#humidity is the devil’s work

[himbocoups]

˗ˋˏ CRAWL ˎˊ˗ | 18+ Only

SYNOPSIS: If there is anything about the Devil, it’s that he always keeps his promises. The problem is, he’s mad that you seemed to have forgotten his promise. Crawling for the Devil is the least of your problems.

PAIRING: devil!yjh x reader (afab)

GENRE: fantasy | smut, pwp

TAGS: featuring: sub!ksy, artist!xmh, housemate!jww | auditory voyeurism, pegging (m receiving), fingering, hickies, face sitting, oral + face fucking (m receiving), tail play, degradation, crawling, spanking, swallowing, toys, manhandling, pnv

WC: 5.2k

A/N: hello! currently working on my thesis so writing this was a way to blow off steam. I also wasn't going to write another devil!jeonghan fic so thank you to @whenyourenothere for convincing me! this can be read as a standalone fic or a part two of red horn. special s/o to @junkissed for helping me figure out the tags for this fic bc there's a lot <33 - nu ♡ | tagging: @jjeongddol

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It is a rusty metallic foldable chair that you sit on that squeaks and creaks even with the slightest movement. You try to readjust your posture — definitely not sure if you should sit up straight with your back against the dusty chair or with your hands folded neatly on the edge of the devil’s table in front of you. In fact, you’re not sure whether or not you are supposed to touch the devil’s office desk, so you choose to lead with the prior option. And the metal chair reacts, drawing out a long and uncomfortable creeeeak as you shift your weight backward. 

Maybe you were just lucky last time, led by the Devil to believe that maybe you were worthy of being somebody special in this vast world. In this underworld where the universe’s menagerie of creatures visit with last hopes of finding a solution, you are finally coming to a conclusion that you’re only but a speck of dust in a world that knows no bounds. 

The small office room feels humid and stuffy; its previously supposedly beige wallpapers are now a darker shade of brown that peels in large patches to reveal dirty and white painted-over bricks. Splotches of mold line the edges of the patches, and you find yourself wishing that mold spores aren’t a thing that exists in Hell. But it’s Hell, and anybody who dealt with mold before knows that the process of treating mold is basically hell. The navy colored carpet looks old and worn out. Several flat and black pieces of gum stick to it, already dried and surprisingly shiny in color. 

On the desk and pushed to the corner is an old and vintage PC, the kind with the square monitors and the back that protrudes outwards. You can feel the heat from the computer console blow against your skin and leave a faint burnt metallic scent in its wake. Not sure what to do or if you’re supposed to do anything, you sit in silence as the devil behind the computer screen slowly types and moves his mouse on top of his mousepad to fill out the information he has in the giant manilla folder spread out in front of him. 

You retract your lips inwards and bite the gummy and smooth underside of your lips while you stare at the stack of business cards pointed toward you. Craig. His name is Craig with no last name. Demon. So you’re wrong. He’s neither a devil nor is he the Devil with a capital “D” whom you were previously introduced to. He’s just office worker Craig, the demon you were assigned today. 

“Do you think it’s too stuffy in here?” He asks you while lifting his mouse from the mousepad before setting it back down to readjust the roller ball underneath. Not once does he turn to look at you or make eye contact with you.

“A little,” you reply feeling awkward and a bit burdened by the question for almost no reason at all. 

He nods his head while tracing his long and crooked finger against a line on the stack of papers in front of him before typing in the data in his computer. He sniffs and snorts his phlegm while clearing his throat. It was just small talk; there is no way an office worker in Hell would care about your wellbeing. You find yourself wondering if central cooling is a thing in Hell while trying to peek at the contents of your surprisingly large folder with no avail.

This room, this office worker, this situation…none of this is the same as the beautiful and luxurious office space you imagined stepping in for the second time. Long gone is the plush gray Persian rug and the mahogany desk that belongs to the owner himself. And your large file that is spread out before the demon you’re assigned, you cannot help but think about the event or even events that could have possibly added to the flimsy pieces of paper the Devil flipped through when he first met you. And the thought of Craig reading your file only causes your face to heat up in embarrassment. 

“Um.” You force yourself to break the awkward silence. “May I use the restroom before we start? You still haven’t asked me what I’m here for, and I think I accidentally came under the assumption that I would be assigned to the same person. I’ll be quick in case you need me immediately.” 

“Down the hall,” the demon mumbles while hunching his back to allow himself to squint closely at the screen in front of him. 

Picking yourself up from your seat, you basically fling yourself out of the office while thinking about the fresh air that awaits you in the hallway. No thoughts about the demon nor suspicions regarding the fact that the demon didn’t really point you towards a particular route to the restroom floated in your mind. Coming here was a mistake, and you are willing to face any repercussions for walking out of a meeting with a demon if it means having to save yourself from the embarrassment of having that demon read your file regarding your previous request with the Devil. 

However, what awaits you on the other side of the door isn’t the hallway from which you entered the office you were in. Instead, you find yourself in an oddly familiar bedroom. Light navy blue floor-length curtains cover the window with their original pleats from when it was first purchased about a year ago still intact. Pushed against the window is the full-sized bed with the orange-stained wooden headboard and the mess of frost blue blankets haphazardly strewn on the mattress. The soft and rotund tiger plush lays threateningly close to the edge of the bed, able to be toppled over even with the slightest movement on the mattress. 

The owner of this bedroom is in the middle of it all. Kwon Soonyoung kneels on his bed with his legs spread and his ass up. He already looks so fucked out. His left cheek is pressed against his mattress while he looks back at you with his hands tied behind his back. The position he’s in doesn’t seem comfortable at all, but his expressions, demeanor, and soft whimpers coming out of his mouth digress. 

“Please,” he practically begs you from his pitiful position. You can see how his lean thighs tremble while he struggles against his restraints. He wails with such desperation, “I want it. I want it so badly,” so much that it almost sounds as if he is going to cry from your lack of action. 

You don’t realize it until now, but an object manifests itself in your hands. A thick and ribbed silicone dildo, one that you’re too familiar with, is being stroked by you unconsciously. You feel the girth of it and how the lube it’s coated with prepares the toy for insertion. 

Then comes the teasing. You find the words naturally flowing out of your mouth: “Conciseness in your language, Soonie. What is it that you want?”

But the thing is, you know what comes next. You know what his response is as you slowly make your way over to him.

“Peg me. I’m ready,” he gasps while a tiny translucent pearl gathers at the tip of his dangling cock. “Blow my back out.”

You already know exactly how many times you will yourself to slap his ass to prep him before his legs give in. You already know how lewdly he would gasp as you insert the tip of the toy, how he would bury his face in his blankets as he moans out loud. You find yourself repeating actions as if being controlled by a machine, yet you don’t hate it. You’re magically stuck in a limbo between reality and déjà vu, presently recreating the past. 

You feel his walls sucking in the toy, taking it in so well. Like a special switch in an escape room, once you grab onto his aching cock to stroke him while you peg him, the scene immediately switches.

Naked and in the middle of a studio apartment that reeks of paint fumes and essential oils, you look at yourself through the standing mirror in front of you. Despite the fan blowing in the background and the apartment windows propped open, you don’t feel cold at all. Instead, your skin pricks with heat as the sensation of arousal gathers itself at your core and spreads to the tips of your fingers. Beneath you is a mop of platinum blonde hair of the artist who sits by your feet. 

Xu Minghao gently grabs you by the waist so that he can angle you so that you can get a better view of his artwork on your body. You remember that with him, you always felt safe and appreciated. He traces his slender finger along the length of your thigh, bringing it up to your ass. He makes you feel valuable through your soreness, the entirety of your right ass cheek covered in his carefully placed hickies. Your pussy throbs with eagerness, waiting to be filled before all of the juices run dry. 

“My work of art,” he mumbles before he brings his lips to your ass cheek. In the open space where the bruises connect, he bites it with his teeth and swirls the flesh in between his teeth with his tongue. His left hand makes its way to your opening, thumbing the smooth nub that immediately makes your knees buckle. So he positions himself behind you, strongly wrapping his long right arm around your legs to keep you steady as he nips and sucks while he takes your time to circle your clit before he finally slips his finger in your core as if the action is like second nature to him. 

Pleasure builds in your soul and makes your body scream with pleasure as Minghao meticulously massages your inner walls, stroking and tapping your spongy insides as you writhe in his arm. He adds another finger, filling you up and building your high, scissoring you while you moan his name as your liquid drips down his fingers and collects in his palm. 

“Done,” he breathes as he shifts his body so that he sits between your open legs. You can feel how his warm breath hits your skin as he speaks with his lips nearly on your cunt, “Flower on your ass. Sweet and puffy rose sitting on my face.”

Before you can re-experience all of what it felt like to sit on Minghao’s face like a chair, you find yourself in another room. This time, you’re in your own place in the room next to yours. From the placement of the desk to how the bed is pushed against the corner of the room, flush against the wall, the layout of this room directly mirrors your own. There are a lot more notecard art prints taped to the wall than you last remembered. The LED lights built into his mechanical keyboard softly pulses as it switches colors. And there is the all too familiar smell of his laundry detergent and dryer sheets that fills his room — he had just unloaded his laundry from the dryer, but didn’t have time to fold his clothes as they still sit in the laundry basket placed in front of his closet. 

You’re not sure if you’re allowed to be here at all. It’s not often that you find yourself in Jeon Wonwoo’s bedroom, but when you do, you’re usually near the threshold of his door. And to be sitting on his plush gray sheets, you think it feels too intrusive. Still, you’re not sure if you should move from your comfortable position despite the fact that you’re not close enough to him to enter his bedroom just to chill without him present. And the worst of all, you’re pretty sure you’re still soaked from your previous encounter with Minghao. And that you’re still definitely in hell because there is no way you would ever allow yourself to feel this close to coming on Wonwoo’s bedsheets without his permission. 

Two soft knocks on the door diverts your attention to the closed door. 

“Yn,” Wonwoo's deep and tender voice calls your name from the other side of the door. “Is everything okay? I’m coming in.”

The thing is, this occurrence with Wonwoo had never happened before. You’re stuck in a scenario far different from the other two. So, you shouldn’t be as surprised as you are when you saw him walk through his bedroom door. Instead of the tall and built housemate that you sometimes find yourself secretly fawning over, is the sinister yet charming man you haven’t seen in ages. 

Yoon Jeonghan steps into your housemate’s bedroom with the irresistible charm of his while flaunting an oversized black t-shirt whose sleeves almost touch his elbows. The Devil is here, and he knows everything that you’ve been hiding from him.

He slams the door behind him and takes long and fast paced strides toward the bed until his figure towers over you. And the Devil himself smirks as he purposely leans down until his bangs dangle in front of his forehead and your entire upper body is pressed against Wonwoo’s sheets. His right hand presses into the space next to your left shoulder as he looks down at you with a pitiful look on his face. 

“What?” He almost scoffs at you in his beautiful light and airy voice. “You didn’t once stop to think that maybe all of this was my doing? That you would relive your memories with who was it? Kwon Soonyoung and Xu Minghao? You’re more fucking stupid than I remembered. Were you fucked too hard by Seungcheol that you lost a few braincells? Or was it with Joshua when you accidentally hit your head too many times against the inside of his car door?”

He cocks his head to the side as he grabs your chin with his left hand. Cold to the touch, this miniscule action has you struggling to catch your breath. He tilts your head left and right as if to carefully inspect what is his. 

“My pet,” he coos while letting go of your chin. Where his cool fingertips touched your skin now pricks with burning heat. And he takes his time to kneel on the bed while still hovering over your body. “This is the bedroom of the guy you get off to? You don’t think I know about how often you touch yourself while he fucks the people he brings over to this bedroom? And now you’re horny again? You want to fuck on the bed of the guy you want so deep in your gut?”

As stupid as you are, you find yourself shell shocked and in awe at the Devil on top of you so much that you unconsciously nod in agreement to every single humiliatingly detailed sentence that comes out of his mouth. The topic isn’t about Jeonghan and you, but the sexual tension established between the two of you knocks on your pussy and makes your mouth go dry. Fuck, maybe he is right. Fucking other men over the span of time since you last saw Jeonghan could never amount to what you felt when you were fucked by the Devil. Lost in your delusions, you could only get off to what you couldn’t have. And when the world’s most untouchable creature is currently so close to you that the collar of his black tee hangs so low that you can peek through the hole to see the expanse of his lean body, the warning signals your brain is desperately trying to send you are unfortunately dispelled by the eagerness of wanting to take a second dip. 

“How much do you want me?” 

“Enough,” you reply while staring straight into his eyes.

He wastes no time by pulling out his cock from his sweats as you sit up from your previous position. Cold and hard are the two adjectives you can use to describe the feeling of him tracing his cock along your open lips. But he won’t let you touch him. He won’t let you kiss him. He lets you starve as your eyes flitter between his cock on your mouth and his deceivingly beautiful face as he pumps his cock. And he taps his member on your lips, telling you to open your mouth wider. And you can feel him slip himself through the hole you made, how the veins on the underside feel against the smooth and warm inner part of your lips. You’re hungry. Starving. Basically wishing that he’ll let you close your mouth around him and suck him to the point you’re reminded that he had no soul to begin with. 

So when he commands you to suck, you do as he says. You lick the tip, wetting and coating it with your saliva. Swirling your tongue around the length, you warm up the member in your mouth as more of his salty taste coats your tongue. Then you close your lips around him in a perfect “O” while shifting yourself on your knees so you can take him better. 

You suck, hollowing your cheeks while gliding your mouth along his length. God, how you bend so easily for him. Your eyelids flutter as you continue to take him along his curved length. And moan while your mouth is plugged, a muffled moan of ecstasy when you feel him twitch while sandwiched between your lips. To make matters worse, whenever you look up at him as you edge yourself to take him in further, you see that he looks perfectly composed. 

“Wider, slut,” he tells you while pumping what you can’t take. His hand is on your jaw again, and he squeezes your jaw between his long fingers so that it stays open. Your pool of saliva escapes the corners of your lips and trails along your chin before it drops on Wonwoo’s sheets. And he fucks himself in your mouth by manually moving your head along his length, barely giving you enough time to flatten your tongue against the whole of his length. He pushes his length into your mouth and groans when you gag. 

He fucks your mouth to find satisfaction and get off on your uncomfortableness, watching you moan while struggling to keep up with his pace. His hand leaves your jaw and attaches itself to the back of your head, grabbing a fistful of hair as he uses it to swing your head back and forth like the ping pong ball attached to a paddle toy. The two of you know that the rate in which he fucks your mouth is too much for you, yet you find pleasure in being used by the higher being while he fucks your mouth to the sounds of you struggling against his cock and the wet smack of your lips when you spit him out after he comes. You swallow what you have and hurriedly wipe the liquid white off your chin and lips. You watch him tearfully as he finishes with his cock in his hand and his seed on the bedsheets and your thighs. 

“I- I’m sorry,” you stutter as his angry red length bounces in front of your teary eyes. You want to lean in again to put him between your lips before he can punish you. You want him to call you names and make you feel bad about yourself. You want him to pump himself while he looks at you attacking the slit on his tip like how you want him to eat you out. You want to swirl your tongue around the spongy smooth surface before using the tip of your tongue to dig into the area in which his precum emits. 

Your thighs rub together to ease the unsatisfied throb of your core. You need stimulation from him in any way. Just a kiss. A touch. Anything from Jeonghan would probably edge you to completion, but he doesn’t want to help you. And you don’t want to give up this opportunity with him.  

“I’m s-sorry Jeonghan. Jeonghan, I’m sorry. Please…,” you plead as you watch him look down on you with a face of disappointment. You want to physically reach out to him to tell him you’ll do better, to tell him to give you another chance. But you see him take a few steps backwards and you’re sent into a state of frenzied lust and panic. You’ve never been so desperate to please, to complete a request from a man. You’re so deluded by the Devil that it feels as if your entire world will end if you don't please him or hold yourself up to his standards. 

Gone is the man who called you his Angel the first time he met you. In front of you is the Devil who willfully draws you in, who has you stumbling off of your housemate’s bed just so that you can crawl your way over to him in your blissful haze. The more Yoon Jeonghan steps backwards, the more your vision tunnels on his body as you crawl across the bedroom floor, not caring about how uncomfortable the hardwood floor is underneath your palms and your knees. 

When you come to your senses, you realize that it’s a different kind of hardwood underneath your body. Your naked body is displayed on all fours on Jeonghan’s large mahogany office desk like an object on display. You don’t even remember if you had your clothes on in the first place. But it feels as if the Devil suddenly wanted to bring one of the several trinkets he has displayed along his office wall to play with at his desk. You were confident that you could show him how much you’ve changed since you last saw him. Yet he has a way of proving how wrong you are. You’re no match for the Devil, and he intends to keep it that way. And in a way, to be displayed in front of him, it makes you feel as if you’re one of his prized possessions. 

Your eyes watch him as he circles around his desk while he looks you up and down. He’s no longer in his t-shirt and sweats, but in a classic white button-down with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and a pair of black tailored slacks. Golden and thin-wired circular glasses sit on the bridge of his nose. Protruding from the top of his head are his red horns. And this time, the long and forked tail that he previously kept hidden swishes behind his back. He brings the length of his long tail up to his left hand before tightly coiling it around the palm of his right hand like a long red rope. And one look from him through his glasses, a satisfying smirk and an arched brow, you know that you’re done for.

He takes the tip of his tail and traces it along your naked body, causing your body to jolt and shudder in response. He uses it like a teacher’s pointing stick, the tip running smoothly along the curvature of your body. He’s purposely toying with you, watching you try not to squirm every time he traces his tail anywhere near your glistening cunt. 

“Do you think it’s too stuffy in here?” He jests while planting himself at the edge of his desk behind your ass. It hits you that you heard this question before, and only now do you realize that the Devil has been playing with you all along. You feel him trace his tail along your cunt, letting a prong trace along your folds as if it were his finger. 

“Fuck!” you gasp out loud. “That was you?”

You feel the stinging pain on your ass after you hear the crisp slap ring into the air. Your stomach tightens as your pussy clenches in response.

“Shut the fuck up Yn,” he grunts. “Cumsluts can’t talk.”

You moan when you feel his tail go underneath a fold, causing your thighs to go weak. But he pulls his tail away from your core to tap it against your outer thigh. Hold yourself up, the action seems to say. So you gather your strength to maintain your position, ignoring the soreness in your knees and the fact that he’s been with you ever since you stepped into “Craig’s” office. When you spread your thighs, your sensitive cunt opens up like a flower in bloom, warm and wet against the stale office air. Jeonghan doesn’t ravish its beauty like how Minghao often does. He doesn’t want to. 

Although your forearms are tired and your thighs burn from exhaustion, your pussy pulsates like it’s its own living entity — full of life and eager to be filled. Right now, only Jeonghan can grant these conditions. And you’re willing to wait even if your horniness drives you mad. 

He firmly grabs your ass, angling it so that your glistening pussy is in full view. 

“From this point on, I’m going to make you scream my name like a requiem made for angels.” He forcefully pulls your ass back so that it’s pressed against his stomach while he leans over your figure so that his mouth is near your left ear. “I’ll ruin you if you try to crawl away. But I’d like to see you try.”

You’re pretty sure you already soaked his shirt in the place where your core was pressed against the fabric. It amazes you how he easily flips your body so that you’re laying flat on his desk with your legs propped up against the wood. Any further back, you would be in a mating press. 

You wonder if he can read your mind, how much you want to ride him up and down his length and for him to coat you so much that you’re left with soft and silken skin. Even if he tied your hands behind your back, you would still go on your knees to unbuckle his belt with your teeth. 

He’s been sensing your urgency since you summoned him. Looking at your sopping cunt and dragging the tip of his tail along your clit, he decides to ease the heat in your stomach by slowly pushing his tail into your core. You moan in response as you slowly adjust to its size, feeling everything from the way it fills your walls to the way it is as smooth as a glass dildo. You shudder at the way he pulls it out of you for a mere second before pushing it back into you, causing your stomach to twitch and your thighs to close around his hand.

He leaves his tail in you while he pries your thigh apart. 

“What’s the use in thinking about mounting my cock if you can’t even keep your legs open? What’s an ego if you can’t even embody it correctly?” he mocks you before bringing down the hand that once held his tail against your heat. The impact feels as hot as the way your arousal burns. You cry out in elated pleasure; one convulsion is enough to push the tail halfway out of you. “Useless excuse of a human,” he laughs at you before grunting as he pushes his tail back inside, twisting it as he plunges it in and out of you. “You’re all talk, yet you bend at the thought of me.” 

Cock-deprived, you clench around his tail as you gasp for air. Your pussy sucks the tail in and refuses to let go, making you mewl for Jeonghan to fuck you hard while he thrusts his tail in and out of you. “Nn-nh. Jeonghan! Ah- Yes. Yes. Fuck me. Use me.” You squeal and moan out loud as your high builds at an incredible speed. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as your back arches off the desk and you feel as if you’re levitating. “I’m gonna come.” 

“Come.”

You cream at his command, coating his instrument in a thick and white sheen. Your stomach folds inwards as you whimper from the pleasure. He pulls his tail out of you while coaxing more out of you by lightly tapping your nub as you convulse. Overstimulated, you come another time, babbling his name and telling him how good you feel as you squirt against his slender fingers. 

“Look at you,” he coos. “You made a mess on my table only from my tail. What’s going to happen when you take my cock? You’ve already folded yourself into a fucking fetal positon, Yn.” 

You can feel your liquid drip from your pussy to your ass before it pools on the table underneath you. You feel so relieved and relaxed from your high, but there is still this insatiable need for the Devil to fuck you.

When he does, his cock fills you and squeezes you dry. His head rubs against the top of your walls while his veins work like a ribbed toy — adding more pleasure than you have ever experienced. Fingers digging into your thighs, he pulls out and slams back into you, his balls slapping against your ass with every thrust. You want to scream out his name as you clench around his length, sucking him in and never wanting to let go. But the image in front of you is a sight to behold, leaving you breathless as you watch it unfold.

You watch him through your half-lidded eyes, the scene of him as he throws his head back. You can see the way he swallows your cum that coats the tail he sucks in his mouth, how his Adam’s apple bobs when the liquid travels down his throat. You’re nothing but an instrument for his pleasure, and he sure knows how to show it. 

He bucks his length into you so that it kisses the deepest parts of you, causing you to gasp and quake in your stomach. And he keeps it there with his legs pressed against your ass and the underside of your thighs. Slowly grinding against you, he revels in how you choke from the size of him and how you clench and unclench as if you’re struggling to hold on. 

He pops the tail out of his mouth, a long string of saliva like a web between the tip of his prong and his tongue. He looks like a character from a lewd illustration, so beautiful yet so deadly. And you find yourself into another dimension as he thrusts further into you, grunting as he watches you scream for him.

“Fuck!,” you scream as you squeeze your eyes shut. “You’re going to tear me apart.”

“Gonna,” he grunts between every thrust, increasing his pace with every word. “Make. You. Feel. Everything.” 

Your entire body trembles with pleasure, your breathing erratic. He continues to thrust into you, talking with his sweet tongue about how your slick and puffy pussy drives him insane. 

“There’s nobody in this world who can fuck like I do,” he reminds you. “Now squeeze me hard as I cum in you. We’re going to be making a new type of liquid.”

Copyright © 2023 Himbocoups. All rights reserved.

[missmeinyourbones]

WHERE LOVE LIVES

big bro touya & little snotty brother shouto, noncanon verse where rei got the kids the fuck out of that house!!!! slightly suggestive at first but shouto is a cockblock, i love u todobros, part 2?

Against the creaks of the floorboards and the buzz of the streetlights outside, the Todoroki household is relatively calm. 

It’s barely the beginning of summer. Though it's rather late, the sun only set a mere hour ago and the humidity in the air still holds up, even without the harsh rays marinating the sky. 

The Todoroki house itself is on the smaller side, especially for a family as large as they are. Filled to the brim with trinkets and out of place belongings, there’s not much wiggle room for architectural design or things that aren't deemed necessities. 

But it’s well-loved, by a gentle mother and her four rowdy children. There are scratches on the floor from Shouto’s scooter that’s meant to be used only outdoors, and a chip in the beige paint from where Natsuo pushed Touya into the wall. Fuyumi’s work sneakers carefully sit beside the front door’s welcome mat. It’s a house and a home. 

With Touya’s mother out for the night, the eldest son was left in charge of the house—and with that, his siblings. When your boyfriend charmingly invited you to spend the night at his place, he might’ve left out that tiny detail. 

“Babe,” the squeaking of Touya’s mattress can he heard as he whines against your cheek, “you serious?” 

You push him, though your warm smile betrays your rough action, “Deadly.”

Touya smirks at your resistance—he’s always loved a good challenge. His hands crawl up your sides, squeezing at the sensitive skin by your hips and waist. He laughs under his breath when you gasp on top of him at the brushing of his fingertips. 

“Not even a quickie?” he smugly instigates. 

“Touya, all three of your siblings are home.”

He remains unphased, shrugging beneath you. His chapped lips find your neck, crawling up to your jaw and right below your ear. He sucks a bit harshly on the one spot he knows you like so much. 

“So? We can be quiet.”

You laugh at his bold words, and Touya hums happily against the vibration of your throat. 

“You’ve never been quiet a day in your life,” you remind him.

“I could learn,” he’s quick to retort. With a sudden buck of his hips, you feel his half-hard length rub briefly against your heat. Touya doesn't miss the way you bite your tongue to hide your whimper. 

At his foul play, you lean in dangerously close—not close enough to give him the satisfaction of your lips touching—before whispering.

“Sorry, I don’t fuck bad babysitters.”

Touya’s tongue skims his canine as he growls. “That’s a fuckin’ lie and you know it.” 

You let him kiss you, and it's short and sweet despite his lewd words. But Touya works for more. His soft tongue tries to encourage your mouth to open, but you let him fail the first few times. On his third persistent try, you let your jaw fall open just enough to allow him access into your mouth. 

A soft moan purrs in your chest, and when Touya opens his eyes to take in (what he knows to be) the alluring sight, his eyes catch a tiny figure standing in his bedroom doorway. 

“Fuckin’ christ—” he jumps beneath you, bucking you off in the process and scootching upwards against his bedframe. 

You turn in panic to look at the now cracked open door, only to see a tiny Shouto. With squinting eyes and a pout on his face, his dainty hand fiddles against the doorknob of your boyfriend’s room. 

Touya runs his hands through his overgown roots in frustration. 

Now, he knows how dramatic he can be at times, but he means it when he says that this might be the worst thing to ever happen to him. Shouto, of all people, cockblocking you two. It’s like a comedy sketch written by his own personal devil.

“The fuck are you doing up?” he dares to ask him, though you don’t miss the “fuckin’ perv” he grumbles at the end of the question. 

“I—” a sniffled hiccup interrupts the smallest Todoroki’s declaration, “don’t feel good.”

Touya glares at his whimpering younger brother, unimpressed. “Go tell Natsuo,” he decides. 

“He’s asleep,” Shouto immediately whines in reply, because of course he tried Natsuo first. “And Fuyumi is studying for her big test tomorrow,” his voice drifts off as his eyes find the floor.

Touya, the last resort sibling, kisses his teeth and throws a pillow towards the door. 

“Well, ’m busy, too.” He returns to nip at your neck once more, but the glare you give him tells him otherwise. Unphased by your glare, he continus to lean in, but you dodge his advance and push his shoulder with your palm. 

“Fuck,” he groans dramatically, throwing his head back in frustration. He turns his direction back to the boogery nuisance in his doorway. “Go drink water or something,” he waves him off with a hand. 

“Touya,” you hiss at your boyfriend’s coldness. He looks at you and shrugs, as if you’d approve of his dismissive reaction. Your eyes roll just as quickly as your voice beckons softly, “Come here, Shouto.”

You move to the edge of the bed and the sniffly boy trots over to you on heavy feet. His pajamas are wrinkled, presumably from tossing and turning in his bed for the last few hours. His hands hover over his abdomen as he hunches in nausea.

Your hand finds his forehead, sticky with sweat. “What doesn’t feel good?”

Shouto’s nose crinkles in disgust, and Touya rolls his eyes at the dramatics. 

You’re no stranger to any of the Todoroki siblings, especially the baby of the family. Between attending his school concerts and going out for ice cream celebrations, it’s safe to say there’s a lot of talk in the house about Touya’s pretty girlfriend—whom all siblings aren’t shy to vocalize is way out of his league. 

“My stomach feels weird,” he whispers behind a frown. 

You coo at his agony, fingers rubbing his boyish cheeks in an attempt to soothe his discomfort. “Well, what did you eat last?”

Shouto thinks for a moment behind his usual deadpan expression before his eyes slowly flicker over to where his older brother huffs on his bed. 

“Touya got us pizza for dinner,” he remembers. 

“Okay,” you nod. You remember seeing a few discarded pizza boxes when you first came in. “How many slices did you have?”

Shouto clams up in guilt at your innocent question, fumbling with his fingers and words as he croaks out a weak, “Seven…”

Your eyes grow in shock, but you’re able to suppress your surprise and merely nod before not so discreetly turning to his guardian for the night behind you in disappointment. 

Touya looks like a deer caught in headlights when you hiss through clenched teeth. “Seven?! What is wrong with you?”

He shrugs defensively, gesturing to the blob of red, white, and sniffles behind you. 

“He’s like… old,” Touya attempts to defend himself. “Figured I didn't have to watch him eat.”

Your eyes shoot daggers through his skin, and while he would normally love getting this look from you, he hates that it's in defense of his stupid brother. 

“Okay,” you sigh, turning back to the younger Todoroki. His eyes soften when you extend a hand to his slightly chubbier one, “Why don’t we go find some medicine and lay down for a bit, yeah?”

Shouto’s face lights up at the offer—but naturally, with one Todoroki sibling’s happiness comes another’s demise. 

“Woah woah woah—” Touya immediately stands up from his bed when his brother links your hand in his. He points at an accusatory at the little fucker when he gawks, “Who the fuck is ‘we’? Shouto knows where the medicine is.” 

“Touya,” comes your same warning from earlier, and while Touya loves pushing your buttons, he knows his final strike is always the third. 

So the three of you make your way downstairs—you and Shouto hand in hand while Touya grumpily trudges behind you. 

Touya’s right—for once in his life—because Shouto naturally guides you right to the medicine closet, opening the door for you and everything. What a little gentleman. 

A quick browse of the options and you decide on a bottle labeled for stomach relief. The bottle itself is opened but decently full, and Shouto behaves like a pro when he grabs himself a glass of water in preparation for his dose. 

You pour the designated amount into a medicine cup and lightly cringe at the thick consistency. The artificial advertisement of bubblegum and strawberry can only do so much to disguise the fact that, at the end of the day, it’s still medicine. You hear Touya stifle a gag from behind you, but you know it’s half to piss his younger brother off.

Shouto remains unphased, downing the liquid like a champ and silently rinsing out his mouth with his water. You swear you see him shoot Touya a look, one with slightly raised eyebrows that reads something along the lines of victory. 

You usher the two of them to the couch. Touya plops on the cushions obnoxiously, going as far as reaching for the television remote before you pluck it from his grasp. 

Though you sit beside him, knees skimming one another, it’s not enough for Touya—because Shouto makes himself at home with his head in your lap. Bastard. 

With a nod of approval from Shouto, you decide on some cartoon from the early 90s—something with talking animals and childish violence. 

The silence between the three of you takes over, but it’s warm—like a relaxing blanket of weight. The Todoroki household is rarely quiet, let alone a good kind of quiet, so Touya decides to let Shouto win this round.

He shifts his gaze to look down at his youngest brother. Shouto lays comfortably on your lap, your hands delicately raking through his hair to help lull him to sleep. When he feels Touya’s hard gaze on him, he has no issue returning the stare. Under your embrace, Shouto smiles mischievously and sticks his tongue out in a taunt. 

With Touya’s feet clunkily spread out on the coffee table and his arm loosely draped around your shoulder, he silently mouths to his brother. 

“Bitch.”

[scuttlingcrab]

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

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

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

Dance with the Devil

(Image via venenum-cadaverinus)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am most honoured, my lady. “

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

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

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

“Mmm. And what of your relationship status?

“I am unfortunately married to my work.” 

“As they all say...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“May I have this dance?” Raphael asked. 

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

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

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

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

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

Raphael chuckled. 

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

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

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

“Our deal is done.”

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

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

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

“Don’t act so surprised.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The applause continued, getting louder and louder. 

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

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

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

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

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

[somanyratsinthewalls]

Your robin and franky fic was chefs kiss but would you be willing to write some solo franky?? Im really into water 7 franky and would love to see what you’d come up with !!

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ASKING FOR THIS! YALL I promise you any time anyone requests a Franky fic I WILL BE WRITING THAT SHIT. This is my dream man and no one gives me enough opportunities to write for him! So, I'm sorry I turned this into a smutty nightmare if you wanted fluff... I just need to service the Fellow Franky Fuckers out there.

Pairing: (pre timeskip) Cyborg Franky x Fem!Reader

WC: 2800

Taglist: @generaldaij0bu you might need to see this

Summary: The Sunny malfunctioning is driving you up a wall. You make a request for repairs and end up getting way more than you bargained for in the workshop.

TWs: ROBO-BONING, BABES! P in V sex, unprotected sex (pls don't) sex toy use, forced orgasm, safe words, light bdsm, communication is key and Franky respects it so hard and he's so hot for it, very much dirty talk...

Too Hot (+18)

— — 

It was hot. 

The sun beat down on the Sunny all day and the unwavering heat was barely dispelled after sunset due to the humidity. You lay sprawled on the deck next to Usopp and Chopper, groaning in the unbearable heat. 

“I think I’ll die here…” Chopper groans with his tongue hanging out of his mouth. 

“I can’t believe I’m going to burn to death after all the horrible monster’s I’ve fought… it’s not fair!” Usopp moans and wipes his brow. 

“Just throw me overboard at this point.” You sigh. 

“But don’t you have devil fruit-“

“I DON’T CARE THROW ME OVER!” You screech at Usopp. 

Before you could murder the cowardly sniped in a fit of heat-induced rage, Sanji steps through the door to the deck from the galley. 

“Okay everyone, dinner’s on. Air con works fine in here.” Sanji calls from the doorway. 

You push Usopp and Chopper behind you as you spring to your feet and sprint towards the galley. 

After entering the swinging door, the cool air hits you like stepping through a cascading waterfall. You sigh in relief. Your bliss was furthered when you see bowls of cool gazpacho at each place setting on the dining room table. 

“Thank gods…” You grumble as you hop onto the bench and start eating. The cold soup alleviated your discomfort from the inside out and you couldn’t help but groan in content. 

“Relax, it’s just soup.” Zoro puts his bowl down next to you and gives you a concerned look. 

“Oh I’m sorry swords-for-brains, did you not notice it’s a billion and five degrees outside?” You scowl at the swordsman seated next to you at the table. 

“Who cares?! This soup is great!” Luffy chimes in and extends his rubbery arms to grab every bowl that wasn’t licked clean and shovels them down his gullet. 

You sigh. 

“Nami please tell me this heat wave will be over soon. I’m getting crows feet ON my crows feet from this sun.” You turn towards your friend and navigator. 

“I wish I had better news but it’ll be at least a few more days before there’s any relief in temperature. We’re just going to have to stay in the shade and inside where the air is working. You’re tough, y/n, you can handle it.” Nami states as she sips from her bowl of cold soup. 

You roll your eyes. 

The dishes were promptly slurped clean by your captain and Sanji cleared the table. The blaring rays of the sun had exhausted so you so you decided to take a shower and head to bed. 

After taking a cool shower, you throw on a t shirt and shorts over your panties and sports bra and lay on top of the covers of your bed. 

“Gods it’s almost like it’s hotter in here than it is out there!” You say to yourself as you lay in bed, sweat soaking through your pillow. You decide to hop up and check if the air conditioning was working. You walk over to the vent in the corner of your room and press your hands against it. HOT air was spewing out from the grate in your room. You walk backwards and fall back onto the bed. 

“Fuck.” You throw your shirt over your head and slip your shorts off and flop back onto the bed. Sweat drips from your chin down your neck to your chest. 

*whoooosh*

Hot air was being pushed out harsher and faster through the grate in the corner of your room. The temperature continued to rise and your sweat soaked through your top sheet. 

“I’m not living like this!” You shout in frustration as you push your way out of your room, without bothering to throw your clothes back on. You head down into the belly of the ship in your underwear. Upon reaching the door you were looking for, you slam it open without knocking.

“FRANKY!!!!!” You yell angrily. 

“Jeez, y/n where’s the fire? I could have been naked in here!” Franky pushes his sunglasses back on his head as he turns towards you from his work bench. 

“You’re always naked!!! Also, more importantly, why is the HEAT ON in my bedroom?! Are you trying to cook me like a rotisserie chicken?!” You pant out, still very sweaty. 

“Oh that’s no good… I’ll have to go check the generators.” Franky rises to his feet, towering over you. “Sorry you were so uncomfortable, little lady. I’ll get this sorted out super quickly. Why don’t you get some shut eye in my bed for awhile? It’s still nice and cool down here.” He gestures to his bed in the corner of the room while he grabs his toolbox. 

You sigh. 

“Honestly that would be great, I feel like I’ve been in an oven all day.” You walk over to Franky’s bed and flop down on your back. Being this deep in the ship, there were no windows on the walls, but you were so sweaty and tired you didn’t care. 

“Alright well I’m gonna go fix this for ya, try and get some rest. Your room will be back to super condition in no time!” Franky leaves and you settle into the pillows and close your eyes. The sweat covering your body began to dry and you were finally comfortable again. You find yourself relaxing into Franky’s bed, smelling slightly of cola and motor oil, and drifting off into a light sleep. 

You wake up to the door of the bedroom closing and you snap your head up. 

“Woah, what do we have here?” You hear Franky’s booming voice as you rub the brief sleep from your eyes. It must have still been late at night. 

“Some dream ya must have been having, huh?” Franky stands above the bed and nods towards your spread thighs. You look down at where he was gesturing and notice a huge soaked patch in your pink panties. It was at this moment you notice the wanton ache in your core and abdomen… you must have been having a very wet dream and were awoken before you got to the good part. You instinctively slam your thighs shut in embarrassment and cover your face with your hands. 

“Look at you, so shy but dripping all over my sheets?” Franky continues with a smile, noticing your bashfulness. 

“I-I’m sorry I-“ You stutter and try to explain yourself. 

“It’s okay sweet thing! It’s totally normal. Looks like you’re pretty pent up, huh? I can fix that for ya, if you’re interested.” 

“I.. I mean that would be nice I guess…” You pull your hands away from your face hesitantly. 

“Aaaoooww!! That’s what I wanted to hear! Let’s get started then!” Franky grins and leans down to grab something from underneath his bed. He retrieves a large metal box and pops open the lid. 

“Hmmm let’s see… Some of these… definitely this…” Your robot whispers to himself as he roots around in the large chest. He rises and brings a pile of items out and flops them onto the bed. These were things you’ve never seen before, so your eyes were darting from chain to leather to silicone you had no idea what to focus on. 

“Take that bra off for me baby, I wanna ask ya some things before we get started.” Franky grabs the hem of your panties and gently tugs them down your legs.

You did as you were told and unclasped your bra, tossing it to the side and leaning back again. Franky softly sets your panties down on his bedside table and remarks, 

“I’m keepin’ these.” 

Your body shudders when you hear the sinister tone in his voice.

“Ok doll, now tell me…” Franky traces his hands up and down your thighs, parting them in the process. “How do you like it? I can edge you for an hour or so… or you could cum until you cry… any preference?” Frankly asks casually as he organizes the objects he had turned over onto the bed. 

“I, um…” You were young, not a virgin but not very experienced. This man was almost 10 years older than you, how were you supposed to know what you wanted from him?

“I… I wanna cum… I think…” You eventually squeak out. 

“Ok babydoll, good choice. Can ya promise me you’ll say ‘red’ if you want to stop?” Franky cups your jaw and makes sure you’re looking into his eyes above you. You nod. “No no, tell me you will.”

“I will say it, I’ll say red. I can do it.” You breath out, so ready for him to please you already. You rub your thighs together. 

“And you’ll tell me if there’s anything ya don’t like, hm?”

“Yes of course I promise!” You groan out, impatient to feel Franky’s touch on your skin. 

“Super! I’m going to put you in a spreader bar now, sweet cheeks, so you can’t close your legs on me. It’ll just go around your legs like this…” Franky explains to you methodically as he straps your legs into the homemade device. You tentatively try to close your thighs to see how effective the bar was… and it certainly did its job. 

“OK and these are gonna squeeze your nipples, just like this…” Franky gently attaches the nipple clamps onto your sensitive buds. 

“Oh!!” You cry out as he tightens the screws on them. Franky pulls back and admires his handiwork. You were laid out on his bed, metal clasps squeezing your nipples, causing you to writhe against the spreader bar forcefully separating your legs. 

“Fucking perfect. If you want I can gag you, too…” Franky approaches you with a ball gag in hand. 

“Wait, no. I don’t want that.” You state clearly, even through your lust filled haze. Franky grins down at you. 

“Gods, you’re so fucking hot when you tell me what you want baby. Good idea sweetie, that way everyone can hear how good I’m gonna make you feel.” Franky squeezes your breast, eliciting a whine from your lips. He moves to grab something from the foot of the bed. It a large long, black, wand like device. 

“Spread them for me, I wanna see that cute little pussy.” Franky grabbed one of your knees and pushed it open. 

“I didn’t shave…” You try to cover your face with your arm so you didn’t have to see Franky’s eyes on your most intimate bits. 

“Good! Smells much better like this…” He takes a deep inhale. 

“Fuck,” You sigh out. “You really are a fucking pervert- OH!” The device Franky was pressing against your sex suddenly sprung to life and vibrated against your clit. It’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced in your life and your stomach tenses immediately. 

“Wait- fuck, Franky! Wait holy shit, wait- ah!” You scream as your orgasm sneaks up on you and takes you out like an assassin. You legs give out and flop against the bed. Franky removes the toy and cups your sex with his free hand. He feels your hole still gently pulsing against his palm.

“Oh poor baby, ya really are wound tight…” Franky coos down at you from your side. “We’re gonna need a lot more of those before you’re ready for me..” He removes his hand and returns the vibrator to your sex. You cry out as he drags it through your wet folds at the lowest intensity. He eventually keeps it at your clit and increases the vibrations. 

You squirm and moan. 

“Hey,” Franky scolds as he pulls on the chain between your nipple clamps, causing you to moan louder. “Don’t fight it, doll face… just cum, I know you’re there again…” He presses the device harder into your flesh and you crash over the edge again. This time it was even more intense, spasms continuing long after the euphoria ended. 

“Franky… It’s so much…” You whine as he leaves the vibrator pressed against your sex even after you’ve cum for a second time. 

“You can take it. I know you can. You know what to say to get me to stop…” Franky meets your gaze and raises an eyebrow. 

You pull your thighs closed to escape the sensation but the bar prevents you from doing so. 

“Come on baby, one more like this, I know you can…” Franky increases the speed of the vibrator. 

“Shit! I can’t!” You arch your back away from the stimulation. 

“Then say it, sweetheart.” Franky increases the speed again. 

“Fuck! I’m- I’m cumming!” You cry out and violently lurch forward on the bed. You grab Franky’s forearm and sob in pleasure. You hear the buzzing of the machine stop and your spasms start to slow down. 

“Think you can take me now, sweet thing?” You are broken from your post orgasm trance by your cyborg lover slipping off the only piece of clothing he had on, his red swim briefs. 

“Mmmhmmm….” You seductively whisper as you roll onto your stomach and push you ass backwards with your knees, exposing your puffy, red wet hole to him. 

“So ready for me, what a good girl.” Franky coos as he strokes down your back bone. “I’m gonna fuck you now, take a deep breath…” 

“SHIT!” You cry out as Franky’s enormous cockhead breaches your hole. You were wildly wet and open after 3 orgasms, but his sheer size was causing your insides to stretch beyond compare. 

“Its- ah” *sniff* *hiccup* “It’s so big, Frank! Ah!” *sniff* 

“I know sweetheart, it’s a lot at first, but you gotta relax and let me fuck you. You gotta open up more baby..” Franky leans forward and places kisses on your shoulder blades. He feels you lessen your grip around him and he pushes in further. “Gooood girl… stretching so nice for me…” He finally pulls back out and shoves himself into you again. 

“Oh!” You cry out in surprise. You continue to yelp helplessly as your powerful cyborg lover drilled into you from behind. 

“Yes there it is mama, cum on this dick. Feels good, huh?” Franky has the audacity to laugh as he hammers into your G-spot. 

You were involuntarily pushed over the edge and sent screaming into yet another orgasm. You sob and Franky uses his massive strength to flip you over onto your back. He enters you again and you moan out in overstimulation. 

“Come on, one more doll, bet you can squirt on me…” Franky thrusts into you from above, holding your hips into his at the perfect angle to hit your spot. 

“No, I- I can’t” You pant out breathlessly, knowing this is something you aren’t capable of. 

“Yes you can baby, come on just try it for me.” Franky pulls back and places one hand on your stomach and the other on your clit. He begins to rub circles into your sensitive nub and applies deep pressure to your lower abdomen, all while thrusting deeply into you with his cock. You snap for the nth time that evening and tears spill from your lash line as your hips spasm in pleasure. You feel different, like some sort of physical release in your bottom half deeper than the normal climax. You look up after catching your breath and see that your fluids had soaked both the bed and your lover’s abdomen and thighs. 

“Hnnnnhhhh” You whine and weep in overestimation. “It’s too much, Frank, please!” You cry out and claw at your cyborg’s back. 

“Almost there mama, take it for me…” Franky rasps into your ear as he reaches his own climax, huge cock buried deep against your cervix. The loudest moan you’ve ever heard reaches your ears and you toss your head back into the pillows. The both of your whine as Franky carefully removes himself from your body. 

You lay there in a daze and didn’t even notice that your lover had left until he returned with a warm towel to dab at your swollen, messy sex. You twitch involuntarily as he cleans your sensitive bits. He unlocks your legs from their hold in the bar and gently pulls the clamps off your nipples, soothing them with the wet cloth.

“You room should be cooled off by now, glad I could occupy your time until the repairs kicked in.” Franky helps you snap your bra back on behind your back. 

“Thanks for the help, and thanks for the distraction.” You reach up and grip Franky’s jaw to kiss it. You slide off the bed bend down to grab something. You hold the worn red pair of swim briefs up to your face. 

“I’m keepin’ these.” You giggle and bolt out of the room with Franky’s bikini. 

“HEY! Those are my only red ones! This is not very super of you!”

—

Xx 

[sunkendreams]

uhh asking for a request of bo and just anything that involves with duct tape 😭😭 gagging or bounding im happy either way

Also love ur work! 🩷💖

souvenir.

➾ pairing ; bo sinclair x fem!reader.

in which bo decides that he’ll take you as his souvenir — a pretty hiker lost in ambrose.

format: one-shot — requested.

word count: 5.3K.

warnings: SMUT (mdni), DUBCON, drugging, kidnapping, bondage (tape and chains), restraints, cunnilingus, oral sex (f!receiving), fingering, groping, knifeplay, rough sex, p in v sex, different positions, spitting, choking, bruising, hair-pulling, scratching, marking, use of pet names (good girl, sweetheart, etc.), dom/sub dynamics, begging, dirty talk, edging, creampie, unprotected sex, bo is definitely not nice in this fic

author’s note: this is definitely more of a darker fic, but I actually loved writing it ,,, nothing like gross and horny sex with bo sinclair to get the blood flowing! I hope you all enjoy! Still working on requests, I’m hoping to post a few things this week since I’ve been so busy!

Warm, glittering rays of a vibrant Louisiana sun cut through the thick canopy of trees and marshland, bathing your face in a haze of heat. It was midday — hot and sticky, accompanied by a stifling humidity that was prevalent in the South, not terribly far from a saltwater coastline.

Beneath you was the grass — clutches of wildflowers blossomed amongst strands of emerald, a temporary refuge for you to rest as you savored the outdoors. A town sat in the near-distance, baking away underneath the sun, as evidenced by the paint wearing thin and the asphalt looking gray instead of black.

You’d been hiking by yourself — that was your first mistake. Too brazen and bold enough to be without the company of your friends, and now, subject to the ire of Ambrose’s hidden devils.

It was akin to ringing the dinner bell when Lester had caught wind of your presence through the scope of a well-used Barrett. Once he’d informed Bo over a very colorful phone call, your fate was sealed, doomed to become another pretty fixture in the House of Wax.

There was no getting out of Ambrose — you just didn’t know it yet.

As the glaring sun began to slip behind the verdant canopy above you, you took it as a sign to relocate, trekking the short distance toward the quaint town. You could hear the general buzz and chatter of townsfolk, but there wasn’t a soul in-sight — the ones that were, confined to their eternal tombs.

“Nobody’s home.” You murmured, thumbing the thick straps of your backpack as you sauntered down the middle of the road, glancing at some of the vehicles lining the road. Some appeared brand-new, others showing signs of weathering.

You passed the gas station and row of various houses, making your way toward the church. The distant hum of an organ guided your path, leading you to the steps and to the devil himself.

Bo Sinclair stood in front of a set of white doors, a cigarette hanging from his mouth, a bead of sweat glistening upon his brow. He wore his Sunday best to look the part, gaze flickering toward your pretty, doe-eyed countenance when you’d stopped a few feet away.

A cloud of billowing smoke drifted into the air, a thin gray wisp that dissipated into the staggering heat. He appraised you in an unusual silence, drinking you in, shamelessly admiring the way your jeans clung to your body. Bo’s own fascination was nearly palpable — he still wondered what possessed a girl to go hiking alone.

Maybe you were stupid — he didn’t think so.

“Sermon getting to you?” You hadn’t intended to come off as simpering or awkward, gesturing toward the cigarette in the stranger’s mouth. A chattering ambiance and piano music emanated from inside of the church, and you felt severely underdressed in the presence of this man — the only one you’d seen in the town so far.

A huff escaped him as he ashed his cigarette, granules of charcoal floating towards the steps. “Might need another cigarette if that’s the case,” Bo chortled, taking another long drag. He ogled you again, jaw tensing as he sized you up, unbeknownst to you. “You lost?”

You would do perfectly — prettiest thing he’d seen in ages, that much was for certain.

Bo’s mind worked differently than yours, sinister and callous when compared to your innocuous demeanor. Whilst you stood along the picket-fence, contemplating about finding a good drink of water, Bo was picturing you strapped down to his bed, clothes cut away.

“A little bit,” It was painful for you to confess to being lost, considering how many times you’d traversed the backwoods of Louisiana. The sound of your voice was enough to momentarily sever Bo’s salacious train of thought, watching as you picked at the fading paint along the fence. “Do you know if there’s a convenience store around here or anything?”

He shook his head, motioning down the street. “Closed for th’day, I’m afraid. Lookin’ for somethin’ in particular?” Bo asked, attempting to lay the foundation for you, building a rapport that was surely to break once he got his hands on you. It was all about the building.

You shrugged, withering away beneath the oppressive heat of the midday sun. You wondered how this man was so unusually comfortable within an all-black suit and tie. Nonetheless, you decided to be truthful. “I’m just looking for a quick drink before I hike back to the main road. I’m a little low on water.”

“If you’re willin’ to make the trek, I can take you up to my place. Won’t take long, ten minutes or so.” Bo offered, attempting to sweeten the deal. It was akin to a predator skillfully drawing their prey inward, making it difficult to resist. He took another lengthy drag of his cigarette before smashing it against the concrete with the toe of his boot.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother,” Admittedly, you felt intrusive — a meddlesome presence amidst a quiet, peaceful town. You felt even worse interrupting a church service, but Bo didn’t seem phased whatsoever. “I don’t want to distract you from church, either.”

Bo scoffed, lips twitching into something sardonic, one hand perched atop his hip. “Don’t think th’good Lord really cares a whole lot for me these days,” He mused, and you couldn’t tell if he was being serious. “Let me take you up there.” He motioned for you to follow him.

Leaving the white chapel behind, you walked alongside him, somewhat smitten by his Southern drawl and charismatic charm. Beads of sweat glistened along his brow, and he promptly loosened his tie as the two of you made it toward a stretch of beaten-up road.

“Name’s Bo, by th’way. Forgot my manners.” Bo mused, making sure to really lay on the flirtation and appeal. It wasn’t hard for him to tell how flustered you were already — and he fully intended on manipulating such a fact.

“Nice to meet you, Bo.” You smiled, cordial and polite as you sauntered alongside him. “How long have you lived here in Ambrose? It seems so far from the rest of civilization.” It was out of reach, away from the rest of the world, a world that was impervious to the sinister deeds of the Sinclairs.

Unfortunately, you were now in their territory, subject to their rules and ire.

Bo chuckled, shamelessly stealing glances at you whenever possible. You were gorgeous — a looker with a sweet demeanor. He wanted to lick that sweetness right off of you, drain it all, keep it for himself. “Lived here for most of my life. Town’s real quiet, jus’ known for the House of Wax.”

Intrigue glistened upon your features, and you recalled the sign that you’d spotted during your hike — Trudy’s infamous House of Wax. The building itself sat in the distance, nestled amongst a cluster of hills. Even that seemed relatively dormant.

“It’s nice here, really peaceful. You must get used to the silence.” You replied, stepping up the incline as Bo gently steadied you with one arm. You murmured a soft ‘thank you’ as a house came into view, rustic yet large. This must’ve been Bo’s home. “Is this it?”

He motioned toward the house, wrapping his tie around his hand as he loosened up his collar. “Yeah, this is it. We’ll go on inside, you can sit an’ I’ll get you fixed up with somethin’ for the road.” Bo chimed, making his way to the front door.

Bo let you inside, gesturing toward the couch and recliner that sat in the living room. It was a very well lived-in home, but you didn’t seem to mind. You moved toward the couch, finally able to sit somewhere comfortable and relax, placing your backpack beside you.

“Thank you for doing this, Bo. I appreciate it.” You piped up, watching as he moved toward the kitchen. The interior of the home felt warm and inviting, littered with plenty of things to look at. There was ample opportunity for Bo to take matters into his own hands.

One of the cupboards in the kitchen had what he needed, a syringe filled with some strange concoction, a thicker liquid. His dark gaze darted toward you, distracted by your surroundings. Bo took the syringe, discreetly keeping it by his side as he stepped behind you, offering you a water bottle.

“‘Course. Heat’s pretty bad in these parts.” He replied, and you immediately unscrewed the lid, greedily drinking several gulps of icy water. Bo was close, hovering above you with a manic look in his eyes.

Before you had time to properly react, his hand closed around the underside of your jaw, squeezing tight to hold you steady. The intrusive, cold prick of a needle digging into your neck made you scream, but Bo had you in a rather uncomfortable chokehold.

“Shh, shh,” He soothed, stroking at your hair. Everything felt numb, and you could no longer feel anything in your arms and legs, reduced to simple tingling sensations. Your cries were in vain, throaty and hoarse as you sank into the couch, limp and lifeless. “Jus’ relax. All that strugglin’ is gonna make it worse.”

Your eyes felt heavy, beginning to close with a weight to them — the last thing you remembered was the glimpse of Bo’s insidious smirk and dark hues before you’d been rendered unconscious.

———————————————————————————

The scratch of duct-tape reverberated around the concrete cellar, obnoxiously close to your ear, causing you to involuntarily wince. The haze of unconsciousness was lifting, but that sound — it made you groan, unpleasant and invasive. You attempted to move as the heaviness wore away in your limbs, but you had no such luck.

You were in the underbelly of some cold, dingy cellar, cement walls lined in grainy polaroids, tools, and obscene amounts of sex toys. An icy, uncomfortable sensation began to pool within the pit of your stomach, and you tried to jerk against the tape around your wrists.

A strange, unsettling chill fluttered about your body, causing you to shudder. Your hiking boots were nowhere to be found, flannel stolen too, leaving you in your shorts and tank top. Something felt intrusive, as if there was an outside presence bearing down on you, crawling beneath your flesh.

Bo was standing at the foot of a strange chair, stained with months-old cruor, dressed differently than before. A pair of mechanic’s coveralls were stained with grease and oil, dark enough to conceal bloodstains. He bit at the strip of duct-tape, clutching it between his teeth as he bound you, keeping you restrained.

“W—Wait,” You babbled, and suddenly, the heightened sensation of fear and startlement blistered through you, visceral and volatile. “Please don’t do this.” Your whimpers fell on deaf ears as Bo continued his mission, sweat layered in a thin sheen along his temples.

Death in a town that wasn’t on the map was a fate worse than any other — you would rot into the ground with no one to find you, only the animals and trees would know; bear witness. You would cease to exist and become a memory, a painful one, eternally trapped within Ambrose.

“You can make this real easy on yourself,” Bo’s husky, dark drawl emerged from the bitter chill of the cellar, roughened hands sliding along your legs. “All you gotta do is behave for me, yeah?” He stood above you, a twisted version of the man you’d met at the church — or perhaps, the real him.

You sucked in a sharp breath, feeling vulnerable and exposed in your current position. Your hands were bound on either side of you with many rings of duct-tape, legs chained to the floor, yet there was some room for you to walk — if that were even possible. You shivered, mostly from the oppressive cold of the basement coupled with fear.

“Please,” Your chest felt tight, fear unfurling from your ribcage as it spread across your body. A shudder rolled down your spine when Bo grabbed your chin, thumb stroking along your lower lip. “Please don’t kill me.”

Something about this place told you that he’d killed before — they’d been in the very same spot that you were now. A sinister, lascivious gleam glimmered within his dark eyes as they raked over your body, lips curling into a smirk.

“Didn’t say anything about killin’ you, beautiful.” Bo corrected, digits beginning to squeeze your chin, putting pressure on your jaw. “But I might change my mind if y’make this hard for me.” His other hand moved toward your shorts, unbuttoning the front as he ripped the zipper down in one swift movement.

You began to squirm, mortified and flustered as you fought against the tape wrapped around your wrists — but it wasn’t any use. “Don’t.” Your voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper as he gave you a pointed look.

Bo scoffed, head cocking to one side. “Be a shame if I gotta shut that pretty mouth of yours, too.” It wasn’t a warning, but a threat, a promise — one that he intended to make good on if you weren’t careful. “Gonna open up for me?” He crooned.

There was something hideous about him touching you — and even more so was the disgusting fact that you wanted to let him do it. He was handsome at the church, all a facade of Southern charm and debonair wit, but this was something else entirely.

With a defeated, pitiful expression, you began to part your legs, and that was akin to victory for Bo. His dark chuckle made you shiver, feeling his hand brusquely tug and wrestle with your shorts, inching them down your legs. “You’re real pretty,” He uttered, looking you in the eyes. “Prettiest thing I’ve seen in ages.”

Heat pooled within the pit of your stomach, and you clenched your hands into fists, nearly whimpering when he ghosted his fingers across your clothed cunt. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction — this was wrong, depraved on so many levels, but you found yourself submitting instead of retaliating.

A strangled whimper escaped you as he rounded the chair, standing right in front of you as he planted a kiss against your forehead. “Bet you’re all wet from this, huh?” He husked, voice kept to a low growl as he slipped his fingers into your panties.

Arousal had collected there, slick and warm upon his digits. Part of you wanted to melt into the chair and disappear, muscles tense and taut as you worked to suppress your whining.

“Fuck, look at that,” Bo sneered, greedily sucking your nectar right from his fingers, causing your breath to hitch within your throat. “Guess I was right.” His hand returned to your aching cunt, the other wrangling your panties aside, movements harsh and rough.

You hated that it felt good, offered you a sliver of relief — you wanted to scratch at your restraints, thighs beginning to quiver. A string of incoherent babbling escaped you, mumbled pleas for him to stop. It was quite the juxtaposition to your hips, which happened to lurch forward into his hand.

Bo bullied his way in between your legs, spreading you apart as he lowered himself to his knees — unexpected, but you still felt embarrassed. “Gonna have to have a taste of this pretty cunt,” With a gravelly hum, he grabbed your thighs, unceremoniously spitting a wad of saliva onto your throbbing cunt. “Don’t move.”

“Bo,” It was almost involuntary, moaning his name as you jolted forward, mouth agape. Bo’s grin felt like a hot brand against your inner thigh as he clamped his hands down into your legs, hard enough to cause bruises. “P—Please.” You sputtered.

Part of you felt terribly embarrassed for enjoying yourself at the hands of this man who’d kidnapped you, your innocence being taken advantage of. His calloused, rough hands spread you apart, broad tongue licking a stripe along the length of your slit.

Bo was eating you out like a man starved, breath hot and heavy as he savored you with his lips, tongue swirling across your cunt. His hands groped into your haunches, against the swell of your pliant flesh, practically forcing your hips to tilt into his face as he buried his head between your legs.

With a wanton moan, you slouched back into the rigid frame of the chair, listening to it creak and groan as you writhed around. The manacles that shackled you to the concrete rustled with your movements, fingers curling into your palms. His tongue was deliberate and slow, teasing you with every stroke.

You tried to smother your noises, not wanting to give him the satisfaction, but he was ten steps ahead of you. “Can’t hear you, sweetheart,” Bo stopped, ceasing any further contact until you submitted to him. “Gonna have to beg for it, I s’pose.” His sigh was theatrical and badgering, forcing you to whimper.

A simpering, choked-up noise escaped from the back of your throat, desperation beginning to mount as you jerked and jolted forward. Bo simply sat still, attempting to smother that smarmy, devilish grin of his as you shook your head back and forth. “Please keep going, please!” You cried.

Bo clicked his tongue, seemingly unimpressed and dismissive, reaching for the knife that sat in his back pocket. “Ain’t ever met a girl this ungrateful. You rather I stop an’ get this all over with?” His voice was vitriolic, full of a manipulative venom that only served to drag you deeper into his pit.

The sharp, icy blade suddenly traced over your legs, goosebumps erupting in its wake as you shook your head. You didn’t want Bo to hurt you — the idea of being harmed, of being so helpless — it frightened you. Bo enjoyed seeing that little pang of fear within your doe eyes as he prodded the tip of razor-sharp silver into your flesh.

“I’m sorry,” You gasped, stumbling over your words and babbling, restless within the chair. “Bo, please! I — I’ll be loud, I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t hurt me.” It was a gushing string of pleas and begging that didn’t go unnoticed this time.

With soft shushing, Bo sighed, kissing along your inner thigh as he dug his nails into your flesh. It was rough enough to make you feel the burning sting of pain, chest heaving with labored breaths as he nudged his lips against your cunt again. “I think I’m gonna keep you for m’self, how’s that sound?” He uttered.

“Good, good,” You nodded. “I — I want you, please keep going.” Whatever bite and edge you had before had diminished completely, shadowed by his dark, domineering nature. It was hard for anything to break through that barrier of his. He retracted the knife, then and there.

A cajoling chuckle escaped him, one filled with mockery and a duplicitous edge as he lapped at your cunt once more. His tongue was like hot coals, raking across your slit with a wanton need, fingers grabbing and groping at the meat of your thighs.

His cock twitched within his jeans, desperate to be inside of you, make you scream. You wanted to grab at his tousled tresses or grip onto his shoulders, but the duct-tape prevented you from going anywhere, digging into your wrists.

Bo savored you as if you were some delectable meal, licking his lips before toying with your clit. His mouth was feather-light and teasing that bundle of nerves, enough to make you contort within the chair. A strangled moan left you, noisy and desperate, wrought with desire.

“Please, Bo, please,” You breathed, and when your thighs threatened to squeeze his face, he roughly pushed you apart, gazing at you from between your legs. The duct-tape chafed at your flesh, uncomfortably tight around your wrists as you writhed, hips bucking forward. “Please!” You were nearly sobbing.

All inhibitions had been abandoned — you were his now, reduced to his pretty plaything, all spread out on a silver platter. Molten heat surged through you when he lapped at your cunt, hand slipping down as he teased your entrance, giving you no warning as two digits sank into you.

A blissful whine left you, head rolling back against the chair as he nudged your clit, just enough to keep you chasing after that sensation. Bo was undeniably cruel, grazing his teeth over the sensitive bud, causing you to squirm and shiver, all sound escaping you.

“Sing pretty for me,” Bo’s husky, Southern purr emerged from between your thighs, teeth nicking your thigh before he finally began to suck on your clit. His thick digits pistoned in and out of your weeping cunt, providing you with an overwhelming barrage of pleasure. “That’s it.” He huffed, lurching forward.

The rattling of chains couldn’t rip you from the moment as liquid heat coalesced between your legs, with Bo’s chin steeped in your arousal. You moaned again, flexing against your restraints, stomach churning with an anticipation that made you want to melt.

Bo grunted, greedily lapping at your sweet cunt, fingers beginning to curl into that sweet spot, prompting you to choke on any sound that bubbled within your throat. He was like a predator, with you in his clutches, a rabbit trapped within the jaws of a wolf.

With another barrage of practiced licks, he continued his onslaught against your clit, eliciting a myriad of sinful, inhuman sounds from you. Bo — it was the only word that fell from your lips like some chant, and he didn’t stop, feeling your knees buckle and shake around him.

His digits buried themselves into your tight cunt, sluggishly rocking in and out as he sucked on your clit. It sent you careening over the edge, lost to a white-hot explosion of ecstasy as you came, moaning and shivering, a complete and utter mess.

He was the devil — pearlescent teeth glinting in the low, buzzing light of the cellar. The shadows moved in a way that made him seem sinister. You were surprised that he didn’t have horns and a forked tongue, but it was likely a trick of the eyes. You huffed, fading away into your post-orgasm haze, but Bo was far from finished.

“We ain’t done just yet,” He uttered, licking his lips as he moved up from between your legs, hand gripping your chin as he dragged you forward. Bo made you open your mouth, head tilted backward as he leaned in, countenance contorting into a sneer. “Got a little gift for you, for bein’ good.”

A wad of his saliva landed upon your tongue, and you nearly choked, feeling filthy and vulnerable. His eyes glistened with an insidious shade, shadowed and bemused as he closed your mouth, forcing you to swallow his spit.

Bo was expectant, waiting for you to say something — but when nothing emerged, he clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Where’s your manners?” He reminded you, patting your jaw like he would a beloved dog.

“Thank you.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, somewhat shrewd as Bo grinned, seemingly satisfied with your answer. You squirmed again when Bo began to unzip the front of his pants, breathing noticeably heavier and wrought with unrestrained excitement.

“Now,” Bo hummed, fishing his cock from the confines of his jeans. His erection was thick and heavy within his calloused palm, oozing with pearls of precum. With a step in your direction, he pressed the head of his cock against your cunt. “M’gonna fuck you right.”

You swallowed the growing lump within your throat, letting out another moan as he teased your entrance, hooking his hands around your hips. Bo was rough and callous, dragging you forward as he sank his cock into you, grunting at the tightness and warmth.

Another wanton moan escaped you, back beginning to arch as he thrust forward, chest rippling with grunts and subtle growls. Lewd, crass noises reverberated throughout the cellar, the only ambiance that you could really focus on. His shadow eclipsed the stark glare of the light, gaze fixated on you.

Bo’s eyes were shadowed, brewing with something dark yet indecipherable. He began to adopt a very brutal pace, cock pounding away at your poor cunt. You hadn’t done this in so long, to the point where it felt borderline unfamiliar. You sputtered and moaned, feeling one of his hands abandon your leg.

That rough, calloused hand of his found its way to your slender neck, digits squeezing at your throat. It wasn’t particularly gentle, but not enough to completely rob you of air. You whined, unable to keep from watching the way his cock disappeared again and again into your sweet, oozing cunt.

You wanted to grab onto him, onto his arm, chest, anything — instead, you were met with harsh resistance from the duct-tape. “Bo,” You moaned, hips rolling in-tandem with his movements. Bo hunched closer, hand tight around your throat as his thumb pressed into your jugular, causing you to wince. “Feels so good.”

“Yeah?” Bo’s voice dropped to a lower octave, cock rutting away into you with a rough, unyielding amount of force. If he went any harder, he might’ve threatened to split you in half. “Fuck, you’re nice n’tight. Can’t believe you’re gettin’ off to this. You like bein’ tied down an’ fucked by a stranger?” He uttered, and you began to stammer.

A wave of liquid heat burned bright within the pit of your stomach, a flame that only grew in intensity as he kept up with his brutal ministrations. Your cunt clenched pathetically around his cock at his words, causing you to shiver again. “I—I …” You didn’t know what to say, embarrassed and ashamed.

Bo scoffed, voice tapering off into a grunt as he continued to rut forward, cock buried inside of you until he could go no further. “Got you so fucked you can’t even speak,” He sneered, grip tightening on your throat. It was bound to leave some sort of mark, but you knew he didn’t care. “You gonna behave?”

Your head bobbed up and down several times over, voice barely above a whisper. “Yes.” You squeaked, watching with blown-out pupils as he reached for the knife, cutting you loose from the duct-tape. Though, once your hands were free, you were being dragged onto the cold concrete on your stomach.

The steely, sharp bite of the knife sliced through your tank top like butter, leaving you completely exposed to Bo, who remained entirely clothed. Goosebumps coalesced along your spine from the icy temperature of the ground, feeling his hand close into your hair as he fucked you from behind.

His cock battered away at your cunt, stretching you in ways that you never thought possible. It was harsh and intrusive, digits tugging on your hair, wrangling you like you were molded from obsidian. Bo savored the sensation of you rocking back into him, thighs quivering like a leaf.

Your eyes flickered toward the muted brick wall on your left, met with a garish display of polaroids — other girls, girls like you. You had a feeling that none of them had lived to tell the tale.

A pang of dread consumed you, followed by fear — you hoped that you wouldn’t end up on that wall too, immortalized in some sick photograph. Instead, you wanted to increase your chances of survival, moaning and whimpering his name, forehead snug against the concrete.

“You wanna cum?” Bo asked nonchalantly, spoken through labored breathing as his thrusts became quick and sporadic. He was close, cock throbbing inside of you as his other hand clawed bruises and marks into the swell of your hips.

“Yes,” You didn’t hesitate, moaning again when he dug his nails into your flesh, causing you to squirm from discomfort. “Please, Bo! I want you to let me cum!” Desperation was laced within your voice, high-pitched and simpering as he let go of your hip.

“Good girl,” Bo grunted, somewhat perplexed by you. “Finally usin’ your manners.” He reached between your thighs, slathered in your slick and his precum, thumb rubbing circles into your clit. Your back began to arch, pushing back into him as he fucked you like a wild animal, chains clanking against the floor.

Pleasure rippled through you in blistering waves, coupled with the faint sting of pain that radiated from your hip. Bo grunted, breath hot and strenuous as he fucked you senseless, pounding away at your cunt with little regard for your comfort. His thumb toyed with your clit, causing you to writhe and moan.

With another harsh rut of his hips, Bo grunted, pushing his hips forward as he came inside of you, ropes of white-hot seed flooding your cunt. His brow glistened with perspiration as he pulled his cock free, leaving you with the mess of it all, haphazardly smeared between your legs.

Bo, in all his cruelty, tore his hand away from your clit, leaving you a throbbing mess, edged to the brink. You wanted to beg for him to continue, but you were spent, hot flesh soothed by the cold temperature of the floor.

“W—Wait,” Your protests were weak, but still strung-out with desperation. “Aren’t you going to keep going?” There was a little sliver of hope within your voice, but he relented, lips curling into a bemused smirk as he gave your ass a light smack.

“Changed my mind.”

You hated him.

For a moment, you saw red, frustrated without any semblance of relief, but also in misery over your current situation. You didn’t know what to do or say — and the last thing you wanted was for him to become angry with you. You didn’t want to become a permanent fixture on his wall of past trophies.

He stood up, hovering above you as you sheepishly rolled onto your back. Bo’s unsteady, dangerous leer sent shivers down your spine, watching as he stared at you for several moments. “Guessin’ you’ll last longer than the rest have,” He crooned, swiping his tongue across his lower lip. “Go on.”

His head jerked toward the chair, signaling you to climb back in. Your legs quivered in the aftermath of being fucked stupid, and you awkwardly reached for your panties and shorts, but Bo intercepted you. Wordlessly, you sat down in the leather seat, naked and entirely vulnerable.

“Keep you like that for when I come back.” Bo’s Southern purr made you shudder as you trembled, both from fear and from the cold. He couldn’t help but take a little bit of pity on you, tossing you a blanket from the old mattress that sat several feet away from you.

Something about being left entirely alone, naked and used in this basement, made you more terrified than anything else. You didn’t want to be left alone with just your thoughts. Even if Bo had kidnapped you, he was more tolerable than solitude. “You’ll come back?” You asked.

Bo huffed, retrieving his baseball cap. “Maybe,” He could see the hint of fear that had glossed over your eyes. “Maybe I’ll leave you down here an’ let you rot.” His voice was somewhat vitriolic, but undecided — part of you knew that he couldn’t leave you alone after this.

You would take the physicality over being isolated.

Silence drifted between the both of you as your legs shifted, the sound of clanking manacles providing the only bit of ambiance. Bo made for the iron-wrought door, standing in the doorway to give you one last look. Even in your disheveled state, you were beautiful — and now?

You belonged to him.

Before Bo shut the door, his lips twitched into the ghost of a devilish smirk. “Guess I’ll see you soon.”

[silkscream]

CHAPTER 4: EYES WITHOUT A FACE

ੈ✩ gojo satoru x reader, geto suguru x reader

He’s never known what to do with his feelings, always choosing to bury them where no one else could reach until all of it would rot by itself. It didn’t concern him. It was why he lived life somewhat carelessly. Avoidant.

He’s never known what to do with his feelings about you, either.

ੈ✩ chapter cw/tags: explicit content, angst, dub/noncon, underage alcohol usage

ੈ✩ wc: 4.3k

ੈ✩ a/n: chuckles nervously... the plot thickens

playlist ✸ read on ao3 ✸ series masterlist

November, 2008

You are downing your third gin and juice when you start to feel your bones loosen. Anxiously, you had already downed a glass of wine before you arrived at Satoru’s house, and that wasn’t enough to settle your nerves. You’d only been here for about an hour and a half and had mingled with a few classmates you recognized from school, otherwise keeping to yourself amidst the chaos.

That is, until a wired Shoko slings her arm around your shoulder, nearly tripping over herself.

“You came!” she beams. You’d only met her a few times, mostly in passing, each time at Satoru’s house while you were with your mother working and not as a guest. 

She’s deer-like, with a dazed, sleepy expression on her face and a joint hanging out of her mouth as opposed to her usual Seven Star. She leans on you close enough for you to smell the smoky scent of her hair, which is currently adorned with small black devil ears.

“Happy birthday, Ieiri-san,” you smile, fishing a small box out of your coat.

“Oh, you didn’t have to get me anything! Those idiots only got me like two cases of beer as a present, anyway,” she laughs. She unwraps the gift to reveal a zippo lighter with a scorpion design on it.

“I thought cigarettes would’ve been too on the nose,” you shrug.

“I love it,” she smiles, hugging you. “Suguru always steals my lighters. He’s definitely not getting a hold of this one.”

“Do you know where he is? Or Gojo-kun?”

She looks at you, then, with an unreadable expression. Something of simultaneous confusion and amusement.

“Probably doing something illegal. I’d guess upstairs or outside, maybe? I just saw them.”

You snort. There wouldn’t be one without the other. You blame your eagerness to drink on why you hadn’t caught them earlier, though when you check your phone again for the fifth time tonight, there are no messages. Satoru is inconsistent in his texting anyway – either silent for a few days, then blowing up your phone in the middle of the night with his random thoughts.

“Thanks.”

“Hey, let me know if you need anything, okay?” She squeezes your hand like a friend would. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“Thank you, Ieiri-san,” you nod. 

You explore the kitchen, frowning at the clear spills on the countertop and the nearly empty cabinets that used to be full of glasses and mugs. You roll your eyes at your immediate thoughts of cleaning up. Always your mother’s child, never a real guest in a place like this.

You don’t think you can handle another gin and juice, though the drunken devil on your shoulder still goads you to drink more. You were a lightweight, less so than Satoru, but enough to feel blurry at the moment. You settle on a forgotten bottle of plum wine, justifying it with its lesser alcohol content.

The taste is sweet, sickeningly so. Something that Satoru would like. It tastes like he would.

You ignore the slight ache in your head. The music is too loud, blasting in your ears, and the number of people who have arrived at the party since you’d spoken to Shoko has multiplied tenfold. 

You stare at your phone again. Nothing.

You’re too warm in your coat now, huddled shoulder-to-shoulder with strangers. There’s probably a safe chance that the boys were upstairs, and even if they weren’t, you could take a breather in Satoru’s room and leave your coat there.

It’s humid once you get to the top of the staircase. Your hair sticks to your back a little as you carry your coat in your arms. The black slip dress you decided on feels too thin, suddenly, but you think it suits your body. Shows just the right amount of skin because of how short it is. Satoru would like it.

The door to Satoru’s bedroom is slightly ajar. You hear more than one voice – a round of them, boisterous. There are several bottles of alcohol on the floor that you can see, a full ashtray, and a small group of strangers that you assume to be Satoru’s friends, though you realize they’re all women. When you tilt your head, you can see him.

He’s sitting on Suguru’s lap, laughing. You notice the way Suguru’s hand rests on Satoru’s stomach, while Satoru absentmindedly taps his fingers along Suguru’s thigh. He’s sprawled out on the boy, taking up space the way he always does, and it looks… intimate. Like they belong to each other.

Satoru whines when Suguru bites at the exposed skin of his collarbone playfully, swatting him away. It’s a similar gesture you do to him when he sneaks up behind you at school. When he gets you alone. When he gets you to follow him home until you end up in his bed.

You know that Satoru is a touchy drunk, but you’ve never seen such adoration in his eyes before. It makes you feel sick. 

But you can’t find it in yourself to be angry or shocked. Rather, you feel a bit pathetic. Looking from the outside in, in a place you practically grew up in, feeling more alone than ever.

You want to watch them for longer. Like a voyeur. 

There’s an itch in your body that wants to see if the boys will kiss. Satoru has never been this touchy with you in the presence of others. With Suguru, it looks like muscle memory.

Your knuckles pale as you grip the bottle of plum wine in your hand. You chug the rest, not caring about the taste making your insides swirl. After discarding your coat in one of the hallway closets, you take a deep breath and retreat downstairs.

Shoko bumps into you in the middle of the dancefloor. The way her face lights up almost dissipates the pit in your stomach. Almost.

“Hey, baby! Come dance.” 

“I need a smoke, actually, but I will after.”

“I didn’t know you smoked,” she says, handing you one of her Seven Stars cigarettes and her zippo.

“I can get matches from the kitchen, don’t worry.”

Once you’re outside, the music is a dull ache in the back of your head. The November air is colder than you expect considering the recent days of decent weather, but the alcohol keeps you numb. You inhale smoke, eyes fluttering at the memory of intimacy. 

“If you guys drank all my birthday sake, I’m seriously going to castrate you both.”

Shoko pulls the bottle out of Satoru’s hands while he’s in the middle of sipping. He nearly chokes from the force of her, liquid dripping onto his chin. Suguru wipes it off and laughs.

“This isn’t your birthday sake, dumbass!”

“Gross,” Shoko says, wrinkling her nose at the off-brand label. It’s cheap and sweet, just the way Satoru likes it.

Fiending for more alcohol, Satoru frowns when he examines the other liquor bottles scattered around the circle of them, only to find that there’s only hard liquor. He drinks from a bottle of Sprite instead to satiate his craving, in addition to stealing a maraschino cherry out of Yuki’s cocktail. 

“You finished every bottle of sake, Satoru,” Suguru frowns.

“Great! Let’s play spin the bottle.”

“No,” Utahime interjects. She throws an empty beer can at Satoru’s head.

“Yeah, I’m downvoting that, too,” Shoko adds. She takes the joint that Suguru finishes rolling and lights it. “It’s my birthday and I’m not letting this idiot try to fuck everyone like he does at every party.”

“That’s because his type is everyone. He’s a whore,” Yuki chuckles.

“I don’t try to fuck everyone–”

“Go find your girlfriend if you want to get your dick wet so bad,” she interrupts, mumbling with the joint in her mouth. “We should find her and get her to play poker with us. She looked a little sad when I saw her.”

“Huh?” Satoru blinks.

“Oh, and why does she call you by your last name? Is it because she technically works for you?”

“No fucking way Gojo found a poor soul to be his girlfriend,” Utahime mutters. She settles her head on Shoko’s lap in the bed, stealing the joint out of her mouth. “Do you pay her?”

“No, she’s like a servant or something, right?” Yuki says.

“Gojo! That’s sick. The poor girl.”

“Stop, you’re making her out to seem like she’s my fucking concubine,” Satoru asserts, a bit too fiercely than he means to. His lips twitch at the mention of you.

Suguru raises his brows at Satoru, knowing the boy is too drunk and too befuddled to know what to say. The girls stare.

“She’s not my girlfriend, either.”

“You should fuck her, then,” Shoko slurs. “She’s so cute.”

“She’s our friend,” Suguru drawls, tipping back vodka like it’s water. “You haven’t seen her yet, Satoru?”

Satoru shakes his head. His heart pounds quicker now that you’re the topic of conversation. That feeling comes back – the one that makes him panic, as if he’s discovering that something he owns is lost. It twists in his stomach, knowing how selfish it is. He wants to keep you in a way that’s separate from the rest of his life because you were his.

He gets up and mumbles something about going to the bathroom. In the hallway, he opens his phone and stares at your contact. Your photo hasn’t changed in years – a goofy close-up that he took when he was thirteen. 

When he calls you, his heartbeat quickens the longer the phone rings, only to realize that he hears the sound of your ringtone from behind the closet. He finds your phone and your coat, but there’s no trace of you.

It sobers him up considerably. The lights in the house flicker.

The temperature drops as the night drags on, which is why you have the firepit to yourself. The fire is still glowing, warming your bare legs. 

Fuck. You want another cigarette.

You jump at the sound of another’s presence. When you turn, you see your classmate, Haru, nursing a half-empty bottle of wine in his right hand.

“Getting up to trouble, I see,” he grins.

You laugh. It’s more of a scoff, but you smile at him.

“Yeah, some crazy delinquent activity. Some might even call it mischief.”

The joke makes him laugh, which makes you laugh, genuinely. Haru had the demeanor of a puppy, always excitable and easy to please. It used to be a little annoying when you were first years but he’d mellowed out since then, it seems.

Under the glow of the fire, he looks handsome in a boyish way. His hair has gotten longer over the year, like Suguru’s, but he lets it fall to his shoulders. You scoot over on the patio couch, welcoming him to sit.

“You look very pretty, by the way. I like your dress.”

“O—Oh,” you stammer, surprised. “Thank you.”

He offers you the bottle of wine in his hand and you accept, taking a swig of pinot grigio. Future you is going to kill you for mixing so many different alcohols in your stomach. Current you is basking in the warmth of your surroundings.

“Sorry if this is awkward, but uh—” He fiddles with his fingers, but the eye contact he makes with you feels oddly intense. “Are you, like, seeing Gojo?”

His name makes your face burn. You almost choke on the wine.

“Uh, no. Just—um, what made you think that?” 

“He just seems possessive over you,” Haru shrugs. 

“Yeah, right. He never talks to me in school.”

“But he does, sometimes, and I notice it. He looks at you in a certain way. S’why I was kind of scared to approach you, actually.”

You furrow your brows at the idea of Satoru scaring other boys away. Other boys didn’t talk to you, never have. You didn’t think you were exceptionally attractive in a way that made other people pine over you. You were always focused on academics anyway. But has Satoru always driven other boys away?

“He’s not my bodyguard or whatever,” you try to joke. “And I don’t bite. Unless you’re into that.”

Haru widens his eyes. You curse yourself in your head. It’s the wine talking. It has to be.

“I think I might be.”

When did he get so close to you? You notice you’re both thigh to thigh. Your stomach drops when Haru caresses your jaw. His touch doesn’t feel right. It’s not what you’re used to, not what you want.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, face inches from yours. You freeze when you realize what’s happening, closing your eyes to accept it. A drunken kiss won’t hurt anyone. Maybe it’s what you need.

He’s soft at first until his tongue pries your mouth open. From there, there’s spit and teeth, his hand squeezing your throat the tiniest bit in a way that makes you whimper. The sound of it encourages him. He has his other hand on your thigh, underneath the hem of your dress.

You’re brainless. A used toy. Your head is swimming rapidly, too messy to register all of it. The panic subsides into blankness as your body surrenders. Everything feels so heavy.

“H-Haru–”

“I’ve always liked you,” he mumbles in between kisses. How is his grip on you so tight?

“Haru, I don’t–”

You can’t get a word in with his tongue down your throat.

You’re barely kissing him back now, but he takes from you anyway. Licks your teeth and inches his hand higher and higher up your thigh. When he finally releases your mouth, he has his tongue on your neck instead, and it feels sordid. You are numb and he is molding you in his hands.

Satoru’s voice is in your head calling you weak.

You recoil when you feel calloused fingers grazing your core. You make a weak attempt to push him away, small fists to his broad chest. When your gaze drifts, you see a pair of burning blue eyes.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing—”

Haru’s hair is yanked, and his body is pulled backward and thrown onto the ground. It’s all too fast—a whiplash of crushed bone and bloody knuckles. White hair and burning blue eyes.

“What the fuck, man–”

You watch in horror as Satoru kicks the boy on his side. You don’t even notice that Suguru is pulling you away with a hand on your waist.

You’ve never seen Satoru so angry. Never seen him be violent outside of playfighting Suguru in the grass. He’s a whole other being in front of you now, and it scares you, and it’s somehow… beautiful.

“Touch her again and I fucking kill you,” he seethes, spitting on Haru’s cheek. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

He’s breathing heavily and glances at you. There’s a look of betrayal and disbelief that you see briefly before Suguru sweeps you away. When you’re back inside, you let go of his hand to run to the bathroom and vomit.

Your eyes fucking ache.

It’s the dried tears and strained pupils underneath the disgusting overhead light of the downstairs bathroom. Your head pounds. You don’t remember when you came to, but you find comfort from the arm around you. Shoko sits next to you and runs a reassuring hand through your hair.

“I’m sorry,” you croak. “I ruined your birthday.”

“Are you kidding?” Shoko chuckles. “That was entertaining as hell. Even if I only saw half of it. Leave it to Satoru to steal all the attention on my birthday.”

You frown, staring at her. How can she be so nonchalant that someone left her party with a broken nose? 

The ghost of Haru’s touch makes your skin crawl, making you reflexively shut your thighs together. The bathroom floor is cold underneath your skin.

“I’ve never seen him so mad before,” you lament quietly.

“Neither have I,” she exhales. “It takes a lot to work him up. He had no room to be jealous, though. He said you weren’t his girlfriend.”

Her words prick you like the blade of a dagger. Slowly. Drawing blood. 

“I– I wasn’t trying to hook up with that guy,” you say. “I was so drunk. I didn’t want it.”

Shoko looks at you with pity. “Oh, fuck.”

When she wraps your arms around you, you’re too numb to cry. The door opens and the boys enter. Your eyes stay on the floor. Your gut twists inside out.

“How is she?” you hear Suguru ask.

That again. Talking about you instead of to you.

Shoko mouths something, you think. A soundless gesture as she rubs your back soothingly like a sister would. 

“You want a ride home, princess?” Suguru asks.

“She can sleep here. There’s a room for her.”

You look up at the sound of Satoru’s voice. His face is cold, unreadable. You don’t expect him to lift you and carry you to his room, but he does. There’s a pang in his heart when you wrap your arms around his neck.

“Take this.” He tips your head back for you and parts your lips with his hands so he can get the painkillers on your tongue. Water down your throat. 

“Good girl.”

“I can take care of myself,” you grumble, curling into yourself on the edge of his bed. 

“Clearly you can’t, otherwise you wouldn’t have fucking blacked out.”

“I’m sorry, Satoru,” you say with dejection. “Just—please don’t be angry with me.”

“I’m not angry. Not with you.”

But he is, just a little. The mere idea of someone else touching you makes him see red, and having it be real and at his fucking house made him livid beyond repair. How dare that piece of trash touch you. Like you aren’t Satoru’s and his alone. 

He’s also upset at himself because he knew it wouldn’t have happened if he’d found you sooner.

He lays on his side behind you and pulls you close. 

“I don’t understand you,” you say, weakly. Your nose feels fuzzy again the way it does before you cry.

“I don’t, either,” Satoru sighs.

You turn to face him, then, and the look on your face devastates him.

“I shouldn’t have gotten so drunk. I didn’t know what was happening. I mean, I did, but I didn’t—I didn’t want all of that,” you sniffle. “Didn’t want him to touch me.”

You say it like you’re confessing. Pleading. Guilt swallows him whole.

What you want to ask: Why am I only something to you when someone else touches me?

“I’m so sorry,” Satoru whispers. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t there to stop it and that you had to see me like that. I’ll never let anyone hurt you like that again. Okay?”

Touch her again and I kill you.

You nod weakly, smiling. He holds you and lets you cry until you fall asleep. It feels like he’s committing a crime to be able to hold you like this.

Satoru closes his eyes and breathes through his nose. He’s never known what to do with his feelings, always choosing to bury them where no one else could reach until all of it would rot by itself. It didn’t concern him. It was why he lived life somewhat carelessly. Avoidant. 

He’s never known what to do with his feelings about you, either. 

He didn’t think they would come back. Ideally, you both would’ve finished school and he would go to Jujutsu Tech and forget about you. Maybe you see you on the off-occasion he’s home, but he doesn’t plan on being home that often. But he’s young and stupid and hungry, and when you were there for him on a platter, he wanted to take you. Consume you.

He feels powerful when he knows that you want to consume him, too. He can’t live with himself knowing that that power will only hurt you in the end. 

He almost wishes you were angry at him. You could scream at him if you wanted and it would be justified, but you’re here in his arms again instead. Apologizing.

Something ugly twists inside of him. He remembers what you said in bed the other day. 

You could do anything you wanted to me and I think I’d let you.

It made him sick with desire then, but it makes him sick with remorse now.

November, 2008 (Three days later)

“Is she okay? She hasn’t responded to my text,” Suguru asks.

“You text her?” 

Satoru tries not to look annoyed. Instead, he looks away and kicks away a discarded Ramune bottle across the pavement. On Mondays, he liked to skip his last class and force Suguru to accompany him for a late lunch that usually consisted of konbini sweets.

“Not really. She has my number, though,” Suguru says, taking a puff of a cigarette. Shoko’s influence. “Why, you jealous?”

“Fuck off.”

“You are.” Suguru gives him a sly grin. “That’s why you knocked the lights out of that guy.”

“He was assaulting her.”

Satoru sighs, sprawling his legs on the bench (which is too short to fit the length of his body) and puts his head in Suguru’s lap. He flinches when Suguru pokes his nose.

“She’s okay, though?”

“I don’t know, to be honest.”

Satoru thinks of your dejected gaze and the limpness of your body when he touched you the next morning. He was softer than usual given the situation, and you bound yourself to him like you always do. Clung to him, almost. He blushes at the memory of your face after he made you cum from his mouth. 

You seemed fine at breakfast Saturday morning when Satoru treated you to pancakes. But even with your sarcastic remarks and usual banter, the light in your eyes seemed dimmer.

It had barely been 36 hours since then, but he missed you.

“I think I would’ve done the same thing as you,” Suguru says.

Satoru sighs crankily, throwing an arm over his face to block the sunlight.

“I probably would’ve killed him if you guys weren’t there,” he grumbles. “Sometimes I want to kidnap her, I swear. Never leave her out of my sight. I shouldn’t have gotten so fucking drunk.”

Suguru looks down at him, raising his brows. One of his usual looks – astute and slightly shaming. 

Satoru is grateful for the darkness of his lenses, though he knows that regardless, Suguru can easily tell what expression he’s giving him. He’s looking away, anyway, examining a stray cat on top of the roof of the konbini.

Satoru takes a moment to trace his eyes along the sharp lines of Suguru’s jawline. Clenched at the thought of you being hurt, a similar sentiment that Satoru’s had for the past few days. His fists burn with the ghost of that bastard’s blood. He wishes he could do it all again—punch his fucking teeth out harder than his nose.

While he thinks of you and the fragility of your far-away stare, he also thinks of your skin. At the moment, the thought is subtly replaced with Suguru’s hands absentmindedly scratching his head. It’s funny — you and Suguru had the same habit when it came to giving Satoru affection.

Prodigies, the two of them. Their abilities would rank them as Grade 1 by their first year of Jujutsu Tech, special grade by the time they complete their first few missions. Satoru really did see Suguru as his other half. It was why your inclusion made him uneasy despite how much he cared for you. 

It wasn’t anything personal. He was simply wrapped around Suguru’s finger first. They had drunkenly kissed two years prior, fresh-faced and seventeen, and would continue to on random occasions that weren’t dictated by anything other than hormones and energy shifts in the air.

Maybe Satoru would consider Suguru as his first love, if he knew anything about it. He didn’t know what you were, yet. He couldn’t describe his feelings for you. It was something beyond words, which scared him.

“Do you think you’re going to take her to the New Year’s Party?” Suguru’s voice shakes Satoru out of his thoughts.

“What? I think I’m taking Mei Mei or something. Mother’s orders.”

“Mother’s orders?”

“Dude, I don’t know. She was like, assigned to me months ago. I still don’t get why it’s such a big deal for the clan, but Mei Mei and her family are close to the family or whatever.”

“I just thought you would bring Y/N, s’all.”

“Why?” Satoru asks.

Suguru smiles, giving him a knowing look before he rolls his eyes.

“You like her.”

“What?”

“You don’t have to lie to me, dude. I figured you were fucking her since she started hanging out with us.”

“She’s… my friend,” Satoru defends. His brain feels fucking scrambled. “My oldest friend.”

“Okay,” Suguru chuckles. “I was kind of thinking of asking her, then.”

“To– to what? The party?”

“Yeah.”

Satoru sits up from Suguru’s lap.

“It’s not really her scene.”

“She hangs out with you, I’m sure she can handle a little party thrown by your family.”

“It’s not little. It’s—fucking annoying and extravagant. I literally only go because I have to and there’s always an open bar,” Satoru prattles. “I thought you’d take Shoko.”

“Jesus, then I’d have to take care of her drunk ass. She’d probably want to get wasted with Utahime anyway. You know how much she wants to fuck her.”

Satoru is screaming in his head. If his worlds collide more than they already have, he might just break open completely. He straightens his posture in an attempt to not appear particularly haughty, though he knows Suguru can probably see right through him. 

He makes a non-committal noise, stone-faced when he looks at his friend. He hides his face as he rolls his eyes. 

His tone is bored, lips quirking in a bitter smile.

“Right, okay,” Satoru yawns. “Do whatever you want.”

[qwimchii]

𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘯 (pt. 2) — 𝘫𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘦

𝘱𝘵. 1 𝘱𝘵. 2 𝘱𝘵. 3

𝘫𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘹 𝘧!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 — 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘯, 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦—𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘴. 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴, 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩, 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘺 𝘶𝘯𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺 𝘥𝘢𝘺. 𝘸𝘤 — 3.7𝘬

𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦 — 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴/𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 — 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘴, 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩, 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘦𝘺𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘣𝘤 𝘪𝘮 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘦’𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 (𝘴𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘳)

author's note: i'm so sorry for the long wait alkdsjfslkdjf but it's here now!! also i know that this is just mostly fluff for now but i wanna build up a bit before we get to the… devil's tango ;) anyways, enjoy lovies!

weeks passed since you last saw him at the bar.

it was a strange thing that left you wondering in quiet moments with glazed eyes. moments at work where you’d zone out while a student was asking you a question, or when you were sitting on the grass in the schoolyard at recess. oliver, ever the rambunctious and curious kid, had prodded at your side with big eyes that had melted away your daze in seconds. he had held up a long piece of grass, offering to play a round of grass wars with you, which brought you straight back to the lazy summer afternoons of your childhood. the sweet smile on his face made sure you couldn’t refuse.

and once he was satisfied, running across the playground and wrestling with other boys in the field, you’d pick at the grass incessantly with your eyes trained on a distant point, not sure what exactly you were focusing on.

you remembered his silhouette like it was burned into your brain—tall, broad, rough at the edges but all soft and warm against you. you remembered him as clear as day and the solidness of his body—real and strong. but now, it was like he had disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

he wasn’t at the back of the bar like usual, puffing on a cigar, with a gruff exterior and eyes searing hot when they landed on you. instead, you were slipping back into a time vault—back to running from deadlines and running from the stressors of your life. back to square one.

it seems like your prayers weren’t answered.

that was the amusing thought that bubbled up in your throat, as you poured over some textbook materials splayed across the old desk you had thrifted ages ago. it filled up approximately half the space of your bedroom, and no matter how you thought you could rearrange it all, your meager apartment seemed to always be stretched to its max. being an elementary school teacher didn’t really pay the bills. not in london at least.

and that’s why you are in this master’s degree program: to further your career, to gain a sweet surplus in your salary, to move into a bigger apartment. not to daydream over strangers you saw at the bar—no matter how addictive.

it’s what you tried to convince yourself, at least, without much success. sighing as you leaned your cheek against the coolness of the desk, you looked out over your bedroom window.

it was raining, but you pulled open the window just a crack anyways. the soft patters against the glass were comforting—like the gentle ringing of bells into the night that clashed with the lingers of sirens and the loud chatter that crowded the streets below your apartment. the humid air poured into your bedroom, and usually the stickiness would bother you, but it only reminded you of home.

back in the rolling plains, where late nights were filled with jumping into bone chilling waters on humid nights like this. where the little lake nestled deep in the dispersed woods beckoned you, your friends, and the quiet twinkling fireflies.

you closed your eyes.

you remembered the words that lingered between your friends and family. it was a small town. she wants to move to london. it wasn’t a thing that they whispered—it was more of a hiss of disapproval. growing up, you thought you never liked that small town. grown up, you don’t really think that you liked the big city either.

but you’ve come this far. there was no way you were turning back now.

those were your last thoughts before exhaustion overcame you, pulling you into those familiar deep murky waters. and the next thing you knew, you eyes were flying open with a loud gasp.

you pushed yourself up with heavy arms, willing your slow legs to move from beneath you. you lurched, almost falling off your desk chair as you blinked sleepily. the rain had stopped. the loud, drunken laughter that bounced off the walls of the alleyway below had ceased, and sirens didn’t drone in the distance. instead, you could hear the rush of automobiles and the loud sputter of the city commotion. and it wasn’t night time anymore…

it wasn’t night time anymore.

you gasped again, this time with much more urgency. finally, you registered the light that streamed through your cracked bedroom window—which you didn’t even bother to close as you dashed through your room, picking up a random t-shirt and pair of blue jeans thrown haphazardly on your bedroom floor.

shit.

in the bathroom mirror, you stripped down the remnants of last nights sleepiness with a lightning fast shower, brushed teeth, and the new change of clothes. you ran through the living room, pulling your hair back into something simple and comfortable as you juggled your work bag and all its clunky items through the front door. 

shit.

you stumbled back into your apartment when you realized you didn’t even think to put on shoes. then you snatched an untoasted bagel off the counter last second.

shit, shit, shit.

the metro couldn’t seem to come fast enough and you were bouncing from one foot to the next, as you chomped on the bagel and pushed your way into the crowded train. crumpling in on yourself, you cringed every time a stranger’s shoulder bumped against yours on the shaky train. 

that fifteen minute train ride was probably the longest wait you’ve ever felt in your life. and you stumbled off the train, shoving the last of your bagel into your mouth, when you bumped into someone and their iced coffee came pouring down onto your leg.

for an awful moment, you stared at each other in silence before you took off again, shouting an apology over your shoulder as you ran up the stairs of the train platform. quick footsteps swallowed the distance between you and that little elementary school glowering on the far corner of a well-kept suburb.

you were almost never late to work. you tried to never be late to anything. but this wasn’t just work—you were fifteen minutes late to a parent-teacher conference.

pushing into the school with a quick key swipe, you rounded the corner of the tiled hallway, almost slipping on your way, and stopped dead in front of your classroom door. using the back of your hand to wipe away the dampness of your face, you hefted your bag further onto your shoulder as you steaded your rapid breath. you pressed a hand to suppress the quick rise and fall of your chest, closing your eyes before opening the door.

“oh my goodness, i am so, so sorry that i’m—”

shit.

you knew as soon as you locked eyes. dark blue. a steady strong gaze that unfurled warmth in your stomach, and a deep flush rose to your cheeks because you were flustered. 

for the first time, you weren’t seeing him through a drunken stupor or the hazy dark bar air, with long drawn shadows cast over his face, but in the clear-cut mid-afternoon sunlight. the gruffness of his face was softened in the bright morning light and you could make out the gentle lines and age of his face. you could see his eyes clearer than ever, and it made all the words die in your throat.

it was him, with a simple black beanie that cut down all those sexy facades about him. it reduced him to something sweet, and weirdly, something domestic. something you wanted to wake up to cooking in your kitchen every morning. something you wanted to tuck in your arms every night.

it was him, sitting at one of the small tables, with a little blonde head tucked under his arm. you swallowed when you saw your student—oliver.

“hi miss y/l/n!”

and suddenly it hit you.

a dark feeling sunk from all the way from your throat to your stomach to the bottom of your toes. your eyes flickered, and a spark of something twisted lit within you. disappointment. you were disappointed with the way you were reacting to this.

a child—oliver was his child. a single father?

or was he married?

old worn t-shirt and unwashed, greasy hair. iced coffee on your thigh. you knew looked like a mess, and you wanted to curse him out for seeing you at some of your worst moments. drunk, late to work. irresponsible. you knew he was thinking it, or at least you thought you did.

he was the opposite of you. older, more mature, more experienced, married with a child. he was above you in a way.

and you were here, young and irresponsible and struggling and still developing irrational crushes like you were in high school. developing irrational crushes on fathers.

for a long charged moment, you just stared at them, spluttering to find the words. but he found them first.

“pleasure to meet you ma’am.”

that low, pitched gruff tone sent a shockwave through you. a familiar low vibrato that rumbled through his chest and into your skin some weeks ago. he said it with aloofness, so serious it almost came off as abrasive. that familiar tug of his lips into that gruff smirk shot a nervous twinge through the pit of your stomach.

“jonathan price.”

you just nodded at his curt introduction, pressing your body to the door behind you, anchoring yourself to the small click of the door closing. for weeks, you had been looking for this man—his stern look, the smell of pine and ash on him, and the broad safety of his shoulders. and now, he had reappeared right before you. and right now, more than anything, you wanted to escape this room and never come back.

you chewed out your name in reply, body practically flattened against the door as your staring contest ensued. with the way he was looking at you—head tilted, eyes narrowed, just a slight pinch in between his strong brows—you wondered if he even remembered you. the expression he was giving you seemed… pained. 

swallowing, the pulse of your heart only rose and thrummed from your fingertips to your toes.

you had almost forgotten your student was still in the room, the innocent look on oliver’s face cutting through the tension spearing the air. the boy waved a small piece of paper above his head, almost falling out of his seat, wobbly, with a lack of coordination that only seven year olds could carry. 

“miss! i drew this for you,” he sang, eyes scrunched in a big teeth-baring smile.

jonathan steaded him with a strong arm looped around his waist as he leaned to you, wiggling the paper between his fingers. you strode over to him, managing a light laugh that bunched at the back of your throat, as you plucked up the drawing and studied it. 

hand in hand with an abstract orange and blue cartoon oliver, the sketch of you dawned an unhealthy shade of green skin and a loud shade of purple hair. a smile tickled your cheekbones, and the brewing mess of emotions in your stomach melted away.

“i love it. thank you, oliver, ” you said, feeling all gooey inside as you moved to pin it to the cork board at the front of the classroom. and as you looked back to smile at a cheery oliver, a blush bloomed up your neck when your eyes flickered to jonathan’s. he was giving you that look again. the one he did at the bar—guarded. heavy-lidded and dark. 

you bit your lower lip, moving to sit beside oliver as you desperately tried to ignore jonathan’s gaze hot on you. you straightened your papers on the table and began recounting oliver’s eventful year as a second-grader. because that’s what you were here for, you reminded yourself like a burrowed tick in the back of your brain. for your profession.

you tucked free strands of hair behind your ears with nervous, twitchy hands.

“oliver’s very proficient at reading and writing. he’s already reading some fourth grade level chapter books.”

you swallowed, lightly pausing, when the scrape of jonathan’s chair against the tiled floor interrupted you. he had moved closer to you, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw one of his arms bracing himself against the table, knee almost brushing against yours. but you kept your eyes trained to the paper in front of you. and he kept quiet. like he always does.

“he’s also doing well in math—maths. some initial trouble with multiplication but he smoothed that out pretty quickly.” you looked up to shoot a smile at oliver, who was puffed up with pride, and you had to resist the urge to reach over and just pat him like he was a puppy.

“overall, he’s doing very well in his academics. just one thing in particular—” your eyes flashed up to take in jonathan’s expression, and he was just staring down at you, and for a moment you wondered if he was even listening to your words, “—is that sometimes we struggle to keep our hands to ourselves in the classroom. we’re quite rambunctious and eager at times.”

his eyes lingered on you, a small smile overtaking his face, a dark twinkle reaching up to touch his eyes. “‘fraid that’s a genetic hand-me-down of the price’s.” he tousled oliver’s hair. “natural-born athletes, per say.”

you hummed, giving him a tight-lipped smile. “look, all i’m saying is that maybe some extra soccer, er football, lessons outside of school could do wonders.”

“soccer, eh?” he raised a brow and you just stared at him.

“yes,” you replied, feeling a flush creep up your cheeks, before tacking on an impromptu: “mr. price.”

a little crease formed between his brows and he huffed a laugh.

“no, no, i get it. we’ll have a chat at home about it, right champ?” jonathan patted oliver’s shoulder and oliver nodded, seemingly undisturbed by your comments.

your pursed your lips, eyes flickering over jonathan’s tight expression. you felt like you had gone wrong somewhere.

“mr. price i—”

“it’s john.” 

he leaned a bit over the table, sliding closer to you, bracing his weight with crossed arms. you could see the warmth of his eyes. the light grayness lacing his beard. you could’ve sworn you felt his gentle breath brush the tip of your nose. you swallowed when his knee brushed against yours beneath the table.

“call me john.”

you nodded wordlessly, eyelids fluttering, as you squeaked out a small john, feeling a bit confused by the mixed signals flying around the room.

after a long moment of him just looking at you with that gaze that sent tremors up your spine, the one that sent embarrassing waves of ache between your thighs, oliver piped up. “can i go play on the carpet, uncle john?”

your eyebrows shot up, eyes flashing to oliver’s, then back at john. you barely murmured under your breath. “uncle?”

he smirked, leaning back, somehow seeming satisfied as he adjusted his beanie. satisfied about what… you didn’t know.

“sure thing, champ.” john nodded at the eager boy, oliver’s sparkling eyes turning to yours for a long moment before you realized that he was asking for your permission too. you huffed a little laugh, waving him off to let him play to his heart’s content.

then, you were shifting in your seat, trying to ignore the heat of john’s gaze on your face. and the silence that filled the small space between you. 

he just kept staring at you, making the blush in your cheeks intensify. you tried to brush the heat away in your face with your fingertips, a bit embarrassed by the tendrils of relief that laxed that tense spot between your shoulder blades. a bit embarrassed by the messy internal panic that had set over you just some minutes ago when you first walked into the room. uncle.

as if sensing it, john tilted his head at you.

“parents aren’t in town. luckily…” he shrugged. “i was.”

you nodded, slowly, chewing your next words just as slowly. a flicker of something darker seeped into your mouth—a flicker of those moments in the past couple of weeks where you were pouring your morning dose of caffeine, quiet and wondering, why his disappearance left a soft space in your heart. and why, in his presence, every ounce of self-control was thrown out the window, overpowered an unsettling sense of longing. want.

“and you’re in town for… how long?”

his lips twitched into a smile, and in a moment of self-indulgence, you let your eyes smooth over his face. it was easy to look at him. comforting. fresh, and relaxing. masculine.

“that’s need to know, ma’am.”

you huffed at little, suppressing the shyness you knew was creeping onto your face. he was teasing you.

you watched his face pass through a range of emotions, tightness, calculation as his eyebrows pinched together, before a rumbling laugh escaped him like a sweet afterthought. his voice was pitched deep and rich with laughter. the sound sent you into the clouds.

“it would be quite irresponsible tellin’ that…” he leaned forward, heat emanating off him in slow rolls, and the breath in your throat locked itself in when a large, warm palm brushed over your thigh. “...to my nephew’s favorite teacher.”

you shifted immediately up into his touch, and he tilted his head, like he was asking for permission. “right darlin’?”

your eyes slid shut, rolls of neediness twisting into a deep ache in your stomach, when his hand made a slow path up your thigh. he stopped just beneath your hip bone, fingers digging into the soft flesh there. your heart shot through your throat, relishing in the way his breath fell over your collarbone, and that familiar musky scent of cigarettes and dark green forest filled your nose.

then, he released you and your eyes shot open.

“right?” he repeated. you blinked up at him.

“depends,” you mumbled, leaning closer to him as if the proximity would intensify the warmth he was filling you with. and his face split into a smile. sweet and soft. a far cry to the onslaught of neediness that was rushing through your pulsing veins.

“god, you are…” he hummed as he trailed off, running a palm over his beard roughly, looking at you with a twinkle in his eyes that you couldn’t even begin to decipher.

suddenly, a childish whine broke the tense air between you. and your eyes fell on oliver, small and forgotten on the carpet. a twinge of guilt twisted in you, because somehow, john always had you falling and folding however he liked with just one glance. he had the power to drain every ounce of maturity out of you—like you were a needy teenager all over again—because you had forgotten that this was still a parent-teacher conference, and poor oliver was being neglected.

“uncle i’m hungry,” he whined, rubbing his tummy and your face scrunched at the adorable image. and whatever intoxicating sexual veil that john draped over you was lifted.

“right. sorry poppet,” john muttered, standing from the table as he moved to take up oliver’s small hand in his bigger one, moving to the classroom door.

you were still frozen in place, his touch on your thigh lingering with a searing heat, and you stared at the pair in a bit of a daze before you remembered yourself and followed them with a bit of a stumble.

you leaned against the doorframe, finding purchase for the slight wobble in your knees, as you cleared your throat, brushing back your hair and tugging at your shirt. the silence was charged, bordering on awkwardness.

for a moment, you thought john was going to walk off without saying anything at all, and you pursed your lips, eyes trained to the floor. disappointed.

but he turned suddenly with that pained expression on his face again, brows pushed together in concentration. calculating.

he looked down at you, the rise and fall of chest following the swell of his steady breaths, and you fisted your shirt in your hands. you thought, if he really wanted to, he was close enough to lean down and press those lips to yours, but you immediately brushed the thought away.

“you ever drink?” he hummed, nonchalant, and you wanted to laugh knowing what happened that night all those weeks ago. his soft lips brushing yours, the prickle of his beard against your cheek, and the strong arms that wrapped around you. and the uninvited ones. a thank you lingers in the back of your head, but you’re too taken aback by his comment to bring it that night. especially not at work. especially not in front of oliver.

your throat felt bone dry. “not on weekdays,” you managed.

he smiled, slowly shuffling away as an impatient and hungry oliver tugged him down the hallway.

“good thing tomorrow’s saturday,” he called out and you bit your lip. he didn’t even have to say when and where—you already knew.

“bye miss y/l/n!” oliver shouted down the hall with a toothy grin, and you waved with a laugh, watching john’s broad silhouette and oliver’s boyish frame grow smaller and smaller.

just before they rounded the corner, john sent you a long look, dark and knowing. it left the warmest feeling twisting in your stomach, filling you whole. the smile that settled on your lips was raw and genuine.

once they disappeared from sight, you leaned your head against the doorframe, closing your eyes dreamily, like a scene out of those corny romantic chick flicks. the ones that your mother used to hate whenever you played them in your cramped childhood living room.

a snort of laughter escaped you at the memory of your mom’s beet red face, turning back to your classroom when, across the hall, in a dark classroom that you thought was empty, a pair of eyes bore into yours.

your voice shook a little as you spoke.

“how much of that did you see?”

and the shit-eating grin that split across sally’s face was enough to make you strangle her.

“oh, i saw everythin’ babes.”

shit.

tag list: @louve-barnes @projectdreamwalker @neoarchipelago

[dollyfl1rt]

check out part one “anyone but you”!

warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, PinV, fingering, oral (f!receiving), overstimulation, flirting and just absolute filth

six months after the amazing hook up in omaha, you were now in kansas occupying yet another dive’s stool.

you were flirting with some guy. don, daniel, darren? one of those names. “so what do you do for work darling?” he questioned as you crossed your legs “i’m a..” how do you explain to someone you’re a hunter “i work for a security company” you lied sipping your beer. ‘dean’s probably to drunk to notice anyway…no his name is…’ you trailed off thinking in your head about the events from that glorious night you did sleep with dean. ‘the dean’ your friends called him.

“well i need a security system installed, you up for it?” don flirted before his hand slid up your thigh. why was he so much like dean? moments prior to your reply, the bar’s door opened. you spun in the stool to see who was also looking for liquid courage and music.

dean and sam.

“speak of the devil” fell from your lips in a low tone “huh?” don asked as you spun back towards the liquor wall, your back now to the new comers of the bar, “hey it was nice meeting you dea- don, i meant don..i’m gonna go before i get any more buzzed” you smiled politely getting up and gathering your purse and jacket. “leaving so soon?” you heard from behind you.

turning on your heels to face the two men “sam..” you nodded towards him then released a sigh before looking over to the man you had slept with “..dean”. you weren’t going to bring up anything from the one night stand forever ago. “you look good…” dean started “better than you left me anyway” he shrugged with a smug grin as you scoffed at the pass he made at the hook up “considering, you left me at three in the morning”

did he have some smart ass reply for everything?

“yeah sorry about that, something came up” you stated putting on your jacket and purse “oh i bet” he nodded his tone sarcastic and a tight lipped smile on his face. jerk “so anyway, we’re going home, you want a ride…in my car i mean?” he asked winking at you.

then and there, you wanted him.

it was probably the stare the two of you shared.

“i can get a cab” you told feeling a humid and heavy breeze as you looked intensely at dean. he looks so..fuckable. you wanted badly to see what he could do with his fingers since seeing him tie different knots with rope.

little did you know he wanted just as badly as you did to show you how talented he was with his hands. well, his middle and ring finger to be exact. god, were you jealous of the silver ring that decorated his finger.

secretly wishing it was your va-

“you sure?” the hunter questioned with a smug look “im sorry if im overstepping just..don’t want my baby in the car with a stranger” was when dan got the hint and scurried off. dean laughed stepping closer to you, sam off doing research on their case “lets go talk in the car, it’s too loud in here” as if that bothered dean.

did you refuse? no. how could you?

11:58 pm

heavy breathing filled the impala along with grunts and moans. “damn it girl” dean growled slapping your ass as you recoiled up and down on his wide cock.

“ngh” you moaned at the feeling before dean ducked his head to your breast, sucking. that only made you draw him in closer by wrapping your arms around his neck. “keep going baby, thats right, grind it out” the man instructed snaking one hand down to rub your clit. “aah- wait, right there..fuck im gonna cum” you expressed for the second time this night.

“ride it right, pretty girl” he pleaded with a grin on his face as he slid himself out of you. you felt so empty “why’d you stop?” you question as he laid you down on the reclined seat of the car then began peppering kisses down your face all the way to your wet cunt.

he kissed it a few times before looking up at you with that same smug grin. that was before he stuck in his two fingers as his nose rubbed against your clit “mm” you whined arching your back and tangling your fingers in his hair.

dean then started licking and sucking your sensitive skin. “let me hear how pretty i make you feel” he demanded finger fucking you.

maybe dreams do come true.

“please dean..” you begged as he understood and increased his pace flicking his tongue faster. “shit” you cried out as his talents made your vagina throb.

“you’re doing so good baby, hold it” he praised before leaning down to rub his tongue against the little ball of nerves between your legs. “please, please dean i ca- i can’t” you begged as your thighs swallowed dean whole and you went into a squirting fit.

“ou fuckk” you moaned quivering whilst dean is pushing your legs open and laughing “atta girl” he grinned toying with your clit a bit more before seeing that your eyes went blurry as he stopped to kiss you.

maybe he was the man of your dreams.

@taylormarieee 💋

[rodeoxqueen]

Warm Little Heavens.

Dante/Reader

Summary: You shower with Dante.

Under the hot water streaming down your face and back is where you and Dante find a little heaven on Earth. After a long day, he’ll come back to your place, exhausted and covered in demon blood.

“Water off at yours?” He finger-guns and nods. You’re in your pajamas, lounging around waiting for him to come back after a “Home in 2 hours. Can I shower at urs?” text you get from him. He wants to scoop you into his arms and give you a big old kiss but he’s unshaven and bloodied.

So he abstains, let in and quick to take off his leather coat on your chair.

“Ugh, I reek.” He says, raising his arms to yawn. You agree, demon blood smelling like absolute filth.

Dante always showers first after a job, getting rid of all the oily impurities of devil gore. He undresses and leaves his clothes in a messy pile on the floor. The water is turned on and steam soon settles on the ceiling from how hot he likes it. Scalding even.

Hands quick to scrub his body down, the streams of water turn from black and crimson to clear. You’re in the bedroom, laying on the bed and watching a sitcom, waiting for Dante to finish up before you join him.

That time comes quickly, and he calls for you.

“Babe, come in before the water gets cold.”

“Of course it’s gonna get cold with you rifling through all my hot water.” You tease.

His sweet voice echoes in the room when you enter, “hey, you’re the one with a working heater.”

“This is true,” you muse, pajamas joining his pile of clothes on the cold tiles.

You can feel the humidity with how hot the water is just from outside the shower. It’s okay, you like a good soak that leaves you with a reddened hue to your skin at times.

As you strip does Dante wolf whistle from his view.

“Move over, doofus.” You sigh at the heat.

Dante is looking down at you in his naked glory, chiseled skin with that dangerous v-line around his hips.

“My eyes are up here, sugar.”

“I know, give me a kiss. I haven’t seen you all day.” He puckers up comedically, interrupting the falling water from wetting your hair and face. Every kiss makes you swoon always.

Clicks of plastic bottles opening and the drip of soap on a loofah, you start to wash yourself, Dante just enjoying the show.

Strong hands trail up your back, little lightning strikes of touch along your skin, tracing to your tired shoulders after a long day of your 9-5. He presses down, massaging your muscles and kissing your neck, stubble tickling you.

“Mmm. I should be massaging you, you’ve been slaughtering demons all day.”

“Just trying to save up to take you out to dinner later this week.”

“Ooh, that sounds nice.”

He chuckles, knowing that there’s that little Italian restaurant that just opened up.

“Yeah, and I can see you wear that outfit again.”

The outfit in question which always ends up thrown in some random corner of your bedroom after a night out.

“Let me scrub your back, Dante.” You offer, holding up the sudsy loofah. It’s your favorite task, hands all over his wide back and his impossibly narrow waist.

He purrs loudly, deafening the sitcom still playing in the bedroom, as you work out the knots in his back.

Dante is so strong but you know like a sword, he could really use some care after a mission. Your boyfriend deserves so much love and care, the world is harsh on his body. Although he can take it, there’s no shame in pampering him.

You put pressure on a rather tight spot, and you feel his body just decompress.

“Ooh you’re killing me baby~”

His moan sends flutters in your stomach.

Afterwards, he squeezes the shampoo bottle into his palm to wash your hair. The air smells of strawberries and lavender.

You lean back to his addicting touch.

Shower time is a long time together and you enjoy it to the fullest, with your lover finally.

It’s a love that makes you greedy, asking more and more of him. Wanting to be so close until you can feel the heat off his skin from how hot the water is.

Dante bends down so you can return the favor, white hair in your hands to clean of spare splashes of blood. You also use your hair mask, knowing he loves how soft and shiny it makes his locks.

Eventually, you’re done and you simply press your face against his chest, positively melting from how comfortable you are with him. Slick skin and firm flesh.

The lovers leave the shower, dripping water on the floor and grabbing their respective towels. Dante wraps the towel around his waist and slicks his hair back, spare droplets descending down his throat. You want to lick them off his skin and taste lust and yearning.

You do your skin care routine side by side, Dante’s considerably less steps than yours. Damn demon genetics keeping his skin so clear.

He does that thing of his again, wrapping his arms around you and kissing up and down your neck and the side of your face. You watch him adore you, his own blue eyes peering at the mirror to see that pleased look on your face. He smells your face cream and lotion, a pheromone of your own that leaves Dante craving of the softer things in life.

You two retire to your room, now both in pajamas. The sitcom credits are rolling and an ad plays after.

Dante practically collapses on the bed, ushering you into his space, your face snuggled close to his chest.

“Grab the remote to turn the lights off.” You ask.

“Where’s it?” You point to the table next to his and he lazily reaches over and shuffles his hand to find said remote to the lights, leaving the LED lights on your ceiling on. He turns off the lights, leaving you in a slow-changing array of colors.

At the same time, you shut off the TV, opting for the ambience of midnight conversation and the outside world.

Bedtime, Dante’s limbs are tangled in yours. In your touch does Dante find himself complete. Your gentle breaths of sleep swiftly taking you sweep him into the lulls of rest too.

There isn’t much in life he asks for, but just these warm little heavens makes all the labor and hardship more than worth it.

[bellaxgiornata]

Borrowed Time |1: Savior|

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Nurse!Fem!Reader Word Count: 2.8k [Series Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+; heavy angst, no happy ending, violence, death, DEAD DOVE (possibly more warnings to come)

Summary: While walking home after your night shift at Metro-General Hospital, you meet the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen by chance when he saves you. Surprisingly, he continues to escort you on your walks home most nights after your shift ends and you offer him medical assistance in return. Eventually a relationship grows between you both, unexpected but strong. Though everything changes one night on your walk home from work when things don't go as usual.

a/n: So this mini series is what happens when I'm asked if I can write angst that doesn't have a happy ending (which I am admittedly struggling to stick to myself). The idea has been rolling around in my head for a couple of months and I'm now finally throwing it out there. Feedback is always appreciated!

Tag List: @1988-fiend @danzer8705

Resting your aching body against the wall, you stayed clear of the doors leading into Metro-General Hospital's emergency waiting area. The room was at its usual capacity for this time of night, most of the plastic chairs already filled with people who looked miserable for one reason or another. Over at the check-in counter you could hear the agitated voice of someone arguing with one of your coworkers, though you were far too tired to focus on what was being said.

From your place inside the hospital, you could already hear the approaching wail of another ambulance's siren, no doubt on its way to deliver someone else to the emergency room from yet another incident this evening. But at least for tonight, you were done worrying about what else was happening in Hell’s Kitchen.

Eyes heavy from the long and understaffed shift you'd just finished, your fingers sluggishly placed a single ear bud into your left ear–the same thing you did every night before you walked back to your apartment building. The unforgiving fluorescent lights above only continued to grow the pounding headache you'd had for over an hour now as your fingers put the small device in place, your other hand already searching inside of your bag for your phone. 

Despite working second shift and finishing up late at night, you always walked home from the hospital. Your apartment was only two blocks away, so paying for transportation seemed like a waste of your hard earned money, and waiting outside for a bus near midnight seemed like an unnecessary danger and a waste of time. 

Truthfully you hated the walk home at the end of every shift. The streets of Hell’s Kitchen were dangerous, there was no doubt about that. Working as an ER nurse certainly gave you enough insight into what things happened in the city once the sun went down. The pepper spray you carried on your keychain was only a mild comfort during your walks, because usually you were still always on edge. So generally, every night on your walk home, you preferred to pop a single ear bud into your ear and listen to some upbeat pop music in an attempt to distract yourself from your own rising levels of fear. You could still hear your surroundings, but listening to cheerful music certainly helped ease your anxiety, making every passing figure appear less like they were about to stab you and run off with your bag.

Pushing off the wall with a tired sigh, you made your way towards the exit. You searched your phone for your usual playlist as you approached the door, pushing it open with your shoulder as you focused on your phone screen. Stepping out onto the sidewalk and into the somewhat humid summer night, you were already hit with that usual sense of unease. The ambulance you’d been hearing finally came into view farther down the street just as you pressed play on your phone. The sound of a familiar song started in your ear, helping to drown out the shrill sound of the sirens.

Turning in the direction of your apartment building, you began your walk back home. As you went, you slipped a hand into your bag, feeling around the bottom of it for a minute. Eventually your fingers landed on your keyring and you pulled it out. Hand curling around the can of pepper spray attached to it, you clutched it close to the front of you, ready to use it if necessary.

Your sore, tired feet protested each step you took along the pavement as you made your way back home. The shoes you always wore to work were in serious need of replacement, the soles of them no longer padded and comfortable anymore, worn down from constant use shift after shift. There was already a blister forming on your little toe from today and you knew it was going to make your shift tomorrow incredibly uncomfortable.

A few minutes into your walk you eventually approached the corner of the block where you needed to turn. You spotted a man appearing around it, headed straight towards you. He was dressed in a dark sweatshirt with his hood pulled up over his head, something that seemed out of place in the heat of the summer night. The man's upturned hood also made it impossible to see his face and whether or not he was paying any attention to you in return. It didn't help that his hands were stuffed into the front pocket of his sweatshirt, making it difficult to tell if something else was stuffed inside of it or not. 

Fear shot through you the closer he neared, his face still obscured. Your fingers curled further around the pepper spray in your hand and you wondered if you'd need to use it. When he came within a few feet of you a moment later, you forced your eyes to stay focused ahead of you, though in your peripheral you kept an eye on him. You held your breath when you finally passed him, continuing to hold it a few seconds longer until you'd made your way around the corner. Glancing back over your shoulder, you were grateful to see the man hadn't turned back around to follow after you. Releasing the breath you'd still been holding, the tension eased from your body just a little. At least whatever he might've been up to tonight, he wasn't interested in you.

Attention returning ahead of yourself, you continued down the street all the way to the crosswalk at the opposite end. Fortunately the light was in your favor and you didn't have to wait on the sidewalk when you reached it, but just as you stepped out into the street to cross it, your can of pepper spray slipped out of your sweat-dampened hands and clattered down onto the street. With a groan you hurried forward into the road after it, wincing as your feet ached at your hurried steps. You'd barely managed to bend down and pluck the keyring from off the pavement before you noticed a bright light out of the corner of your eye. Turning your gaze towards it while still bent in half, it took your brain a few seconds to process that the bright light was a car's headlights–a car that was barreling straight towards you far too fast for the red light it was approaching.

Panic hit you fast and hard, the upbeat song playing in your ear seeming like it had abruptly faded into the background as adrenaline shot through your veins. Feeling as if time had suddenly slowed down, you began to stand upright, prepared to run out of the way of the oncoming car headed straight for you. Though by the time you'd righted yourself, you knew you'd never be able to move entirely out of the way in time. The car was far too close and moving incredibly fast.

You swallowed hard, bracing yourself for the inevitable impact as you attempted to lunge forward in what seemed a useless attempt to dart out of the car’s way. Heart slamming heavily into your ribcage, you found yourself yanked surprisingly and quite sharply backwards. A shriek flew out of your mouth as you stumbled back unexpectedly. In the street before you, the red car zoomed past where you'd been standing just a fraction of a second ago, a harsh wind brushing past you with it.

Breathing hard, you stood there frozen and wide-eyed staring at the space you'd just been standing in moments ago. That car had almost hit you. With how fast it was going, it'd have most likely killed you on impact. Yet somehow here you were still alive and breathing, feeling the buzz of adrenaline in your veins as your heart jack-hammered away in your chest.

It was a few seconds before you registered a pair of arms wrapped around your waist and something solid pressed to the back of you. Glancing down, you saw all black. Black gloves and black long sleeves covering thick forearms. Confused, your head darted up and over your shoulder only to come face to face with a black mask and a deep frown mere inches away from you. Your eyes widened even further the second you registered who it was that had clearly just saved your life. 

The masked man's face shifted down towards your own, his head tilting to the side. His lips twitched at the corners for a moment before he spoke. 

“Are you alright?” he asked.

His voice was lower than you expected it to be, the sound of it causing the hair on the back of your neck to prickle. His arms were still around your waist and it took you a moment to realize it was because he was practically holding you up. Your legs felt weak and useless beneath you as you slowly became aware of them once more.

“I–yeah,” you breathed out. 

Gradually the sensation in your legs came back to you and you carefully tried to shift your weight forward back onto your feet. The masked man loosened his hold around you, though he still kept his hands lightly resting on your waist as if he was ready to catch you if you fell. 

“Should be more careful,” he told you. “And you shouldn't be walking around alone this late at night in Hell’s Kitchen.”

Blinking hard a few times, you ran a hand across your forehead. Your mind was still reeling at almost having been hit by a car and miraculously being saved at the last second, yet here your savior was chastising you. 

“It's not exactly like I make a fortune at Metro-General,” you muttered, voice coming out with less bite than you'd intended. “Can't exactly afford transportation and I can't exactly control being placed on second shift.”

The man's head tilted curiously to the side again, almost as if he was analyzing you. Meanwhile you took the moment to try to calm your still racing heart as you took a shaky step back up onto the sidewalk, his hands leaving your waist as you moved.

“You're a…?”

“Nurse, yes,” you answered stiffly. “Believe me, I don't choose to walk around this late at night for the thrill of it. And it seems counterintuitive to walk a block in the opposite direction of my apartment building just to wait for a bus at a poorly lit bus stop for the length of time it would take me to walk home instead.”

The masked man's lips curled into something like an amused grin as he stepped up onto the sidewalk beside you. Your eyes narrowed back at him suspiciously, one hand resting on your chest over your still rapidly pounding heart.

“For someone clutching a can of pepper spray in a death grip, you sure have a lot of fire,” he mused. “Generally people are more grateful when I save their life.”

“Yeah, well, generally when I'm helping to save someone's life, I'm significantly less rude about it,” you retorted. 

His grin shifted into a full-on smile, one that was oddly disarming considering he'd just been scolding you. Feeling a little awkward for snapping at him, especially because he had just pulled you out of the way of certain death, you crossed your arms over your chest. 

“But thank you,” you continued. “You uh, you saved me. That car certainly would have hit me if you hadn't pulled me out of the way. I just…wasn't expecting the lecture that came with the rescue.”

He laughed lightly, nodding his head. Once more you eyed him suspiciously, not having expected his sudden shift in demeanor to something more friendly so quickly.

“Usually the people I'm rescuing aren't already walking around in a state of panic,” he said, gesturing a gloved hand towards your pepper spray. “Figured maybe you didn't fully understand the dangers of this city after dark. Besides the cars, I mean.”

“Believe me,” you assured him, “I'm well aware of the dangers. Working in the ER has shown me far more of this part of the city than I care to see sometimes.”

“Then how about I walk you back to your building?” he asked. “Just to make sure you get home safe?”

Your hands fidgeted with your keyring, nervously toying with a key as you contemplated his offer. Was it safe enough to trust him? Especially to lead him back to your building where you lived? 

Of course you'd read about the masked man in the paper a few times by now–The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen they'd taken to calling him lately. You'd also seen a few of his victims firsthand enter your hospital in quite poor shape on more than one occasion. But he always seemed to help those in need, never brutally beating an innocent person. And never killing anyone, either. 

Plus, he had just saved your life.

As he shifted on the sidewalk during your contemplative silence, the streetlight above caught his dark pants at a different angle. Your eyes dropped down, noticing the cut along the outside of his thigh. There was a slash a few inches deep down the side of his leg that had torn through his pants. You winced at the sight, raising a hand and pointing a finger at the injury.

“Maybe I should walk you back to the hospital,” you offered. “That gash looks like it could use stitches.”

The vigilante shook his head, waving a gloved hand at you. You immediately frowned at the gesture as you glanced back up at his masked face. 

“Nah,” he replied. “I don't do hospitals. I'll just clean it and stitch it myself later. I’ll be fine.”

Your mouth fell open instantly as you stared at him in utter disbelief. Was he serious?

“So what, you're just going to continue walking around like that the rest of the night?” you asked him. “Aggravating the injury and risking infection?”

“I'll be fine,” he repeated. “Now, would you like me to escort you back home, or would you prefer to continue clutching that little can of pepper spray for protection instead?”

Standing there for a moment, you stared at him in bewilderment. Who the hell was this guy? Avoiding medical attention and pulling strangers out of the way of speeding cars just in the nick of time? How had he even been close enough to stop that car from hitting you? And then here he was having the audacity to joke with you after the fact?

Eventually your eyes dropped back down to the gash in his leg, bright red blood glistening along his dark pants in the streetlight. Maybe it was the nurse in you or maybe it was because he had just saved your life, but you found yourself speaking before you could think through what you were saying. 

“You can walk me back to my place and let me tend to that gash,” you told him. “Because you'd be an absolute idiot to keep walking around with an open, bleeding wound.”

The Devil smiled wide beneath his black mask at your response. You couldn't deny that he had a nice smile, whoever the hell he was.

“Bossy,” he teased. “That was certainly unexpected. I suppose that'll just make for an interesting walk to your place then.”

You rolled your eyes at him before gesturing him to follow after you with a hand. “Come on, Spirit Halloween,” you ordered. “My place is just a block further this way. And you better not pass out from blood loss on the way,” you warned him, beginning to cross the street and continuing to make your way back towards your building. “Because I can guarantee I am too damn tired to carry your ass anywhere.”

Behind you, the Devil rumbled out a laugh. Biting your lip, you tried to fight back a smile at the pleasant sound. He certainly didn't seem like much of a threat to you at least.

“Spirit Halloween?” he asked, amused.

“Yeah,” you replied off-handedly as you double-checked for speeding cars while you made your way across the street. “Because you look like a knock-off version of a child’s Halloween ninja costume dressed like that.”

Slipping your pepper spray back into your bag, you heard the masked man let out another surprised, warm laugh. The smile slipped onto your face at the sound this time and you were glad he couldn’t see it. Though you knew if it wasn’t for this curious stranger now following you home, you'd surely have been dead minutes ago. It was almost as if you'd been given a second chance because of him, and you figured the least you could do now was repay his kindness with some of your own.

[solarwonux]

Business Proposal || knj (7/?)

pairing: namjoon x f!reader || ex friends to lovers!au friends to lovers!au

Genre: fluff, angst, smut, slow burn, fwb!au, non idol!au, unrequited love

Warnings: slow burn, angst,

Rating: mature, 18+

w.c: 5.8k

Synopsis: Namjoon is living on borrowed time, and it’s time to cash in. His father is months from taking his last breathe and his life long dream is to watch his oldest son say “I do.”

a/n: hello hello hellooooo, this one is more of a filler one to get everything started. Still, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. lmk your thoughts and if you want to be added to the tag list!

m.list || series m.list || wattpad

prev || next

10 years ago

The first time you ever met Kim Namjoon, the leaves were just beginning to change in color. The fall season was approaching. The greens of the summer were slowly fading into vibrant autumn hues. Replacing the obnoxious sticky heat, for humid and cooler winds. The leaves still hadn’t fallen, the foliage was at its peak and you were desperately trying to stay afloat. 

Somehow, you had gotten roped into a math class. Well, you weren’t necessarily roped into it. You were forced into it. It was part of the prerequisite requirements and because you had barely passed all of your Algebra exams in high school, you couldn’t plead the advisory board to accept those credits. They would’ve just laughed in your face and sent you away with a list of professors who specialized in the devil made subject. 

Now, you had hoped that college algebra was a bit easier, after three weeks of a summer intensive course you were proven wrong. You weren’t necessarily failing, but you weren’t passing either. Though, in a panic-induced state full of hope you had done the math - ironic, and came to the conclusion that if you didn’t pass the final exam, you wouldn’t be able to move onto part two of the class. 

If you had done things differently, you would’ve taken the classes at the start of your degree, just as your academic advisor had suggested. You didn’t and now you are two semesters away from a beautiful bachelors degree in arts. Achieving an impressive double major in Writing and Rhetoric and Journalism with a minor in International Communications, along with a tasteful three point nine GPA. 

You were almost there. You could savor it as you looked into master degree programs. The looming debt of your student loans was the least of your worries. At least for now. If you didn’t pass the stupid final exam, in one of the easiest math classes you could ever take in college. You would be growing a larger hole in your loan repayment agreement with the prestigious HYBE U. 

At this point you were desperate. Almost to the point in which you considered cheating. A blaspehmous thought that you only ever had in high school during science labs. Those gizmos computer stimulations were a quizlet file away, and the sweet taste of victory was even closer. 

Yet, quizlet wouldn’t work out in this scenario and finally you caved, putting away your pride for a little bit to admit that you needed help. 

A math tutor was the best option for you. Lots of college kids were desperate for another quick buck along with their less than promising part time jobs, while they struggled with juggling school in the process. You only hoped that the ad you posted on the HYBE U facebook group would workout, even if it had been a week ago and still hadn’t gotten any engagement. 

Maybe it was time to accept the truth, what’s one more extra semester. Sure, it interferes with your descriptive five year plan, but you could somehow modify it. Right?

Wrong? So very wrong. 

You needed a tutor quick. Probably in the next hour or so, because you refused to step foot in another math class again. Your life revolved around your rhetorical readings, feminist discoverings in Ancient Greece. You loved research, writing papers on things you found interesting, and developing a new perspective to already made discoveries. It was a rush. Not necessarily the writing part - it was tedious and sometimes you wondered why you even decided to pursue writing in the first place; but the sense of achievement and the ego boost you got when you typed the final sentence and the final period was euphoric. To then scroll through twenty plus pages of times new roman double spaced text that came from your brain, was a thrill. And one you would never achieve when it came to math. 

Ugh!

“You good there?” You knew that voice. It was all too familiar. You had spent countless hours sitting in a lecture hall with him telling you jokes and writing you notes retelling you the rumors he heard about your math professor.

So, maybe, your total inability to see patterns when it came to numbers wasn’t completely your fault. But the fault of the raven haired, toothy smile of the muscle bunny that you had befriended in both your science lab and college algebra courses.

You lift your head up to see Jungkook with his head cocked to the side. His right eye was a bit swollen due to the sty he had developed from scratching his eye too much with his dirty germy hands. So, he had to opt to wear his glasses, his right eye lens was a bit thicker than the left, making his eyes look a bit disproportionate. If you weren’t aware of how successful he was at getting around with both women and men you would’ve thought otherwise, due to his geeky look and fascination with RPG games. 

You groan, messing your hair with your silver ring cladded fingers. “No offense but math is the worst subject in this entire world. Why do we need it? I’m not going to use it to calculate the circumference of the can of beans I’m going to buy at the grocery store. Nor will I use the pythagorean theorem to measure the circumference of my pizza.” You rant, glancing at the time and closing your laptop. 

Your self study session was unsuccessful because all you did was refresh the facebook page hoping someone would take your twenty dollars an hour offer. 

Yes, you were incredibly desperate, even considering upping the price to appeal to more money hungry college students. 

“The fact that you’re using geometry terminology regarding a simple college algebra class tells me everything I need to know.” He grins, partially leaning his body to the side, resting his weight on the umbrella handle he was carrying. 

Fuck, you forgot it was going to rain today. 

Your day couldn’t get any worse. 

“Anyway, I’m guessing the tutor search isn’t working?”

“Bingo,” you snap your fingers at him before proceeding to gather the rest of your stuff. 

This was the part you dreaded the most. The agonizing walk to your math lecture. Honestly, if it weren’t for Jungkook consistently meeting up with you in the cafe that connected to the hallway in the math building to walk to class together. You would’ve probably never turned up after the first class. Hence why you’re not in a sinking boat. Just a partially sinking boat. 

Jungkook sighs, scratching the back of his head, watching you scoot out of the booth. He wishes he could offer you more help other than moral support and a few ‘You can do it,’  air punches. But between his computer science classes, and increasing doubt regarding his degree plaguing his mind, he’s found himself with zero free time.  

That’s when he remembers something. A small passing comment made on his way to bathroom last night as he was getting ready for bed. Maybe he does have a way to help you. His face lights up, alerting you. 

“What, why do you look like you’ve just seen a cheesecake on sale?” You adjust the strap of your leather bag, against your shoulder and make your way to his side, eyeing his umbrella. 

Would it be weird to ask him to walk you home after class? 

Shaking your head at the thought, a problem for later, you decide.

You shift your gaze to meet his. He’s biting the inside of his cheek and you’ve never been so desperate at knowing what goes on in that questionable head of his. He also never takes this long to say something. Once a thought pops into that head of his head, it's out in seconds because he’s afraid he might lose it. 

You can thank his ADHD for that one. 

“I think I might know someone who’s free on Tuesday and Thursday evenings that can probably help you out.” He squints, nodding his head, and you feel your mood turn right side up. 

You knew befriending Jungkook would end up benefiting you one day. Though, you do feel a little bit irritated, couldn’t he have told you this wonderful news, um, I don’t know a week ago as you two sat in this exact same booth, while he watched you make the stupid facebook post. 

You shove him a little, his umbrella buckling under his weight and he stumbles a bit, shock written all over his face. “What was that for?” He complains, taking a hold of his right arm in mock hurt. 

“You’ve seen me suffer and you’re now just telling me that you magically happen to know someone who can tutor me this entire time.” You huff, shoving past him, glancing at your phone screen for the time. Class was in five minutes, unfortunately.

“That’s not necessarily true.” He speaks from behind you, and you throw him a glare making him buckle under the pressure. The dramatics. He’s only been your friend for almost four weeks, but he’s already gotten used to you and he knows he’s hit a vein, and that you’re so stubborn any explanation wouldn’t work. It is always worth a try. 

“Okay maybe that’s true, but they’re pretty busy and I just assumed he would have a full schedule and no time to tutor you.” He explains, keeping up with your steps. The two of you arrive in front of the lecture hall with a minute to spare, you take it upon yourself to open the door, revealing the room full of stressed induced faces, quietly whispering to each other. 

You shake your head at Jungkook’s explanation, making your way to your usual seats. In the middle but on the outside for a quick escape if ever needed. “How do you even know this person? I thought you only had two friends.” You place your bag gently onto your desk and sit down. 

“Actually, including you, I have three friends.” 

“My friends don’t count either.” 

Jungkook rolls your eyes and slumps down next to you, spreading his legs wide, taking up all his leg room and part of yours. God, he was such a guy. 

“Do you want my help or not?” He says in feigned annoyance. 

You unzip your bag, fishing out your pencil and notebook, while he takes out his laptop. You could never understand how he was able to take math notes on a computer, but he was the self proclaimed computer genius. Well, his straight A’s in all of those freakishly hard classes were also proof, so, there must be a method to his madness. 

You sigh, setting your bag down in the empty seat next to you. “Fine, yes, please, my perfect Jungkook. I’m desperate, put me out of my misery.” You plead, hands clenched in front of you as the hushing of the students dies down, and the greeting of your Spanish accent written professor echoes throughout the class. It’s your cue to shut up and hopefully pay attention. 

“First, don’t ever say things like that.” Jungkook begins, leaning in closer to whisper, “it’s weird.” He says in disgust–the audacity. “Second, do you have plans after class?” He finishes leaning away and opening up a new blank document on his laptop. 

You shake your head at his question and click down on your mechanical pencil. You were determined to at least understand one thing in today’s lesson. Jungkook doesn’t answer, your professors voice booming throughout as he begins the lesson of the day, and you’re distracted in seconds by the light tap on your shoulder. 

You look over at your friend, his laptop screen turned in your direction so you can read the tiny invitation written in cosmic sans font. He’s a child. 

Come with me to Serendipity after class and thank me later :p

You look up at him rolling your eyes at the ending emoji. A child indeed. But you nod in agreement, you don’t know what or who is at Serendipity. Except for a solution. At least that is what you hope for because there’s a reason why you haven’t  stepped foot in there since childhood, despite Jungkook raving about it time and time again. The overpriced vanilla lattes is the main reason why. 

Yet, desperate times come along with desperate measures. And if you need to drop a couple more on your favorite caffeinated drink in order to pass math. Then so be it. 

Serendipity stood in between two worlds. It separated the lively college town from the perfect four person familial neighborhood. On weekday afternoons it was mostly frequented by college students who needed a change in scenery or remote workers with their bangs still in rollers and their eyes puffy from sleep. On Friday nights it was home to young adults grabbing dessert after a fulfilling dinner or a late caffeinated drink for a long night out. Tired office workers, likely forced to attend a company dinner, usually took up the long tables in the back wall of the first floor. 

Sunday’s were a favorite at Serendipity, young families would come from different parts of town to enjoy a late brunch. And morning runners would waltz in for a late caffeine kick before the strenuous work out around the lake that offered the cafe it’s  most famous view. 

Dionysus Lake.

Just as its name implies. The lake was a place for celebration, festivities, and madness. It’s where everything would happen for the first time. Your first fall, your first scrape. The graduation ground from a four wheeled bike to a two one. The first time you saw your crush outside of school. The first time you held hands with someone and the downfall of your first friendship with your childhood best friend—Sabrina. I was the breeding ground of impulsive decisions like getting drunk on the steps that led to the bank. With beer and soju you had gotten because you paid a broke college student scrambling in between odd jobs to buy them for you. The breeding ground of many triple dog dares and the place in which you decided what your future would be like. 

It was a right of passage from childhood to teenagehood and finally adulthood. 

It’s where couples that beat the test of time go to enjoy their last moments of humanity. Both the cafe and the lake are full of nostalgia, and so famous that it now became a must see spot from people all over the city. With inflation and the influx of people both the cafe and the lake were places you and your family had started to frequent less, until eventually it was out of your minds completely and the longing for just a fleeting moment to visit before the chaos was gone.

That is until today. 

Everything had changed so much. The rustic decor was now replaced with a mixture of antiques and plants hanging from every possible surface. The windows were now floor to ceiling and they opened up to a very cooling outside patio, where you could enjoy the view of the famous lake. They had even expanded to a second floor, and added a rooftop with fiery lights and wooden tables. It basically looked nothing like what you had grown up with and more like a pinterest board of garden core had thrown up on it. 

It also had more menu options, and gone was your favorite blueberry and mint tea you and your mom would enjoy whenever your anxiety spiked to levels in which you could not control. Everything had been replaced with something more expensive and trendy. A complaint that had been surrounding the cafe for years by everyone who grew up inside the walls. Though you hadn’t really believed it until now because you were finally working up the courage to see it for yourself. And the one thing you can only really think about—apart from the overpriced vanilla latte you had just paid for—was how could a place so familiar feel so unfamiliar at the same time. 

“Hobi always gives me a discount when I come.” Jungkook throws into the wind while he plays with the white buzzer in his hand. 

Unlike you, Jungkook and his family—from what you have gathered—were regulars. As soon as he arrived every worker greeted him with a warm smile and a simple hand wave. Some had added a mention of seeing his mom earlier. And if you hadn’t been convinced, the barista with the high nose bridge, sporting the floral shirt, a bright yellow beanie and khaki pants had already inputted his order before Jungkook could mutter the words “iced americano with a splash of vanilla syrup please.” 

“I’m sorry who?” You move your head closer, eyeing the way his hands wrapped around the buzzer. Desperately hoping for it to ring because although it was almost three and you probably shouldn’t really be drinking any form of caffeine at this time. Your body desperately needs something to keep you alert. Especially now that you were meeting your classmate's brother for the first time. 

A brother who could possibly save you from failing your college algebra class. He had told you a little about him. Apparently, he wasn’t really his brother, but his mother remarried his father when Jungkook was young, so to make matters easier for everyone involved. He would just introduce him as his older brother. He called him Joon and he was currently working on his masters in philosophy. A real pretentious nerd if someone were to ask you. They lived together in an apartment just outside of the college town, and according to Jungkook, who you have noticed likes to input his opinion where it really doesn’t matter. He was still a virgin, because he lived and breathed philosophy like one of those weird philosophers from ancient times. The only thing he needed was a laurel crown and a toga. 

His words not yours. 

Basically he didn’t really do a very good job at painting a good image of his older brother. And you were already having some negative opinions regarding him because you have dealt with a handful of pretentious boys in many of your classes that you really didn’t feel like adding another one to the mix. But again, you’ll push your preconceived notions aside. This was for your four point zero GPA and your five year plan. One more insult to your psyche and intelligence wouldn’t hurt.

Right? 

“The one that rang us up. He gave you one too, vanilla lattes are usually seven and you only paid six.” He points out before jumping at the sound of the buzzer going off. “I’ll get it.” He smiles standing up faster than you can protest, and walking off to the pick up counter. 

It’s strange that the two of you became friends or clicked so well. And you like to think that it was mainly because you shared a few classes more than anything else. He was a little energizer bunny, a right arm sprinkled with a few tattoos and a scar right above his eyebrow where a piercing had been. You were not far from the opposite, but you did have a social battery that would often run out before the end of the day. You valued the quiet and apart from the many earrings decorating your ears and the hot pink peekaboo dye job you had your mom do. You were deathly scared of needles and didn’t look nearly as rebellious as Jungkook did, even with his stupid nerdy glasses. 

“Hobi gave us cookies, on the house.” Jungkook says as he sets down the tray in front of you. “I think he might want your number.” He adds with a nonchalant tone before taking up his previous seat and getting a head start at setting the table.  

You tilt your head in confusion as he pushes a plate with a matcha cookie your way. “You’re talking nonsense. I heard you ask for a chocolate chip cookie before you paid.” You roll your eyes, grabbing your tall glass of coffee. 

Jungkook rolls his eyes, pushing the brown tray to the side. “I ordered a cookie but I didn’t order two.” He points to your cookie. “Plus he couldn’t take his eyes off you while you ordered.” He finishes and takes a long sip of his drink. He finishes with a refreshed ah and smacks his lips together in satisfaction. 

The drama. 

That’s probably another thing the two of you did have in common. You’re both dramatic in your own ways. Something the two of you discovered about each other two weeks into knowing one another. It was a long story that involved a stubbed toe and a papercut. One that wasn’t worth reminiscing about now because it added nothing to both of your lives. 

“I doubt that Kook, he’s just doing his job and he knows you.” You raise a finger at him and you take a long awaited sip of your coffee. 

Jungkook crosses his arms in front of you. “Okay then why did he ask me if you were single.” He adds in a matter of fact way. Cocking an eyebrow to prove his point. 

You narrow your eyes at him and kick him under the table. He recoils in pain, whispering explicits to not draw any more attention to the two of you. “You’re lying and I know you’re lying because I saw you order another cookie when you went to pick up our drinks.” You say leaning in closer so he can hear your whispering. 

Here’s the thing. Jungkook has been trying to set you up with every guy he deems is cute. You on the other hand are not interested, mostly because you’re still young with your whole life ahead of you. And right now the only thing that matters is your degree. 

What’s the rush?

He pouts, uncomfortably cradling his shin. “Fine, he didn’t give you a cookie on the house, but he did say you were cute. And he’s a nice guy. My brother is friends with him and he’s really funny.” 

You sigh, breaking a piece from your cookie. “I'm happy to hear that but you know that’s not a priority of mine now.” 

Jungkook rests his elbows onto the table and leans forward. “Have you ever heard of a work- life balance?” Because all you do is work and you should be out and partying. Your twenties are supposed to be full of fun.” 

“I do have fun, Jungkook.” You point out, putting the piece of cookie into your mouth before crossing your arms in annoyance. If you had a coin for every time someone in your life tried having this exact same conversation with you, then you’d probably be able to afford more of these over priced lattes. 

Jungkook sits back with his arms crossed, tonguing the inside of his cheek in suspicion. Sure, he’s only known you for a short amount of time, but every time he sees you around campus or meets up with you. You have your head buried in either a book or your fingers are flying across your laptop keyboard. He’s positive you don’t know how to have fun. 

“Fine name one instance in which you are not doing school work.” He challenges 

“My friends and I have board game nights every Wednesday and Sunday night.” 

Jungkook sits up a bit straighter, a look of shook written all over his face. “Wait, you actually have friends.” He says before lifting a hand to cover his mouth in disbelief. 

Before he can stop you, you kick his shin one more time and this time harder than the first time. This is exactly why you are surprised you’ve chosen to be friends with him. Sometimes he could get under your skin by just existing. 

“You know I have friends, Jungkook. You’ve hung out with them.” 

He doesn’t answer, instead he nods his head while he once again cradles his shin in pain. Maybe he crossed the line this time. He met Taehyung and Jimin more than once. And from what he was able to gather in the few times he’s hung out with the three of you. Is that Jimin might have a huge crush on you and Taehyung’s jokes aren’t nearly as funny as you make them out to be. Still, he thinks they’re cool. 

“Sorry I’m late, I missed my bus.” An unfamiliar voice speaks up and it makes the man in front of you sit up so straight you’re positive he’s going to break his back.

You raise a brow in confusion before turning your head to look towards the person who has the energizer bunny fix his posture and shut his mouth. 

The first thing you see is the flowy khaki pants, then his simple t-shirt topped with a blue and white checkered flannel. And finally your eyes land on his face, and the black framed glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. His hair hides under a navy beanie and your mouth almost falls open in disbelief. 

Holy fuck, wait a second. This is the man Jungkook was describing. The nerd of a brother who could possibly still be a virgin and has his nose stuck in philosophy textbooks? Out goes your preconceived notions of the man in front of you and now you’re downright confused because this man was hot and reeked of chillaxed energy. He probably owns a few plants, and bike rides on the weekend and visits a few buddhist temples for the experience. 

Nobody says anything as the man—which you perceive is now Joon—slides into the spot next to Jungkook’s. He hasn’t really looked in your direction, except for the short glance he sent your way when he first appeared. 

Jungkook scoffs in annoyance as he scoots over making it a huge show like it’s inconvenient for him to move over. “This is Joon.” 

“Namjoon.” The older one corrects before he extends his hand for you to shake. You hesitate for a second before shaking it and telling him your name. 

He nods, retrieving his hand and sets it down on his lap. There’s a brief silence as he looks in between you and Jungkook probably trying to make sense of the situation himself because if you were being honest you’re still stunned yourself. Though you know Jungkook and his brother aren’t blood related you can’t help but feel like good genes simply run in the family somehow.

Namjoon shrugs once he’s silently done making his assumptions and sets his arms on the table, clasping his hands together. In an instant his face is replaced from a pleasing and welcoming one to one that screams he’s honestly here for business and not to fuck around. 

“Are you the one that Jungkook tells me needs help?” He questions, earning a jab from the younger one. He doesn’t react and instead keeps going. “Have to ask because he’s been trying to set me up on blind dates thanks to our mom, so if this is what this is then I’m sorry but I’m not interested.” He nods before leaning back. Joon, or Namjoon doesn’t let you respond before he stands up and walks towards the order counter. There you see him greet the same barista who you now know is Hobi thanks to Jungkook. 

You don’t linger on his figure before you turn to face Jungkook. Who looks mortified beyond belief and you can’t help but laugh because things are simply just making sense. All of Jungkook’s backhanded praises involving his brother made so much more sense. He did mention he was an asshole but you just assumed that was a simple sibling thing. No, he was most definitely right. And he fit more into the description you had once assumed before even meeting him, minus the typical nerd look you had conjured up with the brief descriptions Jungkook had provided. He was hot, and could probably crack your heart open into two, but he was exactly like those pretentious classmates you’ve had the unfortunate pleasure of encountering all throughout your degree. But for some reason you aren’t as bothered by it, because in a way it was hilarious. 

Jungkook whines, “He can’t even try to be nice for a little bit.” 

You throw your head back laughing even harder, while Jungkook continues to grumble underneath his breath in annoyance. You laugh until your stomach begins to hurt and until someone clears their throat making your giggles die down slowly. 

“Why is Hobi giving out free cookies?” He points out before setting his tray down and taking up the seat next to his brother again. To which Jungkook silently gestures to the cookies and you as if to prove his earlier point. Namjoon rolls his eyes at his brother's actions before turning to face you. 

“He also told me to give you his number but I told him that I didn’t know you and that if he wanted your number he should just ask you himself.” He shrugs, taking a sip of his dark liquid and making the same satisfied noise Jungkook had made earlier. 

Ah, maybe dramatics also run in the family. 

You stir the liquid of your latte with your straw. “Um thanks I guess.” You take a sip of your drink as he nods. 

The atmosphere is so awkward that you want the entire cafe to fall through a hole in the ground. The three of you are silent before Jungkook’s phone lights up and starts buzzing. He quickly grabs it and silences it before standing up. “Sorry, I have to go. I forgot I had this thing to do.” He says inconspicuously before grabbing his book bag and throwing it over his shoulder.

You scramble eyes going wide as he adjusts the straps and straightens his black long sleeve. “Wait where are you going? I thought we had plans after this.” 

Jungkook bites his lip, silencing his buzzing phone again when it goes off a second time. “Sorry Bun, I have to really go, it's important. I’ll see you at home Joon.” He salutes before basically running out of the cafe. 

“Typical.” Namjoon catches your attention and rolls his eyes. “I knew he had something planned when he asked me to meet him here last minute. I’m really sorry about him but I’m really not interested in dating right now.” He says before grabbing hold of his bag and going to stand up. 

Your body is filled with panic as you watch him. You do have a few choice words for the person that just ditched you with his brother. But this could be your last resort and you weren’t going to let him walk away. “Wait.” You extend your arm in his direction. He stops slipping on his bag and raises a brow at you in curiosity. 

“I actually do need help. I’m close to failing my college algebra course…well I will fail it if I don’t pass the final exam.” You begin to explain, finally grabbing his full attention as he stuffs his hands into the pocket of his pants. “Jungkook mentioned you could probably help out.” You bring down your hand, circling both of them around your watered down latte. “That’s why I’m here. I promise this isn’t a blind date or anything.” 

Namjoon nods, looking at the entrance before sitting down again, sighing, his shoulders relaxing instantly. And you’re once again met with the same nonchalant demeanor he had approached you and Jungkook. Once again things started to make sense, why he had made the switch so quickly. It was something he was probably so used to by now, but now as he adjusts himself in the seat in front of you. You can see that maybe he could not really be that bad. 

“In that case I can stay.” He grins, pushing his iced coffee to the side. “I should warn you I’m not the best when it comes to math but college algebra is easy so I can help you out.”

You let out a big sigh of relief and nod your head. “Thank you so much you don’t understand how much you’re already helping me out by agreeing.” 

Namjoon chuckles lightly before reaching into his side bag and taking out a plain black notebook with a pen. “In that case we should figure out our schedules.” He opens the notebook to a blank page and uncaps the pen. “Does Tuesday and Thursday at seven work for you?” He tilts his head in question. 

You nod rapidly. “That’s perfect for me.” 

He hums and writes down your name with the agreed days and times next to it. He closes it quickly and puts it in his bag. “Great, I'll see you next Tuesday.” 

That’s it? It was that easy? Then why the heck did it take such a long time for someone to respond to your Facebook post. Especially when you had increased the payment. 

Payment. Oh you had forgotten about it, and from

What it seems like so did Namjoon because he was already getting ready to go again. 

“Wait.” 

He stops, eyeing you in confusion but you decide to continue. “How much do you charge?” 

Namjoon opens his mouth and closes it quickly. He puts a pensive hand on his chin before snapping his fingers in front of him. “I think you’re the one Jungkook mentioned about studying writing.” 

“Writing and Rhetoric.” You correct before he can continue going. He nods in acknowledgment.

“Yeah, that’s what he said. I’m sure he mentioned what I was studying and if I’m being honest I hate revising my own writing. So, instead of paying me in money you can just revise my work in exchange for tutoring lessons.” He offers with a shrug. 

You would be a fool to not take up this magnificent offer, so quickly you agree, extending your hand for him to shake. He takes it and for a second you swear you feel your heart drop down to your belly from just his touch. But you brush it off quickly when he retrieves his hand. It’s probably just the caffeine anyway. 

“Great, it’s a pleasure doing business with you.” He smiles, and this time it is wide enough in which you can see his cute little dimples. “See you on Tuesday.” 

Before you can respond with the same statement he’s already rushing out of the cafe. Leaving you alone in the booth, with three unfinished iced coffees and cookies. 

You can’t really make out anything, just that this was probably the longest day of your life. And that unbeknownst to you, you can slightly feel the light crack in the corner of your heart. One that you will later on learn was the moment Namjoon had started to infiltrate it.

hope you liked it!

[beanghostprincess]

Adding on to generalized chronic pain issues, specifically Devil fruit users-

The human body is about 60% water.

There's water in bone too, sorry Brook, no saving yourself there.

DF users have to keep up on hydration, but what if their inability to tolerate water includes ANY kind of water.

Luffy v Crocodile last fight in Alabasta, fighting with his blood - it affected him.

Tears? Big impacts.

Humidity? Rain? Storms? The affects are relatively minor but they are Still There. Most DF users, after an overexposure to water/rain/heavy humidity, will at best have a slight headache. At worst? Those old wives tales of staying out in the rain leading to sickness are REAL.

With my Buggy obsession, I am leaning heavily into impacts to him and those around him. So Buggy's immune system is WACKED out, both bc hus nervous system never quite got with the program of his powers and genetic predisposition. It's one of the reasons he got sick just before Laugh Tale. Fevers weren't uncommon for him AT ALL which is why none of the other Rogers were very concerned.

Shanks, though? He knew. He and Buggy had a whole ass SYSTEM for dealing with it. ((A system he drunkenly regaled Mihawk with often enough for the swordsman to have it committed to memory.))

Buggy studies medicine a bit, and so any Devil fruit users on Karai Bari have a specialty medicine made specifically with their abilities, biology, etc, in mind - including Crocodile. He doesn't let them suffer alone, bc he knows how it is and he refuses to let any of HIS be subjected to that.

Buggy just also doesn't reach out himself when he isn't doing well - enter Mihawk being like "Hello, I - stop screaming - I brought you your tea. Shanks waxed poetic about your teas for hours. Yes, I am aware of the time. No, I do not care that you are under dressed. Lay back down. I brought medicine for your headache."

Cue goth swordsman awkwardly going through the motions of caring for a sick, needy but very hesitant clown. And eventually he even finds the other... rather cute, all sleepy and smiling and soft spoken.

Gross.

Crocodile eventually catches on and swings by, intending to bully Buggy a bit, but then he ALSO get charmed and reminded of the balms for his scars, the specialty drinks Buggy had made for him, and he just... can't.

It becomes p normal when Karai Bari has a higher humidity level or rain incoming for even the regular, standard officers to remind the DF users among them to take it easy, not push it, and it's silly and over the top bc they can't he expected to do anything less.

((Bonus silly idea, Buggy is out helping with muscle work before a big storm hits, even the typical human mercs can feel the moisture in the air, and one dude just. Scoops Buggy up, all sunshine smiles like "let us handle this, Chairman Buggy! Someone as incredibly kind and courageous as yourself can rest easy with us here!"

Buggy is both flattered, offended and flustered in one go. Flattered bc "oh they DO care...", offended bc this guy did NOT just baby him did he???, and flustered bc aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaBeingHeldHELP?????

Croc would either choke on his cigar or just scoop buggy up from the other guy like "i got this, carry on"

Mihawk thought would probably shatter his wine glass, expressionless, and grab n go.

No they are NOT jealous, no they did NOT think the blush was cute on their clown- THE CLOWN, no, everyone shut up, the rain is getting to their heads, fuck off.))

This is awesome. The whole concept about DF users being affected by regular water too is great because it just adds more angst to the whole thing and it becomes more of a risk to eat the fruits. Gonna skip directly to the Cross Guild thing and say that I am SO soft and weak for Croc and Mihawk to end up smitten by Buggy somehow when they weren't planning on it. And they're so protective and take care of him and,,,, That's their boyfriend idc idc idc.

[wordy-little-witch]

I need a little sweetness rn so more age regression stuff with regressor Buggy

• upon Cross Guild starting, Buggy had no intentions of telling Mihawk or Crocodile about his regression. It was a vulnerability he wasn't even remotely comfortable sharing with them.

Over time, they eventually start warning up to one another, and things settle down. Mihawk then asks if the island is haunted. When Buggy, confused, says no, Mihawk just guns softly. When asked why he's wondering, he tells Buggy that "on occasion, I will sense a young presence. It's never definitive, and I have yet to he able to find them, but the energy comes and goes rather frequently. It's faint, as if suppressed. I worry for any child who has had to learn such a habit."

Buggy is SWEATING but also kind of... tender, too? Like he never realized he suppressed his signature even regressed, though it's not a surprise to him. Also, Mihawk admitting to worry? For a child?? That's somehow precious.

• Crocodile nearly catches Buggy slip once. The latter had been looking around the 'wani breeding den and was given a chance to play with some of the younger strawberrywanis. Apparently being crawled over and playing with and getting kisses from decently sized dangerous reptiles made a certain clown feel a bit... smaller than he maybe should, outside of his designated Safe Spots. He was relatively alone, safe, and having fun, though, so he didn't force anything, just let himself exist, giggling and playing and snuggling with the babies. Crocodile's chuckles were a surprise (and a wash of ice in his veins), but the logia user didn't seem to notice much difference, only making a comment on how Buggy fit right in, wiggling around in the sand with them. Pushing the Little bits back, Buggy bounced up and carried on.

• the reveal only happens one of two ways.

1) Crocodile and Mihawk have some kind of concern or anger at Buggy for something, go barging into his tent and find Buggy very much regressed and suddenly panicking. Mihaw just has a moment of ".... oh. Ohhhh. Oh this makes sense now" while Crocodile is staring, trying to compute. It ends with Mihawwk setting aside Yoru and kneeling down to ask if he can join Buggy in his playtime. Crocodile gets dragged into it as well because he is not immune to clown puppy eyes.

OR

2) there's a tropical storm hitting Karai Bari. The heightening humidity is already effecting the devil fruit users, and the rain isn't very productive. Everyone is mostly inside for the day and evening, so once Buggy finishes his work for the day, he decides to regress with the extra free time. Things are fine and Dandy until the weather gets even worse.

Big Buggy doesn't like thunder and lightning on a good day. Too many bad memories tied to it ((the Edd War, Roger's execution and what followed, being hunted by enemies, on and on and on-)).

Little Buggy absolutely detests it.

He's alone - Alvida is holed up herself, away from the elements, Mohji and Ritchie are in their tent, too far away, Cabaji is busy or in his own space too- Buggy is by himself, is small, and is scared.

He tries to tough it out, to be brave and strong and a big kid, but... well, he's tiny and it's loud and he keeps thinking Bad Thoughts.

It's too far to Cab and Moh's, to Vida's, and he loves them, but they things he's scared of are really super duper extra strong. They wouldn't stand a chance. ((He thinks about thay too, and he can't stop it, every boom, every flash, red and wet and warm and cold and Voices ebbing and flowing and it's too much too much too much-)).

Buggy is small and scared and he decides to go instead to the people he kinda trusts because they're strong and he thinks they're friends and it's just so freaking loud so-

Crocodile very much did not expect to open his door to a teary eyed blue haired clown in footie pajamas holding a stuffed animal and gnawing on a teether but here we are. The logical course of action is to slam the door.

He's embarrassed to admit the jester had made him soft, so he wordlessly let's the other in, calls Mihawk, and the swordsman arches a brow, nods, comes over, and then immediately jumps into grounding techniques and then makes Crocodile help them set up a little play space with his sand.

They fall asleep in his room that night, and the next day, Buggy is MORTIFIED but he feels he owes them an explanation-

Mihawk beats him to it. "Your Haki reverted to that of a child. I have read before in some books that such can occur in a mental state. This simply confirms to me that it is not am act on your part, Clown. For all intents and purposes, you were but a scared child. I believe I speak for us both when I say I am honored to have had your trust at such a point."

"Yeah, what he said."

".... oh."

"Indeed. Coffee?"

• after that, Mihawk searches for Buggy specifically when he feels the child-like haki. Crocodile refuses to admit that he does his own research. Neither will admit to the sudden influx of little gifts either. Buggy's chewy is getting worn down? Suddenly there's a few replacements in a box on his vanity. He mentions liking a color or animal offhand during a conversation? New blanket or stuffy. And that doesn't begin to discuss the toys or books or outfits, even if the ones from Mihawk are always identifiable by the style having a distinct color scheme. Buggy winds up spoiled, and is bamboozled by it.

• turns out cross guild poly is cute normal way AND with regression topics. Big, Buggy is head over heels. Little? He's so so so happy and safe.

• Alvida, Cabaji, Mohji, Mihawk and Crocodile have to hash out Buggy babysitting duties, but it's more them arguing over who gets Baby Bug time while the baby in question cuddles with Ritchie. Sillies, all around.

• Bug has nicknames for everyone when he's little if only bc words are harder to enunciate, let alone names, and it melts hearts. Momo (Mohji), Cab (Cabaji), Vida (Alvida), Mimi (Mihawk), Didi [pronounced dye-dye] (Crocodile), and Shanks is Red. ((He also slips a little more with other names. It's hit or miss with Roger if he's referred to as cap'n or daddy, and Rayleigh is Ray-san or papa.))

• lil buggy has a lisp

• he likes teether, chewy stim toys, refuses a pacifier bc he's never had one but he might be open to the idea of it down the line.

• blocks blocks blocks he's a building baby. Adores making forts

• the first time Mihawk or Crocodile pick him up while small, he freezes, then melts. Touch starved but being carried (especially by them) makes him feel small and safe and safe to be small.

• semiverbal. Uses sign language when words are too hard

• lower energy little.

That's all I got rn it's late and I'm so heckin tired

[scuttlingcrab]

A Devil's Lament

Summary: Raphael brings Tav to an abandoned chapel, hoping to complete one final task before he begins his conquests of the Hells.

Notes: I was inspired by my friend Mark Choi and his announcement of a new piano arrangement of "Down By The River." I desperately needed to see Raphael playing not just a piano, but a pipe organ. And what would suit the occasion? Our favourite Devil playing a song he had composed over a millenia ago, after he first lost the Crown of Karsus...

Link to my other work in the Devil's Archive.

(Image via certifieddilfenjoyer)

There once stood a magnificent chapel along the road to Baldur’s Gate. Mortals came from far and wide to bask in its glory, seek refuge from whatever sorrows afflicted them, and pray to the deity it was erected to honour. However, like most beautiful things on this plane, it was slowly worn down from one conflict after another, until it merely stood as a dilapidated relic of a time gone by.

On a particularly humid evening, nearly one year after the Elder Brain’s assault on Faerûn, Raphael found himself with Tav on the outskirts of the chapel, staring fondly at his old stomping grounds. No place was off limits when it came to his Devilish business, and the various religious structures scattered across the realms always proved to be the most lucrative. Raphael partook in his favourite game of hunting mortals in the very establishments they trusted, luring them into his traps with fanciful proposals of fortune and glory. 

The Devil never settled on the weaker creatures unless there were no other alternatives, but it was the clerics and overly righteous he craved. There was nothing more joyous than watching their resolve slowly decay after his cunning verbiage and skillful charms got under their skins. Their potent souls were simply delectable, and worth all the time and effort to acquire them.

“So what are you planning?” Tav asked, stopping Raphael from reminiscing any further. “I thought you said we had no time to waste.” 

“Walk with me, if you will, there is a final task I must complete before we are to continue.” 

Raphael had already started on the path ahead and Tav quickly jogged to keep up, the stones crunching beneath her boots. He smiled to himself at the notion of her, the Hero of Baldur’s Gate, running after him.

As Raphael strode through the remains of the toppled structure, he searched for something far more valuable than the achievements of past meals. Raphael was after the heart and soul of the old chapel, the instrument responsible for the most beautiful sounds he had ever heard in his lifetime. The chapel’s pipe organ.

He heaved a sigh of relief to find the instrument still nestled at the far end of the rubble, under a canopy of overgrown trees. He had not been back since the fight against the Absolute, and in truth feared for the worst. Raphael would never let that spectacular creation suffer the same fate due to the failures of mortalkind, but he too had neglected it; spending the last few months muddled in the intricacies of reforging the Crown of Karsus.

The Devil had often argued with himself about whether or not to bring the pipe organ to the House of Hope. He had an idyllic place for it on his atelier balcony, overlooking the River Styx and barren wastelands of Avernus. But doing so would open him up to countless interruptions and he’d lose what he valued most: his precious solitude. He would never risk it.

“A marvel…” Raphael whispered, tilting his head up to admire the towering organ, the 3,000 golden pipes glistening in the darkness. 

His eyes attentively moved across the pipes, carefully inspecting every surface for signs of damage. It was no secret that Raphael cherished the instrument, nearly as much as the Crown he had desired for over a millenia. It was Raphael’s own toy box, it could imitate nearly any orchestral instrument with just a few minute actions unnoticeable to the common mortal. The organ could do wonders above and beyond any grand piano, or even any symphony. With this tool, Raphael was his own maestro, having the power to freely weave his own melodies into existence and escape into the futures he so desperately desired. 

“This hunk of junk? It’s practically falling apart.” 

“I will not hear another peep from you.”  Raphael hissed, turning to face Tav. He raised his finger threateningly towards her, as if scolding a small child. 

Tav raised both of her hands apologetically, though there was still a hint of impishness in her smile as she took a step back.

“Sorry. Carry on then…” 

Raphael sniffed sharply, in an attempt to keep his infernal flames at bay. As powerful and useful as that mortal was, she was a constant irritant; pushing Raphael closer and closer to his boiling point the more time he spent with her. And yet, they were inseparable since Tav had gifted the Crown to Raphael. Of all the creatures, in all the wretched planes, that little mouse had to be the one to fall into his claws, leaving a lasting effect on him.

He quickly redirected his attention to the pipe organ, brushing off the rotten twigs and dirt from the three keyboards. He snapped his fingers and a leather bench appeared, replacing the one that had broken long ago. 

Raphael eagerly took his seat, lightly running his feet over the pedalboard to test it was still functional. He then prepared the various stops along the edges of the organ, choosing his intended octaves for the serenade to come. 

After a few more minutes of fiddling with the organ, making sure all the divisionals were arranged accordingly, he was ready to begin. 

With another snap of Raphael’s fingers, sheet music took shape before him. The chosen melody had been etched into his memory for a thousand years, yet he still brought out the yellowing sheets of paper whenever he dared to play it. Like the ruins surrounding him, the pages were close to deteriorating, slowly withering away at the edges. 

The music notes were barely legible, the ink having faded a century or two earlier. Raphael dared not handle the pages by hand, as they would crumble at the slightest touch. Seeing the pages again were oddly comforting to the Devil, a sign of how far he has come. As painful as it was to revisit the meaning behind the music, the moment would always be part of Raphael, no matter how often he tried to consign it to oblivion. 

The Devil took a deep breath and pressed his fingers against the keys. His exhale matched the roaring bellow that emerged from the pipes. Energy surged through his hands as he played the beginning of the piece, his feet moving to a completely different rhythm against the pedalboard. The low notes coming from his feet accompanied the lighter ones from his fingers, creating a flawless harmony. 

The sounds of the pipe organ soon filled the air, echoing around him like lost ghosts wailing in the dark. It was haunting, exquisite, and a perfect representation of his internal strife. It was Raphael’s lament - the anguish, vexations, and seething hatred from all the years of his existence poured through his own spirit into the instrument. The reverberations from the pipes shook the trees above Raphael, causing the leaves to fall like snowflakes. 

These same feelings had fuelled Raphael’s drive and ambition since he was a young Devil. He was discarded by Mephistopheles and left to rot in the deepest, darkest parts of the Hells; forced to suffer for a sin he had not committed. Raphael still found his way, against all odds, and survived every obstacle thrown at him. He learned how to rely only on himself, to play the game of the Hells, and quickly rise up the ranks by tipping the scales in his favour. He had ruthlessly betrayed allies and levelled entire cities, and he would do it a hundred times over if it meant he was closer to fulfilling his destiny of uniting the Nine Hells. He would show his father how powerful and capable he truly was. 

As Raphael continued, he let himself get lost in the tempo, not questioning where his hands went next, which stops he pulled, or where his feet would take him. He soon found the keyboards were wet, had it begun to rain? He closed his eyes, a lump forming in his throat as decades worth of repressed emotions started to bubble to the top. He felt his fingers slip on a key, and then another, causing him to miss a few notes, but he quickly amended the mistake. He opened his eyes in fury, only to realise that he was crying. He clenched his jaw, causing the tears falling down his cheeks to quickly evaporate as his body sizzled in anger; resenting himself and the situation, always such a fool to let these fleeting emotions get the best of him. 

He wasn't sure how long he had been playing, but his fingers throbbed as they continued to press against the keys. He wanted to continue, to replay the song again and again, to make sure it was perfect, but it was coming to its natural conclusion. He would need to leave it as is.

Raphael played the final notes, holding his fingers to the keys for an extra beat as the sounds slowly faded. He snapped his fingers and a small flame appeared in his hands. He lifted it up towards the music sheets and let the edges of the papers catch fire. The pages were devoured by the flames within a matter of seconds. Let the ashes of his lament stay within the ruins of the chapel.

“Gods…” Tav whispered, her voice choking with emotion. “Did you…?”

“I have never played that in front of another mortal. The first and last time you will ever hear such a piece.” 

“It was remarkable.”

“I know.” Raphael responded, rising from the bench.

He flicked his wrist and the Crown of Karsus materialised before them. He caught reflections of himself in the Crown as he stared at it, his visage splitting into broken shards against the material of the relic. Different versions of Raphael stared back at him, as if from alternate timelines, offering a range of glimpses into his future. He smiled at the reflections and the thought of what he might look like donning the Crown, fighting against Zariel and her forces, in all his glory. 

“It was a fitting farewell and one I had been looking forward to for a considerable amount of time. Now onto new beginnings, come.”

Tav didn’t wait for Raphael to create a portal, she jumped towards him, latching on to his arm. On previous occasions he would’ve shooed her away, like an irksome mosquito, but he let her stay clinging to him. Just this once, perhaps for his own comfort.

Tonight Raphael would write a different composition - one of celebration and conquest, that he would play throughout the decades to come, solidifying his reign.

[carminecherry]

PLAYGROUND | kazutora hanemiya

this is part one of the series put a collar on your pet

⇝ PAIRING: timeskip!kazutora hanemiya x bff fem!reader

⇝ SERIES SYNOPSIS: kazutora has wanted a neck tattoo since middle school. after you get a tattoo apprenticeship in the city, he wants you to be the one to do his neckpiece. however, the neck is an awfully sensitive spot. especially for a first tattoo. some people handle pain better than others. some people even enjoy it...

⇝ PART ONE LENGTH: 2.5k words

⇝ PART ONE WARNINGS: slight nsfw (18+ minors do not interact):

all characters are 20+; AU! where kazutora never got a neck tattoo; cuddling, drinking, a little angst, teasing, chasing, tickling; kazutora is a playboy, you're his bff who he can always count on, you're the last person to admit his charms phase you, he comes to you after yet another break up, would you risk your friendship to confess to your womanizer bff? also, you find out that kazutora is ticklish.

⇝ AUTHOR'S NOTE: lots of spice in the next part, this is mostly for tension and build up, enjoy <3

DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS WORK IF YOU ARE A MINOR. BY CLICKING THE READMORE, YOU CONSENT TO VIEWING ADULT CONTENT.

“C’mon~” He whined. A pout, curving his lips. “I don’t know, Kazu… I just became an apprentice. Shouldn’t you go to someone, I don’t know, more professional?”

You take a swig from the tall can you bought at the convenience store, the tinny metal tainting the taste in a familiar way. Despite being 7% it was making your head swirl pleasantly already. 

He sighs, pulling you close to him on the wooden park bench, littered with small carvings and ink; some of which you and the gang have contributed over the years.

It sits in an area that's slightly secluded, a grove of shrubs and trees blocking it from view. It was the perfect spot for smoking or drinking in privacy. Once you and the gang stumbled upon it back in high school, you’ve kept coming back. 

You run your fingers over the weathered graffiti, ignoring the man nuzzling into you, finding a spot on the seat. A smile tugs at your lips. It's a little heart with a dagger through it. Basic, but it had been the design of your first flash tattoo.

You remember the night you practiced drawing it here on the bench and how Kazu, Baji, and Chifuyu and volunteered to let you sketch it on them in sharpie.

A feeling of nostalgia warms your chest. You also remember a younger, very intoxicated, Kazu swearing he'd only ever get a tattoo if you were the one to do it. This park, this spot, this bench, holds so many memories.

You take a deep breath in, letting the cool, night air fill your lungs. The sun set a long time ago, but the air still held a slight dampness from the humidity of the day. It’s one of those nights where you can feel fall creeping in.

“I don’t wanna go to just anyone, I want it to be done by you.” You can’t fight the blush that dusts your cheeks, much to your chagrin. He’s always been a huge flirt, that stupid pretty boy. You hate it when his methods have an effect on you. “Yeah, yeah, flattery that’s not gonna work on me Kazu. You just want a discount.” You lie, feeling your heart rate increase with his lingering proximity. He plasters on an innocent face, but the glint in his golden eyes gives him away, it always does. 

“Pretty, please. It won’t be right if it isn’t you.” He whines, throwing himself over you in a dramatic display. You huff. He knows what he’s doing, he always teases you like this. Making you put your guard up and shut him down. The helpless flirt, the devil. He rotates his head against your shoulder, making his earring jingle, bringing his chin to rest there comfortably. 

You can feel his breath on your cheek, smell his shampoo, his detergent, his cologne mixing together; light but strong- like the crisp, cold air of a shopping mall. You like the smell, though you’d never admit it. You’re wrapped in it, enjoying it for as long as you can before he notices. He’s quick to poke fun at everyone, especially you, a trait you have mixed feelings about.

You hear his soft breathing in your ear, that flustered feeling building. You break first, “I’ll… Talk to my boss. But-” He’s crushing you in a hug before you can finish. “Don’t go getting your hopes up.” You choke out. “Is your boss the hot one? Give her my number if she needs some persuading.” “Ew. No. That’s Amy, and ONE she has a girlfriend, TWO my boss is Rei, big, bald, lots of tattoos, sunglasses, yeah?” “He pouts again, "I’m not super into guys but give him my number nonetheless.” “You’re ridiculous.” You finally shake him off. 

You’ve had to make an effort to hold on to moments like this, where the shameless comes through. These sobering moments can help you when you feel the butterflies starting, a reminder of why it would never work between the two of you. He always did this, spoiled the moment. 

You’ve walked to that edge before, the boundary of your friendship. Peered into the inky blackness of the unknown below. What would meet you there if you ever garnered enough courage to leap? More times than you can count, the words would bubble up in your chest. What do you think of me, Kazu? Do you think we could ever be more than friends? I want you all to myself. All bitten back by the gripping fear of losing a dear friend, fear of getting your heart broken by the person you care about most.

He curls a hand around your waist, leaning into you. You melt into the heat seeping through his shirt. He usually gets like this, more touchy, after a breakup regardless of who dumped who. He has all of that pent up affection, that physical touch that needs an outlet. And it’s always you. Over and over again you are his rock. 

You hate that it’s like this, that he has such power over you. But that doesn’t change anything. You can’t bear the thought of him being with anyone else like this. There is an intimacy to your relationship beyond physical. One that he has never had in his love life, or so he’s told you. Your heart aches, confused. The conversations of the past whirling into a spiral of anxiety and hope.

It’s almost funny. The double standard you’ve slotted yourself into. If one of your girl friends came to you, talking about a guy situation like this, you would tell her to run for the hills with a promise to kick his ass. But you were putty in his hands. Damn it.

You’re brought back from your reverie with him jostling you, “Oi, are you even listening?” “Nah, I tuned out when you couldn’t remember her name.” He makes an indignant noise. “Why are you so hung up on her anyways?” The intrusive thought blurts out before you have time to stop it. “I don’t know, I just feel kind of gross about it…” You sit in silence together, not wanting to pry. 

“I guess I feel kinda used.” He admits with faux drama. “I’d say it’s karmic at this point, then.” You shoot back, earning you a shove. “Come on, I mean, how many girls have you hooked up with and dumped? I don’t see how this is any different.” “Those girls didn’t matter.” “Oh wow.” You say only half sarcastically. “Not like that, I mean, it was just for fun. We were on the same page… Most of the time…” You roll your eyes.

He slides down the bench, reclining, resting his head in your lap. Your fingers naturally comb through his soft, dyed hair. The longer, wispy bits tickling the skin of your thighs. He closes his eyes to the pleasant sensation of your nails on his scalp. “It was like… I guess I feel like a pawn… She was just hooking up with me to try and get Mikey’s attention.” His voice sounds distant. You hum, taking another sip of your drink, prying your eyes from his peaceful face. “Sounds very dramatic.” You offer, he laughs humorlessly. “Yeah, it’s shit.” 

It’d been a long time since you’d hung out with the guys. Work has been busy since you started as an apprentice at a tattoo studio in the city and the only reason you get to see Kazu is because the two of you live so close to each other. You wonder how the others are doing. Sounds like there's some tea brewing and you’re happy to not be involved.

“I don’t know, getting a tattoo after a messy break up, pretty cliche don’t ya think?” You tease. His eyes shoot open and he looks flustered, it’s rare that you can get a reaction out of him; a shiteating grin spreading across your face. “It’s something I’ve wanted for a long time.” He says, with an earnestness that you don’t often see from him. You lean over him in your lap, “Oh~ What’s a long time to you? Two months?” You continue teasing. “Since, like, middle school ass hat!” He says with a playful shove, your drink sloshing in your hand. 

“Ay- watch it!” You say shoving him back. “You’re gonna spill my-” He grabs your wrist that’s holding the can, you wrestle with him but he has that brutish strength, one forged over years of brawling in his younger years.  He guides your hand up with ease. “Hey, knock it off!” you say, struggling in his vice grip. He replies only with a devilish grin, opening his mouth in a seductive way, locking eyes with you. 

His head rolls back, exposing the column of his neck. He turns your wrist to waterfall the liquid in the can into his open mouth; the stream catching a small glimmer of light from a distant lamppost.

His adam's apple bobs in his throat as the can grows lighter in your hand. A bit of the drink escapes, you follow the slow drip from the corner of his mouth, down to his jaw. He closes his eyes as it slowly rolls down his neck, dripping into your lap. You feel your face heat as you take in the sight hungrily. He shakes your wrist to get the last few drops of the beverage. “Problem solved.”

“You ASS!” You sputter. He releases you with a laugh, wiping the spilled liquid with the back of his hand, before sizing you up in a predatory way. A sharp smile spreads across his face. “Sorry, do you want it back?" He sits up quickly, rearranging your positions, grabbing your face between his warm palms. 

He hovers over you on the bench acting like he’ll spit the drink back into your mouth as you fend off his attack, curling into the bench to put some space between the two of you. “Oh mY GOD SICKO LET GO OF ME!” You squeal, fighting off his grip with a laugh. 

He relents, chuckling as well. “You owe me a new one.” You say, punctuating the statement with a tinny tap on the can with your nails, the wood scraping against the back of your thighs as you scoot away from him. “Yes, yes, your wish is my command, princess.” The pet name makes your heart skip. Damn him. 

He stands from the bench, stretching his long toned arms above his head. “I didn’t mean right this second.” You pout, hiding your blush in the shadows. “So bossy.” He quips back. You wipe the spilled liquid from your leg and rub absently at a bug bite that meets the pad of your finger, the itchiness a welcome distraction. You slap at your chest as you feel the prick of a new bite. Then another on your thigh. 

“Fuck, I’m getting eaten alive out here!” You say with annoyance. It is still summer after all. He whips around, pinning you between his arms and the bench. “I’m the only bloodsucker that gets to eat you.” He says in a syrupy joking voice, bringing a nail to scratch at the rising red spot on your collar bone. “Fuck off.” You say kicking at him, he retreats with a laugh.

“Ugh, it’s so itchy now.” You whine, pressing on the warm patch of skin. You rise in a huff, walking out of the little grove. “Aww you poor thing. I can help you scratch any itch, just say the word~” He says , trotting to catch up to you. “Animal.” You spit at him, but your voice lacks venom and the smile tugging at the corner of your mouth takes any punch out of the statement. 

He skips ahead of you, blocking your path. You step to the left, he blocks. You step to the right he blocks. You stand to full height, not even reaching his chin, and cross your arms. He crouches slightly like he’s going to charge you. “God, you’re such a kid. Get out of my way.” You say in the sternest voice you can muster. 

“Password.” He says, a mischievous sparkle in his eye. “Let me through, ass wipe.” “Nope, two more tries.” “Kazutora is a drunk brat who can’t keep it in his pants.” “Wrong again, only one more chance.” “I’m seriously going to kick your-” “Wrong!”

Then he’s running at you. You break into a sprint, a playful squeal escaping your throat. “OH MY GOD YOU DICK WHAT HAPPENED TO CHIVALRY?!” You run through the grassy field next to the grove, the lush blades of grass lick the skin of your ankles with the slight moisture of dew that’s formed. The cool summer air rushing past you. The child-like thrill of being chased thundering through your veins. You hear him laughing as he sprints behind you. 

You know he’s faster than you, he’s letting you outrun him. He loves this, the chase. You duck under some branches, the playground appearing in the distance. You run towards it, sprinting up the slide with a symphony of squeaks, rubber soles on plastic. He runs after you as you jump down the back. You feel the crunch of mulch under your shoes. 

The alcohol in your system gives you a pleasant buzz on your skin. You weave between the swings, chains jingling, and make a break for the jungle gym. You make a frantic leap up the stairs, cold metal meeting the palm of your hand. Before you can get in, you feel his arm snake around your waist, prying you from the structure. A high pitched laugh escapes as he swings you around. “Gotcha!”

Your legs flail helplessly, far from the ground. “Let go of me you ass!” You laugh. “I WIN!” He howls. “It wasn’t a game, loser.” “Everything is a game.” He says breathing heavily into the back of your head.  You wriggle in his grip but it’s pointless, he’s too strong. “Put me doooooown~” You whine. “What do I win?” He says in your ear. “You win an absolute ass whooping!” “That doesn’t sound like fun.” You feel his lip pout against the shell of your ear. 

He adjusts his grip, flipping you over his shoulder easily. “Down! Put me down! Down boy!” You say slapping his back. “You’re the one going on about chivalry, I’ll take you home.” He says with faux indignation, turning on a heel.

You resign yourself and flop down to dead weight. Letting your arms swing like a corpse. They brush against the fabric of his shirt; it’s smooth and thin. With each sway you can feel the tone of his back muscles, flexed carrying your weight. You let your fingers trail more, tracing a pattern in his back.

“Don’t get me worked up, sweetheart.” He jokes, but there’s an edge to his voice. “Oh~” You hum. “Ticklish, Kazu?” You bring your fingers to his side, fluttering them lightly before digging in. He buckles under your attack with a yelp as you tickle and prod the sensitive skin of his sides. He releases you unceremoniously, you stumble to get proper footing. You spin, ready to bully him with this discovery. Before the taunt can leave your mouth your eyes lock with his. 

What looks back at you is a face you’ve never seen him make. Is that fucker blushing? “Totally unfair!” He whines, straightening and rubbing his sides. “All is fair in… War?” “That’s not the quote, dumbass.” He fires back. “C’mon.” He wraps an arm around your shoulder and guides you back to the sidewalk. “I can walk by myself, y’know.” You say under your breath. 

“It’s my chivalrous duty to protect young maidens from the scary creatures that lurk in the night. Even ones who can’t keep their hands to themselves.” “You’ve just described yourself.” “Just enjoy your scary dog privileges. You don’t know how many other fair maidens wish they were on my arm tonight. Don’t you feel special?” There it is, mood kill. You bite back a sarcastic comment. The two of you make the rest of the walk in silence, feelings swirling in your chest.

[snaillock]

I have mean request ( ≖‿ ≖ )

could you write something about ubers + reader taking Barou to the beach? this man DEFINITELY hates beaches. the sand that constantly sticks to his body and spills onto his things will absolutely scratch his perfectionist soul

barou + ubers beach trip

that fucking photo man im cryingggg😭😭 also thank you for feeding into my current barou brainrot

tags: gender neutral reader, written with a platonic friendship with barou in mind, typical ubers shenanigans

when snuffy announced that the team will be taking a beach trip as a treat for their hard work and victories during NEL, barou was IMMEDIATELY against it and just wanted to stay behind in the blue lock facility

from the wet sand sticking onto him everywhere to god knows what’s in the ocean (fish piss in there ya know), he was completely out.

he eventually relents when snuffy convinces him to go as it would be a good team bonding experience. and i mean who would say no to the team dad coach

barou also gets instantly annoyed that he can’t gel up his hair since the salty air and humidity will just ruin it so he’s gotta wear it down the whole trip. yet another reason for him to hate the beach

you sit next to him for the entire bus ride to his dismay and laugh at how much he overpacked for a simple day trip. he tells you to shut up to no avail as you keep cracking up at some of the things he brought.

when everyone gets there, barou sits under one of the umbrellas, far away from the tides and the wet sand, right next to aryu who’s trying to preserve his oh-so-fair skin away from the sun.

soon you ask to borrow his sunscreen since you somehow forgot your own. he does end up lending some to you while grumbling about how stupid you must be to not bring yours. then eventually you keep coming back to ask him for more things out of his heavy beach bag despite teasing him earlier because of it.

this does lead to the rest of the team asking for his stuff. oliver borrowing his extra pair of sandals. niko needing some burn gel since he accidentally fell asleep in the sun for five minutes and now the lower half of his face is sunburnt. sendou straight up taking some of his lip balm before he could even say no. lorenzo somehow eating half the snacks barou brought without him noticing.

later the team has a beach volleyball match and you invite him to join. he, of course, says no mainly because he’s disgusted by the feeling of the sand in his toes (and he’s also still pissy at everyone for taking his stuff).

so you gotta drag him out to play. and by that i mean physically drag him out by his arm while he doesn’t budge from his beach towel at all and looks at you crazy for even trying.

eventually snuffy tells you to stop and makes barou join the game to have fun with the others.

since no one in blue lock is normal, you guys play the game like your damn lives depend on it. with how egotistic the match goes, barou actually ends up enjoying it a lot. especially since he now has an excuse to finally destroy his own teammates.

(this also confuses and lowkey scares other clueless beachgoers who had the misfortune of witnessing you maniacs play)

after the game, you notice barou’s attitude and mood have greatly improved. most people wouldn’t even have noticed the change but you know him well enough to catch it.

you once got pinched by a tiny crab and placed it in barou’s hand, telling him it’s pretty crabby… like him…

he just stares at you before walking away with it, planning to release the teeny crustacean back into the water

later during the trip, he immediately jolts away when he sees your fingers covered in wet sand after making sand castles with niko with just your bare hands alone (they honestly ended up turning into sand mounds more than anything).

when you flick some of the sand onto his cheek as a joke just to see how he would react, you would think he saw the literal devil. the literal mortification on his face. thankfully he was petrified for a good few seconds which gave you plenty of time to run, living to see another day.

when everyone gets back, barou will never admit how much he actually enjoyed the trip and hanging out with the team. instead, he will grumble about how much sand got into his swim trunks and hair when he gets ready to shower.

but everyone knows he actually had a blast hanging out with the team for a day.

taglist(sign up): @userwithlotsoftime @lucas2060 @kiiyoooo @maochira (figured you would like this :3)