#not enough fic love on here for the dirty devil man

[sunboki]

⎯ THE DEVIL'S PLAYTHING a Christopher Bahng fiction

💣 : Christopher Bahng x fem. reader

TROPE. bodyguard au, demon au, friends to lovers, eventual smut, minors DNI

WORD COUNT. 6.6k words

WARNINGS. chan & han are demons(NO POLY), mentions of lucifer/the devil, eventual smut, descriptive violence, smoking, fighting, cursing, blood, wounds, drinking, reader gets drunk/passes out

PLAYLIST

AUG'S NOTES. this started as a random blurb while in the bathroom(tmi i know) but i just HAD to make a longer adaptation!! as usual, if you enjoy the fic please feel free to leave feedback & a reblog!ised ya’ll bodyguard chan would be back.. your wish is my command~

SYNOPSIS. A petty robbery leads to deep debt for Chan, a white-eyed demon occupying Hell. So eventually, he finds himself faced with no choice but to go job hunting. The best offer available? A bodyguard gig in the human realm. Oh, and the worst part? Jisung’s here too.

or alternatively :

When Chan had to leave Hell to "babysit" (a.k.a. protect) you in the human realm, he wasn’t expecting for things to turn out the way they did — in more ways than one.

SMUT WARNING. usage of the nickname “bunny” and “good girl”, somewhat hinted size kink, praise, dumbification, barely dubcon (reader gives consent ; nonverbal), creampie, chan cums inside (use protection ya’ll), monsterfucking! basically lmao

There’s an infinite list of reasons why humans shouldn’t associate with demons. But was it really all that important? Maybe the humans wanted it.

Or, maybe the demons did too.

Maybe, the demons didn’t have a choice.

What a funny thought.

Although, for Christopher Bahng, a demon himself, it was reality.

So the real question stood. Is it the humans that shouldn’t associate with demons, or the other way around?

The thought occurred to Chan at some point, but his head, ringing with the sound of silver coins clattering on glass surfaces, drowned out every ounce of sensibility. Blood, flesh, he was a demon. And right now, he had hell to pay as Lucifer’s underling. No pun intended.

Demons were an ideal choice for bodyguards, too obsessed with their own greed to pay any mind to the consequences, dogs to somebody else’s beckon, minds trained like hunting dogs.

Taking care of the dirty work, for a price.

A price that Chan needed, desperately. Because one thing demons, including himself, love doing is tormenting.

That is until he’s the victim of the tormenting, and all of a sudden the experience doesn’t feel too welcoming.

Raiding his home was an understatement considering they had utterly demolished every inch, not leaving a single fragment remaining in one piece. Granted, he didn’t cry about it. Instead, he lived up to his name, his title.

..Let’s just say he doubted the red stains would ever leave that shirt of his, metallic scent strong enough to make your nose burn.

Unfortunately, Lucifer wasn’t the greatest at forgiving, and he determined rather quickly this was only the start of his problems regardless of how sweetly the demon lord threatened explained he would dissolve Chan into ash if he ever got tired of him.

Alas, two weeks later, he gets a call.

Combing a frustrated hand through raven-colored locks, he holds the phone up to his ear, repeatedly snapping his fingers. The girl kneeled between his legs raises up begrudgingly, wiping her mouth and disappearing into his bathroom.

Well there goes a good blowjob.

Yet, finally, a job was proposed.

Multiple, according to the drone of a fumbling assistant. Jobs comprised of one he’d primarily work and occasional hitman gigs on the side.

Catch? The job was located in the human realm. Not impossible, but not as easy as sleuthing in Hell, where common folk were demons and not big-eyed, nosy, mind-your-damn-business-mortals.

The job in question? Babysitting. Specifically for Lucifer's right-hand man, otherwise known as the Devil’s Plaything. And, despite not being a demon, served Lucifer as if he was one. How cute.

Or as the trauma-induced auditor phrased it, “guarding” some girl.

“Guarding” was something he was mildly familiar with, but never a human. Never in the human realm. So when the suggestion was offered, Chan’s first instinct was to reject—remind Hell’s moderator that he wasn’t just a regular, but a demon of impressive status. A white-eyed demon, who, in fact, ranged most powerful of its kind.

His first instinct was also to punch the man working at the register of this putrid smelling burger joint right in the face, maybe frame his head as a part of a collection while he’s at it. Demons are creative like that.

Because being in this situation, nonetheless currently walking around in the human realm he swore to never step foot in has his stomach jarring.

“Chan, look at this! It’s called K-E-T-C-H-U-P, what a funny name!”

Oh. Yeah. The walking headache, Han Jisung. Forgot he’s here too.

Digging through his pockets for spare change, all he could find was a few meager pennie’s as the obnoxious noise of his demon-companion scarfing down a double cheeseburger had Chan’ jaw progressively tightening.

“Um, sir, that’s not enough to pay for-“ Without hesitation, Chan lifted his upper lip with his index, revealing the sharply pointed canines underneath and effectively silencing the apron-clad employee, frantically printing his receipt without another word.

Yes, apparently there are perks of being a hell-spawn.

Although, the burger still tasted like shit. What a shame.

Heading to the location wasn’t all too difficult, being that it was rather easy locating such an enormous property surrounded by tall, black hinged gates. The passcode… was another story.

Lucifer was likely laughing his ass off watching them try figuring this out.

“Okay, It’s probably like 666 or something- JESUS— you guys scare me sometimes.” Clutching a hand to his erratic heart with panic, a pacing Jisung nearly toppled over as his soon-to-be Boss suddenly appeared out of nowhere, gates slowly opening behind him.

He may not be a Demon, but by how nonchalantly he appeared from thin air, he seemed to gain some attributes over the years.

It didn’t take long for either of them to figure out why the title “Devil’s Plaything” was attached, because the more he toured them around this palace of a house, the more he told of his reasons for hiring them in the first place. Well, more like why Lucifer sent them here.

Easily speaking, his and Jisung’s role would be to protect you at all costs, considering your father’s current predicament (a.k.a coming under investigation for the bodies discovered in Hanuel Park). Not to mention the countless assassins sent on a daily basis, scouring the property for entryways.

Although he’s not surprised by their hesitance. This man, Yoon L/N, was the closest resemblance to the Devil on Earth.

He was terrifying, and coming from a demon, that said a lot.

Chan has to watch his tongue, because he’s not guarding another one of hell’s representatives, a creature of unprecedented rudeness and hatred, he’s guarding a human.

Someone who falls in love and cries, someone who can’t get away with murder when they’re annoyed and go uncharged.

Humans are pitiful. They’re emotional and too trusting and—

You step down the stairs.

They’re pretty and soft and really, really fucking pretty.

The sound of your father clearing his throat rips him from his trance, your trance.

He can practically sense Jisung choking on his laughter.

“Y/n, these are your bodyguards. Bahng, Han, this is Y/n,” He gestures, and Chan notes the gleaming watch on his wrist.

Best guess that thing’s averaging $70,000. Not to mention that this entire house, though naked to the human eye, is laced in traps.

Whether it’s the more hollow wooden plank on the floor that triggers some alarm or the multitude of switches under your kitchen’s island, the security system is certainly intact, and for good reason.

However, you couldn't have made Yoon L/n’s actions look more hypocritical, appearing so opposingly sweet.

“Nice to meet you,” You hold out a hand.

He doesn’t miss the half-smile you give him.

Shit. Don’t look at him like that.

Introducing themselves, you momentarily slip past, and in your stead, your father beckons either of them to the side.

“I’ll only say this once,” Yoon smiles, but it’s a leery smile, one that causes his gums to gradually show, like it’d belong to a murderer, a serial killer of some kind.

Fitting.

“Get her into danger, hurt her, or disobey my orders under any circumstances and I kill you, understood?”

And even though at the snap of a finger Chan could have this man drop dead, he believed him, both simultaneously nodding their heads without complaint.

Meeting eyes with Jisung, a common denominator sits heavy between them, most likely the first thing they’ve whole-heartedly agreed on this entire time.

This is gonna be one hell of a job.

.. .

District 9’s nightclubs are always a bust. If you’re looking for a drink without it being laced you might as well give up, and the only thing that keeps a person from getting swept away in the expansive sea of high heels, go-go boots, and awkward teenagers that miraculously managed to get past the bouncer is a lone, blinking red sign that reads “OUT”.

The first time you ever came here you never thought you’d be so relieved to open a squealing door.

Leaning against the side of the brick building sits the girl responsible for an entourage of drunk-calls and random texts of her location when she sneaks out.

Her moth-eaten sneakers are pulled up to her chest, bleached hair messily arranged into a spiky up-do while she aimlessly scrolls on her phone. Although you know she’s noticed you by now.

“I feel like..” She sighs, black mascara smudged beneath her waterline. “I should’ve taken that Vodka shot.”

You wrinkle your nose, dropping down on her left.

It’s fairly easy conversing with Ha-joon, a girl who didn’t require a reaction or a response, who didn’t talk much but had a whole pocketful of opinions. And you listened.

She swivels her head ever so slightly toward you.

“Do you think drinking a laced shot will make my life more interesting?” Her remark scarily nonchalant, you chuckle, snatching the joint from between her thumb and index and tossing it against the neighboring business’ wall in front of you.

Unfazed, she rises to her feet, pulling a Marlboro pack from her back pocket, palm cupping the lighter’s flickering flame.

“If you count fentanyl as a good time, then sure,” Lifting your chin to cock a sarcastic brow, she rolls her eyes before abruptly snapping her fingers, remembering. The sound ricochets off trash bags stashed at the furthest end of this deserted alleyway.

“You said your Mafia-daddy hired new bodyguards?”

Ah, you forgot you mentioned that.

Don’t mind the “Mafia-daddy” part.

Nodding, there’s a beat of stillness before she lightly nudges your calf with her shoe, Ha-joon’s sign for you to list some sort of detailed description for her to piece together.

This happens every time you meet somebody new. Her little guessing game before the first impression, apparently.

And so you do, spilling information to the best of your capabilities from the fifteen seconds you met them. Their hair, height, eyes (you recall Han’s especially, huge and hypnotizing like black-holes), clothing, and all the details your jumbled brain can pour out to your overly eager, easily bored best friend.

“So this Chan guy..”

One clever glance and you’re already predicting her next words.

“Does he have a big nose?” Smirk growing the darker your cheeks redden, you pathetically groan, burying your face in your hands.

Of course she’s cornered you, because you can’t deny your yes of an answer without evidently lying and digging further into your self-made rabbit hole.

Leave it to Ha-joon to secretly slip the raunchiest sentence you'll hear all night.

Smugness gradually dissipating, the barely-blonde shuffles back down, phone screen displaying countless messages you don't ask about.

Like earlier, Ha-joon doesn’t talk much, but she has a lot to say. Additionally, if she doesn’t bring it up herself, don’t mention it.

Years by her side taught you that.

“They’re only gonna get you in trouble, I have a feeling,” She murmurs prior to taking a long drag of her cigarette, lipstick shade perfectly contrasting with the soaring puff of smoke sifting from her mouth and nose upon exhaling.

She’s always been on the rougher side. Spontaneously rough, the type that would impulsively send you a text she’s going backpacking tomorrow despite an exam scheduled, the type that would continuously run away on a whim.

In essence, everyone on campus has some sort of crush on her (apart from yourself, obviously), whether it comes down to her rumbling persona or how much of a hard-core lesbian she is, you’re not sure.

You click your tongue, glaring at her flippantly.

“And that’s not doing you any better.” Musing in regards to her bad habits, she laughs lowly, low-rise jeans bagging down by her ankles while bending closer.

Your hands brace in anticipation, coughing when she blows a heavy smoke plume right in your face.

You choke a giggle, shoving her senselessly giggling frame.

“The only thing I’m letting do me is that waitress in there,” Painted nails pointing to the entrance while making utterly obscene gestures, you dramatically gag.

Well, until she spins on her heel, fetching a plastic bag holding two bottles of Cass beer from behind a metal trash can.

You tilt your head, the girl wordlessly cracking one open with her teeth and the other using the junction of her shoulder.

‘A Ha-joon thing’, you think as she hands you a glass, chilled exterior sending an unwelcoming wave of shivers throughout your body.

Your initial response is to decline, but her index to your lips shushes your reasons.

“I know you don’t drink often, but just a few sips just this once, please?” Batting invisible puppy-dog eyes, you sigh, gulping down a haphazard swig.

Last time you had genuinely gotten drunk was back in junior year of high school, all the kids swarmed in a rando’s basement, acting appropriately irresponsible for your age.

You recall your fat crush on Hwang Hyunjin (before realizing he was actually in a relationship) being the main component in getting so drunk that you blacked out, though you’re sure the highly unflattering pictures Ha-joon took would jog your memory.

Yet just a few sips was an understatement, something you should’ve known. Because conversation turns into more conversation, funny conversation, deep conversation while your wrist unconsciously lifts to your mouth till your friend transforms into nothing but a blurry figure illuminated by the moon.

And you wonder, as you feel yourself tilt further and further toward the cement below, if Ha-joon will snap unflattering pictures of this moment too, of stupid decisions leading to stupid consequences.

Most likely.

.. .

"Mmm." You mumble, face stuffed into his sleeve as Chan carries you from the alleyway, ushering a loopy Ha-joon into a taxi with a short bow.

Clad in his work attire primarily made up of black elements, he carefully places you in the back seat of the SUV and pulls off his dark coat to wrap around your body, ensuring you're fully swaddled to secure as much warmth as possible from the biting cold.

"We're going home, so hang on just a bit longer for me." The man assures, patting your head lightly before sliding into the driver's seat and pressing his foot to the gas.

Han, who was sitting in the back beside you while Chan drove, took experimental peeks at the pink-hue decorating your cheeks (evidence that you'd be drunk) to your puffy lips pursed in a pout.

He internally squeals, fiddling with his phone in his pocket, unveiled demon tail practically wagging with glee.

"Hyung, can I? Pleasee Hyung- just one photo she looks so cute–“

“No." The older of them responds sternly, one hand clutching the steering wheel.

As much as he normally wouldn’t care, this was his- their first actual order in fulfilling their duties, and Chan wasn’t willing to pay the price of fucking up Yoon’s guidelines.

His companion huffs, deflating by your side as he directs a childish frown at Chan in the mirror, only met with an equally stern gaze reading "no nonsense".

Chan had always been one to take his job seriously, not that Han didn't, he just liked having a little bit of fun jumping from side to side across those permanent marker drawn lines.

In actuality, if it weren't for his friend, Han would've never gotten the job in the first place.

Stark glowing of your houses’ lights lining the driveway ripped away his thought process, quickly intervening when your door opened.

"I can carry her," He claims, arms crossed while the older bodyguard simply cocks a brow, an action that shouldn't have Jisung shying away like he was.

There's an immense staring contest until Chan releases a hefty sigh, gesturing for Jisung to go ahead.

"If you drop her, I kill you, then myself."

This earns a giggle while Han unbuckles your seatbelt, softly cooing with you lying in his arms.

You're cute, very cute in fact.

Very off limits, in fact, he reminds himself, grip tightening the creepier he pictures your father—and it’s the adorable scrunch of your nose in discomfort that reminds him of his strength, immediately relaxing his hold.

Like Chan said, any wrong moves and they're both off the radar in seconds. Business.

The entirety of it all was a bit hilarious considering how things were when you'd first been introduced to the two, not appearing to be the type to get drunk like this, to get drunk at all in a secluded area next to some nightclub.

Chan wasn’t wrong when he said it’s always a surprise with clients.

Well, he was referring to his hitman job then, but it's still applicable in this situation, right?

…Right?

Forget it.

Slowly, oh so slowly your eyes peel open, instantly noticing the familiar smell and interior that definitely wasn't where you'd been five minutes ago with Ha-joon.

Ah. There he is.

Chan.

Peering over where you're tucked in bed, dressed in pajamas.

Hold on, pajamas?

Scrambling up and simultaneously wincing from the throbbing headache settling a dull ring in your ears, you send him an incredulous stare, face incessantly warming the longer you think about it.

Hangovers provide another of the many reasons why you don’t drink anymore, because this hellish predicament led to a single hellish explanation you certainly didn’t want to face.

"You... My clothes.." Stumbling over how to phrase it, you suppress a scowl watching the ghost of a grin make its way on his lips. Maybe you're imagining it.

One of his veiny hands reaches up to cover his eyes, leaving you to instead infatuate upon plush lips moving when he speaks.

"My job description, along with the papers you read and signed before I was hired gave me consent, but whatever I see is strictly confidential between you and I."

Gathering your sanity, you scoff, humiliation and embarrassment flooding your system at an alarming rate.

Flopping back onto the bed, you slam a pillow over your face, muttering a "strictly confidential my ass" that he had to have heard from the low laugh uttered in reply.

He stalks over, fingertip tapping the water you hadn’t noticed sitting atop your nightstand.

Cautiously stealing a glimpse out from your pillow to see where he distanced himself across the room, you finish the cup in a swift motion, wiping your mouth with the back of your sleeve.

“You huma- You aren’t good with your alcohol, are you?” He starts, quite entertained witnessing your annoyed gaze, one which very noticeably doesn’t stay focused on his eyes.

Sucking your teeth, you slouch, mirroring his crossed arms.

You’re fine with playing feisty, and by the awfully attractive way he’s cocking his head, he’s also willing to join this biting game.

“And what makes you think that?”

“Because I’m never passed out and in need of someone to call for me when I go drinking.”

At this you practically hiss, grasping any futile chance to retaliate to no avail.

Opposed to his teasing nature, he drags a stool to your bedside, insisting you drink more.

Even more opposing, a gentle hand presses to your forehead, checking that you haven't contracted a fever.

To say your heartbeat pounded didn’t credit the surprise to its full extent, and thank whatever God above the experience only lasted a few more seconds, giving you plenty of time to freshen your haywire sensibility and brush your teeth before any more soul-sucking Chan run-ins continued.

You should’ve known better than to think he’d truly leave you be though, said soul-sucking bodyguard currently propped against the bathroom’s door frame.

“How did you get into this anyway? Y’know, bodyguard stuff..” You begin to ask, voice muffled from the toothbrush deterring any fully audible sentence.

He cocks an eyebrow.

“I have my ways.”

“Your ways?”

Within split seconds he’s right next to you, making rather intentional eye contact through the mirror.

You inhale sharply.

“Look, sweetness, my job as your bodyguard is to keep you safe,” He pokes his tongue into his cheek. “And if I tell you, I can’t guarantee that.”

There are three things you realized in that moment.

One, Chan is so, so close.

Two, he has an unfairly gorgeous face.

And three, your mouth is smeared with toothpaste.

Great.

You’d like to admit the first night of meeting these new bodyguards, more specifically Chan, went as normal and as non-Ha-joon-influenced as possible, but this effect on you causing your bloodstream to erupt in a hormonal frenzy of attraction told you the story had just begun.

.. .

"Jisung. Hold. Still! Keep moving and this wand is going in your eyeball."

Three weeks in and one thing after another has lead you closer and closer with either of them, whether it's convincing Jisung to go on ice cream runs (where Chan always ends up tagging along) or attempting to remain focused while they help you study (more like trying not to laugh at Jisung and averting your eyes off of Chan’s biceps in that muscle-shirt of his), the three of you are practically conjoined at the hip, and not on bodyguard standards.

"Okay okay! I was itchy. Can you move the piece of hair by my eyebrow?" He whines, grasping an apologetic squeeze on your waist while you focus in his lap.

You’re currently brushing mascara through his unfairly long lashes, but if anyone saw this without knowing the situation, chaos would likely unfold.

Although for you and Jisung, it's your average Friday night spent watching the weekly scary movie he’d decided on, Insidious. One he’d been commenting on for the past thirty minutes or so about how the “representation of demon’s was wrong” while you absentmindedly agreed, looping your index around the strand before abruptly stopping.

Residing slightly above his temple lay a scar, a decently sized scar at that.

Strangely enough, it's circular, like some type of horn or something had been there at some point. Maybe a biking incident?

"Ji?”

The boy's eyes drift up to you.

"What's this scar?"

Below you, he freezes, frantically thinking up the best excuse.

Lots of options, not a lot of time to decide.

"Ah.. that? When I was younger, I developed a weird kind of bump there, 'had it removed." And thankfully, you grunt a response, resorting back to applying his makeup.

Truth be told, those scars (another you hadn't seen yet) were his old horns, forced to be removed in order to initially land this job.

It still sends shivers down his spine thinking about when they had first been cut off, the recovery process resembling something out of nightmares.

Trust, the headaches were awful.

Chan, on the other hand, could keep his, considering he had the ability to conceal them on command. For Jisung, an inferior red-eyed demon with a few years beneath him and in such desperate need for income, chose the painful way through. As for his tail, that was luckily simple to hide (much to his pleasure).

Nevertheless, you could confidently say that your test-subject could easily land a modeling career after your makeover, and by the way he kept staring at the mirror, he seemed equally as enamored as you.

Well, that’s before a jumpscare leaps upon the screen and either of you shoot up, your clumsy companion whacking himself in the face with the mirror.

Staving your giggles, you try soothing the boy; you really do, but the uncannily gory scene that decorates the screen has you cringing back, and when you look at Jisung, expecting to find him cowering, your blood runs cold.

His lips are parted, but the only thing your horrified eyes are drawn to are the hooked canines peeking there. Not to mention his eyes.

Ghastly crimson, glowing.

Except when you breathe in an unsteady gasp, his head snaps to you, sudden facade appearing unaltered, like you hadn't seen something borderline terrifying.

Softly pulling your face close to him despite the screaming instinct to flee, he observes your bewildered expression, brows taut with concern.

“Y/n?”

Sweet tone contradicting, you immediately double backward toward your bedroom door, awkwardly honing the “I’m going to bed” excuse in hopes that suffices for the night.

Frenziedly closing the door, you determine rather quickly you don’t plan to go to sleep. Not that you think you could, but because this discovery isn’t normal.

None of this is normal.

How they found your location back at the alley despite Ha-joon never contacting anyone, how you “coincidentally” walked in on Chan “washing” his hands despite the water running red. Oh and you can’t forget about the rag left behind, putrid stench characteristic to a specific substance.

Blood.

You weren’t stupid. No father disappears the majority of the year on so-called “business trips” only to come back with new cuts and scratches he makes a sorry effort denying, and no daughter of his has literal bodyguards (yet you’re not sure they’re even official bodyguards thanks to your suspicions) glued to her side 24/7.

He does something dangerous, you know without doubt. But according to this hunch of yours, your father may not be the only one tied up in illegal madness.

.. .

Slipping into the car unknown to them was far easier than you anticipated.

You didn't plan on sneaking in in the first place, sure, but upon overhearing their hushed conversation regarding some type of “target”, you assumed whatever topic they were discussing may answer a select few of your billions of burning questions.

So, crouched in the floorboard of the backseat, you try muting your breathing, noting the clutter of metal sounding from your left, whatever responsible assumed to be shoved in the trunk.

Weapons. No mistaking it.

Your discovery is short-lived however, and you flatten yourself the best you can as Han twists around in his seat to grab something, already thirty minutes into your nearly secret mission.

Shit.

His shocked scream tells you enough.

Chan is fuming.

"Jisung, you told me she was asleep. So care to explain why the fuck she's in the back of the car?"

Han frantically flails. "For the record I told you she was lying down–”

"I. Don't. Care! She's not supposed to be here and all that matters right now is that she's at home and in bed, understood?"

As Jisung's lips pull into a tight line and Chan cranks the gear shift into drive, you glance around, a sudden–though risky–idea coming to mind.

"Hey, I could always tag along?"

"No!" They both shout in unison, heads jerking back to face you as if you suggested driving off a cliff.

That sounded much better in your head anyway.

Well there goes that.

Or so you thought.

Because unfortunately for them, wherever needed them needed them urgently, and through many clearly vocalized “she is staying in the car”’s, you weren’t driven home after all.

Fluorescent green lights cast an eerie glow across the perimeter, the location gnawing at your gut. An equestrian center by exterior, though there’s something else.

Wrong. You can’t explain it, but this place is wrong.

Discreetly unloading the guns, you skin crawls observing Chan messily stuff bullets into the magazine of a M240, the mere size of the thing setting your nerves ablaze. And as rightful asking questions seems, you can’t.

That feeling from earlier glues your mouth shut, like if you spoke too loudly, someone, something, would find you.

Thick foliage lay highlighted by your headlights, paving depth into sequential darkness.

You squint, zoning in on a small expanse of branches ajar. An ideal hiding spot.

Wait.

Bright flashes of iron spur your legs into motion, the switchblade cleaning slicing your wrist while mid-duck.

It forks into the car’s interior where the trunk had been opened, your cry of pain muffled by Jisung who basically throws himself inside a stall with you, the stomping of horse’s hooves muting your ragged breathing.

Firing belonging to none other than the machine gun Chan had been wielding pierces the air outside as either of you stay pressed to the stable wall, the pad of footsteps drawing nearer, causing your eyes to squeeze shut.

This is it. You’re going to die.

Much to your relief, it’s Chan, tactical holsters slightly torn, sweat beading his forehead.

The two share a look, remaining silent before delivering an eventual, affirming nod.

Short-lived.

An additional attacker sifts from the shadows, facial expression ushering no other logic than to kill.

Manic eyes, estranged eyes.

The older bodyguard spins, successfully blocking the first hit. Supplies are scattered everywhere, horses beginning to shift uncomfortably.

The perpetrator is faster, smaller, and lands a decent punch into his abdomen. However, the attack is futile, and just before he can stake his knife into Chan’s leg does the bigger man utilize his own weapon, ammunition positively bludgeoning every square inch of the assailant in baited seconds.

You understand why machine guns are strictly used for long range now.

Immediately, soft numbness floods your senses due to Han’s hands covering your eyes and ears, and you sit there for a while, blocked from the grotesque view of impalpable violence being enacted right before you.

You’d forgotten you were huddled together on the other side of the wall, too horrifically immersed.

It's strange. So much is strange.

These two men that you've grown effortlessly close to, grown effortlessly friends with, murder. Defensively in this case, yes, but they hadn’t brought those guns by chance, they brought them by intention.

Not just a twisted hobby like dissecting animals or something along those lines, but murder.

You’re sure they have their reasons, but it's difficult even imagining it. People who are extremely gentle when with you, responsible for such doings.

Talk about a duality.

The faint clatter of gun shells rattling against the marble flooring earns a subtle flinch, Jisung's hands cupping closer to your skin.

Then you smell it, what he'd warned you of no matter the cleanliness of the job.

A metallic, burning scent of blood, causing your nose to burn and your throat to grow increasingly dry.

Your stomach churns.

"You don't forget that smell" Chan had said before leaving the vehicle, and you knew what he was referring to now.

Putrid reek of rot and gunpowder beckon your lungs into fight or flight, but you remain still, ignoring the sharp sting of your wrist, bubbling blood dripping down your arm and onto the floor below, right atop your shoe.

Faint falling of bullet shells put an end to the fighting, then you’re blindly directed out the door without so much as a glance behind you. For your own good, you assume.

Hell, you’re not certain they’ll be much left of the bodies after Chan’s wrath.

As for right now, your top priority is your wrist. Swollen, skin tainted a grueling red shade.

Speeding home, you find yourself blurily recalling events, though all the little details simply swirl into strange shapes.

Shock is what it’s called. That state of monotonous wandering, occurrence too unfamiliar to take in, senses turning off. A coping mechanism of some sort.

Blearily you see the two men, talking, stepping out of the room, grabbing medical supplies. Like you’re in a time warp, dreaming. No pain, hurt.

On the other hand, your bodyguards were frantic, spewing curses and scouring the household for proper first aid materials.

Meanwhile, Chan was finally wrapping your wound in the bandages Jisung spotted, blinking madly in hopes his fogging headspace eased up.

Demons and wounds were not a good combination. Especially not human wounds.

Uncontrollable urges instructed him to tear you apart right this minute, do something, anything to quench that inexplicably demanding thirst.

Vulnerable, easy prey. His thoughts chanted, forcing him to step out of the room for a moment to where Jisung perched, close-pin fastened on his nose to block the mouth-watering smell.

“I’m losing my fucking mind,” He heaves, carding stressed fingers through matted hair.

“What, a little blood getting to a white-eyed demon?” His companion muses, hastily dodging Chan’s swinging fist. Immune to his threats.

It’s obvious to Jisung that’s only half of the story, but he’ll wait for his superior to admit it himself.

“It’s not just the blood,” He inhales deeply, gratefully accepting the water Han offered. “It’s her.”

Go figure.

To be honest, Jisung wasn’t good at pretending.

Well, in terms of lying he was a natural (a given, after all), but pretending he hadn’t caught onto his friend’s enormous attraction to you was technically impossible.

Quite surprising though, to think such an arrogant demon would’ve ended up like this.

Susceptible, willing. For a human.

Who would’ve thought.

.. .

It’s nothing short of a roller coaster regaining your stable consciousness. Chest wracking, world spinning. You’re situated in bed, injury carefully wrapped(though you can’t recall by who).

The doorknob rattles, and in walks Chan, except, you don’t feel happy, relieved.

Scared. You feel extremely scared.

“What- What are you?” Waver revealing your anxiousness, you curse the subtle tremble.

He smiles.

“Aren’t you a perceptive little one,” His voice dips lower, and as he edges closer, you find yourself pressing further into the pillow behind your head.

“I’m sure you’ve had your suspicions, so I’ll make it easy for you.” He lifts his curls, two perfectly placed horns residing there.

“We’re demons. He and I are different species, but both demons.”

Demons.

Demons.

Instantaneously, a tidal wave or realization crashes salty water into your lungs, expertly piecing your observations together. Red eyes, horn-like scars.

How had you not caught on earlier?

Momentarily, you meet his eyes. Still brown, although you wonder how deep of a red they’d stain, glaze over stunning vermillion or dusky cinnamon tones.

“Species?”

He hums.

“Red-eyed are the best at persuasion, that’s Jisung. I’m a white-eyed demon.”

So neither crimson nor cinnamon, you decide. Perhaps pale, opal color.

“White-eyed demons are usually Satan’s lap dogs, but what lots of people don’t know,” You crane forward to hear his next words, and he leans in as well. “Is that we’re also the most desired species, the most lustful.”

Lustful.

The words don’t truly sink in, and by the time they do, it’s impossible to rip the mischievous look from his eyes.

"What’s that supposed to mean.." You grumble, avoid his darkening stare.

A subtle tap on your thigh has your attention immediately shfiting, your entire body instinctively jolting.

"You want me to show you?" He begins with a laugh, a low, husky laugh that has your stomach tying knots. Not the usual, squeaky laugh, but one that's different, very different. "But if you say yes, I’m sure no one else can satisfy you the way I can."

Your expression pinches with annoyance, a bit offed by his sudden cockiness.

Granted, he looks heaven-sent despite being a demon, and you doubt he'd be any different in bed, but c'mon now, you have a right to be suspicious.

"And how're you so sure of that?" Leaning back on your arms where he sits in front of you, you fixate on the way kinky locks perfectly line the crown of his head, one particularly messy strand tipping over to linger above chocolate pools for eyes.

"Sweetness, Jisung are I are carved out of sin, there's not a particle in our body not built to fuck."

God. Hearing "fuck" come out of his mouth shouldn't have been that attractive. Chan had always been well-mannered, well-spoken, so to hear him say something vulgar for the first time, nonetheless "fuck", effected you more than you'd like to admit.

Slowly, oh so slowly he crawls on the bed, kind tip of his head betraying sinful intent.

“You want this?” He whispers, and your arms immediately wrap around his neck, tugging him into your lips fervently, needily, with a short nod of approval between sighs and stifled groans.

Your wrist aches, but from how heated this kiss is becoming, that matter is the least of your problems.

He feels like fire, tastes like it, nectarine on your tongue.

You waste nimble time undressing, suppressing a high-pitched mewl the longer he sucks deep purple love bites into your neck and down your collarbones, likely to be bruised tomorrow.

He’s careful, learning your body, your sounds. Touch light as a feather, not enough.

He’s big, that’s a given. Head red and angry with thick beads of precum apparent, you can’t possibly think straight, his name the only sensible word falling off your swollen lips.

Chan Chan Chan.

Brows knitting as his fat head bumps your entrance, you murmur pleas, practically delusional on his pleasure, his love.

Most desired, you understand what he meant by that.

“Feel good? Yeah? That's a good girl."

You can feel your entire body keen at the praise, utterly blissful from how amazing he was making you feel.

The stretch of his fat cock has your common-sense threading dangerously thin, head falling back, fingernails raking his back. Delirious.

When he actually started moving? Yeah, you’re convinced you paid a visit to cloud nine, fucked-out brain recognizing only the squelch of your bodies connecting and the squeaky, absolutely desperate sounds he’s pulling from your throat.

Not to mention his voice, accent thickening tremendously the longer he ruined your drooling cunt.

His, his, his.

"Shit- you feel fuckin' divine," He kissed the sweaty skin of your calf hiked over his shoulder, ankle held by a strong hand while the other occupied your hip, squeezing and kneading with each heavy thrust.

Chan wasn't lying about being carved out of sin, fucking like an absolute animal to the point tears began welling in your eyes, overstimulated and euphoric beyond belief as your hands shakily reach upward.

Obediently, he lowers himself, letting you hold his face for some sense of security while feeling so vulnerable.

You pathetically search his eyes, head thrown back after one particular roll of his hips that earns a rumbling moan from the man.

Each time he bottoms out it feels like you're losing it, rubbing that gummy spot that makes your heels dig into his shoulders and your moans transform into high-pitched cries, shuddering.

"Channie- Oh fuck Channie- I can't It's too much-"

Practically gasping for air to ease the buzzing fuzziness blinding you, you cherish the equally mind-numbing kiss he soothes, pressure in your lower tummy building and building at a flying pace.

"Yes you can, bunny. 'Need to cum? C'mon, cum for me, 'atta girl." He tuts, slowing himself down with each squeeze of your cunt signaling your approaching release.

Torturous.

Nothing like this, never in all his life had he felt something like this. So delicate and fragile as you look up at him, glossy dolly eyes far too tempting.

At this point it was an obligation to stuff your pussy full.

Rolling your puffy nub in tight circles, your thighs twitch, gripping the pillow behind your head like a vice as the sharp knot in your stomach finally snaps and a near pornographic sound rips from your throat, back arching off the bed.

The sight of you has his eyes nearly rolling back, so ruined and angel-like. You're a white rose in a field of wilting grasses. Bloomed in his ill-fated fingertips.

His pants stifle, big hands holding the back of your thighs spread for him. His pace stutters, and with a gritted whine of your name he slams his hips, painting your aching cunt white.

The last thing he anticipated visiting the human realm was to find himself in this situation.

And whether he liked to admit it or not, if the Devil had your father wrapped around his finger, you had him tied up without a chance of escape.

So while you both scrambled to clean up your evidence and not fall over your own feet hearing Jisung clumsily drop a clattering frying pan in the kitchen, he thinks, if only for a second, he’d be okay with it.

Being yours, that is.

FIC TAGLIST. @y-ur--i @atinism @darknova2319 @producedbyhanjisung @knightoftime21 @leonswifesstuff

sunboki, may 2022 ©

[ja3honey]

♡ 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟐𝟗: 𝐓𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚 [𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 ����𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫] - 𝐂.𝐒 ♡

My Everything

【Synopsis】 : Rain was pouring, and your heart was aching. You didn't care what the villagers nor that priest thought about him. You loved him, and you were going to prove it.

『Word count』 : 2.14k

-> Genre: Smut. Fantasy. Demon Au

Paring: Gargoyle!San x Human!Reader

[Warnings] : Public sex [in a garden] sex in the rain. Oral [both receiving] fingering, clit play. Cum play-ish. Making out. Swearing. Pet names. Fake names. Demonic and religious concepts. Dirty talk. Cemie pie. Squirting.

Note : The long awaited demon San is here. I'll be honest I was so busy i didn't get time to write this fic, and when Kinktober rolled around, i thought it was what better time than now. So thank you, everyone from this poll for everyone picking San for this concept.

This story is my own flare of the original creators' webcomic. So the lore, characters, and other story design have been tweaked and changed to fit what i wanted to write. Make sure to check out the original author of this wild story.

I want to thank the original creator of this amazing universe and beautiful character's, @ilustrariane . Please check out their work! It's to die for. You can get there full 18+ E-book and its argh my happy place. ♡♡♡

Masterlist | Navigation | Kinktober List

You ran faster than your legs could carry you, nearly slipping over even bend and turn you took. The pouring rain had soaked your tunic and all of your undergarments. Your shoes were also squelching with every stomp your feet did. You were in a panic, frantically praying that he would be alright. The priest of your village warned you―more like threatened you―about involving yourself with the devil as he put it. ‘Those beasts are not to be trusted. They are demons in disguise. Filth. Inhuman.’

You obviously ignored the old man, having no time with such lies. That beast was the most kindest creature you know. He was more caring than any human you've ever met. He understood you, heard you, got to know you. Everyone in the village only looked at you as the witch's daughter, the spawn of the devil herself. You were nothing and the only way to be something was to submit. Be one with god, marry the priest and prove you were devoted to the lord.

“Sun! Sun where are you!!” You called in the blistering winds, repeating the fake name he gave you when you first met. You see, he was in fact a demon, just like the priest had screamed at you, but he was more. He was a gargoyle, one of Lilith's children, trapped, bound to the ruined castle just beyond the village. One of the priests from the before had managed to get his real name and trap him with a blood curse, locking him to only do the bidding of the said man. But now that Sun was alone, he had no way to break the curse, living the rest of the days in the place he called home, imprisoned by sunlight. You had climbed stairs and rock structures to get up to one of the garden points in the castle, seeing where your lover usually lays, under a concrete arch, empty and bare. Where was he?

You called again but this time your voice got caught in your throat as a giant rumble crashed down to the earth's core. Sun’s wings were spread wide, having landed only mere meters from you. His huge form was hunched over, his palms spread out on the wet pavement. He had tears in his cold eyes. “I told you to never come back! Why do you not listen.” his voice bellowed around you into the forestry beyond, having enough power to shake the trees.

“I can’t leave you Sun. Please.” Your tears were covered by the heavy rain pour, your hair sticking to your red puffy face. You couldn’t just forget about him, not now that he had tainted you. He was yours and you, his. And you were going to fight for it, until your last breath.”Look at me!”

Your yelp got the demon's attention, making him stand at all his height. His fanged mouth growled, annoyed but also riddled with guilt. He would never thought the night he had with you was a mistake. Frankly, it was one, if not the best moment in his lifetime. But he needed to keep his distance from you. He needed you safe. Protected, alive. And he was something that was unable to do so. He was filth. A demon. You are this light. Innocent human. He shouldn’t, he can’t be the one that taints such a delicate flower. “Darling, please. I… I can’t.”

You stomped over to his form pushing on his strong broad chest. He fell with little effort landing on the wet concrete, soaking the fabric that wrapped around his waist. He could have held his ground not letting you move his large body with such ease, but he didn’t want to. He needed you close no matter how hard his mind was fighting him. You wasting no time in locking your lips against his. If talking wasn’t going to work then you were going to show him that he was meant for you. You needed him like the air you breathe and he wasn’t about to make the choice to die and leave you alone on this earth without you trying your best to stop him.

“Don’t leave me.” You whispered against his lips, feeling his long demonic tongue slip into your mouth. You moaned climbing the creature so your legs dangled over each of his crossed thighs. His hand, the same width as your waist, held tightly on your hip while the other cupped your face, holding you firmly in place. His tongue abused your own for a moment, basking in the rain now only lightly pouring. His nose brushed against yours, lips moving from yours, to your jaw, and then to your collarbone.

“I’ll never leave you my flower. I promise. I’m sorry.” His voice was raw, filled with pain and sorrow. He would never want you to fear such a thing but in toe, had made the fear brew from his outburst. You slide down off his lap falling in between his thighs. Your fingers quickly fumble with his cloth before tugging his growing cock free. The cold rain pouring down made the demon hiss, but your warm hands made his mind spin. Your fingers could barely wrap around the almost hardened cock. Now looking at him probably you now wonder how it even fitted in you in the first place. Your mouth took his tip, jaw aching at the sheer size of him. but you bushed forwards sucking on him making him groan, dipping his head backwards. Your mouth felt amazing even if you couldn’t take him whole. Your whimpers and gags vibrated on his cock in the perfect way and your harsh grip was sending him over the edge. “fuck, if you keep going I’m gonna cum down that pretty throat of yours.”

His growl went straight to your pussy, making you try and take more of him in your mouth, letting saliva drip down your chin, soaking his cock along with his precum. You used one hand to continue stroking him while you used another to slip under your soaked dress, pressing your fingers firmly on your clit. Your moans were the perfect missing piece to send him over the edge, emptying his hot seed down your throat. “Fuck!!” his hand that held your face snaked and tighten in your hair, holding your still as he jerked his hips slightly. You pulled away making some of his juices squirt out on your face.

God, was it a sight to see.

Your wide eyes looking at him with nothing but devotion while covered in his cum.  How did he ever get so lucky finding you in such a cruel dark world? He sat up quickly, ripping all the fabric on your body, throwing the drenched tattered material somewhere across the garden. His huge hands gripped our thighs tugging you up until you sat on his chest, feeling some of your juices leak out onto his scarred body. You felt embarrassed, but your lover couldn’t think about anything in that moment other than having your pussy over his face. So with his insane strength, he lauds you forward, letting your cunt meet his lips. He pushed you down light so your body could lay on top of his while on your back. Tilting your face to the right you see his hardening cock twitch. His long demonic tongue licked a strip up your slit making your whole body visibly shivers. Your nails digging into his hips trying to hold onto any part of his giant frame. “Ffffucckk please!”

His tongue enters you, fucking you slowly as one of his hands lays flat on your tummy pushing pressure onto your body and making your toes curl. His other hand that still gripped tightly on your inner thigh opens slightly so his large thumb could reach your clit, pressing harshly on your nub. He could eat you for hours and never get tired of the way your body moves, the way it responds to every touch he gives or the way you moan and whimper his name over and over again. It was like an angel singing. Elegant, perfect and pure

“Hmm come.” His voice was almost not audible as he kept eating you like a starved beast making the vibrations hit just the right spot to send you reeling over the edge. He gave you no time to relax after your high though as your demonic lover picked you up with no effort at all and bend you over the concrete statue seat that he would sit at for centuries waiting for freedom. All your clothing had been ripped and torn away at this point leaving you completely baring in the cold dark night. The rain had not stopped but only got lighter for a moment before pouring some more. You would surely get sick after this encounter if you were not to leave at this moment. But neither of you made an effort to find shelter or privacy. No, he needed you now just as much as you to him. “Deep breaths Darling.”

His deep grumble was almost lost under the loud blanket of rain echoing in the night. But luckily you hear him, taking a deep breath, steadying yourself on the rock. The tip of his cock rubbed against your soaked folds, before inching in slowly. The burn was pleasurable but still painful. But you couldn’t care at this moment. Another inch went in and the demon had to pace himself, screaming over and over in his mind not to just snap his hips, making you take his cock in one quick swoop. No, he needed patience, even though he was no patient creature. But he managed to find some, only for you. Once he was able to completely bottoming you out. You were both a panting and moaning mess. Your whines didn’t stop as he started to buck his hips in and out. In and out. Testing the waters, seeing what you could handle. And once he saw a green light, his grip on your hips tightened as he began to ruthlessly fuck you against the rough concrete.

Your screams caught the breeze, shattering through the heavy sound of rain. He had turned you around in one single movement need to to feel your body close to his. Your legs couldn’t even wrap fully around your lovers huge waist as he continued fuck you hard and quick.

“Fuck Darling. You feel so good. So tight. Taking my monster cock in such a small body. Good girl.” he snapped his hips with every word. “My. Good. Girl.”

It didn’t take you long for your band in your tummy to tighten. You were so close to the edge and you needed just a little extra. Just a little more. And The demon seemed to read your body like his favourite book, pinching your clit with his large fingers you whaled his name squirting all over his cock. “PLease fuck argh. Your cock is so good. Fuckkk.”

He growled like an animal, latching his sharp teeth on your soft shoulder, wrapping his muscular arms around your tiny human frame. He picked you up, fucking upwards in a new angle. Your body was like a rag doll, letting him fuck you in any position he seemed fit.  His wings caged you, almost like he was protecting you while he also ruining you.

For a beast that seemed to only want to fuck, he cared so much about you. Without him ever saying it, he knew you were the love of his life and he was willing to die for you. Heck, he had already killed for you. And he could kill again if you asked. No matter what the code says about demons hurting humans. He would gladly serve an eternal sentence if it means hurting the ones who hurt you first.

“I’m gonna cum in this ruined cunt of you. Hmm, baby. You gonna take this demon seed?”

“Yes, yes. Please. Give it to me.” and with your soft submissive cries he came deep in your cunt. Filling your full. His come mixed with yours, spilling down his legs, before washing away on the wet floor. His cock slipped out of you but he did not let you down. No, he opened his wings and took off towards the castle without another world. He held you tightly as you watched the garden where he had just defiled you disappear into your view. He was taking you back to his den. The home he had to made for himself. Away from any human or beast's eye.

Were he could tend to you and make sure you were okay and possibly―Most definitely―fuck you some more.

-♥︎

[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 

[iovesia]

MILLION DOLLAR MAN.

keanu mlist.⠀ 𑇓 ⊹ ᳝ ࣪ ⠀toxic!kevin lomax⠀𝑥⠀f!reader.

synopsis: yandere alphabet with kevin lomax.

contents. canon-divergent/milton wins ending?. toxic and abusive relationship. infidelity. emotional abuse. coercion. dubcon. forced marriage. brief smut. 2.3k words.

⋆ 𓂃 ﾟ .⠀josie's little note. here's a short little thing to get me back into writing long fics lollzzz, enjoy :3 template from @/dear-yandere.

𝓐 — ffection: how do they show their love and affection? how intense would it be?

Kevin's a love bomber from the start. Since he's moved to New York —and assuming in this AU, he's embraced the benefits of being the Devil's son— he has tons of cash to blow on beautiful women like yourself. There's always a bouquet of roses on your desk at work, or large gifts of jewelry or expensive dresses on your apartment doorstep. He's a charming rich lawyer, willing to buy anything your little heart desires— it's almost impossible to say no when he grins and asks you on a date to the Four Seasons.

𝓑 — lood: how messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Kevin doesn't like a mess, but he's not against getting his hands dirty. With all the connections he has, and the literal Devil on his shoulder, he has the means to get rid of anyone he deems a problem. Some guy at work hitting on you? Next day he's packing his desk. Your mailman gives you a smile? Fired for poor performance. Your male neighbour who helps you carry groceries? He unfortunately tripped and broke his neck down some stairs..

Like an omen of death, once they meet Kevin, they're gone the next day. And he plays the role of ever so caring shoulder to cry on, to a T.

𝓒 — ruelty: how do they treat their darling once abducted? would they mock their darling?

Kevin wouldn't necessarily abduct you, but you can believe that after months or even weeks of love-bombing and obsessively keeping track of you— he'll propose. A normal person would think he's batshit crazy— but the allure of a powerful, rich man who "only has eyes for you" is enough to make you melt. His version of abduction is to just pressure you enough to marry him— a sign of love in your eyes and a sign of ownership in his. You're legally, emotionally, and in all other ways officially his.

As for how he treats you: Kevin's the type of man to follow you around while arguing, constantly talking over you in that condescending manner. He's a lawyer. Can't help it. You can expect a lot of typical mansplaining behavior or just straight of gaslighting. He mocks you just to see you get all riled up. Sometimes you think he sees you more as an irritated little pup, than a grown woman.

𝓓 — arling: aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling's will?

Kevin's not afraid of coercing you into doing things for him. At this point in your relationship, he's relaxed his mask of charm and instead is letting the devil seep through the cracks. Whether it's sex or something else, he either coaxes you into it, or just pulls a blackmail card.

On a good day, he's gently rubbing his hands on your sides or kissing the back of your shoulder. "C'mon, baby.." he whispers softly, his warm breath on your ear. "Missed my pretty girl so much today.. just lay back, hm?"

On a bad night, you're met with guilt trips and cruel words. "I pay for every goddamn thing in this house— if you're not gonna put out— I'll find someone else who'd appreciate the gifts and the lifestyle, got it?"

He's so hot and cold: one minute he's evilly pressuring you into sex, and threatens to cheat— the next he's moaning softly in your ear about how warm and soft you feel, and how nobody else makes him this way.

"You drive me crazy, honey." "You know I love you."

𝓔 — xposed: how much of their heart do they bear to their darling? how vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Kevin’s a damn liar. That’s the worst thing about him. Not the coercion, or the love-bombing, or the constant arguing— it’s the lying that’s the worst. You never really know if he’s telling you the truth or just lying to your face again. His vulnerability is either an act or confession and eventually you stopped telling the difference. 

“You’re my favourite girl,” Kevin often tells you. You are his favourite. You’re just not his only.

𝓕 — ight: how would they feel if their darling fought back?

Again, Kevin sees you as a pissed off little puppy. Trying to win an argument? In your dreams! Kevin's the type to mock your voice in a high pitched tone, or roll his eyes at every word.

Gaslight. Gaslight. Gaslight.

He wouldn't take too kindly to your empty threats of divorce or leaving him, because he knows you won't. Regardless of if you still love him or not, you love the lifestyle he brings you— and he knows it.

"You set a foot out the door and you won't see a goddamn dime," Kevin's cold tone makes you freeze, his grip on your forearms now painfully tight.

𝓖 — ame: is this a game to them? how much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

Kevin would love to see you try. You know Kevin would never let the divorce go through— or he'd make it such a hellish process, you might as well not even try. You hope that maybe spousal abandonment would be enough to be forced to break your bond.

You think you're being sneaky, and this is the one time Kevin allows you slip out from under him; when you steal his car and drive out of New York like you're on fire. Of course you're too distressed to realise that he'll just be able to track his car back down and find you.

He lets you have your two or three days of freedom, thinking you've finally gotten away. Until your motel room is raided down by police officers and you're brought back home.

You glare daggers into Kevin as he plays "concerned-husband" and makes you appear crazy to the cops.

𝓗 — ell: what would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

When you first caught him cheating.

It was the typical routine: secret phone calls, paying for motel rooms, getting more jealous over you (projecting). The signs were all there and it absolutely devastated you. You didn't even realise this was just at the beginning.

Of course Kevin was screwing his co-worker: the seductive, headstrong lawyeress with a body like Mariah and a face like Diaz.

The fight that ensued after you caught him was utter hell. You screamed and cried and threw things around— all while Kevin merely shot down your words.

"You made your bed," You wail, as you try to storm past him.

"And I'm begging you to lay with me in it," Kevin blocks your path.

His fake puppy eyes, and guilty face work wonders on your distressed psyche. Your slaps on his chest turn to gripping his shirt, and your vulgar language filled with sadness and heartbreak,

It was so easy. Too easy.

And this was just the beginning of a cycle.

𝓘 — deals: what kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Kevin wants the picture perfect life: rich husband, beautiful wife, beautiful kids, beautiful home. And he wants it with you. Sure he may screw around with the occasional intern and random whore— but that's all they are: a good squeeze. They're not you: his beautiful wife, and his most prized possession.

Kevin wants the nuclear family with you: to see you swollen with a cute little bump, and a baby on your hip. You're his beautiful, dolled up housewife: that's what he wants, and he'll settle for no less.

𝓙 — ealousy: do they get jealous? do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Of course this little hypocrite gets big time jealous. He knows you're stunning, if anything he shows it off. Like a trophy: they can look, they can envy, they can wish for, but they cannot touch you.

When Kevin's jealous, he tends to be in a pissy mood for the rest of the day. He's sort of just quiet and moody, like a bitchy teenager. That's when you find himself buying you a whole bucket load of dresses and clothes in his favorite colors and styles.

He gives you a beautiful "K" necklace to wear, and that brings him some reassurance.

𝓜 — ask: are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

100%. He is so suave and has so much charisma, that has the women swooning and the men in envy. Kevin's the guy everyone wants to be or be with. So it's safe to say, any of your allegations are carelessly discarded.

No way, Kevin Lomax, the senior partner and top lawyer of New York could be a cheating, emotionally abusive bastard you paint him to be.. maybe you're just being dramatic.

𝓝 — aughty: how would they punish their darling? + 𝓞 — ppression: how many rights would they take away from their darling?

Kevin would cut off your connections to your family and friends. Naughty girls don't get to go out with their loved ones, do they? He wants to make sure you realise how dependent you are on him— that he'll make you go crazy with isolation before you finally beg him for attention— something to stop your sanity from snapping.

He'll also take away your financial resources. Of course the rich culture is that the husband works, while the wife plays. There'll be no more playing for you, until you learn to behave. He cuts off your credit cards and source of income. You want something? New dress? New shoes? Beg him nicely, on your knees.

He punishes you in the most degrading ways. Spanking you, fucking your face, or edging you till you're a sobbing mess and begging for his forgiveness. Until your skin is covered in handprints and his cum, he won't think you're sorry.

𝓠 — uit: if their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

He'd never truly move on if you somehow slip through his fingers. Whether Milton manages to push you to suicide or you manage to run away for good: he would be devastated.

Sure, he'd get re-married in the next year for the sake of his image: but Kevin's never going to love another woman the way he loved you. He's an evil bastard, he knows.. but that doesn't change his feelings for you.

First thing the tabloids will notice is how eerily similar his new wife looks to you. The same hair, the same clothes, even the same perfume he liked you wearing. He'll pretend he's over you.

He doesn't need you.

He'll move on.

He doesn't want you, is what he thinks as he pounds into a cheap hooker, his eyes shut, pretending it's you creaming around his cock.

𝓡 — egret: would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? would they ever let their darling go?

Kevin's felt guilty once. When you first got pregnant. At the time your marriage was on the brink of survival, and he's just cheated and been caught for the millionth time— so seeing you sitting in the bathroom, quietly crying to yourself over a pregnancy test, tugs at his heartstrings. You're officially trapped with him forever.

Seeing you so upset and devastated over what should be the happiest moment of your lives makes him feel shame for once.

He wants you to be happy.. he does.

But he's just too selfish for that.

𝓢 — tigma: what brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

He has always been very entitled. Working in the courtroom and having 64 straight convictions really boosted his ego to the roof. He believes he's owed you. He's a winner, and you're his prize.

Doesn't help that he has Milton Satan constantly in his ear, pushing him to straight debauchery. You can thank Kevin's father for his son's constant persistence.

𝓣 — ears: how do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Funnily enough, Kevin doesn't really enjoy seeing you cry. He's not one for dacryphilia, and if anything it's a turn off. Sure he loves seeing you scream and be pissed at him, he loves a fiesty parter. But seeing you sob and whimper, your big pretty eyes all wet and full of tears just makes him deflate.

He doesn't want you to isolate yourself. Be pissed. Be angry. Be mean. But take it out on him— it gets him rock hard.

𝓥 — ice: what weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Like the previous letter, I think Kevin seeing you cry would be somewhat of a weakness. It won't make him fold every single time, but trust that it can at a good time.

That's the only time you'll hold power over him: not when you're threatening to leave, or call the cops or berating him. But when you're like a wounded kitten— sad and detached from him. He hates it.

"Oh honey, don't break my big ol' heart like this," he coaxes you out from under the blanket, his hand gently stroking your head. "Let me see that pretty smile.. please?"

𝓦 — it's end: would they ever hurt their darling?

No, not physically. Kevin's gonna pull that "real men don't hit their women" card. Sure.. he's a cheating, lying, selfish, manipulative prick— but he won't put his hands on you.

He's already hurting you with the lying and the emotional blackmail, and that's enough.

𝓧 — oanon: how much would they revere or worship their darling? to what length would they go to win their darling over?

He goes to any length to fulfill your materialistic desires. He'll take you to all the best parties, the best restaurants, the best stores— anything for his pretty little thing. Happy wife, happy life, right?

𝓨 — oanon: how long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

Kevin hardly considers pining over anyone. One wink and drink usually does the trick. But he's so intrigued by you— whether you're just painfully shy and embarrassed or playing hard to get— you've certainly caught his eye.

He pines over you for a few months, at most a year, before he's practically losing patience with you. But trust he won't let two years go by unless it's with his ring on your finger.

𝓩 — enith: would they break their darling?

No. Shockingly, Kevin doesn't want to break you. He doesn't want you to become a shell of yourself. He loves your fire, your tears, your sadness— everything that makes you, you. If he wanted a mindless bimbo, he'd hire another escort.

He loves you, deep down in his black, devilish heart— and he wouldn't change a thing about you. Don't worry your pretty little head about that.

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© 𝐈𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐀, 2024. do not copy, repost or translate my works.

[peachyjinx]

On The Edge- Chapter 3: The Hunger

Word count: 3.8k

Summary: Loki, as usual, is a big flirt and driving you crazy. You finally find out why you can't orgasm (this chapter is all plot).

Warnings: This fic kind of goes into the non-consensual realm, Loki really is a jerk. But also he's also a sexy mischievous God so I'm into it...

Day 21

Ok things are definitely desperate now. You thought you were desperate weeks ago, but this is a whole other level. You laid sweaty in your sheets, hopelessness creeping in as you stared at the ceiling. The early morning light shined in, giving your room a soft, warm glow. 

This time, you had tried mixing it up while you masturbated, and thought of Eric. That kind, handsome man who looked like he walked straight off of the cover of a bodice ripper in the 90’s. Yet still- no orgasm. 

Eric had been out of town for work, so you’d still been unable to test Wanda's theory with a real dick. And to make matters worse, Loki had been insufferable. He’d increased his flirtations with you, which you can’t help but suspect is because he knows you and Eric are talking. 

Now Loki blatantly hits on you, and you thought you might die when he caressed the small of your back the other day when the team gathered for a meeting. It’s as if he’s constantly teasing you, keeping you right on the edge without relief. 

And it doesn’t help that none of the Avengers are currently on a mission. Everything has been calm, and all of your co-workers are around, making you even more stir crazy. You’ve busied yourself with museum trips and hanging with Wanda and Vision, but it’s not enough. 

But relief was just around the corner. Today Eric gets back, and the two of you have yet to make plans. You decide there’s no way you’re giving in to Loki now, especially with his performance at the fair and the fact that he only seems to want you when you’re interested in someone else. 

You took a deep breath, trying not to let yet another missed orgasm cloud your judgment as you texted Eric. Play it cool, and not like you’re miserably horny and in aching need for a good fuck. 

Hey, do you want to meet up tonight? 

Within a minute, Eric replied.

Yea, that’d be great! Just tell me when and where and I’ll be there ;)

A stupid grin spread across your face- you loved how easy it was with Eric. Here he was, excited to see you, and not teasing or messing with you in any way. Just available. You imagined Loki and Eric as a little devil and angel on your shoulder like those old cartoons and chuckled to yourself. You’ll go with the angel- it’s probably a better decision in the long run. You shook your head as you stood out of bed, mentally shaking off Loki and embracing Eric. 

What was it your grandma always said? “The best way to get over someone is to get under someone!”. You smirked to yourself, knowing how much it would piss off Loki to see you dating Eric. Good.

BEEEEP BEEEEP BEEEEP

Suddenly, the alarms went off, and your eyes darted to the flashing red light in the corner of your room. OF COURSE there’s a mission when you’re literally hours from finally getting thoroughly fucked. 

-----

Day 23

Your mind wandered to Loki casually walking through the staff showers the other week. The way he sauntered with just a towel around his waist as he walked past you. You thought about his chest, strong and powerful, begging to be kissed. His abdominal muscles, perfectly carved and ready for you to run your nails down. That peek of hair below his belly button, trailing towards…

You snapped out of your intrusive and horny thoughts. 

You could feel his eyes on you as you looked anywhere else but his direction. The quarters were too close, Loki sat only a few feet across from you for the last hour. The Quinjet was quiet, but your brain was humming with anxious, dirty thoughts. You tried to focus on the equipment piled against the wall of the aircraft. 

You realized you were fidgeting with your feet and stopped, and stole a glance at Loki. Those piercing eyes were watching you, studying you. You felt yourself squirm as you immediately looked away. What is his problem? Your eyes drifted to Steve and Wanda in the cockpit flying your team home, and tried to figure out how much longer until you were back in the tower. Back to Eric.

The moment the aircraft landed, you jumped out of your seat, texting Eric with an update on your availability. 

“You seemed a bit distracted,” Loki chastised you as he followed you off of the Quinjet. You rolled your eyes, trying to move as quickly as possible to the showers. It was dinner time, and you were hungry for more than a meal. And you had a date- a sure thing.

"Whatever," you muttered as you marched down the hall, opting to go back to your room to clean up instead of the staff locker room. You were not in the mood for Loki’s shit tonight, you had a more serious mission- to have an orgasm. 

You stood at the elevator, ignoring Loki as he walked up behind you. You felt his strong hands wrap around your waist as he pulled you up against him. 

“Hey- what are you?-”, you could barely blurt out in shock as you looked around, wondering if anyone saw what he was doing. 

“If you need help…with your distraction…all you have to do is ask,” he purred in your ear, sending a chill down your body, making you shudder. You could feel his strong chest against your shoulders, his breath on the back of your neck. You had never been more turned on in your life, and your eyes closed for a moment as you felt yourself begin to melt into his body. Memories of his flirting, teasing, and dickish behaviour at the fair flashed through your mind.

You weren’t going to let him do this to you- toy with you because he was bored. The last month had been hell, and he has been making it infinitely more difficult. The flirting. The touching. And now…

All of your annoyance and pent up sexual frustration bubbled up and you exploded. 

“First of all, I was never distracted in the mission! And second of all, I can’t take this anymore, Loki!! Do you want me or not?! You’ve been fucking with my head too much, I can’t take it anymore!! Stop flirting with me, I’ve got a date tonight and I don’t need you messing with my head!!,” you screamed, stomping as you whipped your body away from his. 

Your face felt hot from anger and lust, and you glared at him, pointing a finger. His expression was even more enraging. Loki looked at you as if you were a sad puppy begging for a treat. Pity? He knowingly smirked at you as he always did, stepping to close the gap between you that you had created. 

“Family dinner downstairs, 5 minutes!”, Tony’s voice rang out over the intercoms.  

“God damnit, I have HAD IT with you people!!,” you stormed onto the elevator, holding up a hand to show Loki you didn’t want him to follow.

“What’s another few minutes before you’re off to your date with that buffoon?,” Loki asked, his playful demeanor irritating you. 

“At least Eric’s a nice man. Something you’d know nothing about!”, you spat out while glaring at him as the doors closed.

~~~~~~

Your shower was frenzied with anticipation. Your anger at Loki, not getting off, and desperation for release was all consuming. Every time your mind drifted to Loki holding you up against him, you shook your head and thought of Eric. 

Thankfully, this would all be resolved after dinner. You quickly threw on a cute outfit for drinks with Eric, and headed towards the dining hall the team shared for your “family dinners” as Tony liked to call them. 

A beautiful buffet was spread over tables featuring fresh fruits, roasted vegetables, game bird, and breads. It smelled amazing and reminded you that you were famished. 

“I could get used to these- it’s one reason to keep Loki around,” Nat elbowed you as you all sat down to the large table, with the enticing spread before you. A few weeks ago, Loki had created a similar spread for you all, and your stomach growled excitedly because you knew this one would also be delicious. 

You sat down next to Nat and immediately began filling your plate like your teammates. You saw Loki out of the corner of your eye and you ignored him. But of course he sat next to you. Could he irritate you any more?  

“My, you seem hungry this evening,” Loki noted, and you felt yourself immediately suspicious. What is this game? Why is he always messing with you?

“Well I need a full meal- I’m going out tonight and don’t want it to get too messy,” you snarkily responded, still not looking at him. 

“Ah, yes off to your date with that oaf, ” he drawled as he delicately picked at his food, not eating. 

“Yes, as a matter of fact- I am. And his name is Eric,” you snapped, acknowledging his presence with a glare. You tried not to focus on Loki, but you noticed he wore a black three piece suit with no tie, and the top buttons of his dark green shirt were unbuttoned. You reminded yourself that he’s also an asshole, and you had another hot man who wants you, and you needed to continue to focus on finishing your meal so you can get out as soon as possible.

Loki leaned closer to you, his breath hitting your ear as he lowered his voice. 

“What's the matter Darling, unable to bring yourself to completion on your own?", he asked, before leaning back with a knowing smile. 

“Huh?”, you eloquently replied, trying to assess what he meant. Did he mean…?

Loki leaned forward, his hand snaking to your leg under the table. Your cunt clenched from the electricity of his touch, and you felt your breath hitch. Loki leaned in close again, and you could swear you felt the touch of his lips on your earlobe. 

“Have you been unable to bring yourself the release you so achingly crave? Your lustful fantasies not bringing you the results that you need?”, Loki practically purred in his deep, melodic voice. 

You felt your heart sink in your chest as your cheeks heated up. How did he know? Your mind raced through a million thoughts a minute as you tried to piece together what was going on.

Loki knew you couldn’t orgasm. How did he know? Did Wanda tell him? You looked at him in shock, a devilish smile spread across his face as he popped a grape in his mouth.

“Loki…how did you know that?,” you asked as calmly as you could, trying to keep your voice down so no one could hear. You glanced around the table, and everyone was engrossed in their own conversations, not paying attention to the two of you. 

“Eric will be unable to satisfy you,” Loki spoke Eric’s name with a hint of venom as he sipped from a glass of wine and continued to ignore your question.

You sat still, confused for a moment.

How did he know that?

“What are you talking about??,” you asked with distress, looking into his icy blue eyes. He is so close, you can smell him- warm, leather undertones with a crispness like the pine trees in a forest on a cold day. You begin to feel dizzy, the heady thoughts of wanton sex and anger building in you. His hand drifted a bit, closer to your inner thigh. Your mini skirt gave easy access, and he was dangerously close to where you needed him. A small moan escaped your lips and Loki smirked. 

Loki reached forward on the table and offered you the exotic Asgardian fruit he'd conjured up, holding it up to your mouth to bite. 

“I remember you loved this fruit the last time I conjured one,” Loki showed you, the fruit was pear shaped and peach colored.

“Loki answer me,” you said with a warning in your voice, trying to replace your neediness with sternness as you set down your silverware.

He nodded to the fruit, and then his blue eyes flickered back to you.  You searched his eyes for answers, when a memory flashed through your mind. The fruit. 

Nearly a month ago. When you had all gotten back from that mission in Vancouver. Loki gave everyone a spread of Asgardian dishes when you got back to New York, since none of you could decide on where to order from. A flick of a wrist and you were all feasting like royalty.

Your mind acted quickly, finishing the puzzle. 

The moment on the bench.

 Loki flirting with you. The fair. 

“Are you quite parched, Darling?” 

“If you need help…with your distraction…all you have to do is ask,”

"You seem hungry this evening…"

LOKI DID THIS. 

“Loki…,” your voice shaking as you looked him in the eyes. You could see a glimmer of mischief as he watched you put everything together. 

“...you’d didn’t by chance do anything to me…did you?,” you asked, removing his hand off of your thigh as you turned to face him. 

A wry smile slowly spread across his lips, “And why would I do that?”.

He’s testing you, teasing you again. Like he has been for the last few weeks. Ever since you had that fruit he gave you, you’ve been unable to achieve orgasm. 

You stared at him, a storm of emotions swirling in you- anger, violation, and desire. You could feel your heart racing, and you weren’t sure what you’re going to do next, but you knew you needed to leave the room. You suppressed all of your emotions, slowly getting up from the table. 

“Excuse me,” you forced out before quickly leaving your co-workers, trying not to raise suspicion. 

You moved as quickly to the elevators as you could, but Loki was faster. You felt his iron grip around your wrist as he twirled you towards him from behind. 

You instinctively shoved him away, " You ASSHOLE!!"

Your eyes were seeing red from the rage that’s built, your hands shook as you glared at the handsome prince standing in front of you. 

"Tsk tsk, I wouldn't advise you to touch me like that again, unless it were to lead to more romantic intentions," he casually warned you with a slight smile. 

"WHAT THE FUCK?! You POISONED me?! Why did you do this?! Why did you have to torture me?!,” you screamed, not holding back any more. 

Loki reached out and grabbed your arm again, quickly pulling you closer to his body.  He towered above you, his breath skirting your face. His expression was serious now- he was no longer playing.

"I could have easily taken you. Cornered you in any room of this godforsaken tower. Taken you like you so desperately wanted…,” he paused for a moment, and then a slight tug of a smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. 

“...but where's the fun in that? I wanted to tease you, make you come to me, begging for release,” Loki had pulled your body closer to his. 

For a moment you felt the heat in your veins shift to lust again. His strong grip on your arms and the intensity between the two of you at its peak clouding your judgment. You found yourself lost in his eyes, searching for any kind of regret, or an apology. Nothing. You regained your senses and tried to ignore your lust that was overflowing for this man, despite his cruel actions. 

“Oh like hell, I'm not begging you for shit!,” you insisted, determined not to let the intimacy of the moment take you over. Loki chuckled darkly. 

“You can only find release with me. Nothing- and no one else - will sate you,” he replied matter of fact. His blue eyes were bright as he was clearly enjoying the chaos he had unleashed in your life. 

A wave of hopelessness spread across you, at the mercy of Loki. You thought briefly of how much you lusted after this god, cared about him, only for him to choose this path. He was right, he could’ve easily fucked you any time, any place. But he chose to curse you instead. 

A huge smile spread across his perfect lips revealing his perfect teeth and your anger flared up again. 

“I’m going to smack that grin off of your face, why are you smiling like that??!”, you demanded, desperate for all of this to be over. 

“The spell will only work when the subject- you- has lustful intentions for the creator- me. And I love being right”, his hands dropped down to your hips, pulling your body flush with his. 

“Beg me,” he whispered hoarsely, pushing the hard bulge in his pants against your stomach. You felt your hips instinctively buck against his and you heard yourself whine. Again you suppressed your desire, using all the restraint you had. 

You summoned all of the courage you could, defiantly looking back in his eyes, “No.” 

His eyebrow raised but his knowing smile didn’t change. You wriggled from his grasp, turning from him and quickly walking towards the elevators, not looking back as you stepped in and selected the floor for Wanda’s room.

------

“A curse? Wow, that’s a bit much,” Wanda looked at you confused after you gave her a summary of the last hour of events in her bedroom. 

“I’m just so mad, and annoyed. And to be totally honest, I haven’t come in like a month so I’m trying not to get distracted by my pent up horniness. Can you please remove his spell?,” you implored with a wearied tone. 

You couldn’t tell her that under all of that anger, you were ignited with lust. Loki wanted you, yet had kept you edging for nearly a month. On the precipice. He teased you and taunted you. And all you wanted was release, and now you knew you could only get it from him. Exactly what you had wanted since the day the two of you met. You felt so conflicted, saying no to him in the hallway, while the fire inside you raged for him. You felt yourself starting to panic, pacing in Wanda’s bedroom. 

“Breathe,” Wanda gently held your arms so you were facing her, prompting you to slowly breathe with her. You felt yourself calm a bit after a few moments. 

“Of course I will do anything I can,” she gestured for you to sit on a pillow on the floor while she gathered candles and herbs.  

You sat down and slowly breathed, centering yourself. Wanda created a circle with candles, and sat down across from you on a large fluffy pillow. She set down a small cauldron between the two of you, lighting the herbs sitting inside.

“Okay, I need you to remain calm while I try this, try to clear your thoughts as much as you can”

You groaned and complied, trying to just focus on the moment and the earthy smell wafting through the air, pushing out any thoughts of Loki.

Wanda closed her eyes, concentrating hard as a red aura wrapped around you. You closed your eyes and tried to remain calm. Wanda began chanting in a language you didn’t know, and you continued to clear your mind of any thought just like Dr. Strange had taught you in your meditation lessons. 

“I can’t lift it, I’m sorry,” her sad voice prompted you to open your eyes. Her face was covered with disappointment as she slowly shook her head.

“What? Aren’t you a witch?!”, you heard your voice raised more than you had meant to and immediately felt guilty.  

“He’s way more advanced than I am, he’s got centuries ahead of me. Plus, he's a God. I’m sorry, I can’t,” Wanda reached out and grabbed your hand to soothe you as she could see your mood shift again. 

You huffed in frustration for the millionth time in nearly a month. The reality of everything suddenly came crashing down and you lost it. 

“FUCK!!” you screamed, prompting Vision to appear in the room suddenly, phasing through the wall. You pulled your hand from Wanda, grabbing your head in frustration as your eyes focused on the cauldron on the floor. 

“It’s okay Vis, she’s just frustrated,” Wanda assured Vision, gesturing for him to leave the room.

“What am I gonna do?,” you looked at Wanda, you could feel the tears of aggravation building in your eyes. This all felt so overwhelming. And exciting. It was so confusing, you didn’t know what to feel anymore. 

“Well I think you have to fuck Loki,” Wanda remarked with a smirk, coaxing a small smile from you. 

She’s right, and it’s everything you’ve wanted for months. Reality hits you when you realize Loki is into you. Loki wants you. Desperately. The memory of a few moments ago, when he had his straining cock pushed up against you, passed through your mind again and you felt a wave of heat all over, and your cunt clenched with need. 

“Give me your phone,” Wanda put out her hand, nodding thoughtfully at you. You sighed, unlocked your phone and obliged. Wanda opened your messenger app and began to type. 

“Wait- what are you doing??”

“I’m canceling your plans with Eric,” she looked at you and raised her eyebrows like a big sister who knows best. 

“What! No, why?”, you were trying your best not to get mad at Wanda, she didn’t put you in this position. 

“Loki said Eric can’t make you come, and Loki’s the one you want, anyways! You obviously need to get laid, not to mention this massive crush you have on Loki, too. Now go and get fucked already!,” Wanda enunciated her point as she finished her text to Eric.

You sat, bewildered for a moment about the events that had unfolded. You didn’t even bother to open the texts to see what Wanda had sent Eric. You knew it didn’t matter.

“Thanks Wanda, I think I need to be alone for a few minutes before I do anything. This is all a little much,” you felt the roller coaster of emotions slowing down, and you just needed to recoup and make your plan.

“Of course, but I think we both know where you should go when you leave this room,” she chuckled, escorting you to her door. 

You mustered out a small smirk as your nerves began to set in. You slowly left her room, your mind swirling with the way everything had unfolded. Mindlessly, you entered the elevator and looked at the floor number buttons, not sure which to choose. 

You were mad, but unbelievably turned on. He could’ve just fucked you. Instead, he chose to tease you mercilessly, edging you for nearly a month. You were sopping wet now, unable to ignore the wetness pooling in your panties. You knew that the moment you surrendered yourself to him, it would be erotic bliss like you’ve never experienced. 

What do you do?

Should you go directly to his room and finally succumb to your desires?

Or make him suffer for what he’s put you through?

Give in?

Or torture him like he did to you?

-----

Author's Note:

Pick the chapter based on which decision you want to make :)

Chapter 4- Submission

Chapter 5- Tease

On the Edge Chapter List

[chlorinewriter]

I'm working on a Mishanks piece for Whumpuary, tentatively titled Holy Heathens. It's going to be a self-contained one-shot for the AU I posted about priest-warrior Mihawk and heathen Shanks. Angsty (because we love a Mihawk who is so out of his depth) and very much playing around with the canon timeline (they've only just met like two weeks ago in the fic and are both adults) and I'm having so much fun writing! I don't wanna do too much worldbuilding but it's cramming its way in there anyways. So far on track to finish in January! I wanna keep myself motivated so here's a short fragment to share the angsty joy:

The first time Mihawk met the priest, he'd had other things on his mind. The duel with Shanks, the tie, the sheer strength of the man, the bewildering question of how a heathen could have such faith. It had been eating at Mihawk, and he'd gone to the priest of the small island solely to collect more information on his target.

He almost never approached his brethren clergy if he could avoid it, but the shaggy, redhaired sailor had surprised Mihawk. Shocked him, really. He didn't know where else to go to discuss the issue. The laypeople he'd tried to approach sang Shanks' praises or shrugged haplessly or muttered something barely comprehensible in their terror at his presence, no doubt remembering a neighbour slighted or a friend wronged and imagining Mihawk was about to wreak terrible redemption on their heads.

Not helpful for deciding if a heathen could somehow be holy.  

And as distracted as he was, Mihawk had taken about half an hour to recognize the signs. The fact it took so long is shameful, though he doesn't judge Shanks for not realizing fully that a devil was possessing Father Dresch, no matter how long it had been. As a Redeemer, Mihawk's training was brimming with ways to spot possession and sense demonic presences. Surely some backwater godless hadn't received such training.

Although apparently he had enough training to fight Mihawk to a draw. Whether that spoke to Shanks's intense proficiency or a dearth in Mihawk's training – a failure of the Church or Mihawk himself – was something he couldn't answer.

Regardless, the devil had not been disguised as well as it was claiming. "Fooling peasants is one thing," Mihawk says coldly, "and a Redeemer another thing entirely. You spent too long among peons if you forgot that." He pauses, returns the devil's stare with derisive aplomb. "The dirty hovel you were staying in suited you well, though."

Pain. It explodes inside him so suddenly that Mihawk cries out before biting off the scream. The agony continues in a billowing, hot miasma through his essence, and it's not until his forehead is grinding into the church's cold stone floor and the fire slowly ebbs that Mihawk realizes the devil has made him prostrate himself at its feet. As if kneeling wasn't enough.

Devils should not be able to influence him so much. The humiliation is an added pain, scalding his skin and making his heart pound like it's trying to find a way through his ribs. Could the devil really be such a powerful creature? Or is it something Mihawk has done or failed to do?

Even as he has the thought, it rings true.

Sweet Christ, just how badly has he allowed himself to be compromised? And all because of a fast sword and a captivating smile. All because of scarred eyes and a heathen who spoke about faith in a way that left Mihawk aching with dissatisfaction for what he didn't understand.    

For the first time since he broke through the church's doors, Mihawk is – not afraid, exactly. Or not afraid for his life. But he has not faced the prospect of failing one of his missions in more than a decade. He was supposed to investigate Shanks for heresy – a polite wording underlined by the tacit understanding he was to be executed – and now the man has probably lost his life and assuredly his arm defending Mihawk from an actual devil.

And Mihawk is going to fail. Fail his mission and fail Shanks, the heathen who ordered him with such ardent authority to do his duty.

The devil steps closer and it doesn't matter now. In his agony, in his negligence, Mihawk lost his grip on Yoru. He can barely turn his head, the skin of his forehead scraping against the floor as the devil's compulsion keeps him prostrated, and his eyes fall on the proud, black sweep of the blade. Not far from his hand. Still too far if he can't move.

And he barely can. But because he can, he does. Nothing could keep Mihawk still with Yoru so close. His hand drags across the ground, reaching for the solid familiarity of his weapon –

The demon steps on his fingers. Not with particularly spiteful weight – it doesn't want to damage his body, especially not when it can torture him in other ways – but hard enough to hurt. To pin him.  

More confidant now, and with Mihawk's insides shuddering in bewildered despair, it's no surprise, the devil reaches down. Actually touches Mihawk, if only to grab his hair in a fist and wrench his head up, making him meet those not-Shanks eyes. Too red, too red.

[restless-witch]

nothing in the world is mine, but my love, mine

hey hey I did a one-shot for once, I've posted it on Ao3 here but I know some of y'all like to read fic on tumblr so it's below the cut

Comments and likes always appreciated <3

He clocks the bard as either noble or a romantic the moment he sees the gloves on his hands. They're subtle, as far as the custom goes, a dark olive colored kidskin with a simple flower button wrapped around his wrist and covering only his thumb. The Witcher always wears gloves of a kind, Jaskier determines after a few weeks on the path together, though out of utility. a quick soulmates AU where soulmates have matching marks on the sides of their hands // title shamelessly stolen from Mitski's "My Love Mine All Mine"

Rated: T for swearing

Fandom: The WItcher TV

Pairing: Geraskier (Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier), background Yennralt (Yennefer of Vengerber/Geralt of Rivia)

Language: English

He clocks the bard as either noble or a romantic the moment he sees the gloves on his hands. They're subtle, as far as the custom goes, a dark olive colored kidskin with a simple flower button wrapped around his wrist and covering only his thumb. 

It's not satisfying when the bards confirms both to be true on their way to investigate the devil but when they're being kicked by Toruviel, he thinks that if the bard was a full gloved wearing hack then they'd both be dead.

Which also isn't satisfying.

.

The Witcher always wears gloves of a kind, Jaskier determines after a few weeks on the Path together, though out of utility.

Apparently the most dressed down the witcher ever gets is a pair of fingerless gloves worn even to sleep. Something about improving his grip and tendon injuries- Geralt tenses up when he can sense Jaskier wants to ask if witchers even have marks. Jaskier can feel how fragile their friendship is. He doesn't press the issue.

He hopes that puts a mark in his favor.

.

By the end of the season, Geralt determines the bard has no less than seven pairs of gloves- yet only two of them are permitted to actually get dirtied. Two suede pairs to match the colors of his "lover's eyes" (unoriginally brown and blue), three pairs for wearing in town, and a scant two pairs for all his bathing, cooking, and laundry.

It's utterly ridiculous.

Before they part at Ban Glan for the winter, he tells the bard to get more sensible gloves before spring on the Path.

He's at Ard Carraig before he realizes he planned for the bard to join him again.

.

When he returns to Oxenfurt, the two pairs of gloves he has for washing are nearly worn to shreds- he throws them down on the table at the Wishful Warbler with a grin when Shani asks about his travels. He's going on real adventures with his-maybe-friend-Geralt and getting dirty and everything. He spends the winter as a research assistant to Professor Berlyn and learning to make stacks of washing gloves.

His friends, who largely only own a pair or two or have entirely dispensed with the custom, are overrun with gloves of varying quality. Priscilla generously accepts a stack whose thumbs must all be split open to accommodate even her dainty digit.

He manages to barter for a pair of amber saffron dyed kidskin gloves- painstakingly transcribing Metz's treatises on celestial calendars small enough for Valdo Marx to use them as crib notes.

It's worth it.

It's a true lark to set them along with his brown and blue gloves and he whistles when they meet up in the spring and he waggles them in Geralt's face and thinks Geralt is about to strangle him- before the ludacris stack of washing gloves topples out of his bag onto the witcher's lap and he can't help but bark a laugh into Jaskier's delighted face.

.

He knows the bard is, at least, serious about walking the Path when he drops the stack of gloves on Geralt's lap. It's a bit of a child's attempt at adulthood, he admits to himself because he knows it would crush the bard to know twenty years of life does not make a man.

Still, it dampens his concerns of noble nonsense a bit to see where the calluses from needlework have made his fingertips even more knobby alongside the ones from his lute. For all the work Jaskier puts into his hands- carefully filing down his calluses and nails when they crack and rubbing ointments in before he beds down- Geralt can see it's a dedication to practicality and not vanity.

The bard is unconcerned by the healing scars where broken strings have cut into the flesh or the uneven tan marks across the backs of his hands where the different gloves have sat.

.

Jaskier wonders, just a teensy bit, if Geralt's glove wearing excuse isn't a little... weak.

Always needing his full grip strength?

It's a lighthearted solstice evening where he's helping Geralt in the bath when the witcher turns his head to the side, immediately stands up and storms over to the next room (nearly cock out and everything if Jaskier hadn't thought to throw the bath sheet at him) and throws an unwanted suitor off the serving girl.

There's suds dripping out of Geralt's hair all over the floor that he knows he'll wipe up later with the very gloves he's wearing now and Jaskier thinks he is maybe falling in love, for real this time.

.

A handful of times, he catches the bard cooing over marks in taverns. He wonders if it's a bit- some flirtation over how a lass or lad with such lovely signs could possibly take up with a scoundrel like him. 

It's not the most rakish bit he could suspect of the bard- though he notices the bard never takes off his gloves in return. He wears them even in the cities and hamlets where the custom is less common or replaced with simple patches of dyed skin.

It makes him seem damn right virginal to keep them on all the time. 

Perhaps the bard's mark is something obscene- it's not unheard of. If that were true though, he suspects the bard would leverage it into some pickup line about his prowess in bed. 

Perhaps the bard has no marks- a person blessedly free of obligation or destiny. 

He thinks it would be a kinder fate for Jaskier to be free of those kinds of concerns.

.

Jaskier knows his fastidiousness with wearing gloves is a little unusual for the current fashion but he commits to the bit. 

He thinks it's more romantic to have them revealed and thinks his are especially gorgeous; a simple sun on his right hand and a moon on his left, a small comet arcing over each and a few lines he thinks are wind or perhaps clouds. He's seen more ornate or filigreed marks- even the occasional mark with a splash of color- but his marks are so curiously endearing. 

When he links his bare hands together he sees a miniature of the universe and hopes that one day, he may hold his soulmate's marks against his own and feel the world between their hands.

He'll admit he's kept the privilege of the reveal to himself; but he'll be a little selfish if it means he can know to watch their delight when he reveals a world in his hands- a world to share.

He's not sure where his soulmate will fit in this life he's made in Oxenfurt and on the Path, but he never could have predicted the love that's already sprung up in his life already.

.

It's a very late night, or a very very early morning, when Geralt asks Yennefer about her marks- the marks erased when she became a mage.

"Never had one," she says, teasingly tracing the edge of his gloves, "I never needed fate to find love."

In the dark, between a sigh and a moan, his gloves are cast away.

When the sun has properly risen and midday creeps closer, she holds hands between her own.

"Rather provincial, aren't they?" She brings the tender pale flesh of his palm to her mouth and bites playfully, "I'd expect nothing less of a Rivian."

"Not quite a Rivian," he says and gently wriggles his fingers against her jaw, smiling as she can't help laugh and let the marks out of her teeth, "are they to your liking?"

Her answer comes as a carafe of apple juice.

.

It's a hard day: starting with Geralt stumbling through a portal smelling of lilac and gooseberries and ending with Jaskier dragging a nearly-drowned Geralt out of a waterhag's shack.

Two baths were called- a rare luxury in a rickety town- for Jaskier knew a shared bath would end up with at least one of them more disgusting at the end. Geralt is, Melitele be praised, uninjured besides a black eye that blooms stark against the lingering potion-pale pallor he'd had earlier.

The two strip and Jaskier climbs into his bath: Geralt casts a look at the door and cocks his head and throws his pus-soaked gloves straight into the chamberpot.

They soak, side by side,  and chatter tiredly and Jaskier thinks nothing of it when Geralt offers to perk up his water and he sees the moon and comet and dappled lines on Geralt's right hand as he casts Igni into the bath.

The smell of lilac and gooseberries and fucking are starting to sweat out of Geralt's hair and the memories of the wedding feast cut through him, unbidden, and Jaskier should have won another master's degree in performance for the way he blames the jump in his heart on the scalding water.

The curling misery he later blames on the thought of ridding the swamp stench from his boots.

.

Jaskier learns to knit gloves sometime around when Geralt forces himself to admit the bard is past boyhood. It's a rather domestic skill for Jaskier to learn in adulthood, though he claims they're easier to make and repair on the Path: which isn't a lie exactly and the bard does earn them a few coins fiddling with the needles in town and selling the gloves.

The knitted gloves seem to be his preference now- less prone to tearing as they wear and able to go longer without laundering. It's the threads of anxiety beneath it that give Geralt pause, he's been presuming Jaskier was unmarked entirely and wore the gloves for attention, but the longer he guards the little span of flesh the more Geralt thinks a tragedy must lie beneath the scraps of fabric.

Perhaps the person he shared his marks with had rejected him- though Geralt thought that unlikely given how firmly Jaskier had attached himself to Geralt's side despite him trying to outrun the bard for a year. Whoever shared his marks didn't stand a chance against Jaskier's persistence. Against his smile.

Perhaps the person he shared his marks with was already dead. Geralt didn't believe in the machinations of destiny or soulmarks, but that too twisted at him. Jaskier was a scoundrel, yes, but didn't deserve that so early in life. At the very least, it would explain why the bard wasn't concerned to muck with his fate by sharing his time with a witcher.

At the very least, he counts their time together as a blessing now, even if it's stolen from another.

.

Jaskier thinks it's finally time to come clean about his marks- their marks really. Not all marks are about just two people, he knows that, and Yennefer isn't the worst person to share a life with. 

Honestly, he already does- Geralt's adverse to destiny but Yennefer would be sensible working out some kind of custody schedule if they didn't want to invite him in. He shares his life with Geralt, which is more than many soulmates get. He's not even sure he wants more of their lives shared, but the longer he keeps the marks hidden- the more the omission feels like a lie. 

The more he knows he's lying to Geralt.

He figures it's an even shot Geralt that he'll never see him again or he'll be invited to winter at the Kaer.

It turns out he didn't even need the marks to drive Geralt away, being himself was enough. 

"See you around Geralt."

.

A week after the dust settles and the Deathless Mother has been banished from their plane, Geralt notices Jaskier's gloves stretch from wrist to fingertip and when Jaskier is pulled into what is rapidly becoming Yennefer's lab, he can hear a sympathetic pained groan from Yennefer as Jaskier's fingers are rebroken.

.

Geralt knocked against the open door of Jaskier's room: Jaskier kicked another log into the fire-

Geralt should have thought of that.

"Come in," Jaskier said and settled back into the chair before his diary. Geralt saw a page with very few words and many drops of ink smeared across it.

Geralt took the poker and rearranged the wood of the fire to burn more evenly, "Yenn says you haven't been caring for your burns," he coaxed the fire into a more even burn and pressed it further back into the hearth.

There was a long silence, "I can't open the jar," Jaskier admitted.

"You know anyone here would help you, Jask-" he dragged a hand through his hair, had he really fucked it up that badly?

Jaskier's silence said what it needed to.

"I'm sorry I didn't make that clear, Jaskier," he said and saw Jaskier's gaze drop lower, to the page in front of him, "may I help you now?"

"I would like it if you opened the jar," Jaskier said, "I don't want to trouble you any further. And thank you for the fire-"

"It's not trouble, I should-" Geralt huffed a sigh, "I should have thought of it sooner. Thought of you sooner- please, let me help you." 

Geralt could have heard a pin drop on the opposite side of Kaer Morhen as he waited for Jaskier to say something- anything.

He opened the jar of ointment and held on to it, even when Jaskier put a trembling hand out to grasp it, waiting for Jaskier to permit him to tend to the burns. Jaskier gave him a worn look.

Jaskier carefully took his gloves off- his fingers still wracked with the persistent tremors that made the single button at the wrists take an achingly long time to unfasten.

"The draughts help," Jaskier said softly, "but they will take time to subside."

They do not speak of the lute calluses that have started to thin and peel off entirely.

The gloves came off Jaskier's hand- revealing two palms and thumbs soiled by burns. There, amongst the gnarled scars, laid the burst remains of a sun and a moon.

Metz's treatise on the formation of the celestial spheres says the bursting of a sun creates a black hole: swallowing whole planets into its gravitational pull.

Geralt thought, perhaps, he should have considered his own marks when he wondered of Jaskier's for how often their hands touched.

"Don't-" Jaskier started, he took a deep breath and looked at the marks and not at Geralt, "please just the ointment, Geralt," he held out a hand again to take the pot from Geralt.

Geralt took the little pot of ointment, preciously carried in his saddlebags from Cidaris to Gulet to Kaer Morhen, and tugged off his own gloves as well. He carefully scooped out some of the ointment, the smell of dusk campion faint and familiar, and he warmed it between his palms.

He gently dragged his palms over Jaskier's before nimbly working the oil and medicine into his skin, taking care to rub into the creases between his fingers and the bumps of his remaining cuticles. 

Yennefer says the draughts will help the nerves return and the ointment will smooth the burns.

Geralt was careful to be methodical and detached as he covered the marks with beeswax and the scent of campion. He cannot help but imagine the pain that forced Jaskier's sun and moon to bubble and split so wide; the layered burns that distort the comets into slashes of lightning.

He cannot help but wonder why Jaskier didn't leave him to rot.

He cannot help but wonder why soul marks are counted as a blessing when his sun and moon remain clear and smooth while Jaskier's have ruptured into glowing black holes. He must not be an expert, there must be a gap in his knowledge, for he'd once counted Jaskier's dismissal as a blessing.

"Easy there, Geralt," Jaskier said kindly, "there's no reason for all that."

Of course Jaskier could interpret the bite of Geralt's lip and the furrowing of his brow.

Geralt held Jaskier's hands between his own, their suns and moons nearly meeting where the burns didn't warp them, "I'd given up on seeing this," Jaskier said fondly, "our own little world in our hands." He traced Geralt's comet down to the bowl of the moon, "Thank you Geralt, you did a very good job."

"I'm sorry," Geralt managed, "I didn't know."

"I didn't really want you to, would you have received it well?" Jaskier said pointedly, then his voice softened, "it was bad enough I wormed my way beside you- this- Geralt,” he gently squeezed their hands, “This is more than I dreamed of.”

"You should want more," Geralt said, "You should ask for more. I'm sorry-"

"I've said the same of you," Jaskier laughed softly, a rare sound of late, "I've said the same of you many times. Perhaps we can work on this together."

[tarabyte3]

The Devil Makes Us Sin

Fandom: Luther, Luther: The Fallen Sun

Pairing: David Robey/F!Reader

Chapter 1/? (5.2k words)

Chapter 2 ->

AO3 Link

Summary: Your life isn't perfect, and you don't enjoy moonlighting as a camgirl for so many repulsive men, but you need the money and it's yours. You're getting by just fine. You're content.

At least you thought you were. Then you get a strange text message. And you aren't sure if you're horrified or intrigued.

Warnings: Explicit rating, smut, stalking, spying, blackmail, manipulation, dubcon, dubious consent, Dom/sub, sadism, masochism, unprotected sex, oral sex, masturbation, mutual masturbation, choking, dirty talk, praise, humiliation, possessive love, yandere, minor description of gore, minor description of violence, murder, discussion of murder, shame involving sex work, light shaming of sex work, emotionally abusive mother, troubled mother/daughter relationship

A/N: Work title is from "Paradise Circus" by Massive Attack. Chapter title is from the poem "Saint Joan" by Louise Glück, The Seven Ages

(There's a more indepth note below the cut)

A/N pt 2: I know those warnings seem like a lot! I try to tag everything, no matter how small, because I want to make sure no one is blindsided by anything in my fics.

But remember, David Robey is not a good man. He's a murderous psychopath, he's cruel, and he feels no remorse (though I do REALLY flex the boundaries of all that because this is fantasy and fanfiction after all.) This reader character is also NOT a good person, just to a lesser extent than he is. Therefore this is going to get quite dark on occasion. Though if you're here because you want David Robey smut, I suspect you're well aware of what you're in for. Still! Heed all tags and warnings. I will continue to expand them as they come up in the story and try to point them out as I add them, but always check the end of the list for anything new.

If you're worried, know that I have personal boundaries I will not cross in my fics. No gratuitous descriptions of violence, murder, gore, or torture in my smut fics unless specifically and clearly warned. No noncon or SA. No physical or domestic abuse. And though it is a smut fic about a fictional serial killer, any mental or emotional manipulation will be in line with what exists in canon, so no wild cards there either.

Pregnancy scares, worrying about or fear of getting pregnant, taking steps to avoid pregnancy through the use of contraception or other means, or having my reader character get pregnant—all as the result of unprotected sex between the characters—will also never come up in anything I write. They won't even think about it. I want my fics to be a fun escape for myself and for you all so I say no thank you.

Finally, there is some shame from the main character and problematic language used about sex work in this and I want to be clear: We respect sex workers in this house 👏😤 Sex work is work. Anything that suggests otherwise in this fic is because the characters are assholes.

Chapter 1 - I heard a dark prediction rising in my own body

You're always very careful not to show your face on camera. It's not what's for sale. Certainly not for fifteen pounds per monthly subscription. These men watching aren't paying you enough to risk your career.

Or worse, to risk your mother finding out.

She's always harping on you to settle down, get married, and have children. You don't have the stomach to tell her how absolutely horrible all of that sounds. Most men bore you with their undeserved egos, horrible ties, and inane chatter about sports clubs. Or the way they smother the spark that drew them to you in the first place because afterwards they want a good little wife instead. And you definitely don't want children.

So no, you don't want to marry any of them. Instead you'll gladly take advantage of their desperation to escape their dull lives and their tired, jaded spouses. Likely women who thought marriage would be different, only to find out what you already know: most men can never give you what you truly need.

Now you've been doing this for over a year. For an hour a night, you sit in front of your webcam in low cut blouses and secretary skirts and undress down to your lingerie and panties. You run your fingers between your breasts and whisper lies into your microphone.

At first it was out of desperation.

Your flatmate had moved out with little warning and left you scrambling to make rent. Your job didn't pay enough for you to afford the entire sum by yourself until you found someone else to take her place. Sure, you could have moved or downsized, but you didn't want to. The location was perfect and to get the same rate, you'd have to move further to the edge of the city. Your morning commute would be longer, and you didn't want to spend so much time on the tube with the smell of sweat, crying babies, and creeps brushing up against you.

It was a pop-up ad that gave you the idea. "Live women on camera. Watch now! Get your first month at a reduced rate!" It declared over a scantily clad young woman who was pushing her cleavage together with her arms and fluttering her eyelashes.

If only it were that easy, you had scoffed.

Then you opened your laptop and did some research. Because what if it was? Which is how you ended up making an account on a smaller camgirl website and sitting uncomfortably with your webcam pointed at your torso and nothing but a white wall behind you.

After a few days of no activity, you unbuttoned your blouse a bit, wore a push-up bra, and finally got your first viewer. So you unbuttoned it further and further, and, as your numbers rose, your top came off completely.

You learned to tease them after that.

And degrade them.

"BigDaddy47 wants to know if I'm wearing panties. Mmm, what do you all think? Should I take off my skirt and let you find out? If you were all very good, I could show you what's underneath, but you don't deserve it, do you? I know how filthy you all are, asking me to take my clothes off. You disgust me."

Oh, but then you apologize and beg for forgiveness for being so mean to those poor, overworked men that no one else appreciates while bashfully covering your body with your hands and telling them you're just a little shy. That's what really boosted your numbers. They ate it up. Because more than seeing a pair of tits, they love being told exactly what they want to hear. And they especially love believing it.

That's why they're really there. To forget. To pretend.

You made enough extra money to keep your flat. Barely at first, and it completely wiped your savings, but with each new paycheck there was more leftover. Eventually you also bought better lingerie. More strappy numbers to hide under your office girl persona. More ways to hint at your bare breasts without showing them. Because you will never get naked on camera. Ever. The thought of all those men seeing your full body repulses you. They repulse you. That part, at least, is never a lie.

Then the empty second bedroom became your recording studio. You put a feminine, silky comforter and fancy pillows on the bed so you could pose in different, carefully pre-selected positions. You draped a blanket over the back of the chair so you could cover yourself while you pretended to be shy and repentant, and they all begged you to take it back off.

It was almost too easy. It took less than seven months for your stream to be featured on the front page of the site as a hot new account, and another two for you to make the top fifty. Now you're making as much in seven hours of streaming a week as you do in a week and a half of full-time work at your day job. And you keep nudging your way closer to the top twenty.

So you could say things are going well.

At least, they were.

The first time you got a strange text message from a number you didn't recognize, you shrugged it off. All it said was: How are you doing? Which could be anything. A wrong number, a phishing attempt, or an old friend you deleted the contact information for ages ago. Of course you ignored it.

But a few days later you got another one from the same number.

You don't want to chat?

That one had made you a little uncomfortable, but you could still tell yourself it was a mistake. Maybe even a guy you gave your number to for a hookup during a rare night out that you never followed through on. You set your phone down, went about your day, and managed to forget about it quickly.

Then today it buzzs again.

You're not even this shy on camera.

As you read it—and reread it to be sure you're not seeing things—your heart leaps to your throat with your first rush of fear. How had they gotten your number? You never entered a phone number into the website. You've been so careful. You even set up a separate bank account.

"Who is this?" You finally text back.

A fan.

You quickly fumble with your phone to block them, but a new message appears on the screen before your trembling thumbs can manage to tap the correct buttons.

I wouldn't do that.

And then there's a video.

You hesitate.

You know you should just block them anyway, but something about the blurry still of the preview seems familiar. Naggingly familiar. So you tap play.

There's a figure standing right in front of the camera. They're so close, all you can see at first is a plain black shirt and a bare arm. Then they move away, further into the room. It's your spare room, you quickly realize with horror. You can see the familiar layout and the blush colored comforter on the bed. After a few more seconds, you also realize the person in the video is you. You're folding the blanket you use during your stream and setting it on the chair. Except it wasn't taken from your stream because there's daylight coming through the lacy drapes covering the window. You only stream at night. And your face is visible as you bend over to pick up a pillow from the floor.

It's you in your pajamas, tidying up the room the morning after a stream. When your camera isn't supposed to be on. When you aren't being careful.

You feel sick.

Now would you like to chat?

"What do you want?" You type out with shaking hands.

I want a private show.

"If you don't stop harassing me, I'll call the police."

Now now. No need for that.

Because if you do, I'll have to send a few videos to your mum. This is her contact information, isn't it?

Then you're staring down at your mother's phone number and home address. You let out a sob.

"Why are you doing this?"

I told you. I want a private show.

"I don't have a private stream."

Your phone buzzes with another notification, but this time for a new email. In your personal inbox.

You have fifteen minutes.

You reluctantly open the message. It's an invite with a link to a private chat room.

Wear the black nightie with the same bra and panties you wore two nights ago.

You don't respond. Instead you throw your phone down onto the couch and you pace.

What do you do? Do you block the number and call the police anyway? Do you call your mother and tell her not to check her messages or answer the door? But then she'll ask why. And what do you tell her? That you have a stalker? That they're threatening her, too? God, she's so stubborn and nosey! She'd look at her phone anyway to tell them off and then it'll be over. She'll see. You were raised Catholic! She'll disown you.

You stop pacing.

Would that be such a terrible thing? You're very much an adult. You're not dependent on her for anything. You have every right to do what you want. It's not like you're doing anything that bad! Not really. You're just trying to survive! If she can't handle that, then that's her problem. You're doing just fine. You can live without her nagging and berating you all the time. Making you feel small or as though you're wasting your life by not doing what she expects. Asking you, "What will people think?" after everything you do. Plus, it's her religion, not yours. It stopped being yours when you were very young, even though the guilt still rears its ugly head every once in a while. Usually because of her forcing it on you. No more.

With renewed determination, you pick your phone back up and go to block the number.

The buzzing of a new message startles you.

Did I mention that I also have the contact information for your boss and the passwords to all of your social media accounts?

Fuck.

Ten minutes left.

You start to cry. Because you feel truly helpless now. You think for a brief moment that maybe this person is bluffing. Surely he's just counting on you to obey immediately and doesn't plan on doing anything. But he filmed you without your knowledge and he had your mother's personal information. Finding where you work would be even easier than that. Plus, are you willing to risk your whole life and your career to find out?

No, you realize. You aren't.

With tears streaming down your face, you run to your bedroom. You have to upend your hamper to find the specific bra and panties he requested since you hadn't washed them yet, but you manage to get changed faster than you ever have before.

Are you supposed to put on make-up? He didn't say. You check your phone for the time. Four minutes. And you still have to boot up your laptop. So you grab your eyeliner and a tinted lip gloss off of your vanity and sprint towards the other bedroom.

While your computer is starting, you use your reflection in the screen to hastily put on the eyeliner. It probably looks horrible and uneven thanks to your puffy eyelids and lack of mirror, but if he wanted something better, then he should have been more specific or given you more time. Or not harassed you at all. So fuck him.

You click over to your inbox with one hand and dab the rouge color onto your lips with the other. Then you're staring at the link with a minute left. No use stalling, you think. It won't make this go away.

You take a deep breath and click it.

The chat window pops up and then, after a brief second of loading while your heart pounds in your chest, your own scantily clad breasts and lace covered torso are displayed onto the screen. In the corner, there's a black square icon. Both the video and audio indicators have Xs through them.

He's here, then. Of course he is.

There's a chat window along the side, and, as you're looking at it, a message pops up from the username YourBiggestFan.

Fix your camera. There's no reason to hide your face any longer. Not from me.

You swallow and reach forward to tilt the camera a little higher. The video is shaky for a moment, and then you're staring at your own image on the screen. Your full image. It's unnerving.

There's your lovely face.

"Why are you doing this to me?" Your voice waivers. "There are millions of women on the internet. Thousands that do what I do."

They aren't you.

"I'm not that special."

You don't do nudity on your stream. Why is that?

"Because…" You hesitate. You really don't want to talk to this man, but not doing so feels risky, too. He does have all the power here, after all. "Because I don't need to."

You would make more money if you did. Or if you moved to a better site.

"I'm getting by just fine." You glance up to glare into the camera.

You could quit your job.

"I don't want to quit my job."

You want to be a glorified secretary for the rest of your life?

"Fuck you," you hiss. 

Answer the question.

"Of course I don't! But I don't want hundreds of men seeing my tits every night, either! So if that's the trade off, I'd rather keep being a glorified secretary, as you so kindly put it." You start to roll your eyes, but stop yourself from reacting this time. You may already be pushing your luck as it is and there's no need to piss him off. "I don't do either of them because I enjoy it. I do what I have to so I don't have to worry about money."

You certainly seem like you're enjoying yourself every night.

"It's called pretending," you sigh irritably. "Surely you've heard of it. Do you think all of those men would tune in otherwise? Tell me, would you? You're one of them, after all."

I'm not one of them.

"Aren't you? Mr. Your Biggest Fan," you scoff. "Sure you aren't."

No. Because I see you.

"That is rather the point."

You're very clever. You know exactly how to manipulate all of them into staying without giving them what they want.

"I have to be. All of the women that do this learn how to keep the audience interested."

But yours comes from a place of hatred.

You blink in mild surprise, but quickly school your features. You don't want him to know he's caught you off guard.

Your stream is the only one in the top 50 that doesn't show their face and the top 100 that doesn't include nudity. Did you know that?

You shift in your seat. "I…I didn't, actually. I knew I was the only one with my numbers, but not that many."

You're an anomaly.

"I'm good at my job," you correct him.

Yes, you are. You know how to manipulate all of them because you find them rather predictable, don't you? Predictable. Pathetic. Dull. Beneath you. They make it easy for you.

You aren't able to hide the shock on your face this time as you stare at the chat. He doesn't wait for you to respond.

You don't take your underwear off because you and I both know that's beneath you, too. And you're right, you don't have to. It's quite impressive.

"Is that so?" You don't sound as dismissive as you hoped.

I told you. I see you. And you intrigue me.

"Fine, you can see through my bullshit. And?" You cross your arms. "Am I supposed to be impressed? What's the point of all this?"

I wanted you to show me the real you.

"And me angry at you is the real me, is it?"

Yes. Because you aren't lying to me.

He has a point there. This is arguably the most honest you've ever been sitting in this chair. Sure, you're being guarded considering the circumstances, but otherwise you haven't lied to him.

Tell me, have I gotten anything wrong?

You bite at your lip as you consider whether or not to continue being honest. But if you change tactics now, he'll sense it. You know, instinctively, that he will. Because you would in his place. So you finally look into the camera and say, "No. You haven't."

More honesty. There's a good girl.

Your heart skips a beat while there's a brief flutter of interest in your stomach, and you're disgusted with yourself for your body's reaction to that. He's a creep just like the rest of them, you tell yourself. Worse because at least the rest of them are harmless. To you, anyway.

He doesn't type anything else and his silence feels almost smug. Like he knows exactly the inner turmoil he's caused you and he wants you to stew in it. The flutter spreads lower.

"Now it's your turn to tell me how you guessed at any of that since I don't even show my face," you blurt out, desperate to think of anything else and not wanting to give him the satisfaction of thinking he's won somehow.

It wasn't a guess. I can hear the difference in your voice. The only time you mean what you say is when you berate them.

You think back to all the times you've snarled into the microphone and called them despicable. Disgusting. Useless. The one slip in your act.

You enjoy it. You enjoy getting to tell them exactly what you think of them while you take their money. You enjoy it so much, you have to stop yourself from pushing it one step further. But you want to. I can hear how much you want to. It feels good, doesn't it? To not have to hide, even for a moment. To treat them the way they deserve.

"Yes," you breathe out before you can stop yourself. Because it does. It feels incredible. The fluttering between your legs has grown into a slick heat now from his words alone.

How could he know that, though? How could he know that you've dreamed of telling them their only worth to you was their wallets because there at least they had a use. That having to read every horrible thing they said through the veil of anonymity made your skin crawl. That they're the reason their own lives are so miserable. Sexless bedrooms. Loveless marriages. Endless failed relationships. The inability to find someone to look twice at them. And you're glad they came slithering to you rather than have the self-awareness or brain cells to look in a goddamned mirror. Pathetic.

You've never even admitted that out loud to yourself. Only in your darkest thoughts. Now this man is typing out those inner thoughts as though they were written plainly on your face.

"You enjoy it."

"It feels good, doesn't it?"

Like he understands.

You both sit in silence for a minute that stretches out for far too long while you read his message over and over again, until your sex starts to ache.

You should feel ashamed, you realize. This is the moment you should feel horrible for thinking those things. And for being turned on by the way he told you that you enjoyed it. Only you don't.

"I don't know what you expect me to say," you whisper.

You've said enough. That was all I needed.

He knows, you think. You've given this man too much. "So what now? You still haven't said where all of this goes."

Yes I have.

"Right. A private show. How could I forget?" You mean for it to sound sarcastic, but it comes out confused because you're a little dazed from all of this. "You really still want me to flutter my eyelashes at you, push my cleavage at the camera, and say some insipid bullshit, even though it's all lies?"

No. I want to see ALL of you.

Your face flushes in embarrassment and anger, and you have to squeeze your thighs together to quell the want that is continuing to build in your core. "You're blackmailing me just to see my tits?"

You're going to talk to me as well.

"And say what?"

More of how you really feel. I want to hear more of the truth from your lips. As I said, I want to see all of you.

"Well, right now I'm feeling quite pissed off."

And as you're talking, you're going to touch yourself for me.

There's a swell of panic in your chest and it's as though you've been dunked in ice water because you've gone from hot to bone chilled. "Fuck you. I'm not doing that."

Why not?

"Because it's a violation! I'm not consenting to any of this. You're not giving me a choice."

You have a choice.

"Oh, choosing between masturbating on camera for you or you ruining my life? My mistake! Nothing dubious about that."

You're beautiful when you're angry.

You close your eyes and take a few deep breaths to stop yourself from throwing your laptop across the room. You will still need it after this, after all.

When you open your eyes, you look up into the camera with a serious, pleading expression on your face. "I don't want to do that. Please don't make me. I'll get undressed for you. I'll let you see all of me. But don't make me do that."

You shift your attention to watch the text box. There's a pause.

A long pause.

You start to think maybe you've finally angered him by saying no and he's in the process of messaging your mom and your boss. Just when you begin nervously shifting in your seat, a new message pops up.

What if you wanted to touch yourself for me? Then would you?

You stare at the message in disbelief. "Are you serious?"

Answer the question.

"If I wanted to, then…" You hesitate as you consider how to tell the truth. "I guess, yes I would. But that's different. I don't want to."

You don't want to yet.

"So you won't make me?"

No. I won't make you.

You exhale in relief. "Thank you," you whimper.

But I will make you want to touch yourself for me, that I promise.

"I highly doubt that. You've given me plenty of reasons to want literally anything else, the most important of which is that I'm still here because you're blackmailing me."

There is that.

I could delete all of it. If you ask nicely.

You furrow your brows in confusion. "What do you mean?"

I could delete it. Then there would be nothing forcing you to stay.

"And I'm supposed to just trust you?"

Yes.

You scoff. "Yeah, right. Besides, if you delete it, I'll just leave."

And go back to lying on camera?

"Surprisingly, I do still have to pay my rent after this."

What if you didn't have to?

"Didn't have to pay rent?"

No. Go back on camera or back to that laughable firm you work for. What if you didn't need the money?

"I already said I'm not doing either of those things because I enjoy them. Of course I wouldn't go back if I didn't have to."

Check your bank account.

The OTHER bank account.

You sit there and stare at your screen in horror. Because you've only just now realized that, in your panic, you'd been thinking too small before. You were worried about phone numbers and addresses. Such little things to keep you distracted and focused so you didn't have clarity of mind to stop to wonder at what else he could find and hold hostage.

"Why?" You whisper.

Just look. No reason to be afraid.

You frantically pick up your phone and swipe until you find the banking app. The last time you checked, you had over eight thousand pounds in that account after paying rent. Nothing extravagant. But it's reassuring knowing the savings is there if you need it. That you're relatively safe and comfortable. Because it's yours. You earned it.

The balance reads £308,218.72.

Three hundred thousand pounds more than should be in there. It's more money than you've ever seen in your life. It's more than you could ever hope to have at one time in your life.

"What is this?" Your voice sounds small from the shock.

A gift.

"I can't accept this." You look up into the camera. "I won't accept this."

Why not?

"Because I'm not a whore!" You snap at the lense. "And I refuse to be beholden to you. I won't let you own me."

No strings. You can take the money and run if you like. But we both know you're not going to.

"Won't I?"

No.

"And why not? Are you going to say something ridiculous like, 'There's more where that came from?'"

No.

"Why then?"

Because whatever you run off to do will bore you just as much as what you're doing now since the money doesn't change what's making you miserable. But you're starting to understand that I could offer you so much more. And I don't mean the money.

You clench your jaw in frustration and rage. You want to yell. To protest and deny it. You wish you could. But deep down you know he's right. Your world has been upended and laid bare in the span of, what, half an hour? From the moment he forced his way into your life, it has been many things, but boring is not one of them. Because, you realize, he does see you.

"I still…" you start helplessly. "I don't understand."

I told you. You intrigue me. No one intrigues me.

"For some reason that doesn't feel like a compliment."

I know I intrigue you, now, too.

"What do you really want from me?" You say quietly. "I know this isn't about getting a private show. It never was, was it?"

You.

I want you.

"Then why the money?"

I don't want you distracted.

You know nothing about this man. You don't know what he looks like and you can't hear his voice. But there's something about the way he referred to your entire life as a distraction that sends a shiver of fear up your spine. And something else rekindling inside of you that you now refuse to acknowledge.

"So I'm not giving you a show."

Oh, you'll give me one. Eventually. And I'm going to enjoy myself knowing I'm the only one who's ever seen you like that.

"How do you know I've never stripped on camera for anyone else before?"

It's beneath you. Because there's never been anyone on the other end deserving of it.

"You think you are?"

Am I?

"You seem like the kind of man that thinks he is."

That's not an answer.

You mentally curse because he's so damn perceptive. Your usual tactics don't work on him and that throws you off balance.

Am I?

"I don't know yet," you finally admit.

You really are so beautiful without the mask. Honesty suits you much more than the lie.

"My honesty suits you, you mean."

I'll never deny that I'm enjoying it. But you deserve to know that what's underneath isn't hideous like you fear. You can always take it off in front of me.

"And you'll enjoy it whenever I do," you murmur, almost entranced by the thought.

I will. Immensely.

"How do I know you're not just some creepy slob in a basement somewhere that's really good at hacking?"

You would have seen through me if I were.

He's right. Something about him seems sophisticated, but effortlessly so. Too effortless to be an act. Which leaves, what, bored rich guy? Well, at least you have one thing in common.

"Who are you then? And don't just say a fan. The only way you'll get me to even consider not running the second I close this window is by giving me something that isn't money or text on a screen."

I'm a man that knows what it's like to live with the mask. How do you think I saw through yours? I also know how good it feels to take it off. But even better than that is to be seen and embraced for what's underneath.

Does that satisfy you?

"Not nearly enough."

You'll learn more next time. The link will stay active. When you come back here, I'll know.

"When," you huff in disbelief under your breath.

When.

"We'll see, won't we?"

Before I go, is there something you're forgetting? Something to ask me maybe?

"Something to ask…?" You trail off in thought because you have no idea what he's talking about. But as you replay parts of the conversation in your head, you remember that he said he would delete everything if you asked. Nicely.

You clench your fists and take a deep breath to prepare yourself. Because you know he added the "nicely" specifically to see you squirm and you refuse to give it to him. Then you look up into the webcam, and, with all the sincerity you can muster, you ask. Nicely.

"Please delete it. All of it. I want you to. I won't promise you anything in return because I don't know if I'll come back, and I won't lie to you or myself with a false promise. But it would prove to me that you mean what you say. That you want me. Because if you have all of that to hold over me, if I can't make this choice on my own, you'll never truly have me, will you? There will always be parts of myself that I keep back and I'll never look at you or talk to you as a man. Only as my captor. So please, I am begging you. Delete it."

You look down to the text box and wait.

His video comes to life then, surprising you and splitting the screen in half. But what's there isn't his face. It's a computer screen with a desktop so basic, it almost looks unused. There's also an open folder, and it's full of video, image, and text files—far more of them than you would have guessed. He's been observing you for a while and you had no idea he was there. You can see your own face and your lingerie in a couple of the video and photo thumbnails. Then you watch as he highlights all of it and, without fanfare or hesitation, deletes it. The folder—which you now realize is titled after you—sits empty.

You open your mouth to protest because you aren't an idiot, but as though he anticipated that, he shifts over to the trash can and empties that as well.

It's done.

"How do I know there aren't backups?"

I guess you'll just have to trust me, won't you?

Then he leaves the chat and you're left staring at your own face on the screen.

Before you close the window, you have to wonder if you aren't truly seeing yourself for the very first time.

Chapter 2 ->

A/N: I hope you enjoyed and are now properly buckled in for this trainwreck of a gratuitously smutty and fucked up romance. Please keep your arms inside the vehicle at all times because I have already lost complete control of this. But I promise it's gonna be a lot of fun. 😌😏

[seidenbros]

Eddie Munson Headcanons - Late 20s Edition

Slightly nsfw here and there, just some things in my head that came up while plotting for fics and stuff

He may have moved into his own apartment, but he visits uncle Wayne at least three times a week to make sure that he's doing alright and eats properly (and because he misses him, but shh)

He’s really good with kids, and an excellent babysitter for his friends. He talks on eye level with them and with his imagination, he’s the best at telling stories. He can captivate a whole group of little kids with these stories. He’s the nice version of the Pied Piper, because children just flock to him - and of course he answers all their questions about his tattoos and his wild hair.

He wants kids himself, always has, he’s just too scared that he will end up like his own father (cue The Amazing Devil with “I will be the man my father never was”), but everybody tells him that he will be a great Dad, especially because he had uncle Wayne as a role model, who took care of a child that wasn’t even his own and showered him with love.

Eddie loves his job, no matter what he ends up doing. Of course, there will always be bad days, but that happens in every job. Still, he is happy at the end of the day, because he gets to do something that he loves.

Mechanic!Eddie comes home from work all greasy and more often than not ends up dragging you to the shower immediately before he gets the whole apartment dirty. This way, he just gets you dirty and gets to clean you up as well, taking his time with soaping you up, because he can’t get enough of touching your body.

Tattoo-Artist!Eddie loves spending time drawing his ideas on your body. Like a phoenix on your back, delicate flowers on your arm, but he especially enjoys drawing on your thighs, draping them over his own legs, and letting his hands travel where they don’t need to be in order for him to paint on you, but you don’t mind at all. It’s therapeutic, the ways he cherished your body.

Rockstar!Eddie misses you whenever he’s on tour, because you can’t come along most of the time. You give him a shirt of yours to take along, while he leaves his favourite sweater with you to wear at night, when you miss him most, especially during the cold months. (I have Hedley’s Sweater Song in my head all the time) At least these nights spent apart lead to both of you learning the joys of phone sex, only for Eddie to drive back after their last concert to get to you instead of waiting till the next day.

Record-Shop-Owner!Eddie (probably my fave) enjoys a few moments of silence once he gets home after being surrounded by music all day. He knows just the right album/single for everyone, and you’ll catch him singing along all the time. The shop is neatly organised so that he finds whatever he’s looking for immediately, and over the time, he’s collected a lot of polaroids with the people he loves and musicians as well that, and these photos are all over the wall behind the counter.

Eddie loves teaching kids to play the guitar (whether it’s in his free time or he makes it a part time job). These kids are just so eager to learn, and Eddie is extremely patient with them, because he would never stop someone from learning something new. He’d the encouragement they sometimes need, when they do not get that from their parents.

Whenever he sees you after you’ve spent some days apart, he’ll hug you close and not let you go for at least five minutes, burying his nose in the crook of your neck, breathing you in, mapping your body with his hands as if he might have forgotten what you feel like - which is ridiculous, because he could never forget, but he always likes to remind himself of how perfect you feel beneath his fingers.

He’s insecure about his scars at first, and that insecurity bubbles up all the time, but you always manage to take that insecurity away, when you use his own words. He always tells you that your scars are just telling the story of your life, that they are a part of you. That your stretch marks are tiger stripes, proof of how strong you really are. So you tell him that, that his scars are a part of him just like his tattoos, that they show what he’s overcome, and as soon as you kiss them, Eddie doesn’t care about them anymore, he only cares about you.

He whispers the most inappropriate things in your ear whenever you’re around your friends, because he knows how much that riles you up, and that you’ll pretty much jump into his arms the moment you’re alone. He knows just how to push your buttons, but so do you.

Eddie loves learning how to cook from you, and in his late twenties, he’s become quite a good cook, so that he surprises you with a home cooked meal when he has a day off work. It doesn’t always work out in his favour, and sometimes, he still burns this or that, but you still love the effort he puts in, because he puts so much love in everything he does for you.

He enjoys it even more when you cook together, all the domestic little things, because it brings you closer together. Arguing over which colour to paint the wall - because black wasn’t an option, but you let him talk you into getting a dark blue kitchen - or which sofa to get for the living room, but in the end, most of these decisions were easy.

Eddie is someone who tried to fix everything himself at first. Leaky faucet? He’ll try his best. The lamp keeps flickering (and no, not because of Vecna or some other creepy shit), he’ll check it out. He wants to do all of this himself, and he’ll pout when you call someone to fix it, because he couldn’t or would have probably electrocuted himself. But you always make it up to him and quickly take his mind off things.

Eddie doesn’t mind using toys in the bedroom. He’s not one of those people who get intimidated because you have a vibrator or anything, no, he’s actually quite interested in everything. Apart from the “show me how you do it” part, and loving to watch you, he also loves to use them on you himself, use them while you two are having fun, because he knows that these toys are not his enemies, they are his friends.

[imfinereallyy]

54 Song Prompts for Fic Writing

Here are some songs that I feel could inspire fics, that I haven’t seen yet. Honestly there is a bunch in here that have ideas brewing for me. Feel free to use any of them, or let me know if I should! Trying to inspire myself and others out of their writers block funk.

Friday I’m In Love by The Cure

Best of You by Foo Fighters

Drew Barrymore by Sza

Tommy’s Party by Peach Pit

Blue Hair by Tv Girl

Swimming Pools (Drank) by Kendrick Lamar

Crystal Clear by Hayley Williams

Woodland by The Paper Kites

Sleep On The Floor by The Lumineers

hope ur ok by Olivia Rodrigo

Reckless Driving by Lizzie McAlpine

ARE WE STILL FRIENDS? By Tyler, the Creator

Delilah by Florence and the Machine

Lights Up by Harry Styles

Banana Pancakes by Jack Johnson

Me and the Devil by Soap&Skin

Prom Queen by Catie Turner

Travelin’ Soldier by The Chicks

Dial Drunk by Noah Kahan

Thick Skull by Paramore

Not Strong Enough by Boy Genius

Heartbeat by Childish Gambino

Doses & Mimosas by Cherub

Closer by Nine Inch Nails

Sextape by Deftones

Over by Kings of Leon

Clocks by Coldplay

Rivers and Roads by The Head and The Heart

All Too Well (10 Minute Version) by Taylor Swift

Dirty Paws by Of Monsters and Men

Welcome Home, Son

She Knows by J. Cole

Demons by Hayley Kiyoko

September by Sparky Deathtrap

Work Song by Hozier

Kill Bill by Sza

Class of 2013 by Mitski

Night Shift by Lucy Dacus

Gilded Lily by Cults

Evergreen by Omar Apollo

The Promise by When in Rome

Sad Cowboys and Rock and Roll by Van Andrew

Put It on Me by Matt Maeson

Another Man’s Jeans by Ashe

I Want You by Mitski

Pool by Paramore

Pork Soda by Glass Animals

Boys Don’t Cry by The Cure

Vienna by Billy Joel

I Wishes I Missed My Ex by Mahalia

Seventeen Going Under by Sam Fender

Slow Burn by Kacey Musgraves

Lost by Frank Ocean

Disco by Surf Curse

[jaimebluesq]

The lates installment of my 12 Months with the One Braincell Trio - the word of July was mutual, and I swear I did not plan it. For these three, there was only one way I could go with this prompt - modern day AU Tumblr Mutuals :D

~ ~ ~

Nie Huaisang flopped onto a park bench, simply trying to catch his breath. His brother sarcastically waved over his shoulder as he jogged away, leaving Nie Huaisang to recover in peace.

“I told you I wasn’t built for exercise, Da-ge,” he muttered.

With a sigh, he lifted one of his feet onto the bench. He’d worn his brand new running shoes – flashy neon green and black, bought for the aesthetic, not because he actually liked running – and had just changed to new laces the other day. Laces that were now loose and dirty from trailing along the ground. He admired the cute little frogs on his laces as he went about tying them in a bow.

“Hey man!” someone called out from nearby. “I like your shoelaces!”

“Thanks!” he called back without thinking. “I stole them from the president!”

And then he froze, realizing what he’d said. He slowly lifted his head, his cheeks already turning hot, and met the happily surprised face of a stranger standing nearby next to a bright red bicycle. The young man grinned at him and pointed his way.

“Tumblr!”

Nie Huaisang nodded, feeling a little less embarrassed. After all, the other guy would have only gotten the reference if he too had been at the ‘devil’s sacrament’. “Yeah,” he managed a small smile, even if his breath was still a little too fast after his attempt at jogging. “You too?”

The stranger flipped the kickstand on his bike to keep it standing, then strolled over to join Nie Huaisang on the bench. “Yep. RedAndBlack4Eva, though I mostly post about Proud Immortal Demon Way, and not many people are into that-”

“No!” All hesitance leeched away from Nie Huaisang and he nearly bounced on his seat. “No way! I’m FanBoy69!”

The stranger gave Nie Huaisang a playful shove. “Seriously?! We’ve been mutuals for two years now! I love your headcanons on Liu Qingge.”

Nie Huaisang shrugged. “What can I say, he reminds me of my brother. But your fic about Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu was just,” he smacked his lips, “chef’s kiss.”

“Where the fuck did you go?!” a new voice shouted from nearby. “Wei Wuxian, if you fucked off on me again, I’m going to break your legs!”

“And that’s my best friend. And yeah, I’m Wei Wuxian.”

“Nie Huaisang,” he offered in return.

“A-Cheng, I’m over here!” Another young man on a purple bike came into view, and the moment he saw Wei Wuxian, he grimaced and wheeled his bike in their direction. “Hey, FanBoy, you should totally try the key phrase on my friend,” Wei Wuxian whispered. “He won’t know what’s going on – he’s funny when he’s confused and angry.”

Nie Huaisang chuckled. He waited until the other young man was closer before speaking up. “Hey,” he called over, and the guy looked at him. “I like your shoelaces.”

“Thanks, I stole them from the president,” the guy muttered back.

Wei Wuxian suddenly stood up and pointed at the other guy. “Jiang Cheng, you said you didn’t have Tumblr!!!”

“Like I was going to admit it to you!” the guy shouted defensively. “And besides, you’re not even into the same things I am.”

“Oh yeah?” Wei Wuxian had a challenging look on his face, and Nie Huaisang was more than amused watching them together. He’d had a good relationship with his big brother all of his life, but he’d never really had a long-term friend of any kind, particularly one close enough to call a best friend. “Then what’s your username? Unless you’re scared of me finding out what you post...”

Jiang Cheng frowned, but Nie Huaisang could read the tell-tales signs of someone giving in. “I’m sure you’ve never seen it before,” he muttered. “AngryGrape77.”

Nie Huaisang lit up immediately. “You commissioned my fanart of Sha Hualing!!!”

“FanBoy?” Jiang Cheng asked, looking a little less put out. “You have a great colour palette.”

“And,” Wei Wuxian crowed, “you reblog half my posts with the tag #why do I even like this damn novel.

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. “I should have known you’d be RedAndBlack.

“So!” Wei Wuxian stood and waved his hands from one of them to the next. “Proper introductions. The AngryGrape here is my bestie, Jiang Cheng. I’m Wei Wuxian, the only guy on Tumblr with correct opinions,” the other two groaned in response, “and FanBoy is Nie Huaisang.”

“Nice to meet you guys,” Nie Huaisang replied with a light wave.

“Now that that’s settled, we need to go for coffee!” Wei Wuxian perched his hands on his hips. “Come on, I’ve been waiting ages to be able to talk with other fans of Proud Immortal Demon Way in meet-space. Huaisang, say you’ll join us?”

Jiang Cheng grimaced. “Please, join us so this one can talk someone else’s ear off for once.”

Then the two looked to Nie Huaisang expectantly.

“Ah, just... wait a moment.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and quickly sent off a text to his brother.

Da-ge, a new friend invited me for coffee. Meet you back at home?

And a few moments later, his phone chirped back.

Fine, don’t get into any trouble I can’t get you out of. I’m making hotpot for supper, so don’t be late.

He slid his phone back into his pocket and gingerly rose up from the bench, thankful his legs were no longer as wobbly as when he’d first sat down. “So... you were saying coffee?”

Wei Wuxian grabbed his bike and he and Jiang Cheng walked theirs along either side of Nie Huaisang, and the three of them spent the next two hours chatting over coffee about the latest headcanons and their favourite fanfics.

It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

[headoverhiddles]

Spookshow Baby - Rob Zombie x Reader [Smut]

Synopsis: By good luck or connections, you find yourself backstage at a Zombie show, and Rob can’t take his eyes off you. 

Requested by @plagued-rat​!  “Rob and a younger fan meeting at a show and sleeping together or something along those lines.”  Hope you like it, hun :)

Notes: The personalities depicted are fictional-- I don’t know them, even though I wish I did. 

Is it really that hard to get a beer in this place?

You try to navigate your way through the crowd of people getting their seconds and thirds at the bar when you haven't even had one. You finally get up to the bar, and order your drink. You get a bit of a look from the bartender-- you can't tell if he's judging you, or in awe of you, and honestly? You're okay with either. You'd worn a pretty striking outfit tonight, your favorite that you'd had in the closet lying around for something like this.

It had been an event you'd been looking forward to for months. Your friend Ash has a band, a sort of side project from her main group, called The Haxans. She'd promised you'd be the first to get tickets when they had their first show, and five years later, here you are. Maybe if you had told the bartender you knew the singer, you could've at least gotten your beer faster.

Not only are you excited to support your friend, but her fellow band mate and guitarist, Matt Montgomery, is the current bassist of your favourite rock band. Rob Zombie had been a huge part of your life, since Hellbilly all the way up til now with Celebration Dispenser and the new album coming out sometime this year. You'd never been able to make it to a concert of his yet, as he hadn't played anywhere near you, but you had made no secret of your strong feelings for the front man.

 ---

You hang back near the tech at the Viper Room, and look around as the band starts their set. This place was said to be a hotspot for ghosts.

"Sweet venue, huh?" a voice behind you asks. You turn, and see a guy in a big straw hat. You feel like the voice is familiar, but you can't really tell with the loud noise.

"Yeah. It's haunted, you know."

The guy laughs. "No kidding." He glances up at the band performing. "That's... kinda fitting."

"Right?" you smile. "Somebody's apparently buried in the basement."

"Jesus. Guess that's why Johnny Depp sold it."

“Or maybe he did it," you laugh, sipping your drink.

"That’s sure a theory. So, what brings you here?" the guy goes on. You're used to the line that guys use on you to flirt, but this guy's still keeping his distance. It's interesting.

"I like their music," you say, "And I'm supporting my friend, Ash."

"Ah, cool. I'm here supporting the other guy, Piggy D. I dig their sound, he's got a great fucking gig here."

"Yeah, totally. Along with working for Rob? Super rad."

"Hm. Yeah." The guy gives a little smile, which you don't see. "See you around, maybe." 

"Yeah!" you smile, and when you turn back, the guy's gone. You wish you could place that voice.

 ---

After the show, you head up to the stage to congratulate your friend. "You were awesome!" you say, giving Ash a hug. She kisses your cheek.

"Yeah?"

"For sure.You guys were both amazing." Piggy D comes over, lifting his guitar strap over his head.

"Hey. Who's this?"

"This is my friend who I said would be coming, (y/n)?"

"Oh yeah." Matt gives a lopsided grin, shaking your hand. "Great to finally meet you. How'd we do?"

"You were great," you assure him. Ash nudges him.

"She's a big fan of Zombie."

Matt's black shadowed eyes light up. "Yeah? Here, I'll send you a pass to come say hi to us backstage. We're playing the area in a couple weeks!"

"Oh god," you blush, "That'd be awesome. Thank you so much."

"No problem." He gives you another smile, then sets his guitar down. "Gotta dash." His eyes ascend over you and Ash. "John, Rita! Thanks for coming!"

Ash pulls you to the side. "Oh my god. You're gonna get to meet him."

"I know." You fan yourself.

"He's really chill, don't worry. He'll love you."

"You think so?"

"Look at you! You're hot as fuck girl, I'd sleep with you if I wasn't taken. He'll go crazy for you."

“Ah. I’m too young for him...” 

“You could use a daddy. He’s daddy material. Spookshow daddy for a spookshow baby.” 

You smile, and ignore the unlikelihood of that happening. Still-- you've never been so excited.

 ---

The next Friday night, you find yourself enjoying tickets to the Zombie mosh pit in your home town, backstage pass tucked safely in your back pocket. You're currently waiting for Rob to come out on stage, and are watching the opening band, Palaye Royale.

After the last song of the opener's set, the stage lights begin going crazy, and you hear Rob begin to shout out the beginning of Dead City Radio.

The show is amazing, as you knew it would be. You've never actually heard him talk before, only sing, and when he speaks to the crowd between songs, you can't help but notice how attractive his voice is too. During Get High, Matt notices you, points to you with his pick, and winks.

As everyone cheers after the encore of Dragula and gives the band a good send-off, you slip backstage, coming up to the guards. You show your pass shakily, and they let you through.

"Hey!" Matt calls, and you turn down a long hallway to see the boys coming offstage.

"Best show I've ever seen, hands down," you say, "Other than the Haxans, of course."

Matt laughs, and fist bumps you. Ginger and John walk past you, shooting you friendly smiles. For a metal band, these are a bunch of really good guys. Then Rob comes out, dragging a towel over his face and dreads.

"Fucking high energy crowd!" he exclaims, punching the air as he comes over to you and Matt. "Great night."

"Crowd was on fire. Hey man, this is (y/n)." Matt introduces you.

Rob looks at you for a second, and tilts his head. "Oh yeah. You're the girl I met at the Haxans show, huh?"

You go to say yes, then start to realize how he knows. "You're the guy I talked to!"

"That would be me." He nods, then remembers how much he enjoyed talking to you. It’d be dangerous to see where this went, so after that stunted exchange, he goes to leave. You think of something to turn him around.

"Is that a Creepshow patch?" you ask, finally close enough to his patch jacket to decipher each one. He stops, and looks back.

"Hell yeah. You like Creepshow?"

"Love it!"

"Best one?"

"The Crate."

"Oh, fucking right!" He nods, "I like that crazy hitchhiker one too from the second one..."

"Thanks for the ride lady!" you quote, and he gives a loud belly laugh.

"Damn. You're pretty cool." He rubs his makeup with the towel. "I'm, uh... chilling a bit later tonight at a little after party. Sorry to be a big fuckin' drag, but I'm not one for lots of drinking or anything like Danzig or Manson are. I'll probably bore you to death."

"Then we can be a couple dead people together," you smile, and he smirks down at you.

"Sounds like a plan." He bites his lip, and gives you a once over again. "Follow me."

 ---

When you get to the party, it's pretty much like he said. He immediately wanders off around the outskirts of the crowd, stopping only to shake a few hands and greet a few people. It's a cool venue-- better than any you'd been to. It's dark, black-lit and monster-themed, with all kinds of pop art and horror memorabilia around the place. It's fitting for the band, and the people who hang out with them.

"Hey, man. Who's the lady?" John whispers in his ear. "Saw her backstage."

"Someone I met the other day. Piggy brought her back."

"She's pretty, huh?"

Rob shrugs, trying as usual to appear noncommittal when in fact he was feeling very committal. "I like her. Figured she may be some fun. Could definitely save me from this party." John shakes his head with a smile, going back over to Rita.

You try and crane your neck to see where Rob went, and are startled by a voice behind you. "Hey, you're the girl from the show, right?" You turn to see that it's Rob's drummer, Ginger.

"Yeah," you smile, "Ginger, right?" He shakes your hand heartily, nearly bruising your fingers with a drummer's grip.

"You can call me Kenny! Hey uh, long shot, do you happen to have a shower curtain anywhere accessible?" You frown, and are about to say no, but Ginger's already sensed your answer by your look of alarm. "No worries, I know who to call for one." He gets out his phone, and starts texting his old boss.

There's Rob. He's hiding in the corner like Dracula, away from the bright lights and people. You walk towards him through the crowd, toward where he's taken a seat on a red couch shaped like psychedelic lips. Rob watches you walk over to him, furrowing his brow. You look fucking good. His breath gets heavier as blood rushes down south. He hasn't wanted a girl this bad in years... much less a fan. Play it cool. She’s young enough to be your daughter, or some shit. 

"Dumb party, huh?" he mutters, burying his feelings down deep. You smirk, sitting down beside him and crossing your legs.

"Seems like you really don't wanna be here."

"Well, it's all about the show, you know? What happens afterward is all bullshit, catering to TMZ who peddles articles about stupid shit like drugs and trashing hotel rooms to 15 year olds who read their articles and think that's what being a rock star is all about." You blink. He's not wrong.  "But it's uh... it's a lot better with you here." Come on, Zombie. At least try not to be a black hole of negativity for once?

"Don't worry. I'm not really one for parties either. I mean, they're fun sometimes. But sometimes you just wanna be by yourself, you know?"

"Exactly!"

"Or... with someone you'd have a lot more fun with." He glances up. "Wanna get out of here?" you ask, eyes conveying your intentions. 

"Let's do it." As you walk toward the exit though, Rob pulls you down a hallway, then out the back door to the alley behind the club.

"You pulling a Lugosi on me, Zombie?" you joke. He smirks.

"You want me to?"

"Are you a vampire?"

He runs a hand through his dreads. "I'm more of a werewolf."

"It's a full moon," you tease, pulling him closer to you. He walks you back against the graffiti'd brick wall, and you part your legs to make room for him.

"You sure you wanna do this?" he murmurs, eyes already falling down to your lips behind his sunglasses. By way of reply, you take his sunglasses off, reach around to stuff them in his back pocket, and bring your lips to his. 

Fuck it. His eyes close, and he reaches up to support you properly, urging your to wrap your legs around him as he holds you up. You moan as his ratty jeans provide the perfect grind for you, grazing your inner thighs and grazing where you need him most. His fingers dig into your ass as you reach forward and unzip those jeans, taking out the chunky belt with Svengoolie's face on the buckle. 

His head tilts back as you take him in your hand, and fuck, he has to be inside you. You sink your face into his shoulder as he pushes in, and his face twists up. The way he's glaring at you in pure concentration is driving you wild, and the intense eye contact is turning him on too. He bares his teeth, gnashing as he fucks in again rough, making you gasp.

"Ro-ob..." you manage out.

"Whatdya need?"

"That's... ohmygod,that's so good, fuck, that's so good, faster--"

He gets even more rough, almost animalistic as he drops the cool guy act and just goes ape on your body. One of his hands shoves up your top, unhooking your bra with the precision of a master, and dips down to roll the tips of your nipples with his tongue. You cry out, neither of you caring who can hear you. It's as if he's become the demon he performs as, and it's fucking hot.

"Feelin' good, babe?" he growls.

"So good," you sigh, working down on him. He holds you up with one flexing arm as he keeps your wrists pinned with the other, dipping his head down a little again to leave hickies along the juncture of your neck. "I'm close--"

"Come on, baby, come on," he snarls, "Yeah..." You gasp out his name as his heavy thrusts rock you against the wall, tipping you off the edge and ripping you apart.

He watches you cum with the intense gaze of a hellish predator, and pounds you even harder until you're done. When he's sure you're satisfied, he lets you down, and cums against the wall, bracing himself against it with one hand.

You run a hand through your hair, and lean back. "Christ. There are so many puns I could make right now."

"I like puns," he pants, slipping his sunglasses back on, and with them, into his awkward, chilled out self.

"You fuck like a Superbeast." There's silence as you hold in your giggles, and he stares at you, completely deadpan.

"I fuckin’ regret all of this." You let the giggles burst free, and he takes you under his arm, leading you toward the street. "Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"My torture chamber, for special fans like you."

"I'm not surprised."

"Then maybe, after the torture, we can throw on a movie. Maybe..."

"You got Dr. Goldfoot and the Bikini Machine?"

"...Okay, maybe I don't regret this."

He calls his driver, and excitement fills you at the prospect of seeing what his house looks like. Probably as eclectic as the man himself. As the two of you get in, you open your phone to see a text from Ash.

So?????? watchu up to sex kitty

You grin to yourself as you type out a response that's sure to make your friend screech.

Is it necrophilia if I fucked a Zombie...? ;) 

[papijean]

repentance

summary: Denji can’t help but feel overwhelmed by your joining him in the shower. 

find the prequel here

warnings: major major manga spoilers, smut, 18+ content, shower sex, unprotected sex, virgin!Denji, angst, mentions of death, 

word count: 3.1k

a/n: first chainsaw man fic!! Haven’t written in months but I finally sat down and wrote it all in one sitting lol. 

Aki was never someone you could see yourself with for the rest of your life. Nonetheless, he could be fun. Aki burned bright and fast, he was a night filled with pleasure until you were choking on air only to disappear back into the shadows like he'd never seen your naked body before.

He wasn't someone you were in love with. He wasn't someone you wanted to marry or to have kids with. But you cared for him, deeply. Aki was your closest friend and your greatest desire. He pleased you, befriended you, protected you. He was important in your life.

Then he was gone.

You didn't blame Denji for Aki's death. He was served the same fate as his family like some twisted God foresaw it. The Gun Devil was the one to blame, maybe some external force having its hand along the way. Aki was quiet, but you knew damn well he'd never make some fucked contract with the Gun Devil.

Denji seemed to be suffering the most with the loss. Glossy look in his eyes when he stared off into space. Sleepless nights that kept you and Power up half the time. He ate as he always did but the silence he bore was a dagger in your chest. Whether or not he blamed himself, he missed Aki just as you did.

There was the fact he couldn't look into your eyes - even more than usual. Denji's eyes usually lingered to your chest more than your face, recently they were glued to his shoes, an object behind you, anywhere but the sadness-filled eyes you carried with the loss of your friend.

"I'm going to shower," Denji stood up from the table you both sat at. Power was busy watching whatever was on the television in front of her, not that she ever really cared for the conversation between the two of you. After Aki's death, you stayed permanently in his household, even though you were practically living with him and the fiends beforehand.

Denji left his mostly eaten plate of food at the table. Usually, he'd be chastised for leaving the dirty dishes for someone else to clean up. You didn't have the heart to tell him otherwise today. His breathing was heavy that evening, almost like he needed to force the air in and out of his lungs like he'd forgotten how to do it.

Meowy brushed against your legs as you gathered the dishes scattered around the apartment. The cat looked up at you for a brief moment before strolling over to Power and snuggling into her lap. The two would likely remain there for the rest of the night before Denji had to move them to the bed for proper sleep.

The water burned your hands as you washed the dishes. Skin pruney, irritated from the intensity of the heat. Neither bothered you enough to fix it. Truthfully, you couldn't feel anything on your skin these past few days. No pain, no pleasure, you couldn't feel anything on your body - and maybe within too.

You could still hear the shower running as you walked by. Silence emitted from the bathroom, even with the stream of water falling against tiles. Before you could stop yourself, your hand was turning the knob of the bathroom and closing yourself inside the room. Through the thick layer of steam, you could see Denji's motionless body standing under the water. His back was towards you but it was clear he hadn't moved the moment he stepped into the shower.

He didn't notice your appearance, or maybe assumed it was Power who walked in and couldn't care about the presence. The layers of clothes you wore were shed off, thrown to the floor just as carelessly as his were. The quiet patter of your feet echoed to your ears only, louder than your heart, louder than your breathing, it wreaked havoc in your chest until you were immersed in the same stream as the blonde. 

Denji didn't notice you until your hands were flat against his back, and your forehead resting against his body. His shoulders tensed, quickly realizing your touch wasn't Power's, that he wasn't just imagining the noises in his head, quickly knowing it was you naked behind him and not his closest friend.

"Denji..." You didn't know what came over you to join him. His vulnerability called to you, edging you to find yourself exposing your own. He didn't move, didn't speak. With a silent sigh, you grabbed the shampoo that he stole from Aki. It was the same smell that kept you close to Denji in the first place because it reminded you of Aki's touch.

He turned to you, never once glancing at you or your body. What a joke, a naked woman right in front of me, and I can't even bear to look.

Denji's head hung low as your fingers worked their way through his hair. Too many thoughts ran through him to understand. He hated this feeling, hated worrying about things he couldn't change. It was so much easier back then, back when he didn't have to think about how things could have played out differently so you could be here with Aki and not him. He could have been smarter, figured out how to keep everyone alive and safe because maybe then he could complain to Aki about how he couldn't sleep with how loud you were being instead of staying awake replaying that day.

Fuck.

Your hands felt so good in his hair, helping to rinse out the shampoo from each strand. Was this why Aki was so fond of you? Your touch was so divine with such a mundane action. Denji's eyes screwed shut. He'd killed his best friend and now he was naked with the person he cared about most. Nothing about this was right and yet he couldn't stop himself from feeling like this was what he needed. It was the first time he felt something, anything, besides the aching in his chest.

The callouses on your palms from years of devil hunting felt rough against his cheeks. The pads of your thumbs even more so as they rubbed against his skin. No matter how harsh it appeared your touch was it was nothing but comfort on his body. He hated it, god did he hate it so much. He shouldn't be allowed to enjoy something so sacred to his dead friend.

For the first time since that day, he met your eyes. Denji expected nothing but hate, instead, he found that same lost look in you that he saw in himself every day. It hurt more than any loathing he could have received instead.

The pain of it all went away with the softness of your lips. You moved slowly against him, waiting for him to accept you. Your fingers were light on his bare chest, barely brushing against him. The cord protruding from him only as an ugly reminder of who he was underneath his blonde hair and pretty smile. As dumb as all this was, it seemed you both needed this more than you were willing to walk away. It was inevitable since the second your hand touched that doorknob.

"Denji..." Your voice cracked with his name, hand firmly planted against him this time. He smelled so much like him and yet his touch so different. Aki was so assured of himself, knowing he could get you just where he wanted. Denji was so different, his hands so delicately touching your hips like wasn't sure what he should do next.

His timidness didn't change, even with his initiation of another kiss. He was so malleable to you, no longer caring to make any decision for himself and fully entrusting you to make him feel alive again. He wanted to enjoy the food he ate again, to sleep through the night without waking up with this tightness spreading out of his chest, to reignite his dream of having sex with Makima. Denji wanted you to bring him back to his former self no matter the cost.

Your palms hovered over his, directing them over your body until settling on your breasts. Denji's touch was the only thing you felt for the first time in weeks. His hands were the only thing that made you feel something again and you never wanted that feeling to escape you again. He wasn't Aki, nor a replacement for him, but for now, it was all you needed.

Denji slowly became more comfortable in his own skin. His palms groped at your tits, fulfilling the fantasy running through his mind since the moment he laid eyes on you. The pad of his thumbs circled your nipples, hoping to get those same sounds he heard from the room next door night after night. A quiet, breathless moan could be heard over the pounding of the water against your bodies.

You carefully grabbed his hand, bringing it up to your lips to kiss his knuckles, trailing, even more, kisses up his fingers until reaching the tips. His cheeks were flushed red as you met his eyes. Slowly, you dipped his two middle digits into your mouth. The hardness in his cock was more evident than before as your tongue swirled around them. Denji had never seen something so sensual in his life, not even when Makima had done something so similar.

His fingers were drenched in your saliva, a small trail of it connected his fingers to your lips as you pulled away from him. It only took a moment for him to realize you were guiding his hands to your warmth. Denji choked on his own air as he sank his digits into your tight hole. He'd never felt anything like this, never had he felt so warm and welcome.

Louder this time, a moan pushed through you. He didn't care if it was only meant to boost his morale or if it really was genuine. Denji meticulously guided his fingers in and out of you, overwhelmed by the idea of his cock replacing them shortly.  At least he assumed it would lead to that.

His free hand dragged down your body, squeezing your ass with such a tight grip you were sure light bruises would be left there, before landing his palm on the back of your thigh. Your leg was hoisted up to his hip, making it easier for him to curl his fingers into your hole. This was all coming so naturally for him, even though he'd never once touched a woman like this. Denji listened only to your body, nothing else - nothing else could make him forget that feeling.

Your fingers tightened against his shoulders, teeth sinking into your lip to stop the moan from ripping out. This wasn't Aki, he wasn't Aki, you wanted this to be Aki. You wanted him, not Denji, not anyone else, Aki was the only one to make you feel something on your skin, and yet here this blonde was making you feel pleasure once again.

Your back pressed flat against the cold shower tiles. It was such a contrast to the fire Denji emitted against your front. His fingers no longer deep inside your cunt and instead between his lips to taste you. Your own delicate fingers, cursed with callouses for the rest of your life, delicately circled the tip of his cock.

His whole body threatened to fold within itself at the smallest touch. He was already so painfully hard, admiring your nakedness and being blessed with your sounds. It was embarrassing how such a small touch had him leaking with desire. Denji forced himself to keep his composure but it caved as soon as your fingers wrapped fully around him.

His forearms rested on the shower tiles, trapping your head on either side as he fell to the crook of your neck at the feeling of your hand stroking his length. It was too easy to please him, too easy for him to fall to the palm of your hand with a desperate cry. He held no shame as his creamy milk coated your hands, washing away down the drain.

Fuck...

Fuck his face was too beautiful as he came. His needy sounds only fueling the dampness between your thighs. He was too easy for you and yet you found yourself only wanting to see it all again, this time because of your warmth instead of your hand. Denji cursed to himself, only giving himself a moment of hesitation before connecting your lips again.

His strength was so great, all the Devil in him so easily giving him what he needed to hoist you against the shower wall. All this power and you craved none of it.

"Please..." It was so quiet he could barely hear it. Denji gave a single nod, such the slightest movement to his head before kissing you. His lips slow, such little pressure you swore it could have been a ghost had his touch not ignited your body elsewhere.

The fat tip of his cock prodded against your cunt, sliding itself between your lips until nestling at the entrance of your hole. Denji choked out a moan, his length just merely inside you and he felt the need to combust like never before. It didn't feel real, no matter how desperately he needed to remind himself it was. 

You could feel the heat of his ragged breath against your skin as he sank himself further into you. The hold he had on your legs seemed to tremble your entire body. Denji had never imagined anything in his life feeling so euphoric, it was almost unbearable. 

“F-fuck,” he mumbled out, eyes screwed shut in immense pleasure. He so deliciously stretched your walls, filling you in an entirely different way than you’d ever been used to. A dark flush covered his cheeks watching your godly expressions. 

Denji's hips rutted into you with such a mess of a pace you could barely keep track. He was so focused on lasting longer this time that he couldn't care about how fast or slow he went, nor with what ferocity he gave. Your head fell to the crook of his neck, teeth nibbling at the skin and sending vibrations throughout with every moan.

It was so clear he'd never done this before and it'd be so easy for him to comply to your own desires at your will. Still, there was something about his primal need that made you feel a flame in your chest. His name chanted from your lips, half-muffled by your mouth against his collarbone.

His pace changed again, slower - harder, a more uniform pace that felt different than before. Your walls tightened around him, pleasure seeping through every pore in your body because of him. Your head jutted back, resting against the tiles with your eyes skewed shut. Denji's hands tightened against you, his breathing hard.

Water streamed down his face, mixing with the tears emitting from his eyes at the sound of his name. Aki. Aki. Aki.

It was so fucked up, he was fucked for doing this. How was Denji ever supposed to repent for what he did when all he could hear was the sound of his name everywhere he went. Even hear, his cock deep within the girl his best friend cared for most.

It was too good to be true that you were doing this for him. Denji should have known from the start the only reason you came to him was for yourself. You didn't care about fixing that hole in his chest or descrambling his thoughts. You were here to fill your own hole, in more ways than one he assumed.

Aki was the only one who could please you, and if it meant pretending the man who killed him was the black hair hunter, Denji could only oblige.

His body shuddered with such aggression as your walls tightened a final time, a moan cascading the bathroom and filling his ears with such glory. He couldn't contain himself any longer. Sharp teeth dug into your shoulder, he feared a sob would come out instead of such a pretty noise like yours.

Denji's chest heaved with every breath. His eyes were red and swollen from the tears he couldn't stop. The feeling in his heart was heavier than ever before. He hated this feeling, hated you for making him feel worse than before, hated you for taking his first time away from Makima, hated you for loving Aki when you refused to even admit you liked the man.

Fuck he hated feeling things. It was so much easier back then, back when all he wanted was to see some tits, back before he had food on his table every night. Denji wanted nothing more than a simple life like that. He wanted to fuck without this feeling, only wanting to feel like he did for a brief moment.

The water was like ice against your bodies. The hot water was long gone and neither of you were able to notice until silence filled the room. Your lips were gentle against his cheek, though no words were shared as you left him in the shower with a towel meekly wrapped around your body. He watched your rummage through the pocket of your thrown clothes until pulling out the same pack of cigarettes Aki always smoked.

You don't smoke...

Denji turned the water off in the shower. He didn't feel any different physically from before his first time having sex, just as he didn't feel any different from when he touched his first pair of tits. Maybe Makima was right, maybe he needed to understand the person well enough to be able to feel the kind of pleasure he imagined.

He could remember those nights of hearing you and Aki, the cries, the moans, the pleas of more. He didn't hear any of that from you - at least not nearly to the same extent Aki could. Denji wondered just how well the two of you understood each other, how much you had to care for one another to feel such heightened pleasure.

His towel was tightly wrapped around his waist like he was afraid to show you what was underneath again. Denji watched as you perched by the now open window of the bathroom, smoke protruding from your lips and getting lost in the night sky. The smell never bothered him, yet here he was irritated you picked up the habit. God knows, maybe you always had one after sex - he'd never seen you do it any other time.

He could see it now - you draped over Aki, glistening with sweat as you shared a cigarette. He could see Aki silently watching you, refusing to let a smile creep out. You'd never get that again. Not with Aki, not with him.

"I'm sorry I'm not him."

-

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[sukirichi]

— out of reach | gojo x reader

request: Girllllll I just read your jealous gojo fic and my heart went 📈📈📈📈💥💥💥 youre now one of my fav writers 🙏🧎‍♀️And the spicy parts 😫😫😫 💖 If your asks are still open, could I please request a fic where GOJO has a size kink 🥺🥺🥺 my 5’1 ass is obsessed with that shizzzz 

pov: you’re gojo’s childhood friend and roommate – which leads to utter chaos – or perhaps utter bliss?

warnings: size kink, lots of teasing, lots of cursing, dirty talk, choking (probably not in the way you think), body worship, lots of size difference scenes, slight manhandling, overstimulation, thigh fucking, vaginal sex, unprotected sex (don’t do this irl guys) + unedited fic :D

notes: idk what happened here LMAOOO but i loved writing this one because i’m short as hell too lol. thanks for this request anon, i hope you like it! <3

word count: 10.5k

masterlist ! 

If you’re going to be honest, having Gojo as a roommate is something completely unexpected.

Not only are you two from entirely different worlds – him as a jujutsu sorcerer and you as an average human who can’t see curses – but he’s also just someone who is entirely out of your league. He’s respected and looked up to in his field of work, while half of your co-workers don’t even know your name, much less notice you in function parties where you mostly just nibble on sushi before calling it a day and turning back home.

You and Gojo met in elementary school. You could tell from the way he’s surrounded by servants and stern looking adults, firm hands on his small shoulders, that he was different from everyone else.

Apparently, he comes from one of the three big clans in the jujutsu world or whatever. You honestly don’t care about any of that, because Gojo refuses to act maturely about his role in the clan. You still remember how quiet he was on the first day of school, never smiling and keeping to himself despite your persuasion to eat lunch with him or play with him after school in the courtyard.

You miss that Gojo Satoru – the quiet, serious kid who was far too gentle in his actions yet firm in his words and beliefs. When you were still a little girl, you admired how he seemed older than his age, a wistful look in those azure blue eyes of his that you’ve always loved.

To you, Gojo Satoru was your hero. You’ve always been one of the shortest kids in class, and it didn’t help that you really loved pigtails all the way until middle school that made you an easy target from immature people who’s being hit way too fast by puberty and growing each passing day. You never minded your short stature because really, it’s just height, but you couldn’t ignore how your confidence dwindled each day when they called you several array of nicknames.

Too shy to fight back, you’d laugh it off or force a smile.

Gojo wasn’t having any of it. He’d break his silence and immediately pull you to his side (which only made things worse because Gojo was one of the tallest kids in class, further emphasizing how small you are right next to him) before threatening to smack the kids right in the face.

The threat should be enough to land him detention, but because he’s Gojo Satoru, the golden kid everyone loved, they took his word seriously.

At the age of eleven, you started seeing your best friend as your knight in shining armour. Gojo basked in this, growing protective and always glaring at whoever snickered when you walked past them. Sometimes he even bared his teeth to hiss at them, which was honestly so ridiculous now that you think about, though the message – the threat – always came across loud and clear.

So yeah, you love Gojo, you still do.

Years flew by and the two of you grew apart due to work and also as a part of growing up. You still kept in contact, messaging each other once a month to ask the other how they’re doing. His work kept him extremely busy though, and Gojo didn’t want you involved in the dangers of what he’s doing, so he makes sure to keep a safe distance.

Until six months ago, you hear a banging on your door. You’re just about ready to throw hands because your former roommate moved out to live with her stoner boyfriend, leaving you to shoulder all the bills and responsibilities of maintaining a two man apartment.

A sneer forms on your lips as you swing the door open, a scowl already on your face. You assumed it was your roommate who returned to get the pair of lace panties they left in their room, but instead, your childhood friend stands before you, taller (seriously, how has he not stopped growing?) and definitely a lot hotter than the last time you saw him.

One thing leads to another, and now it feels like there was never such distance between the two of you with how easily you both fell back into a comfortable – yet chaotic – rhythm and routine of being each other’s roommate.

Not that you mind, of course. Gojo’s definitely changed a lot from when you were kids. He’s no longer that stiff or sensitive when it comes to others. In fact, it seems like he loosens up a lot more with age, because you can barely recognize the man living under the same roof with you now.

For one thing, Gojo is loud. Like really talkative, won’t shut the fuck up and speaks like he’s in a screaming contest with someone. It doesn’t matter if you’re taking an important phone call or sleepwalking at three in the morning to pee, Gojo is always creating some sort of ruckus.

You’d never admit it out loud, but you loved it. You love him.

He’s definitely a lot more enthusiastic and fun to be with now that both of you have grown up, or in Gojo’s case, simply aged. His maturity reversed backwards because it feels like you’re taking care of a little kid.

Not only does his body clock is practically non-existent, he’s also horrible when it comes to taking care of himself and being punctual with work.

Fortunately for him, you love him, and you both leave for work at the same time. You always wake up earlier to prepare breakfast so you’d both have energy to start the day – although you highly doubt there’s really anything that depletes his endless source of one.

Sleepily walking through the kitchen with your fist rubbing at your eyes, you rummage through the refrigerator for some eggs when you realize there’s none.

Huh, you think to yourself, scratching your scalp. You’re sure that Gojo went grocery shopping last week since it’s his chore to do the outside stuff like buying groceries and throwing thrash, so where did it go?

You open shelf by shelf, checking each corner and shoving cans aside to look for the tray. With a glare, you stand on your tiptoes to pull the pantry open, only to have your mouth fall aghast because it’s all there – right at the back where you can’t reach it!

Fucking Satoru, you grit your teeth while heaving your body up onto the counter. It’s a struggle because not only are your muscles still half asleep, but because the shelf is right in your face, and if you’re not careful enough, you could hit it right with your face and fall over. Of fucking course you know Satoru did this to make fun of you – and now you retract your statement over your best friend.

It’s all a lie.

He’s a pain in the ass. Why do you even bother cooking for him and letting him live literally just a room away when you know he won’t stop pulling shit like this?

Because, the nagging voice in your head tries to mock, he’s your best friend and you can’t really say no to him. This makes you huff as you carefully pull the tray towards you, hooking two fingers at the edge while your other palm grips at the end of the counter for support. No thanks to your short limbs, you’re practically hogging the shelf by now in an attempt to reach it. You look ridiculous, that’s for sure, and you make a mental note to keep Satoru’s windows open tonight so he freezes to death –

“Aw, cupcake,” a sing-song voice emerges from the other side of the room. “You look so adorable. You should’ve woke me up if you need my help.”

“Fuck off, Satoru,” you flip him off. The man only laughs, the rambunctious sound echoing off the walls. It’s way too early in the morning and he’s already so damn loud; something builds up at the back of your head out of frustration already. His grin only gets wider when you finally got the eggs and clutch it your chest, setting it down on the counter while wiping your sweat away from your face. “Freeloader,” you mutter under your breath, ignoring him when he happily skips over to you.

“Ouch,” he places a palm over his chest, although you both know he’s never really affected by anything. “So what’s for breakfast today? You?”

“You know, I can kick you out anytime I want. I’m being extremely nice even going as far to cook you breakfast before you leave for work, so don’t test my patience.”

“Exactly, my best friend is so kind,” Satoru grows the audacity to rest his arm on your head. This triggers a reflexive response from you; shoulders tensing up and hands curling into fists beside you. “I would totally date her if she wasn’t such a temperamental little devil,” you nearly stab him with a fork with his statement, which he thinks he’s being so sly for but you heard it, and you’re most definitely not pleased with it. “Okay, I’m kidding! I’m going to go shower now!”

You roll your eyes at him and heat the pan over with some oil, muttering under your breath that you’re really going to kick him out soon. As if things couldn’t get worse – as if Satoru couldn’t get any worse – he smacks your backside in the process before darting to the showers.

“Gojo Satoru!”

“Morning, best friend, love ya!”

You were right. He is a pain in the ass.

“You don’t always have to walk me to work.”

“I know.”

“So why’re you still here? I’m not a little kid anymore,” Contrary to your words, you stick closer to Satoru when the morning rush of workers and students begin to crowd the streets. Your best friend notices this with a small smile, his hand resting on the small of your back. “Don’t even try, Satoru.”

“I wasn’t saying anything.”

“I know that look on your face,” you fiddle with the buttons of your uniform, sighing when Satoru follows you inside the bus after tapping your phone for two seats. It’s not a surprise to you anymore that most of your expenses are spent by him, for him, and he lazily sprawls his long limbs across the seat before you pulling you down right next to him.

As much as you hate this man, especially because he smirks at the attention he’s receiving from women – even men – in the bus, you have to admit he’s warm and smells damn good. You bite the inside of your cheeks, looking around in slight self-consciousness before inching a little closer, just to feel his warmth. He’s comforting – irrationally so – so you set your bag between the both of you to keep your sanity. “If you keep doing this, Principal Yaga might fire your ass because you’re never on time.”

“Trust me, cupcake, he won’t. I’m too valuable for that.”

How you saw that coming – you can’t tell anymore. The bus ride is relatively quiet and eventless, with you dozing off every now and then because you’re never a morning person. Thankfully, Satoru is more respectful this time around, lolling your head until it drops to his shoulder. After that, he snakes his arm around your waist before resting it on your thigh as a way to say you don’t have to head bang every damn second and just sleep.

On any other occasion, you would’ve hated it. You always look so small whenever you’re in Satoru’s presence. It doesn’t help that he’s long and lanky, either, his slender fingers effortlessly caressing your thigh while almost your entire body is flushed next to him. But right now, he’s too warm, too soft, and you’re too tired that for just a little bit, you allow yourself to relax.

A beeping wakes you up a moment later. Opening your eyes, you push yourself off Satoru when you see an old lady reaching for the handles. No one gave up their seats for her even as the bus driver asked her to find a seat lest she’d fall.

“Grandma, here, take my seat—” You’re about to stand up and offer it to her when Satoru tugs you by the wrist. Because of your small, wobbly composure, pulling you to him takes little to no effort. You end up on his lap, sitting on him as if you’re nothing but a small, dainty schoolbag. Satoru is clearly enjoying this because you feel him breathily laugh on the back of your neck, charming – annoyingly so – as he gestures to the now empty spot beside him.

“It’s no worries, Grandma. She’ll be fine,” he gestures to you, patting your head like you’re some puppy. “Please, take a seat. The bus is already moving.”

“Satoru, get off me,” You wriggle yourself from his hold, which only ends up in wasted effort because this big oaf doesn’t even budge. He even bounces you on one of his thighs, and you dig your nails into his arms as a silent plead for him to stop. He ignores this, ignores your small whines and the apparent embarrassment that has you debating whether to punch him or hide yourself in the safety of his uniform.

“She’s a feisty little one, isn’t she?”

The old lady watches the two of you banter, giggling behind her wrinkled hands. “You’re an adorable couple.”

“I think so too!”

“You’re so going to pay for this, Satoru,” you grumble, face planted onto your palms. This is it – the worst day of your life. It’s even worse because despite your protests, you have to admit his lap is actually comfortable. You’ve already known this before after countless times of cuddling with Satoru during movie nights, but its different when you’re both out in public. It feels...oddly intimate and maybe even romantic when he rubs soothing circles at your back, almost as if apologizing for this event. Most of all, you just hate the way something pools beneath your stomach at having him so close to you like this. “This is so embarrassing. I’m practically crushing you with my weight.”

“Please, cupcake, you barely weigh anything. I could easily lift you off with just my finger,” when you elbow him in the chest, Satoru only laughs, raising both hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry, I’ll stop teasing.”

You give up. No one seems to be paying much attention to any of you anyway, so you sigh, letting yourself hide in the crook of his neck as you watch the city pass through the windows. Your body moves as his chest rises and falls from his breathing, the movement oddly comforting. It’s embarrassing – it really is – but at least the grandma was comfortable until Satoru drops you off near your building.

“You don’t have to walk me all the way there.”

“Why not? You don’t want people to see us together or something?”

“No,” you stare at him from the corner of your eye. It’s no secret Satoru is attractive. This bastard knows it too, judging from the way he confidently and arrogantly swaggers next to you, hands shoved deep in his pockets as he walked with no care in the world. “My co-workers keep asking me for your number every time I tell them we’re not dating. It’s getting annoying at this point how they go Satoru this and Satoru that.”

“Am I hearing it right? Is cupcake jealous?”

“I’m not jealous, I’m disgusted,” you correct, “They don’t know how much of a pain you are to have around. They’re so focused with your looks that they completely overlook the fact you can’t even wash your dirty underwear!”

Satoru frowns at this, pointing his finger to you as if you’ve accused him of a huge crime. “Hey, I wash my underwear.”

“Yeah and last time you did, you mixed it with whites! My work uniform turned a stupid shade of blue! Now I can’t picture the colour of your boxers out of my head and it’s giving me a headache!”

“Wow, Y/N,” the smirk on his face and the sudden drop of nicknames lets you know you’ve said something wrong. Even behind his blindfold, you could tell his eyes are just sparkling with amusement. He’s enjoying this way too much. “I never thought you’d ever picture my boxers. I mean, I don’t mind showing it to you if you ask nicely—”

“Ugh, you’re so hopeless. I’m going to work.”

Gojo laughs when you jog away from him. He catches up with you in a matter of seconds, only having to take a few steps forward before he’s right beside you again. You’re unsure if you should be annoyed it’s so easy for him to always be right next to you, and how he almost always is right next to you while you prefer running away. It muddles with your heart and mind so much you pinch the bridge of your nose, trying not to be swayed by the sickeningly sweet sound of his laughter. “I can’t pick you up later, okay? I might work overtime!” (that’s a lie since Gojo prefers shopping and sightseeing)

Both of you know that’s a lie. Gojo never works overtime. He’s going to work for a few hours and so and call playing around with his students as “on-hand learning” before he goes shopping for stupid souvenirs and wild-flavoured mochis, then end his day by sightseeing and coming back home.

“Wasn’t expecting you to,” you mumble, waving goodbye to him as the office doors close. Slowly, Satoru’s grin and enthusiastic farewell fades into view until nothing but the pale, silver walls of your office greets you.

Funny how you claim to hate this man so much, yet the moment he’s out of sight, everything becomes dull and pointless.

It’s an absolutely shitty day. Your equally shitty boss blames you for something you didn’t even do, all because his incompetent secretary – who you’re sure he’s sleeping with – lost this month’s report and claimed she handed it to you last week when you’re not involved in that kind of work. Logic doesn’t come by them because your boss publicly humiliates and scolds you, calling you all kinds of names until tears are streaming down your face.

You slam the door shut the moment you get home, kicking your shoes off as you head straight to your room. You don’t bother taking your makeup off anymore as you change into a loose shirt and floral cotton shirts, padding to the kitchen after seeing Satoru is well nestled into the couch.

At least someone’s had a good day.

Seeing as the sink is empty, he probably hasn’t eaten dinner. This makes you sigh, because when will he ever learn to look after himself? He’s literally like a child.

Satoru pauses whatever he’s watching before he hovers over you, head tilted to the side as he gazes at you with curiosity. You ignore him and begin to set down some bowls and chopsticks for dinner, all the while Satoru is studying every inch of your tightly pulled face. “Bad day?” he concludes.

“Hmm.”

“Bad day it is then,” he nods to himself. “I can cook dinner, if you want.”

“And have you burn my apartment? No thanks,” you scoff, pushing him aside to retrieve the pans when you see that he’s placed them above again, even after you’ve reminded countless times to just leave it near the holders in the sink. “Ugh, why do you keep putting the pans in this shelf? You know I can’t reach this. I’ve had enough with you pulling pranks on me, and don’t think I’ve forgotten you placed my shampoo above the shower head today, you idiot,” you snarl and hop over the counter again to get the pans, trying your best to fight back the tears that are threatening to fall. “You’re really bothersome, you know that?”

“Then why don’t you kick me out?” he challenges, completely oblivious to how you’re struggling – both physically and emotionally. “You always complain about me being a nuisance here, but you’re not really doing anything to keep me out.”

“Because where else would you go?”

“Technically, I have a room back at the Institute.”

“Yeah, but because you’re so stupid and reckless that you got kicked out of your own home,” you spat out, and you watch as Satoru raises a brow at your statement. Banter is common between the both of you, but something about the intensity of your gaze lets him know you’re serious this time around. “I don’t even know how Yuuji puts up with you. That poor Megumi is right when he says you’re insufferable. You’re good for nothing!”

Satoru scoffs, “Fine, if you hate me that much, why didn’t you just say so earlier? I could easily pack my bags and go since I’m just making everything harder—” Satoru doesn’t get to finish what he’s saying when your hand over the counter that acts as support slips under you, and you fall, legs bent awkwardly while you scream, preparing yourself for the impact. The pan is long forgotten, your only thought was oh my god, so this is how I die.

But it never came, and you keep your eyes shut tight even as warm hands cup your ass. Satoru is breathing hard under you. Finally gaining the courage to crack an eye open, your breath halts when you see that he’s sitting on the floor, with you safely nestled between him.

Satoru has always had pretty eyes, but it’s rare he takes off his blindfold off even when he’s home. This is one of those rare occurrences that he seems like a normal human, dressed in a gray sweatshirt that hands low from his collarbones and magnetic blue eyes staring right back at you. His touch is gentle, almost as if he’s afraid to hurt you, and his voice that is usually loud and teasing comes out breathy and hesitant.

“Are you okay?”

Your gaze drops down to his lips. He’s close, so close, that if you just lean a little closer you could – you snap out of your daze. “Get off me.”

“Cupcake, you’re the one who’s on top of me,” his voice falls an octave lower, eyes flitting down to your clothing – or rather the lack of it – before Satoru takes a deep breath. “Did you really have to wear that?”

“I have the right to wear whatever I want in the comfort of my own home.”

“I wasn’t complaining,” he raised a brow, this time completely in control of himself as he gazes back up at you with a burning gaze. You see nothing but the way one corner of his lips tilt up, almost teasing, and he looks so much like a shit-eater that you feel heat crawl down your spine.

You push yourself off him but your bent foot behind you slips, and you fall forward with your hands clutching his strong shoulders. Satoru catches your leg behind you, drags it forward until your knee is pressed in between one of your warmth, very much still enjoying the way you wriggle away from his hold. He knows his effect on you – but you deny this wholeheartedly.

“Careful, cupcake. This isn’t a slip and slide.”

“I hate you so much,” you bare your teeth at him, slapping his chest until he finally lets go of you. Turning your back to him, you pick up the pan and begin preparing your dinner, muttering curses under your breath as you heat up the stove. “I’m kicking you out tomorrow.”

“Why not now?”

“Eat your damn dinner first.”

Dinner after that is awkward. Although Gojo is someone who can wolf down his meal in three seconds, he takes his time in eating to start conversation with you. Sometimes he asks decent questions like how your day was or he’d talk about something stupid, but he’s quiet the whole time. He even volunteers to do the dishes before retreating to his room, coating the house in silence.

It almost feels like you’re all alone over again.

You’ve gotten so used to him being an utter mess everywhere that when he’s not trying to piss you off and actually giving you the much needed peace, you begin to hate it. Memories of the rude things you’ve said to him a while ago play and in your head, and you bang your head against the wall repeatedly.

How are you supposed to apologize to Satoru now?

The answer doesn’t come until you stare at your walls, wide awake at midnight. The house is still eerily silent and you don’t stop shuffling around your bed in discomfort. Many times, you wished that Satoru would shut up and leave you alone, but now that he’s actually done that, it feels weird. Uncomfortable. It feels wrong.

With a grunt, you kick off the sheets and carefully tread to his room, knocking lightly in case he’s already sleeping. “Satoru?” you call out, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. “Are you awake?”

You’ve seen Satoru angry as kids before, but what would he be like now? Would he still want to be your friend? Would he still annoy you by hiding your things somewhere you can’t reach? Or would he be the who is now out of reach? If he leaves...who’s going to walk you to work? Who’s going to complain he doesn’t want to do groceries but buys you things you don’t ask for but want anyway? Who’s going to keep teasing the living daylights out of you if not him?

All these thoughts claw at the back of your mind until your bottom lip trembles. You hate how weak you feel; how you’re never careful with your words.

You never meant it when you said all that.

Your train of thought is cut off when the door swings open, revealing an equally tired-looking Satoru. At the sight of you peering up at him with glossy eyes, he pushes the door wider and steps closer to you, his large hands cupping your face as he leans down in worry. “Cupcake,” his brows pinch together, “Did something happen? Is something wrong?”

“I just wanted to apologize for everything I said,” you blurt out, “I was just tired from work and my boss was being shitty, so I wasn’t totally myself that time and I’m really sorry I took my anger out on you. I didn’t mean it when I said you’re insufferable and that I’m kicking you out so – yeah,” you breathe out, trailing your gaze downwards to stare at your feet instead. It’s difficult to look him in the eye right now. When you finally gain courage to speak again, it barely comes out as a whimper, your hands delicately tugging at his shirt. “Please stay. I like having my best friend around here.”

Satoru doesn’t answer.

You’re about to look up at him just in case you’ve said something wrong, or worse, he refuses to forgive you, but then – “Yeah, I know you wouldn’t kick me out. You’re too much of a darling to say no to me.”

Sigh. Satoru laughs when he sees your shoulders deflate, absolutely shattered in exhaustion. Hiding your smile to now show him you’re relieved, you punch his chest that really feels like a fly had accidentally flew into him. “Way to ruin the mood, Satoru. And here I thought I could have a serious conversation with you for once.”

“Apology accepted,” he beams, tilting your chin upwards so you could look at him. Even in the darkness of his room, his eyes glow, leaving you hypnotized in its beauty. “Plus, I think I’m the one who should apologize. You’re right; I haven’t been the best roommate and I am a freeloader,” he scratches the side of his head in thought. “But I do buy you food all the time though.”

“Yeah, with my money,” you counter, but you don’t really care anymore at this point. You’re beyond elated you’re both fine now, and you shyly gesture to his big, warm bed that suddenly looks so comfortable. “Can I stay here for tonight?”

“You want Satoru’s bear hug?”

“Yes, I do.” There’s no hesitation in your words and you don’t complain anymore when he easily picks you up like a ragdoll using only one arm. He’s surprisingly gentle when he places you both down on the bed, sheets warm and soft as it blankets over you.

It would be perfect – except it’s so damn awkward.

Gojo’s long limbs are everywhere. Your face is pressed into his chest, both your legs tangled together. His arm is sprawled over the curve of your hip, his hand nearly grazing your ass that’s barely covered by the thin material of your shorts, but if he shifts, he’ll end up cupping the back of your thighs which is equally uncomfortable.

He seems to be stuck in the same position because you’re so small, and your knees are grazing his groin. Had he known you’re going to sleep with him, he would’ve worn underwear or even boxers under his sweatpants.

He’s never told you before, but he prefers to sleep in the nude. Satoru only picked up the nearest pair of pants when he heard you knock, and even then, he didn’t have the time to wear a shirt.

Your breath is hot on his skin and he’s so sensitive and aware of all your movements. Satoru clears his throat awkwardly, shifting until his arm lightly holds your back instead, but then he pulls away as if he’s touched fire when he’d unknowingly fiddled with your bra clasp instead. It’s so painfully awkward that Satoru chuckles above you, while you scrunch your nose, silently praying to the heavens above that he won’t hear how loud your heart is beating right now.

“Why is it so hot in your own room?”

“Maybe it’s time you get me an AC.”

“You wish, Satoru,” you mumble beneath him, making yourself as comfortable as you can with your cheek resting on his bicep. It’s not the softest pillow considering he’s pretty muscular, but he’s warm and smells like mint spice nevertheless. “You’re really not going to put on a shirt?”

Satoru sighs, a long and loud one that is extended for dramatic purposes. Suddenly, he pushes your knee off of him, grimacing and thanking the darkness that you can’t see how much he’s struggling right now. “Cupcake, this is hard for me as much as it is for you. You’re barely wearing anything.”

“Since when have you cared about what I wear?”

“I’m a man, Y/N,” is what he reasons with, “You’re lucky it’s me. Had it been someone else and you crawled into their bed wearing these—” Satoru pinches the waistband of your shorts, and you squeal in protest, only making him laugh afterwards before he lets it go and the material snaps back at your skin, “—poor excuse of what you call shorts, I can’t guarantee they’ll give you a peaceful night.”

You know exactly what he’s trying to hint at. Still, it’s hard to believe that Satoru is capable of seeing you that way.

It’s not that you feel you’re unattractive. You know you’re pretty and have been out on many dates, but it’s easy to feel that you’re not sexy when you have the height of a thirteen year old and you’ve been constantly chastised about it.

Satoru’s not-compliment compliment has your heart skipping a beat, and you scoff in response. “Shut up,” you warn lamely, “I want to sleep.”

“Then let’s sleep, cupcake.” You don’t know if it’s because you’re utterly exhausted that you doze off seconds later or if Satoru’s words just held power in them, but soon all thoughts of anything unwanted drifts out the window, his arms keeping you close, completely safe and sound until the worst nightmares couldn’t even come close.

Hot. It’s extremely hot.

You crack an eye open to try and find the source of this uncomfortable heat, but you freeze when you realize you can’t feel your muscles from the chin down. Panic rises in your throat once you see the current predicament you’re in, and a scream rips through your throat so loud that the birds outside scurry away in a flurry.

You’re wrapped in Satoru’s blanket and comforter, rendering you unable to move because of how he’d treated you like a burrito wrap. Even your toes are captured inside this hell, and only your head is able to wriggle side to side.

“Satoru!”

The culprit comes out of the shower a split second later, his hair dripping wet and only a towel hanging low from his lips. If you weren’t so hell-bent on killing him, you would’ve been speechless at the way water drips from his hair down to the curves of his abs, going down down down into a place only your darkest imaginations could take you.

Satoru bends over in laughter as he whips out his phone, jumping from angle to angle and side to side to take photos of you. “Fuck,” he howls, slapping his thigh while you snarl in an attempt to break free. “You’re a lot cuter than I thought you’d be.”

“Satoru! Get me out of here!”

“No, this is way too gold. I’m sending these to my students.”

“Satoru, I’m serious!” The devil incarnate himself falls deaf to your please.

Maybe it’s because the violent intent has coursed through your veins so strongly that a surge of energy and strength overcomes you, and soon, you’ve rolled out of the blanket. The fresh air nipping at your heated skin is most welcomed, but right now, you had a mission to fulfil: obliterate Gojo Satoru.

The platinum haired man is still laughing to himself, too distracted in scrolling through the best photos to send to his students that he doesn’t notice you escaping and zooming straight right at him.

The momentum is enough to catch him off guard until you end up on top of him, short arms clawing your way through to snatch his phone. Satoru yelps when his phone lands out into the living room and your hands come down to choke him. You don’t have plans to kill him, but you want to hurt him enough to remind him you’re not someone he can fuck with.

You’ve just about had enough of this man and you’re so sick of him!

Satoru yells out a “Hey!” when you let out a battle cry, using your legs to kick him back when he tries to sit up. Your plan backfires when your hands slip down his wet skin and you fall face forwards, hands barely touching the ground for support when your lips come crashing down on his.

He stills underneath you. It takes a moment for you to realize that holy shit, you’re kissing him and his lips are so soft that has you scrambling back, but Satoru doesn’t let you.

His large hand comes up at the back of your neck to pull you forward. The sudden movement makes you gasp, and Satoru slips his tongue inside when you do so. You no longer remember how you got here or try to make sense of what’s going on, because he feels so good, tastes so good that you bury your nails in his hair while he ravishes your mouth.

You’re so tiny that his hand cups your entire buttcheek almost possessively, a low growl emanating deep in his throat when your tongue eagerly intertwines with his. Satoru tastes like heaven and everything about the kiss is sloppy – tongue clashing with one another and teeth nibbling at the other’s lips. It’s clear both of you can’t get enough of one another as you moan in his mouth, shamelessly grinding on his crotch, suddenly thankful that you’re always wearing thin clothes when you feel him harden underneath you.

“Fuck, baby,” he pulls away to breathe, a string of saliva connecting the both of you. “Yeah, just like that,” There’s something empowering about the way he pants at your ministrations, especially when you roll your hips faster across his erection. “Keep going, baby, you’re doing – fuck – so well.”

You smirk at his praises, latching your teeth on his neck to suck marks on them. Satoru groans at the same time you muffle your moans through his skin, his hands sliding under your shirt to tug the cups of your bra down. You nearly lose it when he pinches your nipple, bolts of electricity running down your spine at the contact. A moan breaks through your lips just as you come right there and then, the wetness of your sudden orgasm barely hidden in your flimsy underwear.

“Feel good?” he teases and drags your shirt down to the other side, but the post-nut clarity hits. And when it does, it hits hard.

Fuck. You just came from Satoru’s simple touches, and he’s so unsatisfied, still painfully hard underneath you but nothing but panic and regret washes over you like a strong tidal wave. Suddenly, you grow lightheaded as you push yourself off him, fixing your bra while ignoring the confused and hurt look on his face.

“I gotta go to work,” you run out the room, feeling your body tremble as Satoru runs after you. “Make yourself breakfast. I’ll eat on the way out.”

“Y/N, wait!”

You know you’ve just ruined everything – that nothing will ever be the same after that – but you’re scared, utterly and remorsefully so, that you slam the door right in his face as if you don’t have any idea how much you broke him.

You’ll never forget the way Satoru’s face fell when you left.

Just as you thought, nothing is the same after that. The tension is so thick around the apartment you make an effort and go out of your way just to avoid him and the apartment completely.

It’s cowardly – you know this much – but do you ever try to fix the friendship you cherish but shattered completely? You don’t. You don’t because it only crashes down onto you now that maybe your feelings for him aren’t just platonic, after all. It’s even worse because you touch yourself at the thought of him filling you up when he’s asleep, all because you want him so bad and the mere presence of him has your brain malfunctioning.

It isn’t entirely sexual either. Yes, you want to fuck him badly, but it scares you down to the core even more because you want so much more than that.

Now you understand why you always say he’s a bother but never asked him to leave. It’s because you like him, actually romantically interested in him. It makes sense now why you always felt so annoyed whenever your co-workers asked for his number, or how you’re immediately pissed off when Satoru talks about this hot woman he saw at work. You always chalk it up to an excuse you just hate how he can’t keep in his pants, but it isn’t true at all.

It’s because you actually like him – and you’re at a loss on what to do or how to deal with it.

The next few days feels like hell. Satoru isn’t stupid; he knows you’re avoiding him. He stops teasing you eventually and even buys takeout all the time when you lock yourself up in your room right after work, refusing to cook dinner or even eat all so you’d be spared the torture of looking at him.

He’d knock at your door and ask you to eat, but other than that, he’s respected your distance.

You feel like the most terrible person on earth. You don’t miss the way dark circles line under his eyes or how he’s lost his spark, barely even speaking to you when you’ve come or about to leave for work.

You’re alone the whole ride, as well, and it only dawns on you how lonely you are when Satoru isn’t always annoying you all the time.

But it doesn’t make sense. Why is he so bothered by it? Didn’t he regret it? It’s painfully clear you’re not Satoru’s type. You’ve seen the women he dated before, and you’re not close to them so why does he seem like he’s struggling with this as well? Or maybe...he’s just sad that his friend is avoiding him.

Yeah, that has to be it.

Satoru is a man. He was probably turned on at that time, but after giving some thought about it, he probably wants to keep his distance too. He’d be insane if he ever actually wants to date you – his best friend out of all people – because he’s Gojo Satoru and he could literally have everyone else.

You don’t care that you’re a coward.

You don’t care that Satoru is sad to see you this way.

You don’t care because you know he’ll reject you, you know he’ll be weirded if you admit your feelings for him. To him, you’re like his little sister. There’s just no way you two would work out. For now, you have to get comfortable with the uncomfortable. You just need some time to get over your feelings for him, and when you’re confident you won’t fall for him again, you’ll mend your friendship.

You just need time.

“So, Y/N, you still don’t want to give us your friend’s number?”

“Yeah, Y/N, you should share it,” your co-worker encourages by jabbing her shoulder to yours. It’s a lazy Friday night and the staff went out for dinner. You don’t usually come to these hangouts since dinner with Satoru is always much more fun, but he’s the last person you want to think about now, so you happily join them. Now, though, you’re starting to regret ever coming here. “If he’s really single like you said, then it shouldn’t be a big deal to ask for it.”

“Well, since you want it so badly, why don’t you ask him directly for it instead?” you snap, feeling anger begin to trickle. All you wanted was just one day where you don’t have to think of him, but of course they had to bring him up. It’s also annoying how they can never seem to get the message across that you don’t want them dating him. “Why do I have to be the messenger?”

“We haven’t seen him much. Doesn’t he always walk you to work?”

“He’s been busy with his job, that’s all.” And also because I’m avoiding him – so now he’s avoiding me too.

“He’s a teacher, right?”

“Oh, come on, guys, don’t be so dense,” your senpai chugged her drink rather loudly, catching the attention of your nosy co-workers who wouldn’t stop pestering you for his number. “Look at how uncomfortable she looks. It’s obvious she doesn’t want you guys to be involved with her friend for a reason. Think of how weird it is for her too if ever her co-worker and best friend dated. She’s going to feel like a third wheel.”

“I’m not—”

“That makes sense,” your co-worker nodded beside you, “Are you sure you just don’t like him though?”

“Ew, why would I?” the food began to taste bitter through your lies, “He may be tall and attractive, but as his roommate, I’ve seen his ugly side. Satoru is a complete slob and can’t even cook to save his life.”

“I don’t mind cooking for him all the time if I were to be his little housewife.”

“That’s never gonna happen,” your words came out harsher than it was, and you laugh it off with a wave of your hand when your co-workers’ eyes widened. “I’ve been living with him for six months and he’s never brought anyone home or told me he’s going on a date. I told you already, he’s a no strings attached kind of guy. He’s nothing but a one night stand.”

“You have to admit he’s still sexy though.”

Right. You hide your groan through another shot because there’s no way of convincing them otherwise. As much as you hate to admit, you’re actually jealous on how freely they could talk about him like that, but then again, it’s not like you and Satoru were dating – or would ever date, for that matter.

They start to leave one by one when it starts to get late, leaving only you who’s still desperate to avoid Satoru. Nothing prepares you for when the sky darkens and a storm comes pouring just as you’ve left the closing shop, the rain drenching and soaking your clothes through and through. Running under the nearest tree for shelter, you shiver. It’s cold – way too cold – and curse yourself for not bringing a darned umbrella.

The nearest bus stop is like what, fifteen to twenty minutes away? Your teeth are chattering and your legs are shaking, and you fumble through your phone as you dial a number you know by heart before you even realize what you’re doing. “S-Satoru?”

“Y/N,” the surprise is unmasked in his voice, something shuffling in the background before it falls silent. “Is everything okay?”

“Uhm, are you busy right now? It’s fine if you are, I’m just—”

“I’m training with Yuuji, but what is it?”

“Listen, I,” you inhale sharply when coldness bursts through your body, making you shiver and press yourself closer to tree to get away from the rain. Above you, thunder crackles before the rain grows heavier and angrier. “I forgot to bring an umbrella and I’m absolutely soaked right now. The nearest bus stop is fifteen minutes away and all the buildings here look so shady—”

“I’ll be on my way. Text me where you are,” You nod and thank him, too cold and numb to realize you’ve just broken days of silence. You lose track of time under there, hugging yourself until your lips turn blue. It doesn’t take long before Satoru shows up minutes later, his hair equally drenched and sticking flat to his eyes free from his blindfold while he pants, hand on his knees. “Thank goodness you’re safe. I rushed here so fast I forgot to bring an umbrella.”

After seeing Satoru drenched like that, something snaps within you. He doesn’t seem bothered by the fact the rain is unforgiving as it slaps the pavement, and your heart breaks when you see that he’s more concerned for you – even after you’ve given him the silent treatment. “You idiot! Now you’re soaking wet too, you’re going to get sick!”

“Highly unlikely,” he shrugs. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

“But what about—” Satoru suddenly carries you before draping his coat over your head, running until he found a cab to hail. He immediately asks the driver to turn up the heater while you tremble on top of him, not caring anymore that you’re sticking so close to him for heat.

Satoru doesn’t let you go all the way inside the apartment. He sets you down on the couch where you take off your wet clothes in haste, too cold with teeth chattering that you silently take the hoodie and boxers Satoru offers you, making sure to keep his gaze averted the whole time. Once fully dressed, you snuggle back into the sofa’s comfort, stiffening when the couch dips beside you.

Not a moment later, Satoru towel-dries your hair, leaving your mouth and throat dry with guilt. Even after you’ve unnecessarily been a bitch to him, he’s still so kind with you.

“Thank you for coming.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Satoru...” you twiddle with your thumbs just as he starts to ruffle the towel in your hair, making sure to squeeze water out of the strands as he dries it. “About what happened the other day—”

“It didn’t happen if you don’t want it to,” his voice is cold’ monotonous and so emotionless you’re rendered speechless. “You can forget about it.”

“I...”

“You regret it, right?” he’s done with drying your hair, and he stands up to place the wet towels in the sink as you watch him stride all the way there. He’s changed his clothes too; looking comfortable in a plain white shirt and some grey sweatpants, looking every bit the domestic boyfriend you’ve always wanted but can never have. “It’s fine. We can forget about it and go back to normal,” to emphasize his point, Satoru winks at you, though it does nothing but make your heart sink.

“What if I don’t want to forget it?” your voice is small; hesitant and wavering with fear. “What if...the only reason I pulled away is because I wanted more of you?”

Satoru’s back freezes as he sets the towel aside. At this point, your heart is pulsing on your tongue, and you dig your nails onto your thighs when Satoru sits down next to you, right next to you. He’s silent the whole time; eyes calculatedly piercing through yours. Your breath hitches when his hands that are burning hot against your cold skin cups your jaw before his thumb runs across your lips, his eyes turning dark at your reactions.

“And what if I said I felt the same way?”

“I,” you gasp, closing your eyes because it all feels so surreal. “I like you, Satoru. I like you a lot and I—” he doesn’t let you finish. Soon, you find yourself in his lap with his hands cupping your cheeks while he smashes his lips onto yours.

Satoru is absolutely feral. He’s breathing hard and almost angry, even, with the way his teeth are biting down to nibble on your lips. You moan when he drags you closer, your clothed centre rubbing on his thigh with delicious friction. “You have no idea,” he rasps down on your lips, “how much I’ve fucking liked you ever since we were kids,” Satoru pushes his hoodie aside, revealing your sweet neck to him, and he doesn’t waste his time in sucking and abusing the poor flesh so he can mark you as his. “I’ve always wanted you, Y/N, it’s always you, always you.”

You fist his hoodie when Satoru sinks his teeth down into the juncture of your neck, his hands curious and exploring every inch of your body. He knows you’re naked underneath his clothes, but it’s a different thing when he actually feels your breasts right on his palm. Satoru tweaks the hardened bud in his fingers, growling when you moan at the contact and use his thigh to get off.

“You—” you gasp as you expose your neck to him, wild and needy as you keep rubbing your heat over his thigh. “—talk way too fucking much,” you scold, finally pushing his lips away from your neck. Satoru chuckles at your eagerness but you silence him by flinging his boxers off of your body and somewhere far away, exposing your heat slick with arousal right in front of him. His pupils blow in excitement, hands coming up to grab at your hips, but his attention is taken away when you nibble on his ear to whisper, “Shut up and fuck me.”

The simple command is enough to make his patience snap. In a flash, you’re pinned underneath him, whining and moaning when his finger meets no resistance as he slips it inside. “You’re that needy, huh?” he laughs even louder when you lose it, humping yourself on his finger because it’s not enough.

“Satoru,” you beg, clutching his bicep when he adds another finger in. “More.”

His fingers are so long, hitting places that your small ones could never reach. He begins to scissor his way in, his fingers deliciously rubbing against your velvety walls while pumping them inside and out in a speed that causes you to squelch around him.

It’s absolutely lewd how you’re eagerly spread out before him, but your head is clouded with lust, no longer hindered by shyness out of your need to cum. Your chest is rising heavily, his thumb now rubbing against your clit as he coaxes you to cum. “Tell me what you want, baby,” he kisses your cheeks, eyelids, nose, anywhere but your lips, his voice so gentle and innocent as if he’s not knuckle deep inside you. “Tell me how you want me.”

“Inside,” you whine, gasping when he brushes against a really sensitive spot that has you clamping down on him. “‘Toru, fuck, just fuck me.”

“Beg for it,” he smiles against your skin, relentless and harsh as he keeps pushing inside you. You feel him everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Another finger adds in until you’re dripping enough on his palm and staining the couch, but neither of you care. “I said, beg for it.”

“No,” you hold back, nearly crying out when he pulls your fingers out of you. That sudden emptiness is back again, but you don’t want to beg. You’ve never begged another man before, and this won’t be the first time you’ll be doing so either. You refuse to let him have the upper hand despite the crystal clear fact you’re already soaking wet for him, but because you’re stubborn, you only fumble with his sweatpants to spring his cock free.

He’s already dripping with pre-cum from the slit, his cock hard and angry. Despite his arousal, Satoru stops you from going further, using only one hand to trap both your wrists. “Beg for it,” he demands again, his other fist already pumping down on his shaft.

You nearly cry at the sight. Both of you are aware that Satoru is capable of pleasuring himself, but it’s not that easy for you. Your small, dainty fingers will never be parallel to the pleasure his long cock could give you. All you had to do was beg for it. He’s right there, within reach, if only you’d just –

Impatient for your answer, Satoru takes you by the hips and discards your hoodie in the process, sinking you down his cock, inch by delicious inch. You don’t hold back from the sensual and high-pitched moan that leaves your lips. He’s long, and the tip of his cock just about brushes your cervix when he bottoms out. He feels so good, so warm and huge and filling you up right where you want him to be. Your head falls down on his shoulder as you begin to roll your hips, but Satoru has had enough.

“Fuck, look at you,” he presses on the bulge of his cock visible through your abdomen. “You’re so fucking small – how do you take me so well? I could ruin you. Do you want that? Do you want me to ruin you?”

“Yes, yes, fuck.”

“You think you can just leave me hanging like that, huh?” he slaps your ass, eliciting another moan from you and making you clench around his cock. Satoru falters for a moment. Before you can react, he stands up, your legs wrapped around his waist with nothing but his tip hitting inside you. “You’ve been so fucking mean – leaving me wanting you like that and ignoring me for days. Do you think you deserve this, huh?” Satoru kicks his door open at the same time he loosens his hold around your ass, making you slide down his length the next second.

“Oh, fuck,” you cry out just as Satoru begins to bounce you, your breasts following the motion of him fucking deep into you. “Fuck, Toru, that’s too—”

He’s so eager to fuck you, to make a mess out of you and have you losing your mind over his cock that he doesn’t even wait until you’re both on the bed. You no longer register when your back hits the pillow, or how your arms are frozen when he pins it above your head.

“You’re so beautiful,” he praises as he watches you clench around him. You’re so small and his eyes zero in on the way your abdomen bulges then flattens again every time he pounds into you, rolling his hips in a way that has you screaming and thighs quaking. “Beautiful, beautiful, perfect,” the moment his hands grip at your hips to pin you down, you know he’s not going to stop. And you don’t want him to.

Satoru latches his lips around your right breast, gently grazing his teeth over it while his other hand pinches and rolls the pebbled nipple between his fingers. He feels so good – and you’re crying already by the time you wrap your legs around him to pull him closer.

The room is filled with the smell of sex, the sound of skin slapping against skin combined with his breathy grunts and your moans like heaven on his ears. Satoru wants you to feel how much he loves you – how much he adores you – and the pace he sets is torturous. He snaps his hips against yours and presses down on the bulge of his cock through your belly, chuckling when you tighten more around him.

Your head lols to the side, tears falling down your pretty face because of how rough he’s being. But you don’t complain, not when he’s filling you in so deep and he’s kissing you everywhere, touching you everywhere, making you feel nothing else and nobody else but him.

“You’re amazing,” he rasps, watching the way your tight cunt sucks him in greedily as if you don’t want him to go anywhere else. “You take me in so well – you really want me to destroy you, huh?”

“Satoru, please,” you finally plead, “I-I’m cumming, I want you, I need you, oh,” you squeal when he finally lets your arms free. You look so precious, so innocent, and he doesn’t let up his pace. He plants his feet into the ground and his strokes begin to grow sloppy, your tight walls encouraging him to go faster, go deeper.

If possible, Satoru is only even more fuelled with the way you look so precious and innocent in that moment. His touch is gentle in comparison to the way he’s mercilessly plowing into you, using his thumb to wipe away the tears streaming down your cheeks. He knows he’s too big for you, that much is obvious from how much you’re already overstimulated just by his size, but your nails sink down on the flesh of his ass as a silent plead for more.

“Fuuuuck, I’m so close!”

“Yeah?” He fondled your clit, loving the sight of your small body creaming down on his cock. “Come for me, sweet girl. I want to feel you coming on my cock. Come on, tell me you’re mine. You’re made me for aren’t you?”

“Yes, Satoru, fuck,” you squeal, throwing your head back for a second when he keeps hitting your g-spot that has you seeing stars. Your toes curl and your hands fist the sheets behind you as he keeps impaling you with his cock right then and there.

You looked perfect; so perfect to him that he’s basically using you for his own pleasure at this moment. Your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, back arching and nipples brushing against his chest.

In that moment, you grow needy to have him even closer, tilting up to blindly search for his lips. Satoru complies; leaning down and leaving open mouthed breathy kisses that’s a mix of you moaning and crying around him, while he struggles to do so when he’s cursing at the feeling of you coating his cock with your juices. Satoru looks down at your tiny frame trapped in his arms, his voice husky as he groans once he saw both of your arousal absolutely leaking out of your wet cunt.

He’s so close but you’re already over the edge, scratching at his back at the overstimulation. You’re still so sensitive from when you came and Satoru doesn’t slow one down one bit. He loses his rhythm as his thrusts go sloppy, and Satoru buries his face in your neck as his cock twitches inside you until he bursts with his cum leaking out of your hole.

Satoru’s arms give out beneath you, his chest colliding with yours but not enough that he’s crushing you with his weight. You’re both breathing hard and panting, his dick softening inside you.

He pulls back a moment later to slide out his sensitive cock, wincing while he watches pools of cum gather in your pussy before it drips out. It isn’t until he’s witnessing the mess he’s made he realizes how you’ve been so good for him; taking him all the way in despite your quivering frame. It dawns on him now just how tiny you are when he pulls you close to him; you’re practically hanging off his chest with how small your body is.

He wonders how you’re able to fit all of him, but he’s grateful nevertheless. Satoru shows his appreciation by peppering kisses all over your face, his hand snaking down to caress your inner thighs.

“Hmm,” you moan into the kiss, jolting when his knuckles brush against your sensitive clit. “Satoru, no,” you whine while pushing his hand away, and he shushes you with another kiss. “’M too sensitive, please...”

“It’s fine, cupcake, it’s fine,” his nickname for you is back again, and you lean closer to him just as he begins to massage your sore legs. “You did so well for me, cupcake, you know that? You’re such a good girl for me,” too fucked out to have a comprehensive answer, you only nod in response, spreading your legs open again and ignoring the warm stickiness between your thighs as Satoru kneads your abused flesh. You feel him kiss your temple before he leaves to get a towel and cleans you up. Meanwhile, you’re so tired you’re about to doze out in his bed.

“Hey,” he soothes, bundling you up in his arms until you’re tucked in the safety of his body. So small, he coos inside his head, watching as you fold yourself even smaller while your eyes flutter. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you sigh into his shoulder, “I feel good. Thank you.”

Satoru doesn’t really know what you’re thanking him for. He feels like he’s the one who’s mostly indebted to you after everything you’ve done for him. You’ve already fallen asleep before he gets the chance to tell you how he feels, so Satoru only covers you both under his blanket, making sure there’s no more space between you out of fear you’ll distance yourself from him again.

But he doesn’t have to worry about that because you’re right next to him, and you’re never out of reach.

[angelamajiki]

Damn that Bully Dabi and Hawks fic was an amazing read! I love it when you write them full on bastard mode!

Pro Hero Bakugou sexually harassing his weak quirkless secretary who does her very best at her job. She's good at it but Bakugou always looks mad (read: sexually frustrated). High on success after a good rescue, he wants to celebrate....

OR

Cop Bakugou sees a pretty little thing outside a club. She looks sus so he decides she needs a pat down. Maybe he'll plant something to blackmail her into doing certain favors. Very bully, very bastard Bakugou.

PARINGS: Pro Hero! Bakugou x Secretary! Quirkless! AFAB! Reader

CW: yandere, dubcon/noncon, dirty talk, choking, cunnilingus, overstimulation, scumbage bakugou, use of the word rape, quirkless reader, size difference, age gap, death threats, sexual harrassment, bullying, mindbreak, masturbation, office sex

AN: I’ll probably write the cop Bakugo at some point too! For now, mind the tags and enjoy :)

They say to never meet your idols and in retrospect, you wished you would have listened.

Try as you might, it seemed like Mr. Dynamight was never satisfied with your work. Admittedly, you joined his agency as his office secretary based on having a crush on the pro, but you assumed his brash nature would calm down in an office setting. You did everything he asked, obediently followed his every word, which was all met with harsh glares and what you thought were dissatisfied grunts.

Surely you thought it wouldn't be about your being quirkless, but rumors were high strung in the office about the blonde’s feeling towards those without quirks. It would explain the harsh glares and judgment he passed on you despite your work effort.

The man even went as far as to ask for your personal phone number, only to leave scathing voicemails whenever you couldn't show up to work or miss out on work gatherings he put together. You couldn't help but flush at the thought of him missing your presence. Maybe you were just bad at reading his signals? Or maybe he was just hell-bent on bullying you more than the rest of the staff.

The job paid very well, so you couldn't exactly up and leave based on his behavior. However, you did notice how...handsy Mr. Dynamight has become with you. It was subtle at first, brushing shoulders in the hallways, letting his fingers ghost against yours when he handed you paperwork.

It soon escalated to always having a hand on your shoulder, holding your hips when he had to brush behind you, towering over you from behind your chair when you showed him something. You couldn't say that you weren't flattered, but his rough demeanor remained.

It started becoming uncomfortable when he made passes at you, making sure you were cornered and alone when he did.

“C’mon, am I really that fuckin’ intolerable that you can't get lunch with me, pipsqueak?”

You assumed that he was just messing with you, so you always turned him down with a flushed face and ran back to your desk, leaving him blue balled and more desperate by the day. There's no way a pro hero like him would actually be interested in someone quirkless and weak like yourself.

But that's the reason why he liked you anyway. So small, so weak, so obedient, so perfect for him to fuck up. God, if he didn't want just to rip your tiny pencil skirt to threads and spear you on his cock like no tomorrow. A pretty thing like yourself shouldn't be working. No, no, no. You should be at home, in his home in his bed with his ring on your finger. You belong to him, don't you see that?

Katsuki only ever gives you the time of day, not those other stupid bitches who crawl up his ass every morning trying to get a crumb of attention. And what do you do with his precious time? Waste it. Always whining about how you really shouldn't, that he shouldn't be seen with someone like you. As if he gives a fuck about what the media has to say.

He even checks up on you when you're not at work! Isn't he such a gentleman? Sure, he's a bit vulgar, but he's trying to show he cares. But if you want to act like a stuck-up bitch, then he’ll gladly treat you like one.

After a particularly tough fight with a villain, the blonde wanted nothing more than to use and abuse you to get some steam off his chest. It was late, but he prayed to whatever gods were out there that you were still in the office. He left you a voicemail for good measure, hoping that you would do what you always did best and stayed obedient for him.

It was locked up for the night, but he could see your office light on from the street. Perfect. Such a good girl for him. Little did he know that you stayed late quiet often.

You hadn't even seen his previous call come through; you were too busy listening to an old one with plenty of derogatory terms being spat your way. A hand shoved in your skirt, you couldn't help but finger yourself the sound of his voice calling you moronic for skipping out of work. Mr. Dynamight was your childhood crush after all, you had jerked off to plenty of interviews of him in the past. Sure, it was creepy but no one had to know. The older man was so big, so strong and handsome. You couldn't help but feel fuzzy from the voicemail, even if it was degrading you, it was for you alone.

Speak of the devil and he will appear.

“Well, shit. Whadda we have here, pipsqueak?”

A rough chuckle came from behind you as he pulled your desk chair out and swiveled towards him.

“Caught ya red-handed, huh? Who knew you were such a little slut for me.”

Taking the phone from your hand, he hung it up on the receiver and took your hand out of your panties. He snatched your fingers greedily in his mouth and sucked your wetness off of him.

“You know what, I’m feeling a bit hungry. And you taste like something in the vein of what I’m tryin’ to have for dinner.”

Katsuki devoured you in a hungry kiss, lifting you out of the chair and onto your desk. He tossed aside the papers messily and spread your legs to see your slick moistening your sheer tights and panties.

“Bend over and spread that fuckin’ pretty pussy for me, pipsqueak.”

You shook your head, already feeling humiliated enough by being caught with your pants down, literally.

“That wasn't a question, that was a command, you bratty bitch. What happened to your manners?”

God did his words stir something deep inside you. Waiting was no longer a priority; catching you like this was proof enough in his mind that you were just playing hard to get.

“You should consider yourself lucky that I want you to sit on my face, you know that? I have bitches trying to get on my dick every day, but it only gets hard for you, pipsqueak.”

“I-I thought you didn't like quirkless people!”

“It's all the more reason I want to be balls deep in your cunt right now. So weak and pathetic, it's fucking cute.”

You could feel yourself tighten around nothing just at his words. He was right, you were just a pathetic plaything for him. Not hesitating any longer, he ripped off your skirt and threw it behind the both of you. Your tights also got ripped to shreds, leaving you in your blouse and panties.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous.” He muttered, mostly to himself as he took your panties off and pocketed them. For later, he thought.

Katsuki didn't hesitate to spit on your already wet cunt before diving into his meal. Each stroke of his tongue sent fire straight to your core, each suckle of his lips drew a whimper from your mouth. Hips bucked into his mouth before he held them down, using just one hand to cover your torso. So small and petite for him, how cute would you be up against his massive form.

“M-Mr. Dynamight!”

“Heh, so fuckin’ cute. Call me Katsuki, sweet thing. Or daddy, if you're nasty like that.”

Your hips were held taught against his face, not allowing you to squirm or inch away from his searing tongue fucking your hole. He continued to ravage you with his mouth, pulling away only a few times to give your pussy a nice spank. Groaning into your cunt, he stroked himself at the same time.

Humiliation had dissolved into pleasure as he serviced you, tears springing in your eyes as he gripped his head tightly with your hands and thighs. Having already masturbated before getting caught, it didn't take long for him to make you see stars and roll your eyes into the back of your head.

“K-Katsuki, I’m cumming!” You shouted, squirting onto his tongue as your body shook around his head. Your fingers threaded deeply into his hair and tugged as he continued to work his tongue into your hole, riding out your orgasm.

He didn't stop, though.

“Too much, it's too much!”

“I’ll stop when I’m finished, little girl.”

You tried to push his head away, but he gripped your wrists from under your legs and had you pinned against his mouth, shaking and screaming from overstimulation. Once he brought you another good nut, he pulled away and gave your clit a kiss, chuckling when you jumped.

Standing up, he pushed his mask up to pull his back and took his rock-hard cock from his pants. He spat on your dripping hole once again before lining up his fat head with it.

Katsuki hissed as he sank himself into your cunt, holding your hips in place as you whined and squirmed under him, still overly sensitive. God, were you gripping him in all the right ways. Your legs around his waist, your hands on his forearms, and your cunt around his cock.

“Relax, pipsqueak, or I’ll end up breaking you.” He chuckled. “But you might like that, huh?”

Seeing your teary, fucked out face while teasing you? He nearly jizzed himself on the spot. But he had to hold out for you. A choked gasp was all you could respond with as he got right in your face, breath tickling your cheeks as he looked in your eyes.

“Such a dirty slut, getting off to the sound of my voice. It's better in person, isn't it?”

“D-Daddy!”

Was all you could whine as his thumb made his way to your clit, drawing slow, gently circles with his roughed-up finger.

“Oi, oi, oi, did I break ya already, pipsqueak? Y’know, you coulda just asked for my cock like a good girl if you were gonna get this drunk off it.”

His hips slowly drew back, almost pulling out all the way before slamming back in, earning a squeal from you.

“Or maybe you wanted me to take you by force? Show ya what the fuck happens to quirkless little girls who tease their fuckin’ man so much that he just has to come and take their little cunt to show ‘em who’s boss, eh?”

You couldn't help but tighten around him from his words, squirming under his hot breath as he started to grind his hips up into yours slowly.

“Good girl, letting daddy rape your cunt so willingly.”

Katsuki chuckled, sealing a hot kiss on your mouth while he gripped your throat. His hips began to piston in and out of your pussy, thick veins grinding against your spongy walls.

His brutal kisses swallowed your moans and tears while he squeezed your throat. His other thumb continued to swipe against your clit in fast motions, causing your to clamp down and flutter against his thick cock.

“Shoulda known you were a whore from the start, wearing those skirts that hugged ya in all the right places. Bending over and letting me touch you how I pleased, it's like you wanted this to happen.”

The pace of his thrust increased as he started to chase his orgasm, holding your throat and hips down to use you like the hole he knew you were. He growled and snarled into your mouth as he choked you, even more, watching the blood flood to your face.

“Yeah, baby, I've got your life in my hands now. If you won't be mine, I’ll fuckin’ kill you. Then nobody can have you.”

“Y-Yours! I’m yours!” You managed to gasp out, gripping his forearm and digging your nails into it, hoping he’ll let you up for air

“Damn straight, now cum for me, you quirkless little bitch.”

The haziness from the lack of air and the pleasure pooling in your gut sent you over the edge a third time, making you cry out his name as you came. Katsuki was right behind you, eyes screwed shut and practically foaming at the mouth as he came deep inside you, finally letting you breathe once he finished himself off.

You sputtered and coughed, desperate to fill your lungs with air as he pushed some stray hairs out of your face.

“Ya did good, pipsqueak.”

He praised, giving your ass a spank before pulling out and tossing you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“You’re coming home with me, so don't worry about the mess.”

“By the way, you're fired.”

TAG LIST: @tomurasprincess @suzuki-violin-school @sightoru @alrunemara

[thelittlebirdwriter]

Walk Through Fire For You

Frank Castle x Reader

Requested: No

AN: This might be entirely ooc, but I had a sudden bout of inspiration because I simp for this man very much ok canon? what's canon? no only frank castle.

Note: Reader was born and raised in Italy, translations will be at the end of the fic. Reader is Bruce and Nat's adopted kid, has the ability to control time, also she's really good with swords bc badass. This is a soulmate au, the one where the danger meter reaches 10, you're transported to your soulmate. However it is established relationship-ish bc for angst purposes, Frank thought reader died :( Ok anyways onto le fic

Check out my Masterlist ○●○● "Y'know, Red...My girl would've loved you" Frank said, a somber smile gracing his features. "Why is that?" "Well you got...morals 'n shit. She did too, always tryin' to see the good in people, even assholes like me..." Monster. My fault. "Was she your soulmate?" "Mm-hmm. She, uh... she's gone." My fault. My fault. My fault. "Oh. I'm...sorry, Frank." Frank laughed humorlessly. "Why d'you think I'm doing this, Red? Those bastards took her. I'm gonna make them pay, dammit. Whatever it takes." My fault. My fault. Daredevil was silent. He opened his mouth to something, but decided against it, "watching" the Punisher carefully. ...Were those...gunshots? "Shit," Frank muttered. "They're here." Matt fought valiantly, or as valiantly as one could while chained to a post, but they were outnumbered. And then they were unconscious. ○●○● "So, daughter mine, about that soulmate..." "Dad, don't start." You gave Bruce Banner, your dad, a dirty look. "I just wanna know!" he held his hands up in surrender. "Did...something happen?" "...You could say that." He looked less than satisfied by that answer, and you sighed. "He...he's better off without me." He gave a small chuckle and a sympathetic look. "You know, I thought that about your mom. But here we are, and now, we have you. You are the best thing in mine and your mother's life." "Talking about me?" Nat said, peeking into the lab. "Hi, maman." "What's the matter, kiddo?" "Nothin', just...love problems I guess-" Dark. Black. A brick wall? A terrifying wave of dread settled in your gut. Frank's in danger. A quick glance at your meter confirmed it. A ten. Shit. ○●○● Frank Castle came to in a dark room, tied to a chair and beaten to shit. "Took you long enough." Red. "Where the hell are we?" "Uh, by the sound of it, some warehouse." "In the butt-fuck middle of nowhere?" "Yep." "Ah, boys. So glad you're awake." An unfamiliar voice, coming from a dark corner of the room. However, the click of a gun, presumably pointed at him, was less so. If they shoot, I'm dead. "Look, we can talk about this. You just-" "Unfortunately, Mr. Castle, this is not a negotiation. It's an execution." They sighed. "Say goodbye to the Devil of Hell's Kitchen...although he'll be following close behind you-" They were cut off by the static sound of the walkie-talkie clipped to their belt. "Can I help you? I'm kind of in the middle of something." "There's a girl." The person on the other side whispered, terrified. "Got swords. Moving really fast. Too fast to shoot." It can't be. There's no way in hell- "Well, take care of her somehow. I have other issues to attend to." "We'll tr- aughh!" A new voice spoke. "Where is he." It is. Oh, fuck. "I don't know what you're talking about." Their captor spoke smoothly. "You know damn well what I'm talking about." Frank breathed her name, shocked. "Your soulmate?" Red murmured to him. "It's her. She's...Oh, my god, it's her." "I'm upstairs." The asshole said. "But I really wouldn't advise coming in here, if you wish to spare these idiots." "We'll see about that." ●○●○ No time, no time, no time- Oh, my god. Time. You flicked your wrists, slowing the time to almost a stop as you took care of the fuckers around you, before bolting upstairs. You let time slip through your fingers, resuming at its normal speed as you slammed the door open. "Oh, what a shame. She didn't listen." The asshole aimed the gun at Frank, and you saw red. "Say goodbye..." You stabbed at their knee, grabbing their wrist and twisting it, maneuvering the cocky motherfucker into a kneeling position, until you hit them on the head

with the handle of your sword. "Cagna." you spat as they slumped to the ground. Your head snapped up as Frank breathed your name, voice cracking. You knelt before him with a sad smile. "Frankie, mi tesoro, did they hurt you? Are you alright?" "'m okay, 'm fine." ●○●○ Frank stared in shock as she knocked out our captor. It's her. Holy fuck it's actually her. He said your name softly, and you looked up at him, smiling. God, I missed that smile. And those eyes. I missed her. You walked over, cradling his face in your hands. You were saying something, but he couldn't quite understand what. He could make out an "are you okay" and he told you he was fine. Was he fine? He wasn't sure. "Don't ever do that to me again." he whispered, getting tired. "Ever." He felt your hand on his chin, tipping his head up towards you. What were you saying? "Stay awake. You can't sleep yet." You sliced through his bindings, leaving him to slump to the floor. "'m tired...Get Red. Don't forget 'im." You looked at him quizzically. "O'er there," he slurred, pointing a heavy finger. Just a little nap... ○●○● "Hey. Hey, Frank. Wake up." You had set free the man in red, who introduced himself as Daredevil. "Shit." "I'll get him out of here. Lead the way." "We have to get him back to the tower." Shit shit shit shit shit. "Lead. The. Way." The Devil said, trying to calm you. The meter was at a 9 now, still too high. You and Daredevil dragged your soulmate to the Avengers tower, laying him before your father. Your mom wrapped a gentle arm around your shoulder, attempting to soothe your panic. When they said he needed to rest and recover, but would be fine, you still refused to leave his side, holding his hand and watching him carefully as he slept. ○●○● Frank came to, again, in some kind of medical wing. He glanced to his side to find you, asleep, but looking troubled, and still holding tight to his hand. "You're awake." called another voice. He looked over, already moving to protect his soulmate, when a short, tired looking man stepped into his vision. "Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt her." "You're...you're that big green guy from the Avengers." "Mm-hmm. And the girl you're about to rip your stiches trying to protect is my daughter." Frank glanced from you to the man, confused. "Adopted." Bruce supplied helpfully. Frank nodded, glancing your way again as you stirred. "Mornin' sunshine." he said, and you smiled gently at him. Alive. Alive. Left me? You placed a gentle hand on his furrowed brow, hoping to soothe him. He tipped his head up to kiss your palm and your smile became more genuine. "Why'd you leave?" He asked you. "I, um..." you trailed off, looking at your feet. "I thought you were dead. I thought you died." You opened your mouth to say something, but stopped when he called your name sharply. "Why did you leave?" he asked again, voice breaking. "I'm sorry." he watched as your eyes filled with tears. No, no, no, don't cry. Please don't cry. "It's okay," he said softly. "It isn't. You almost died." "'m fine, sweetheart. I'm here." he leaned up, tilting your head towards him to kiss you softly. "Ah! Ew! My eyes! Disgusting!" Tony screeched as he stepped into the lab. You pulled away to flip him off, before tugging Frank back to you. "Okay, okay," Bruce said, "Don't tear his stitches now." ●○●○ Translations- Cagna- means "bitch" in Italian Mi Tesoro- translates to "my darling" Anywhooo I thought this was kinda cute but idk leave feedback (and requests, please, I'm out of ideas)