#or something to be controlled/‘’reasoned’’ into being uniform

[whore-ibly-hot]

"What it takes to lead."

Yan!Dictator x Fem!Reader x Yan!Next in line.

18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Non-con, mentions of violence, fascism, groping, p-in-v sex, sexism, questionable father son Dynamics, power dynamics, leather play.

AN: I recently began reading @yanderedrabbles works and they broke my brain, so when I saw they had a Yan!Dictator planned it inspired me. This is... meh.

You don't know how this could've happened.

It was supposed to be a routine visit. Your father was a well off oil baron, owning one of the largest refineries in America, not counting his export deals. You had gone with him, unaware of the tense political state of Dela Marina.

Admittedly, the American government was somewhat aware of the rulers less than conventional methods of maintaining control. Camps, strict surveillance, and a cutting off of outside media aside from those approved by the Dela Marina Media council, but for America's political interests, and more importantly your father's bank, the warnings signs went ignored.

It started off as just a nice, tropical vacation. White sand beaches, exotic meals, and a blaring tan from the sun. However, something soon seemed a bit off. The leader, El presidente Ramon Ballesteros, gave you chills. He said nice things, talked about his vision for Dela Marina, how he would shape the land and people to 'true culture'. It would be inspiring, if his faze didn't feel so dark, so imposing. It was as if hew was analyzing everything, every move you made.

Still, Féliz calmed you a bit. The son of Ramon, as close to a prince as you could be in this 'democracy'. He was nothing like his father. Quiet, more subdued, though just as analytical. His father takes thing in while he speaks, but Feliz stays behind, letting his father do the talking.

"Hello there, señorita." Feliz had approached you the night of the welcome dinner, a lavish affair with Del Marina's finest chefs on hand. "My father wanted me to welcome you personally, we are both youths, uh, leader of the future, he says. Your countries, and mine." He seems awkward repeating his father propaganda. Despite this, you like him. He's funny, he tells you about growing up in Del Marina, about the culture, the people. "You have to go to the beach with me, there all white sand. Is beautiful, and if we go early enough, we can see the starfish beach." You took him up on all his outings, you could tell he was deeply alone, at his core.

"Feliz?" You had asked once. "Do you... get out much? I mean, I'm one for decadence. Whole point of having a daddy with money is spending it." You laugh. You were privileged. You knew it, you embraced it. You had never had to worry about anything, never had a reason to loop beyond at the suffering of the others. Why focus on all that?

"No, I don't. It's tense, in Del Marina. Their are Terroristas, rebels. Mis padre would rather me be here, where its safer. Besides, partying isn't for me. I have to learn how to lead, to study and to help people. My people." He'd explained, fiddling with the white pressed uniform he so often wore, a less refined and adorned version of his fathers. "Loosen up." You had suggested. "We can have some fun, we're friends now, yeah? Let's go party!" Feliz had never wanted really to go to a club, to spend time with the privileged people while he knew others, those being exploitated, were suffering. But you were so, so pretty, and the only friend he felt he had. You made him feel special, not for bring the son of the president, or 'Del Marina's future'. You made him feel special for being him. He agreed.

He was terrified when you both snuck out, naturally it didn't take long for the guards to drag the both of you back to the palace, you kicked and yelled while he went quietly. He feared his father would turn his anger to you, he was ready to take the brunt of the anger. However, his father seems amused. You laugh along with his dad, not sensing the chilling undertone.

"Your son, and the american girl, Presidente." A guard said, bowing, hand over hid chest. "They were seen heading to a club on the north side."

"Ah, let them go." Ramon grins, waving a hand as the guards back off. "Kids, ey? Even at twenty, they still can't help.but wander off. It's good, independence. To think, to have fun. Kids behave this way, it's expected. Dismissed." The guards leave, and he steps down to you. "I ought to thank you, you know? No one has ever gotten my son quite so out of his shell. Feliz, I've tried to inspire that boldness in you, I suppose I didn't realize it would take such a lovely young lady to do so." Felix goes red, looking down. He knows this is a facade, and still can sense the danger in the room. Ramon takes your hand, kissing it. "But i should have known, he is his fathers son, and we are both red blooded men, yes?" He chuckles to himself.

"I didn't mean any harm, I just wanted to have some fun. And I thought maybe Feliz needed a friend." You mumble, heels scuffing the floor awkwardly. Still; you aren't sorry. "He needed a break. To live."

The president goes silent, but then nods, laughing with his arms going. "Of course! Dis boy of mine, always with the working, he wants to be like his papa. It's honorable, but a young man still needs to let loose while he's young. Next time, all I ask is you take an escort. These terroristas planning Del Marina won't care about your intentions, just the message hurting you would send." His gaze grows serious, and you gulps.

"Ah, y-yeah. I'll keep that in mind." You look down, stepping away. "I'll probably go to bed, I've had enough fun. Goodnight, Presidente." He smiles, watching as you turn to Feliz. The tan boy looks through his dark locks, trying to hide his obvious flush from his father. You didn't need any reason to be made to stay here, and he knew his dad. "Night, Feliz." You call, and he just sends you a weak wave. Worried you upset him, you scurry off. The moment you slip out of the heavy wooden door of the presidente's office; his happy and jovial expression falls, mask melting away.

"Why this sudden change in you?" "Papa, please, I didn't mean anything by it, it was all my idea-" His fathers raised hand silences him. "Enough, Feliz." Ramon sighs, strolling to his desk cabinets, hand running across the mahogany surface as he opens up a velvet box, pulling out a bottle of scotch. "I didn’t lie to you, I'm not angry. I wish that your judgment had not been blinded and you had simply brought a guard-" He pours to crystal glasses, the brown liquid filling the clear, ornate glasses. "But I'm proud none the less. You made a choice, a bold one. Hm, we drink, you're becoming a man!"

Feliz winces at the glass sliding towards him, but knows his father won't take no gore an answer. "It was nothing, Papa. Just a quick outing, she was bored and I went with."

"Oh-ho, it was more than that, my son. It's okay, I'm older, but I'm still a man. I'm not immune to the charms of a woman. She is beautiful, no?" Ramon takes a sip, relishing in the burn of the drink. "This is the real infatuation you've had, isn't it."

"Its not an infatuation, she's a friend and-" His father glares, he knows he hates liars. "I... I like her, of course. But its nothing serious, no more than a crush."

"Even a crush is serious for a stoic, quiet man like you, Feliz." His dad leans forward to lift his chin up a bit. "I've never seen you take to anyone like this, that's what makes it serious." Harshly patting the young man's cheek, he leans back. "Her Father is a great ally, a man willing to buy the vast amount of oil our country has. It would be incredible for Del Marina to seal a deal like this, to lock something down. And Feliz, I know you want what's best for the country." Once again, hisbfather cold demeanor returns, shifting from joviality frighteningly fast. "So, I tell you to pursue it."

"I don't even know if she feels that way about me, a-and I couldn't ask her to stay in some foreign country!" Feliz is spouting every excuse he can think of, to push you away, push his fathers implications away, to keep you safe from the truth. The dangers of Del Marina, of his father government and more importantly, his father. Another withering look makes him nod. "I'll... ask her out. See if she'll accompany me to the press gala." He mumbles obediently.

"Good boy. Go, get some rest." He pats his sons shoulder. "And remember, Feliz,-" He chides, turning away and taking another sip, back to the future of Del Marina. "Ballesteros's take what they want."

Lying in bed, the grandness of his room feels imposing. As cold and lonely as ever, his own oil portrait staring back at him. He never liked the commissioned piece. It felt... fake. An image of his, posed by a map, in his uniform, looking like his father. Just. Like. His. Father. The sound of a creaking door makes him sit-up, and he only feels the discomfort in his stomach grow as he sees your form slipping into his room, clad only in pajamas that cling to you. Despite the terror he feels, the pulse of arousal in his gut is prominent too. He grabs his silk pillow, covering up a growing problem as he sees you approach.

"You can't be here, w-what are you doing?" He asks.

You just shake your head and laugh. "Please, it's fine. Your dad made it clear he likes me, and I wanted to check on you." You plop down unceremoniously, groaning at the feeling of the luxurious sheets on your body. "Shit, that's good."

"Go, you have to go-"

"Are you mad at me?" You ask, pouting as you turn to face him. Hes cute when he's nervous, brows furrowed and dark hair tousled. His hands grip the sheets. "Cmon. I'm sorry if I upset you, I just wanted to have fun!"

"I know, I know." he shakes his head. "I'm not mad at you, I was excited. It's just that you don't know my papa like I do. He always has a plan, a motive, for anything he does. And i don't want you getting caught up in something you shouldn't."

You frown, but ignore his warning. "Nah, he likes me, it's fine. I'm not scared of some politician, no different than my dad-"

"No." Hes dead serious, seeing the soft, sweet man so serious makes you pale, gulping. "You have no idea what he's like. What our country is really like, I-" He puts a fist over his mouth, rubbing at his face. "Please. Just try to keep your head down. Okay?" Nodding, and cold at the severity of his sudden change, you scoot closer.

"Okay, okay." You put your hands up in mock defense. "I'm sorry, I'll keep in line. I just wanted to check on you." I pat his arm. "Didn't want you mad at me."

He relaxes at the feeling of your slumped, warm weight against him. "No, I couldn't be mad at you, amiga. You're one of the... few friends I have, even in the short time I've known you. I just don't want you hurt."

"I like you too, Feliz." You murmur, and the simple admission is enough to make his heart palpitate. He grips the sheets, before slowly putting a hand on you. "Go, you should get back to your room. I'll see you tomorrow."

Watching as you pad across the floor, he coughs. "And... there's a gala, coming up. A media event for father and yours to be shown getting along. If you... if you wanted to go. With me."

"Who else would I go with, Feliz?" You tease, making him just look down, nodding.

So how did it end up as this? You're stuck up in the room given to you at the Presidente's estate, it had once felt so grand but now felt suffocatingly small. A deal had been struck, something went wrong when you had been seen at the gala. Media went wild, rumors flew about the pretty new girl spotted alongside Dela Marina's darling prince. And Ramon approached your father with an offer. You don't know what it was, or why he'd agree to it, but it culminated in your father jetting off; leaving you behind.

"Please, please- I don't understand-" You whine, hands shaking and skin slicked with nervous sweat as you see guards sealing up the doors of your room. Trapped. "Presidente Ramon-"

"Shh." His gloved hand pressing a finger to your lips silences you, eyes wide. It is now you are beginning to see the side of the Dela Marina presidente you had heard of. Calculated, cruel. "There's no need to panic, little American darling. It's not like your losing any luxuries you had back home, perhaps you are even gaining some. Both me and your father think this is best, a joining of powers. Now, he was hesitant." Ramon rolls his eyes. "But you are a fierce little thing, and I told him you'd get a bit more discipline here. I doubt he was strict enough in your upbringing. Not that a spark isn't amusing, señora. It's charming at times." His smirk is that of a lion looking over it pray.

"You see," he intertwines his fingers together as he sits down at the foot of the four poster bed beside you. "My son. He loves you. He'll say it's a crush, but a father knows his son. He's always been good, my boy. Never asked for things, never taken what he wanted like he should. This is a push in the right direction for him. To make him make a move. I expect you like him as much?"

"I mean, I don't, I don't know-" You're stammering, hands shaking. It's all crashing down, overwhelming. The feeling of absolution in his town, of finality, is bone chilling. "He's my friend?"

"Ah, well, that's only his own fault. He has trouble taking initiative, and I dont fault you either." He sits up straighter. "Im a traditionalist, like my father and his before him. Of course it should be the man who propositions the young lady, but my son-" he waves his hand. "Has this idea in his head, silly notions about the changing of culture. I am fine with most of it, but a wife and children? Being the man for your family, for your country. No, that I will never budge on."

"Papa!" The heavy door slams open, with a frantic Feliz standing in the now open doorway. "What are you doing, why is she here-"

"Ah, my boy. Come, sit. Me and your friends father had been talking, she'll be staying for a bit. Good news, ay? Now, I'm sure you've got something you'd like to say-"

"Y-you can't do this, she doesn't belong here, papa-" Feliz juts his hands forward to help you, to try and think of a way out of this. "Are you okay? Did your father leave-"

"Feliz!" Ramon's voice booms across the room, causing both of you to still like deers caught in headlights. "Calm yourself, I'm helping you along in making a decision you are unable to make yourself. You will be grateful, and apologize."

It's shocking to see how Feliz shrinks, to see how his dad treats him behind closed doors. "I- I'm sorry, Papa. I just didn't want her in distress. I didn't want her feeling confused." He mutters, head down like an obedient hound.

"Of course, and that's admirable, but you should put more trust in your father to know I’ve already explained the situation. Now come here, come." He waves his son over, and the pair stand near you on the bed. "Tell her. Of your feelings, take charge."

"I-" Theyoung man is trying not to hyperventilate, hands gripping his white uniform short like he's staving off a seizure. "I like you, you know this. I feel emotions for you that no one else had made me feel, and-and if you'd have me-" he sounds like he's ready from a script, eyes clenched shut.

"Not if. Be assertive." His father hisses. "Tell her she is to be yours. Tell her your feelings are strong enough you won't be denied. Tell her what you can provide given your status." He's glaring like a schoolteacher scolding a naughty pupil, and the shaking boy nods.

"When- when you decide I am right for you, I'll provide what you need. Our country has vast resources, and wealth for you to enjoy. You would want for nothing." Its monotone, like an audio book, like it's pre-recorded. Seeing his fathers fist clench, he moves to kiss you lightly. As he approaches, he whispers a soft "I'm so sorry-" as he places warm, slightly chapped lips onto yours. Shocked, but to afraid to not play along, you kiss back. It's soft, it would be intoxicating if the sense of impending doom didn't weigh so heavy, being moved like dolls in a dollhouse.

"That was nice, Feliz." You can think only to reassure him, hand landlord on his neatly pressed shirt. "Very nice, I like you too, of course." You tuck his hair behind his ear, seeing the way his lip wobbles, his eyes water. He's so guilty, he never should have spoken to you.

"Wonderful." His body is jolted by a slap to the back, his father laughing. "Good man, now, shall I leave you kids alone? I'm sure you'll want time to yourself. Son, you understand what a man must take from his woman, yes?"

"I... our relationship is new, papa. I can't. I-I-" He pauses. "I won't, I won't do it. I can't, I wouldn't know how and I dont want her to do anything she doesn't want."

Ramon scoffs. "She's agreed to be yours son, go on! Of course she wants it, don't you, pequeña?" Ramon gestures to where you're laid, looking at you expectantly. When you say nothing, he raises his brows in suprise. "Unbelievable. I set the two of you up for every opportunity and you can't do that. Son," he grabs Feliz's shoulder roughly. "We are men. Conquerors, rulers. We take what we want, lions from lambs. How can you expect to lead, to protect this great country from terroristas if you cannot ask your woman for what all hot-blooded men desire!" He's growing angry, truly mad, his usual cool annoyance heating up. "You have to learn if you don't take what you want, someone else will. Your land, your power, your woman."

"Papa, please-"

"No. I have to do everything my self with you. I'm going to show you what happens if you don't take the first step." He changes his eyes to you, your cowering form. "Strip, girl." You're eyes widen, head shaking on instincts.

"What, no, no, I'm not going to-"

"The choice is not yours. I've got guards outside, you're in my country. In my home." He comes to the bedside, leaning down so he's practically nose to nose with you, dark brown eyes feel like a pool you're drowning in, swallowed whole. "The only thing you are in control of now is how gentle I am, sí?" You're still frozen, just shaking your head over and over again, resulting in him sighing. It's a minor annoyance to him, like he's not violating you but rather just dealing with a disobedient pup. "Everything by myself." He repeats.

Gloved hands brush across your collarbone, cool leather causing a trail of goosebumps to blossom on your skin. He jerks his hand back, tearing the buttons on your dress. The front pops open, buttons clattering to the floor with a 'tink-tink'. Feliz winces, hand to his mouth in horror.

"Papa, please, please don't..." He begs, voice as soft and light as he can make it. He was a good father when he was little. Doting, he'd comfort him when he cried, take him on little outings. A part of Feliz hopes that softer voice would remind him of the boy he once was, that he'd give in.

"This is what happens son, you don't take initiative, someone gets there before you." Ramon feels you squirm a bit and tightens the grip he's got on your left arm, gaze never leaving his son as he warns you. "Don't squirm, girl." He warns. "You're a lady, not some groveling worm, hold still, I'll get to you in a moment."

"Can I talk her through it?" Feliz asks. "Let me be by her side, or at least... I don't know!" He begs. Ramon tilts his head, then nods. "Alright. Second best option is getting in where you can. Rising through the ranks, get over here." Feliz scrambles to get to your other side. "Now, let's get this off." Ramon grabs the blade he keeps on his waistband at his side, pressing the cold still to your pretty skin while he cuts the lace straps of your bra off. "Aw, beautiful. Shame to hide such beautiful breasts away, without a man to reveal them." He coos. Rough lips place a kiss to your left nipple, making you whimper. "Just beautiful. Feliz, take it in. Your first woman."

Feliz is staring, both horrified at his biological reaction and awe struck at the sight of your newly revealed breasts. He'd stared many a time when they were covered, to see them exposed in front of him was a new feelings entirely. He reaches out, letting a breath he didn't know he was holding escape as he gropes your left tit.

"There we go, it's good, yeah? A woman's body is a miraculous thing." Groaning, he leans down and kisses up and down softly the nape of your neck. "Don't stay quiet, let me hear those pretty noises, girl." He whispers

"I don't, this can't happen, presidente. I don't want this." You whisper, and he just chuckles, looking up at you from his place on your chest. "Ah, amor, but you will."

A sudden pressure on your ass makes you squeak, his hands groping the meat of your ass firmly, sure to leave bruises. "Don't speak back to me, ey? Lay back and enjoy what a man in power can offer you, girl. And call me Ramone." He grins. "There's no need for formalities when I'm going to have you speared on my cock."

Feliz grimaces at the way your eyes water, so afraid. But not only can he not help, he's so horrendously turned on. Your heaving breasts, wide eyes and flushed cheeks. You're a picture of eroticism, and the hardening in his shorts is a clear sign that the part of him desiring you is winning him over. He watches his father roll you over, gloved fist kneading the cheeks of your ass.

"Just a short reminder to not talk back. To behave."

A sharp pain makes you yelps, a harsh slap to your ass. Immediately after delivering the blow, his gloved hand massages to red mark. "See? Even when in the throws of sex, you should exercise your control, my boy. Let her know you are in charge, regardless of their pleasure she is providing you." He scoots aside, petting half while looking at Feliz. Feliz swallows harshly, but hovers his hand lightly over your plump rear. Another squeak, as he delivers a softer, albeit still harsh spank. "Make sure she's okay now. A firm hand, not a cruel one."

Feliz shaky hand gently rubs the mark, mimicking Ramon's actions, and he leans down to whisper in your ear. "Not too much, right? It wasn't too much? You-" He's trying to justify himself, why he feels so aroused by all this, by you. "You liked it, right?"

You're shocked, but as you shake your head no, another slap. The gentle kneading afterwards does little to relieve the pain. You know not to protest. "It's fine." You whisper.

Feliz wouldn't normally believe you, he'd hear the pain in your voice, the tremble. He'd want to sooth you, but he was so unbelievably needy in those moment, for for relief and to believe you were happy with him. That this was a good, intimate moment between the two of you, without his fathers direction, without force. Thid was the moment he trusted himself, his virginity to you. He just smiles weakly at your statement that it's okay.

"So pretty, let's get these off of you, huh?" You can feel the gloves leather, once cool, now hot against your skin he snaps your pantie strap against your hip, making you flinch. "Hm, I bet you've had plenty of men. A rich privileged American girl, spending your papas money. Does he know, know that your a slut, or is he too busy?"

"I've only been with a few guys..." you weakly protest. "From... club and stuff."

"A few too many. If any proper man had had you, he'd be sure you only ever took his cock, allowed him inside of you." Once again grabbing that knife, he slides the blade across the strap he had previously snapped, the fabric tearing and loosening. "Beautiful..." he runs his finger over the lips of your pussy, puffy from arousal. He lets you feel each wrinkle in the leather of his gloves, before spreading your lips apart, strings of slick snapping.

Feliz feels his mouth is watering, your mouth watering, your most bare part vulnerable for him. He can't stop himself from cupping your mound, letting his fingers curiously trail up to your clit. You let out a reluctant moan at the feeling; and he just leans down to kiss your cheek. "You're so pretty. A-and you're doing so well..." Making sure his father is distracted, he whispers in your ear. "Im sorry our first time together had to be like this, but... its still nice, right?" He's still in denial about the horrors of his actions. "You still get to feel good, and you get to be with me. This... this is what we both want..."

"Feliz..." You whimper, but he just shakes his head. "No, don't tell me it's not. I can't handle that right now." Despite his good nature, Feliz has always been given what he wanted. He cant help but feel selfish, ask you not to hurt his feelings or overwhelm him while your the one being violated. He'll reflect on that later. His lips, slightly chapped, press hot against yours, once, then twice. "That was my first." He admits. "Wouldn't want it to be anyone but you."

Suddenly, his father grabs his collar, pulling me back a bit. "Come now, boy. Clear out, I need my time now."

Feliz pales. "Papa?" He's visibly confused. "You said... take what I want, be a leader, not a follower. I thought you'd be giving her to me, that I'd be having sex with her! You said a man should let his woman be only with him from the moment he decides he wants her?" His tan hands are shaking, flushed face a mix of embarrassment and frustration. All he wants is to tenderly relieve the pressure in his shorts with you, and as he sees his father let out a 'tsk', his frustration increases.

"But that doesn't apply, does it? She's had other men before, and she's not a true, proper woman of our country. If nothing else, it's better I be sure she's even worth it. It's not simply sex, this could be the woman you choose to lead alongside, boy." His father cold glare makes him shrink back, sliding off the bed.

"But, isn't it a test of my leadership that I take her first-"

"You wouldn't question your papa?" Ramom hisses, and Feliz wilts. He can't make eye contact with you as he leaves the room. When it's him violating you, he can at least pretend you feel safer because it's him, that you like it. But its his father, a ruthless dictator, and stranger. As he leaves and makes his way down the hall, he's determined to be ready to cater for you when it's all over.

Back in the room, you remain a trembling mess, watching the much older man removing his belt with a practiced speed. "Please don't, sir-" You ask. "I don't feel comfortable, I don't-"

"You should feel grateful." He reminds. "To have both the attentions of a leader and his son. I understand it might be frightening, you know the kind of man I am. How i stay in power, I've tricked your father but I've no doubt that boy of mine has admitted some things to you." As he removes white dress pants and dispenses of his gloves on the nightstand, he grips your chin with now-bare fingers. Calloused; from years of clawing his way to the top. "You aren't stupid. That's one of the things I admire about you, girl. Smart, if a bit spoiled. That's fine, respect can be taught, a place can be taught. Natural intelligence can be harder to develop."

"Why me?" You blurt. "Why are you forcing me into this, you could have any woman, I'm not even close to your age, a-and Feliz, Feliz likes me!" You hope to garner even a bit of sympathy for his son in this moment, hoping it would prevent him going all the way.

"He does not 'like' you, he loves you." He says matter-of-factly. "Which is precisely why this has to be done. You will be in the public eye, the first lady of this great country. I need to know you can be submissive, can provide as a wife should. But... I also need to know you can be taught, can take orders. My boy, he is-" Ramon shakes his head. "Meeker than I would like, despite my efforts. I need to know even with his less than firm hand that he can ensure you behave. And ones true colors come out in the bedroom, I find."

He pounces, baring down rather suddenly, grip on your jaw near crushing as his free hand strokes once, then twice over his cock; brown with a curve to it and a purple tip. "But, I am also not a liar. I admit the idea of having a beautiful young woman around my manhood isn't-" he nips are your ear, breath hot yet making you feel frigid with fear. "Intoxicating."

"It's been a long time." You whisper, and he feigns a caring pout. "Ah, I'm sure. Don't worry, I won't let you hurt. But remember, this is about taking orders. First, take me in your hands. I doubt you're inexperienced in this, so don't feign naivety." His voice is low, threatening. Despite the churning feeling of sickness, you take his length in one shaky hand, wrapping round the erect shaft, and refusing to meet his gaze.

"Good. Go on now, kiss it, just the tip. I want to see you practice restraint, just because you don't want this doesn't mean I will rush." He warns. Your plush lips gently press the bulbous tip, you can feel a shiver run up him as you do. Testing the waters and desperate to get it over with, you slowly slip in the tip, tongue pressing against the vein under his cock. He doesn't thrust, not allowing you to take hin in fully; but the clenching in his jaw shows the effect it's having.

"Wonderful..." He groans. "Very good, take a little more, yes? I know you can, shit-" He rolls his hips, the salty flavor of skin filling your mouth further as you take him in deeper. "Good, suckle. Suck the cock of El presidente-" He's beginning to get a bit lost in his praise of himself more than you.

Sloppy, wet sounds fill your ears, eyes screwed shut as a few tears slip from them. Ramon grunts, whispering another moan of pleasure before noticing and sighing. He wipes some tears with his thumb, licking up the salty water to your shock. "Don't cry, cariño. I'm not being cruel. I'm being rather gentle with your pretty mouth; no damaged goods here." He reminds. You can hear his grunts increasing in frequency, his cock twitching in your mouth, when he roughly threads his fingers in your hair and yanks you off his cock.

"Hands and knees, face away." He demands. "Don't make me wait." Your knees dig into the silk of the bed, assuming an easily mountable position. Once again, you make a final plea. "Please-" Your voice sounds as though it could shatter. "Don't hurt me."

To your suprise, you can feel him freezing behind you, and hear a deep sigh. You scre your eyes tight as you feel him assume position behind you, leaky cock pressing against your folds as his chest, still clad in his white dress shirt, presses against your bare spine. One hand holds himself up, while the other takes your chin from behind, gentler than his initially grip. He places a few small kisses mixed with nibbles against the flushed shell of your ear.

"Being a leader-" he begins, "Is not easy. Being the wife of one, even more so. There is danger, societal expectations, and constant decisions that must be made. But know this, my touch is not something you need to fear, cariño." He's uncharacteristically tender now, and that frightens you more.

He finishes his speech with a kiss to the back of your neck, before sighing as he eases his tip into your wet folds.

"Ah-" You whine, it's thick, but it doesn't fully hurt. He's tender, he kept his promise. "Feel that? The stretch of a true Dela Marinan man?" He asks, working his way in a bit deeper. His balls, heavy, slowly crawl closer to the lips of your cunt as he further enters, groaning.

"Beautiful. Mmph, you don't have the makings of a first lady." He firstly pulls out, before sheathing fully again. "You're practically sucking me in, girl. You were made to take a Dela Marinan man, god-" His pace increases, gripping your hips as the thrusts.

"Are you close?" He asks. "Can you feel that coil of pleasure within you? Go on, release. Cum when the man controlling you demands."

Letting out a final mewl mixed with a sob, you can feel yourself beginning to spasm, walls twitching as a gush of fluids coats his cock. In a display of impressive control, though not surprising for the cold blooded president, he removes his angry cock without finishing. Quickly tucking himself away, back into his boxers, he towels the sweat from his brows as he appraises your fucked-out form. "You have the makings of a good wife. There is more to teach certainly, but there will be time for that. Though-" He tilts his head as if in deep contemplation, before leaning down to press a rather full kiss to your sweat-soaked form. It's passionate, surprisingly so, and he had held back from something that intimate so far. "As much as I love that boy of mine, I wonder if he is man enough to deserve a woman like you." He whispers, before pulling away and rather curtly leaving.

You can hear what sounds like voices in the hall, and soon two female attendants come to wipe you up. You're took sore to protest, and as they scurry out, the hurried footsteps of Feliz replace the noise they made. A look of worry fades slowly when he sees you, looking tired but mostly unharmed. He's got a glass of water in hand, a piece of chocolate, and other random medicine cabinet items. It's clear he was unsure what a woman would need for aftercare, and just took everything.

"I'm here, it's okay now." You can't even bring yourself to tale comfort in the words of your friend. You wanted him to have saved you, yet the most emotion he showed during the ordeal was learning he couldn't have you first. You just lay silent, still. He lays down beside you, fully clothed, curling into your side like a child seeking their mother's comfort. He pulls the sheets over you, kissing your forehead before closing his eyes.

"It'll be better next time." He promises. "It'll be me." That hardly soothes the pain.

[seaborgium-dazies]

Think of me pt. 2♡mdni

walking in on mha characters masturbating pt1 🌊: iida, jirou, kirishima, denki, tokoyami a/n: don't clown on me for the tokoyami setup BUT i found out people actually do that and its genuinely a bit crazy, how can u trust someone else to call you until you wake up!?? (⁠⊙⁠_⁠◎⁠)

iida:

Iida was a man of great precision and reliability. And growing closer to him naturally made you lean into these strengths of his.

It wasn't a rare occurrence for you to ask him about classes, exams, workshops and any other responsibilities in the near future.

You were lazing around in the short break between classes, your head rested on your hand as you eyed Iida.

Iida firmly held a clipboard in his hand, ticking boxes and pacing around the classroom. God knew what he was doing, it was impossible to keep up with his responsibilities. He seemed stressed, like there were at least 70 volts running through his veins. His spine was straight as always, his posture intimidatingly good.

"By the way when's that survival camp gonna be? Oh and also what was that about the practice exam on the website that Aizawa told us about?"

Iidas eyes shot to you when you began to speak, the slurred words making something in him snap. His voice and the bite of his words made you flinch.

"Are you seriously asking me this? Your lack of organization is unacceptable! Stop being so incompetent!!"

After hearing these harsh words the dumbfounded look on your face was replaced with tears welling up in your eyes. You cast your look downward and maneuver your way through the halls to your room. With shame burning in your whole body your hands trembled when you turned your doorknob.

After digesting the situation you came to the realization that your excessive questioning and relying on him must've pissed him off. But that couldn't have been the sole reason for that nasty look on his face. Maybe you did something else? Possibly even an ongoing habit which lead to pent up frustration? That's the only logical explanation.

You couldn't let this sit - you had to go apologize and figure out what the problem is.

Meanwhile guilt was eating iida alive. He didn't mean to blow up on you at ALL. Lately he's been feeling like he's losing control especially when he's in your vicinity. Seeing your boobs fill out the uniform, and the way you stared up at him with your half lidded eyes - it made something snap.

Now he's in his room thinking about solutions. He's going to apologize to you first thing in the morning that's for sure.

But it doesn't help him with his problem in general - his dick being painfully hard. He burned for you, rage filling him when he couldn't deal with the constant boners and lust coursing through his veins.

What was he supposed to do?? He sighed as he looked at the tent in his pants. Iidas shoulders tensed as he sat down and his boxers rubbed against the sensitive head of his.

Maybe he should try to take care of it. Just this once...

The moment iida pulls down the boxers of his already hard dick is the moment his door flings open. Your face is met with iidas Crimson one.

Rambled explanation fell from his tongue.

"This is not what it looks like I never do this- you have to believe me I-"

You shut the door as quickly as you opened it, the door slamming shut. With your back to the wall you apologize.

"AH! IM SO SORRY!"

You cursed yourself for barging in - now he'll hate you even more!

Just as you were about to leave you heard the door opening behind you.

Jirou:

The sun was blazing through the big window panels and you spent your lunch sipping on iced coffee as you drew small doodles on your hand.

Jirou sat opposite of you, examining a CD she bought yesterday. You pushed a small pouch over to her.

She looked at you with a quizzical look to which you elaborate.

"The hair clipper - for your undercut. I figured I should just give it to you so we can spontaneously decide when I should cut your hair."

The purple haired girl nodded and shot you a smug smirk.

"Cool."

You watched Jirou putting the pouch into her bag. The rest of the day passed quickly. You found yourself on your way to her dorm with two cups of coffee in hand.

Your jaw dropped when you heard a familiar buzzing in the room. You tried pressing down the door knob - it was locked.

"Hey!! What do you think you're doing?! I told you to wait for me!! Open the door! Jirou!"

On the other side of the door jirou was laying spread on her bed, the vibe that was previously pressed to her swollen clit was switched off. All this happened in the first place because she just couldn't handle the thought of you being so close to her. The thought of you Cutting her hair and caressing her neck made her so wet she just had to rub one out.

You pounded on the door, appalled at the thought of Jirou cutting her own hair behind your back. Why would she?

Though no reply of Jirous was heard the buzzing did stop. In an uncharacteristic voice you heard her ask.

"Uhm- I wasn't cutting my hair! I'm not feeling too well, can we cut my hair tomorrow?"

Not cutting her hair your ass. Also she's not feeling well but she's using a hair clipper? Does she think you're stupid? You choose to play along as you answered.

"Okay, I'll see you tomorrow then".

While she had been speaking you were looking for something in your bag. Ha ha! You found the spare key to her apartment and you're gonna catch her red handed!

You knew you weren't a professionally trained hairdresser but you'll be damned if she disrespects you like that!

Waiting a good ten minutes you heard that buzz start up again. Now you unlocked her door and pushed it open.

Your jaw dropped when you saw her shirt pulled up - boobs on display. She held a vibrator pressed close to her clit but when you shouted

"CAUGHT YOU!"

she dropped it.

As soon as you realized what you saw a panicked noise left your lips. A string of apologies filled the air and you froze on the spot.

Jirou pulled the covers up as a pissed

"What the FUCK are you doing??!"

bellowed through the air.

"I- I thought you were-"

"Well I wasn't!

Kirishima:

The early sun rays poured over your athleisure clad figure as you were doing bicep curls. Kirishima was squatting not far from you. He found it increasingly hard to concentrate with every bicep curl of you. He heard your labored breathing through the empty gym.

Every time he's here - 5.30 in the gym he asks himself the same thing

Why am I doing this to myself?

Seeing you, sweaty and huffing made him want to go to the bathroom and not come out until he shot his load into the sewage system.

The tent in kirishimas pants was probably more than obvious but since the gym was as empty as it was right now he decided to cut training short.

He came up to you and fed you some white lie about not feeling too good. The sweaty man explained his reason for ending his workout which you accepted with a nod.

Kirishima walked himself to the showers letting icy cold water cool him down. He was hoping to let go of his boner too but it seemed too persistent.

Whatever, fuck it

He let go of his morals for once and started stroking his cock. The pleasure made him hunch over and lean against the wall for support. And as he sped up his pace he saw you standing in the doorway with an open mouth.

"I-"

You wanted to explain yourself but tearing your eyes from his physique was nearly impossible.

Kirishima covered himself up with a towel and when you both failed to find any words you skittered away with a bright red face.

Denki:

You were eyeing your beat up converse outside of the convenience store denki was in right now. He said he was 'gathering supplies' aka he was getting enough snacks to last him and you two whole nights.

Spending the weekend together was his idea but you had no objections since watching TV and playing video games all day already sounded like the perfect plan.

You saw denki walking out with what seemed like stacks on stacks of snacks. Sour gummy worms, chips, chocolate covered nuts, pretzels with peanut butter filling and more seemed to be pouring out of his arms and the bags he was carrying. The thing that caught your eyes the most were the heaps of monster cans.

You cocked an eyebrow, "That's a lot of caffeine".

"Well, we're gonna wanna be caffeinated if we plan on staying up the whole night!"

Denkis signature grin made you drop the conversation but you had been worried about him for a while now. Overall he doesn't seem to be consuming that much caffeine, yet he is way more jittery than usual.

You remember countless times where his hands trembled, he tripped over his words and couldn't focus on the most menial tasks. And you knew denki, this wasn't him. At least not to this extent

"By the way what happened to that Pierce the Veil CD you borrowed from me?"

"Hmm, it's probably somewhere in my room"

"Then find it i wanna listen to it again."

"Ugh, I don't think I'll be able to, you know the state my room is in"

You rolled your eyes at the interaction. It wasn't unusual for denkis room to be messy and even though he had had your CD for weeks now you couldn't find it in yourself to be mad at him.

You parted ways and even though you had no plans to hang out that evening you decided to invite yourself. You heard the familiar sound of 'A match into water' from a mile away. You muttered under your breath.

"Is he fucking kidding me? Can't find the CD my ass-"

And before you could even think about it you swung the door open and yelled at him.

"What the fuck are you listening to?! I really don't- "

Your breath got caught in your throat when you saw a vibrating cock ring at the base of denkis cock. The sounds of the vibrator as well as denkis moans were tuned out by the stereo on blast. His angry red tip was already oozing precum and he almost seemed blissed out.

When denki saw you standing in his doorway his facial expression turned into a horrorful one. He scrambled to find the right button to turn it off. You panicked as well, covering your eyes and screaming over the stereo.

"Oh my god oh my god oh my god I'm so sorry I'm so-"

And as if it wasn't horrible enough denki was so close and couldn't find the right button, instead of turning his new toy off he dialed it up a notch.

A strangled moan filled the air to which you couldn't help but steal a peek. Denkis back was arching off of the bed, his cock twitching like crazy, he could barely function. The new frequency seemed to be really hitting that sweet spot because in the span of a few seconds he was shooting white spurts of cum over his bed.

You didn't have a clue what to do in this situation. It was undeniable that seeing denki like this made you wanna press your thighs together but having caught a glance was a major perverted moment. So you did the only thing that came into your head.

You ran to his bathroom, got some tissues and returned to see denki absolutely wallowing in shame. The music was blaring, so you dialed it down a bit. You handed denki the tissues while trying to be as gentle as possible.

"I'm sorry for barging in, I really should've knocked but I just heard the music and ..."

You trailed off because seeing denki like this made your heart clench. You turned around so he could clean up. After a while he hummed softly to show you he was done. You knew you had to leave but the thought of him being alone like this didn't sit right with you.

"Hey denki don't be embarrassed. It's a completely natural thing and everyone does it! I'm never going to mention it again I promise. It's like this never happened"

"Please just don't think of me less"

"Oh no denki I would never! Actually you looked so hot that I might..."

And before u could say anything further you bolted.

Tokoyami:

"See u Friday!"

pt.2 to this

Ever since your first year at UA it became a habit for you to wake Tokoyami from his slumber.

The fateful coincidence that led to this happenstance was that you called him to ask him to let you borrow a book that you talked about the day before - what you didn't know is that tokoyamis alarm hadn't gone off that morning and you saved his day by waking him up.

Even though he's a man of few words, his appreciation for this never goes unnoticed. And you'd be lying if you said you didn't like hearing his gruff morning voice.

Although you didn't know, the feeling was mutual. Tokoyami really couldn't help himself from palming his morning wood through the thin layer of his pyjama pants when you called him up with a cheery motivational morning speech.

Lately it had been getting too much. When you called him he couldn't think of anything else than how much he'd want you to be laying beneath him - or at least besides him. That lust tainted his whole day and he could barely control himself. Sitting next to you in class proved to be a challenge and talking to you without staring at your lips seemed to be impossible.

So for the first time ever he didn't pick up the phone when you woke him up. But he still couldn't help that his morning wood twitched at the mere thought of you.

He freed his cock and started slowly rubbing along the shaft. He inhaled sharply as his thumb dragged over the tip of his dick. Precum was coating his hand and his eyes were shut until you barged in.

"Wha-"

Tokoyami was as disoriented as ever, wondering if this was a dream? But when you started apologizing as your face turned bright red he snapped out of that haze.

Leave some love! Reblogs and comments dearly appreciated

"You didn't pick up the phone so I- I thought maybe- something had maybe happened so I- Bye!"

Buy me a coffee? <3

©️ seaborgium-dazies do not repost, edit or steal.

[moongirlcleo]

Interrogation Tactics

❤︎  tags and content: restraints, powerplay, teasing, rough sex, finger licking, calebxf!reader, not proofread ❤︎  author note: check out all my fics by searching #moongirlcleo or on AO3

🔞NSFW content - Minors DNI 🔞 Dividers: @cafekitsune Fic: @moongirlcleo  

Caleb should’ve known better than to let you help him prepare for his upcoming interrogation. What starts as a standard practice session—questions, tape rolling, a cold metal chair—quickly turns into something far more dangerous. You push, you tease, you break him down piece by piece until the restraints snap and the Colonel reminds you exactly who's in charge.

(Or: You decide to rile your commanding officer up during a fake interrogation. He gets his revenge over the table.)

The room is cold, designed for function, not comfort. The walls—smooth, sterile metal—reflect the dim, artificial glow of the single overhead light. It flickers faintly, humming in the quiet, casting long shadows that stretch like claw marks across the floor. The air is thick with the scent of steel, sharp and clinical, tinged with the ghost of sweat and gunpowder. A place meant to break men down.

And yet, Caleb still sits like he owns the room.

He’s locked into the Colonel’s chair, his broad frame restrained, wrists bound tight to the worn leather cuffs at the armrests, ankles shackled to the bolted-down base. The chair was built for control—made to keep men like him in power. But now? It’s his prison.

His dark undershirt clings to him, taut over muscle, the only piece of his uniform left after you stripped him of his jacket. Shadows cut across the sharp lines of his jaw, the proud column of his throat, the steady rise and fall of his chest. But it’s his eyes—lavender and stormy, burning under furrowed brows—that give him away. He isn’t unaffected. He’s waiting.

You take a single step forward, the click of your boot against the floor slicing through the silence. Caleb’s jaw tightens, his fingers twitching against the leather restraints.

“Colonel,” you murmur, tilting your head as you let your gaze drag over him, slow and deliberate. “The interrogation begins now.”

A muscle in his jaw jumps. His hands flex again—useless, restrained.

And then, finally, his voice—low, rough, threaded with defiance.

“Is that so?”

The recorder clicks to life beside you, its red light glowing steady in the dim room. The low hum of the tape rolling fills the silence, a slow, deliberate reminder that every word spoken here is being documented.

You stand before him, arms crossed loosely, fingers tapping idly against your bicep. From a distance, you look composed—collected. But the way your gaze drags over him? That’s something else entirely.

“State your name for the record.”

Across from you, bound to the chair, Colonel Caleb lifts his head. His lavender eyes flicker to the recorder, then back to you. A slow blink. A slight roll of his shoulders, as much as the restraints allow.

“Colonel Caleb,” he says, voice low, even.

You tilt your head, watching him. “Full rank and title.”

A slow inhale. He has no reason not to answer. No reason to resist—yet.

“Colonel of the Farspace Fleet,” he says, his voice edged with something firm, something unyielding. Even tied to a chair, stripped of command, he still carries the weight of his authority.

You hum, tapping your fingers against the metal table beside you. “And what was the Farspace Fleet doing in restricted territory?”

Caleb exhales through his nose, eyes narrowing slightly. “We received intel about enemy activity along the border. Standard reconnaissance.”

You arch a brow. “Reconnaissance? In a classified sector?”

His jaw ticks, his fingers flexing against the leather cuffs. “I go where my mission takes me.”

You smile at that. Slow. Knowing.

“Of course you do.”

There’s no accusation in your tone. No outright challenge. Just that infuriating edge—the one that says you already know the answers. That this isn’t about information at all.

That this is about him.

About how much control he really has left.

And judging by the way his gaze has started to darken, by the way his body tenses in the restraints—

Not much.

The tape rolls on, a steady hum in the background, but you barely pay it any mind. This isn’t for the record. Not really.

You let your arms fall to your sides, fingers trailing lightly over the cool metal table beside you as you take a slow step forward. Your movements are unhurried, fluid, your body shifting with an effortless grace as you let the weight of silence stretch between you.

Caleb’s eyes track you instantly… of course he does.

He might be strapped to the chair, wrists bound, legs secured, but he’s still a soldier. A predator built to assess movement, trained to anticipate threats. But there’s no battlefield here. No enemy lines. Just you—pacing in front of him, your hips shifting with every deliberate step, teasing the space between you like it’s something to be played with.

“Tell me, Colonel,” you muse, dragging a slow fingertip along the edge of the table. “Did you really think you could go unnoticed?”

His jaw flexes, lavender eyes flickering from the lazy path of your hand back to your face. His control is still intact—for now.

“I had clearance to be there,” he answers, voice smooth but tight at the edges. “The mission was sanctioned.”

You hum, unconvinced, turning on your heel with a slow, fluid roll of your hips. His gaze drops for half a second—a flicker, a misstep. He catches himself, but it’s too late. You see it.

Your smile curls, barely there.

“Sanctioned,” you echo, your body moving in a slow sway, arms stretching above your head in a lazy, thoughtless motion. The stretch arches your back just enough to be noticeable—just enough for his throat to bob in a silent swallow.

The restraints creak. You don’t look, but you hear it—the slight pull of leather against metal. The way his fingers flex, knuckles tensing as though itching to move. Your gaze flicks toward him, feigning disinterest, but your smirk deepens. “Then why are you so tense, Colonel?”

His breath is steady, measured. His body, less so.

“You tell me,” he murmurs, voice edged with something dangerous. Something wanting.

Oh, you’re in control.

The recorder still rolls, its steady hum filling the space between you, but the real interrogation has already begun.

You let your fingers trail lazily down your own body—barely even thinking about it, or at least, pretending not to. A slow glide over your collarbone, down the line of your throat, tracing the shape of yourself as if deep in thought. As if Caleb isn’t even there.

But he is.

Tied to the chair. Watching.

And already, the first crack has formed.

“Explain your route,” you murmur, fingers slipping lower, dragging over your ribcage, brushing just under the curve of your chest before moving on, your touch leisurely. Unbothered. “How did the Farspace Fleet enter restricted airspace?”

Caleb’s shoulders have gone stiff, the leather cuffs creaking as he flexes his hands. He swallows, jaw tightening.

But he answers. Because you told him to.

“Entered through Delta Quadrant.” His voice is rougher than before, throat working around the words. “Coordinates were logged—”

His breath hitches.

You’ve barely done anything. Just let your hands smooth over the curve of your waist, fingers brushing the fabric there, shifting just enough to make the motion look indulgent.

His fingers curl into fists as the leather restraints groan. You smile.

“Logged where?”

His nostrils flare, lavender eyes burning. His breath is heavier now, his chest rising just a little quicker, but he’s still fighting it, still holding on.

“Command logs,” he grits out. “Main database.”

“Mmm.” Your fingers drift up again, this time slower, teasing, your head tilting like you’re only half-paying attention to his answer.

His gaze follows.

A telling indication, and a beautiful one.

***

The room is silent except for the steady hum of the recorder, its red light flickering like a heartbeat. The air between you has grown thick, heavy with something far removed from interrogation, something that crackles like a live wire in the space between you.

You hook your fingers into the waistband of your pants, pausing just long enough to make sure he’s watching. As if he could look anywhere else.

“Tell me, Colonel,” you murmur, your voice velvety smooth as you begin to push the fabric down, slow, achingly slow. “Did you find anything else? Anything… unexpected?”

Caleb’s breath is ragged now, his lavender eyes locked onto the slow reveal of bare skin, his hands curling into fists against the leather cuffs.

“Nothing,” he grinds out, but his voice has gone hoarse, frayed at the edges. His restraint creaks—his entire body taut, vibrating with frustration as he watches you step out of the last scrap of clothing, leaving yourself bare before him.

You let him look. Let him ache.

Finally, you touch yourself. Caleb sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, his thighs tensing where they’re strapped down, his jaw clenching so hard you can hear it grind. You drag your fingers down your stomach, light and teasing, not rushing—no, you want him to suffer. His chest rises and falls in uneven breaths, his eyes wild now, drinking in every slow, deliberate stroke of your fingers.

His restraint shakes.

“Keep talking,” you say sweetly, running a hand down between your thighs, parting yourself with a quiet, teasing sigh.

Caleb lets out a low curse, his head tipping back against the chair before he wrenches it forward again, eyes burning through you.

“You—” His voice is wrecked, his arms flexing hard against the bindings. “You’re—” His words cut off the second you touch yourself properly, a soft, breathy moan slipping past your lips. His fingers twitch, his throat working around a swallow so thick it looks painful.

“C-Colonel,” you tease, barely holding back a mocking little laugh as you drag your fingers through yourself, spreading wetness, making sure he sees. “You didn’t answer the question.”

The chair groans as he pulls hard against the restraints.

And fuck, he looks ruined. His breath is ragged, his lips parted, his entire body trembling with frustration, desperation. Hunger. You bring your slick fingers up, wiggling them lightly in the dim light. Glowing with evidence. Caleb’s breath hitches.

His tongue flicks out, wetting his lips.

“Come on, Colonel,” you purr, stepping closer, your fingers hovering just near his mouth. “You follow orders, don’t you?”

His lashes flutter, a shuddering exhale slipping from between his teeth. And then, finally—finally—he breaks.

Caleb is shaking.

Not from fear, not from rage—but from the sheer, impossible effort of holding himself together.

The chair creaks beneath him, his arms trembling as his fingers curl into fists, pulling hard against the leather cuffs. His jaw is locked, his breath ragged, his lavender eyes dark and blown wide, locked onto the slow, taunting movement of your fingers.

And you’re not rushing. No, you’re taking your time—teasing yourself, spreading slickness in lazy circles, gasping softly, your body arching into your own touch. Like you forgot he was even there.

But you know. You see the way his lips part, the way his throat bobs with a heavy swallow. The way his muscles keep flexing like he’s fighting his own instincts, like every fiber of his being is begging him to break free, to take you, to claim what’s being paraded in front of him.

“Still with me, Colonel?” you ask, voice light, teasing, breathless from your own touch.

He doesn’t answer at first. Just swallows again, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.

“Fuck. You.”

Your lips curl into a smug smile. 

“Oh, Colonel,” you purr, dragging your fingers slower, letting out a quiet moan as you rock into your own hand, making sure he sees the way your body responds. “That doesn’t sound very cooperative.”

His head tips back, a broken sound rasping out of his throat.

“You’re—” His breath hitches as you spread yourself open wider, letting your other hand roam up your stomach, over your chest, teasing at the sensitive peaks of your breasts. His hands yank at the cuffs, his knuckles white, jaw tight. “You’re fucking evil.”

You laugh, soft and knowing, stepping closer, close enough that he can feel the heat of you, but still—still—out of reach.

“Am I?” you murmur, bringing your slick fingers up again, watching his tongue dart out—reflex—as if he can already taste you. His breath comes out shaky. His lips part, just a little. A silent plea.

You trace your fingers over his lower lip, smearing wetness there, letting him inhale you, letting him feel the proof of your pleasure.

His reactions to you are visceral – his chest shudders and lips quiver. His beautiful stormy amethyst eyes beg.

But he still doesn’t snap. You chew your cheek in thought. 

The chair groans beneath him, his body pulled so tight it’s a miracle he hasn’t snapped the restraints already.

But you’re not done with him yet.

You let out a soft, pleased sigh as you move closer, finally stepping between his legs, your bare thighs brushing against the rough fabric of his uniform. His breath hitches—his fingers twitch against the leather cuffs, the muscles in his arms trembling from restraint. Then, without warning, you sink into his lap.

Caleb chokes on a groan, his head snapping forward, his entire body jerking against the chair like he could thrust up into you, like he could chase the friction.

But he can’t. He’s trapped. And fuck, he hates it.

His hands yank at the restraints, his thighs flexing beneath you as you roll your hips—slow, teasing, dragging yourself over the hard line of his cock, separated only by the thick fabric of his pants. Caleb’s breath comes out wrecked, his jaw clenched so tight it looks painful.

“Something wrong, Colonel?” you murmur, shifting again, dragging yourself harder against him, feeling the twitch of his cock beneath you, the way he’s aching for it.

A strangled, desperate sound tears from his throat as he replies.

“You—” His voice cracks, his lashes fluttering as his head tips back, exposing the taut column of his throat. “You little fucking—”

He cuts off when you press against him harder, rolling your hips in slow, teasing circles, your heat dragging over him, soaking the fabric between you.

Then you lift your fingers—still wet, still dripping with the proof of your pleasure—and push them against his lips.

His entire body shakes, breath stuttering as he opens.

Mouth parting, tongue flicking out, sucking your fingers in without hesitation, moaning around them like he can’t help himself.

Fucking ruined.

“Oh, Colonel,” you breathe, curling your fingers slightly, feeling the wet heat of his mouth, the way his tongue swirls over them, tasting you, devouring you. “Look at you.”

A needy, broken sound vibrates in his throat. His hands flex again—useless, trapped—his cock throbbing beneath you, desperate for friction, desperate for anything.

Slowly, his lips pop off your fingers, slick and shining, his breath coming hard and fast.

“Please,” he rasps, voice wrecked, barely more than a whisper. “Please.”

His arms shake and the chair creaks.

So close… so fucking close.

His please still hangs in the air, breathless, wrecked, his lips slick from where he sucked your fingers clean. His thighs twitch beneath you, his body trembling like an animal on the edge of a breaking point, seconds away from lunging.

So, of course—you deny him again.

Your fingers trail over his lips one last time before you pull back, slipping off his lap in a slow, cruel drag, leaving him aching, empty, hard cock twitching beneath the thick fabric of his pants.

His chest heaves. His nostrils flare.

But he doesn’t snap.

You take your time, striding away, swaying your hips just enough to be taunting, acting as if you aren’t absolutely ruining him.

“Oh, Colonel,” you murmur, running a hand over your stomach, feeling the heat of your own body. “You look a little tense.”

Behind you—silence.

No words. Just ragged, heavy breathing.

You turn back, tilting your head, lips curling.

SNAP.

The restraints shatter.

Before you can even react, Caleb is on you.

A rush of heat, of sheer force, and suddenly you’re spun, your chest slamming against the cold metal table, your breath punching out in a sharp gasp.

A rough hand tangles in your hair, pushing you down, his body caging you in from behind.

His breath is hot in your ear.

“You,” he rasps, voice wrecked, furious, desperate. “Are so. Fucking. Cruel.”

His free hand drags down your spine, fingers rough, possessive, grabbing your hip, forcing you exactly where he wants you.

You barely have time to smirk before he thrusts against you, grinding his aching, throbbing cock against your soaked heat, letting out a guttural, needy groan at the contact he’d been denied for so long.

“Bet you thought I’d stay put forever, huh?” His voice is all teeth, all sharp-edged want, his hips rolling slow, punishing, pressing harder against you, making sure you feel every inch of what you’ve been teasing.

A hand smacks against the table beside you, his fingers splaying wide, bracing himself as he pins you there, letting you feel just how fucking feral you’ve made him.

“Tell me, pipsqueak,” he growls, voice dripping with revenge, his cock grinding against you in slow, aching circles.

“How does it feel to be on this side of the interrogation?”

The second you open your mouth—to tease, to taunt, to goad him further—Caleb moves.

A sharp rip, fabric tearing in his fists, and then—bare skin.

You barely have time to gasp before he’s on you, yanking your hips back, his grip bruising, his cock grinding against your exposed heat with a low, wrecked groan.

“You think you can fuckin’ tease me?” His voice is all gravel, rough and edged with something dangerous as he spreads you with his fingers, feeling how fucking soaked you are for him. “Sit there, touching yourself, making me watch while I couldn’t do a damn thing?”

His other hand tangles in your hair, pulling you back just enough for his teeth to graze the shell of your ear.

“Guess what, pipsqueak,” he rasps, cock sliding through your slick folds, teasing, taunting, denying you for the first time all night—just to make a point. “You’re done being in charge.”

And then, without another word, he slams into you.

A broken, guttural moan tears from your lips as he buries himself to the hilt, stretching you open with one rough, merciless thrust.

Caleb lets out a sound that is more growl than groan, his fingers digging into your hips, his cock throbbing inside you, pulsing with pent-up frustration, with all the suffering you’ve put him through.

“Fuck,” he bites out, voice shaking, his chest heaving behind you. “You love this, don’t you?”

He drags out, slow—just to make you feel every inch of him—before he slams back in, making the table creak beneath you.

“Love winding me up,” he snarls, pounding into you, his grip bruising, holding you exactly where he wants you. “Love pushing me to the edge—”

Another rough thrust, deep and perfect, forcing a gasping, needy moan from your throat.

“—Just so I can fucking ruin you.”

The table rocks with every thrust, metal groaning beneath you, the interrogation room filled with nothing but the slick, messy sounds of him driving into you, claiming what you’ve been teasing him with all fucking night.

He leans over you, his breath hot at your neck, his voice wrecked, hungry.

“You wanted to see me snap?” His fingers tighten in your hair, tugging your head back so you can hear him growl against your ear.

“Hope you’re fucking ready for it.”

And then he slams into you harder, fucking you into the table like a man possessed, like he’s never going to stop.

Like you are his.

Caleb isn’t holding back anymore.

Every thrust slams you into the table, knocking the breath from your lungs, leaving you helpless beneath him. His grip is unrelenting—one hand anchored at your hip, keeping you exactly where he wants you, the other tangled in your hair, keeping you right on the edge of pleasure, right on the verge of falling apart.

The table groans beneath you, every hard, merciless thrust sending you forward, your fingers grasping at the cold metal, your moans spilling into the empty interrogation room, mixing with the filthy, wet sounds of him ruining you.

And fuck, he feels it—the way your body pulses around him, the way your thighs tremble, your legs barely holding you up anymore.

With a growl, he pulls out—leaving you gasping, aching, your body desperate for him—before flipping you fast, lifting you like you weigh nothing and laying you back on the table.

And then he’s on you again, spreading you open, thrusting back into you before you can even take a breath, tearing a wrecked, broken moan from your throat as he fills you again.

“Oh, fuck—” Your hands claw at his arms, your back arching, your body instinctively chasing his.

Caleb groans, watching the way you fall apart beneath him, the way your face twists in pleasure, your lips parting, your eyes half-lidded, drunk on the way he’s taking you apart.

“Look at you,” he rasps, voice low, wrecked, eyes burning as he fucks into you, drinking in every twitch, every gasp, every shake. “So fucking pretty when you’re ruined.”

His fingers find your throat, not squeezing, just holding, grounding you, keeping you right there beneath him. His other hand slips between you, fingers dragging through your slickness, pressing, rubbing, working you closer—faster.

Your body jerks, your thighs clenching around his hips, your voice breaking on a gasping, shuddering moan.

“Caleb—”

His grip tightens, his thrusts turning sloppy, desperate, as he watches you fall apart for him, your body shaking, pleasure crashing through you, your walls pulsing around him, squeezing him so fucking tight—

And then he’s gone, his own pleasure ripping through him, his body trembling, his head dropping against your neck as he buries himself deep, groaning as he spills into you, claiming you in every way you teased him with.

For a moment, neither of you move—just breathing, still shaking from it, still connected.

Then—Caleb lifts his head, his lavender eyes still dark, satisfied now, but still hungry.

A slow, lazy smirk curls at his lips.

“Interrogation’s over,” he murmurs, breath still ragged.

***

The room is quiet now, save for the slow, heavy breathing between you, the faint hum of the interrogation tape still rolling in the background. The air smells like sweat, like sex, like the mess you made together.

Caleb is still half on top of you, his broad, overheated body pressing you against the cool metal table. He hasn’t moved—not really. Just buried his face against your shoulder, breathing you in, his hands still idly roaming, fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns against your damp skin.

For a man who just snapped, who just fucked you like you were something to be conquered, he’s softer now, his touch lazy, grounding.

You sigh, stretching under him like a satisfied cat, fingers threading through his sweaty, tousled hair. “Feeling better, Colonel?”

Caleb huffs against your skin. “You’re a fucking menace,” he mutters, voice wrecked, but he still doesn’t move away. If anything, his grip tightens, his palm sliding slow over your hip, squeezing gently, reassuring.

You smirk, nails scratching lightly against his scalp. “Oh, come on. You needed it.”

He makes a grumbling noise but doesn’t argue—because you’re right. His breathing has steadied now, his body relaxing against yours, but his hands still won’t stop touching—running over your thighs, down your sides, soothing. You turn your head slightly, glancing at the clock on the far wall.

“Shit,” you murmur, lips twitching. “You’re supposed to be in that interrogation in, like… thirty minutes.”

Caleb freezes. His lavender eyes snap open, a slow blink, his brain clearly not fully caught up yet.

“The real interrogation?” he echoes, voice still gravelly from wrecking you over the table.

You bite your lip around a smile. “Mhm. This was just… prep.”

Silence. Caleb groans, dropping his forehead against your shoulder again, his entire body melting against you.

“Unbelievable,” he mutters, his breath warm against your skin. “You get me all worked up, completely fucking spent—and now I have to go sit through a debrief?”

You laugh, still lazily running your fingers through his hair. “Think of it as an endurance test.”

He growls—but it’s softer now, more amused than anything.

“Oh, you’re so lucky I love you.”

You grin, pressing a slow kiss to his temple, still basking in the warmth of him, the way his body still lingers against yours, wanting you close.

This wasn’t the first time you’d prepped him for an interrogation. Amongst all the grumbling, you knew deep down he loved it.

And you’d never tell him this, but you loved it too. 

[canonically47]

i saw a post (that must be from a WHILE back) calling connor autistic and i just haven’t been able to stop thinking about it

in addition to what they’ve said, i also want to point out some other things he does that can be considered symptoms of autism:

repetitive, self-soothing movements.

connor rubs his hands together or plays with a coin if you leave him idle, or in cutscenes. it is a form of self-regulating through repetitive and familiar actions. i think fixing his tie as often as he does can also fit into this.

additionally, there is a deleted scene in which he grabs onto his collar for comfort when amanda tries to override his control in the final mission.

inability to fit in with own kind (deviants – parallel with neurodivergent peers) but also with others (humans – parallel with neurotypical peers).

as mentioned, connor struggles to relate to and bond with hank – “i think working with an officer with personal issues is an added challenge” – despite being programmed to fit into ‘any kind of group’ (desc. from his gallery). he has difficulties understanding him and voices this to amanda.

however, he also struggles to relate to fellow deviants, or androids in general, and is very different from them. this could be partly because he is a prototype, but so is markus, and he blends in well. connor, meanwhile, had a very skewed perception of both humans and deviants (see: him picking the most dumbass outfit and pose to infiltrate jericho) and struggles to interact with them, appearing hesitant at all times (see: telling markus he understands if he decides not to trust him, sounding somewhat uncertain when proposing his plan to markus or north, his whole relationships with hank and gavin etc.)

misunderstanding or total lack of understanding of social cues, norms, or common sayings.

he displays confusion when hank says “you know where you can stick your instructions?” (“no. where?”) – which could be irony, but i read it as genuine. he has trouble interacting with people ‘normally’ and cannot emote properly, one proper example being how weird he smiles (see: awkward smiles when he talks to hank at the station the night after the interrogation, weird smile given to gavin when he does not understand his humor).

speaking of not understanding humor, not only does he find gavin unfunny, he also does not get hank’s gruesome humor (see: frowning when hank jokes “they must have really had it in for him”).

moreover, he speaks over hank (see: speaking over him in his house, thanking him for his cooperation while hank is yelling at him) without seeing it as ‘bad’ – lacking a social cue.

clear, sole focus on one single thing.

this is, of course, his mission, regardless of what it is: catching deviants (machine) or helping jericho (deviant). he always is troubled and/or upset if he fails it, and he doubts himself, is confused or disappointed when he lets androids go, and, if he explains himself, he visibly struggles in doing so: “it’s my fault, i should’ve been faster”, “i don’t know why i did it”, “there was no reason to shoot that android” etc.

sticking to routine or to familiarity.

connor does not get rid of his android uniform, nor LED, after deviating, as markus and kara do straight away. you can argue the other two do it out of need to blend in, but it is also something that frees them; connor does not take after them in this.

noticing small patterns or details other don’t

this is literally part of his programming LISTEN TO MEEEEEEE

while i don’t think all androids are neurodivergent, deviancy, in connor’s case, can be read as an allegory for neurodivergency, specifically autism.

connor always displays symptoms of deviancy regardless of your playthrough – he lies to hank in the stratford tower in ALL routes, this being a canon, non-choosable cutscene, and another solid example is fear. he expresses fear through gestures (see: flinching away from the stratford tower roof if he died from falling in the hostage chapter – fear of heights) or dialogue (see: discussing death with hank on the bridge: “nothing. there would be nothing”; being conflicted when amanda tells him he may replace him.)

machine connor is, thus, connor masking. he always has some humanity in him, but he shoves it away deep down when taking the path of a machine. he still gets frustrated (example: after his rifle stops working when he attempts to kill markus; swearing if the bomb is detonated following the deviants’ loss of the war), troubled/conflicted (example: “what’s going to happen to me?” and his little reactions when amanda presents him with rk900), and even appears sad (example: his reaction to hank’s suicide, his LED turning red, it appears as though he forces it back to blue.)

while i don’t think this is the intention of the writers, autistic connor is canon to me. he is android autistic. thank you

[cumironi]

I know you said no physical insecurities in your rules but would it be okay to request scar worship?? (It sounds rlly weird to type this out 💀), but like a Satoru and/or sugu just giving attention to old (sh) scars?? Sfw or nsfw I just never find fics with some comfort in that area 🙏❤️❤️

SCARS TO YOUR BEAUTIFUL : GETO SUGURU, GOJO SATORU

all scars and everything, you are still the most beautiful girl to your boyfriends. and they will always remind you, every single day until they leave no room for you to feel insecure.

warning. abuse mention, scars, very, very, very suggestive, gojo being perverted as always.

wc. | masterlist

growing up with your parents as higher-ups in the jujutsu world, life was anything but easy. they were known for their authority, their unyielding standards, and their strictness, especially when it came to you. mistakes were never an option. one mistake meant one new scar, a reminder of your failure and their punishment. your body was a canvas of their expectations, etched with marks of their disappointment, each scar telling a story of falling short in their eyes. it didn't matter how hard you tried, how much you pushed yourself—your best was never enough.

being the child of jujutsu higher-ups meant the pressure was relentless. they expected nothing less than perfection. you were supposed to be a mirror of their greatness, a reflection of their power and control. yet, no matter how much you tried to live up to their impossible standards, it always seemed like you were just one step behind. a test that wasn't aced, a cursed technique that wasn't mastered quickly enough—everything was a reason for punishment. their words were sharp, cutting deeper than the bruises or scars that littered your skin.

coming home was never something you looked forward to. every visit was like stepping into a battlefield, knowing you were likely to leave with fresh wounds. sometimes it was bruises, sometimes cuts—whatever they felt was fitting for the mistake you had made, no matter how minor. it was always justified in their eyes, framed as discipline. they believed they were shaping you into something stronger, but all it ever did was break you down, piece by piece.

that morning at school, you had just returned from another visit home. you walked through the doors, the familiar hallways closing in around you as you pulled your uniform tighter, trying to cover the fresh bruise on your cheek. it wasn’t just your face; your body ached from the newest round of punishment, though you tried your best to hide it. the bruises were a deep purple and blue, hidden beneath your clothes, but the one on your face was impossible to conceal, no matter how much you tried to keep your head down.

the higher-ups, your parents included, had told the school that you were ‘sick.’ it was their usual excuse, a cover for why you wouldn’t be attending classes that day. it wasn’t the first time. the staff knew better than to ask questions. they all knew who your parents were, knew the kind of authority they wielded. no one dared to cross them. so when they said you needed a free pass to skip class, the school complied without hesitation. no one pressed you for details, and in some ways, you were grateful for that. but the silence was suffocating too. no one ever asked what really happened. no one dared to step in.

you made your way to your dorm where you always went to hide, trying to keep your head down and avoid any curious glances. you didn’t want anyone to see, didn’t want to answer the questions that might come if someone noticed the bruises. but at the same time, a part of you wished someone would—someone who would actually care enough to ask, to do something about it.

as you sat down on the floor, the ache in your body intensified, a reminder of the night before. you could still hear their voices in your head, cold and disappointed, reminding you of how much of a failure you were in their eyes. they never said it outright, but their punishments spoke louder than any words could.

as you sat down on the floor of your dorm, the pain from the fresh bruises radiated through your body. you winced as you reached to pull off your shirt, trying your best to be gentle so as not to aggravate the soreness. your back, a canvas of bruises, scars, and pain, was fully exposed, each mark a reminder of years under your parents' heavy expectations. it wasn't the first time you had come back like this, and you knew it wouldn’t be the last. still, you always tried to keep it hidden, especially from those closest to you. the last thing you wanted was pity or questions you didn’t want to answer.

just as you were about to pull the shirt over your head, the dorm door swung open without warning. you froze, panic instantly flooding your body. you didn’t have to turn around to know who it was—there was only one person who would enter so casually. gojo's familiar voice filled the room, excited and light, like it always was when he saw you. “hey! guess what—” his voice cut off mid-sentence. the excitement drained from his tone, replaced by stunned silence.

geto, always more observant, had been right behind him, his usually calm demeanor now faltering as his eyes landed on your back. their eyes were glued to you, to the countless scars and bruises that decorated your skin. they'd never seen you without your shirt on. sure, they were your boyfriends, but you had always made sure to keep this part of yourself hidden from them. they had no idea about the scars, about the pain that came with them, or the story behind each one.

their silence was deafening, and you could feel the weight of their stares pressing down on you. your heart raced, and before they could say anything, you scrambled to grab the blanket beside you. with shaky hands, you pulled it over your body, shielding yourself from their shocked gazes.

“learn how to knock!” you screamed, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and embarrassment. you couldn’t bear to turn around and face them. the last thing you wanted was for them to see you like this, to see the side of you you had worked so hard to keep hidden. you didn’t want their pity, didn’t want to answer their questions, and most of all, you didn’t want them to look at you any differently than before.

but the silence stretched on, and you could feel their presence lingering in the doorway, neither of them knowing what to say.

“y/n…” gojo’s usually carefree voice was unusually quiet as he stood there, his eyes fixated on your trembling frame. never in his life had he seen you like this. he’d known there were scars, had seen subtle hints before. but this? this was different. this was a reality check he didn’t know he needed.

meanwhile, geto stood silently behind him, frozen in place. his eyes roved over the expanse of your exposed skin you weren't properly covered, a mix of horror and anger bubbling up inside of him. neither of them had ever expected this, had never really let themselves consider that your parents were abusive.

the silence in the room was deafening. gojo could feel the weight of the moment pressing against his chest, his heart heavy with a mix of shock, anger, and—yes, he could admit it now—pity. you weren’t looking at them, your body still hidden beneath the blanket, but the trembling of your shoulders told him everything he needed to know. you were hurt, scared, and he could do nothing but stand there, feeling like the biggest idiot in the world for not seeing it sooner.

your heart pounded in your chest, the weight of their silence pressing down on you. gojo’s voice, normally light and teasing, was now quiet—too quiet. hearing him like that made your stomach twist. you couldn’t look at him, couldn’t face the pity that was surely there in his eyes. and geto… he hadn’t said a word, but you could feel his gaze on you, sharp and burning. it made your skin crawl, your scars feeling even more exposed under their scrutiny.

the trembling of your shoulders grew worse, and you clenched the blanket tighter around you. they weren’t supposed to see this. no one was. they were supposed to laugh, to tease you about something stupid, not stand there in stunned silence, realizing the ugly truth you’d hidden for so long. you didn’t need their sympathy. you didn’t want it. and yet, the tension in the room was suffocating, their presence overwhelming.

“just go,” you whispered, your voice cracking slightly despite your efforts to stay strong. you didn’t want them here, not like this. not seeing you so vulnerable, so broken. but they didn’t move. you felt them still standing there, their heavy breaths filling the silence. your frustration boiled over, and you raised your voice, “i said, go!”

the words came out harsher than you intended, laced with anger and shame. you couldn’t stand it—their pity, the way gojo's usual carefree attitude was nowhere to be found, the way geto was too quiet, too still. you didn’t want to see whatever emotions were swirling in their eyes. you didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to explain.

the coldness in your voice stung gojo's heart in a way he hadn't expected. he'd always seen you as tough, able to handle anything they threw at you. but this was different. this was raw, real pain. and he'd never been more aware of his own ignorance.

geto, too, was wrestling with his emotions. he’d always prided himself on being able to read you better than anyone, but right now, he felt useless. he wanted to reach out, to hold you, to make it better—but he didn’t know how. the silence continued to stretch on.

gojo and geto were stuck in a limbo. they didn’t know what to do, what to say. a part of them desperately wanted to help, to fix it—but they knew they couldn’t just wave a magic wand and make your pain disappear.

finally, gojo took that cautious step forward, his heart ached in a way he wasn’t used to. this wasn’t something he could laugh off or tease you about. it was real—too real. seeing you like this, so broken, so vulnerable, tore him apart. he swallowed hard, pushing through the knot in his throat as he approached you.

“y/n…” he whispered again, softer this time, as if the words might break the fragile silence between you. without waiting for permission, he knelt down behind you, careful not to startle you. his usual confidence was gone, replaced by a deep sense of care and uncertainty. gently, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his warmth, his embrace cautious but firm, like he was trying to protect you from the very pain that had already hurt you.

his cheek rested against your back, and he could feel the tension in your body—the way you stiffened at first, trying to resist. but he didn’t let go. “oh, my baby…” the words slipped out, his voice barely above a whisper. there was no humor, no teasing like he usually did. this was different. all he wanted was to let you know he was there, that he saw you—really saw you—and wasn’t going anywhere.

his grip tightened just slightly, enough to hold you close but not enough to hurt. he could feel the scars beneath his cheek, the rough texture of skin that had been marked by years of abuse, and it made his chest tighten with anger—anger at the people who had done this to you, anger at himself for not knowing sooner.

“what… what are you doing?” you whispered, your voice trembling as you kept your eyes fixed on the floor, unable to turn around. the warmth of gojo’s arms wrapped around you gently from behind, his presence immediately soothing the chaos swirling inside you. his embrace was steady, familiar, and though he didn’t say anything at first, just feeling him there made the storm inside you calm ever so slightly.

“just here with you,” gojo murmured softly into your ear, his breath warm against your skin. he held you as if he could protect you from everything, his hands resting lightly on your sides, careful not to hurt you. his touch was careful, more delicate than usual, as if he was afraid to break you further. the warmth of his body pressed against yours felt grounding, like a lifeline pulling you back from the weight of everything.

suddenly, the door slammed shut with a loud thud, and you flinched at the sound, startled by the intensity. you didn’t have to turn around to know it was geto—his anger hung heavy in the air. the slam was full of frustration, not at you, but at the situation, at what you had been through without them knowing. he hated that you had been hiding this from them, that you had carried the burden alone.

without a word, geto knelt beside you on the floor. you could feel the tension radiating off him, but when he reached out to gently stroke your hair, his touch was the opposite of the storm raging inside him. it was soft, careful, meant to comfort rather than frighten. he shifted closer, tilting his head to meet your gaze, his hand moving to rest on your cheek.

the moment your eyes met his, something inside you shattered. his gaze was so soft, filled with concern, understanding, and something deeper that made the tears you had been holding back spill over. your breath hitched, and you tried to blink them away, but it was too late. the dam broke, and tears streamed down your face, silent but heavy with everything you had been holding in.

gojo and geto had never seen you like this, so raw, so fragile. it was a stark contrast to the strong facade you usually put on. but here, in this moment, there were no masks to hide behind. it broke their hearts to see you cry, to realize just how much pain you’d been in without them even knowing.

gojo felt like the biggest fool. all this time, he’d been blissfully ignorant, cracking jokes and teasing you about everything under the sun, while you were struggling with something so heavy, so painful.

geto was wrestling with a different set of emotions. anger, concern, sorrow—he was drowning in them all. all this time, he’d thought he knew you so well; he’d prided himself on his ability to understand you, to read beneath the surface. but he was wrong. he’d missed this—the scars, the pain, the whole world of trauma you’d been hiding from them.

gojo’s mind was racing. he wanted to say so many things—apologize for not noticing sooner, assure you they were here now, that they wouldn’t let anything hurt you again. but the words stuck in his throat, overpowered by the anger that was pooling in his stomach. how could he have missed this? how could he not have known?

since that day, they’ve been nothing but supportive, never prying or pushing for answers, but always there. they didn���t need to ask further, because they understood—every scar, every bruise carried a story, and they knew enough to know you’d share only when you were ready. they tried their best not to trigger those feelings or bring back the memories of your trauma. instead, they focused on making sure you knew one thing above all else: that to them, you were beautiful, inside and out.

they never missed a moment to remind you, whether through words or actions. they worshipped your scars as much as they worshipped you, tracing every mark on your body as if each one deserved to be honored. they would tell you how soft you felt, how warm your skin was, how beautiful you looked in their eyes—how, to them, you were everything.

like now, the three of you were laying on the cramped bed in your dorm, naked bodies tangled together in a mess of sheets and limbs. the bed was just right for you, but adding two boyfriends, both tall and broad like electric poles, made the space almost laughably small. not that you were complaining—you loved it. the closeness, the way you fit perfectly between them, feeling safe and cherished.

you lay nestled between them, your head resting on geto’s bare chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear. gojo was behind you, his warmth pressed against your back. his hand ran gently over your scars, his fingers tracing the faded lines and new bruises with a kind of reverence. he wasn’t trying to avoid them—he embraced them as part of you, as part of what made you you.

“god, you’re beautiful,” gojo murmured against your skin, his voice soft and filled with awe, like he still couldn’t believe he had you here with him. then, he leaned down and kissed your back, right where the scars were. it wasn’t out of pity, but out of pure adoration. his lips lingered, warm and soft, as if he was trying to kiss away every bit of pain that had ever been inflicted on you.

“yeah, absolutely stunning,” geto echoed, his hand stroking your hair, fingers carefully tangling in the strands, almost reverently. his touch was gentle, in stark contrast to his usual tough demeanor. but with you, he always softened, always seemed more gentle, more loving.

he met gojo’s eyes over your head, sharing a look of understanding. they both knew they couldn’t erase your past, couldn’t make the scars disappear. but they could make sure that from now on, every touch, every kiss would be filled with nothing but love, respect, and care.

geto could see it in gojo’s actions, in every gentle touch and every soft word—the way he loved you without flinching at the scars or the memories they represented. and he knew, without a doubt, that he felt the same.

“my baby, so beautiful,” geto whisper, kissing the top of your head.

gojo continued to kiss your back, his lips tracing over each scar, marking them with his love and adoration. he knew that each mark was a part of you, a piece of the journey that had led you to them. he mumbled against your skin, his voice raspy with emotion. “our darling girl. you’re perfect. every single part of you.”

geto’s hand moved down to your waist, gently pulling you closer against his body. he wanted you to feel all of them, every inch of their warmth and love.

he looked up from your head to meet gojo’s gaze again, a wordless conversation passing between them. they wouldn’t ask you to share more, not until you were ready. instead, they would show you every day, in every action and word, how much they accepted and loved you, scars and all.

you suddenly burst into soft laughter, the sound breaking through the peaceful silence of the moment. gojo had just kissed that one specific spot on your back—right where it always tickled, no matter how serious the moment. you wriggled slightly, trying to pull away, but gojo’s arms were already around you, his chest pressed against your back.

“toruuuu, that tickles,” you said through your laughter, dragging his name, almost whining, your voice a little breathless as you squirmed in his hold.

gojo smirked and held you tighter, pinning you in place against him. a mischievous gleam shone in his eyes as he purposely nuzzled his face where he knew you were ticklish, his scruff scratching your skin.

“awh, does it?” he teased, his voice dripping with feigned innocence. “my bad. i had no idea,” he said, his words followed by another kiss to the same spot. geto, who had been watching the scene unfold, couldn’t help but chuckle at your reaction. he knew gojo’s game well—the two of them had this banter down to a science. and he had to admit, seeing the way gojo could make you laugh and squirm like that was adorable.

he shifted slightly, his hand still on your waist, and leaned over to whisper into your ear, “you’re trapped now, you know that? escape is impossible.”

your soft laughter quickly turned into full-blown, uncontrollable giggles as gojo doubled down on his attack, his scruff lightly scratching against your skin as he kissed the same ticklish spot over and over. you squirmed against him, trying to get away, but he had you pinned tightly against him, refusing to let you go.

“satoru, stop!” you gasped between fits of laughter, your body wriggling as you tried to escape. but he wasn’t letting up, clearly enjoying watching you squirm and laugh.

gojo was absolutely loving this. your laughter was music to his ears, and seeing you so playfully helpless in his arms gave him a rush unlike anything else.

he shook his head, his smirk only growing wider as he continued his relentless barrage of gentle kisses and scruff-rubs against your back. “aw, come on, dollface. i’m just enjoying your adorable little squirming,” he teased, his tone oozing with faux-innocence.

geto was sitting to the side, an amused smile on his face at the sight of you struggling against gojo’s ticklish attack. he could relate—he’d been caught in that trap before many times.

“better accept your fate, love. you’re not going nowhere with this big idiot on you like that,” he chimed in, enjoying the show as he watched you wriggle and squirm in vain.

you were laughing so hard you could barely breathe, your whole body squirming in gojo’s arms as he kept up his playful assault. the more you struggled, the more determined he seemed to become, thoroughly enjoying your helplessness. “gojo, i swear—” you gasped between fits of laughter, your sides aching from how hard you were laughing.

his scruff tickled unbearably, and the teasing kisses were too much. you managed to squeak out between laughs, “i’m gonna piss myself if you don’t stop!”

when you threatened to pee, his eyes widened. “oh no no no, we definitely don’t want that,” he rushed out, quickly shifting his grip on you.

gojo chuckled and finally, finally let up, his lips leaving your back with one final kiss. he was feeling rather proud of himself for getting you to laugh this hard, a cheeky grin on his face. geto, next to you, couldn’t help but laugh at the duo. “oh yeah, you better stop right there, or you’re cleaning the bed by yourself.”

gojo made a show of grimacing at the threat, feigning despair. “oh, come on! I was just having a little bit of fun!”

he carefully moved you off his chest and settled you between him and geto, making sure you were comfortably nestled between them. his arm snaked around your shoulders, pulling you close against him, while his other hand reached out to playfully punch geto in the arm.

“thanks a lot, suguru. now you’ve gone and ruined my fun,” he grumbled, his expression clearly exaggerated.

but he couldn’t resist teasing you a bit more, his mischievous eyes locking with yours. “though i can think of a few other activities that might make you lose control like that,” he added with a sly wink.

you chuckled, your laughter finally calming as you shifted onto your side, turning to face gojo. the teasing glint in his eyes made you roll yours, but you couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. you leaned in closer, brushing your nose lightly against his before closing the gap between you with a soft kiss.

“you’re such a pervert,” you mumbled against his lips, the words playful, even affectionate.

gojo grinned against your kiss, clearly pleased with himself. you pulled back just a little, resting your forehead against his. “and for the record, we just finished,” you added with a smirk, “so i’m not gonna do that again, no matter how much you try to make me. no more sex.”

gojo groaned, his head falling back onto the pillow in defeat. his hand slid down your back, moving to your hip and giving it a gentle squeeze. “aww, come onnnnn,” he whined, looking up at you with puppy-dog eyes, trying to look like the epitome of innocence (which he’s far from ever being).

geto chimed in, chuckling at gojo’s plight. “you can’t blame him for trying,” he said with a smirk, “he’s just not good at denying his needs.”

gojo shot geto a mock-glare. “hey, i can definitely deny my needs,” he protested, pouting a little. “i just don’t see why i have to when i’ve got such a beautiful, available girl right here.”

he shifted slightly, pulling you closer against him. his arm wrapped around your waist, his touch possessive and gentle at the same time. “you really gonna leave a poor guy hanging?” he teased, batting his eyelashes at you.

you groaned, rolling your eyes at gojo’s dramatic display, his puppy-dog eyes doing nothing to sway you this time. “god, you’re such an animal,” you muttered, turning onto your back and pulling the sheet up to cover your naked body, playfully keeping yourself out of his reach.

gojo let out another melodramatic sigh and dramatically draped his arm over his eyes, as if he was about to lose his mind. “you’re killing me here, dollface. i’ll die without it, i swear.”

as you covered yourself up, blocking his access to your body, he pouted again, trying to look pitiful, but the effect was ruined by the amused twinkle in his eyes.

he shifted, his hand reaching out to gently tug at the edge of the sheet, attempting to pull it off you again. “come on, dollface, don’t be like that,” he whined, feigning a wounded expression. geto was watching the exchange with a mix of amusement and fond annoyance. “oh, you’ll live,” he said, rolling his eyes at his dramatic friend. “just give it a rest for five minutes, will you?”

gojo huffed, pouting dramatically and throwing geto a glare. “way to stick up for me,” he grumbled, his eyes shifting back to you, his expression now a playful mix of pleading and mock-desperation.

he reached out again, his hand running along your bare hip, fingers tracing gentle circles. “come on, dollface, pleeeasse? don’t be mean to me like this,” he pleaded, his voice thick with fake-anguish. geto let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “you’re pathetic,” he sighed fondly.

you sighed, slapping gojo’s hand lightly as it continued its slow, teasing circles on your hip. “i’m tired,” you said firmly, though your voice held a teasing edge. “you couldn’t stop last time, and i really don’t want to break my bed.”

gojo let out another melodramatic sigh, his hand stilling on your hip. he knew when he was beat, but that didn’t stop him from trying one last plea. “but dollface, i promise i’ll be gentle this time,” he pleaded, his eyes widening in mock-innocence. “i’ll be as quiet as a mouse, i swear.”

geto snorted, covering his mouth to hide his laughter. he knew gojo was just playing it up, but it was hard not to find the entire scene amusing.

you glanced at gojo sideways, unable to suppress the laugh that bubbled up from your chest. he looked so ridiculous with his wide, pleading eyes, trying his best to look innocent when you knew better. shaking your head, you let out a soft chuckle.

“you’re so stupid,” you teased, still laughing as you playfully pushed him away.

gojo made yet another melodramatic face, pretending to be heartbroken by your rejection. “aw, come on, dollface,” he whined, his bottom lip jutted out in an exaggerated pout. “don’t be like that. i’m practically a saint. i can be on my best behavior.”

geto shook his head, his face full of amusement. “yeah, and i’m the pope,” he added, skepticism dripping from his tone.

you turned your head to look at geto, the sound of his teasing remark sending you into a fit of laughter. it was too easy to get caught up in the playful banter, and the contrast between gojo’s melodrama and geto’s dry humor made it even more enjoyable.

“god, he’s so needy,” you muttered, shaking your head as you pressed your forehead against geto’s bare arm, relishing the warmth of his skin against your cheek.

gojo let out a huff, feigning offense at your words. “I’m not needy!” he protested, his voice brimming with faux-indignance. “I’m just very… passionate, that’s all.”

geto rolled his eyes, a smirk on his face. “yeah, passionate about getting between her legs,” he quipped wryly, earning a glare from gojo.

gojo crossed his arms, still playing the part of the offended party. “i’m wounded, truly,” he said, shaking his head dramatically. “i can’t believe you both would team up against me like this.”

he glanced over at you, his eyes softening a fraction. “especially you, dollface,” he added, his voice going slightly softer. “after all we just did, you still won’t give me any love?” geto chuckled again, clearly enjoying this little game. “maybe if you weren’t so damn horny all the time, she might be more interested,” he teased.

gojo shot a mock-glare at geto, feigning offense at his words. “hey, I have needs,” he protested weakly, trying to sound indignant but only coming across as even more needy.

geto just rolled his eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “yeah, like i said, you think with your dick,” he quipped back, not missing a beat. you couldn’t help but laugh at the exchange, your heart swelling with affection for them both, each in their own unique ways.

gojo muttered a sarcastic “thanks a lot” to geto under his breath, but his annoyance was only half-hearted.

he turned back to you, his eyes searching your face. “come on, dollface,” he pleaded, his voice taking on a more earnest tone. “just for a little while? i promise i’ll make you feel good.” geto chuckled, enjoying the banter but knowing this was always how it ended. he leaned back against the headboard, waiting to see how this scene would play out.

you shook your head, a teasing smile playing on your lips as you said, “no way,” your tone light but firm. then, feeling playful, you shifted slightly over gojo’s bare body, enjoying the way he squirmed beneath you.

with a determined focus, you reached over to your nightstand, opening the drawer and pulling out a joint. holding it up and wiggling it in front of his face, you grinned at his wide eyes, clearly intrigued. “how about this instead?” you suggested, your voice playful, knowing just how much he loved to unwind this way.

gojo’s expression changed from disappointment to excitement in an instant, the allure of the joint capturing his attention. “now that’s more like it!” he exclaimed, his earlier dramatics forgotten as he leaned in closer, eyes sparkling with mischief.

gojo’s eyes widened with excitement at the sight of the joint. he practically drooled like a dog seeing a bone.

geto chuckled from the side, shaking his head at his friend’s quick change of heart. “jeez, all it takes is a joint and you’re completely smitten?” he teased, a smirk on his face.

gojo shot him a glare, not even trying to deny the accusation. “hell yeah i am,” he replied, his voice thick with anticipation. “can’t blame a guy for appreciating the finer things in life.”

you leaned back against the headboard, pulling the blanket to cover your body snugly under your arms. the warmth of the fabric contrasted with the cool air of the room, making you feel cozy and safe.

as you settled in, you couldn’t help but chuckle at gojo’s antics. he turned around to lay on his stomach, his bare rear on full display, completely unbothered by his lack of clothing. it was an amusing sight, and you couldn’t resist teasing him a little, “nice, baby.”

he shot you a cheeky grin as he reached for the lighter on your nightstand, his excitement palpable. “what can i say? i like to keep things casual,” he replied, igniting the joint and taking a deep breath, the smoke curling up around him in lazy spirals.

geto chuckled at the sight of gojo’s unabashed lack of shame, his rear end just hanging out for the world to see. he shook his head, but a small smile played at the corners of his lips. he knew his friend was completely comfortable in his own skin, regardless of the situation.

geto reached over and snuggled closer to your side, wrapping his arm around your waist as he is watching gojo's casual display with a smirk. “you're such a shameless exhibitionist,” he teased, his voice tinged with amusement, shaking his head at his friend's lack of self-consciousness.

gojo, still laying on his stomach, shot geto a cheeky grin as he took a deep inhale from the joint. he exhaled, the smoke curling up around his head like a wispy halo.

you couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of gojo’s bare ass, your boyfriend completely unbothered by his state of undressing. “i don't mind tho, it's a good view from here,” you murmur, a small smirk tugging at the edge of your lips.

gojo turns to give you a cheeky grin, clearly pleased with the attention. he wiggles his rear a little, earning a snicker from geto. “see? like what you see?” he coos, his voice dripping with playful arrogance.

geto rolls his eyes at gojo’s antics, but there’s a hint of amusement in his expression. “you’re such a narcissist,” he teases, “always so full of yourself.”

gojo pouts a little, feigning offense at geto’s comment. “hey, it’s not narcissistic if it’s the truth,” he protests, taking another hit from the joint and letting out a long, lazy exhale. he looks back at you with a sly grin, his eyes filled with a mix of cockiness and playfulness. “right, dollface? you think i’m the hottest guy around?” he asks, clearly fishing for validation.

you couldn’t help but roll your eyes playfully at gojo’s antics, but his confidence was infectious. “oh, definitely,” you said, leaning down closer to him. as your lips brushed against his, you felt the mix of smoke and sweetness from the joint linger between you. it was a strange combination, but somehow, it felt right.

gojo’s eyes flutter shut as your lips move to meet his, a contented hum escaping his throat. the combined taste of the smoke and your sweetness is indeed a peculiar but strangely pleasant one. he responds to the kiss with a lazy, languid rhythm, clearly stoned and enjoying the sensation.

geto watches the display with an air of amused affection, his hand idly tracing small circles on your hip under the covers. it’s all so damn domestic and strangely... cozy.

gojo pulls back from the kiss, his eyes half-lidded and a lazy, lopsided smile on his face. “see?” he says, his voice slightly slurred, “a man who has nothing to hide has nothing to be ashamed of,” he said with a smirk, his voice slightly roughened by the smoke. “and i definitely have no shame when it comes to enjoying a good smoke.”

he gestured with the joint towards you, offering it. “want a hit, dollface?” he asked, his tone laced with casual nonchalance.

you took the joint from gojo, smirking as you brought it to your lips and inhaled, letting the smoke fill your lungs for a moment before releasing it in a slow exhale. the warmth spread through you, a nice contrast to the playful atmosphere in the room. “not bad,” you said, handing it over to geto, who took it with a knowing smile.

gojo watched you take the hit, a satisfied smirk on his face. he was always a little amused by how you looked when you smoked; there was something about the way your eyes half-lidded and a lazy smile crossed your face that he found strangely endearing.

geto chuckled as you handed him the joint, his fingers wrapping around the familiar shape of it. the sight of the three of you sharing smoke in the intimate space was weirdly soothing, like a comfortable routine that never gets old.

geto took a deep pull, his eyes shifting to you and gojo with a contented look on his face. he held the smoke in his lungs for a moment before exhaling, the smoke curling up around him like a lazy serpent, accompanied by a low, satisfied hum. “ah, nothing like a good smoke in good company,” he remarked, passing it back to gojo.

gojo took a deep hit from the joint, holding the smoke in for a moment before exhaling, the haze swirling around him as he turned to look at you.

his expression shifted to one of playful seriousness as he said, “baby, don’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything, but those scars on your back? they make you look so fucking hot.” he chuckled, a teasing glint in his eyes. “i swear, i’ll get a nosebleed every time i see it, especially when i fuck you from behind.”

a small shiver ran down your spine at his unexpected words, your cheeks flushing slightly at the bluntness of his comment.

geto chuckled from his position next to you, clearly unsurprised by gojo’s lack of tact. “way to be subtle,” he quipped with a shake of his head, his tone filled with fond sarcasm. gojo just smirked, clearly enjoying the reaction he got out of you. his eyes roamed over your body, as if to emphasize his earlier point.

he took another hit from the joint before passing it back to geto, his gaze still trained on you. “i’m just saying,” he said lazily, his voice low and slightly raspy, “seriously baby, you have no idea how goddamn hot you look with those scars,” he continued, his voice dropping a little lower as his gaze continued to roam over you. “it’s like... a visual reminder of your strength and resilience, y’know? plus, it’s pretty damn attractive when a girl has battle scars.” he paused, taking a moment to admire your figure under the thin sheet.

“and i can’t get enough of it,” he added, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of admiration and lust.

your heart raced a little at gojo’s words, warmth flooding through you as you felt a newfound sense of confidence blossoming within. you shifted slightly under the sheets, your cheeks tinted with a rosy hue as you caught his gaze, those bright eyes filled with sincerity.

“do you really think so?” you asked, your voice soft yet curious, a hint of vulnerability lacing your words. the way he spoke about your scars made you feel like they were more than just marks of your past; they were a testament to your strength, something you could wear with pride.

gojo’s expression softened as he caught the hint of vulnerability in your voice. he moved closer to you, his body mere inches away, and reached out to gently brush your hair away from your face with his free hand.

“oh definitely, dollface,” he said, his voice slightly rougher as he spoke, “it’s like... there’s no part of you that isn’t beautiful to me.” he took a moment to look you in the eyes, a sincere gaze in his own, and then his gaze roamed over your exposed body once more. “every part of you is perfect.”

“and those scars?” he added, his voice taking on a slightly more husky quality. “they’re just a reminder of what you’ve been through and what you’ve survived.”

he reached out to gently trace a finger over one of the scars on your back, his touch so light it sent a shiver through you. “they’re damn sexy,” he murmured, his words soft but filled with a hunger that bordered on primal.

geto watched the intimate exchange between you two with a small smile on his face, clearly enjoying the rare moment of sincerity from his friend. but he couldn’t help but roll his eyes a little as gojo shamelessly ogled your body once more. “god, you’re so damn obvious,” he teased, shaking his head at gojo’s blatant perusal.

gojo chuckled, not even bothering to deny it. “what can i say?” he replied, “i’m a visual learner when it comes to appreciating beauty.”

you couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh at both of their reactions, feeling a sense of comfort in the familiarity of their banter. gojo just gave a cheeky grin in reply, obviously unashamed of his blatant ogling. he took another hit from the joint before leaning slightly closer to you, his breath warm against your ear. “can you blame me, dollface? you’re like a goddamn work of art. i can’t help but want to look my fill.”

you couldn’t help but chuckle once again at gojo's unapologetic response. he had a way of making even the cheesiest lines sound charming, and his unabashed admiration for your body was both endearing and a little overwhelming.

“look at you, aren’t you just shameless,” you tease, fingers tracing his jaw but your eyes color with tenderness as you look down at you boyfriend.

geto just shook his head again, a smirk on his lips. “you're unbelievable,” he muttered, his tone filled with a mix of fondness and mild exasperation. “i swear, you never even try to hide how thirsty you are.”

gojo chuckled, the sound low and slightly raspy as he leaned into your touch. he had no regrets about his shamelessness, and he thoroughly enjoyed the way you reacted to his words. he let out a soft scoff at geto’s remark, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. “oh, don’t act like you’re any better,” he replied, his voice low and slightly challenging, as he looked over at the other man. “like you’re not just as thirsty for her.”

geto watched you take the joint from gojo, his gaze softening as the smoke curled from your lips. he took a slow breath before speaking, his voice calm but filled with a certain tenderness. “yeah, you’re right,” he said to gojo, locking eyes with you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “your scars… they do make you more beautiful. more real, more... you.”

he leaned forward slightly, resting his forearm on his knee as he continued, his tone growing more earnest. “i’m proud of you, you know? not just for surviving all the shit you've been through, but for the strength you show every day.” his eyes flickered with admiration as he glanced at your body beneath the thin sheet, not with lust but with genuine respect. “there aren’t a lot of people who could carry the kind of burdens you’ve had to bear, especially alone. but you did. and you came out of it even stronger.”

his words hung in the air, and the room felt warm, not just from the shared smoke but from the weight of his sincerity. “i admire that about you,” he added softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “you’ve never let any of it break you. that’s something not many can say.”

gojo’s smirk faded at geto’s words, his expression growing more solemn as the conversation took a more serious turn. he'd never heard his friend speak so openly and tenderly before, and it was surprisingly... refreshing.

he watched as geto spoke, a small pang of affection in his chest at the sincerity in the other man's words. he knew that while he might make suggestive and somewhat crude comments about your scars, it was mostly done out of a place of admiration and a desire to make you feel safe and desired.

gojo’s smirk faded at geto’s words, his expression growing more solemn as the conversation took a more serious turn. he’d never heard his friend speak so openly and tenderly before, and it was surprisingly... refreshing.

he watched as geto spoke, a small pang of affection in his chest at the sincerity in the other man’s words. he knew that while he might make suggestive and somewhat crude comments about your scars, it was mostly done out of a place of admiration and a desire to make you feel safe and desired.

your heart stirred at his words, a strange mix of emotions welling up inside you. you weren't used to this kind of sincerity, especially not when it came to your scars. you were used to people shying away from them, treating them like something shameful or ugly. but here, in this moment, geto was looking at them as if they were something beautiful. something worthy of admiration.

you found yourself searching for words, your mind momentarily muddled by the combination of the weed, the emotional weight of his words, and the gentle affection in his gaze.

you chuckled softly, shaking your head as you tried to deflect the weight of the moment with a lighthearted tease. “look at you two, getting all sentimental on me,” you said, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “are you sure you’re not just a couple of saps?”

gojo and geto exchanged amused glances, both of them chuckling softly at your attempt to lighten the mood. they could see through your playful facade, recognizing the vulnerability hidden beneath your teasing exterior. but they didn’t call you out on it, knowing that you needed your time to fully embrace those feelings.

geto let out a soft chuckle at your attempted jest, seeing right through the thin veil of humor. he knew you well enough by now to realize that this kind of sincere admiration and openness was a rarity in your life.

he reached out to take the joint from you, his fingers brushing against yours for just a moment, and took a deep, slow pull, inhaling the smoke and holding it in his lungs for a moment before exhaling. it was just to give himself a reason to look away from your face, which was a mixture of vulnerability and resilience that made his heart ache.

“you can call us saps all you want, dollface,” gojo said with a smirk, his eyes roaming over your body once more. “but you can’t change the fact that we’re both completely smitten with you.”

he leaned in a little closer, his expression a mix of sincerity and hunger. “we’ve told you before, and we’ll keep telling you until you believe it: you’re perfect just the way you are. scars and all.”

you couldn’t help but chuckle at his words, your gaze lingering on his bare form as you felt a playful spark ignite within you. “well, you’re perfect too, especially with that little display you’ve got going on right now,” you teased, your eyes flicking down to his bare rear, fully on display as he continues to laid on his stomach.

gojo let out a laugh at your comment, his eyes sparkling with amusement. he twisted slightly to look down at himself, giving you an even better view, and wiggled his rear a little. “what can i say?” he said with a cheeky shrug. “gotta show off my assets, don’t i?”

geto chuckled as well, rolling his eyes good-naturedly at gojo's antics. but he couldn't deny that he was enjoying the sight just as much as you. gojo was an attractive man, after all, and he knew it. “can’t even keep your dignity around your own girlfriend,” he said with a smirk.

he took another slow pull from the joint, his eyes fixed on the way your gaze roamed over his friend's body. he could see the hint of hunger in your eyes, the way your tongue wet your lips slightly without you even realizing it.

gojo chuckled again at geto's remark, his eyes flickering to you for a moment. he could see the way your lips had parted slightly, the way your gaze darkened with desire. he knew that look well, and it made his heart race a little.

he rolled onto his back, sprawling out on the bed and stretching his arms above his head with an exaggerated yawn. it was a deliberate move to give you an even better view of his body, to tease and toy with your desire.

a wave of embarrassment washed over you, prompting a frustrated groan to escape your lips as you tightly shut your eyes. “oh god,” you whispered, burying your face into geto’s shoulder in an attempt to shield yourself from the sight of gojo sprawled out bare before you— fully showing his naked body and his dick.

geto let out a deep, warm chuckle, clearly entertained by how easily you were flustered. “you’re so easy to embarrass,” he teased, taking another drag from the joint before leaning towards the window to release the smoke into the open air. he rested his arm against the window frame, casually letting the smoke drift away from your room.

gojo chuckled at your reaction, enjoying the way you tried to hide your face from him. he loved how easily he could make you blush, how a simple gesture or a few well-chosen words could make your cheeks flush and your heartbeat quicken.

he smirked at geto's cheeky comment, rolling onto his side to face you both. he propped himself up on his elbow and reached out to gently brush a strand of hair away from your face. “come on doll face, don’t act like you don’t love it.”

he glanced over at geto, who was exhaling the smoke out the window, then back at you. he couldn’t resist giving you another cheeky grin. “you’re acting like you’ve never seen me naked before.”

geto chuckled quietly at gojo’s words, the sound soft and amused. he knew just as well as gojo did how easily you could be flustered. but he also knew how much you craved the attention, how you loved the way they could both make your heart race and your cheeks flush.

he took another drag from the joint, inhaling deeply before releasing the smoke into the open air. his expression was casual, the epitome of cool, but there was an unmistakable spark in his eyes as he watched the interaction between you and gojo.

“you’re so damn shy,” he teased, shaking his head at your flustered expression. “it’s almost endearing how easily you get bashful.” you couldn’t help but roll your eyes playfully at geto’s teasing, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the heat rising in your cheeks. “i’m not shameless like you two,” you shot back, your tone light.

the teasing was a familiar back-and-forth, but it always managed to make your heart race a little faster. you appreciated their playful banter, even if it made you feel shy and bashful. the way they saw you, flaws and all, made it impossible to feel anything but grateful for their affection.

gojo chuckled at your retort, his smile widening. “hey now, there’s nothing wrong with being shameless. it’s a good quality to have,” he said, his tone laced with a hint of self-satisfaction.

he leaned over slightly to pinch your cheek playfully. “and you’re not exactly a blushing wallflower, doll face. don’t pretend you don’t like it when we pay attention to you.” geto smirked at the exchange, watching the way your skin pinked under their gazes.

“he’s got a point,” he chimed in, taking another pull from the joint. “you’re always getting all flustered.” he leaned back against the window frame, resting his forearm against the window sill. “it’s kind of cute.”

“you do love it when we give you attention,” he added, his voice low and filled with a knowing quality. “you can try to hide it all you want, but we both know how much you enjoy it when we look at you like this…”

as if to show exactly what he meant, his gaze travelled over your body once more, his eyes raking over your curves in an obvious, almost reverent way. “…like we can’t keep our hands off you, like we could devour you whole if we wanted…”

“like you’re the most beautiful thing we’ve ever seen…” gojo continued, his eyes tracing the same path as geto’s. his gaze darkened, the pupils widening slightly as he took in your figure, exposed to their sight.

he reached out to run a finger along your collarbone to the faded scars on your shoulder, the touch light and teasing. “like we can’t bear the thought of anyone else touching you except us…”

geto chuckled softly, watching the way gojo’s touch made you shiver slightly. he lifted the joint to his lips and took a long, slow pull, letting the smoke fill his lungs before exhaling it through his nostrils. he locked eyes with gojo, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “we’d do anything, i mean anything, to keep you all to ourselves.”

you leaned in closer, your fingers brushing against geto's wrist as you took a puff from his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin linger on your fingertips. after taking a long puff, you held the smoke in your lungs for a moment before exhaling slowly, the hazy cloud swirling between the three of you.

with a teasing smile, you turned your gaze back to geto, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “oh?” you asked, your voice is playful yet sincere. “are you both that desperate to keep me all to yourselves?” you could feel the tension in the air, a blend of teasing and genuine affection, and the way their eyes glimmered with mischief only added to the intoxicating atmosphere.

gojo chuckled in response, his voice a low rumble. “you damn right we are,” he said, his gaze flicking between you and geto, a hint of possessiveness in his tone. “we’d do whatever it takes, dollface. you’re just too damn good to share.” geto let out a soft scoff, his lips curving into a smirk. “he’s not wrong,” he said, his voice quiet and confident. “we’d do anything to make sure you’re ours, doll.”

he took another drag from the joint before offering it to gojo. “we won’t apologize for being greedy,” he added, his eyes locked on your face.

he could see the way your cheeks pinked at his words, the way your breath hitched slightly, and it only increased his desire to have you all to themselves. “we’ll do whatever it takes to keep you right here, between us, where you belong.” his hand slides behind you, fingers dancing on your back around your scars. “so beautiful,” he murmur, leaning down to kiss your bare shoulder without breaking eye contact.

gojo took the joint from geto’s hand, bringing it to his lips and inhaling deeply, the smoke filling his lungs. he exhaled slowly, the haze swirling around the room, before handing it back to geto.

he watched as geto’s mouth touched your skin, the way his lips caressed your scars with reverence. it was both tender and possessive, a claim that you belonged to them, scars and all.gojo’s fingers tangled with yours, his hand gripping yours tight.

“damn right we’re greedy,” he echoed, his voice soft but firm. “and we aren’t gonna apologize for it. you’re ours, doll face. ours to touch, ours to kiss, ours to love. and we ain’t gonna let anyone else have you. ever. especially after we saw you how attractive you are with that scars— god, only thinking about it making me hard.”

geto nodded in agreement, his eyes still fixed on your face. he took another draw from the joint, his gaze flickering over to gojo and then back to you. “he’s not wrong,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “seeing you like this, scars and all, it’s making us crazy.”

his hand brushed over your bare skin, tracing the faded marks on your back. “you’re so damn beautiful like this, doll. so real and so…” he paused, searching for the right word. “vulnerable.”

you let out a soft hum of satisfaction, the warmth of their words wrapping around you like a cozy blanket. feeling emboldened, you ran your fingers through gojo’s messy hair, enjoying the softness beneath your touch and the way he leaned into your hand, a contented smile spreading across his face.

“maybe breaking a bed wasn’t such a bad idea after all,” you teased, your voice laced with playful mischief. you glanced between the two of them, your heart swelling with affection. “after all, it seems like we’d all enjoy the chaos,” you added, your eyes sparkling with excitement and desire, knowing just how wild things could get between the three of you.

gojo chuckled, his eyes closing as he leaned into your touch. he loved the feeling of your fingers running through his hair, the way it made his skin tingle. “you always know how to push our buttons, dollface,” he said, a cheeky grin on his lips.

geto’s hand left your back to take another pull from the joint. he blew a stream of smoke into the air before handing it over to you. “you’re playing with fire, doll,” he warning, a hint of danger in his voice. “you know damn well how much we love your chaos.”

you let out a soft hum of agreement as you took the last hit from the joint, the smoke swirling around you, heightening the atmosphere in the room. with a flick of your wrist, you crushed the joint in the ashtray on your nightstand, feeling a rush of confidence.

turning your gaze back to gojo and geto, you smirked mischievously. “how about we close the window?” you suggested, your tone playful yet challenging. “let’s see just how well you two can break my bed.”

the excitement in your voice hung in the air, charged with the promise of the chaos that was about to unfold, and you could feel the tension shift as they exchanged glances, both of them clearly intrigued by the challenge you just laid out.

“oh, you’re playing dirty now,” gojo said with a smirk. he loved it when you got feisty and provocative. he sat up, stretching his arms out above his head and cracking his knuckles.

geto chuckled, his eyes darkening with desire as you issued your challenge. he returned the smirk, the same gleam of excitement in his eyes. he reached over to close the window with one swift motion, the air in the room suddenly feeling even more charged with tension. “you’ve got yourself a deal, doll,” he murmured. “let’s see how well we can live up to our reputation.”

they were on you in a heartbeat, their lips finding your skin and lips, claiming every inch of you. the tension in the room was palpable, the air thick with desire and anticipation.

they laid you down on the bed, their bodies pressing against yours from both sides, their hands roaming over your body with urgency. their touches were possessive, but also gentle, as they traced the scars on your skin with reverent touches.

“god, you’re so damn beautiful, dollface,” gojo murmured, his mouth attaching itself to your neck, his teeth grazing your flesh.

geto’s hand slipped down your body, his fingers tracing the outline of your figure. “sooooo goddamn perfect,” he agreed, his breath hot against your ear as his mouth moved to kiss your shoulder.

[subbmissivesuccubus]

Thinking of Uzui and Rengoku falling in love with you at first sight.

They're out on a mission, several demons sighted at a village and the number was so high they needed multiple people to come and fix the problem. Of course, it was a cake walk for the two of them. Their weapons flashing under the moonlight as it cut through the necks of their enemies like butter, demon after demon falling to their blade.

Despite the task being easy, it still took a few hours so by the time the job was done, they were a bit tuckered out. Every demon was slain- or so they thought.

A demon burst from the rubble, it's sharp claws aiming for Rengoku's face. It was too fast, neither of the Hashira able to react in time as the demon was but a centimeter away from clawing Rengoku's eyes out when you showed up.

Using your breath of Thunder, you cracked through the air like a lightning strike, covering ground within seconds as you managed to cut off the demon's arm before cutting its head off, saving your senior of any injury.

You put away your weapon as the demon disintegrated in front of you, bowing down respectfully to the two pillars, a ranking you hoped to reach one day. They recognized you, having seen you out and about before but this was the first time they'd seen you in action.

Both of their hearts skipped a beat. Beautiful, talented and powerful woman was a plenty within the demon slayer corporation but there was something about you that was just...different. Perhaps it was your kind heart in helping the wounded. Perhaps it was the confidence you carried yourself with. Perhaps it was because you were just too darn cute. But whatever the reason may be, they were enamored by you and couldn't keep their eyes off of you.

Once you helped the others in cleaning up and getting the wounded the help they need, you went back to the two Hashira who were strangely dazed.

"I shall get going now." you reported with a bow, "I'm glad I could be of service."

"Marry me." both of them said simultaneously.

"...huh?"

Thinking of Uzui and Rengoku roping you into sexual escapades as a form of 'training'

You had rejected their marriage proposal, stating that while you respected them, you didn't know them personally and didn't want a husband(s) that you weren't fond of.

They were respectful of that, stating that a great way to get to know each other would be through training. You thought it was unbelievable that two Hashira's were interested enough in you to take time of their schedules to train with you, much less want to marry you, but you decided to agree. Learning from the best would be an invaluable experience, afterall.

"I-I- thought you said we were gonna t-train!" You squealed, tossing your head back against the pillow as Uzui slid a second finger inside you, your pussy gushing around him.

You could barely recollect how you got here, a room in an inn, at the mercy of your two seniors. Your mind was a jumbled mess as their hands and lips attacked your body, hungry kisses against your neck while stripping you of your uniform. Time seemed to go by fast yet slow at the same time, eventually ending up on a bed with Rengoku sucking your breasts while Uzui made himself familiar with your pussy.

"It is training." the sound Hashira said with a smirk, curling his fingers inside you just right, making you gasp. He stuffed his fingers of his other hand into your mouth, making you choke.

"This is to help your technique." he said, "Control yourself and focus on your breathing."

As he said that, Rengoku's lips left your nipple, leaving it a saliva covered stiff bud before moving down and taking your clit into his mouth, making you scream around Uzui's fingers. Your body shook from the pleasure, never having experienced this before.

You knew their claim that this was for training was complete bullshit but dammit- you couldn't bring yourself to care.

Uzui was so deliciously huge compared to you. He was twice your size, his muscular body enveloping you completely as he toyed with your body with ease. His bulging muscles and washboard abs made you drool, your eyes wandering to his nether regions, pussy growing wetter when you saw a big bulge straining against his pants.

Rengoku ran hot, literally. His touch made you shiver as he ran his warm hands over your body, a comforting contrast to the way his hot tongue was assaulting your clit. He sucked on it like a candy, flicking it around before giving it a gentle nibble, making you squeal. With a physique just as impressive as Uzui's, his bright eyes filled with passion and desire made you feel dizzy.

"Focus." Uzui said with a click of his tongue, pushing his fingers further down your throat, making you gag, "you're getting distracted."

'I can't help it!' You tried to defend, but what came out was a bunch of gurgles and gags, unable to say anything.

"If you can't handle this," Rengoku said, giving your clit a sweet kiss before he straightened himself up, "what will you do if a demon attacks you and tries to choke you?"

"Exactly~" Uzui cooed, starting to move his fingers in and out of your throat, a slower rhythm from what he was doing to your cunt, "Bring your breathing under control and maybe, we'll let you cum~"

[withahappyrefrain]

for the lil prompt list: thinking of our beloved Bob and fixing the others clothing when something is a little bit off (particularly when it’s you doing it to him when he’s in uniform for one reason or another) he’d be so endeared by you :(

Stop he would!!! 😭😭😭

You couldn't have been prouder of Bob. After the mission at Top Gun, he and several others in the squad were being rewarded with a medal of honor.

It meant getting to support your boyfriend. As well as (selfishly) seeing him in uniform.

Bob liked to keep his work and personal life strictly separated. Coming home in his flight suit was a rarity. It was why he had yet to introduce you to his coworkers turned friends.

That and because selfishly, he didn't want to share you.

But today, your own desires triumphed over Bob's. Dressed in his Navy whites, chest adorned by the medals he had already received from previous deployments.

He always looked handsome, like a movie star from the Golden Age. But something about his slicked back hair, face stoic as he stood proud and tall, had you unable to focus on anything else besides Bob.

Once the ceremony ended and the honorees were free to mingle with loved ones, you became laser focused on getting to your boyfriend.

Due to the crowd of what had to be his coworkers, Bob wasn't able to see you waving as you walked towards him.

Your voice would just have to do.

"Bobby!"

Bob looked over Jake's shoulder to see you, an absolute vision in your sun dress, waving excitedly at him.

Ignoring the confused remarks from his colleagues, Bob practically pushed Jake aside, all but running over to you.

Seeing him for the first time in eight weeks had your self control thrown out the window. You threw your arms around his neck, nearly knocking over his hat as your lips pressed against his.

The medals were pressing against your skin but quite frankly, you couldn't find it in yourself to care. You were far too busy reveling in his kiss; his soft lips that were becoming reacquainted with yours, his large palms steadying your body since you all but threw yourself onto him, the delightful scent of sage flooding your nostrils once more.

Bob registered the gawking his coworkers were doing, but he didn't care. Eight weeks was a long time, particularly when he wasn't sure if he would come back from this mission.

He could only hope that you didn't feel the small ring-sized box that was in his pocket.

After breaking apart for much needed air, you beamed as you took him in; blue eyes shining brighter than the sun, his hat now sitting at an angle on his head, pink lips formed into a smile that could best be described as lovesick.

God you loved him.

"I'm so proud of you Bobby," you beamed, your fingers gently adjusting his hat, "and I'm glad others are recognizing how incredible you are."

Bob was at a loss for words, enamored by the way you mindlessly fixed his uniform as you sung his praises. It was an action you had always done, something you didn't even think about. In fact, it was that endearing gesture that caused you to meet Bob. And despite dating for such a long time, it made Bob's heart flutter every time.

You showed your love for him so effortlessly, pouring it into every action, no matter how small.

"Bobby?" You giggled, "You good?"

"Yeah," he chuckled, warmth flooding his body, "Just in love with you, that's all."

He made you want to kick your feet like a school girl. Instead, you settled for placing your hands on his upper back and pressing another loving kiss to his lips.

"Why don't we go meet your squad? I can hear their questions," you chuckled, knowing the team was currently arguing over how long you and Bob had been together.

Bob looked over, wincing at the sight of his coworkers arguing over an apparent bet about him. His grip on your waist tightened.

"Maybe not just yet. Don't want your first impression to be Bradley and Hangman arguing."

You simply smiled, fingers toying with one of his many medals, "That's fine."

Leaning in, your breath was hot on his ear, "Gives me more time to admire you in this uniform."

Maybe they would skip the meeting altogether and head straight home.

[nhmkhnh]

⋮ ⌗ ┆badge & backbends.

✄ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: abby x fem!reader ✄ 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄: she’s a decorated officer and you’re the reason her self-control gets dishonorably discharged. ✄ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: haiii i'm back with one of my drafts for tlou! umm it was quite freaky but, enjoy!  ✄ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒): lowercase, partly explicit content (minors & men dni) ⤷ 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: possessive!officer!abby ;; office siren!reader ;; power play ;; age gap (a: 35 ;; r: 25) ;; oral (r. receiving) ;; overstimulation ;; public teasing ;; manhandling ;; light choking ;; dirty talk ;; hair pulling. ⤷ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 3.3k

navigation.

the precinct isn’t made for this kind of distraction.

abby leans against the doorframe of your shared office space, arms crossed, her uniform half-unbuttoned and sweaty from the midday patrol. her tactical belt creaks slightly when she shifts. the ac is broken again, which means you’re in that slinky little blouse with the buttons that gape when you breathe too hard—something she’s painfully aware of.

and that skirt?

fuck. that skirt should be illegal.

"you wearing that on purpose, sweetheart?" she drawls lowly, eyes dragging down your legs. "or am i supposed to believe it's just a hot day?"

you smile without looking up from your laptop, lipstick a shade too dark for company dress code, fingers tapping leisurely.

"i don’t recall you being part of the dress code committee, officer," you murmur. "unless enforcement suddenly includes staring like that."

abby steps in. closer. enough to block the light from the window. her shadow swallows your desk, one hand bracing beside your keyboard.

"don’t start with me today," she says, voice rough. “i’ve got three reports overdue, a perp screaming bloody murder in the next room, and now you—sitting there like a goddamn problem i actually wanna deal with.”

you tilt your chin up slowly. "maybe i’m just being helpful. a little… stress relief?"

her jaw flexes. you catch the twitch in her arm like she wants to grab you. pin you.

instead, she huffs through her nose, backing up—barely.

“careful,” she mutters. “keep acting like that and i’ll take you in for interrogation.”

you bite your lip, then whisper as she turns:

"only if you promise to cuff me yourself."

she stops mid-step.

and that’s the first time abby anderson slams the door to the breakroom so hard the blinds fall off.

you’re laughing. again.

and it’s not with abby.

no, it’s with that new transfer—kyle something. the one who’s been hovering around your desk all week, dropping compliments like paperclips. today, he brings you coffee. your coffee order.

abby watches from across the bullpen, jaw tight, the knuckles on her crossed arms turning pale. her badge glints like a warning. the vein on her neck says more than any internal memo could.

you thank kyle. lightly touch his arm.

that’s the last straw.

when you turn back to your desk, abby’s already there. leaned over like a stormcloud, eyes flat, jaw locked.

"making friends?" she asks, voice syrupy but sharp. "didn’t realize the new guy was so… generous."

you blink innocently. “he just brought me coffee. it’s nothing.”

"nothing," she echoes flatly, stepping closer. the desk groans slightly under her palm. "you smile at me like that, and it means something. he gets it for free?"

you swallow. her jealousy is loud—a thunderstorm wrapped in muscle and badge authority.

"abby, we’re in the middle of the office," you whisper. "people are watching."

"let them," she says darkly. "let ‘em watch me remind you who’s been burning for you since the first damn day you strutted in here smelling like sin and paperwork."

your breath catches.

her voice dips lower. “you’re not his.”

"no," you murmur. “i’m not.”

a beat.

"but i’m not yours either."

silence.

then she leans in—too close, her breath hot on your cheek, her voice nothing more than a promise dipped in threat:

“keep teasing me, and i swear, i’ll change that by the end of tonight. badge on. lights off. you’ll forget his name by the time i’m done.”

you don’t smile this time.

you shiver.

it’s after hours.

the station hums low and empty, fluorescent lights buzzing like flies around secrets. you’re still at your desk—lipstick faded, hair slightly undone from a long day of looking irresistible without trying.

abby appears in front of you, a silhouette wrapped in midnight blue and frustration. her jaw ticks.

“come with me.”

you raise a brow. “what for?”

her eyes drag across you, from your smudged makeup to the slow cross of your legs.

“questioning.”

you laugh. “i haven’t committed a crime.”

she doesn’t blink. “not yet.”

she leads you down the hallway, boots echoing, until you’re in interrogation room b—a place made for confessions and heat. she flicks the lock.

you sit slowly. “so? what am i accused of, officer?”

abby leans on the table. her forearms tense. her voice drops like gravel over ice.

“being a damn menace.”

you tilt your head.

“menace?”

“you walk in here like you don’t know what you do to me. talk sweet to every cop in this building but look at me like i’m the one you want. you’re trying to make me lose control.”

your mouth parts.

“i’m just doing my job.”

her laugh is low. bitter.

“you know what i’d do if i didn’t have this badge between us?”

you don’t answer. you wait.

abby steps closer. real close. her thighs brush the table. she plants her hands beside you, bracketing your body in.

“i’d have you on this table so fast you’d forget your last name.”

you exhale shakily.

“there’s no camera in here, you know,” she murmurs. “no witnesses. just you, me… and all the questions i wanna ask your body.”

you grip the edge of the table.

she doesn’t touch you.

yet.

but her voice is all heat:

“tell me what you’ve been thinking about. say it. or i’ll make you beg for the right to say it.”

your voice is barely a whisper.

“you. i’ve been thinking about you.”

she exhales like that word hit her like a bulletproof vest cracking at the seams.

“good,” she growls. “now don’t move.”

you should’ve known she’d make you pay.

flirting all day. whispering honey-coated threats in her ear every time she walked past your desk. accidentally-on-purpose dropping your pen when she was nearby.

and now?

now she’s got you in the precinct’s gym after hours, sitting on the bench like a guilty little thing while she presses weights like it’s her full-time job.

tank top clinging to every flexed muscle.

skin glistening with sweat.

hair tied back in that messy bun that makes her look like she could lift the whole department if she wanted to.

she glances at you between reps, breathing heavy. “keep your eyes on me.”

you do. oh, you do.

"you wanna tease me during work hours," she pants, voice gruff with exertion, "then you're gonna sit there and learn what patience feels like."

you cross your legs tighter, squirming.

abby smirks.

“i see you fidgeting,” she says, not pausing. “should i tie you down next time so you stop moving?”

you choke slightly. “you wouldn’t.”

she drops the barbell onto its rack, steps toward you, looming with that slow, stalking walk of a lioness after her prey.

“oh, baby,” she murmurs, brushing sweat off her neck. “you have no idea what i’d do if i stopped pretending to be good.”

you breathe, sharp and needy.

she leans in, one hand beside your thigh on the bench.

“i could bend you right here. between sets. make you thank me for every second of it.”

your voice shakes. “we’re still on duty.”

she tilts her head, eyes dark with heat.

“i am on duty. you? you’re under it.”

it’s almost 2am.

the station lot is empty—except for her patrol car and the two of you inside it. she hasn’t turned the engine off yet. the low hum of the vehicle fills the silence between you like static.

she’s watching the road ahead, knuckles pale on the wheel. you’re sitting in the passenger seat, legs crossed, her jacket draped over your thighs like a makeshift boundary.

she hasn’t said a word in five minutes.

"you gonna keep brooding, anderson?" you tease softly.

she finally turns. looks at you.

“no,” she murmurs. “just trying to be good.”

you smirk. “since when?”

a sharp breath.

“i’m trying not to kiss you.”

the car suddenly feels smaller.

“you afraid it’ll ruin your badge?” you whisper, voice playful—but your chest aches a little.

“no,” she says. “i’m afraid it’ll ruin you.”

silence again.

you shift slightly, the jacket sliding off your lap. her eyes drop. she sees how your skirt’s ridden up. how your thighs press together.

“you sure,” she growls, voice lower now, “you wanna say goodnight here?”

you lean closer. "depends. you gonna cuff me again?"

her hand flies to the gear stick—but she doesn’t drive off.

instead, she throws the car into park, turns sharply, and grabs your jaw gently but firmly.

“ten seconds,” she breathes, lips ghosting yours. “that’s all i’m giving myself.”

you don’t even have time to respond before her mouth crashes into yours—hungry, hard, helpless.

nine.

eight.

her fingers thread into your hair.

seven.

your seatbelt is undone.

six.

her hand slides up your thigh.

five.

her badge clinks faintly against your cheek.

four.

you’re moaning.

three.

you’re grinding into her hand, barely thinking.

two.

you whisper her name like a sin.

one.

she pulls back, panting.

and drives you home in silence—hand trembling on the wheel, yours still on her thigh.

“locker room’s restricted, sweetheart.”

abby’s voice slices through the steamy air like a blade, low and ragged from her patrol. you’re halfway through the door, paused, holding a pen you swear you needed from her locker.

but it drops from your hand.

because she’s standing there—just standing, hair messy, skin still flushed from the field, wearing nothing but a black sports bra and regulation briefs. her abs flex when she shifts. there’s a towel slung over her shoulder like she’s been waiting to be worshipped.

you blink.

“i knocked,” you say weakly.

her eyebrow raises. “did you?”

a pause. she smirks.

“guess i was too busy getting out of my gear to notice. that why you really came in? to catch a show?”

you open your mouth—nothing comes out.

she steps closer, slow, predatory. her body glistens slightly under the overhead light. steam from the shower still curls through the air like temptation.

“didn’t know you had clearance for this room,” she murmurs, stopping right in front of you. “unless you’re trying to get yourself in trouble.”

you stare up at her. your voice is small.

“maybe i am.”

her eyes flicker. something shifts. dangerous. dark. delicious.

“careful,” she breathes, nose brushing yours. “you play like that, i’ll start thinking you want to get caught.”

a beat.

her fingers ghost over your waist, not quite touching.

“i could press you right up against these lockers,” she whispers. “no one would hear.”

you tremble.

but she pulls back. doesn’t touch. just grabs the towel off her shoulder and wipes her jaw with it, muscles flexing.

then—casually—“you can take the pen.”

you blink, breathless.

she walks away, hips slow and smug.

the conference room is silent.

chief is talking. some boring report about precinct logistics, budget reallocations, something-something narcotics division. you’re seated across the long table, innocently taking notes—bent forward, elbows resting, blouse slightly open from how you moved earlier.

and abby?

abby’s gripping her pen like a weapon.

her thighs are spread just slightly too wide for comfort, her knee bouncing with every word you don’t say. her jaw’s tight. you haven’t looked at her once in twenty minutes, but you know—know—she’s watching.

then you stretch.

just a little.

her grip tightens.

you finally glance up. eyes meet.

she mouths, slowly, like a promise:

“fix. your. buttons.”

you smile. purposefully don’t.

she breathes out hard through her nose. her hand fists the folder in front of her.

when the chief calls for suggestions, you speak.

soft, measured. head tilted. tone sweet as poison.

“i think we should ask officer anderson’s opinion. she’s very… attentive.”

abby coughs. loud. everyone turns.

she clears her throat. “i—uh. i think we need… backup.”

people nod.

you cross your legs slowly. her eyes snap to the motion.

when the meeting ends, she stays seated. everyone leaves. you linger last.

as you walk by, she grabs your wrist under the table. hard. hot.

“you expect me to focus when you sit like that?”

you lean down beside her ear, whispering:

“you like that i test your control.”

she doesn’t let go.

but she doesn’t pull you closer either.

she just breathes like she’s been holding it the whole damn hour.

rain’s coming down in sheets.

you and abby slam the back door of the precinct shut, breathless and soaked, rain dripping off your lashes, your clothes clinging to skin like second skin. her uniform shirt is plastered to her chest, revealing every line of sculpted muscle beneath. your blouse? practically see-through now.

you’re both panting.

you giggle, wiping your arms. “that was fun.”

she looks at you.

hard.

like you just handed her a loaded weapon and dared her to pull the trigger.

“i should arrest you,” she growls.

you blink. “for what?”

she steps closer. water trailing down her neck.

“for being out in public looking like that.”

you laugh. “you act like it’s my fault the rain hit me harder than you.”

she corners you against the wall, dripping, breathing heavy. her hand lands on the wall beside your head.

“you’re doing it again.”

“what?”

“that thing where you pretend you don’t know how bad i want you.”

your smile fades.

her eyes dip to your chest, your lips, back to your eyes.

“i’ve been good,” she whispers, voice trembling with restraint. “so good. but right now, you're wet, cold, and looking at me like you want me to fuck up.”

you whisper, “maybe i do.”

and then she slams the side of her fist against the wall beside you—not in anger, but in desperation. holding herself back.

“you think i don’t want to touch you right here, right now? press you against this damn wall, make you scream my name while the rain drowns out the noise?”

you shiver.

“i think you do.”

abby leans in.

hot breath, cool air.

“but if i start,” she whispers, lips brushing yours, “i won’t stop at just warming you up.”

and then?

she backs away.

walks off.

leaving you wet. cold.

and aching.

the couch in abby’s office isn’t comfortable.

but her sweatshirt smells like her, and her jacket is warm, and you’re exhausted. so when she said “just crash here if you want,” you didn’t argue. just curled up like a kitten and knocked out.

now it’s 2:37 a.m.

you wake to soft breathing.

the office lamp’s still on. the rain’s still falling. and abby—

abby’s sitting at her desk, legs spread, arms resting on her knees, just watching you.

eyes unreadable.

"you always breathe that soft when you sleep?" she murmurs.

you blink. “how long have you been—?”

“long enough.”

she leans back, eyes dragging over you like she’s memorizing the curve of your sleep-rumpled body.

“you talk in your sleep too,” she adds, voice quieter now. “said my name.”

your cheeks flush. “maybe i was dreaming.”

“yeah?” she rasps. “were you dreaming about me touching you?”

you don't respond.

she stands slowly. walks over. kneels beside the couch, face close, breath hot on your cheek.

"you know what i hate the most about this game?" she whispers. “that every time i don’t touch you, it feels like i’m losing.”

you whisper back, “then lose.”

her eyes flutter shut for half a second.

but then she pulls back.

barely.

her voice is hoarse when she says:

“you’re lucky i’m still trying to be good.”

you reach for her hand, wrap your fingers around hers.

“maybe i’m not.”

her grip tightens.

she doesn’t kiss you.

but she doesn’t leave.

she stays there.

holding your hand.

breathing like she just ran a mile.

it starts with the door clicking shut.

no warning. just the quiet snick of the lock sliding into place.

you glance up, startled—only to find abby standing with her back against it, breathing like she’s been holding something in for months. her eyes are wild. jaw clenched. her badge is still clipped to her chest but her shirt’s unbuttoned halfway down, collar tugged wide like she couldn’t breathe right.

“i’m done,” she rasps.

your pulse spikes. “with what?”

“with pretending i don’t want to pin you against this fucking desk.”

she crosses the room in three strides, every movement heat and tension wound to the edge. you try to speak—something coy, something deflecting—but she grabs your waist and lifts you effortlessly, slamming you down onto your desk with a thud that rattles the pens.

“i’ve been good,” she growls, voice like gravel. “you know how hard that was? watching you strut around like some office siren with no leash on?”

her hand wraps around your throat—firm, not tight. just enough to make you freeze.

“you wore that blouse on purpose. you leaned over the copier on purpose. you bit your lip in front of me on purpose.”

you moan softly. “maybe.”

her eyes burn. “you asked for this.”

she leans in—kisses you hard. it’s teeth and heat and breathless hunger. her tongue claims yours like it’s been aching for weeks. her hands slide down, gripping your thighs and yanking you forward so your hips hit the edge of the desk, sharp and needy.

“take it off,” she snaps, tugging your blouse apart. buttons scatter.

you gasp. “abby—”

“off.”

you strip quickly. she watches. her jaw twitches when your bra hits the floor. she drops to her knees without a word.

“open.”

you hesitate—she slaps your thigh, sharp but not cruel. just enough to make your legs fall open on instinct.

and then?

her mouth.

warm. wet. ruining.

her tongue works with ruthless focus—slow licks at first, then faster, relentless, building. you grab at her hair. she groans into you, arms wrapped under your thighs to lock you in place. you’re whining now, trying to hold it in—until she sucks your clit like she’s punishing you for every smile you ever threw at someone else.

you come fast and hard, trembling against her face, gasping her name.

but she doesn’t stop.

you push at her shoulders—“abby—please—too much—” and she just growls against you:

“not done.”

she rises, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. her lips are swollen. her eyes feral.

“you gonna be good for me?” she says low, already undoing her pants. “or do i need to teach you what happens when you tease a cop for ten fucking weeks?”

you nod—wrecked, dazed.

too late.

she grabs your hips, flips you over the desk.

bends you.

and pushes in.

you scream.

she’s big. thick. filling you with one brutal thrust that knocks the breath from your lungs. her hands pin your wrists to the desk, her chest pressed to your back.

“you wanted this,” she growls in your ear, slamming into you again.

“i know,” you whimper.

“say it.”

“i wanted you—”

“louder.”

“i wanted you—so bad—abby—”

she pounds into you, fast and punishing, the desk creaking beneath your weight. your breath fogs the cold surface. her hand sneaks between your thighs again—circling your clit, keeping you right on the edge while her hips hammer you deeper.

your second orgasm crashes into you like a bullet—loud, soaking, shaking.

but she doesn’t stop until she’s buried inside, pulsing, groaning your name against your shoulder as she empties herself into you.

silence.

just breathing.

your legs barely work when she pulls out. she catches you before you collapse, cradles you back into her lap on the floor, still trembling.

she brushes damp hair from your face, kisses your temple, and murmurs:

“next time? don’t wait so long to beg.”

[pneumaticshift]

Ok, idea if you’re interested:

Established batlantern; Bruce’s kids actually upset Bruce (hurt feelings kind of way, not angry kind of way) enough that he leaves the room and suddenly the normally super chill hands off pseudo step dad is MAD and that military background is really shining through.

Love your work, hope you’re having a good day❤️

Oh gosh, this was actually really hard to write. Serious things aren't my forte, but I tried my best. It might have ended up a bit more introspective than I intended, but I had fun writing it. Thanks for the prompt. 💚💚

———

It had taken Damian his entire life to come and claim the place that had always been his by blood. Ten years of training, of discipline, of proving himself worthy. Ten years of waiting for the moment when he could finally step up and take what was his. Not by chance or circumstance, but by design. 

Mother had sent him for her own reasons, but Damian was not merely an envoy of her will. He had not come to Gotham as a child to be battered between warlords, but as a son. The son. 

His father had accepted him, as Damian knew he would. How could he not? Damian was an excellent warrior, after all, and now doubt he would be the perfect addition to this war on crime Father seemed so insistent upon waging. It would have been an insult to logic itself for him to be denied his rightful place.

So Damian had come to Gotham. It had not been long since Mother delivered him, but after a few weeks of being granted entry into the world Batman built, Damian was beginning to understand something that perhaps unsettled him far more than it should have. 

There was a hierarchy here, and he was not at the top. 

It was a strange, tangled thing, this household. A collection of contradictions stitched together by duty, the weakness of grief, and something a little more that Damian had not yet found a name for. 

Father was not unlike Grandfather in that way. He amassed his own warriors and loyalists. He trained them and shaped them and bound them to his cause. Damian would have respected his methods, if not for the fact that where Grandfather’s forces were an army, sharpened and efficient, Father’s were something else. Soldiers, certainly, but also something messier. Something weaker.  

Grayson and Drake called themselves sons not of Batman, but of Bruce Wayne. They wore the title like it belonged to them, like they had earned it. But they were both missing the blood ties Damian could boast. He was set apart from the others in that regard, which should have given him Father’s favour. 

Blood was supposed to mean more. 

It wasn’t much of a problem. Damian had proven himself once before and could do so again. Father just had different standards that he’d have to learn. 

Which would have been a straightforward task if he had any idea of what Father’s standards were. 

He knew he would doubtlessly expect perfection in the field. Precision, control, efficiency. Those were things Damian had been honed for. The mission had rules he understood. The Manor did not. 

Father was making plans to send him to school next year — after he had ‘adjusted’ to the…family. The word itself felt foreign, like a uniform he had yet to be fitted for. He had expected battle strategy, tactical drills, rigorous assessments of his skill set. Instead, Father spoke of integration.

Pretenders to the mantle weren’t the only thing Damian had to contend with, because Father had a paramour. 

It wasn’t something Damian had expected. He was not naïve, he had known that Father must have taken lovers at some point, but it had come as a surprise somehow. It was…undesirable, he realised. A complication he hadn’t accounted for. 

He had carried, perhaps foolishly, the assumption that Father would eventually return to Mother. That once Damian had proven himself, once he had secured his rightful place at Father’s side, the distractions would fall away. That they would be whole, as they were meant to be.

A very childish notion. He brushed it aside. 

Regardless of his feelings on the matter, it didn’t change the fact that Father’s lover was a fool. 

Harold ‘Hal’ Jordan was reckless and undisciplined. He carried himself flippantly, like he had never needed to face true consequences in his life. He spoke in quips, in irreverent asides, as if nothing in the world was serious enough to warrant any kind of gravity. 

Damian had researched this Jordan person, of course, but the intelligence he received was unsatisfactory.

Oh, there were accolades. Too many accolades. The Greatest Green Lantern, a war hero, a strategist, a leader. There were classified files, buried records of missions that should have ended in disaster but, somehow, did not. 

It was all information verified by Father’s sources, but Damian struggled to reconcile it. The man in those reports — the disciplined officer, the fearless tactician, the warrior — was not the man Damian saw lounging in the Batcave, making idle conversation with Alfred, daring to tease Father.

It was a test, Damian decided. Just like dealing with his new so-called siblings. 

Of these siblings, there had been three. Damian had only met two.

The memorial erected in the Batcave was a stain on the legacy. It was a mark of failure. A Robin who was incompetent enough to die. Damian had thought it absurd when he first saw it, this shrine to incompetence. It was the suit encased in class, preserved as if it were a revered artefact instead of a mortal reminder of deficiency.

The League did not honor the weak. It made no sense that the Batman would do so. 

“Damian, are you alright?”

Instinctively, Damian straightened up at the sound of his father’s voice. He had been taking advantage of the cave’s training facilities while Grayson was elsewhere, sparing himself the strange attempts at bonding. He had already cycled through multiple regimens, and had allowed himself a moment of respite. Which he spent staring at Jason Todd’s memorial. 

“I am fine, Father,” he answered, controlling his breath despite the exertion. He would not show even the slightest sign of fatigue as Father approached. 

“What are you—” Father cut himself off as he realised what Damian had been appraising. 

He watched as his father’s expression shifted. It wasn’t dramatic. Father was not the kind of man who wore his heart so easily on his sleeve — save for the very sappy looks he would sometimes send towards Jordan (which, Damian found particularly disgusting). In the weeks he’d been a resident in Gotham, he learnt to decipher the subtleties of his father’s expression. There was a slight tightening around his mouth and his shoulders drew up as if he was suddenly bracing himself for weight. A reaction, however small. 

Behind them, Jordan was loitering by the Batcomputer. Casual, far too bright and completely out of place in Father’s domain. He, like Father, was not in uniform. That meant this was a social visit, which likely meant Lantern was staying the night. Damian contained his grimace and focussed on Father instead. 

“It’s an odd thing,” he remarked. He felt Father’s attention sharpen onto him, but neither of them looked away from the glass case. “You have no memorials for the many others who have fallen in this city, but you would give this failure a place of honour.”

Father drew in a sharp breath, and that puzzled Damian. The logic was sound. This Jason Todd, the second so-called son, had taken up the mantle and had died for his efforts. That was proof of incompetence. It was proof that he had not been worthy. Damian would never be so inadequate. 

When Father spoke, his voice was quiet. “Jason wasn’t a failure,” he said.”

“He was weak enough to be killed,” Damian replied evenly. “That is his failure."

He realised too late that the air between them had thickened. It was not rage. If it had been, perhaps he would have understood it better. No, no. This was something colder. Deeper. Something uncomfortable that made the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. 

Father did not look at him, and for the first time since Damian arrived in Gotham, he had the distinct feeling that he had truly misstepped. “It wasn’t Jason’s failure,” Father said. And, without turning or saying anything more, he turned to leave the cave. 

Another test, maybe. One that Damian had just failed, and failure was unacceptable. He watched Father leave, a little surprised and a little taken aback, but he would not be so sentimental as to follow him out to try and beg for a redo. He would do better next time, he resolved. If only he knew what Father wanted from him. 

“Alright, fall in.”

The order from behind came so abruptly and so sharply that Damian’s whole body reacted before his mind could catch up. His spine straightened, his shoulders locked into place, and he instinctively awaited his next command. It was only after he had obeyed that he realised what happened. His head snapped around with a scowl. 

Jordan.

The Lantern was no longer lounging by the Batcomputer. He stood rigid, shoulder squared, and all of the playfully irreverence Damian had come to expect from him was now completely absent. His expression was unreadable. Not cold, but firm in a way Damian had never seen from him before.  

“I don’t take orders from you,” Damian said. 

“Right now, you do. So stand up straight and listen up.”

Damian bristled and curled his hands into fists at his sides. He could not accept such an insult from someone so beneath him. He had faced down masters of the craft, warriors bred for battle, men who would have slit his throat for the smallest error. Harold Jordan was none of those things. He was an undisciplined, reckless, fool of a man who laughed in the face of rules.

But, inexplicably, when he commanded, Damian listened. 

He hadn’t realised how tall Jordan was until he was directly in front of him. “You think you get it, don’t you?” Jordan said sharply. “You think because you’ve been trained by your murder-death cult, because you can kill a man twice your size, because you’ve survived your own war, that you understand what loss means.”

“I do underst—”

“I didn’t say you could speak yet.” Damian automatically shut his mouth. “You don’t understand loss. You understand death. There’s a difference.”

There was no levity there. Just something brutally steady. Damian was not used to this version of Jordan. 

“I’m gonna cut you some slack because you don’t know any better, but I’m not gonna let you run your mouth. So you’re going to stand there, and you’re going to listen to me, got it?”

“...Yes.” It was a very near thing, Damian realised in horror, not to tag ‘sir’ on the end of it. 

“You’re so trapped in your way of thinking that you think loss is about failing to stay alive,” Jordan went on. “You really think survival is the only thing that matters? That the dead don’t mean anything just because they’re gone?”

Damian’s lips parted, but he didn’t get a word out.

���Let me tell you something, Junior.” Jordan’s voice was quieter now, but no softer. “The dead don’t go away. They don’t just disappear because you weren’t strong enough to hold onto them. They stay. Right here.” He tapped his fingers against Damian’s chest, and Damian didn’t quite understand why he allowed the insult to go unpunished. 

Jordan continued. “They sit with you. They follow you. You carry them in the things you could have done differently, in the things you didn’t do at all.” His eyes flicked toward the glass case, just for a second, before settling back on Damian. “That’s what happens when someone you love dies. You get it?”

Damian did not get it and Jordan seemed to notice that. 

“You think Jason was weak ‘cause he died, right?”

“Survival dictates strength,” Damian said, but even as he said it, it sounded like a regurgitation. 

“No, survival is happenstance. You can be the best fighter in the world and it still won’t be enough. Sometimes, you don’t even get the chance to be enough. Sometimes you don’t get to fight your way out. Jason wasn’t weak. He was just a kid, just like you.”

“He is nothing like me.”

“There aren’t many kids like you,” Jordan said, his voice falling back to his usual state for just a moment before he snapped it back to the firm, uncomfortable cadence. “Jason didn’t die because he wasn’t good enough. He died because someone stronger decided he should.” He looked at Damian seriously. “Now, what do you think that did to someone who loved him?”

Damian didn’t know the answer. 

Or, rather, he knew what he was supposed to say. There was some saccharine answer that would have stopped the conversation here and now. Something about empathy and feelings and all that terrifying weakness he had been trained against. 

But the moment he opened his mouth, nothing came out. 

Jordan’s gaze didn’t wave. It didn’t soften, but there was no gloating or arrogance in it either. Just something unforgivingly steady, like a commander delivering a briefing nobody wanted to hear. 

“I fail to see the relevance of this line of questioning,” Damian said finally. 

Jordan let out a soft sigh. “Yeah, that’s the problem.”

He took a step back then, some of the weight in his stance easing, but the atmosphere in the cave didn’t change. It was still heavy, still pressing down on Damian’s chest, still lingering like something unfinished.

Jordan sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face before looking at him again, less like an adversary, more like — Damian wasn’t sure. He was…unsettled by this turn of events. 

“I don’t expect you to get it,” he admitted. “Not yet. You will, though. But I want you to understand something, Damian. Are you listening to me?”

Damian nodded stiffly. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to listen, but he did so instinctively anyway — just as he would listen to Grandfather or Mother when it came to instruction. Jorgan had a way of commanding attention that Damian was only just now beginning to recognise. 

“Your old man is one of the toughest, strongest bastards I’ve ever met,” Jordan said. Despite the dressing down, Damian couldn’t help the burst of instinctive pride. “And he still wakes up every goddamn day carrying that kid’s death on his shoulders.”

“But—”

“Do you think your dad is a failure?”

“No. I think—”

“So you think he’s strong?”

“Of course. He is the Batman.”

“Yeah, well, all that strength didn’t mean shit when he lost Jason.” 

“That was different.”

“How?” Jordan shot back immediately. “Explain it to me.”

Damian forced himself not to shuffle uncomfortably where he stood. “From what I know of the situation, it was Todd who put himself in that position. Father was obviously not to blame for his mistakes.”

“Do you think Bruce sees it that way?” Jordan asked. “He trained Jason, he was responsible for him. Do you think he doesn’t blame himself for what happened?”

“That isn’t rational.”

“No. It’s not. But grief isn’t rational.” He gestured toward the glass case, toward the preserved emblem of loss that stood at the heart of the cave like a wound that refused to close. “You look at that and see failure. Your old man looks at it and sees the kid he didn’t bring home.”

“I…” Damian hesitated. He hated the feeling of hesitation, but it was there. Surprised at himself, he looked towards Todd’s memorial. And wondered. 

“Now,” Jordan said flippantly, “if you ever say anything like that again, I’m gonna whoop your tiny assassin ass, you get me?”

Damian blinked and snapped his head towards Jordan, whose entire posture had turned back to the lax, infuriating ease of a man who had no problems in the world. It was like a switch had flipped back into the off position, like the soldier had vanished and replaced once more by a man who put his dirty feet on the Batcomputer console and called Father Spooky, just to get a reaction. 

The sheer audacity of this cretin. 

Indignant, Damian opened his mouth, outrage crawling up his throat, but Jordan just grinned easily. “I could cut you down before you are even aware I have moved,” he hissed. 

“Yeah, but you’re about three inches tall and I’ve got a Lantern ring, so I really wouldn’t test me on this.” Jordan had the nerve to clap Damian on the shoulder, as if he was allowed to do such things. “I mean it though, kiddo. You run your mouth like that again, and I’m gonna put you in a ball and send you to space for a time out.”

“Father would never allow such nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense, it’s character building.”

Damian grit his teeth. “You are—”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you’re about to say I’ve probably heard a million times before. Probably from your dad, too,” Jordan said. “Speaking of, I better go check on him. Because I, like, care about him, or something like that.” He gestured around the cave. “Now, you sit here and think about what you’ve done. That’s what adults are supposed to say, right?”

“Go away, Lantern.”

“God, you’re just like him, it’s so weird.” Jordan waved and headed upstairs, leaving Damian once again alone in the cave. 

He hated that Jordan managed to get in the last word. Hated even more that he intruded in on this conversation that should have been between Damian and Father. Hated most of all that, despite his contemptuous existence, something about what Jordan had said was starting to stick. 

He looked back at the glass case. 

And for the first time, he was so sure of what he saw anymore.

[ninibeingdelulu]

heyy could you write something about how Levi would confess if he did cause i can’t really picture him confessing to a girl and probably he just wouldn’t but he’d confess in gestures. please write something about thiss thankyou so much

How he would confess ft. levi ackerman

a/n: hii , hope u like it, and thanks for requesting.

It would start with little things you might not even notice at first. The gentlest brush of his fingertips against yours whenever passing something to you. His intense gaze lingering a beat too long whenever you spoke up during meetings.

You'd catch Levi nearby more often, seemingly unbidden - as if drawn into your orbit by an unseen force. He'd linger on the periphery, seemingly focused on other duties yet hyper-aware of your every movement and expression all the same.

There would be unexpected gestures of consideration from him. Like your favorite hot tea prepared just how you liked it, left beside your bunk without fanfare before you'd awoken.

Or your dirtied uniform and gear being cleaned and meticulously serviced far beyond standard issue without being asked.

The most telling signs would be Levi actively seeking out your company, despite his notorious solitary nature. You'd turn around to find him already there, inevitable as the sunrise - his presence a skeletal buttress bracing you even if he said nothing at all.

Levi would find reasons to stay close, move beside you, all without obvious cause or prompting.

Like he was desperate to bask in your essence even if he didn't act on it outwardly. You'd feel his body heat, catch his scent of black tea and soap whenever he ghosted past. A subliminal brand searing itself across your senses.

There would be infinitesimal cues in his micro-expressions too. The slightest uptic of brows whenever you laughed or smiled. A barely-perceptible dip of thick lashes over those intense mercury eyes drinking you in during unguarded moments.

Lips pressing into a terse line as if shuddering against the pull to finally voice the words scorching unspoken between you.

The way Levi looked at you would shift, almost imperceptibly at first. His gunmetal gaze would bore into yours with a heated, searching quality.

As if mapping every curve and angle of your face with rapt reverence. His eyes would frequently stray and linger over your mouth before darting quickly away when noticed.

You'd become acutely, dizzingly aware of everything about Levi without him ever verbalizing a thing. The corded flex and ripple of his musculature during drills.

His scent and body heat searing itself into your very nerve endings anytime he passed within range. The low, smoky rasp of his voice sending delicious licks of heat unfurling low in your belly even if just issuing standard orders.

And eventually...eventually Levi wouldn't be able to resist any longer. There would come a moment, unplanned and searing, when he'd find himself crossing that infinitesimal distance into your personal space without pretense or excuse.

You'd suck in a stunned inhale to find Levi looming over you, eyes blazing down with undisguised hunger and intention.

His thumb would come up to trace your parted lips with raptor-like intensity. Chest heaving as his control rapidly frayed by the chord with ragged desperation.

And then Levi would finally snap - crushing you against his powerful frame in an embrace just shy of brutally overwhelming.

Every taut inch of him would steel and coil around you, harsh breaths raking against your neck as he tasted your essence in long, openmouthed draughts.

Like a man driven half-mad with thirst finally permitted his barest droplet of water after denying himself for an eternity.

His kisses would be plundering and fervent, fueled by all that tightly reined desire he could no longer leash. You'd be staggered and boneless in his arms, swept up in the unbridled intensity of his affections finally overflowing their constraints.

Undone by the unchecked worshipful abandon Levi had clearly been suffocating behind that emotional quarantine he could finally shatter.

And afterward, amid the sweaty, tangled afterglow with his heavy weight anchored atop you...you'd realize with a thunderstruck jolt that this ardent claiming- this protracted gauntlet of focusing his whole of existence onto your joined heartbeats and mingled breaths as if his sole source of oxygen - was the closest to hearing devotion's sweetest vow pass Levi's perpetually chapped lips that you'd likely ever encounter.

[malleusmalifecarum]

Silver is such an awesome character

I always see people mention idia for disability representation -specifically autism- which is great, he’s canonically using an ipad for speech support and its very clear about his strong interests , etc. like as an autistic person in the same age group as him its.. so obvious. However ive always resonated with silver more, i feel like idia gives off more willing antisocial lifestyle, hes pretty sarcastic and comes off as rude (within reason lmao being a nrc student must suck), he doesnt enjoy or actively seek out social experiences unless its related to an interest, e.g harveston event. But with silver i feel like he’s not as willing to be like he is. (Not saying idia is happy with his lifestyle - tbh i dont really know enough about the guy to say)

For example, in his dorm uniform vignette he seeks out help from kalim who is naturally extroverted and friendly to help him communicate his emotions in a way that isnt strange to his classmates. Which is so!!ugh!, like that vignette literally made me tear up.. all my frustrations come from not being able to connect with my classmates or have people know me, how i feel, i know that i cant express my emotions in a way thats normal, or i cant express them at all. Like people portray silver as this cool, pretty, princely guy who everyone happens to have a slight crush on but hes not!! To his classmates hes just the quiet kid whos awkward to talk to and doesnt talk much himself.. as a high masking autistic girl its so real :’) fyi i wouldnt say silver is autistic, he portrays symptoms of narcolepsy- i dont have narcolepsy so i cant say if thats the reason for his social struggles and if its connected but either way the experience is very similar. Silver expresses grief and feels guilty over his condition, it gets in the way of his relationship when all he wants is to be of service to his family, but he just? Can’t! Like the feeling of knowing you CANT do something, not that you dont WANT to you just physically cannot fucking sucks!! And its guilt. Its not your fault, really isnt, but damn it feels like it. Especially when no one understands your condition, so they assume its something you can control, they dont get its a disability for a reason!! My diagnosis was 4 months ago, ive gone through the vast majority of my life being undiagnosed so aswell as general disability rep i also think silver’s really good for the undiagnosed/medical mystery folks; silver himself says many times he doesnt understand his own condition or why he works like that, which makes it soo much harder to explain it to other people because you cant just drop a doctor’s note. Its difficult to get support and have people’s sympathy so they dont become annoyed ( also: if you yourself arent aware the guilt aspect skyrockets. Undiagnosed neurodivergence/disability lifestyle is pretty much screaming why whyw whyw why!!! Am i like this! At god) . Example: his labwear vignette shows professer crewel beating silvers ass with a detention for something he cant control- he fell asleep during class . Silver apologises, gen means it, but crewel doubts the sincerity of his apology because it ‘didnt look like he meant it’ :’) this vignette gen makes me so mad out of empathy?? Tbh crewel didnt pass the vibe check.. like youre teaching teenagers- arguably the worst time for mental health of your life- someone at some point is gonna have a rough night.. even if he doesnt know its a disability (silver’s sleeping spells arent confirmed as such but through the way it affects him id argue that it should be treated as one) you can atleast assume the kids not doing it willingly 😭😭 professor crewel is a perfect example of the type of people that will be a pain in the ass if youre undiagnosed.. like honestly i resonate with silver so much i get second hand frustration.

Like all silver wants is to spend as much time as he wants with lilia, to repay him in the short time silver has (lilia is fae so will live much longer than he) but half that time is taken up by something beyond his comprehension and control!! When lilia has done all in his power to try and help silver but still nothing has worked.. silver doesnt want lilia to spent his life worrying about him 💔💔 hits even harder after lilia revealed hes dying and may in fact die before silver. It makes so much sense that silver would be shattered to the point of crying infront of malleus when everything hes ever wanted to give lilia (love,support, to stop lilia from worrying) is deemed almost impossible by factors he cannot control.

Therefore i dont really want book 7 to end with silver’s sleeping spells being cured- if the root of it is (BOOK 7 SPOILERS!!) from the spell that was put on him as a baby that would send him into a deep sleep until someone who could truly love him awakes him, i assume that after he gets over his complex of judging love by how much you can do for someone (this gets in the way of his relationship with lilia. He thinks that he isnt truly deserving of lilia’s love because he hasnt yet ‘repayed’ him for all lilia’s done for silver.. boy doesnt get the trope of unconditional love 😔), he will finally be content with his relationship with lilia: which concludes with ‘true love’ (familial), his curse will be fully broken. He wont get sleeping spells anymore. Which i suppose is good for silver and the message of love is most powerful which diasomnia has. But i also think it would be most affective if silver just learned to accept his condition and know that it cant get in the way of his family because their love is so strong.( it shouldn’t get in the way anyway,under any circumstance, but silver himself needs to know this 😭😭) Rather than solving the problem straight at the cause, its so much better for silver to heal and accept himself. May be slightly self indulgent aswell lmao because as much as id love to defeat a dragon and have my reward be the cure for neurodivergency id much rather love and accept instead. Like i dont want twst to erase his representation for the plot :’)

Anyway um. Yeah, silver you will always be a diva🫶🫶 -

[bluemari23]

dazzling light || kim hongjoong

summary: your soul bond activates at a concert and you seriously doubt your actually going to be able to meet them, not when they are on the stage and more than likely can't see the soul light that surrounds you.

pairing: kim hongjoong x autistic reader

genre: soulmates, soul bonds, soul marks, fluff, some light angst

warnings: autistic reader, overstimulation, some slight panic,

word count: 1.5k

masterlist

---------------------------------

Despite your love for music, sometimes it could be too loud. Your ears ringing and sometimes you swore your brain actually shakes in your skull. The way you listened to music almost every second of the day was a surprise to some people, seeing as you were easily overstimulated and when too many things were happening at once, you used your noise canceling headphones for peace. 

You thought that a concert would be an isolated incident; Somewhere where you could only focus on the music and not on anything else. Where you could just feel the music and let your body sway to the rhythm. 

Finding out you had a soulmate at a concert was not on your plan for the night. 

And looking down at your wrist to see the gold letters building the name of your bias was also not on your plan for the night. 

For soulmates, soul bonds only activate when you are in the same room, gold letters representing the soul spell out the name of your soulmate. A gold light also surrounds the people within the bond so you could find your other half easier. 

But you knew who your other half was, and you doubted they could see you from the stage. 

You were seated near the front of the stage, a front row seat in the first part of the seated section. You had felt beyond lucky to get the seat, knowing how quickly the seats go and how easily the concerts sell out tickets. Now, you wonder if it was fate bringing you here. 

You anxiously sat, waiting for some kind of sign that he also sees you. But Hongjoong seemed to look almost everywhere but where you were seated. That was until he glanced at your section during Guerilla and seemed to do an obvious double glance. Everyone around you was screaming, thinking that he was looking at them, but you know differently. 

But then he didn’t look your way again. 

You couldn’t help but to think, maybe he doesn’t want a soulmate?

Did he see your soul light?

He probably isn’t interested in having a soulmate. Another person to depend on. It’s probably for the best anyways, with your disability anyways. You couldn’t always control your brain or the way your body took in stimuli. 

Seeing reason, you tried to just enjoy the rest of the concert, listening to Answer and then Crazy Form, which was one of your favorites. You followed the crowd and moved your light stick along with them. You even got up and danced for as long as you could handle. 

When the concert ended, though, you couldn’t help but to wait a couple minutes. You told yourself it was because you couldn’t handle the crowds trying to leave the stadium at the same time, but you knew it was because you hoped that he did want you, even the tiniest bit. 

After waiting about ten minutes, you gave up hope and started to grab your things. It was disappointing, but nothing you weren’t used to. Being a burden was unfortunately something you felt a lot, and this was nothing different. 

After grabbing your things, you began to make your way down the small walkway that led to the inner hallways of the stadium, out into the main concession area. You pass through the entryway only to bump into a large man in a stadium uniform. 

“Are you Ms. Y/n L/n?” The large man was imposing and his voice was deep and intimidating, making you hesitate for a couple of seconds before nodding your head, not wanting any trouble. 

“We’ll need you to come with us then.” You heard another voice, and someone pushed past the large and intimidating man to stand in front of you. 

This man was shorter, but still nonetheless intimidating. He wore a stern expression and his glasses reminded you of an old professor you had in college who loved to yell and throw things across the classroom when someone was talking during his lecture. It was safe to say you were now shaking in your shoes. 

The ma wore no indication of his position with regards to the stadium, and you were thoroughly confused now to what could be going on. 

“Is there something wrong, Sirs?” Your voice was weaker than you wanted to push out, showing how uncomfortable you were. 

The men just turned around and started walking, not even looking to see if you were following. But you did, entirely scared and uncomfortable and feeling entirely intimidated to do anything but what the men say. 

You followed them through a different hallway, one with the words “CREW ONLY” plastered to the front. You now went from being scared to freaked out. Your thoughts were going a hundred miles an hour until you ended up in front of a set of double doors that had the word “ATEEZ” printed on a sheet of paper and taped to the right-side door. 

Now, now you were completely frozen.

You swear your heart actually stopped. 

“Please.” The short man gestured you forward, knocking on the door for you without giving you a second to move. 

Before you could catch your breath, someone opened the door, a casual smile on their lips and a baggy but comfortable looking t-shirt with the new Ateez designs on it. You assumed this was one of the managers as he shook the smaller man’s hand and thanked them for bringing you here. 

“Hello, you must be Ms. Y/n?” The man then turned to look at you, his bright eyes centered on you and then your wrist where Hongjoong’s name resided in gold ink.

You just stared at the man, your obvious nerves showcased on your face, still completely frozen as you look up at him. 

“Please, don’t be nervous. Hongjoong is actually excited that we were able to find you still here and might actually start freaking out if we leave him in there with Wooyoung and Jongho’s teasing any longer.” The man cracks another warm-hearted smile at you before holding his hand out for you to take, a nice gesture. 

“How about we go and introduce you to your soulmate, hm?” The man, who still didn’t introduce himself moved behind you, hand hovering against your back as he opens the door again, the noise from inside becoming completely silent as you slowly moved inside. 

You saw Hongjoong first, his eyes catching yours as a large smile grows on his lips, his cheeks pushed wide as he does so. You then catch Wooyoung actually hanging off of the captain, Seonghwa trying and failing to get him off until you appear, both men slowly moving away from their leader. 

The soul light slowly dims until its gone when you are now only a couple feet apart. You could feel your body slowly relaxing as you got closer to your soulmate, something you’ve never felt before. Relaxation and peace were always hard to come by when your body always seemed to take in more stimuli that you could handle.

But you felt at ease, now an arm’s length away from the person you were destined for. 

“Hello. It’s nice to meet you.” Hongjoong spoke softly as if not wanting to break the moment between you. 

“Hi.” You smile a little, wanting to show him that you were okay, that you were okay with everything. 

“Why don’t we sit, get to know each other better.” He asked you, motioning to the now vacant couch behind you, big enough for the two of you. You also noticed the sneaky glances that the other Ateez members sent each other. 

“Okay.” You smiled at the boys as you passed by them, each of them introducing themselves to you as if you didn’t just attend their concert. 

You sat down, and before Hongjoong could pick another place to sit, every single other spot than the one beside you was taken by the boys. Hongjoong just took it in stride, sitting beside you as he dramatically shakes his head and sighs at his members actions. You couldn’t help but to let out a little laugh at their actions, trying to play matchmaker between soulmates. 

It was as if they all started speaking at once, the younger members just yelling out questions for you as you sat next to Hongjoong, Seonghwa trying but failing to reign them in, even if it was a half-hearted attempt at doing so. 

You didn’t even attempt to answer, seeing as you couldn’t distinguish a single question. Instead, you just took the hand that your soulmate offered you, shyly holding it in your grasp. 

“They’re always like this. I promise, they like you already.” Hongjoong leans down and whispers into your ear. You could hear the smile and adoration in his voice, something that made you smile again. 

“It’s okay. I can get used to it. I promise, I like them too.” You whisper back, looking up at him and watching as the look of adoration switches from his members to you. 

[yuurei20]

how muscle is the boy and who the most buff because i think silver gym clothes is lying

Hello hello! Thank you so much for this question! I have been hoping to talk about this for so long ⚔️

There is something special about the school uniform and gym clothes cards 👀

Summary 1) Sprites do not always visually represent what is actually happening in the game 2) Yana does not have full control over what can appear as sprites 3) Yana illustrated the gym clothes and school uniform cards from start to finish by herself!

Details/Sources 1) There is sometimes a disconnect between what the sprites are doing and what is actually happening in the stories, as the limits of the medium mean that they can only portray so much.

We will be told via dialogue that what is actually happening is different from what we're seeing on screen, which is where the "novel" part of "visual novel" has to do some heavy lifting.

(above: We are told that Idia is riding Ortho, Jack has tanned and Kalim is wearing glasses, without anything represented visually.)

This is also true of Silver being unusually well-muscled, with characters referencing such repeatedly! (especially in Book 7, for spoiler-reasons that cannot be shared on this blog)

(Ortho: "Silver is also incredibly built!")

In a vignette Silver explains he was able to beat a man in an arm-wrestling contest who had successfully beaten several "burly" members of Savanaclaw:

"All of Ruggie's burly friends had tried, but each lost within seconds. At first the owner went easy on me. Worried he would hurt me, he said. But once he realized I was no pushover, he stopped holding back...It was no easy feat, but all their encouragement helped me eke out a victory."

As for how Silver can possibly be so well-muscled, he explains it is from life with Lilia:

"I've never really struggled with anything involving physical fitness...my daily life back home was training enough. Drawing river water, chopping firewood...Chasing around the animals who lived nearby must have helped strengthen my legs as well...once I stalled while climbing a sheer cliff, and (Lilia) climbed right up beside me to show me how it should be done."

2) In a tweet posted on 2020/5/12 Yana talks about submitting her idea for Crowley to be wearing a vacation outfit in Book 4, despite expecting it to be rejected.

So it seems that she does not have complete control over how the sprites look: she designs the characters but is maybe not doing the game development work of physically implementing them, and there are others who can approve of or reject her ideas based on in-game limitations.

Was a canon-accurate Silver sprite maybe one of those rejections?

Effort was even made to give Silver muscle in the 2nd anniversary PV, so it does seem to be an important point.

3) We do not know too many details about the team that is helping Yana with card illustrations but we know they have been there from the beginning, with the recently released English-version of the first visual book (called "The official art book" in English) providing translations of Yana's notes to the colorists for the ceremonial robes and labwear art.

(Above: hand-written notes seen on Kalim's labwear and ceremonial robes base art)

She also references a graphic artist in her 2020 interview for the Magical Archives:

"As for the illustrations, this was my first time having my original drawings cleaned up by a graphic artist. I am a very rough draftsman by nature, and I make overall corrections before a piece is complete. No matter how careful I am in my original drawings, sometimes details get confused, so whenever I receive a draft back from the graphic artist, I become a useless original artist who is constantly going back to say, ‘I am so sorry, but can you please make these corrections?’" - Toboso Yana (Magical Archives game guide)

But the gym clothes and school uniforms (the original batch of R cards) were different: Yana says she did them all by herself from start to finish, as they were going to be most people's first introductions to the characters.

Disney Twisted-Wonderland has been released today.  ・Character design ・Main scenario creation ・Card illustration (all rarities / including finishing for the R cards) ・Supervision of personal scenarios (writing several as well) I handled everything above. I hope you enjoy it! - Toboso Yana (Twitter, 2020/5/8)

I felt that the initial R school uniforms and sportswear cards are special, as they are likely to be the first introductions to these characters, so I was in charge of them all. I am grateful to have been trusted with them. - Toboso Yana (Twitter, 2020/4/13)

So there we are! 🥳

If anything we can maybe consider the base card art for the gym clothes and school uniforms as more "canon" than the sprite designs of those same characters, even though the sprites are what we're used to seeing, as card art is not being forced to change the characters' appearances in order to fit the limitations of Live 2D sprites ⚔️ Maybe!

(The sprites have this same issue with height! In the game Epel is made taller while Malleus is made shorter, in order to fit his horns in the screen.)

[loki-cees-all]

Keeping Score {TVA!Loki x Female Reader One-Shot}

Cee's Loki Fic Masterlist / AO3 Link

Pairing : TVA!Loki x Female Reader

Summary : You’re stressed, you’re exhausted, you’re sick and tired of absolutely everything right now. Loki decides that the best way to distract you from all of that is to make you count how many times he makes you come. 

W/c : 2.2k words

Content / Warnings : Soft Dom!Loki, established relationship, smut, fingering. 

Author's Note : Welp. Since I’ve been just a massive ball of stress and nerves lately, I thought I’d write something about Loki’s lap to help calm me down. (Spoilers: It just made me riled up in a very different way. Oops!) Enjoy! <3

18+ Only - Minors DNI

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“How many times is that now, darling?” 

Loki’s question sounded like it came from dozens of miles away even though he’d murmured it directly against the shell of your ear. His words sloshed in your head as it lolled back against his broad shoulder, and your shaky breath caught in your throat. Sweat coated your brow, your heart thundered in your chest. Your muscles clenched uncontrollably, and your toes felt like they’d been curled into a permanent and formally unnatural position. Your thighs, spread wide and dangling over each armrest of his tufted wingback chair, trembled and shook helplessly. 

Behind you, Loki’s presence was even, firm, solid. You could feel the steady thrum of his heart against your back, his restrained breath ghosting against your neck in a constant rhythm. Despite the cool aura he normally projected, you knew he was just as excited as you were - from the way his thighs tensed underneath yours, to how his rock-hard cock throbbed against your bare ass from underneath his trousers. His voice was low and hoarse, but still measured, still somewhat under his control - but he was absolutely loving this little game. 

“Well, pet? Are you going to answer me or not?” 

A soft little moan was all you could manage to respond with. You desperately wanted to answer, but right now, you simply lacked the brainpower to give a coherent one. Divine and relentless pleasure still radiated up and down your spine with each featherlight stroke of his fingers against your soaked cunt; he hadn’t stopped touching you since the last one, and you felt like you were liquefying in his lap; maintaining a solid form in the presence of all this ecstasy was just too much effort. 

And that was exactly what you had asked for tonight, wasn’t it? 

Specifically, what you had said was that you didn’t want to be capable of thinking for a while. You wanted to be so very drunk and dumb, from both lust and pleasure, to be so thoroughly touched and explored that the stress of TVA case files and incident reports and the perpetual lies over your very own existence were nothing more than a distant memory. 

Due dates, timelines, the anxieties of life itself, and the horrors of the massive problems the TVA currently faced - you wanted it all to mean nothing to you anymore. Just for a moment, you wanted a tiny flicker of peace inside this wretched little cosmos, and your lover was the only one who could give that to you. 

Loki, of course, had then turned that request into a delightful little game: how many times could he make you come before you simply lost count of them all? 

After your quick and enthusiastic agreement to this evening’s activity, you soon found yourself seated comfortably in the God of Mischief’s lap. His nimble fingers had removed your clothing in a flash, leaving you bare and exposed while he remained in his normal TVA uniform - just the way you liked it. You absolutely loved being naked while he remained clothed; for some strange reason, it reminded you that no matter the problem, that no matter how dire the circumstances seemed, Loki still had everything under control - and that made your lack of it so very comforting. 

Once you were ready, he’d started off by cupping your breasts while he kissed your neck. Both thumbs brushed delicately against your quickly stiffening nipples, and you’d squirmed in his lap while your cunt clenched around nothing. Instinctively, you’d moved to squeeze your thighs together and give yourself some kind of pressure to roll against, but Loki had instantaneously put a stop to that. His large hand had gripped the inside of your thigh and separated it from the other, and you could feel his hungry eyes devouring the sight of your rapidly dripping sex from over your shoulder. 

From there, his other hand snaked its way down, over your ribs and down past your belly to graze your clit. He’d moved slowly, taking his time to thoroughly tease and stimulate the area, caressing gently back and forth with just the barest hint of pressure. On the next pass through, he pressed a little bit harder, collecting your ever-growing arousal and spreading it around with his fingertips. He’d let out a groan of appreciation, so deep and so feral, that it had made you come for the first time tonight. 

It wasn’t a big orgasm, but it was enough to stretch and loosen the muscles of your body, leaving you relaxed, comfortably warm and somewhat limp in his lap; a nice little warm-up climax, Loki had always called it. With a devilish grin, he’d calmed and soothed your mind until it passed, whispering sweet nothings and reassurances while you’d trembled. And once it was over, he’d repeat the process again, upping the ante with each cycle, pressing a little bit harder and moving a little bit faster, cranking the intensity of each subsequent climax higher and higher. 

He’d alternate increasing the speed of his fingers, their angle, and then their depth. The filth he’d whisper as he drew each orgasm out would become even dirtier, and the praise he’d murmured afterwards would somehow be way more celestial and glorious than it had any right to be. The ambrosian tones in his voice rolled in waves, from rough to demulcent, shifting in sync with the euphoric fireworks all bursting simultaneously inside your spine, and then simmering patiently together before the next spark set them off again. 

“Come on, love. Don’t tell me the game is over already…” As his lips grazed the cartilage of you ear, you let out a dazed whimper. The hand gripping your thigh slid up to your throat, and his fingers extended to tilt your chin towards him. He knew full well that the game wasn’t over yet, because your safe word was still tucked securely in its bed - and there was no way you were going to utter it now. 

The blurred angles of your beautiful God danced within your heady vision. Your eyelids fluttered open and closed, trying to will his features to become fixed again so you could admire him fully. Eventually his lopsided brow slowly came into view, arched perfectly over his deep green and wandering eyes. A roguish glint had etched itself deep inside his irises, and his lips were curled in a esurient but disciplined manner. He was gorgeous and stoic, sensual and vivacious, and he could easily do this all night if you had wanted him to. 

A heavy breath tumbled from your parted lips, and your answer was both murmured and dreamy. “No…no, it’s not over yet…”

“That’s good. That’s very good…” Loki hummed his approval, softly dragging his knuckles along your cheek. “But I’m still going to need a number, darling…how many times have you come undone on my fingers tonight?” 

He punctuated his question with a slight increase of pressure against your clit, and you shuddered in response. The backs of your thighs pulled against the leathered armrests of his chair as you shifted in his lap, and your fingers clenched tighter around the straps of his sword holster. Your hips writhed uncontrollably with the circular motions of his fingers, and you moaned out something incoherent, hoping that would suffice for the time being. 

“Such a silly little girl…” Loki teased with a chuckle. His fingers shifted tempo, adding speed along with the increased pressure. “We both know that was nonsense…” 

“Jesus Christ, I - ” Your gasp was cut off by another moan, and your lower half arched itself off from his lap to roll harder against his touch. Another orgasm was building quickly, and you craved it like the sea needed the sky. 

“Close, but that’s not quite my name, nor what I asked for…” Loki tsked. His words oozed elegance and charm, in direct contrast to the image of you spread wide in his chair, your slickened and swollen cunt still begging for even more stimulation somehow. 

“Oh, fuck - Loki!” you moaned as he changed tactics and slipped two fingers inside you. This time your eyes shot open to watch as he buried them, and then slowly drew them out. Arousal coated the digits, sparkling in the dim candlelight of your private quarters, and then he was calmly pushing them back in again. You clenched hard around his fingers and felt yourself growing even more impossibly wet as they curled and effortlessly reached all the right places to make the next orgasm that much more powerful. 

“Answer me, girl,” he groaned, becoming more breathless himself as you became more excited. He pressed his lips against your ear and buried his nose against your scalp. “Give me the number…”

“Six! Five! Seventeen!” you cried out, not caring if any of them were the right answer. Your heartbeat was out of control, your lungs were heaving for oxygen as gasoline filled your veins. Every bit of you was tightened, clenched, stiff and sticky. His fingers were relentless, pushing you to your absolute limits, and you wanted to exist in this blissful state for the rest of your life. 

“Oh, you’re such a dirty, filthy girl. You love this, don’t you?” He slipped another finger inside you. Three of them now stroked you from the inside, over and over again, while his thumb continued massaging your clit on the outside. “You love coming, you love being a mess, you love being so lecherous, don’t you?” 

Your eyes rolled back into your head as his other hand curled around your throat again. The words TVA no longer had any meaning to you. You forgot your own name, you forgot his name. There was nothing left inside your brain, and the pleasure was so intense that you couldn’t even remember why you’d wanted this in the first place. “Once! Twice! 87 times!” 

Loki laughed, and suddenly withdrew his fingers to delicately caress your clit with them instead. “Come now, pet. We both know those aren’t the right answers…” 

The lack of pressure was jarring, and your eyes widened in shock. You let out the most pathetic of whimpers, slamming your hand on top of his in a desperate plea for his previous pace to resume, but it was pointless. He wouldn’t acquiesce. 

“What if I don’t let you come again until you answer correctly, hmm? Would you like that?”

You whimpered again, squirming and shifting to get the pressure back. You turned, nuzzling your face against his without caring about how pathetic you looked. “Please? Please let me come again?” 

Loki groaned, and pulled you back down to sitting. Your full weight was back on his legs and hips, and his cock was somehow even harder than it had even been before. “Fine. I’ll give you a hint, love…Not once, not twice, not three times…” 

His breath was heady and hot against your lips. He was dying to make you come again, just as much as you were ready to explode. That was what separated him from everyone else, and just one of the things that had made you forever devoted to this God of Chaos. 

“Four…” you whispered correctly. “Four times…” 

As soon as the last syllable was uttered, Loki was crushing his lips against yours. His fingers slipped back inside you, and he kissed and fucked you until your fifth orgasm reached its precipice. A bolt of lightning shot up your spine, burning and convulsing every muscle you had as you came again, harder than any other time before. 

In your mind, the seas parted and the clouds disappeared. An aurora unleashed itself between the tendrils of your nerves, and your entire body thrashed in sheer and utter pleasure. Loki held you firm as you spasmed in his lap, wrapping one arm around your waist as his fingers pumped for a few more moments, then slowly withdrew to caress you so very gently in a soothing motion. 

You shivered and melted, moaning and whimpering against his lips as they moved to your cheek and then down to your neck. His heart thundered against your back, and his breath was as shaky as yours while you tried to recover. Your thighs were still shaking uncontrollably when he gently guided them off the armrests and pushed them closed. 

“I love you…” you murmured dizzily as he turned you to nestle back against his chest. He was so strong and comfortable and protective like this, and he smelled like stardust and the deepest, greenest forest. 

Could you actually remember what forests smelled like, or were you just dreaming that you could? It didn’t matter; they were all the same thing, after all. 

“I love you too…” Loki answered softly. His lips brushed against your temple, and his secure arms wrapped tightly around you. 

Loki - that was his name. That was the only thing in your head now. Deadlines and existential dread were nothing more than faint nightmares, long since forgotten. A thing of the past, a thing you’d just made up one night when your imagination got away from you. 

Loki was now the only thing that mattered, the only thing worth focusing on. And that was basically what you had asked for, wasn’t it?

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Click here to be added to my Loki fic tag list! 💚

[setmeatopthepyre]

having thoughts about buck and tommy and the concept of receiving attention.

buck has spent so much of his life receiving too little attention, being starved of it. so much so that he learns, at a young age, that any attention is good attention. getting hurt means he gets attention. fucking up and getting yelled at is still attention. he's spent so long being a ghost in the lives of others that if someone ends up emotionally eviscerating him, at least that means they cared enough to put in the effort, at least they were there to see him fuck up if that's what he did. pain is attention.

maybe that's why he becomes such a social butterfly. he's not afraid of messing up, because if he pisses someone off at least that means they know he's there, that they see him, because that's something that's been missing, that he's been craving. a lot of the ways he screws up in relation to others are linked to the fact that he didn't think about the impact he had on other people before he acted. can you blame him, if he never really had an impact for most of his life? he had so little of an impact that daniel died anyway. there's a reason the only way to escape his coma dream is to realize the impact he's made on bobby's life -- by causing him grief, by pushing his buttons, by demanding attention. it's almost a test, in a way. if someone cares enough to be angry with him, to express that anger, that means they might even stick around.

tommy, on the other hand, has spent most of his life learning to avoid attracting attention, because attention is pain. to receive attention is to be seen, and to be seen is to be judged, and to be judged is to be found wanting again and again and again. if his dad is like gerrard, that means tommy was picked apart for the littlest things, for the tiniest transgressions, and judged in broad strokes for most of his life. at first, tommy tries to conform. if he has to receive attention, if he has to be seen, if he has to be judged, maybe he can change the outcome and not be found wanting. so he tries to become the man they demand him to be. attention from girls leads to uncomfortable questions? be the straight guy they want to see. if all else fails, redirect judgement, turn the spotlight onto someone else, blend in. avoid detection, avoid being seen. the professions he's had all involve a uniform so he doesn't stand out, doesn't demand attention. his casual wear is practical and unassuming, even now.

after gerrard leaves the 118, tommy slowly becomes familiar with attention that doesn't always hurt. so he leaves the 118 and reinvents himself. he trades avoiding attention for being in control of it. instead of completely avoiding judgement, he minimizes its impact.

he goes back to flying, where's he's up in the sky, where everyone can see him in action, but he's the one at the helm. he becomes bigger, stronger. he attracts more attention, but it's attention he chooses. he steps out of the closet, doesn't hide who he is, but if he flies under the radar, that's okay too. he practices muay thai. arms himself, physically, mentally, with a strong body and a sharp tongue, to make sure he can always take the hits that may come with the attention he gets.

he craves the family, the people on his side when things get bad, because it's such a dream to let anyone close enough to help him up when he gets hurt. to let anyone see him enough to know when he gets hurt. and he wants it, but that doesn't make it easy, because letting someone close enough to help also means letting them see your soft underbelly, to surrender yourself to their attention, to let them through your defenses. to give them the ability to make an impact on you, and trust them with it.

and buck, who is still learning that he even has an impact on other people's lives, asks him to move in, like a bull in a carefully curated china shop.

[pomefioredove]

Just read the whole "Yuu gets sold off by Crowley" stories and OMLLL THEYRE SO GOOD XDDD Any chance you could do more on it like if Niege won or if the parents heard about it and also decided to adopt Yuu and Grim?? Maybe the other staff adopting her too or more on Crewel's adoption please???

requests for the crewel ending are in high demand I see...

parts 1 | 2 | 3 | kalim | 'bad' ending | RSA ending

summary: a crewel ending type of post: short fic, mostly speculation characters: crewel ft. other staff additional info: platonic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, definitely pre-book seven, parents being cringe

If Crewel were allowed to beat Crowley to death with one of his designer handbags, he would have.

...Unfortunately, with the adoption paperwork fees (...and a need for more designer handbags), he regrettably still needs this job.

And he'd like to keep an eye on you while you're still here, too.

The animosity between Crowley and the rest of the staff is unspoken, shared through passing glances and dry remarks at meetings, and though the matter is "settled", in Crowley's own words, no one seems keen on letting it go anytime soon.

The students who participated in the bidding war are subject to months worth of extra homework, harder exams, and worse studying hours from Crewel himself. To teach them a little responsibility, he says.

You, at least, are exempt from his radical new lesson plan. You have enough on your plate as it is.

After all, as soon as the legal proceedings are through and your identity as an autonomous human being in Twisted Wonderland is secured, the "fun" begins.

Your uniforms are tailored and rightly fit, you're given a proper meal plan, even Ramshackle is decorated with a few of Crewel's personal touches. A throw rug here and there, a fresh coat of paint, anything to cover up the rotting interior and turning it into something worthy of envy.

"...Given that Grim doesn't start shedding everywhere," Crewel had said. "Ugh, pets."

The rest of the staff are just as helpful, citing your recent experience with the bidding war as reason to take it easier on you for a while (or for the rest of the semester, really). Trein gives you less homework, Sam "accidentally" doesn't ring you up a few items...

It starts to feel more like the entirety of the staff has adopted you.

Not that you mind, of course. This is the closest thing you've had to family since... well, since coming here.

There's just the one thing, though.

"I don't know why you waste your time with those untrained pups. Honestly. The idea of their tacky shoes touching the rugs in here..." Crewel sighs. His eyes turn to you. "You know, I hear Vil Schoenheit has been looking for someone to take to his next shoot..."

Ashton chuffs. "Don't be ridiculous, they need someone who's strong enough to take care of them! Kingscholar is a real star once he gets motivated,"

"Please tell me I didn't just hear that," Crewel massages his temples. "And might I add, I'm their father, not you. I give the blessing. You're more like the unwelcome uncle crashing the family barbeque."

Grim nudges you with his elbow, muttering a quick yikes before darting out of the kitchen. You groan in embarrassment. "Guys..."

"I'm just thinking about what's best for them," Ashton says, puffing out his chest. "They're at an age where they're going to start thinking about dating, and we want them to make good choices."

"Guys,"

"Exactly. Schoenheit is a perfect gentleman, a master in my class, and has the style to back him up. Kingscholar can demonstrate occasional intelligence, but he's still another housecat," he shudders. "The shedding..."

A tired voice from the doorway interrupts their tense back-and-forth, much to your relief.

"Goodness, the two of you, at this again?" Trein scoffs, taking a seat at the table. "This conversation is highly inappropriate. You shouldn't be controlling the poor thing's romantic prospects, if they even have them. When the time comes, the choice will be theirs to make."

Crewel huffs, rolling his eyes and leaning against the table. Ashton kicks his feet. And neither utter another word.

"Good," Trein says, then clears his throat. "Ahem. But that's not to say that we can't offer our guidance. That Vanrouge did quite well on the last History of Magic exam..."

You groan.