potatoes, a salad, all simple, but it looks pretty damn good.

“This your apology for kissin’ me then actin’ like you fell off the side of the earth?” you ask, grabbing a fork.

“Maybe… drink?” He sits across from you, cracking open a bottle of white wine you can’t pronounce the name of—you’d bet money he can’t either. You don’t respond, but he pours you a glass anyway before going on. “Figured maybe you were busy with that other poor son of a bitch.” He’s trying to keep a straight face but failing. “Or maybe I just wanted to keep you on your toes.”

“You’re an asshole, know that?” you mutter, taking a sip of the wine. It’s cold, cutting through the end of your three-day hangover fog. Dinner is quiet at first—he’s got the radio on low in the kitchen; it’s all forks clinking and birds chirping outside. Then he starts talking, dumb stuff: Sarah’s school projects, work ordeals, a leaky pipe he fixed—and you’re trading jabs, laughing over nothing and everything. It’s domestic, easy…too easy, and you feel that ache from this morning start to fade away.

When your bellies are full and the dishes are cleared, Joel sits back down, folding his arms. “So, still thinkin’ about that other guy?”

You snort, shaking your head at him. “Nah, he didn’t even send me flowers. Think I’ll kick him to the curb.”

“Okay, good. Now c’mon, I got one more thing for ya—surprise.” He stands, grabbing your hand and the bottle of wine, leading you toward the back door. The yard is small and more manicured than the front, with a swing set, patio furniture, a big glass-top table, and green chairs—you know the type. There’s a propane firepit going already, crackling low.

“S’mores round two?” you tease, sitting down in one of the chairs next to the fire.

“Not quite…somethin’ better, I think.” He pulls his guitar out from beside the table, slinging it over his knee, grinning. “You wanted to hear Wonderwall, right?” He starts plucking the strings.

You laugh, real and loud. “Oh my God, no—please tell me you didn’t.”

He’s strumming a few chords now, laughing with you. “Nah, ain’t gonna subject you to that. But I figured you’d like somethin’ anyway.” He starts playing something you don’t recognize, soft and dreamy. His voice rumbles in, gravelly and warm. You lean forward, just watching, smiling like an idiot, hypnotized. You wish you could bottle up this feeling, film this memory, and watch it over and over again. That feeling from the other night comes back into your chest, but it’s lighter now, less “fucked,” less terrified.

He keeps playing for a while, the crickets coming out in full force as darkness settles in. The sky is open wide, the stars so bright, moon so close—like you could pluck her out if you reached up.

I could get used to this.

[corpsedogs]

Dreaming costs money (Jason Todd x Reader)

✿ chapter 3 — jason does one last goodbye to the batfamily before helping you pack your things and head to the airport. tag and masterlist

Jason adjusted the strap of his duffel bag as he stepped into the manor. He didn’t plan on staying long… just a quick drop-in to say goodbye, grab the backup gear Alfred promised to prep, and dodge any last-minute guilt trips from the family.

“Off to play pop star protector?” Dick grinned at his baby brother as he leaned against the banister.

Jason shot him a look. “Don’t start.”

Tim peeked over the back of the couch, a tablet in hand. “You know, statistically, musicians are the most chaotic clients. Emotional instability, erratic schedules, groupies—“

“I’m not her babysitter,” Jason muttered for the 10th time.

“You literally are,” Stephanie said as she popped a grape into her mouth from a fruit bowl she clearly hadn’t bought. “God, I wish I was a fly on the wall when she realizes you don’t do small talk.” she laughs.

“Or feelings,” Damian added flatly from the corner. As you can see his family loves and cares for him.

“Touching,” Jason said dryly. “I’ll send a postcard.” Just as he reached for the bag Alfred had left on the counter, his phone buzzed.

Can you come help me pack? I can’t find anything and I’m going to scream.

Jason stared at the screen for a second.

Also I don’t trust anyone else to touch my stuff. My manager packs like she’s running away from the feds.

He sighed.

“Who’s that?” Tim asked, eyes narrowing with interest.

“No one,” Jason replied too quickly. Dick raised an eyebrow. “Is that the client?”

Jason ignored him, grabbed the satchel, and muttered, “Change of plans.”

Alfred appeared in the hallway just in time to hand Jason a coffee for the road. “I trust you’ll survive this assignment without blowing up a hotel, Master Jason.”

“No promises,” he said, already heading for the door.

The group exchanged looks behind him.

“Ten bucks says they start flirting by day two,” Steph whispered. “Flirting?” Damian scoffed. “She’ll eat him alive.”

Jason knocked once before letting himself into the penthouse suite Mari had texted him the address to. He stepped inside cautiously, half-expecting security— or a small explosion.

Instead, he was greeted by clothes.

Everywhere..

Designer jackets draped over the couch. Heels scattered across the floor like landmines. A suitcase sat in the middle of the room, half-zipped, stuffed like it was surviving a fashion apocalypse. Somewhere beyond the mess, he heard your voice.

“In the closet!”

Jason followed the sound, pushing aside a feather boa (was that glitter on it?) as he stepped into your massive walk-in. You stood in front of a rack of clothes with your hands in your hair, spinning in slow, frustrated circles.

“I hate this,” you muttered. “Everything is either too bold, too boring, or too Metropolis.”

Jason leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. “You texted me for this?”

You turned. “Yes. I told you— I don’t trust my manager to pack, and if I let the stylists do it, I’ll end up with ten outfits and no socks.”

“Can’t believe I’m risking my life over sock logistics.”

You gestured toward the chaos. “You’re here now. Might as well help.”

Jason sighed and stepped into the room, eyeing the mess. “Alright, ground rules. You get five outfits. Two are practical. No sequins in combat zones. And I’m not folding anything.”

“Wow,” you deadpanned. “Such professionalism.”

He grabbed a plain black hoodie from the rack and held it up. “This. You wear this. Problem solved.” You snatched it from him. “No, this is for sleeping.”

“Then sleep a lot.”

You rolled your eyes and reached for a sequin jacket. “Fine. Help me make choices, Hood. I trust your survival instincts.” Jason raised an eyebrow. “You should probably stop saying that.”

“Why? Afraid I’ll start depending on you?”

He smirked. “I’m more afraid you’ll try to hug me.”

You threw a shirt at him.

Jason hated airports. Too many people. Too many cameras. Too many places to get ambushed.

He stood just outside the VIP terminal entrance, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, watching a black SUV screech to a stop. Paparazzi immediately swarmed like flies, cameras flashing before the doors even opened.

Then you stepped out, sunglasses on, headphones in, and attitude turned all the way up. You didn’t flinch at the flashing lights or shouted questions— just raised your chin and walked like the chaos didn’t touch you.

Jason fell into step beside you without a word. The flashbulbs flickered onto him now too.

“Who’s that with her?!”

“Is that her new security?”

“Red Hood?!”

“Oh my god, they hired him?!”

You didn’t break stride. “Smile for the cameras,” you said under your breath. Jason replied without missing a beat. “Smile and I shoot someone.”

You smirked. “We should definitely coordinate our press strategy.”

Security cleared a path through the private terminal as your manager, Mari, barked instructions into her earpiece. “No photos inside. Keep moving. We’re late already— where’s her coffee?!”

“Traveling with you is gonna kill me,” Jason muttered.

“Better you than me.”

Inside the terminal, the chaos dimmed. You tugged off your sunglasses and looked at Jason, taking him in again. “You really packed light.”

Jason shrugged. “I’m not the one bringing five outfits for a three-day trip.”

You grinned. “Five outfits you picked, remember? You’re partially responsible for the fashion now.”

“I hate this job.”

Mari clapped her hands once. “Jet’s prepped. Let’s go.”

You walked ahead, flipping your hair over your shoulder. “Come on, Hood. Try to look like you want to be here.”

Jason followed, deadpan. “I don’t.”

The cabin of the private jet was a picture of luxury—white leather seats, mahogany accents, champagne already chilling in a bucket.

Jason took a seat near the back, far from the front where Mari was already taking a business call that sounded like an argument in three languages.

You sat across from him, now barefoot, legs tucked up beneath you, scrolling on your phone with one hand and sipping a smoothie with the other.

Silence stretched between you. It wasn’t awkward—not exactly. Just quiet.

For a while…

“You always this fun on planes?” you asked without looking up.”

“I like silence.”

“You could’ve booked another flight.”

Jason glanced out the window. “Yeah, well, I also like living. Your dad wasn’t really giving me options.” You hummed in agreement. “He’s good at that. Making everything feel like a deal with the devil.”

Jason didn’t answer, just kept his eyes on the clouds outside.

You lowered your phone and glanced at him. “You know, I didn’t ask for this either. The bodyguard thing.”

“I figured,” Jason said. “You’re not great at hiding your resentment.” You smiled faintly. “Good. I’ve been told I need to be more honest.”

It was silent for a moment.

“You ever think of running?” he asked quietly.

You blinked. “From all this?”

He nodded.

“Every day.”

Jason didn’t respond right away. Then: “So why don’t you?”

You looked at him for a long moment. “Because as much as I hate all of it… if I disappear, he wins.”

“…You might not be a total pain,” he muttered.

You snorted. “Don’t get soft on me, Hood. Seriously, do you need to wear that helmet on the plane? I already know what you look like.”

“...”

The jet’s door hissed open, and a rolling staircase was wheeled into place. Down below, flashing cameras and a throng of screaming fans had already gathered behind a low barricade. Jason checked the perimeter— security was in place, but the cluster of bodies looked ready to surge at any moment.

You stepped off first, heels clicking on the metal steps, sunglasses back in place. A few handlers flanked you, holding albums and merch. Jason followed, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, eyes scanning every face.

At the bottom, you paused on the red carpet strip. “Here we go,” you muttered, rolling your shoulders. “Let’s get this over with.”

Mari, stepped up with a stack of signed posters. “Remember—quick and smooth. No extended conversations.”

You flashed a practiced smile to the crowd. Jason melted into the background, but stayed close enough that you could sense his presence like a shadow.

Fans pressed their albums through the barricade. You signed one, then another, calling each person by name as best you could. Cameras flashed, phones recorded, voices shouted declarations of love.

Suddenly, a scuffle erupted near the center. Jason’s head snapped to the left. A young man had slipped past the handlers, lunging forward with something in his hand— a broken bottle, maybe, or a jagged piece of metal. His eyes were wild, fixated on you.

“Get back!”

Before you even realized the danger, Jason advanced in a single fluid motion. He ducked under the fan’s swing and delivered a precise elbow strike to the man’s temple. The attacker crumpled to the ground with a single, sickening thud— out cold.

Gasps rose from the crowd. A few fans screamed. Handlers rushed forward, one kneeling beside the fallen man, checking his pulse.

You froze. The albums you were holding slipped from your hand, fluttering to the carpet. For a heartbeat, everything went silent.

Then you whirled on Jason, voice low but furious. “What the hell was that?” Jason stood rigid, scanning for any other threats. “He tried to kill you.”

You stepped closer, but not in fear—in anger. “That’s assault! He could be paralyzed, let alone—”

“He had a weapon.” Jason’s jaw tightened. “I disarmed him. I didn’t break his neck.”

You crossed your arms, gaze deadly. “You could’ve used a chokehold, taser— something non-lethal without risking permanent damage!”

A nearby handler placed a hand on your arm. “Miss, are you okay?”

You nodded, though your eyes never left Jason. “I’m fine,” you said sharply. Then to Jason: “Next time, warn me. Or at least incapacitate, not endanger.”

Jason’s expression softened for the briefest instant. “Noted.”

A security guard approached, siren wailing in the distance now as EMTs and police moved in. Mari hustled forward. “Everyone clear? Let’s go.” She grabbed your arm gently. “You need to keep moving.”

You shot Jason one last glare, then followed Mari up the ramp. The crowd’s screams blurred into background noise.

Jason watched you go, the tension in his shoulders easing as you disappeared into the VIP entrance. Beneath his stoic mask, he made a mental note: less brute force, more precision— and maybe, just maybe… learn how to apologize when needed.

Where’s superman when you need him?

tags: @deadbeatphobos @lingxio

[swagyalastorwife]

Yandere!Adam,Mammon and Asmodeus x cheater!reader💙💚💛

A/N:hiiiiiiii guyssss (^-^)/❤️I wrote this fanfiction because it was requested of me, however for Mammon I already wrote a similar fanfiction so I put the link { i found all the picture on pinterest } and sorry for the spelling mistakes ⚠️

⚠️warning ⚠️:violence, blood, corpse, kidnapping and sex

Mammon 💰

Yandere!Mammon punishing the reader

Adam💛

♡ My god, if one day he finds out you were cheating on him omg

♡ You'd been with Adam for several months now, he made your life hell. You couldn't talk to anyone if he wasn't with you. He spent his time watching you. You didn't love him, but he loved you, and he always said he had enough love for both of you.

♡ So one evening, you and Adam went to a meeting organized by Sera, and that's where you saw Michael.

♡ You fell in love with him in less than 4 seconds, and it didn't take long for Micheal to notice you, and that's how it all started.

♡ A few months later, you and Michael met up in secret when Adam was at work, and you told him everything about how Adam was forcing you to stay with him.

"What a monster, you can't stay with him."

"I know, but I have no choice... I can't run away."

"If we.."

"we?"

"Yes, I... I know it might drive you crazy, but I'd do anything to spend my life with you, so why don't we just go together?"

"Micheal, were ?"

"We could go to my brother's!"

"Which one?"

"Lucifer..."

"What, you want to go to hell?"

"We'll be happy there, we'll be together."

"Michael...I"

"Listen, I have to go, but think about it. If you want to come with me, come tonight at 11 p.m. in front of the gate. If you don't come, then I'll stay here waiting for you."

"Honey..."

♡ He placed a light kiss on your forehead and left. The hours passed and Adam came home.

"Hey, baby, I'm home."

"Oh, hello, Adam."

"Come on, you're not even giving a kiss to greet the man of your life."

♡ You didn't even bother to answer him and simply left to prepare dinner.

♡ You hadn't talked about the evening.

♡ You were thinking about what Michael told you and you had made your decision to leave with him.

♡ So that evening, when Adam fell asleep, you didn't waste any time and left the house, but as you were about to walk through the door, you..

♡ You felt hands grab your hips and violently pulled you into the house.

"Where do you think you're going, you big whore? Do you really think you can run away with that asshole Michael"

"No, Adam, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to."

"Shut your mouth, bitch."

♡ He hit you, his blow knocking you to the ground.

"I'm going to teach you how to be unfaithful to me."

♡ He spent his night hitting you and throwing you against the walls of the house.

♡ After 4 hours, he stopped and put you on the bed.

"You see, baby, I'm so nice to you that I'm going to let you have the honor of sleeping with me. ~~ And maybe we'll do more if you're good, but in the meantime, I don't want you to see that angel again, that's understood."

"Yes, Adam."

"That's good ~ now come here, it's time to sleep, my love."

Asmodeus 💙

♡ Cheating on the sin of luxury really isn't the best idea you've had.

♡ You and Asmodeus weren't officially together.

♡ You worked for him, and from time to time, he likes to give you gifts and have sex with you.

♡ Even though your relationship wasn't official, you still had rules to follow because in Asmodeus's eyes, your relationship was real.

♡ So the day he saw you flirting with one of his clients was the last straw that broke the camel's back.

♡You work as an accountant at Asmodeus's company, and one day during one of your business meetings, one of your clients approached you and started flirting with you.

♡ This annoyed Asmodeus, but he knew you were going to put this demon who dared to flirt with you in his place...

♡ Well, to his great surprise, you flirted with him back, and your boss didn't like your behavior, he even hated it.

♡ But he didn't act in front of everyone. He waited until the end of the meeting to go see you, but you left before everyone else, so he sent you a message saying:

《Y/n, honey, join me in my room. I need to talk to you.》

《Very well, I'm coming, sir.》

♡ When you arrived in his room, he welcomed you and insisted that you sit down.

"I saw that one of our clients liked you."

"Yes, I think so too, but I wasn't interested in him"

"You're lying, my dear. I saw you. I spent the entire meeting watching and listening to you, and that made me very angry, you know, you're mine and mine alone. No one has the right to steal you from me, so I had an idea."

♡ You were scared, yes, you were very scared. You couldn't even speak anymore, you were terrified."

♡ Asmodeus then called his two assistants, who brought a silver platter on top of which stood Find a bell that hides the contents.

"Come on, my love, open it."

♡ You lifted the bell for see the corpse of the customer you had flirted with 45 minutes ago.

♡ You were traumatized, scared, you couldn't even move.

♡ Then Asmodeus ordered his assistants to leave with the corpse and said

"This is what happens, my love, when you don't respect the love I have for you. I hope this will serve as a lesson to you now go back to your work "

I Hope you like iiit💙💛💚

[onomatopoetic101999]

Regrets

Eliot Spencer x reader

Set during and after The Studio Job (S:3, E:6)

--------

The men Kirkwood hired to intimidate Nate had noticed you were with him and brought you along by force. They were tall - taller than Nate, and definitely taller than you. At first, you aren’t worried. Eliot would come to save you both in just a few seconds. But then, a minute passes of Nate quietly calling him with no answer. You whisper your own plea of his name, but nothing comes back. You aren’t worried about him being hurt - nobody had a reason to hurt him. No, if he wasn’t answering, it was because he had taken his earpiece out. But why…?

As the men tie you and Nate to the chairs they (forcefully) sat you in, you try to fight the sinking feeling in your stomach. That singer, your client. Kaye… something? She had been eyeing up Eliot since you had first met her. Surely he wouldn’t… not on a job…

Your thoughts are interrupted by a pained wheeze on your left, brought on by a powerful punch to Nate’s stomach. You cry out at them to stop, barely remembering to keep your southern accent intact, but the men just laugh at you. One even goes so far as to backhand you for talking too loudly. He has a ring on, and the power of the blow and the sting of the cut it slices through your cheek makes you gasp as your head is whipped to the side. The man then grabs your chin, turning it so you have to look him in the eyes. 

“I said ‘keep quiet’ Sweetheart.”

Where Eliot’s “Sweetheart” always gives you a sort of warm, fuzzy feeling, this man saying it chills your blood. You glare up at him with watering eyes. Distantly, you hear Eliot’s urgent voice in your ear saying, “hang on!” but it barely registers.

Before you can fire back, probably just to receive more punishment, Nate pipes up.

“C’mon, y’all. That’s no way to treat a lady,” he lets out a wheezing laugh, “it’s me you’re trying to ‘convince’ ain’t it?”

When they shift their attention back on him, he smiles easily, playing up his confidence.

“Besides, which one of y’all would be getting the most money out of this anyway? Kirkwood doesn’t pay well from what I hear.”

The men pause and look at each other and, amazingly, begin to argue. The argument turns to blows, and before long, they both are knocked out. 

You turn to Nate, amazed. 

“How did you know that would work?” 

Nate winks. 

“I didn’t.”

Just then, the door bursts open, revealing Hardison, Parker, Sophie, and Eliot. The others run straight for Nate, and Eliot beelines it for you. He skips untying you by cutting the rope with a pocket knife before sinking to his knees in front of you. He hovers his hands around your face, eyes locked on the angry, red line that you can feel dripping blood down your cheek. You narrow your eyes when they meet his, and don’t bother to hide the tears leaving them. 

He opens his mouth to say something, but you cut him off. 

“Where were you? Actually, you know what?” You stand abruptly and turn to help the others with Nate. 

“I don’t even want to know.”

“Sweetheart, I…” 

You ignore him, straightening your clothes and swiftly walking out the door. 

-------

The rest of the job is tense. Eliot clearly feels some kind of responsibility to this woman (Kaye Lynn, you learn she is called). He is furious when he finds out about Kirkwood stealing the song to perform, and he is determined to fix it for her. 

He tries multiple times throughout to talk to you, to apologize, but you give him the cold shoulder. How dare he. How dare he! After flirting with you for months. You knew he was a player, you knew he got around, but this? Sleeping with a client on the job? Letting Nate and you get hurt?

…

 Honestly, you should have seen it coming. Kaye Lynn was perfect; she was petite, talented, cute - everything you weren’t. Where Kaye Lynn had to look up to meet Eliot’s eyes, you could meet them head on. Where picking Kaye Lynn up would be a breeze, picking you up would take effort. You weren’t ashamed of your height, quite the opposite, but you hated when men saw it as a hindrance to your looks. You’d thought that Eliot was… well, it doesn’t matter what you’d thought. You had been wrong, clearly. 

It isn’t until after the con that you speak to him again. In truth, it’s Hardison who convinces you, though you know he would take that to his grave. 

You’re in the kitchen of the office/apartment, cleaning and reapplying a bandage to your cut, when he and Eliot walk in. They’re laughing and talking as they enter, but Eliot’s smile dies when he sees what you’re doing. He comes around the island to your side, sitting down next to you heavily. 

“Sweetheart, I’m so-” 

You stand and grab your mirror before collecting your excess bandages and heading out the door. 

You hear Eliot sigh as you leave, but you don’t turn around. You don’t even realize Hardison has followed you until you’re sitting in the poker room, and he takes a seat next to you.

“He really is sorry, you know.”

At this, you frown. 

“Is he? He seemed pretty content while Kaye Lynn was still around. Honestly, sleeping with a client in the middle of a job?” 

Hardison nods in agreement. 

“I know, he was completely in the wrong. He let you get hurt, and worse,” He puts a hand on yours to stop what you’re doing and make you focus on him, “He hurt you. In more ways than one.” 

At your narrowed eyes, he smiles wryly. 

“C’mon. You really thought nobody would notice? You’ve been head over heels since you joined, Girlie.”

You sigh in defeat and nod, tears coming to your eyes now that it’s been said out loud. You love him. You’re in love with him, and he let you get hurt because he was distracted with screwing another woman. 

You lay your head in your crossed arms and let out your anguish in a long sigh. Hardison places a comforting hand on your back, rubbing back and forth until you’re all cried out. You sit back up, and Hardison hands you a tissue. 

“I get it, Girlie, really I do. You think it doesn’t hurt every time Parker doesn’t…” he sighs. “These kinds of things take time.” 

You look at him and nod in consolation. 

“He shouldn’t have done what he did, and I am not saying you should give him a free pass. I guess,” he rubs a hand over his head, “I guess I’m just saying give him a chance to explain himself. If his excuses are crap, by all means, keep ignoring him, but girl.” He shakes his head this time, frowning at you. “He is miserable. Absolutely miserable. Like, ‘I don’t think I’ll ever be happy again’ miserable.”

Somehow, you don’t doubt that. You’ve never doubted that Eliot cares for you; he cares about the whole team, despite how he tries to hide it. No, you just know he doesn’t care enough. Not enough to go further than just flirting, and not enough to think of you when another woman was in front of him. 

You sigh. It’s not his fault he doesn’t like you the same way. He could have paid better attention, sure, but you can’t keep hating him forever. If you’re honest with yourself, you never did hate him. 

“Fine.” 

Hardison gives the air a fist bump before standing up. Before he leaves, he leans down to you. 

“Don’t tell him I said any of that, okay? I don’t want his head to get bigger than it already is.”

You offer a soft laugh. 

“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

—------

The next time you see Eliot, you’re thankful you’re alone. You’re doing research on the next con when he comes into the office. You take a deep breath when you see him, and you try to look past the immediate anger you feel. He looks… tired. And exactly as Hardison said: miserable. There are dark circles under his eyes, and when he sees you his eyes light up momentarily before growing dim again. He takes a hesitant step towards you when he, too, notices you’re alone. 

“Sw-” he stops, and begins again, this time with your name. 

The change makes your heart ache. 

“I’m sorry.” he pauses, and when you stay put, just looking at him, he stumbles the rest of the way forward to take your hand in his. 

“I am so sorry I let that happen to you. I don’t know what I was thinking. I was exhilarated from performing and I needed to get y-” he cuts himself off again, “you don’t need my excuses. ” he raises a hand to gently run a finger along your cut and he winces as if he can feel it himself. 

“Would,” he pauses, as if hesitant to ask, “would you tell me what happened?”

You nod, and tell him the whole story. When you mention the man called you “Sweetheart” after slapping you, his eyes grow dark, as if he’s planning every way he could go back and murder him.

He rubs his thumb along the back of your hand, and lets the hand on your face turn to cup your cheek. 

“I will never, ever stop apologizing for what I let them do.”

You shake your head. 

“You’ve been apologizing for weeks, El.”

“It’s not enough.”

You sigh, deciding now is as good a time as any to tell him how you felt. Maybe, if he’s still in the throes of guilt, he’ll let you down gently, though in the back of your mind you know he’ll do that anyway. 

“That wasn’t… that wasn’t the only reason I was upset.”

Eliot’s frown deepens. 

“I was upset because you were sleeping with her while I was getting hurt.”

He sighs, ”I didn’t know you were-”

“I was upset that you were sleeping with her at all.”

At that he stops and looks at you for a moment. Really looks at you. He takes in your tired eyes, your flushed face, your frowning mouth, your tensed posture… He looks, realizes, and frowns deeply. Your heart sinks. 

“I know, I know I have no right to be upset about that.” You raise your hands in surrender and stand to take a step back, “and I know you don’t feel the same way, I just-” 

He stands up immediately at that, and follows you step for step until you’re backed against the wall. He shakes his head, still frowning, and reaches forward to place a hand beside your head. 

“‘You know I don’t feel the same way’?” he groans your name to the ceiling before looking back into your eyes, “I cannot believe how royally I screwed all of this up…”

You shake your head in confusion. 

“I don’t…” 

He leans in, then, presses the smallest of kisses against the side of your mouth. 

“Sweetheart, I slept with her to get over you.”

At your shocked face, he sighs again. 

“I know that’s a terrible reason, but it's the truth. The entire time I was up there singing, I was thinking of you. Of your voice and your smile and your beautiful mind. Of how if and when we all go our separate ways, you will be who I miss the most. Who I’ll be thinking of for the rest of my life.”

“You’ve- this whole-” You push on his shoulders a bit, but he doesn’t budge. 

“This whole time?!” You shove again, but it’s like shoving a brick wall. In fact, it seems to urge him closer, leaning in to press a hesitant kiss to the side of your neck. 

“I know,” he whispers and presses kisses beneath your ear when you don’t stop him, “I know, I’m sorry, Sweetheart.”

“I can’t believe you would…” your voice trails off when his arms wrap around your back to pull you closer, still mouthing along your neck and shoulder. 

“Honey, I can’t tell you how sorry I am.” His voice is still soft, you feel the vibrations of it against your skin, and it sends shivers down your body that you know he can feel in return. 

He leans back, then, and waits until your eyes open before continuing. 

“She meant nothing to me. I know men say that a lot, but it's true. I lo- well.” he pulls you closer again to bury his head against your neck, this time out of embarrassment. You give a small laugh, and reach up to run a hand through his hair. 

“You…?” you’re half teasing him now, but you need to hear him say it.

You feel more than hear him take a deep breath then lean back again to look you in the eyes. 

“I love you, Sweetheart.”

You beam. 

“I love you too, Eliot.” 

[moon---fuu]

« Good things don’t come for free »

::Reo mikage x fem!reader

It takes place after Blue Lock project, so all the characters are aged-up. (It gets suggestive at the end, so if your uncomfortable with it, don’t read it.).

Having, just, won his blackjack game, Reo turned his head to your side, a little smirk on his thin lips. His hair was styled in gel, you did for him two hours ago, while you too were getting ready together. He was wearing your favorite fresh cologne matching with his light gray suit. His purple eyes were dilated, from the euphoria of thoses games, and maybe some liquor.

« How was I, Love ? » he asked you, eyes glimmering mischievously.

You smiled back counting the money he gained from this game. He won all the bets, got you giggling all over him.

« Perfect, as always Baby…», you pressed your revealing chest on his back, while he was sitting in front of you. Then, you kissed, his cheek leaving a red stain on it. It sat so well on his face like it always belonged to him. Well, you belonged to him.

It was not your first night at a casino. And certainly not the last one either. Accompanied by you, Reo would always be down for a game. But truth to be told, if you weren’t there he wouldn’t even think of coming. The atmosphere, in those places, was so boring, that it would bring sleep to an insomniac. But for him, you were the prize of all these games.

Truthfully you had a thing for money, and it wasn’t a secret for anyone, even Reo. So when you told him early in your relationship that his money was appealing, he responded with a deep laugh.

Your straightforwardness made him laugh so much that now, every time he remembered your words, he would let out a little chuckle. Such an attractive woman down for his money, he didn’t see the problem with it. You were honest compared to all those poisonous snakes, who approached him with those same intentions.

But they don’t got your charms and antics. So Reo would be lying if he said you did not have him, all over you.

« Mika...let's go to the roulette …» you whispered, your lips brushing against his left ear. That nickname was so sugary on your lips.

« Whatever you want, Love.. » he said, getting up from his seat, his right hand finding her rightful place on your hips.

How could he, one of the most known soccer players in the world, be so enamored with you?

Well let’s say, that your first encounter was more than memorable.

Two years ago, you just began your morning service, in your new work : Barista. The coffee shop you were working for had the concept of a teddy bear kind of vibe. Very cozy, and convivial. Totally the opposite of you : feisty and energetic. What can you say, it paid well, so it was your best recourse at that time.

That day, having a line full of clients, you took one by one their request. Until you saw a purple haired man, with a three piece grey and white suit on, on his phone. You pondered about how attractive he was, but briefly brushed those thoughts out of your mind. The chances he asks you out are lower than zero. And even if you try to flirt with him, you have a big line of clients to manage. And let’s be frank, you were not in your best appearance either.

Until he came in front of you, taking his eyes off his phone to take his order. Your eyes interlocked, you saw his eyes softening. Confused, you had frown your eyebrows before waving in front of you.

« Sir ? What’s your order ? » you repeated.

« You… » he whispered. You did not hear him, so you turned around to see the menu even more confused.

« What ? What was it sir ? »

« Marry me. » he said more clearly this time.

Surprised, and even stunned, you turned back to his side before opepning your mouth. But none of the words you had in mind came out. Being the heir of the Mikage company, Reo always had what he wanted. That’s why when he felt his heart beating at the sight of you, he decided that you would be the next thing he wants.

It was like this that your relationship began.

To this day, you still do not understand how could he could be so attracted to you, what did he find that much appealing to marry you on the spot, when he belonged to such a privilégied status.

« So how much did we gain from now ? » you heard your boyfriend say to his assistant who was on his other side.

Hearing, how much you gained made you shiver and smile uncontrollably. « What a night » you thought.

« Love » you said, trapping his arm in yours, to hold it to your chest.

You were wearing a purple strapless dress, with a flattering cleavage letting a silver necklace with his initials sitting on your chest. Looking at you, Reo was biting his bottom lip, thinking of so many ways to get it off you.

« Yes ».

Taking your chin in his hand, your doe eyes swallowed him.

« Let me play, please Baby… » you used your charms on him knowing well he can’t resist and he would gladly give you on a silver plate all things you desired.

« Hm…want to play alongside me ? » you smiled at his response and nodded. He caressed your cheek and took your jaw in his hand to steal a sweet kiss from you.

Arriving at the table, Reo sat before you, patting his laps for you to sit on. Without hesitation, you sat on his lap, the rest of the players on the table looking at you both.

« Nice to meet you, ladies and gentlemen » your boyfriend began.

« So are we playing or not ? » you said after hearing them introduce themselves, smiling innocently. You recognized some other famous sports athletes accompanied by their significant other, and some other wealthy heirs from big companies.

The game began, as the dealer of the casino began to annonce, the bet and what colors correspond to what outcome. Impatient, you leaned against the table letting your necklace lean forward too.

« Go first, Sweets » Reo says, as he kissed your exposed shoulder. You began to choose the number you wanted to play with.

« Let’s go with fourteen, my favorite number » you said so sweetly that your boyfriend let out a chuckle. How can you be adorable when your thinking about stuffing the bets…

You eyed the roulette, as the dealer made it roll around, not leaving your number from your eye. Unfortunately for you, you lost.

« Aw, what a shame…right ?» you pouted. Reo held your waist, looking at your pouting face.

« Don’t worry, Love I got you. My turn now. »

All the people around the table swallowed hard. When Reo Mikage was going full all up he wasn’t playing around. And that’s what you like more about him. You like to try and tease him about his money, but truth to be told his ambition and confidence had so much more value in your eyes. When he puts his mind into something, he does not stop until he get it. Some may say he is just being bratty, but for you a driven man was the jackpot.

Manshine City’s chameleon, chose his number based on your birthday, and made his bet. The roulette rolled up a second time, before it stopped on it. You grin even more, and turn to his side to wrap your arms around his shoulders.

« I knew my man was the best one…» you cooed, adjusting yourself on his lap. He smiled and left some light caress on your hip.

You both played, letting the others take their turns, until you eventually got bored, and decided to stop. Even if you ended up losing from stopping the play in the middle of the game, you still had a smile on your face.

No one in this room knew, but this Casino was under the Mikage company. Let’s say it, you would always win in the end. You just enjoyed playing with chance, especially in the arms of such an handsome man.

« What a night, right Love ? » you walked by Reo side, hand in hand, leaving the casino. You wrapped on you, a white fur coat Reo recently bought you.

He nodded, admiring the reflection of the stars in your eyes, as you looked at the clear night sky above you two, before entering his car he opened for you.

« These nights are always perfect with you.. » he flirted back as you crossed your legs after entering his expensive car. He, then too, entered the car, seating by your side before closing it and turning over to you.

You two exchanged a glance full of mischief, playfulness and love. And when you saw his repressed smirk, you did not think twice before taking his tie in your hand to kiss him tenderly.

Your kisses were at the image of your relationship : playful, surprising, filled with affection. You let his tongue get her way in your mouth, discovering it like it wasn’t for the umpteenth time that she was there. Your heart racing, and his hand over your body, your mind was blurry from the intimate contact.

You too were so engrossed in each other that you did not notice his assistant outside, making sure that no one would approach the car. Especially the paparazzi who would die for this kind of scoop.

« What a hassle… » his assistant sighed, brushing his light gray hair back.

As the windows of your boyfriend’s car getting foggy from your breathings, you were thinking about how, maybe, you were not here just for his money after all..

❥I’m writing what i wanted to read..

::Moon

[emistoast]

20/11 tattoo @rosekillermicrofic — word count: 728 — first time participating in any microfic thing and i wrote this on the bus to my tattoo appointment !! aimed for 500 words, got a bit carried away but hopefully it’s not horrible — warnings: implied nsfw

— — —

Evan had one rule for himself: don’t sleep with clients. It was a pretty straightforward rule, easy to follow, but this particular client was making it extremely difficult.

As soon as he walked through the door Evan knew he’d be trouble. Dark brown eyes with even darker hair, covered in tattoos and piercings (possibly more than Evan himself), and sporting a wicked grin that just screamed fuckboy.

Yeah he was Evan’s type.

He’d come in for a flash tattoo, choosing the small skull option they had and requesting it on his upper arm. Nothing difficult.

What was difficult was trying to keep a straight face while the man’s—Barty, he’d learned—warm skin was right there in front of Evan’s face and under his hands. Setting up was easy, Evan going through the movements with a precision that only comes from familiarity. He could feel Barty’s eyes on him as he worked, causing Evan’s heart to speed up. Get it together, Rosier.

“How long have you been doing this?” Barty asked curiously.

“Almost 4 years.” Evan replied, turning back to face Barty. He moved closer, flicking on the overhead light. “Lean back.”

Barty complied, leaning back against the chair and holding out his arm. Evan took a second to admire the array of tattoos covering his arm before cleaning the area for the new one.

“Here?” He asked and Barty nodded in response. After the stencil was done, Evan got to work on the tattoo. He worked quietly, only mildly distracted by the feeling of Barty’s skin under his and eyes watching him.

It didn’t take long—the tattoo was only small—and soon he was placing the second skin over top of the finished piece.

“Looks great!” Barty said, turning his arm to get a better view of the skull now resting on his upper arm.

“Fits in perfectly with the rest.” Evan commented. “Now I’m sure you know the healing process but I’ll go over it with you anyways.”

Barty nodded along with Evan’s words as he described how to properly care for and heal the new tattoo. His eyes lingered on Evan’s neck for what was certainly too long to be just admiring the tattoos visible above his collar. And he licked his lips as his eyes roamed over Evan’s piercings.

Evan suddenly felt too hot in the small room, the lights combined with Barty’s gaze making his heart race. He cleared his throat as Barty’s eyes flicked back to meet his own, watching as the dark haired man smirked slightly.

“Well as long as you feel alright, you’re free to go.” Evan said, turning away from him to take of his gloves and distract himself from the way his heart fluttered at the smirk.

“Actually I think I feel a bit dizzy.” Barty said. “Mind if I stay a little longer?”

“Oh, yeah that’s fine.” He grabbed a granola bar and tossed it to the other man. “Here.”

“Thanks.”

They fell into silence as Barty chewed on the granola bar and Evan started cleaning up. A small part of him wished this would never end, there was something comfortable about simply being near Barty.

“Your tattoos are pretty cool.” Barty began, tossing the empty wrapper in the garbage bin. “What’s the one near your neck?”

“This one?” Evan asked, gesturing to the flower partly visible above his shirt collar. It was the one Barty had been staring at before.

“Yeah. Looks like a rose.”

“It is.” Evan confirmed.

“Can I see the rest of it?”

Evan hesitated.

“I’m not asking you to take your shirt off.” Barty said in a light teasing tone. “Wouldn’t complain if you did though.”

“Oh?” Suddenly he was feeling a bit more bold, despite how unprofessional it was to flirt with a client.

Barty’s grin widened. “Considering it?”

“Maybe.”

Barty leaned closer. “You got any other clients today?”

“No.” He really hoped Barty couldn’t hear his heart beating.

A hand came up to brush across the rose tattoo, pushing his shirt collar to the side a bit before moving away to brush through his hair.

“This is a horrible idea.” Evan said, shivering when Barry’s fingers lightly brushed his ear.

“Are you saying you don’t want to?”

“I should.” Barty’s hand stilled in his hair. “I’m not though.”

Their lips crashed together before he could blink. Yeah, Evan was definitely breaking his rule.

[arreuyas]

HOW MUCH? | Toji X Male! Reader

*⁠.⁠✧ In which he was paid to kill you but you offer him to get fucked instead.

warnings: sub!toji, degradation, edging, spanking/slapping, choking, bratty toji, cursing, toji is a bit out of character tbh, zenin bc he doesn't have megumi and his wife here.

wordcount: 1.8k

—

TOJI ZENIN, the sorcerer killer, doesn't do any extra work for free. But it's not against his rules to accept a request from a client who is a sorcerer. He doesn't question his client's motives or what they are after all, what matters it the good ol' money.

That's why, when he had a gun aimed at your head and you smirked instead of trying to doge or counter-attack like most sorcerers would do, he raised an eyebrow until the words left your lips: “How much for getting laid by me? I'll pay double of what you're going to get.”

Of course, betraying his clients is one thing that he doesn't do. So yes, he did shoot you, pissed off that those were your last words— or were supposed to be, since the bullet didn't get through your head at all. His eyes widened when you appeared in front of him, hands in your pockets and eyes of someone who wasn't planning to fight him.

“C'mon, don't be like that~” you smiled, your sneaky hand going to his waist and bringing him closer. At this point Toji was so dumbfounded that he took some time to understand what was happening. It was the first time his target flirted with him so blatantly, after all. “How about three times the price, then? Three times the amount and you let me fuck you once.”

Three times the price of your head... it was big money, and it certainly catched his interest. It's not like Toji minded sleeping with men after all, the problem was betraying his client. “And an extra so you can kill whoever it was who asked for my head.”

Alright, that was enough to convince a money-hungry like Toji. He lowered his gun, still a but uncertain about the deal but fuck it, he would think about the consequences later. You smirked with that reaction from the non-sorcerer.

That's how you two ended up in a hotel room, Toji sitting down on your lap, straddling with that big ass of his. You already had a prominent bulge on your pants as the Zenin rubbing his covered rear and dick against your thigh, letting out some grunts between his heavy breaths from time to time.

Fucking humiliating. It was what Toji thought. He was literally acting like a whore— moving himself on top of you for some money. Well, at least the money was way higher than what a whore would get, but still...

“Damnit, stop fucking teasing me.” He protested when you started pinching his exposed nipples, another grunt coming from him as his body trembled. That bulky man wasn't used to having anyone touching him like that, he usually was the one who held the reins in bed.

“What, can't handle a bit of teasing, sorcerer killer?” You chuckled, rubbing the wet spot on his boxers, the pre-cum leaking out his tip already.

“Can't you just fuck me already–” You stopped his words with a rough spank on his ass, making him shut up with a groan. One of his hands instinctively moving to hold your shoulder.

“Shut up, slut.” You hissed, taking him off your lap and throwing him in bed. Then you unbuckled your belt, glaring down at him. “Take off your pants and spread your legs for me.”

Toji was about to complain but instead he rolled his eyes and obliged the command, getting himself naked. Yet, he didn't spread his legs, receiving a sigh from you. You got on top of the bed, your hand moving to his neck before he could react and gripping tightly on it, chocking him just slightly.

“When I tell you to do something, you do it. Understand?” You gripped tighter on his neck but Toji kept glaring at you, a hand on your wrist threatening to break your arm. “Unless you want to forget about the money and fight me instead. And believe me when I tell you I'm going to make you fight while being naked.”

He let go with a groan, and you let his neck free again— a reddish mark of your digits on the skin of his neck and you liked it. When you looked down, Toji's dick was twitching and more precum was leaking from it, then you chuckled with a raised eyebrow. “Oh? Someone likes getting choked and degraded? Such a whore.”

You grabbed a lube from the bedside table, pouring the liquid on your fingers and some on Toji's rear, then watching it go down to the entrance of his ass, his naughty hole blinking. You didn't wait much though, there was no reason to be gentle with him— and you knew that Toji would prefer that way, too. So you immediately inserted two fingers inside, already moving them to loosen him up. Toji grunted, biting his lower lip with his eyebrows furrowed before you added a third finger.

The Zenin had such a nice body, it almost looked like a sin— as if he was begging to be fucked. After all, what's the use of having such thick thighs and such a sexy ass if not for fucking them? You glanced down at him while playing with his hole, fingering him and teasing his prostate, your other hand stroking your cock slowly.

“Enough of foreplay. Spread your hole for me.” You said, watching him click his tongue in annoyance but still doing as you told. You held one of his legs on top of your shoulder. “And stop rolling your eyes or clicking your tongue every time I tell you to do something, it's getting me soft.”

Toji scoffed.

“Ha. Then maybe you're not a real man if a roll of eyes is enough to—” He couldn't finish his sentence as you thrusted your cock inside, invading his hole in one swift move. He gasped, his hands letting go from his ass to grab a handful of the sheets as he glared at you like he wanted to kill you.

You smirked down at him with a mocking gaze. “What were you saying about real man again? I don't think I heard you.” You teased, pulling your cock halfway out before slamming it back inside, the Zenin letting out a grunt. You moved your free hand to pinch his nipple, pulling on it.

“You bastard...” He muttered as you stopped your hips for a moment, leaning down to his chest. Your tongue licked and sucked his right nipple then your teeth sunk down for a bite, Toji flinched and groaned from pain mixed with pleasure. “The hell are you doing–”

“Taming you.” You cut him off with a sadistic smile. Toji wanted to make that smile of yours disappear because he was starting to like it more than he should. “From now on, every single time you complain or call me anything that isn't master you're going to be punished.”

You chuckled, pulling your cock out almost completely and slamming it back in, moving in slow thrusts. “Understand?”

You spanked his ass again, a silent warning for him to answer. The non-sorcerer groaned, biting his lip in both annoyance and pleasure. “Yes...” He took a second to continue: “...Master.”

“See? It's not that hard to stop being such a brat.” You said, starting to fasten the pace of your thrusts. Who the hell are you calling a brat? Toji wanted to shout, but didn't. Your veiny, fat cock was filling his insides and the tip pressing against his prostate was making Toji flinch every time you aimed at that spot. He was starting to actually moan too, instead of only letting out those grunts and heavy breaths of his.

The moment you grabbed his dick and starting stroking it he whimpered, one of his hands grabbing the sheets as the other was behind him, grasping the pillow. He felt himself getting closer and closer to the edge as you moved back and forth, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. “Faster— Ugh, I'm close...”

But then you stopped moving your hips, pressing your thumb against the tip of his cock. The Zenin's eyes immediately moved to you, his eyebrows furrowing in annoyance and confusion. “What are you doing? I said I'm close to cumming.”

“I heard what you said,” you chuckled, slamming your cock inside one more time then stopping. “You're going to beg for if you want to cum. Or else we're staying like this for the rest of the evening.”

“Beg? Me? Ha. In your dreams–” Slap! Toji's eyes widened when he felt the hit against his cheek, his teeth gritting in anger as he glared at you, his mouth already opening to protest when you raised your hand again, now spanking his ass instead. “Fuck, cut it out!”

“Beg.” You repeated, your thumb making small circles on the tip of his hard cock, smearing the precum as his body squirmed under your touch. Toji knew he was at his breaking point and being unable to orgasm didn't hurt yet, but it was certainly uncomfortable.

“Damnit... Please, let me cum.” He muttered, glancing away with a frown. You raised an eyebrow with a chuckle, shaking your head in response. Another spank on his ass, Toji letting out a low moan.

“Beg like you mean it, non-sorcerer.” You said in a seductive whisper, your tongue sticking out from your lips to lick his neck up to his jaw.

“Please!” He said, thrusting his hips up against your touch, searching for his high only to be stopped by your hands keeping him still. The Zenin was physically stronger than you, and he knew that. But maybe because he was too horny he couldn't react very well or even think about fighting back and dominate you instead.

“Not enough.” You said, threatening to pull your dick out from him but his legs instinctively wrapped around your waist, pulling you back inside. You hummed in amusement, not expecting that from him. “So?”

“Please...” he repeated, then added: “Master. Keep fucking my guts until I cum.” You noticed how Toji couldn't keep glaring at you. He was embarrassed, and you found that cute. It was so unlike Toji to act so submissive like that from the little bit of time you talked with him.

“You still have a lot to learn... but for now I'll let it pass.” It was weird how you talked as if this wouldn't be the first and last time you two slept together. But Toji didn't have much time to react, as you finally started moving again, your cock inside him and your hand moving tightly and fast around his shaft.

“Fuck! Yes– Harder!” He moaned out loud and it only took a few more thrusts and strokes for him to shoot his cum, his back arching and his eyes rolling to the back of his head as his legs trembled around you. His seed dirtied his abdomen and his hole clenched against your cock tightly, almost not letting you move.

It was such a sexy sight. You also didn't endure much after that, cumming right after him. Your load being pumped deep inside the Zenin as you let out a grunt, biting your lower lip with a smirk.

After some seconds and when the ecstasy broke down, Toji switched back to his cold mode almost immediately, looking at you. “About the money– What–” His eyes widened when you thrusted against him again, a involuntary whimper leaving his lips. You were still hard.

“Oh? I don't remember saying we were done. How much for a round two?”

—

©2023 hanfobia do not repost, modify, dist. or translate.

[http-tokki]

don't go insane

~ choso kamo x fem!reader (tattoo artist choso au) ~tags/cw: mature content, lil smut, explicit language, talking about the pains of being a woman (iud, pap smear etc), aged up yuji. ~ mixed/third pov ~ wc: 2.5k ~ part of need to know fic: chptr one

~a/n: very small chapter because believe it or not, this took so much mental effort to get out, I could not figure out how to progress it past the initial meeting but the next part is coming soon, this is a lil taster

Saturo was no help. A constant barrage of jokes flooded your phone screen in every form possible, with an encouraging text from Suguru slipping into the stacking text notifications, the former however was no help. The little goblin made of nightmares named Anxiety settled into the walls of your stomach, poking at the fleshy, spongey insides and giggling each time you clenched your fist. The repetitive motion usually calmed the nervousness, a habit developed in early childhood that had so far in life been a great distraction from the impending doom that seemed to encompass you each time you stepped a foot outside your front door, but today it was no help at all. Afraid of looking silly in front of two rather attractive men you find yourself abandoning the action in favour of a more discrete tactic, one you had vowed to give up in response to the scar tissue that had built along the inside of your bottom lip.

Getting out of the house these days was a little tougher and required more effort and energy to step out into the world and socialise, and that was okay; at least, that’s what your therapist tells you each time you fork over two hundred and thirty dollars for a sixty-minute session. It is all right to be a little uneasy when going out into the world because everyone else is just as unconfident in their footing, and you can only control your actions; the decisions made by others are uncontrollable and unplanned, and that’s okay. It’s all okay, it’s all fine. Fine.  You feel your lips pull down into a frown.

“Hey, you all right?” a voice asks from your left.

You turn to face the voice and are greeted by the smiling boy who had greeted you.

“Yeah, I’m okay, thanks,” a sigh whooshes from your body. “Just a little nervous about being alone is all.” You feel your mouth mirror the smile he gives you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

“Yuji!” the boy beams and leans further over the counter. “And don’t worry, Choso is very chill; he’ll even let you pick the music if you ask!”

You genuinely smile at his childlike demeanour, and your stomach knots loosen a tad. Yuji is warm, his energy comforting and familiar as if you had met him once before, and come to think of it, he did look rather familiar to someone you had met when you were younger.

“Have we met be-“

“Did you want to – ohh, sorry. You first,” Yuji stumbles over his words, pausing and gesturing you to finish your thought.

“I was just going to ask if we’ve met before, You’re familiar.”

Yuji beams at your question but shakes his head, pink hair falling over his forehead. “I don’t think so, I would have remembered such a pretty face.”

Warmth blooms in your cheeks at the blatant flirting, and you’re flattered and maybe a little too old for him.

“Can you stop flirting with my client?” Choso walks into the foyer, holding stencils, ID, and consent forms in one hand, and a pair of grey slippers in the other. The shoes looked a little too small for someone of his size but they could just be normal size and look tiny in his gigantic hand.

Locking eyes with your artist, you finally get a good look at him and he is unnervingly beautiful in a way that you never thought anyone could be. Deep shadows cradle tired mulberry-hued eyes that are framed with thick lashes that fill you with no end of envy, and his face is exhausted and gaunt, yet the fullness of his cheeks and lips suggest that he is healthy and not malnourished in any way apart from sleep maybe. A raised but old scar ran over his nose, tinted a slightly darker shade than his porcelain complexion, but it was the imperfection, the rip in what is undeniably a beautiful artwork of a human, that made him all the more gorgeous and the hair, oh god, his hair. Raven-coloured locks fell to just above his shoulders in messy layers and pushed back from his face with a zig-zag headband that had your chest heating in both envy and desire. 

More heat spreads across your face, tinting your ears in a soft blush at the heavy emphasis on possessive adjectives, and you know he doesn’t mean it that way, but you can’t help your heart's racing.

 Yuji frowns, his bottom lip jutting out in a pout.

“She could be my client,” he turns back to you, eyes wide in asking “and Cho can supervise, I need the training.”

You frown, dramatic apology written across your features as you look towards Choso. In any other instance, you would be willing to sit for an apprentice but you had been wanting something done by Kamo for months now and as much as you didn’t want to disappoint Yuji, you wanted Choso’s work more.

“Not today, bro. I’m sorry.,” Choso beats you to the punch, slashing through his apprentice’s hopes to tattoo and score a date with one clean strike. “Ask Yuki when she comes in; she’ll let you.”

Yuji’s pout deepens, and you can’t deny he is cute, but maybe next time, when you need a little filler or you have some cash to spare. You share a frown with the pink-haired boy and turn to Choso, careful to avoid eye contact as he holds out your identification card and the pair of slippers.

“These are for you if you want to change out of the boots.” His eyes flick down to the heavy Doc Martens that adorn your feet. “You can go into the room, I’ve just gotta grab a few things from the storeroom.”

Oh, that’s why they were so small. You accept the shoes and card with a shy smile, thanking him quietly for the unnecessary kindness with the borrowed slippers and follow him down the small hallway. You want to say something, a small joke to fill the silence, but nothing comes to mind, your brain suddenly devoid of any thoughts other than how much you wanted him to pin you against a wall. Fire twists in your gut at that image. Strong tattooed hands pinning yours above your head as his mouth trails down your neck, nipping at the delicate skin of your throat, then collarbones, then chest. How easily he could rip the front of your dress open, hands groping and mouth biting.

“I’m just gonna duck out to grab some more ink cups but make yourself comfy. You can sit wherever until we put the stencil on.” Choso stops in the doorway of his space, gesturing into the room with an open palm. “Bathroom is down the hall” he jabs behind him with his thumb.

With a shaky breath in, you nod and step into the room, carefully avoiding any contact you might have with him in fear of possibly melting into nothing but a puddle of blood and bones. He gives you a tight smile before disappearing down the hall. How were you meant to have him tattoo you if you could barely hold it together when there was space between you both? Your skin is burning, tingling with whatever it was he made you feel and there was an ache so deep in your chest it hurt, but all those things could be anxiety, could be caused by the fact you were out of your element and not by the fact you were about to be tattooed by the most gorgeous human you had ever seen. Or maybe it was your body telling you that you needed to get dicked down by Choso Kamo. But anxiety and horny go hand in hand, right?

--

“Can you relax for me?” Choso’s request is soft and accompanied by small taps along your spine as he readies your skin for the stencil.

A shaky breath leaves your lungs as you whisper a sorry and roll your shoulders forward in an attempt to shed the stiffness that had taken over your entire body the instance Choso’s fingers brushed across your skin. 

Your poor body has not known relaxation since stepping into the small studio. Between the constant heat coursing through your veins, your heart racing to the point of panic and your stomach twisting so uncomfortably good, you couldn’t focus on anything apart from the man before you, well behind you. Initially, you had wanted the tattoo running along your forearm, having just enough space for the small dagger and wings but after Choso had suggested moving the piece to run down your spine, your mind had been changed. It was perfect! You had been wanting to get something along your vertebrae for months now but hadn’t found anything you loved enough to commit, until now.

 What you hadn’t accounted for was how it would be tattooed. You had very well thought you would be lying face down on the bed, Choso hovering over you as he inked your skin but that would have surely been murder on his back and judging by the looks of him, he was not ready to make that sacrifice, so now you sit comfortably on a small cushioned stool, hunched over the bed to allow Choso access to your bare back.

 Oh my god, you weren’t going to make it through the appointment.

--

Warm hands are laid flat against your shoulder blades and you flinch, unaware you were going to feel the full weight of his hands on you.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean-“Choso rushes to apologise, removing his hands as if having them on you was a great offence.

“It’s okay. You just scared me, I didn’t know you were going to touch me.”

“Oh, uhh is it- am I going to “he struggles with the sentence, unsure as to how to word his question without sounding like a misogynistic asshole. “Are you going to be okay with me touching you? For the tattoo!” Choso all but shouts the end of his question, the clarification sending heat to both your cheeks.

“You can touch me, it’s okay.” You nod, perhaps a little too feverishly than you wanted to but you needed to ease his worries that you might be that kind of client. 

The kind of client that flinches at every pass of the gun and begs for breaks every ten minutes. You know first-hand how embarrassing it is to watch someone cry and whine because of a tattoo as if the pain was unbearable and unavoidable. You had suffered through years of period pains, laser hair removal, IUD insertions, pap smears, getting smacked in the boob right before your period, eyebrow threading and so much more and even then, you refused to make a sound. Almost passing out on the gynaecologist’s table when she rammed the measuring rod right up into the top of your uterus, and even then the only sound that came out of you was a small ouch. You refuse to be seen as someone who would flinch at a tattoo. 

Choso smiles back, restrained and small and you worry that maybe your over-enthusiastic consent may have contributed to that less genuine more annoyed retail worker smile and you find yourself starting to spiral into thoughts of needing to apologise and make up for the weird tension that now filled the room but that would be three steps backwards according to your therapist.

‘It is not your responsibility to figure out other people’s emotions before they have them and even then, it is not your responsibility to fix or change it’  

Each week you are reminded of that in that small corner office and you’ve heard those words so many times, you might as well get it tattooed on your arm to remind you of that fact.

So instead of opening your mouth and spewing word vomit everywhere, you smile back and take in a deep breath, nodding at your artist to continue prepping your skin for the stencil.

--

Choso sits behind you, gently laying the paper atop your skin, lining up the tip of the dagger with vertebrae, and he has to concentrate extra hard to stop his hands from shaking because he cannot place this stencil on you for the fourth fucking time. It had taken him three attempts already and not because of the size of the drawing or the curve of your spine, but the fact his mind wandered away each time his skin touched yours. Wandered to a place where no client should ever be found, a place reserved only for fictional characters and the occasional crush but here you were, front and centre in Choso’s mind. Bent over the tattoo table, dress pushed up just far enough for him to watch his cock sliding in and out of you, slick and precum dripping down your thighs and pooling on the sanitized floor below. Your hands grip the edge of the foam mattress, the other held behind your back fingers entwined with his as you whined and moaned, crying out Choso’s name as you barely held it together before coming all over his cock with a whimper.

The image has Choso’s cock hardening in his sweats and he curses the fact he decided to change into comfy clothes instead of the jeans he wore this morning. His attention needs to shift away from the thought of you and to the present reality of you. Looking up, he catches you already staring at him and for a split second, he freaks out and looks down at his crotch. Had he said something out loud? Or accidentally made it super obvious he was insanely horny for you?  The anxiety seems to do the job as he feels his dick softening, heart racing for another reason entirely.

“Do you need me to move or help you out with anything?” you timidly ask, brows furrowing in worry at the fact he had not been able to line the stencil up yet. Would he be okay to tattoo you? His hand did seem to shake a lot.

Choso shakes his head, puts down the stencil and reaches for the roll of paper towels on his station. “I think I've just had too much caffeine and it’s giving me a bit of a headache.” His gloved fingers pinch the bridge of his nose. “My hands don’t shake this much, I promise. This has never happened before.”

Yeah, he’s never had a client so insanely hot he has been unable to do this job. Choso was not going to make it through his appointment alive.

[thatlittledandere]

End of Patience

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Fandom: 美男高校地球防衛部LOVE! | Binan Koukou Chikyuu Bouei-bu LOVE!

Relationships: Naruko Io/Zaou Ryuu, side slash background akoioryuu brotp

Characters: Naruko Io, Zaou Ryuu, Gero Akoya

Additional Tags:

Drunken Flirting

Love Confessions

First Kiss

i feel like several of these tags are stretching their meanings a little

set somewhere around the movie's time period

not canon compliant with eternal love. probably

Words: 1,425

Summary: Io comes to meet Ryuu at Akoya's bar. Ryuu has had enough. In more ways than one.

ao3 link (archive locked)

Io entered Akoya's bar to find Ryuu already hammered.

He was slouching on his seat, face buried into his arms, a grog glass that had undoubtedly been refilled more than once sitting in front of him. He didn’t seem to be actively sobbing, though, so Io wasn’t too worried.

"Did you have to shoot down another client trying to take you home?"

Ryuu stretched his arm out to Io, face red, eyes glistening with tears. "Ioooooo~"

Io was relieved to see his guess had been right and Ryuu was just being dramatic. This wasn't real crying, the type that made Io's heart plummet to the depths of oceans and his blood freeze to the absolute zero. This was Ryuu's everyday whining that he was still proficient at at 26. Io hated to admit it, but he had always found it endearing.

Io nodded a greeting to Akoya before sitting into Ryuu's booth. Ryuu flopped against his shoulder and Io raised his arm into a side hug to massage his scalp. Ryuu sighed in contentment, making Io relax in tow.

This had been happening more regularly recently.

"Mamaaa~ One more pleeease~"

Io shot Akoya a warning look, but it wasn't needed. Akoya shook his head. "While I appreciate your patronage, a gentleman would know when to quit. Slurring and stumbling aren’t beautiful."

Ryuu pouted some more and leaned more of his weight on Io. "It's fine. I'll sleep it off."

Akoya raised his eyebrows at Io and left them alone. The message was loud and clear.

Io repeated his earlier question with less snark.

“Is something the matter? Or are you just tired after the day?”

Ryuu somehow got even more comfortable. He bobbed his head to the rhythm of Io’s fingers, hair tickling Io’s neck and cheek.

“I’m so tired. Nah, actually…More. I’ve had it. I‘m DONE. ”

“Done with what?” was what Io wanted to ask, but didn’t have the time to, as Ryuu suddenly broke free from his arms.

Ryuu turned to face Io, grabbed his collar, and…

Kissed him.

It was only lips but it was sloppy; Ryuu missed his mark a tad, catching a little more of Io's chin than intended, the bitter smell of liquor in his breath overpowering all others, but it was loaded with intent and feeling.

Io couldn’t take it. Not like this.

"Ryuu!", he exclaimed, scandalized, and detached Ryuu from himself. Not quite a shove, but enough to put distance between them.

Ryuu furrowed his brow. "Come ooon, jus’ lemme-"

"You're drunk," stated Io, "Reflect on this more when you sober up."

Akoya had reemerged from the backroom. Io caught his eye. "Akoya-san, we're leaving. Does he owe you?"

Akoya sighed. "It's taken care of. See to it that this idiot makes it home safe, will you?"

"Naturally," he replied, and nudged the still frowning Ryuu with his shoulder. "Come now. I hope you can still walk."

***

Io sat down on his living room floor and opened his laptop. Ryuu was sleeping off his inebriation on Io's modest couch, his big jacket serving as a blanket. From experience, Io surmised he would not need to go to bed before Ryuu woke up. He would always rouse briefly for a drink or bathroom before falling back into proper sleep.

Io didn’t stay up this late when Ryuu wasn’t staying the night. These days, he didn't need to work on his finances as much as he used to; only check in every now and then. Getting used to a smaller workload had been easier than Io had expected. He appreciated the time he now had for looking into—and after—other things.

Times like this were why Io had eventually splurged on a throw pillow. He was now considering investing in an actual blanket as well; it could "liven up the place" on the couch's backrest when not in use. Ryuu might appreciate it.

***

A groan came from the couch. Face still buried into the pillow, Ryuu let an arm flop down and started swatting around the floor. Io pushed the glass of water he'd prepared closer. Ryuu's hand found it, fumbled to take hold, and lifted it as Ryuu himself groggily sat up.

Io watched as Ryuu drank the water in only a couple of huge gulps. Some droplets escaped and made their way down his neck and exposed collarbone, disappearing into his purple silk shirt. Io wished he'd prepared a glass for himself, too.

Ryuu wiped his mouth into his sleeve and reached to give the glass to Io. Their fingers briefly brushed against each other. Ryuu’s hand was damp from both sweat and drops of water. Io tried to ignore the intermingling sensations, and set the glass back on the coffee table.

“We’re here again,” said Ryuu, more to break the ice than anything.

“We are,” replied Io.“Let’s get right down to business. What was that earlier?”

Ryuu hung his head and sighed. When he looked back up—or down—at Io, he looked even more tired than before passing out. No, not just tired—frustrated, almost resentful.

Hurt.

Ryuu leaned his hands on the edge of the couch. He laid his weight on his arms. Chewed on his lip. Kept eye contact intense. It was intimidating. Hypnotizing. 

Ryuu let Io out of his misery by jerking his head backwards. Io took the invitation to join him on the couch. He scurried to his feet and Ryuu made room. His expression remained harsh. 

Io didn’t have time to wonder why he was suddenly the one to feel he had done something wrong.

Ryuu took a deep breath and started talking:

"You were just taking too long.” He toyed with the buttons on his shirt sleeves. “Seriously, you're not this slow when you want something."

Io blinked. "What are you saying? Too slow with what?"

Ryuu spread his arms wide and gestured to himself. "Me! I wasn't ready for anything in high school either, but for real, it's been almost ten years!"

Io was speechless.

"I mean, ok, I get it, you need to do some calculations in your head. Like, risk assessment. I could wait for so long, but I have my limits!"

"You've never been the most patient," confirmed Io. He didn't know what else to say.

"Right. So... I'm seriously sorry I jumped you like that.” He grimaced. “But if you've stuck by my side for this long you can't have decided I'm not worth it, so, what gives?"

Ryuu moved closer to Io and leaned his hands on Io's thighs, looking up at him from under his uncombed bangs. "You like me. And I like you. And you know that, so why haven't you made a move?"

Io was growing more flustered by the minute. Did he know that? Did he really? 

Perhaps, on some level, he may have sensed something. Certainly he had known he and Ryuu would keep being prominent parts of each other's lives. If their bond had been made to break, it would have by now. 

Of course Io knew how he felt about Ryuu. That was something that hadn't been necessary to dissect since he had first arrived at a conclusion as a teenager. 

Of course Io knew Ryuu respected him, looked up to him even, and relied on him. Of course he knew Ryuu liked him and enjoyed his company.

... Maybe Io had been too complacent in the comfort of the status quo.

"...I didn't think it was my move to make," he conceded. "Usually, you aren't exactly known to wait around for something you want, either."

Ryuu huffed and butted his head against Io's chest.

"That's exactly why."

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

Ryuu pushed himself up. Their faces were only centimeters from each other, breaths mingling, eyes glued to each other.

"This isn't 'usually'. This is you ."

This time, Ryuu waited for Io to exhale and relax before kissing him. He was careful; confident but considerate.

Io reciprocated—to the best of his ability, not like he knew what he was doing like Ryuu did—and tentatively wrapped his arms around him. Ryuu hummed, and deepened the kiss.

***

The next morning, Io woke up to a text from Akoya.

> Is the knucklehead doing alright?

Io looked at Ryuu, sleeping right by his side. Hair all over the place, smudges of mascara on his lids, shirt ruffled, a newly formed bite mark on his neck...

He was the most beautiful thing in the world.

Io didn't didn't try to fight a smile.

>Never better.

[fantasy-relax]

Others MC after gaining knowledge of the loop without memories of the past routes but keeping the new ones if the loop restarts. : Having a panic attack about existence *did anything matter? Did my chooses have no weight? What about the other versions of me? I'm the original or just another countless version lost in time? *

Trying to found a way out of the loop.

My shithead Mc : haha nice, *make a list of things to do, some are just things that never have time to do other are either are dangerous or inmoral*

Having the time of their life.

The list (NSFW included)

Beat the shit out the Stans with a bat

Go to parties with Angie

Try skating with Dani

Take Elena to a party with angie/ beat the shit out of all the annoying patrons.

Try Cinder unholy creation of drink

Tell alcina that she is an humongous bitch with the maternal abilities of a coconut.

Burn alcina secret artsy room. (Blame someone else if possible if not laugh at her face and square up)

Kidnap Bela and Cassandra so they and Dani could have a sister day.(Threaten to burn down the theater and the student council)

Tell Cassandra how a bitch she have been with her sisters.

Make Bela ditch her student council responsibilities. (kidnapping is in the table)

Try every single club

Steal a car

Steal all the technology that you always wanted.

Vandalism in all the walls of the school

Be gentleman with Cassandra and court her. Show support and help her to sleep more.

Kill the Stans the fuckers deserve it

Tell alcina that good parents keep their children away from dangerous cults, you stupid bitch. Burn alcina art room again

Help Bela so she can rest more.

Help Bela get back her heart what the fuck is going on here?

Hang out with Daniela and tell her that she is amazing and deserving of love.

Help Daniela break her curse, again what the fuck is wrong with alcina.

Pass time with alcina to know what the fuck is wrong with her.

WHAT THE FUCK ALCINA.

Kidnap that annoying pink head bitch and Burn alcina art room, with her inside.

Give some gifts to Daniela as apology for fucking her Mom in the past loop.

Hang out more with Angie to recover sanity.

Flirt with Angie aunt.

Beat the shit out of the annoying patrons of the flower shop.

Discover the killer. Okay, what the fuck is going on this school.

Flirt with donna, she kill you to protect Angie so try to forgive her.

Date donna, she is cute. Do your best to make her happy. Forgive her

Fuck her brains out, make her your precious doll. Now you can forgive her.

WHAT THE FUCK IS THE HEADMISTRESS DOING

Investigate Miranda

Be patient

Tear up her clothes, throw all the shit in her desk and Fuck her hard on the motherfucking desk until she is crying and then fuck her more. Run away from the scene

High Five mia in your way out.

Hide and hang out with Mia. Dumb ways to die so many dumb ways to die.

Avoid the headmistress.

See if you can convince (NSFW) :

Bela of fucking in the study council room. Treat her like a horny whore hiding behind the miss perfect mask. Praise her too. Make her cockwarm while she is working, edging her and the fuck her until she is overstimulated.

Donna of fucking In the front of her flower shop. Put her above the counter were anyone could see her come like a dirty whore, under the counter eating her out while she try to tell the clients that whatever they want will be deliver it tomorrow.

Run away from the school. TO THE HELL WITH EVERYTHING

Use Miranda as a fuck doll/ cumslut because she is the cause of everything. She wants you? Fine let's see if she can handle it.

Make know to all the student body that their headmistress is just a whore. Shame her, forget all about the rules for bdsm, forget about your morals. Be the worst version of you every time she triggers the loop.

Go to cat café.

Convince Daniela of burning down her mother art room. It will be cathartic. Angie can tag in too.

[ilovespec420]

Stalker's obsession ~

Yandere Fem ! private detective × Fem ! Naive reader. 1 part .

(if you pay attention) Warning!!!: obscene language , the girlfriend of Y/N is a bitch , yandere is unpredictable , there is an obvious difference in size and age , beautiful and obviously rich yandere , THE GIRLFRIEND OF Y/N IS A SOLID RED FLAG !!!

4254 words

Character description

Today, Y/N finally started dating.. A little strange , but beloved !! By the name of Nobuko...She was so beautiful... Polite and generally good !! Even though she sometimes behaves possessively.. And often flirts with her friends.. But she loves her! Y/N is her lover... Is it true.. yes...?

｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆

Today was a normal day... Nobuko was already out of bed.. Precisely! She went to work.. and it's strange that she spends Y/N's money, but she doesn't even think about her own.. And the fact that Y/N pays always and everywhere for both of them... Perhaps Nobuko is just saving up for something that she wants!! It's not Y/N to decide..

(Skipping time)

Now Y/N is at her job, she works in a 24-hour cafe as a waitress! Although there is ... Uh... well... How to say... "Bad clients" basically, all her clients are not so rude! And to Y/N's surprise, recently, a new regular appeared in the cafe where she works...

｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆

It was a girl, she looked about 20-25 years old... She had blonde hair, with strange black tips on some strands... Tanned skin... Tattoos on her right arm..She was quite tall...and even through her clothes, it was clear that she had an almost masculine muscular body... She had a lot... Uh... "Unusual" earrings in the form of inverted crosses.. And her eyes.... Ah! What eyes she had ! She had heterochromia!! Her left eye was red... Like fire.. And the right one... Blue, like a deep ocean... STOP STOP STOP!!! WHAT IS SHE THINKING ABOUT?!!!???!! She also has her sweet Nobuko...She doesn't need other girls !!!

｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆

Every day, this beautiful and silent girl ordered the same thing... Classic cheesecake and cappuccino.... It's the same thing every day for several weeks.. Apparently, this beautiful stranger loved constancy.. Just like Y/N!!! But... For some reason... After the first week of this beauty's stay in "her" cafe, her behavior changed slightly... She started to stare at Y/N if she was in her field. When Y/N brought her her order, she always smiled broadly and complimented Y/N, and tried to talk to her or touch her at every opportunity... But no!! Y/N firmly but shyly rejected her advances, because she was devoted only to her girlfriend... How one-sided it was.

｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆

(Nobuko POV:)

"Thoughts: BITCH !! I started dating this naive fool, just because I had a bet with my friends... And fuck!!! How can I find a reason to break up with her, AAHHH !!!?!!? I EVEN HIRED A PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR TO KEEP AN EYE ON HER AND ORDERED HER TO FLIRT WITH THIS NAIVE FOOL!! WHY DIDN'T SHE START RECIPROCATING HER FEELINGS???!!??! Fuck... Y/N is really naive, since she doesn't understand that I'm cheating on her... I'M FLIRTING OPENLY WITH HER FRIENDS, AND SHE KEEPS STICKING TO ME!!! I wish this "private detective" had already seduced her, and I could disgrace this naive fool and leave her... "

｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆

(Still Nobuko POV:)

Today this is a private detective... What's her name... Sasha seems to be... She brought me her photos again.... heck!!! THERE IS NOT EVEN A HINT OF DRUNKENNESS OR TREASON IN Y/N'S ACTIONS!!!! In this photo, she is shopping for groceries... She's changing clothes in that one... On the third, she sleeps... Where can I find a flaw so that I can leave her and embarrass her in front of everyone...

Sasha: here are the photos. I don't understand why you're doing this... This girl is as pure as crystal.. She is pure perfection.

Nobuko: I don't give a fuck about her anymore. I'm dating her because she gives me money, and because she has pretty friends~ Ha! How naive Y/N is!

Although Nobuko didn't notice it, Sasha gnashed her teeth and squeezed the gun in her pocket even harder... Like this nasty one... A hypocritical creature has the conscience to meet and use an angel like Y/N !?!!?! Just her... Only Sasha is worthy of her love... Only Sasha has the right to her love.

｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆

(Y/N's POV:)

-Y/N:Huuh~ today was such a busy day~.. And Nobuko went on a business trip again...Finally I can sleep <3

Y/N changes into pajamas, and does not notice how her "beautiful stranger-regular" is taking pictures of her from the street. But not for Nobuko, but for herself ...

Y/N goes to bed, and falls asleep with a calm soul.... Not understanding what the future holds for her ~

The end of part 1!!!

I hope you guys enjoyed it 😅 I'll post the second part tomorrow !!!