#they glow in the dark and you can't deny it

[ithinkimblue]

Jason Todd. The one who lived

For the one who'll ask, the tatoo represents Jason as Robin and Roy's arrow

Close up below

[pseudowho]

Men With Big Noses

(help me find the Higuruma artist in the banner, for crediting and thanks/permission!)

You accidentally let on to Hiromi Higuruma that you find his big nose sexy-- so he shows you exactly what he can do with it.

Warnings: 18+ as always, Higuruma is nearly face-sat to death and would absolutely die a happy man.

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"Why have you poured me another glass of wine?"

"Why not? You've had a long week. I've had a long week. And I don't want to finish the bottle alone, so..." Hiromi pressed the glass into your hand, planting a deliberately sloppy kiss on your cheek as you laughed, slapping him away, "Drink up."

Feigning disgruntlement, you mumbled into your wine as you shot Hiromi a side-eye.

He loped, slim and wiry, to the windows, swirling his wine glass thoughtfully, one hand in his pocket as he stared out over the Tokyo skyline. Your relationship was new, only just into the early stages of physical intimacy, but you caught yourself looking him up and down over the rim of your wineglass.

It was his brain that had attracted you at first. Fiercely intelligent, Hiromi appeared to see straight through you, and adore you anyway. His passion certainly wasn't limited only to his career. He was dry and sharp, but conversely so mellow at points. He kept you guessing, but never about how he felt about you. You had never found a partner so unusually thrilling as him.

But you couldn't deny...there was a certain something about how he looked that made the gears deep in your belly whir, puzzled and magnetic in your attraction towards him. But you couldn't work out what that something was.

You approached him slowly, breathing in the heady fumes of your wine as you appraised him; his eyes, and the way they turned into pools of pitch black when he looked at you? No. His fine-boned hands, so articulate and clever, that you wondered what else they could be clever with? No, not that either. His body, lithe and slim but deceptively strong? You sighed, unable to puzzle it out. You were halfway through your third glass of wine now, feeling loose, warm, intimate--

"I can't work out what it is that you find attractive about me."

You jumped, your remaining wine sloshing as he turned to you, his sloped eyes sparkling with curiosity, inquisitive and dark. You gaped for a moment, your brain short-circuiting as you swore he had read your thoughts, and said the first thing that came to your head--

"Your nose." Hiromi snorted into his wineglass, hand over his eyes now as he shook with mirth. His hand lowered, fingering his big, hooked nose, and he laughed again.

"Be serious," he chastised. Your inhibition had abandoned you, emboldened by the alcohol.

"No, I...I mean it. There's something sort of...sexy about it. Men with big noses."

"Oh?" He approached you slowly, hand still in his pocket, a slow, sloping walk, "All men with big noses? Is that a kink?" Oh, those eyes. Dark and glowing, like little coals in the dark, and looking at you like that, you felt heat rush through you, so scrutinised--

"Or-- or maybe-- just yours I think. A you-specific kink. I wonder what you could do with that nose, other than-- other than--" You flushed, downing the rest of your wine. He was close now, and your skin felt electric. Not breaking eye-contact as he stared into you, he slowly reached out to take your empty glass, draining his own now and placing them both on the table.

Pulling you in with one hand on the small of your back, and the other creeping up the side of your face, he leaned over you. Still teasing you, his big eyes hooded, he ghosted the tip of his nose over the side of your neck, tracing shapes against your pulse point.

You pressed one hand against his chest, the other into his hair as you shivered.

"--other than?" he prompted. He laughed again, rich and bold, "My nose," he scoffed, "Where would you like my nose?" You blushed, mortified, and tried to shove him away for teasing you, but he held on tight, rubbing his nose gently against yours now. He kissed you, leaning you backwards, deep and convicted in his hold on you.

Your head wasn't swooping just with the wine now. Plaiting your fingers behind his neck, you suddenly didn't feel embarrassed to tell him what you wanted. You pulled away from his kiss, and he leaned his forehead against yours, nose to nose, as he stared into your eyes, your gaze shy and averted.

"Between...between my legs, maybe." You regretted it the moment you said it, hands up to slap over your eyes, cupping your red-hot cheeks, and Hiromi still didn't let go of you, his nose and lips pressing soft, tipsy kisses to your decolletage. He whispered to you, only deepening your regret.

"You could sit on my nose, if you like. Undressed, obviously." You felt his hips pressed against you, and felt his cock against you, now half-hard and growing--

You nearly imploded, stammering, "Oh please, no man actually likes that. Face-sitting is just one of those stupid things you joke about. Men don't actually like giving women oral," you scoffed, cynical and embarrassed. Hiromi raised his eyebrows, releasing you now, looking mildly offended.

"Oh dear. Another sceptic. Were your other boyfriends that bad?" You swatted him with a cloth.

"Pretend I never said anything!" You shouted in from the kitchen, "Forget about it! I'm going for a shower. There's more wine on the side if you want it."

You honestly considered drowning yourself in the shower. You'd barely even got past heavy make-out sessions, and you'd just told him you wanted his nose between your legs, you could just die of shame--

Stepping out from the shower and into your bedroom, you squeaked to find Hiromi lying on his back on your bed, the top of his shirt unbuttoned, and as he saw you, he smiled loosely and rubbed one of your pillows over his face.

"What are...what are you doing?"

"Polishing your seat, of course."

You melted against the wall, mortified, gripping your towel in one hand and covering your eyes with the other. You heard slow footsteps creep up behind you, long-fingered hands pulling you against a hard torso, feeling Hiromi's nose rub behind your ear. Despite yourself, your eyes fluttered closed, wanting him.

"I think you'd like it," Hiromi insisted, voice low and convincing, "and I like it when you tell me what you want. It's...bold. Honest. Sexy." You moaned softly as he pressed into you from behind, his cock hard and insistent against your body, and he loosened the front of your towel to snake his clever fingers to your breast, fingers brushing it softly at first before cupping and giving an appreciative squeeze.

"So please sit on my nose. And the rest of my face." You bit your lip...and slowly nodded. You felt warm air huff out of Hiromi's nose behind your ear, "Good girl."

Spinning you round, Hiromi pulled you in for a deep kiss, the wine heavy on both of your tongues as he slipped his against yours, probing, curious. You accepted warmly, your hands tracing down to untuck his shirt from his trousers, your hand slipping flat against his abdomen and trail of dark, wiry hair, and Hiromi shivered, tongue trembling against yours.

He fell back onto the bed, pulling your legs up to straddle his lap, panting and kissing the sides of your throat as you unbuttoned his shirt, your fingers gliding over the taut muscles of his shoulders in appreciation. He nuzzled you, hooked nose rubbing over the shell of your ear, unintentionally bucking his cock up against your unclothed  sex as your fingers grazed his nipples in their exploration of his torso.

"I can't wait...I want to taste you," he insisted, breathless, his eyes dipped and flinty as he fell back onto the bed, pulling you with him, but holding you upright by the hips. Suddenly shy, so aware of your body with those smouldering eyes looking up at you, Hiromi sensed your hesitation and grabbed your knees, scooting you up his body so you were straddling his upper chest.

With your legs parted, you felt his breath roll over your folds, now so wet with your arousal, and Hiromi stared up at you, seeming grave in his devoted assessment of your face as he traced his hands up your thighs, two fingers slipping idly between your legs to rub a long stroke from entrance to clit and back again. He sighed, thrilled to feel you plant a hand on his abdomen, grounding yourself as he started to rub smooth circles over your clit.

"You're perfect, and those other guys didn't  deserve you," he insisted, slipping his fingers teasingly close to your entrance as you let out a breathy moan, and Hiromi stared at his fingers, scientific in his appreciation of how your arousal was glazed over them.

Raising his fingers to his mouth to lick them clean, Hiromi stopped, considering. He placed his wet fingers over your towel instead, gripping your hips.

"No," he puzzled, "I want to taste you straight from the source." You squeaked as he dragged your knees and hips upwards again, your pussy now hovering directly over his face. Hiromi lifted his face, looking at you with a glint in his eyes, "Sit."

You hesitated, and Hiromi pressed his nose up, nuzzling it between your folds and pressing it firmly against your clit, holding your hips tightly as you jolted and gasped, never realising that nose could feel so good on your aching core. Thighs trembling, you lowered your weight until you sat directly on Hiromi's nose, mouth and chin.

Hiromi got to work like a starving man, groaning with desire as he nuzzled his nose and mouth between your puffy folds, his nose rubbing firmly over your clit as his tongue sank as far as it could into your hole, and you cried out, gripping his hair tightly with one fist, and grasping his hand on your hip with another.

As the firm tip of his nose rubbed insistently on your clit, making you burn with pleasure, you involuntarily ground your pussy down onto his face, and mewled when his shaky moan vibrated through you. Hiromi began to move your hips above him, encouraging you to hump his mouth and nose while his tongue alternated between dipping into you, and flicking against your clit as Hiromi sucked it into his mouth.

Your pleasure building, your cries and the hand grasping his hair becoming more and more urgent, Hiromi squeezed his rigid cock through his trousers, determined not to embarrass himself by cumming untouched while you humped his face. But as precum leaked through his trousers, wet on his thigh, Hiromi was drunk with the taste of you, sweet and natural, and he felt his cock throbbing as he neared his release.

Hiromi rocked your hips urgently against his face, his nose creating a constant alternating pressure on your clit, and you felt your belly tighten, pressing yourself down on his nose in a desperate need to cum, babbling his name in sweet praise.

With one last determined nuzzle against your clit, you shook, waves of pressure breaking through your whole lower body and Hiromi moaned, hips bucking against the air as he tasted and smelled you, overwhelmed by the authentic intimacy of the moment, feeling streams of cum soaking his boxers as he came completely untouched.

You moaned, short little mewls as you came down from your high. Gathering yourself, you shifted yourself down onto Hiromi's chest, looking down at him, blushing and concerned. You had never seen a man look so delighted with so much cum on his face. You were baffled, and of a mind to marry this man.

"Any man that actually likes women, sweetheart," Hiromi panted, dazed, "Would happily die like that."

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Love you Hiromi Higuruma, MWAH! 😌☕

[the-modern-typewriter]

Love your writing! Can I request a hero that likes being controlled by the villain because they get relief from their anxiety/stressful life but they are denying it because they don’t want to admit to being overwhelmed?

"Oh god, you're back."

The villain smirked at that particular greeting and inclined their head in acknowledgement. "Long time no see, hero mine."

Anticipation had the hero's heart drumming double time. They shifted their weight, hold tightening on the battered strap of their rucksack. The street was empty, all curtains conspicuously drawn, but there was nothing actually blocking any exits. They could run. They weren't far from home. They might even make it.

"It's okay," the villain said, tucking their hands into their pockets. "You can try, I won't be offended. I know you prefer pretending that you don't like this. That you don't crave this."

"I don't."

"No?" The villain's tone was soft, but their eyes gleamed in the glow of the lampposts. Their gaze was somewhere between gently mocking and not so gently fond. "You're lucky you lie so pretty. It means I'll let you off with a warning. Just the one, because I've heard you've had a rough week."

The hero swallowed.

The week had been exhausting. Atlas would have buckled beneath the weight of the last week too. Anyone would. Wouldn't they? Maybe that was why, beneath the panic of seeing the villain again, there was a much more terrifying chasm of relief. Dizzy, desperate relief. The kind of longing that left a person brained by it. Dumb.

"You heard about that?" the hero asked, in a small voice, even if it was entirely not the point.

"I'm here, aren't I?"

The hero shuddered, to hear the villain say it so bluntly. Maybe if they hadn't, the hero could pretend - what? That somewhere along the way monstrosity and miracle had blurred together like wet watercolours?

"You could walk away," the hero said.

"I could," the villain agreed, placidly. They didn't move though.

"Would you if I asked you to?"

The villain's head tilted, considering the hero at that.

"Mm, I don't think so," they decided eventually. "Then you'd feel like you had to ask. It goes better when you don't have any choice in this matter, doesn't it?"

"You can't just - you can't say that."

"No?" the villain's lip curled up again. They closed the gap between them, casually confident. "You asked."

"Well, yes - but." The hero didn't have a good way to finish the sentence. Mainly because they should have been horrified. They were horrified! It was only..."You're not supposed to say it." The crack in their voice felt far too much like confession. "It's not right."

"Yeah. I'd say you should stop feeling so guilty about liking it so much, but honestly it's entirely too delicious watching you squirm."

The hero made a choked, incoherent sound in their throat. They took a step back, not remotely surprised when the villain's hand snaked eel-fast around their back.

"Ah, ah," the villain said. "You already had your chance to run. Go easy."

The hero felt the very moment that something switched in the villain's voice, their powers humming a siren song in the hero's bones. They felt their body turn to putty as they blinked at the villain, wide-eyed. Their hands settled comfortably on the villain's chest, not pushing back.

It wasn't...it wasn't exactly that their brain switched off, only that everything in them suddenly refused to fully recognise the danger. And there was danger, they knew that, but...

But for the first time since they'd last seen the villain, the knot in their chest loosened. They didn't feel one small straw or loud noise or well-meaning question away from bursting pitifully into tears.

"Good," the villain murmured. "Just like that. There you are. Deep breaths."

Up close, the villain took a moment to study them properly. The hero let them look. Minutes ago, they might have tried to hide, ashamed by the blatant dark circles under their eyes, by everything that the villain would see, but in that second...

The villain's lips thinned a fraction. "I've been away on business for too long, haven't I? Sorry about that."

"How was business?"

The villain didn't bother answering that question, more concerned with grazing their thumb along the swell of the hero's lip where they'd bitten it raw. Their eyes darkened further.

"You look annoyed," the hero said.

"You could have called me, you know."

"Why would I do that?"

"Why would you-" For a second, it seemed like the villain might say something. Then, they simply sighed, and shook their head, muttering something under their breath. They pivoted, so they were at the hero's side instead, snagging the hero's heavy bag onto their own shoulders.

"Walk." The command hummed through the villain's voice again. "I think we've both had enough of your idiot brain for today. You're done for the week."

Every time the villain let them go, it was harder to force themselves to leave.

[voidpetrova]

authority — rafe cameron x reader

☄. *. ⋆ content warning(s) & genre: swearing, objectification, mild aggression, very intimate and explicit sexual content described, choking, degradation — smut

˚♡ ｡˚ synopsis: he can't help the fact that he's obsessive, practically delusional as much as sociopathic, but you love him. no matter how controlling he could be.

✧.*

control, it's extraordinary the tactics people employ to obtain it. some rely on deception, while others engage in outright trickery. then there are those who resort to extortion. a good amount of people? fear, it's an emotion they feed off. why do we fight so hard for control? because, we know to lose it, is to put our faith in the hands of others. and what could be more dangerous?

the coastal winds whispered secrets as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the outer banks. in the quaint beach town, where the search for gold led to twists of fate, another tale unfolded—unseen, yet pulsating with the undercurrents of possessiveness and obsession. for as long as you could remember, you've been caught in the crossfire of rafe cameron and his turbulent emotions. it wasn't something you had a particular problem with, you never made a big deal about it. sure, it ticked you off, there was no denying that, but you knew fighting it off was no use.

whether it was a skirt that was just a few inches too high, or a top that revealed a bit more cleavage than anticipated, not much was necessary to send rafe off the rails. it was apart of him, consuming him more with every upcoming day. of course, he'd have to face the consequences of his actions later on, and he always felt bad. sometimes, his aggression would be laid on a tad too thick, unnecessarily hurtful comments leaving you in tears. he would always make up for it, wrapping you in his arms, consoling you and kissing your tears away. however, in the heat of the moment, if his buttons were pushed just right, there was no going back.

on this particular night, it was just a few minutes past midnight. you had spent the past half hour preparing for a girls' night out with rafe's sister. you were already late as is, listening to the tv blaring as your boyfriend watched a movie on the living room, carefully staying focused as your phone lit up with messages from sarah. you slipped into a short, stylish dress that hugged your curves, unable to shake the feeling that every thread of fabric would invoke a storm within rafe. this time, you knew exactly what you were doing, you knew exactly which cards would be dealt, and you couldn't wait.

the air hummed with tension as you descended the staircase of the mansion, the soft click of your heels echoing through the grand foyer. you knew the minute silence struck, with the movie coming to a pause, that you would soon be in for it. you took a final step down thr stairs, making your way into the living room, your stomach in knots.

rafe was spread out on the couch, head resting on his elbow with his legs kicked back. at first he didn't turn around, the silence in the room practically suffocating. he knew you were going out, you had informed him earlier, but he wasn't particullarly fond of your decision. after that, you had spoken a total of two sentences, perhaps. when the scent of your strong perfume filled his nostrils, he couldn't help but finally turn around. his eyes locking onto you with an intensity that mirrored the swirling tempests off the carolina coast.

his voice, laced with a certain edge to it, sliced through the silent atmosphere. “where do you think you're going, looking like that?” the moonlight seeping through the cracks of the windows played on his features, emphasizing the dark intensity in his eyes. it was as if the mere sight of you in that dress threatened the fragile equilibrium he desperately clung to.

you feigned a sigh, your gaze unwavering. “told you i was going out, didn't i?” you knew you were going to play your part, but you knew rafe could only handle small doses of your attitude. his eyebrows perked up at your tone. “it's a nice dress, isn't it?” his jaw tightened, involuntarily, in fact, eyes low and heavy as they scanned you from head to toe.

there was no denying it, it was a gorgeous dress. a black one, clinging onto your body thanks to the straps on your shoulders. it showed more cleavage that necessary, hugging every crevice and curve perfectly. the way it stopped just inches above your knees only added insult to injury. he hated it, he hated how good you looked.

he cleared his throat, anger bubbling in the pits of his stomach. blood coursed through his veins, he could practically feel it, heat rushing towards every part of his body possible. he adjusted his position, kicking his feet off the couch in order to face you, as if serious. “you think 'm gonna let you go out lookin' like that?” he practically taunted, tone laced with venom. you shrugged, sliding one leg behind the other as if you were truly innocent, but you knew exactly what you were doing.

“well, my drinks don't pay for themselves, don't you know?” control was slipping through his fingers like sand, and the storm within him brewed. even the tranquil beauty of the outer banks couldn't make up for the storm of pure shit rafe was more than ready to unveil. “is that so?” he countered, the venom replaced with a low edge that sent a shiver down your spine. he was standing now—the faster your heart would beat, the closer he would come towards you. you could only nod in response in spite of how weak you were in the knees.

he was in front of you in a matter of seconds, the distance of a mere few inches separating you from him. his eyes bore into your frame, admiring how small you were in comparison, how frail you seemed. you met his eyes, as if to challenge him. “let me tell you somethin', sweetheart,” you didn't have time to react, he never gave you time—he wasn't exactly that gracious. before you could make any sudden movements of your own, you found yourself facing the cold exterior of the wall, cheek pressed against the rough surface. the brutal force of rafe's every move held you down, pushing you even deeper into the wall, with one of his hands making its way from your back to your face, wrapping around your jaw, his palm now pressing into your mouth, the weight preventing you from digging your grave more than you already have—you truly thought you would suffocate, eyes widening as his other hand held both of yours, straining and pushing down with a force you knew would leave bruises the morning after.

you were completely at his disposal, and you haven't even started yet. your eyes shot down to your phone, tucked into the side of your panties due to the lack of pockets. your handbag had been an innocent bystander, taking up space on the living room table. rafe lowered his head, tilting yours slightly upward in order to gain access to your ear. “guess you'll have to cancel with sarah,” he practically purred, removing his hand, only for a split second, to turn your phone off. his hand was cool against your flushed skin, fingertips grazing your bare thigh as he snatched your phone from underneath your panties, eager to rid you both of his sister's annoyance. “thought they had a policy against sluts, anyway.”

you scoffed, despite your compromising situation and position. “yeah? you should see how fond they are of me down there.” you knew you'd regret your words the minute they left your mouth, and rafe made sure of it. in a matter of seconds, you were back to facing him. he had let go of your hands, only to wrap his fingers around your throat, turning you around with such force, your back was slammed against the wall. once again, you were forced to meet his gaze, dark eyes boring into yours. for the first time in a long time, you were afraid.

“you must've forgotten who's in charge here,” he laughed, but there wasn't a trace of humor in it. his grip on your throat tightened, as if he knew you'd add fuel to the fire with your response. “must've forgotten that sluts have no place here, let alone a say in what goes.”

it was shameful to admit that his words sent a stroke of heat down your core, it was a disgrace. you felt filthy, his grip tightening with each passing second—it was supposed to teach you a lesson, scare you into listening, but you couldn't help the way it made you feel. it was something he picked up on, you could tell by the slight smirk playing on his lips. “don't even know why i bother with you,” he continued, as if he was doing it on purpose. “you love the attention, don't you? love getting put in your place like a bitch in heat.” you couldn't answer, weakly nodding, unable to stand against the truth. he saw right through you.

his grip loosened, but remained in place. his thumb trailed up your chin, pulling your lower lip down as he smeared your lipstick into your skin. he loved the sight of you, knowing it never took much to make a mess of you, thumb tapping against your lip. your throat was in steady recovery, but you parted your lips, making room for him. he grunted, unable to resist the way your mouth welcomed him so openly, sucking away at his thumb. he pulled back, only for a second, smearing your spit against your dimples, your chin. he loved the way you gave in so easily, letting him to you do whatever crossed his mind.

“such a mess for me, and here i thought you were going out tonight,” he practically purred in your ear, fingers slick with your spit as it travelled down to your panties as he awaited a response. you couldn't help but whimper, the feeling of his wet fingers against your clothed core sending you into tame bliss. he pressed his index finger against your slit, rubbing and silently admiring how wet you were for him. wet was an understatement, every slight touch had you soaking.

“so wet for me,” he groaned, pushing your lace to the side as a fresh wisp of cool air hit your now bare cunt. your back remained pressed against the wall, a single leg sliding upwards, knee digging into his chest to grant him further access. “please, rafe,” you exhaled in anticipation, growing heat making it insufferable for you.

“such attitude just a few minutes ago,” he taunted, but even he had his priorities set straight, more focused on the uncomfortable strain in his pants than your prior retorts. he had his free hand around the back of your neck, pulling you in for a kiss while his other hand worked for him. you couldn't resist him, locking lips eagerly as your fingers pulled his hair ever so gently. he took that as his sign, index finger pushing past your walls before he kicked up a pace of his own.

the moans that left your mouth were delicious as a second finger joined the process. eventually, a third. his lips trailed down your jaw, too eager to stay in one place, before moving down to your collarbone. his hand had started to ache, pace quickening as he fucked you open with his fingers. no matter how many times you had sex—you were like rabbits—under any circumstances, no prep was enough for the size of his dick. every time, no matter how many fingers prepared you for what was coming, it was never enough. the pain was unbearable, the pleasure unmeasurable.

once he knew you were ready, he retracted his fingers despite your protesting whimpers. “don't you worry, baby,” he uttered out frantically, fingers desperately unbuckling his jeans, all too eager to rid himself of his clothes. “'m gonna take good care of you.”

the absolute sight of him had your mouth watering. his hair was slick with sweat, chest heaving as he took himself into his hand, thumb spreading his precum alongside the head, coating it with a thick layer. he spat onto his hand, grunting as he slicked his dick up, jacking it to coat it up evenly. it wasn't enough for him, his hand was never enough. he needed you more than you needed him.

“turn around,” it was a command, not a question, and you were to do as you were told, cheek once again pressed against the wall's rough surface. he sighed as he took in the sight of you, ass bare and back arched for him. “that's my girl.”

he hadn't planned on showing any mercy, he sure wasn't going to. under normal circumstances, he'd have given you at least a few seconds to adjust, but you knew that wasn't the case the minute his tip pushed past your slippery walls. the tip was only in for a split second before the rest of his length accomodated it. you couldn't bite any of your moans back, fingernails scraping the wall in front of you. rafe knew he wouldn't last long, not with the way your pussy was squeezing him, or the way you moaned his name. you engulfed him, swallowing his dick hole, the familiar sensation chipping away at your pride.

he held your hips down as he fucked you with long, deep strokes that made your head spin. “so fuckin' tight, holy shit,” he groaned, hips snapping as he watched the way his dick slid out, just to slide right back in. the entire sensation consumed you—the way you could feel every vein against your walls, alongside his length slamming into your cunt, in and out. you felt him outside as much as you did inside. “so wet for me.” you were practically dripping all over him, your cries bouncing off the walls as his grip dropped to your ass, grabbing onto the meat for leverage before disappearing, only to come back with a harder, rougher smack. he watched the way your ass bounced against his pelvis, turning the prettiest shade of red, as if encouraging him.

in any case, it worked. as if possible, his pase quickened as he arched his own back, allowing him to go as deep as he could, balls bouncing against your ass to accompany your cries of pure nirvana. his heart was in his stomach, he knew he was close. all he wanted to do was fill you up and all you wanted to do was get filled up by him. you loved the way he made you feel, with his tip hitting your sweet spot, sending tears down your cheeks while his shaft filled in the blanks, leaving you filled to the brim with his thick dick.

he never warned you beforehand, he didn't have to. as soon as his thrusts grew sloppy, but remained desperate, you knew he was close. a string of curses passed his lips, and that was all you had to hear in order to brace yourself, giving his dick a final squeeze before his hips began to stutter, cock twitching frantically in the deepest pits of your cunt before he let go. you both cried out, his left hand pulling your hair towards him as he buried himself in as deep as possible, painting your walls with his hot, sticky cum.

you couldn't move, you didn't dare to. he took the first step, dick still buried inside you, it almost pained him. his hot breath tickled the lobe of your ear, provoking you in the best way possible, once more. “sweetheart, you just lost the authority you never had.”

[pin-k-ink]

how about Kenma getting addicted to the taste of reader's tits? 🤭

refuge // kozume kenma

tw ⇢ tooth-rotting fluff, cuddling, needy!kenma, praise kink, nipple play, fingering, kenma’s love for apple pie, anything else i missed

wc ⇢ 4.2k

The bedroom was awash in the warm, honeyed glow of the bedside lamp when Kenma shuffled in, steps heavy with exhaustion. You glanced up from your book to take in his appearance, heart immediately going out to him.

His normally bright eyes were glazed and half-lidded, dark smudges underneath standing out starkly against his pale skin. Strands of hair, still slightly damp from his post-practice shower, had escaped his messy bun to frame his face in wispy tendrils. The black roots were starting to show through more prominently, bleeding into the bleached ends.

"Hey you," you greeted softly, setting your book aside and opening your arms in invitation. "Long day?"

Kenma made a vague grunt of affirmation, clambering onto the bed and immediately collapsing onto you. His chin dug into your sternum as he nuzzled close, seeking comfort, and you bit back a wince.

"We had morning practice, then classes, then more practice after school," he grumbled, voice muffled by your sleep shirt. "I think Kuroo is trying to kill me."

You made a sympathetic sound, fingers finding their way into Kenma's hair to scratch lightly at his scalp - something you knew always helped him relax. "I'm sorry, baby. That sounds brutal."

"Mmmph." Kenma shifted a bit until his head was pillowed more comfortably on your stomach, arms loosely curled around your hips. "S'okay. This helps."

Warmth bloomed in your chest at his admission. Kenma wasn't always the most verbally demonstrative with his affections, so hearing him say that - knowing he found solace in your arms - made you feel cherished.

For a while, the two of you just lay there like that, breathing together in the quiet stillness of the bedroom. Your fingers continued their soothing ministrations, gently combing through silky strands and lightly scratching at Kenma's nape and behind his ears. Every now and then he'd let out a barely audible hum, melting further into you as the tension gradually seeped out of his muscles.

These were some of your favorite moments - just holding Kenma close and feeling him unwind, knowing you were his safe harbor. Whether he was stressed from volleyball practice, drained from too much social interaction, or just stiff from too many hours hunched over a game - he always seemed to seek you out, craving your soft, grounding touch.

Usually, Kenma was content to rest his head in your lap while you sat propped against the headboard, dozing as you ran gentle fingers through his hair or massaged his scalp. Or he'd stretch out between your legs on his stomach, face pillowed on your thighs as you rubbed his back in long, firm strokes.

But today, as the minutes ticked by, you began to sense a restlessness in him, a dissatisfaction in the way he kept shifting minutely against you. His brow was furrowed, nose scrunching slightly, like he couldn't get completely settled.

"Everything okay?" you asked quietly, smoothing your thumb over the wrinkle between his eyebrows.

"Mmm." Kenma's answer was decidedly noncommittal. He turned his face more fully into your belly, nuzzling the soft pudge like a cat trying to make a bed more comfortable. "Just...I dunno. Can't relax."

He huffed out a frustrated breath that tickled your skin through your thin cotton tee. Then, in a move that surprised you, he pushed himself up on his elbows to frown down at your midsection almost accusingly. "It's too...this isn't soft enough."

You couldn't help it - a burst of laughter escaped you at his petulant expression, so at odds with his usual controlled stoicism. "Are you calling me bony, Kozume?" you teased, poking him in the side.

Kenma squirmed away from your prodding finger, nose wrinkling adorably. "No," he denied, but the flush rising on his cheeks said otherwise. "I just...I need..." He trailed off, clearly frustrated with his inability to articulate what he wanted.

Patient as ever, you just watched him, one hand rubbing soothingly up and down his spine as you waited for him to sort out his thoughts. Kenma's eyes darted around, landing everywhere but your face as he struggled for words.

Finally, he sat up fully, knees bracketing your hips as he hovered over you. His gaze roamed your body slowly, almost appraisingly, and you fought the urge to squirm under the intensity of it. When his eyes landed on your chest and widened fractionally, a glimmer of interest sparking in their golden depths, your breath caught.

Kenma licked his lips, an unconscious gesture that made heat prickle under your skin. He reached out a tentative hand, fingertips grazing the curve of your breast through your shirt. "Maybe..." He swallowed audibly. "Maybe these would be better?"

It took you a second to compute his meaning, brain momentarily stalled by his touch, light as it was. When it clicked, you couldn't contain your amused grin. "Are you asking to motorboat me, Kenma?"

"What? No!" His response was immediate and adorably flustered, cheeks going pink. He snatched his hand back like he'd been scalded. "That's not - I wasn't - I just thought -"

Taking pity on him, you gentled your smile and reached for his hand, guiding it back to your chest. "I'm just teasing, baby. Here..." Maintaining eye contact, you placed his palm more fully over your breast, shivering slightly when his fingers reflexively curled around the soft mound. "Is this what you wanted?"

Kenma's blush intensified, creeping up to the tips of his ears, but he didn't pull away. He nodded shyly, thumb rubbing almost reverently over your nipple. It stiffened under his touch, the thin fabric of your shirt doing nothing to mute the sensation, and you bit your lip to stifle a gasp.

"Well, in that case..." Reaching up, you curled your fingers into the loose collar of your sleep shirt and tugged it down a bit, exposing the gentle swells of your breasts. "Mi casa es su casa."

Your playful tone startled a laugh out of Kenma, breathy and warm against your skin. The sound made affection swell in your chest, bright and buoyant. He so rarely laughed fully; each one felt like a gift.

Slowly, giving you time to change your mind, Kenma lowered himself down until he was stretched out on top of you, head coming to rest on your chest. You felt his hesitant exhale, the flutter of his lashes against your skin as his eyes slid closed. A heartbeat passed, two, three...and then he relaxed fully against you, a sigh of bone-deep contentment escaping him.

"Oh," he breathed, sounding a little wondering. "This is...wow."

You couldn't help but agree. There was something profoundly intimate about holding him like this, his lean body a line of warmth against yours from chest to toes. You felt surrounded by him, enveloped. Safe. Cherished.

Winding your arms around Kenma's narrow shoulders, you pulled him incrementally closer and pressed a lingering kiss to the crown of his head. "Comfy?" you murmured into his hair.

"Mmmm." It was more a purr than a word, drowsy and utterly content. Kenma nuzzled into the valley between your breasts like he was trying to burrow into you. "Very. You're so soft. And warm. And you smell good."

Your heart turned over behind your ribs, so full of tender affection you thought it might burst. Kenma was rarely so artless with his praise, the sincere words made clumsy by impending sleep. It was painfully endearing.

"Glad to be of service," you whispered, unwilling to disturb the cocoon of hushed intimacy enveloping you. "Sweet dreams, lovely boy."

Kenma made a small, agreeable noise and you felt his lips curve into a smile against your skin. His limbs grew heavy and lax as sleep pulled him under, one arm curled possessively around your waist and a leg thrown over your thigh.

For a long while you simply held him, cheek resting against his silky hair, drinking in the peaceful rise and fall of his chest. Your fingers traced idle patterns over his back and shoulders, following the dips and planes of lean muscle and the delicate ridges of his spine. Each steady, trusting exhale fanning over your skin felt like a precious gift.

This beautiful boy, so reserved and guarded with the rest of the world, felt safe enough in your arms to let himself be vulnerable. To seek comfort and care without fear of judgment. Your throat tightened at the thought, overcome with tenderness.

Shifting carefully, trying not to jostle Kenma, you craned your neck to study his slack features. The ever-present furrow between his brows had smoothed out and his lips were parted slightly, long lashes fanned over his cheekbones. The late-afternoon sunlight filtering through the blinds gilded his skin and set his pale hair aglow, surrounding him in a hazy nimbus.

He looked so young like this, untroubled and ethereally lovely. You felt almost breathless with the need to bundle him close, to shelter him from anything that might dim the contented glow suffusing his face. Kenma carried tension in every line of his body, a quiet sort of melancholy that broke your heart.

If you could give him respite from that, even just for a little while...if you could be his safe harbor, his soft place to land when the world become too much...you would consider yourself the luckiest person alive.

Careful not to disturb Kenma's rest, you fished your phone off the nightstand and set an alarm to wake you in an hour. As much as you would've loved to let him sleep as long as he needed, you knew he'd be upset if he missed dinner. Growing boys needed their fuel, as he often reminded you with a wry smile when you questioned his truly heroic food intake.

That task done, you curled your body more securely around Kenma's, savoring the warm solidity of him in your arms. With a sigh of utter contentment, you closed your eyes and let yourself drift, surrounded by the boy you loved.

The shrill chime of your phone alarm roused you some time later. You groaned softly, nose scrunching in displeasure, and fumbled to turn it off. Beside you, Kenma stirred, making a sleepy sound of protest at being disturbed.

"Sorry, baby," you rasped, voice thick with disuse. You ran a soothing hand up and down his back. "Didn't mean to wake you."

Kenma grumbled something unintelligible and burrowed deeper into your cleavage like he could block out the world if he just tried hard enough. You bit the inside of your cheek, fighting a smile. Who knew Kozume Kenma was a secret cuddle monster?

The rumbling of your stomach broke the drowsy silence a moment later, seconded almost immediately by an answering growl from Kenma's. You huffed out a laugh, carding your fingers through the cornsilk hair at the nape of his neck. "Sounds like it's dinner time for us. Want me to order something?"

"Nooo." The petulant whine was muffled by your skin. "Don't wanna move. 'M comfy."

"I know, lovely, but we need to eat." You stroked your knuckles down the knobs of his spine, gentling him like a grumpy kitten. "Tell you what - if you let me up, I promise I'll order from that place you like with the apple pie. And you can use me as a pillow again while we eat."

There was a considering pause as Kenma clearly weighed your words. You could practically hear the gears turning in his head. Finally, he heaved a tremendously put-upon sigh and rolled away to flop on his back, one arm slung over his eyes.

"Fiiiine," he dragged out, peeking at you from under his elbow. "But there better be pie or I'm staging a protest."

"So demanding." You grinned, leaning over to smack a kiss to his cheek before sliding out of bed. "You're lucky you're cute."

Kenma's outraged sputter followed you out of the room, making you giggle into your palm. Riling him up was entirely too much fun. You knew you'd pay for it later - he'd probably rope you into being his player 2 for some new co-op game he'd been obsessed with - but it would be worth it. Time spent with Kenma was never time wasted.

When you returned to the bedroom, bags of takeout in hand, it was to find Kenma propped up against the headboard in one of your old, oversized sweatshirts, tapping away at his PSP. He glanced up when you entered, nose twitching appreciatively at the savory scent wafting from the bags.

"That was quick," he commented, setting his game aside to make grabby hands at the food.

"I may have bribed Yamamoto with a free teriyaki bowl to sprint over here. And before you ask, yes - I got the pie."

"My hero." Kenma's smile was tiny but genuine, eyes soft as he watched you unpack containers of gyudon and steamed veggies. "Have I mentioned lately that I love you?"

You paused, chopsticks hovering over a piece of beef, and tilted your head at him. "Are you talking to me or the pie?"

Kenma's lips twitched like he was fighting a grin. "Can't it be both?"

That startled a bright laugh out of you, head tipping back with the force of it. "Wow, okay, I see how it is. Nice to know where I stand."

Setting the food aside, you crawled up the bed and swung a leg over Kenma's hips to straddle him. His hands settled automatically on your thighs, thumbs rubbing circles into the sensitive inner skin. Cupping his face in your palms, you dipped down to touch your forehead to his, noses brushing.

"I love you too, you brat," you murmured against his mouth. "Even if I have to compete with baked goods for your affection."

Kenma's lips curved into a rare, full-blown grin, cheeks rounding out under your palms. "No competition," he said simply, tilting his chin up to slot your mouths together.

He kissed you slow and deep, a leisurely exploration that made your toes curl. Slender fingers crept under the hem of your- his shirt to stroke the skin of your lower back, making you shiver and press closer. You sighed into it, arms sliding around his neck as you sank into him.

After long, drugging minutes, Kenma drew back to rest his forehead against yours again. His eyes were soft and hazy when they met yours, full of quiet adoration. "Apple pie's got nothing on you."

The words were light, a little irreverent, but you heard the deeper meaning under them - the steadfast devotion, the promise inherent in each syllable. Your heart swelled, straining against the cage of your ribs with the force of your love for this beautiful, brilliant boy.

Unable to articulate the depth of your emotions, you simply kissed him again, winding your arms tighter around him as if you could fuse your bodies into one being. Kenma sighed against your mouth, melting into your embrace like coming home.

Later, bellies full and limbs heavy with encroaching sleep, you watched through drooping lids as Kenma set aside his empty pie tin with a satisfied sigh. He caught you looking and cocked an eyebrow, mouth curving into a lazy smirk.

"Good?" you asked.

"So good. That pie never lets me down." Kenma patted his stomach, then held his arms out to you in clear demand. "Now c'mere. I need my human pillow."

Stifling a laugh, you obediently crawled into his arms and let him arrange you to his liking - head nestled on your chest, arms banded around your waist to hold you close. He nuzzled his face into your softness with a contented hum, already boneless and pliant with impending sleep.

"Hey," he mumbled a moment later, voice muffled by your chest. "Wanna try something else…"

You pulled back slightly to look at Kenma, a curious tilt to your head. "Oh? What did you have in mind?"

Kenma ducked his head, peering up at you through his lashes almost shyly. A faint blush dusted his cheekbones, but there was a glimmer of heat in his golden eyes that made your pulse kick up a notch.

Slowly, deliberately, he slid his hands up your sides to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over the peaked nipples through the thin fabric of the shirt. You inhaled sharply at the sensation, back arching into his touch.

"Just wanna feel you," Kenma murmured, gaze heavy-lidded and intent on your face. "Wanna make you feel good."

Your breath hitched, arousal unfurling hot and syrupy in your veins at his words. Wordlessly, you reached for the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head in one fluid motion, tossing it aside. Kenma's eyes darkened, pupils blown wide as they raked over your bared skin.

Leaning down, you captured his lips in a searing kiss, licking into his mouth with purpose. Kenma groaned softly, fingers flexing on your breasts as he kissed you back just as fiercely before pulling back for air.

Kenma's heated gaze raked over your bare chest, pupils blown wide with desire as he took in the sight of your breasts. Slowly, almost reverently, he cupped the soft mounds in his palms, relishing the weight of them. His thumbs grazed your nipples, circling the dusky peaks until they pebbled under his touch.

Kenma's eyes were riveted to your chest, pupils blown wide and dark with desire as he took in the sight of your bare breasts. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, tongue darting out to wet his lips unconsciously.

"Can I...?" His hands hovered just shy of touching, fingers twitching with the effort of holding back.

"Please," you breathed, arching your spine in clear offering. "Touch me, Kenma."

Permission granted, he wasted no time in cupping the soft mounds again, relishing the weight of them in his palms. Your flesh spilled between his fingers, impossibly smooth and warm. He squeezed gently, wonderingly, thumbs grazing the dusky peaks and feeling them stiffen further under his touch.

Leaning down, Kenma traced the tip of his nose along the curve of your breast, breathing in the scent of your skin. He pressed open-mouthed kisses to the silken flesh, tongue darting out to taste you. Your breath hitched as he moved higher, laving the sensitive underside before finally closing his lips around the straining peak.

A low moan escaped you at the sensation of wet heat enveloping your nipple. Kenma suckled gently at first, tongue lapping languidly as he savored the feel of the taut bud in his mouth. His free hand palmed your other breast, rolling and plucking at the nipple until you were arching into his touch with a needy whimper.

Kenma released your nipple with a soft pop, blowing cool air over the damp flesh and making you shiver. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the rosy peak, glistening with his saliva and swollen from his ministrations. Pride swelled in his chest at how responsive you were to him, at the way you trembled for his mouth alone.

"So perfect," he murmured, voice low and rough with want. "I could spend hours just worshipping these pretty breasts. Sucking and licking until you can't take anymore..."

You keened high in your throat, fingers tangling almost desperately in his hair. "Please, Kenma..."

Compelled by your breathy plea, he dipped his head again to lave attention on your other breast. He licked broad stripes over the soft flesh, trailing the tip of his tongue around your areola before drawing lazy circles over the straining peak. Your answering moan was music to his ears, urging him on.

Kenma increased the suction, hollowing his cheeks as he suckled harder. He grazed the sensitive bud with his teeth, soothing the sting with flicks of his tongue when you cried out. He alternated between lapping kittenishly and sucking deep, until your nipple was red and throbbing, until you were writhing beneath him and panting his name like a prayer.

Only then did he release you, admiring his handiwork through heavy-lidded eyes. Both of your breasts were heaving, the flesh damp, nipples swollen and glistening obscenely. The sight made heat spark through his veins, desire throbbing insistently in his core.

"Kenma," you whined, back bowing as you shamelessly presented yourself for more. "Don't stop, please..."

"Shh, I've got you baby." Kenma smoothed his hands over your sensitive flesh, massaging gently. "I'm nowhere near done with you yet."

True to his word, he ducked back down to mouth at your nipple again, suckling ardently as his fingers plucked at its twin. He kept at it for long, blissful minutes, until the world narrowed down to the heat of his mouth on you and the ache building between your thighs.

Kenma's mouth was unrelenting against your sensitive flesh, alternating between soft suckles and firmer draws that made your toes curl. He seemed determined to map every inch of your breasts with his lips and tongue, leaving no patch of skin untasted.

You arched into the wet heat of his mouth with a throaty moan, your hands fisting in his hair to hold him close. Each pull of his lips sent sparks of electricity zinging down your spine, stoking the fire smoldering in your core. You could feel yourself growing slick with arousal, empty and aching for his touch.

"Kenma," you panted, voice wrecked and needy. "Feels so good, don't stop..."

He hummed against your breast in response, the vibrations making you gasp. Encouraged by your reactions, he redoubled his efforts, suckling harder and grazing the sensitive peak with his teeth. His tongue swirled around the pebbled bud, flicking rhythmically in a way that had you seeing stars.

Just when the pleasure was verging on too much, Kenma released your nipple with a final lingering lick. You whimpered at the loss of his warm mouth, back arching in wordless invitation. He soothed you with soft kisses peppered across the swell of your breast, hands kneading gently at your flesh.

"So perfect," he breathed reverently, nose nuzzling the valley between your breasts. "I could worship these for hours and never get my fill. Love how responsive you are, how easily you come undone for me..."

Your only response was a shuddering moan, head tipping back against the pillows as Kenma continued his sensual assault. He seemed fascinated by the weight of your breasts in his palms, the plushness of them against his lips. Like he was determined to memorize every dip and curve, every hitch in your breathing.

And you were more than content to let him take his fill, to lose yourself in the magic of his mouth as he laved attention on your aching nipples. Every draw of his lips sent molten heat flooding your veins, coiling tighter and tighter in your belly. You felt unbearably empty, desperate for friction where you needed it most.

As if reading your mind, Kenma released your breast with a final suctioning kiss. He raised his head to lock blown-black eyes with yours, his thumb sweeping maddeningly over your nipple.

"I've got you," he rasped, voice like gravel. His other hand skated teasingly down your stomach, over the trembling plane of your abdomen. "Gonna take care of you, give you what you need. Gonna make you feel so good, baby..."

The broken keen that spilled from your lips was completely involuntary, torn from someplace deep inside you. "Please, Kenma... need you."

The corner of his mouth kicked up in a small, wicked smile. He looked utterly debauched hovering above you, lips red and slick, golden eyes molten with desire.

Without breaking eye contact, he dipped his head to close his lips around your nipple once more. At the same time, his wandering hand slipped lower, fingertips grazing the lace edge of your panties. Your hips canted up in shameless offering, a silent plea for more that he was all too happy to answer.

Kenma took his time working you up with lips and tongue while clever fingers slowly teased your entrance, until you were writhing beneath him, until you were balanced on a razor's edge and begging for release. He brought you to the brink again and again, only to ease you back down, determined to wring every last drop of pleasure from your trembling form.

Through it all, his mouth never ceased its worship of your breasts, suckling and licking until you were boneless and overwrought. Until the world fell away and your entire existence narrowed down to the pull of his lips, the slick slide of his tongue, the feeling of his dexterous fingers sliding between your soaked folds.

And when his fingers finally delved into slick heat of your pussy and crooked just so, when his teeth grazed your nipple in tandem with a particularly devastating thrust, the coil in your belly snapped. Ecstasy crashed over you in a tidal wave, Kenma's name a broken litany on your tongue as he worked you through it, wringing out every last aftershock until you collapsed against the sheets.

Kenma released your breast with a final soothing lick, pressing a tender kiss over your thundering heart. He watched you come down with a soft, reverent expression, fingertips tracing idle patterns on your overheated skin.

"Gorgeous," he murmured, pressing his lips to your collarbone, your throat, the hinge of your jaw. "Absolutely stunning. I'm so lucky you're mine."

You hummed contentedly, threading your fingers through his hair to pull him down for a slow, sweet kiss. You poured every ounce of adoration and gratitude you felt into it, hoping he could taste the love on your tongue.

"I'm the lucky one," you whispered against his lips. Hooking a leg over his hip, you rolled your bodies until he was nestled in the cradle of your thighs, exactly where he belonged. "Now it's my turn to worship you."

[candy69gurl]

HIII NEW FOLLOWER :3 i js wanna cutely ask if u could make sukuna a gentle yet rough husband(he's still the king of whatevs) and the protagonist has a dragonfly pendant that glows and makes the protagonist submissive when originally, shes a VERY stubborn wife :3 thats all tyt (⁠´⁠⊙⁠ω⁠⊙⁠`⁠)⁠！

Trapped in Temptation

Heian Era Ryomen Sukuna x f!reader

Warnings- 18+, slight non-con, kidnapping, threats, mentions of violence (Sukuna is gentle only with you), tricking, use of nicknames, use of abdomen mouth and mouths on four hands, fingering (Sukuna has nails), double penetration (use of 2 dicks in rear and front), nipple playing, clit rubbing, choking, raw sex (cumming inside), breeding kink

wc- 4k

ART NOT MINE !

"Uraume, did you hear what that insolent wench said to me? She dared insult my honor!" Raging, Ryomen Sukuna paces back and forth across their opulent quarters, his four arms slicing through the air with anger. "I can't believe she would be so impudent before our subordinates! We should do something about her."

"Calm down, Lord Sukuna," Uraume interjects, standing in front of their master to block his path. "She knows not what she says. It was uncalled for, but I assure you, I shall handle the matter." They cross their arms, a determined look in their eyes.

"Uraume, she is so stubborn! Her constant attitude toward me is tiresome! I am the strongest, yet she dares to challenge me?" Ryomen Sukuna's voice booms throughout the room, emphasizing each word as he speaks. "And to think I took her as my consort... She must learn her place, or else I may end up hurting her"

With a sigh, Uraume nods understandingly, "I understand Lord, but the truth is, you've grown attached to her, haven't you?" Uraume asks, a knowing smirk playing on their lips. "I have the best solution for it"

"Tell me about it", he sits down on his throne, crossing his massive legs.

It was a sunny afternoon, as Ryomen Sukuna scanned his vast territory, standing atop the highest point of his temple. In the distance, he saw you - an unusual figure, unlike anyone he had ever encountered. Something within him stirred, a feeling he could not explain. His instincts screamed to hunt and devour this new prey, but a strange force held him back.

"You know I told you," Uraume said, looking up at Sukuna with a playful smile, "that sometimes we can find the most unlikely sources of entertainment."

Ryomen Sukuna grunted, acknowledging the truth in Uraume's words. He couldn't deny the fascination he felt for you. "Indeed, I will send my spies to follow her."

Weeks passed, and Ryomen Sukuna found himself consumed by your thoughts. He could resist no longer, and finally confided in Uraume, "I have grown obsessed with her. I've decided that I wish to bring her to me - against her will if necessary". A wicked grin spreaded across his face, revealing his sharp teeth. "Prepare the plan for her capture, and ensure she arrives here safely."

A sinister grin flashed across Uraume's face. "As you wish, Lord Sukuna. Your desire shall be fulfilled." And so, with expert planning and stealth, Uraume carried out the task of capturing you. When you were finally brought before him, bound and trembling, Sukuna couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement.

In the grand temple, surrounded by darkness and the oppressive aura of Ryomen Sukuna, fear coursed through your veins like ice water. You couldn't help but tremble at the sight of the towering, monstrous figure before you. Even as he approached you gently, offering words of comfort, your heart pounded uncontrollably. The very air seemed heavy with his power, and you couldn't shake the feeling of loathing and dread that bubbled up within you.

"Fear not," Sukuna whispered, his voice a velvety rumble in the silence of the chamber. "I have taken a liking to you, and will not harm you...for now." He gazed into your frightened eyes, his own full of curiosity and perhaps even a hint of longing. "I promise you, you are safe here – for the moment."

Breathless and shaking, you pleaded with Ryomen Sukuna, "Please, let me go! I don't want to stay here, with you..." Your voice quivered, desperation clear in every word. But the mighty demon lord only stared at you, his expression unreadable behind his cold facade.

As days turned into nights, and then into weeks, you refused to eat, choosing instead to starve yourself in protest. Your pale and unwell body greatly concerned Sukuna.

"Enough of this nonsense!" Ryomen Sukuna's voice rang out, echoing through the temple chambers. "Uraume, attend to her."

Despite your protests, Uraume stepped forward, concern in their eyes. "Please, consume at least a bit, it will make things easier for all of us."

You looked up at them defiantly, tears welling in your eyes. "I won't eat!"

"This obstinacy is truly fascinating," Sukuna muttered, watching the scene unfold with a mixture of irritation and intrigue. "You underestimate the consequences of your actions. If you continue to starve yourself, your life will be endangered."

Uraume sighed softly, eyeing you with worry. "Just a morsel," they pleaded, gently placing a small bite of food on your tongue. "For your own sake."

But you stubbornly clamped your jaw shut, refusing to swallow the offered sustenance. Your determination was steadfast, fueled by your desire to leave the clutches of Ryomen Sukuna.

Seeing your resolve, Sukuna's eyes narrowed, and he spoke with a dangerous edge to his voice, "Very well. Have it your way. But know this, if you die, I am going to kill every human on this earth."

"Y-you cannot do that-", your words fell on deaf ears, as Ryomen Sukuna merely laughed darkly, the sound echoing ominously in the temple chambers.

"Oh, little mortal, do not mistake my words for idle threats. I am capable of such destruction. And if you persist in defying me, I may just do it."

Watching you waste away drove Uraume mad with worry. They tried once again to reason with you, "Do not test Lord Sukuna's patience, child. You know not the extent of his powers. You must eat, for humans' sake."

Reluctantly, you opened your mouth for Uraume, swallowing the food they offered. The taste was foreign, and your stomach growled in protest, but you knew better than to refuse. Your eyes met Ryomen Sukuna's, a mixture of defiance and despair in their depths. You were trapped, a caged bird desperate for freedom.

As days passed, you learned to endure your imprisonment, adapting to the odd rhythms of your captivity. Ryomen Sukuna watched you closely, a never-ending study of this fascinating creature who had captured his interest. Though you remained subdued, he couldn't help but notice the occasional flash of rebellion in your eyes.

One fateful day, unable to contain your frustration any longer, you spoke out of turn, lashing out at Ryomen Sukuna in front of his ever-loyal servants. The words tumbled from your lips, sharp and cutting, as if driven by sheer desperation to assert some semblance of control over your situation.

Ryomen Sukuna's eyes narrowed, his expression turning dark as thunderclouds. With a swift movement, he took hold of your arm, lifting you off the ground effortlessly. "Is this how you repay me for keeping you alive?" His voice was low and dangerous, sending shivers down your spine.

"Perhaps I should reconsider my decision to spare you," he snarled, holding you aloft in his powerful grip, the muscles in his arms straining visibly. Your heart leaped into your throat as you realized the severity of your actions.

"Kill me, it's better to die than to live with a monster like you!", defiance blazed in your eyes as you spat the words at Ryomen Sukuna, your voice shaking with emotion.

Surprisingly, Ryomen Sukuna paused, his eyes softening momentarily. "Monster?" He released you, allowing you to stumble back, breathless and terrified. "I have done nothing but provide you with a measure of safety, and this how you repay me?"

Uraume stepped forward, trying to diffuse the tension. "Lord Sukuna, she is weakened, emotionally and physically. It's not wise to push her too far." They glanced at you, concern etched in their face. "Let us give her time to adjust to her circumstances."

Ryomen Sukuna hesitated, his sharp gaze never leaving you. "Get her out of my sight. NOW!"

Uraume quickly complied, guiding you away from Sukuna and into the comfort of your quarters. As the door closed behind you, you slumped against it, gasping for breath. Emotions swirled within, tearing at your fragile psyche. Fear, anger, resentment, and a strange kind of fascination with the demonic ruler.

In the quiet hours of night, Uraume approaches Ryomen Sukuna, a dragonfly pendant glimmering in their hand. Their voice soft but filled with purpose. "We have found a way to control her defiance, Lord. A dragonfly pendant of ancient origin, said to bring submission to those who wear it."

"Show me," Ryomen Sukuna commands, his interest piqued. Taking the gleaming object from Uraume's hand, he examines the delicate craftsmanship, a faint glow emanating from its center. A slow, predatory smile spreads across his face. "This could prove useful."

Uraume nods, understanding his intentions. "Once she wears it, and the pendant comes in contact with your iris, she will become submissive, appeasing her rebellious nature. Perhaps we can break her spirit and bend her to our will."

Ryomen Sukuna studies the dragonfly pendant, imagining the effect it would have on her. His dark eyes sparkles with anticipation, the plan working perfectly in his favor.

"But Lord.. Remember you have to trick her into wearing it", Uraume warns knowing your stubborn nature.

Rolling his eyes, Ryomen Sukuna dismisses Uraume's warning. "Trust me, I know how to manipulate her."

The following day, as dawn breaks over his kingdom, he seeks you out with a seemingly contrite expression. Apologizing for the previous day's outburst, he holds out the dragonfly pendant. "Here, take this as a token of reconciliation. Wear it close to you, as a sign of our understanding".

There's an underlying current of menace beneath his words, caught off guard by the unexpected apology, you tentatively accept the dragonfly pendant from Ryomen Sukuna's hand. As the delicate piece of jewelry slides around your neck, your heart races in anticipation.

Sukuna's eyes fall on the pendant and it glows, then a sudden warmth floods your being, and you feel an overwhelming sensation of... submission?

The change is immediate and profound. Your resistance crumbles, replaced by an inexplicable urge to obey. You fall to your knees, your eyes fixed on the ground, "I am sorry, Lord Sukuna. Please forgive my insolence." A wave of submission washes over you, eliminating the last vestiges of rebellion in your heart. The dragonfly pendant, now resting delicately against your collarbone, pulsed gently with each beat of your heart.

Ryomen Sukuna's eyes widens in surprise, a twisted grin spreading across his face. With a predatory grin, Ryomen Sukuna takes advantage of this newfound submission. Grasping your arm, he pulls you to your feet, your eyes locked with his. "Now that we understand each other, let's start fresh. Let me introduce you to the joys of our new arrangement."

A sense of helplessness grips you, as he leads you to a sumptuous room, adorned with silk sheets and plush cushions. Your heart hammers wildly in your chest, and you struggle to process the turn of events. As Ryomen Sukuna guides you towards the luxurious bed, you can't help but wonder how much more control he intends to claim over your body and soul.

"Remove your clothing," he orders, his tone commanding yet tinged with anticipation. Your fingers tremble, complying with his demand. Slowly, you undress, the dragonfly pendant glowing softly against your now-bare skin. An overwhelming sense of submission courses through you, leaving you vulnerable and exposed in front of the imposing figure of Ryomen Sukuna.

He watches you intently, his eyes never leaving your form. He steps closer, the heat of his body enveloping you, and you can't help but shudder, a mix of fear and desire coursing through you. "Turn around," he instructs, his voice a seductive purr. You obey without question, presenting your bare back to him.

His skilled hands move over your skin, tracing patterns that send shivers down your spine. "You are mine now," he whispers, his voice thick with desire.

He gives a searing kiss between your shoulder blades, his touch dominant and undeniably passionate. Every stroke of his hands, every caress of his lips, is a reminder of your new reality - one governed by his desires and his will alone.

Underneath his command, you find yourself responding in kind, your body betraying the fear that once held you in its grasp.

Ryomen Sukuna gently places you on the silken bed, his massive form towering over you. Your body trembles under the weight of his gaze, and his four arms wrap around you, holding you tightly, securely. The sensation is both terrifying and exciting, your heart racing in tandem with your growing arousal.

Slowly, he begins to explore your body, his fingers probing your core. You arch your back, torn between pain and pleasure.

"My, you're tight," he murmurs, his fingers sliding in and out of you with practiced ease. "Such a shame. You need to learn to relax for me."

Each thrust sends shockwaves of sensation through your body, the dragonfly pendant glowing with each movement. You moan softly, unable to deny the pleasure intermingling with your fear. "Please, Lord Sukuna," you whisper, the words slipping past your lips without conscious thought.

"Please, what?" He asks, his fingers continuing their rhythmic dance inside you. His voice is deep and velvety, wrapping around your senses like a warm blanket.

"Make love to me, please," you beg, your voice barely steady. There's a strange vulnerability in your plea, a stark contrast to the defiance he once faced.

Ryomen Sukuna's smirk grows wider, his eyes shining with triumph. "I have been waiting for this moment." he confirms, his fingers pausing briefly before he removes them from your body.

As Ryomen Sukuna leans in to kiss you, his enormous tongue darts out from his abdominal mouth, tracing a path to your clit. The sensation is unlike anything you've experienced before, sending jolts of electricity through your entire body. You gasp, your mind reeling with a mix of pleasure and confusion.

His tongue laps at your sensitive flesh, eliciting a moan from deep within your core. Simultaneously, his lips meet yours in a searing kiss, his tongue invading your mouth with the same boldness. His four hands roam freely, exploring every inch of your trembling body.

"You taste divine," he growls against your lips, his tongue from abdomen continues its assault on your clit.

One of his four arms reaches down to your core, thrusting inside with surprising ease. The sudden invasion triggers a response, your body arching off the bed in a fierce orgasm. Pleasure rips through you, a tidal wave of release that leaves you breathless and panting.

Breath still ragged from your climax, you watch in awe as Ryomen Sukuna discards his garments, revealing not one, but two erect phalluses. Shock momentarily paralyzes you, but his command snaps you out of it. Nervously, you position yourself between his legs, your hands trembling as you reach out to touch the unfamiliar appendages.

Your tongue darts out, hesitantly exploring one of his erect members. Your inexperience is evident, but he seems content to guide you. "That's right," he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. "Show me how eager you are to serve me."

You obey, your skill improving with each passing second. You alternate between his two phalluses, each one throbbing under your touch. His hands thread through your hair, guiding you as he mutters praises under his breath, his grip firm but gentle on your scalp. Your lips wrap around one of his member, your cheeks hollowing as you take him deeper. A strange sense washes over you, realizing he's taken complete control of this encounter.

Ryomen Sukuna groans, his hips bucking slightly under your ministrations. "So eager to please your master, aren't you?" he taunts.

"Mhm," you mumble around his member, your voice muffled by the flesh filling your mouth. The dragonfly pendant glows fiercely at your chest, a constant reminder of your submission. "Whatever you want, Lord Sukuna."

His laughter fills the room, a deep, rolling sound that vibrates through the air. "Delightful. Just remember, you belong to me now."

You continue to service him, your body responding to his every command, every thrust of his hips.

Ryomen Sukuna's laughter dies down, replaced by a growl of satisfaction as he pushes your head back. With an effortless strength, he picks you up with his four hands, aligning one of his hardened members with your entrance. In one swift motion, he pushes inside you, filling you to the brim.

You cry out, the sensation intense and overwhelming. Your walls stretch to accommodate his size, toes curling and head resting on his broad chest.

Ryomen Sukuna grins down at you, clearly pleased with your tightness. He responds by pounding into you with brutal intensity, each thrust driving deeper into your core.

"Tight little thing," he mutters, his voice guttural with lust. "Perfect for my needs."

Suddenly, Ryomen Sukuna notices the dragonfly pendant is missing from around your neck, but your face remains submissive. Confused, he slows down his movements, searching your face for any trace of rebellion. But there's none; only submissive yearning stares back at him.

"P-please lord, d-don't stop, i-i am so close.."

His lips curl up to a grin, his eyes narrow, studying you closely. "Is that so?" He resumes his thrusts, watching your reaction carefully. Your face contorts with pleasure, your body responding to his every stroke.

Without warning, Ryomen Sukuna pulls out of you, urging you onto your knees. You comply instantly, your body quivering with anticipation. He positions himself behind you, entering you from behind with renewed vigor.

The difference in angle sends waves of pleasure cascading through you. Each thrust strikes a new nerve, bringing you closer to the edge. You moan, your body begging for release.

Just as you start to crest, he stops with his thrusts keeping his member deep inside you, leaving you panting and desperate. "Patience," he growls, wetting his fingers with his saliva.

Your heart races, knowing what comes next. He inserts his wet digit into your tight rear, stretching you in a whole new way. You gasp, the sensation overwhelming. "P-please" you stammer, but it comes out more like a plea than protest.

Ryomen Sukuna chuckles darkly, his fingers working in concert with his cock. "Relax, little one. This will make you sing."

The added pressure forces you to focus solely on the sensations engulfing you. You breathe deeply, trying to accommodate his digits. His laughter echoes in the room, a cruel counterpoint to your mounting frustration. His other member pulses, impatient and ready to join the fray.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he withdraws his fingers, coated in evidence of your readiness. You tremble, anticipation building to a fever pitch.

In one swift motion, he introduces the second shaft inside you, stretching you beyond belief. Tears prick at your eyes, a mix of pleasure and pain washing over you, but you don't resist, your body listening to him.

As both of his members work inside you, his four hands come into play. Two grip your hips firmly, guiding his thrusts while the others explore your body. His mouth forms from his other pair of arms, closing over your breast. The sensation is unlike anything you've ever experienced.

His suckling mouths formed from his hands tug gently at your nipples, sending sparks of pleasure throughout your body.

"Oh gods, yes!" You exclaim, surrendering to the sensation. His dual attention, the incredible fullness inside you, overwhelms you.

"That's right," he croons, his voice deep and sultry. "Take it all, show me how much you enjoy being filled."

Two of his hands reluctantly leave your breasts, giving them a tight squeeze before retreating. You whimper, feeling deprived even though you remain filled to the brim. It's almost too much, his dual penetration combined with his previous attentions.

Then, one of his hands drifts lower, touching your clit with feather-light touches. The other wraps around your throat, cutting off your air.

"N-no, wait...!" You choke out, struggling for breath.

"Quiet," he growls.

Without warning, his tongue emerges from his hand currently stroking your clit. It dances across your nerve bundle with expert precision, pushing you closer to the precipice. At the same time, the other hand leaves hickeys on your exposed neck, marking you as his own.

You gasp, the combination of sensations finally proving too much. Your body convulses, your orgasm soon going to occur.

As your orgasm builds, Ryomen Sukuna leans in close, his voice a seductive rumble against your ear. "I found your weakness," he whispers, his abdomen's mouth tracing lines along your spine. "Tell me you accept me as your husband."

You shiver, the combination of his words and actions overwhelming. His thrusting never stops, pushing you higher and higher.

"Lord Sukuna..." you manage, your voice breathy.

"Still a stubborn one, aren't you?" he chuckles, his pace increasing.

His thrusts become more urgent, matching the rhythm of your impending release. "I said accept me as your husband," he commands, the demand clear in his voice.

You nod, your body shaking from the sheer force of his command. "Yes...my Lord, I accept you as my husband" you admit, surrendering completely.

"Want to bear my child?," he asks, his mouth on his abdomen resuming its licking.

"Y-yes yes yes.. F-fill me, Lord.. I want.. your babies.. hnghnn", you reply, drools dripping from your chin. The thought surging through your body as you shatter, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave.

Ryomen Sukuna matches your release, his own body convulsing as he finds his own climax.

With a final burst of energy, Ryomen Sukuna fills both your holes, his seed spilling hot and thick inside you. The sensation is indescribable, filling you to the brim. As he finishes, his seed trickles down between your legs, coating you in his essence.

His breathing labored, he collapses against you, resting his forehead on your back. You lay there, basking in the afterglow of your shared experience.

His eyes fall upon the dragonfly pendant lying innocently on the floor, and a slow smile spreads across his face. "Well well, look at that."

He lifts you gently, turning you around so you're facing him. Holding the pendant between his fingers, he holds it to your lips. "We don't need this anymore"

Taking the pendant from his fingers and throwing it away you pout angrily at him, "You tricked me."

A wicked gleam enters his eyes, and he pulls you closer, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. "Just wanted you to realize your real feelings towards me. All you needed was a little push."

You pull back, your lips parting slowly. you stare into his eyes, realizing he's right. Your body did submit without the dragonfly pendant at the end. Your feelings towards him are genuine.

"I'm yours, Lord Sukuna."

His grin widens, he is indeed thanking Uraume in his mind, his hands caressing your face tenderly. "That's what I always wanted to hear, love."

[weirdworldofwinnie]

Happy Halloween!🎃Here's a treat for all you Jonathan Crane lovers out there:

Face Me...

Dr. Jonathan Crane aka Scarecrow x Female Reader (NSFW 18+ only smut)

Summary: You work at Arkham Asylum in Gotham and Dr. Crane has been stalking you for a while, but you are leery of him and have been avoiding him outside of professionalism at all costs. One night though as you are leaving work, he tracks you down at your car to see just what you're so afraid of.

Word Count: ~4,426

Warnings: Semi-rough car sex, non-con elements, forced oral (male receiving), dirty talk/language, slight degradation, hair pulling, slapping, stalker behavior, talk of virginity loss, birth control, Dr. Crane being kind of a creep in general

Note: Reader does not know he is actually Scarecrow! And images above are sourced from Pinterest. This story is based only on Cillian Murphy's version in the Batman films and is my interpretation of the character; I don't own him or any part of the franchise, this is just for fun.

Tonight was swathed in misty sheets of rain in the gritty darkness lightly tainted by the glow of streetlights as your car, parked a few blocks from Arkham Asylum, beeped to unlock and you slung your purse over your shoulder, sighing after a long day and wanting to get home to a hot bath and a drink or two. But a strange feeling in the pit of your stomach at a shadow from your peripheral vision made you hesitate and you squinted through the hazy shower that was tapering off to a light drizzle, dampening your hair.

A suited man, height on the shorter side, was stopped no more than twenty feet away and a jarring jolt rushed to your bones when you saw the street light glint off his narrow framed glasses and you paused, hand on the car door. He was utterly silent and you were unnerved by his stiff posture and oddly clenched fists, half thinking to jump in your four-door-sedan and peel out of his presence, but he then walked forward causally, those hands relaxing and slipping into the pockets of his black slacks.

"Good evening," he called out, stepping into view under a streetlight with a smirk and you clenched your jaw, crossing your arms defensively as he slowly approached, that sick smile never sliding off his features that were - you'd have to admit - frankly handsome... No, beautiful was a better term.

"Why are you stalking me, Dr. Crane?" you asked with edginess to your tired voice. It was late and you didn't even live in Gotham City, you just commuted here for work.

"Stalking? Oh no, I am simply observing," he replied smoothy, but it came off as more snappy and insincere.

"Right... Don't you have somewhere to go?"

"Do you?"

"Yeah, home to my apartment miles away. It's been an exhausting day and too late to be out on the town, so if you're proposing anything, I can't take it tonight."

"It's always a long, late night in Gotham."

He moved within a few feet of you and you swallowed nervously, but remembered a man like him could smell fear, so you put up a brave front.

"So when do you finally fuck off and leave me alone? It's unprofessional to follow someone without their permission, you know. Keep this up and I'll need a restraining order."

"But you always avoid me during work and now you reject my offer for simple company?"

"Company late at night at my car in the rain? And aren't you technically my boss? We aren't friends and I don't know why you're so interested in me, but I don't think you should be. I'm not looking for a man like you. Right now I'm just looking for a nice glass of red wine honestly."

"Really...?" he drew the word out to almost a parodying tone and you pursed your lips.

"Yes, really. Now I bid you goodnight, Dr. Crane." You opened the car door fully, ducking and stepping a foot in when the door caught and you looked up to see him holding it in a firm grip. He was stronger than you expected.

"Stop denying it, I see the way you look at me when you think I'm not paying attention. Stop hiding and face me once and for all," he insisted darkly.

You took a breath, desperately trying to calm your beating heart and yet the horrible feeling that this evening wasn't going to end on a dull note persisted.

"Don't hurt me, I'll-" you started to warn and his eyebrows shot up with a shake of his head.

"Call the police?" It sounded like mockery from his mouth and you scowled as he continued, his pale hand sprinkled with rainwater sliding up and down the car door frame.

"Hurt you, hm? Well, only if you want me to." He chuckled and you stared at his slightly floppy dewey dark hair and raised eyebrows.

"Why the hell would I want you to hurt me?"

"You tell me. I do know you secretly want something else, don't you? Something more... erotic?"

You scoffed angrily, hating how he was worming his way past your exterior and into attraction, but you couldn't let it happen.

"Take a raincheck. I'm going home." You tried to shut the door but he was still holding it in a death grip, knuckles white and veins bursting out the back of his hand.

"Stop fucking around, I don't have time for this sh-" you cut off your sentence with a yelp as Dr. Crane shoved you inside the backseat of your own car and you landed flat on your back as he came inside to hover over your vulnerable body, wetting his pink lips.

"Please! Don't do this!" you cried out of panic and he leaned back, breathing heavily.

"Don't go anywhere," he warned and you struggled to sit up, throwing your purse up front and he slammed the side door shut, getting more comfortable in the backseat, which you were not pleased about.

"This is MY car, get out," you commanded, but he was as cool as a cucumber as he cleaned his glasses with a cloth from his suit jacket.

"I just want to talk one on one, which we never do outside of the usual board meetings and it can be so boring, always about psychiatry and stats and police reports and this patient and these crazies and-"

"Oh sure you just want to talk. I'm not some kind of naive idiot to the desires of the opposite sex," you rolled your eyes and he scoffed, settling back on the seat with a cross of his legs and looking up to the car ceiling.

"It's so cold and wet tonight, shame we aren't someplace more cozy," he muttered and you awkwardly crawled into the driver's seat with your keys and fumbled to insert them in, starting the ignition.

"What are you doing there?" he asked mildly and even that sounded passive aggressive. God, he sure was insufferable.

"Turning the heat on because you're whining about it. I just wish you'd get out of here, completely violating my privacy."

"This is a public street you're parked on, isn't it? And is this how you treat all passengers?"

"I never have any passengers," you remarked bitterly and Crane leaned forward, putting his hands on the back of the seat and peering around to you as you glanced at him in the rearview mirror.

"Indeed. I know you're mostly a loner with almost no friends and orphaned from family or maybe you've lied and they aren't dead and are only estranged... Either way, no one cares and no one understands how you spend office hours in a facility full of the most criminally insane but you do it for the money and to quench your curiosity because deep down, you know - you know you're a freak too who sees no normal in what you have deemed a, oh say... corrupt kind of world."

You swallowed at his assertions and unfortunately fairly accurate reading.

"I don't need sympathy from you of all people," you snapped, putting the heat to full blast. It was freezing tonight and the defrost was battling the condensation filling up the windshield.

"I'm only trying to understand you myself, it's my job to psychoanalyze."

"I'm not one of your patients or experiments," you told him in disgust.

"Every human being is an experiment in the eyes of their creator, which is me for you because I happen to be the one who hired you in the first place. Without me, you would not have a job and therefore I created you in that respect," he replied in absurd smugness.

"Then what am I? Frankenstein's monster?"

His eyes flashed and he adjusted his glasses reflexively.

"I wish. No, you're my first prototype I have yet to diagnose."

You shut the heat off once the internal temperature was fairly toasty and cracked a window down a fraction for circulation. A beat of silence befell until he suddenly climbed into the front, dropping into the passenger seat confidently, and you realized how lithe he was, how easily he fit into spaces not designed for someone with such an overshadowing, all-encompassing ego.

"Now what are you doing?" you asked exasperatedly. He didn't answer and you hated the way looking at him was making your heart flutter despite your anger and the alarm bells ringing in your brain. Something about him was always... very off and you never could quite place your finger on it, he was a blind spot, but it was undeniable. Which was telling considering the people you were exposed to every day.

Crane reached up and removed his glasses entirely with a swipe to set them on the dash and your breath caught with that simple action. You admitted how he was very visually pleasing without those lens obstructing his intense blue colored orbs were. You glanced down and fiddled with the keys when he suddenly snatched them up out of your lap and pocketed them into his own pants with a manic expression.

"Hey, give those back!" you yelled and began to wrestle with him, arms flailing as he held his own above his head, palms up and empty.

"You want those? You have to do something for me first."

"I-Okay, what is it?" You dropped your arms and glared at him suspiciously. He smirked once, speaking with a tremor of excitement.

"If I was civilized, which I'm admittedly not, I'd ask you out on an old fashioned dinner date and then walk you to your door, give you a nice polite kiss and send flowers to your desk on Monday. But I can't wait anymore for that saccharine romantic scenario, so we'll get straight down to business. I want to fuck your brains out, right here in the car."

You blinked, rather stunned.

"I... I-I no, I can't, I mean that's-"

And here was where your confidence utterly failed as he suddenly lunged and grabbed you to pin you down inbetween the passenger and driver seats, head flung upside down almost to the backseat floor and legs helplessly kicking towards the windshield.

"Please, don't do this!" you yelped anxiously.

"Don't tell me you're a virgin who has never had a dick in you before," he whispered, misreading your fearful hesitant expression. Actually, you'd had sex once with a lame boyfriend back in college and since then, avoided the dating and hookup scene, content just to masturbate when you could.

"Oh, fuck, I should've guessed. What a shocking discovery," he wrongly concluded rather sarcastically and you cringed, twisting your head away from his warm breath and ridiculously good looks.

"This makes it all the more interesting, then," he murmured with a feathery caress to your cheek and you flinched, giving him a kick and successfully wriggling out of his grasp to curl up against the door in the backseat.

"I've been waiting a long time for our encounter," he mused, utterly unfazed at the negative reaction.

You immediately went to open the door, ready to run for your life if he became overly threatening, but he hit the button that locked all the doors. You manually unlocked your one door - thank God for that safety feature - but his deadly voice made you freeze.

"Are you quite sure you want to do that?"

"T-This is my ensured vehicle and y-you are violating every right of mine by t-taking over like this," you stated, but your voice was shaking like a leaf through the words.

"That's it, you are afraid of me..." he whispered slowly and the pure delight with pride in his voice was unmistakable. You turned to look at him directly, unable to hide and deny anything any longer.

"I think you are being very inappropriate right now," you admitted nervously.

Crane moved to join you in the backseat, but you felt stuck even though you could technically open the door and make an escape. There was no way he could really stop you, was there? He didn't have a weapon on him, did he?

"If you were really frightened, you would have bolted by now," he said as though reading your thoughts and you gulped, realizing he was right.

"Dr. Crane, I-" you were broken off by him abruptly grabbing your face and kissing you, his tongue sloppily forcing its way into your mouth and you naturally reciprocated while inhaling his sharp stinging scent of expensive cologne. He pulled back with a gasp and a mischievous spark in his eyes that made something awaken deep inside.

"You kissed me," you said in a stunned voice.

"That's precisely what I did, Y/N," he answered with another touch of smugness and you closed your eyes, knowing you were in too deep now. He was going to take this all the way and you felt helpless to stop it. Did you even want to stop him?

"I knew if I exposed myself enough to you, you'd finally stop being immune," Crane told you with a sort of self-righteousness as he ran his hands down your back and shrugged your coat off before moving to your front to remove your blouse carefully, button by button.

"I hate to see such pretty tits contained and so oppressed... Let's free them, shall we?"

He unclasped your bra and removed it, tossing it to the floor and you shivered, goosebumps peppering your bare arms and neck.

"Aww, is it too cold?" He made a pout and privately you wanted to smack those stupid lips right off his condescending face but it was if you were under a spell of a sudden, entranced by his actions and his hypnotic eyes. He trailed his fingers down from your throat to your nipples and you hardened at the stimulation, closing your eyes in regret. Dr. Crane was turning you on, dammit.

"Better than I could imagine..." he breathed, taking in your appearance for a minute while groping your breasts, squeezing, and you gritted your teeth as he teasingly tickled you under your arms, making your breath hitch and a stupid giggle slipped out.

"Sensitive, are we? I promise I won't hurt you."

You leaned back, casting a fretful look out the windows in case of onlookers, but the street was empty and the glass was streaky with rain, creating a thickly translucent rippled covering not unlike a shower curtain.

"No one knows," Crane stated flatly in response to your paranoia while untying his dress shoes and pushing them under the seats. You just nodded, taking off your own and then unzipping your pants the same time he undid his own. His tight dark grey briefs were bulging with his cock and you hesitated, absolutely unsure of what to do when he completely stripped and out popped out his erect glistening-at-the-tip penis in full view.

"Take it in your mouth," Crane ordered abruptly, pushing you down beneath him.

"Um, no I think that's disgus-" Your voice was cut off as you nearly choked; he roughly shoved his cock so fast into your parted mouth. The silky end of his tie tickled your nose as he inched closer, and clearly this was much more enjoyable for him than it was for you as he groaned in building ecstasy and you kept your mouth closed around it, afraid that if you moved, you'd gag or get hurt. He forced your head up a little and bobbed, but you could feel a dribble of precum seeping down your throat and now you reflexed, yanking yourself from him with a loud noise and banging the car door open to cough and spit violently out onto the pavement below.

"Get back in, do you want someone to see us?!" Crane hissed and you felt a sharp tug on your hair as he pulled you back. You shrieked and self defensively twisted to slap him straight in the face. He gasped from the unexpected blow, falling back and banging his head on the opposite window as you spat, wiping your lips of his mess.

"Can't take it like a common whore, can you? Feel like being a goddamn difficult bitch, don't you? Think you're better than me, do you?" he seethed, rubbing his cranium and you huffed.

"I thought you'd just put your dick in me, not that bullshit."

"It's called oral and many women in fact enjoy it."

"How do you know, you've done that before?"

He had a strange expression when he replied briskly.

"I've read up on the concept, you know."

"You've studied about women and sex. Amazing. Is that what you do on your lunch break or...?" you almost laughed, but the way he was staring at you wasn't in a joking manner. He had the look of an inmate one straw away from a full psychotic behavior break down. Basing from your training, you decided to distract his frustrating anger and talk nonchalantly to calm him down.

"Okay, I'm kidding around, I get it, and I don't mean to hate or spite you. Remember when I was initially employed at Arkham, fresh out of college, and I met you for the first time? I personally thought you were extremely cocky and looked waaay too young to be a top psychiatrist in such a grand high security institution. Now I can say with certainty that while you are, um, creative in your methods with the inmates and I do admit I find you very terribly attractive, I have to say Dr. Crane... I still think you're an arrogant son of a bitch."

"Call me Jonathan," he replied, unimpressed by the insult and wrestling off his tie.

"Well, Dr. Jonathan, you sure are a pretty piece of work," you replied with ample attitude and he was fed up, dumping his jacket and shirt from his body and twisting the tie in his fingers. He held it up and a muscle spasmed in face, jaw clenching and enunciating his cheekbones.

"You want me to choke you with this?"

"I'd really prefer you didn't and it would be very nice if you weren't such a dick forcing your sex on me," you answered matter-of-factly.

"Lie down or I'll fucking fire you from your position, understand?" he snapped loudly and was extremely serious as you glared, but then reluctantly laid back obediently on the seats just to avoid complications and he came down swiftly, carefully aligning to position his penis at your entrance. He cautiously touched the moist head to your vaginal lips when you held up a hand onto his chest, stopping him.

"Now hang on doctor, don't you want to warm up first?"

"I'm obviously already warmed up, Miss Y/LN."

"But I don't have lubricant on me, so you're going to have to get me naturally very wet for penetration because right now I'm dry as a bone," you warned for your own protection, but hardly expected him to listen.

"Don't tell me how to do it," he replied, snippy.

"I'm serious, you can't just stick it in there; it will be just as hard for you as it'll be for me and I don't want to end up seeing a gynecologist."

"So you aren't a virgin after all?"

"I had my hymen broken with a loser in the past," you told him and he raised one brown eyebrow, creasing his forehead with a few fine lines.

"Then how should I start, Miss doctor?"

You wordlessly took a hold of his index finger and guided it to your opening and he pressed lightly, feeling pooling liquid.

"You little liar, you're already discharging," he whispered disapprovingly and he massaged your clit in slow jerky rhythm. You nodded in approval, losing your control as he slipped a finger in and moved around enough to make you clench a bit, trapping his digit.

"How does that feel?" he asked almost clinically and you closed your eyes, urging him to put in another finger. He did and you almost orgasmed when he extracted much too soon, sighing.

"This isn't much fun for me," he whined and you made a face, shifting position to spread your legs wider, putting your arms up and accidentally smearing the fogged window with your fingertips. You looked utterly submissive, practically begging to be fucked, to get it over with (so you convinced yourself).

But for all his aggression to trap you in your own car for penetrative sex, Jonathan was now becoming oddly timid as he hesitantly closed the gap between you, realigning his bare body to yours.

"Wait, have you done this before?" you asked suspiciously and he was sheepish in answering.

"I told you, you are my first prototype."

"Shit, you're the virgin here?!" You laughed as though this made this experience any less stressful or partially contrived.

"Do you masturbate?" you then asked and he rolled his eyes.

"What kind of man of do you think I am?"

"Is that yes or no?"

"Doesn't matter, Y/N. Now, let me ask you a more important question: are you on birth control of any type?"

"I..." you hesitated to answer because if you told him 'no' would he go any further? You had pills at home as a precaution, but neglected to ever take them, assuming you'd be remaining single. But you had no intention of getting into a full relationship and certainly not being impregnated by this man.

"I left them at home," you finally answered truthfully.

"I have something for that then," he assured and you stared as he leaned back and rummaged in the pockets of his clothes on the floor. He produced a tiny pill container and dropped a pill into your open palm. You didn't ask why he was carrying around birth control pills, but assumed he had indeed been planning this for a while.

"Don't want any unnecessary side effects of something that I'll have to end up terminating anyway," he muttered bitterly as you popped it in and climbed into the driver's seat to swig some water from your plastic bottle in the cupholder, feeling grateful that at least he didn't administer that Fear Toxin he was always messing around with in the asylum.

"Now can we get started?" Jonathan asked impatiently and you took a breath, easing the front seat down so you were lying parallel to him. Jonathan clamored on top of your naked flesh and straddled you, his cock rubbing up against your thighs, then vaginal area and you squirmed, clutching onto his back. He pushed in gradually, but densely, and you whimpered at the stinging pain and then the growing pleasure bubbling around his cock within your walls and you clenched hard, much harder than you had with his fingers.

"Oh... Fuck, Jonathan..." you groaned and he bounced up and down lightly, thrusting with slaps of skin and you felt your bottom sticking with sweat to the leather seat as he kept at it for several minutes, gripping your hips and nearly plowing you apart. It hurt, no getting around it, and he wasn't privy to what you were feeling as he seemed entirely in his own zone, racing for his pleasure until you moaned loud enough to cause him glance down, realizing you were getting close to free falling off the edge.

"C'mon, you're so close with that pretty little pussy of yours, almost..." Jonathan breathed in your ear and as he hit the spot, finally the climaxing orgasm came with a bang and it was so intense, probably fueled by adrenaline and stress more than actual love, that you emitted a high pitched shrieking whine which trailed into a low moan of relief while it tapered off and he grunted, somehow thrusting even further. Yes, you had minimal experience, but had never ever been penetrated this far before and you dreaded how much longer he could rail you, but thankfully his own orgasm came with a grunting groan as he spilled into you and you held on, digging nails into his shoulder blades and nearly biting his neck. He panted heavily in your ear and his tickle of breath made your stomach flip.

He laid still on top of you for awhile, cock twitching and warming your insides. The windows were fogged up completely and the cold was now non-existent with the heat you and him were creating out of friction alone.

"You enjoy yourself?" you whispered hoarsely to Jonathan as his breathing slowed sluggishly and he looked like he was falling asleep, so you shoved him off your aching body and he blinked, rubbing his forehead.

"Yeah, that was satisfactory. Maybe I should bump up your paycheck."

"I'm not a prostitute, but thank you."

He smiled lazily, eyes rather unfocused, and you pulled your seat up with the lever, reaching for his glasses on the dash and handing them back to him. He, in turn, retrieved the car keys from his pants and tossed them back to you with a clanging jingle.

Casting a look around your car, there were streaky handprints on the fogged glass, thin swipes of fingers and imprinted palms decorating the back windows and you reached over to one and drew a heart outline in a patch of blank space. Jonathan's own finger speared through it, making a arrow.

"Very romantic," you commented sarcastically and moved to join him in the backseat as he started to draw a creepy face reminiscent of a familiar spooky icon (a clown? Maybe a scarecrow?) when he stopped and checked his watch.

"I need to go," Jonathan coldly stated out of the blue and began to hastily gather up his clothing, awkwardly dressing before he stepped outside and zipped up his pants, and inhaled the late October city air, somewhat out of breath. The rain had stopped and the skies were clearing, the full pearly white moon slicing through the curtain of storm clouds, and you drew your blouse around yourself with a shiver before sliding into underwear, realizing you'd never look at Dr. Crane the same since this intimately raw experience.

"So I'll be seeing you around tomorrow...?" you wondered aloud and although you meant for that to be purely work related, he clearly took it the other direction.

"Oh, I'll be seeing you." He smirked knowingly and then slammed the car door closed in your face, leaving you sore and to reel from whatever the hell this twisted specimen of a man just put you through. Did you like it?

Maybe.

Thanks for reading 🖤 First time writing for Jonathan Crane, so I hope this was halfway decent!

[kittievampire]

Nightbringer! Virgin! Asmo’s first time is with MC? And once he realizes how HEAVENLY MC feels it’s almost as if he can’t stop?

Absolutely 🥵🥵🥵

Lemme see what I have in my bag, my dear~

Click here if ya wanna request!

Lust's First

Warnings: Cursing, Smut, Virgin!Asmodeus x Fem!MC, Switch!Asmodeus, Face-Fucking, Overstim, Light teasing, Asmodeus is very fucking horny

Enjoy.

It was only logical that the Avatar of Lust was a virgin at one point, right?

It was logical, yet the concept still confused you. Asmodeus was standing before you in your room, late at night, a tent in his pants, and a blush on his face. He was trying to read your expression at the news of his innocence, feeling embarrassed despite only being given his title of sin fairly recently.

"MC?" He called out softly, making you snap out of your thoughts. The two of you locked eyes in the dark room. You could barely make out the outline of his figure, yet his eyes glowed, and you could see that he'd shifted into his demon form. You could feel it too. The aura of raw lust couldn't be more evident, what with how it plunged the entire room in its sweet aroma.

In his sweet aroma.

"I think the Demon King mentioned something like this... That my body would do something weird like this every now and then," He shook his head, running his fingers through his hair. "But I wasn't paying attention! I was too busy trying to figure out how to make my wings look more fabulous with gemstones and now I don't know what to do!" He rambled, not even paying any mind to his, now messy, hair.

You breathed in his scent, the calming air filling your lungs and coursing through your body, arousal beginning to pool in your gut. You were familiar with this kind of thing, Asmodeus from the present would talk to you about his ability to charm in multiple different ways, some less controllable than others. He'd explained that every now and then, his body will release pheremones similar to aphrodisiac perfume. Over the years, he'd learned how to detect and control this odd happening, so he'd only release such strong chemicals purposefully.

One of the key details that you remembered was that this can affect himself as well if not controlled.

"And you're a virgin," You repeated softly, earning a nod from the Avatar of Lust. "I can't go around, being the sin I am, asking for someone to take my virginity! Do you understand how compromising that'd be? Besides, I want to remember my first time!" You didn't even see him move toward you, you only felt him grasp your hands, shakily placing one at his crotch. "Please, MC? Would you be my first, Darling?" You could see the way his eyes glowed in the room that had been plunged in darkness, the sweet smell that lingered making you shiver under its weight. You couldn't deny him if you wanted to, not that you did.

_

You never took Asmodeus for being loud in bed, mainly because the one you'd grown to know was experienced and knew how to keep his voice in check, but this one? His sounds made your pussy clench around nothing, and you only sucked more of his cock into your mouth. You lathered his length in your saliva, pressing a sloppy kiss to the tip before taking it into your mouth once more.

His fingers were tangled in the locks of your hair, tugging on it as he whined and cried out incoherent sentences. Asmo bucked his hips, his tip hitting the back of your throat as his free hand joined the other in your hair. "So good! So goooood!" He whined, his head pushing against the wooden headboard as he thrusted his hips upward and into your mouth, seeking more of the warmth it provided. You'd manage to catch a glimpse of his expression, and the sight almost made you cum on the spot. His eyes were rolled back and teary, his cheeks were a bright red, his forehead had beads of sweat forming, and there was saliva running down his chin. "M'almost there! Almost there, please!"

You'd be lying if you said this wasn't out of the ordinary. When you'd spend nights with Asmodeus from the present, he'd only submit to you if you begged him to. Even then, he'd never allow himself to look this unkempt. The smell that had overwhelmed your senses prior to the events unfolding had yet to dissipate, making your body even more hot, your pussy even more wet.

The fourth-born sin was fucking your face mercilessly, his length pushing down your throat, making you gag. "Your mouth, it— Nnnh!— Feels so good, Darling!" He mewled out, balls clapping against your chin as more saliva was fucked out of your mouth. "Yes, yes, yes!" He shoved his entire length down your throat, making your throat constrict around his cock as he came. Thick white ropes of his seed gushed down your throat, and the grip he had on the back of your head kept you down, so all you could do was swallow.

He bucked his hips a few more times, clenching his teeth in an attempt to regain control of at least his voice, before he slowly pulled out. You coughed a few times, trying to clear your lungs so you could breathe properly. Once you caught your breath, you saw Asmodeus on his knees before you, eyes glowing, and a blush dusting across his face. "MC," He muttered out softly, dazed smile unwavering. "Let me take you now! I don't think I can hold back any longer!"

The Avatar of Lust leaned forward, tugging on your legs so you'd fall to your back on the bed with his hard cock grinding against your sopping folds. He let out a lewd noise that was between a moan and a shaky sigh, completely dazed from the pleasure you brought to him. "Wanna feel... This tight pussy around me," He whimpered out, gripping your thighs and spreading them. Hesitantly, his gaze flicked upward to look at you. The pure, raw lust that was emitted from his form, the thing that filled your senses so sweetly, the thing that made his eyes glow brightly in the dark and his wings flap excitedly. You couldn't deny him. You wanted him just as badly as he wanted you.

With a slow nod of your head, Asmodeus leaned forward to capture your lips in a sweet kiss, gripping your hips tightly as he pushed the blunt tip of his cock into you slowly. The warmth of your walls enveloped his cock, greeting him in it's tight velvet.

You grasped Asmo's shoulders tightly, pulling away from him and letting out a sharp gasp at the stretch as he bottomed out. He let out a sigh in bliss, blush darkening along with his eyes. "You feel amazing, Darling!" He moaned out, leaning forward to attack your neck with his teeth as he bucked his hips forward. His pace was erratic and desperate, almost as if he'd die if he didn't fuck you. The flapping of his wings only caused the tainted air around you to circulate, the sweet aroma of lust and sex filling your senses just as his cock filled your tight cunt deliciously. His moans were on par with yours, your mixed cries of ecstasy bouncing off of the walls, no doubt alerting anyone nearby.

But you didn't care.

At this point, all your fuzzy mind could think about was how fucking deep his cock was driving into you. The brutal pace didn't help your situation whatsoever, and you were reduced to tears, saliva, and lewd cries of his name.

Asmodeus found it difficult not to get off on your noises alone; They were like a forbidden melody to his ears that he didn't want to end. He couldn't stop. He didn't want to stop. He wanted to stay buried deep inside of the sweet warmth that your pussy provided for all eternity, figuring that he'd die happy if he died at all. His erratic thrusting didn't cease, and the number of marks he left on your neck and clavicle was evidence enough of his raging lust for you. "You feel so good, MC!" He declared once more, letting out a soft whine. "M'already s-so close, Darling," He whimpered, slamming the tip of his cock against the spongey spot that made you scream. You arched your back, breasts pushing against his chest as you wrapped your legs around him, digging your fingers into the bedsheets with gritted teeth. "You want me to fill you up?" He gasped out, bringing your hand up to his face and gently nibbling on your knuckle. "Or maybe you'd prefer I cover you in my cum, hm?"

Both options sounded amazing, but there was something about the second option that made your walls flutter around his cock, and for your arm to shoot up over your eyes in embarrassment. Asmodeus gasped. "I see," His cock twitched, and his hips slammed against yours even faster. "You'll look so beautiful, Darling! Absolutely— Nnhh!— Stunning!" His voice quivered.

His cock's relentless pace, the bullying of his tip against your cervix, and the pressure that his lust put you under made you scream his name as your orgasm racked through your body. Your legs trembled as your juices coated his cock in your essence.

Asmo's grip on your thighs was unwavering as he leaned back to angle himself properly. He thrusted into you a few more times before pulling out, pushing your thighs together around his cock to give it a nice cushion before cumming. He let out lewd gasps as thick, white ropes of his cum shot out onto your stomach and breasts, his cock twitching as his orgasm washed over him.

You were left panting heavily. Your throat was still raw from his face-fucking earlier, and now, your pussy was wrecked as well. You felt him push passed your folds again and you gripped the sheets, letting out a sharp gasp as he plunged deep inside of your warmth once more.

It suddenly felt like the heat around you only increased in temperature, the sweet smell from earlier becoming ten times as intoxicating. He looked down at you, lust filling his expression alongside an apologetic look.

"I'm sorry, MC. Could we maybe do just a few more rounds? I can't seem to calm down." You would have rolled your eyes at the fact that he asked for permission after doing the deed, but the way your pussy clenched in reaction to the overstimulation made your head all fuzzy again.

"Fuck," You whimpered out, knowing that this would be a long night.

He really did try to stop after the seventh round, but fuck. Your pussy just felt too good.

Whimpered apologies and the sound of skin slapping against skin went through the door from the small crack at the bottom.

That's when Lucifer decided that maybe it was best to install sound-proof walls and doors.

Hope you liked it, anon!

Masterlist

[jinwoosungs]

{ 165 }

reader inserts.

jinwoo sung x fem.reader

warnings: pure crack and fluff 🥰

anonymous said: Ever just thought about Jinwoo finding reader reading an Jinwoo x reader fic? Cuz like he's a famous hunter, got good looks, and all so there's bound to be fanfics in solo leveling and then she's trynna exit the tab/app she was reading it on cuz she got caught😆

|| out of time, feat. s. jinwoo

- now i can't keep you from loving her, you made up your mind. -

rain was falling from the sky, painting your world in melancholic hues. as you allowed your forlorn gaze to look out the window from your bedroom was when you heard the familiar chime coming from your phone.

and it was at this moment that you received a text from your boyfriend, telling you to come meet him at the usual café you both tended to frequent at.

you didn’t think about how it was strange that jinwoo didn’t tell you he had finished his mission and came back home to your shared apartment-

you didn’t even think about how it had been literal weeks since you had last heard his voice-

for upon seeing his text for the first time in what seemed like months, all you could feel was a sense of relief and joy.

so your heart began to pound with anticipation, feeling the pinpricks of happiness start to fill your veins as you prepared yourself to meet him-

however, you couldn’t deny the undertones of anxiety you felt at the same time.

after all, this was the first time you had heard from your boyfriend in three months. sure, you saw him on the news that detailed all the raids he had taken part in. the invasion began several months ago, with numerous gates surrounding the city of seoul, and he, along with all the other s-ranked hunters, had been called to action.

but there was just one tiny problem-

hunter cha hae-in was also part of that roster, and that made you feel all the more scared and anxious.

during the three months that jinwoo spent away from you, hunter cha had always been close by-

acting almost like his second shadow as they raided each gate. and each time the news and paparazzi would catch a glimpse of them exiting the gate together, you swore that your eyes could see them holding hands.

throughout his 90 day absence, you convinced yourself that he was simply being courteous with hae-in; that they were just hunters working towards a similar goal-

nothing more, and nothing less.

yet when his nightly calls and daily texts seemed to steadily dwindle down with each passing day, you knew deep down in your heart that something was amiss. your heart no longer felt the warmth of jinwoo’s presence, and each time you looked down at your shadow to see not a single, glowing eye peering back at you-

you knew that deep down, jinwoo’s love had gone stale for you.

your mind rationalizes that it was over before it even began-

but your heart still held on to hope.

which was why you were left running out into the rain, making your way towards the café jinwoo had mentioned. you had hoped that this was a means of jinwoo begging you for forgiveness; for unintentionally ignoring you during those arduous three months he had left you to deal with the various gates-

that he still loved and needed you despite what all the rumors had said pertaining to cha hae-in and him.

yet the moment you entered the coffee shop and had already seen jinwoo settled at your usual table, you felt your heart stop at the mere sight of him.

he was dressed in his usual turtleneck and dark jeans, grey eyes seeming to look down with amusement as he kept texting someone on his phone all while smiling at the screen.

while he was texting, you became achingly aware of how not a single notification was heard coming from your phone-

which had to be more than enough proof that he was speaking to someone else, for the only text you had received from him was the one asking you to come and meet him.

don’t be stupid; you’re just feeling anxious than usual. just… just go up and talk to him already!

so you harden your resolve and take a step forward. jinwoo, sensing you and seeing you from his periphery, quickly pocketed his phone while giving you a wry smile-

a smile that didn’t seem to reach his eyes like it normally would upon seeing you. he greets you by calling out your surname, and he didn’t seem to catch his mistake-

but you did.

even when he stood up to hug you, his embrace was awkward and stiff; his arm felt like deadweight to you as it remained utterly devoid of any warmth. he couldn’t even try to maintain such an embrace, already gently shoving you aside while gesturing for you to sit across from him.

you give him an almost robotic nod, taking a seat across from him as an awkward expression paints jinwoo’s handsome features. even now, when you were certain that your relationship with the hunter was on the cusp of destruction, you still found him to be utterly beautiful to you-

“listen, there’s no easy way to tell you this, but first and foremost, i have to admit that this isn’t your fault. that people fall out of love all the time…”

his admission truly was like a knife to your heart, twisting it painfully within your chest as you struggled to even breathe.

“you’re a lovely woman, and you’ve given me the best three years of my life-“

“but i’m not her, is that what you’re trying to hint at?” you quickly cut him off, a sob escaping from your parted lips, betraying your true emotions at this very moment.

yet you refused to let the way the guilt twist his features sway the absolute hurt and devastation you felt.

“how could you do this to me? especially when knowing how… how inferior i felt to her! a-and now, you just confirmed each and every one of my fears!”

“i had loved you when you had nothing; when you were nothing- and this is how you repay me? by throwing me away while running into HER ARMS?! you are the worst, sung jinwoo, and i hate you so much!”

you stand from your seat, eyes filling with tears as it made it difficult to see jinwoo’s expression. not even giving him a chance to speak, you ran out into the storm, hearing the rumbling of thunder as the saltiness of your tears were mixed in with the needle-like rain.

as you felt the rain seep into the fabric of your clothes, your heart feeling like it was being ripped apart from the confines of your chest-

deep down, you wished that jinwoo would come out in the rain and comfort you, seeing your pain while realizing that you were the woman that loved him all along as he brought you within his embrace, apologizing to you and telling you how much he didn’t mean it-

but as you continued to stay beneath the downpour, with not a single ounce of warmth surrounding you, you knew that sung jinwoo had already made his choice when he left you out here in the cold and unforgiving rain.

your relationship with him had run out of time after all…

{ … }

the gasps felt coming from your parted lips came from the genuine tears that streamed down your face as you read your favorite author’s latest work, feeling as though your heart was being ripped into two.

the pain was so fresh, so potent that you liked / sent kudos to the story all while commenting on this wonderfully written masterpiece. while exploring tumblr / ao3, you had found yourself in the mood for angst, one that spoke of unrequited love as jinwoo fell out of love with you-

yet perhaps this story seemed to serve your craving a little too well.

after you sent your comment, you nearly dropped your phone when jinwoo himself bursts out of the kitchen with a look of concern in his eyes. “sarang, what happened? i was going to call you, letting you know that dinner was ready, when i heard you crying.”

mortification was felt coursing through your very veins as you tried to hide the app / website away from him. in your panicked state, you kept sputtering out excuses, trying to hide your phone-

only to end up dropping your device on the ground. before you could even stop jinwoo from taking your phone, he already held the slender device within his hand, grey eyes scanning through the contents of the story you had just finished reading.

“unrequited love; jinwoo x reader; jinwoo x hae-in; angst no comfort- sarang, no way…! you’re into this silly stuff!?”

you could feel the heat dye against your cheeks when you weakly reached out to him, trying to take away your phone from him. you swore, you felt like dying when he kept looking at your phone, actually reading each passage of the insert out loud.

“…your relationship with him had run out of time after all…”

only when he finishes reading did he finally relent, allowing you to take back your phone. with you distracted, jinwoo wraps his arms around your front, earning a light squeak from you as he takes a seat on the couch while placing you in his lap.

a teasing smile paints his stupidly handsome features, and he was drawing comforting circles behind your back while calling out to you, “sarang…?”

you could feel his nose now tracing at your hair, inhaling your scent, but you were too embarrassed to say anything to him. instead, you stubbornly looked away from him, allowing the heat to travel across your cheeks as your skin continued to burn in response for getting caught in the midst of your guilty pleasures.

“why did you wish to agonize and torture yourself like this when you know that this will never happen? that i will always love you, no matter what.” he asks you, but this time while placing a hand beneath your chin. his grey eyes were sparkling with amusement for you, yet still, he comforted you, running his hands through your hair as he waited for your response.

all you could manage was a weak shrug, “uhm… it’s hard to explain b-but, i actually like reading all these inserts that you have. so many fans respect and adore you so much that they spend time writing about you.”

he rolls his eyes while gently poking at your cheek. “and truly, i don’t mind such fan content, since it’s purely fiction- however…”

jinwoo grips at your chin in an even tighter manner just then, “it’s a problem when it manages to upset you.”

“ah, no really, don’t get mad! it’s just the fans’ way of venting and coping, knowing that they cannot date you, so instead of being a crazed and stalking you, they simply write out their daydreams. it’s harmless fun, and r-really i was searching for something angsty to read!”

you defended all the fan fiction writers that existed, knowing that even cha hae-in and choi jong-in had their own fanfictions and inserts as well. now that you were out of the miserable world the story had painted and was currently settled within jinwoo’s warm embrace, admittedly, you felt better.

jinwoo sighs, letting out a groan of your name while brushing his nose against yours, “in that case, how about i make up a story right now to help you feel better?”

he sits back on the couch, bringing you even closer to his chest as you let out the sounds of light giggles. smirking at your laughter, he lets out a hum before beginning his own story.

“once upon a time, the man known as the weakest hunter fell in love with a girl that was pretty much his best friend…”

(“silly woowoo, inserts don’t start out like a fairytale!”)

(“hush, it’s our fairytale.”)

jinwoo clears his throat before continuing, “so this girl was pretty much the love of his life, bringing him absolute joy whenever she was around. he thought he could never change, become better for her, but thanks to a series of circumstances and the way he kept on wishing on falling stars for his dream to come true-

it worked.

no longer was he a man that could not protect the woman he loved. now, he was able to face his own personal trials and tribulations while always keeping the girl in the forefront of his mind. he no longer felt helpless and insecure when standing by her side… he became the man he knew she always wanted and needed…

and now, when the hunter found out how silly his lover was being, reading stories about him instead of realizing that the real deal was better than some fake daydream, he couldn’t help but laugh and tease her!”

he finishes his story with a rich chuckle, making your pout deepen as you began hitting at his chest with your hands folded in a fist, “jinwoooo, stooooppp! you’re just making fun of me now!”

instead of replying to you with words, jinwoo leans in closer to you, pressing a kiss against your pouty lips while still chuckling. “sorry, sarang, you’re just so cute that i couldn’t help but tease you a little.”

basking in your sputtering words, he casually picks you up, taking you into the dining room as he had every intention of spoiling you tonight. first with some of his delicious dinner, then later, with the proof of his pure love and devotion he had for you and you alone…

a.n. - lmaooo reader is the equivalent of “you cheated on me in my dreams, and now i’m mad at you 😡” 😂😂😂😂 this was so much fun to write, and yes, i made up that “angsty insert” at the start.

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

[monster-disaster]

[owlman] Mr. Harkins

owlman!Mr. Harkins x human!Reader Good to know: no smut, just a bit of a dom x sub thing, humiliation and spanking

Summary: The librarian has to punish you when you are late again.

"Miss Flores, you are late again," Mr. Harkins's stern voice welcomes you the moment you enter the library. A grimace pulls on your face as you find the male at his desk, not even looking up from the screen of the computer. The bright light follows the curve of his beak and reflects on his round glasses in front of his wide golden eyes. "I apologize, Mr. Harkins," you reply. Your voice is thin and quiet. "I didn't have time…" you start as you approach him. Your steps seem loud in the quiet room. "I don't have time for your excuses," he cuts in before you can continue your explanation. "If you can't follow the rules, you can go and buy the books instead of borrowing them." You don't even dare to reply as you grab the books from your bag and put them on the old wooden table in front of the owl. They are heavy and thick in your hands. "Did I make myself clear, Miss Flores?" Mr. Harkins asks, looking up at you from his seat. "Yes, Mr. Harkins," you nod, clearing your throat when you feel it tightening. "I will do better next time," you promise. He rolls his eyes. "I heard it before, Miss. I don't need your empty promises. I need you to bring back the books in time." "Yes, Mr. Harkins," you reply. "Now, go," he says, motioning to the long row of bookshelves behind you. "I don't want to see you." "Yes, Mr. Harkins," you repeat yourself, almost whispering.

Your friendship with the owl started well enough when you moved to the city two years ago. He was happy for the new face and welcomed you to Meriad with open wings and several suggestions about which books you should read when he heard about your preferences. He was respectful and kind. Then, your job began to be too demanding, and you started getting late with bringing back the books you borrowed. He was patient and understanding at first, but his demeanor changed for the worse every time you were late. Before you knew it, the male you thought was a new friend looked at you like you were his biggest enemy.

It was too late, though.

You were madly and deeply in love with him by the time, he started hating you.

That's why it hurts so much when you are late with his precious books. You hate to disappoint him. You want him to be kind and nice to you again, even though his anger and sternness always do things to you, no matter how much you try to deny it.

Wanting to get away from him as fast as possible, you quickly disappear behind the bookshelves. They tower over you easily, hiding you from his dark gaze and the burning of his attention on the back of your head.

You need long minutes to calm yourself down and start to focus on the books around you. 

The familiar scent of the old building and papers fills your nostrils as you wander through the long rows. Your fingers caress over the spine of the books as you read the titles.

The orange glow of the setting sun filters into the library through the tinted windows. They illuminate the tall walls and glint on the chandeliers hanging off the painted ceiling.

The library is quiet and calm. You can hear someone moving around from time to time, but you don't pay attention to them. You focus on the books, picking one or two up every now and again to get to know more before deciding to keep it or put it back. By the time you are done, your arms hurt under their weight.

"Great," you grunt under your breath, pushing down your anxiety because of the fact that you have to face the angry owl again.

Well, if you are lucky, his co-worker…

But no.

Mr. Harkins already stares at you with a scowl on his feather-covered face when you appear from behind the shelves. The golden of his eyes seems vivid and liquid in contrast with the whites and browns of his feathers. The yellowish color of his hands at the end of his wings matches with the shade of his beak. His black claws are short and blunt.

"No," he breaks the silence as you drop your collection on his table with a quiet thud.

Your brows lift in surprise. "What?"

"If you borrow so many books, you will be late again."

"I won't," you tell him, feeling like a child under his stern, scolding gaze.

"Don't lie to me, Miss Flores."

"The policy says one can't borrow more than ten books," you tell him. You shouldn't be brave enough to talk back, but him not letting you take as many books with you as you want almost feels humiliating. "It's only eight," you add, pointing at the pile between you and the angry bird.

"One last time," he grunts.

The few minutes while he takes care of the books and you put them away are silent, tense, and awkward. Shame and guilt burn your cheeks because of your argument. You are sure he has to force himself not to ban you from the library, and you are not sure what stops him.

"Thank you, Mr. Harkins," you break the silence, adjusting the straps of your bag on your shoulder as you make your way to the exit. "Have a good night."

"Miss Flores," he calls after you. "If you are late again, you will be punished."

Hearing his warning, your lips open with shock, but no words come out as the door closes behind you.

-

After you called the library for an extra two weeks and Mr. Harkins's co-worker was the one who answered the phone, you thought you were safe. Two weeks should be enough for a book that is barely longer than two hundred pages. In other circumstances, it would have been enough if not for your job. The hospital changed your shifts at the last minute, and after working long hours at night, you were too tired to read at daylight.

You should have returned the books two weeks ago.

Two weeks.

Mr. Harkins will ban you from the library; you are sure of it. You have two weeks to accept the fact that you will have to go to the other side of the city if you want to read without leaving a fortune in the bookshops.

But facing the owlman? Yeah, your stomach turns with anxiety when you think about it.

You sit at the table in your small kitchen. The books are in front of you in a pile as you stare at them accusingly as if your being in trouble is their fault.

What if you don't take them back? What is the worst that can happen? Maybe you have to pay some fine. And you can never go even near the library again, afraid you will meet Mr. Harkins. But with your luck, you will meet him somewhere else. And he will tear your head off in the middle of the street in front of everyone.

"Shit," you groan, holding your head in both of your hands as you lean onto the table with your elbows. You want to say more, but the ringing of your phone doesn't let you. The familiar sound fills the small flat.

"Yes?" You answer without looking at the screen. It's probably the hospital, anyway.

"Miss Flores?" You can feel your blood freezing in your veins at the sullen voice. "The books, Miss Flores."

"Yes," you gasp. "I will return them today."

"After the library is closed."

You frown. "What? Why?"

"Am I clear, Miss Flores?"

You gulp, fidgeting. "Yes, Mr. Harkins."

"Good," he grunts. "I will wait for you."

Okay. What is the worst that Mr. Harkins can do to you? Ban you? You already accepted the idea. Maybe he will make you clean up the library or help with the books. He can't do that, but you wouldn't be brave enough to say no if he asked.

You spend the whole day with rocks in your stomach. You try to calm yourself and be careless about it, but you can't lie to yourself. You are in trouble.

By the time the library closes, you are in front of the building, trying to gather your courage to make yourself enter.

The sun is already setting. The lights reflect on the buildings around you, gliding across the windows. The library's tinted glasses glint under the orange glow. The traffic behind you on the road is still busy and loud. The sound of honks and the rumble of engines echo off the tall walls, vibrating in the autumn breeze. You have to step and move every now and again so you are not in the way of anyone who has better things to do than stand in front of the library. You reach the entrance door like this, with quiet apologies and smiles.

When you finally enter, the library is even more silent than usual, and the desk not far from the entrance is empty.

This is your chance, you think with a sharp inhale. You put the books down, leave, and never come back.

"Miss Flores, you come." Mr. Harkins's voice mixes with the quiet thud of the books as they land on the hard surface of the desk.

Your heart stops beating for long seconds.

"Yes," you squeak out. "As you wanted, Mr. Harkins."

"See? You can be a good girl, Miss Flores if you want to."

You are sure he can hear the change in your breathing when he calls you a good girl. Anxiety and excitement rush over your body, going straight between your legs.

"I will go now," you tell him, still not having enough courage to turn and look at him. "I still have things to do and…"

"Not so fast, Miss Flores," he says, stopping you before you can move even an inch. "I still have to punish you."

At his words, you turn to him. "Mr. Harkins, I-"

"Turn back," he commands, and you can't help but scowl at him. He wears his usual three-piece suit. The brown shades of the fabric match his feathers. His round glasses rest on the base of his beak.

"Turn. Back," he repeats himself. "Before I make your punishment worse."

You do as he says.

"Take off your pants." His next demand makes you freeze and burn at the same time. Your cheeks heat up as you feel his waiting gaze on your back.

"Mr. Harkins-"

"Do I have to tell you everything twice, Miss Flores?"

"No, Mr. Harkins," you reply, unbuttoning your jeans to push them down to your knees.

"All the way," he says. "I want you to spread your legs."

Fuck.

Even though you feel humiliated, your pussy thinks otherwise. You are already wet and aching.

"What if someone sees?" You ask quietly.

"It's just us, little girl," he says. "You don't have to worry."

You nod, keeping your mouth shut. His gaze is heavy on the curve of your bottom even though you still wear your panties. You are curious if he can see the wet patch on the fabric or if you are not that soaked yet.

"Now bend over and spread your legs." He is getting closer.

Pushing away the books from the way, you follow his command once again. You want to know what happens next.

"Good girl," he hums, and your pussy throbs at his praise. Yeah, you want to be his good girl. You imagined the librarian so many times but never quite like this.

"Push out your ass," he says from above you. Your insides twitch at his closeness.

Fuck.

His hand lands on the small of your back. His touch is warm and slow as his hold slips down to your bottom. He grabs the flesh there, squeezing and groping you. His claws still feel sharp even though you know they are blunt.

"I will spank you," the owlman states.

His fingers slip under the waist of your panties, pulling down the fabric until it stretches around your knees. The library's air feels cold on your heated skin.

"How many days ago you should have brought back the books?" Mr. Harkins asks.

"Fourteen days ago," you squeak out. Your cheek is pressed against the wooden surface of the desk. Your hands are next to your head in small fists.

"Uh-uh," he disagrees. "Before that, you asked for two more weeks."

You gasp and almost stand up, but the owlman's other hand stops you from doing that. "That's too much," you tell him.

"It is," he agrees with a sigh. He sounds amused. "Let's stay at fourteen, but you have to count them loudly, and I will add one more every time I don't hear you."

"Yes, sir," you reply.

His chuckle is satisfied as he smooths down on your ass cheeks, warming up the skin for what happens next.

"Good girl," he says. "Now, count."

The first slap comes suddenly and powerfully. Your whole body jerks and jumps at the pain that strikes through your skin.

"One," you cry out.

Another slap. "Two."

Three more. "Three, four, five."

Your bottom burns under his assault. Your flesh jiggles after every loud smack that echoes off the walls.

"You don't know how many times I imagined you like this," he says.

"Six."

"Every time you were late, I wanted to bend you over the desk or my knees and spank that sweet ass of yours until they were red and ripe under my hand."

"Seven."

"At first, when you started coming here, I thought we could be friends, you know? He asks without wanting an answer.

"Eight."

"I thought you were a nice girl who respects the library's and my rules, but no."

"Nine." At this point, your ass is on fire.

"You had to be late every damn time."

"I'm sorry," you cry and gasp. "It wasn't my-"

Smack. Smack.

"Mr. Harkins!"

"You didn't count, bad girl. Add two more."

"No, wait!"

Smack. Smack. Smack.

"Ten. Eleven. Twelve."

Your face is wet from your tears, and your pussy pulses with need. Sobs shake your body as you cry. You hate to disappoint him. Guilt and pain eat you while he still keeps you down on the table. Smack. Smack. You count loudly and hoarsely.

"Two more, sweet girl," he says, caressing the redness of your skin. He is more gentle now, giving you a few seconds to take deep breaths and calm yourself down.

"Two more," he repeats, "and we will be done. Your punishment will be over, and you will be forgiven, alright?

"Yes, sir," you nod, still sobbing.

"Good girl."

Smack.

"Fifteen," you count.

"And one last."

"Sixteen," you gasp, relieved.

"Good girl," he praises you, caressing your burning skin. "I know you can be a good girl if you want to. I'm proud of you."

Every praising word and touch lifts something off your chest that lets you breathe again. The tears stop but your pussy still throbs and aches. The pain Mr. Harkins inflicted on you was nowhere near enough to lessen your desire for the owl.

"You want something else, aren't you?" He asks, amused again. "Your pretty cunt is sopping wet."

His hand glides down to your center. The tip of his finger is rough against the slit of your cunt.

"Mr. H-Harkins," you gasp, pushing yourself against him. "Please."

"Uh-uh," he hums, shaking his head even though you can't see him. His wide eyes shine with hunger and satisfaction. You are wet and slick under his touch. The scent of your arousal is thick and heavy in the air.

"I can't reward you after your punishment, can I?" He chuckles, still playing with your wet folds. The tip of his finger finds your clit every now and again but never stays there for long enough to make you feel good.

"Please," you breathe out, pressing your forehead against the desk. It's cold under your heated, slightly sweaty skin.

"How about this," he says, still exploring your pussy as he talks. "I let you choose three books now, and if you bring them back in time, I will give you a reward you want."

"Okay, sir," you answer. You know you can do nothing but agree.

"Good girl," he hums, leaving your pussy to lean down and take off your panties.

"Mr. Harkins?" You gasp sharply.

"I will keep them," he smirks. "Now go and choose three books, Miss Flores."

Your legs shake as you get up from the desk and make a few tentative steps to the shelves. The skin of your inner thighs is wet and uncomfortable.

Stopping in your tracks, you look back at the male over your shoulder. He is leaning against his desk with his wings over his chest. His golden eyes are sharp and satisfied as he looks over your half-naked body.

"Go on, little girl."

You feel humiliated and excited at the same time again as you wander between the shelves. His eyes are on you the whole time. 

You are not sure where this all will lead you with Mr. Harkins, but you know for a fact that you will return the books in time.

- Masterlist Meriad Masterlist Patreon

[wood-white-writer]

"Didn't mean to make your heart Blue" || [8/...]

— OPLA! Buggy x F!Reader

"My love is mine, all mine. I love, my, my, mine. Nothing in the world belongs to me but my love,"

— Mitski, "My Love Mine All Mine"

Pairing: Buggy the Clown (Live Action) x F!Reader

Parts: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends.  Buggy, desperate for your attention, can't help but think about what led to this situation.

Warnings: fem!reader, LA!Verse, slight canon divergence, morally grey reader, depiction of blood and wounds, DIY suturing, slight alcoholic indulgence, Buggy realizing he's fucked up big time

Buggy recalls the first time he caught your smile.

It had been several months since the Captain introduced you to the crew. Despite the sorry state you were in at the time of your debut, your eyes were so bright even back then, as though illuminated by something internal.

He’s heard about fish glowing in the dark even when in the deep depths of the ocean, thousands of miles out of the light, and they require nothing but themselves to keep the light on.

He wondered if you’re like that. You didn’t look like a fish, nor did you remind him of any fish people he had encountered; too pretty and earthbound but glowing all the same.

Glowing, but dull. A knife that's not been polished for long, but still being used as intended.

Everything about you, how you walked and moved, all the way down to how you blinked, felt placid and stale from his perspective. He himself was an expressive man, never denying himself the capacity to show how he felt, so to witness it from you felt like a foreign sight. 

You didn’t smile, nor show much of anything really. No sadness, anger, or joy. Just a blank canvas without any colors.

He compared you to a doll; a mannequin having come to life from behind a display case, breathing and blinking and moving, yet maintaining its lifeless nature all the same. You were strong, exceedingly so, and you followed orders without question or complaint. Like a machine working on auto.

He wondered whether you had been a slave or some kind of child soldier before Rogers found you. You must have been because no one becomes this … this … cold of their own volition.

He found that your apparent incapacity to live annoyed him, and so he set out to change it. He didn’t know why, but he just had to.

Quite frankly, he didn’t know what he said or did. Maybe he told some silly joke, the kind his crew mates usually smacked him in the back of the head for due to its cheesiness, but you smiled. 

The image of that remains stuck in his head like a stain that won’t wash off. He remembers everything about that moment. The way you wore your hair, with a singular braid on the right side of your face. Asymmetrical and messy, yet you made it look just right.

He remembers the way the gray sky parted just in time for a ray of sunlight to shine across the deck, further illuminating your face. It was like the heavens above decided to put a spotlight on you.

He recalls the way your eyes glistened in the sun.

He remembers it all.

Maybe that’s when it first began? This … thing that’s been gnawing at him for so long? This feeling that won’t leave him in peace, even in his sleep. It tugs at his chest, pinches his stomach, itches his skin, and warms his face. 

This feeling that’s been clawing at him in the twenty years you were parted.

The source of that feeling that’s currently looking at him from across the room.

His eyes light up like fireworks upon seeing you enter the kitchen area. “Hey! Look who it ...—!" The moment he sees the state you're in, whatever words were about to exit subsequently fall dead on his tongue. "— ... is."

You look like shit, mildly put. He's never seen you look as terrible before save for the time you first joined Rogers’ crew, and it feels like he’s back there again.

Back to sitting on the sidelines as the Captain procured you from under his oversized coat; a kid who looked smaller than she really was, now with a fresh bruise in development across your cheek, sunken eyes, and a pale complexion to your skin that wasn't there before. 

You're leaning onto Rubber Boy like he's your only lifeline from falling headfirst into the floor, and upon squinting his eyes, Buggy notices the edge of a bandage peeking out from under your shirt, with a drop of blood staining the material.

In all the time Buggy's known you, he's only seen you bleed maybe once or twice. It was a rare occurrence; no blade could pierce your skin, nor daggers or swords. Your hide was impenetrable, like molten armor in the flesh. Arlong really did a number on you. He couldn't see much during the time he was stuck in that God-awful bag, but by the sounds of it, it was not a fight you were winning. He always held onto the notion that you were unbeatable; unbroken. Nothing could hope to harm you. 

However, this diluted image of you he’s presented with confirms the opposite. You’re not invincible. You’re human. Faster, stronger, indefinitely more dangerous than the rest if your track record is anything to go by, but still bitterly human to the core.

When he led Arlong to Baratie, he thought you'd be able to finish the fucker off without a struggle. He'd watch the spectacle from the front rows, popcorn in his metaphorical hands while cheering you on from the sidelines. 

Now, seeing you like this, like you've just walked through hell and back, he can't help but acknowledge the fact that he did this to you. He led Arlong to you. 

He swallows the lump in his throat and stores the guilt away for another day.

Your eyes finally meet, for the first time since Orange Town, and he can see the confusion in your eyes. The hesitation that gradually morphs into the anger that he's become acquainted with as of late. You promptly yank yourself free from Luffy, stomp over to the table with uneven and unsteady steps that threaten to topple you over, and finally slam both of your hands on each side of Buggy's head.

The table cracks lightly under your grip, sending several splinters flying in every direction. Buggy gulps nervously.

"H-Heya, doll," he tries, but the darkness over your eyes leaves no room for sugarcoated words. They never did.

"Luffy," you say calmly while never taking your eyes away from the clown's, unbridled rage simmering in their depths despite your compromised state. "Why is he here?"

"About that ..." Luffy sheepishly scratches the back of his head. "He's the only one who knows the way to Arlong Park."

"To Arlong P— … " Your nails leave crescent-shaped holes in the soft tablecloth, and you glance at Luffy from over your shoulder, looking far more tired after seeing Buggy for ten seconds than you did beforehand. "And you're sure there'sno other way of getting there?"

"Nope!" Buggy interjects with a prominent pop!, hoping to catch your attention again. "He was real secretive about where his little fish-mancave's located. Lucky for you, I memorized the way back to my body!"

He's disappointed that you won't turn to even acknowledge his contributions to the conversation. You won't look at him again, and he discovers that he can't bear it. 

Please look at me!

But you don't. 

The silence is suffocating until you push yourself from your table, and he notices the way you cradle the side of your stomach while doing so. A silent hiss leaves your lips that he would've been unable to catch onto had he not been so focused on your reactions.

You look at Luffy, your back turned to Buggy, and limp over to the pathetic captain. Buggy predicts you’re about to shout at him, tell him the stupidity of this decision, and maybe even smack him across the face for emphasis. He hopes you will; the kid needs to have his ass kicked a few times to compensate for the humiliation the clown suffered at his hands.

To his bitter disappointment, you don’t commit yourself to any of the aforementioned. Really, not even a smack? Instead, all you do is heave an exhausted sigh before you prepare to exit the kitchens. "It's your decision," you say, and that's all you say before Buggy has to suffer your absence again.

———

It's the bounty hunter's turn to keep watch over him tonight, and Buggy, for one, would rather prefer to get tossed into the ocean than suffer like this.

He finds that this asshole is the worst one among the bunch to be keeping an eye on him. While the waiter and the long-nosed idiot would rather ignore him and leave him be, Moss-hairs over there seems like he has it out for him the most. Maybe it has to do with the fact that he almost killed him, but hey, all is fair in piracy?

"YAH!" Buggy shrieks when the asshole yanks him by the scruff of his hair with an iron grip, pulling out several blue hair strands while doing so. "CAREFUL WITH THE HAIR, SHITHEAD!"

"Shut up."

He can only hang when Zoro takes him inside to the kitchens, where the pretty-boy with the blonde hair is already cooking something up. Even before they entered the threshold to the kitchen, Buggy could hear your voice. You were talking to the blonde, and judging by the lightness in your tone, you were at ease enough not to be spiteful.

Buggy feels himself become annoyed, and not even the smell of food can tame it regardless of how hungry he is.

"Also, you should stitch up that wound soon," says the blonde, his voice growing more audible the closer they get to the kitchen. "Wouldn't want it to get infected."

"I'll handle it," you say in turn. "Wouldn't be the first time I've had to do something like this."

"You know, if you want to, I can lend you my hands. I'm told I have quite dexterous fingers, molded for delicate work."

"I'll pass, thank you."

"As you wish, but my offer is still on the table should you have a change of heart."

Buggy doesn't even know the guy, and he already wants to drown him. Whatever hunger occupied his stomach miles away with the rest of his body gets promptly replaced with something far sharper. Far uglier. It has teeth long enough to bite through flesh, claws that can tear open flesh, and it’s starving.

They finally enter the kitchen area, and whatever conversation previously took place shifts into silence upon their entrance.Buggy grins as he meets your eyes. "What's tonight’s specials?" he asks, hoping you'll actually respond with something this time, regardless of how sardonic it is.

He wouldn’t mind it if it’s something along the lines of “Fuck you” or “Eat shit” or “I hope you die, asshole.” It only has to be something, but it seems that even that is too high of a criterion for you to bother with.

You merely get up to your feet, unsteadiness painting your steps, and try to excuse yourself from the room without as much as a look his way.

For the duration of his uncomfortable stay with these shitty nobodies, Buggy's main priority aside from navigating this useless crew and getting his body back is your attention. 

However, whenever someone — whether it be that shitty cook or the bounty hunter or the slingshot — brings him someplace where you coincidentally happen to be, you excuse yourself from their company and go someplace else. 

He finds it more torturous than the bounty hunter's hold on him. It's been like this for the past two days. You won’t talk to him, won’t look at him, you won’t even acknowledge him even when he’s being the loudest head in the room.

Sure, he can piss off the rest of the bunch without even trying, but no matter how much he tries to catch your ire, you don’t take the bite. 

The string that’s been dangling him above the water is just about ready to snap at this point. 

"Hold up," Zoro says and proceeds to hold up Buggy's head for you, ignoring the string of curses that flow from his lips. "I want to eat my dinner in peace, so you take him."

Your face, while blank, cannot disguise the irritation laced in your words. "Give him to Ussop."

"He's on watch duty tonight,"

"Sanji?"

"My fine lady, as much as I'd desire to ease your woes, I'm currently preoccupied with preparing the meals." The blonde raises his pan for emphasis. "I would have lent you my aid, do not doubt that."

You’re not convinced. "… Right." Your eyes finally settle down to Buggy, and with great reluctance on your part, you slowly raise your hands up to take him. 

Zoro smirks and deposits the clown into your hands. The absence of pressure at the top of his head is a welcomed reprieve. Your hold — while firmer around his cheeks than he'd prefer — is not uncomfortable per se. At least, not in comparison to your other crew mates.

He considers this a win. It's been far too long since he's been granted your touch, the last time being when you bid him a bitter goodbye back in Orange Town. 

"Also," you say to Zoro. "I need a bottle of rum and a rag."

The swordsman tilts his head skeptically to the side. "Haven't you had enough to drink?"

"I need it to sterilize the sewing equipment."

Realization dawns on his face and Zoro relents. He hands you a bottle of rum from the kitchen cabinet, and after thanking him, you make your way to your cabins with the bottle in one hand whereas Buggy rests in the crook of your other elbow.

The walk is excruciatingly quiet, only the sound of your feet making any noise. It's deafening, and he can't stand it. He needs noise, preferably from you, but he doesn’t mind being the instigator.

"... So," he begins. "You know how to stitch yourself?"

You don't answer, and when he peeks up at you, your eyes are solely aimed at the path ahead. 

"You gotta have the right technique," he continues, a little more energized. "Or it'll become an ugly scar. I can help you with it, I'm a pretty good seamster if I do say so myself."

Again, you don't dignify him with a response. He bites his cheek. Fuck, this is getting tiresome.

He looks up at you again, and he notices just how different you've become from when you were younger. Your eyes were bright, but your smile was even brighter. You'd happily chat with him for hours and hours on end without ever growing bored of the conversation. You'd joke, you'd playfully hit him (though your definition of 'playful' usually had him stumbling in his steps), and you'd smile.

Now, your eyes are dark, and sunken, and there are several wrinkles in development; not from age alone, but simple exhaustion. The years have truly changed you, and the itch nagging him at the back of his head reminds him that it's partially his fault.

He decides to shut up until you reach your cabin.

Your place, he discovers, is vaguely minimalistic at best. You have the basics: a hammock in the far corner, a chair with a small table next to it, a barrel serving as both a nightstand as well as what he assumes to be a storage space of sorts, and a lantern on the top that's already been lit.

You close the door behind you and head for the table. He expects you to all but pummel him down on it, like your crew mates, maybe even drop him altogether for the heck of it. He braces himself for impact and shuts his eyes when you raise your hands.

To his surprise, you simply put him down on top of it without any unnecessary pressure or force. He feels the wooden surface under his neck without any discomfort, and he can't help but notice that you've deliberately positioned his face towards the window. 

He tries to plop around, like a fish out of water, but your hands - a little tighter around him this time - retract his movement. "Hey, what gives?!” 

He doesn’t know why he’s even bothering to ask, already knowing that you're probably not going to answer.

To his surprise, you actually do this time.

"Don't look." Despite the sharp enunciation of your voice, the one he's been aching to hear for the past two days, it sounds hushed. 

Not wanting to piss you off in case you decide to completely ignore him again, now that he's regained a smidgen of your notice, Buggy complies and elects to stare out of the window in spite of the desperate need to remain focused on you.

However, Buggy's never been one to completely follow the rules, so he decides to bend them. The window provides him a half-measured view of you in its reflection, with the dark waves serving as an addition to your image. A beautiful addition at that.

How sad is it that this is the only way he can look at you now?

He listens and watches as you put the liquor bottle on the table inches away from him, and then you proceed to retrieve a box of something hidden under the wood. It's not until you put it down next to the bottle and open it that he discovers that it's some kind of sewing kit. 

You take a small mirror and put it on the edge of the window frame at a very specific angle.

Eyes sharp and focused on the task at hand, you withdraw a needle of adequate size from the box, carefully pull a thread through the pinhole, and douse them both with booze. Shortly after taking a generous gulp of the liquor yourself, you put them both to the side to draw up the side of your shirt.

Buggy pales slightly when he sees the bloodied bandages hidden under the fabric. If the semi-transparent reflection of it is enough to make him nauseous, he can't imagine what the real deal is like. 

The three marks that stretch across your ribs look ugly. Scratch that, they look grotesque. Old blood rests dried and cracked along the edges, and the fresh flesh between your severed skin looks even worse. Like an animal maimed you and left you to rot on the ground. He’s seen his fair share of shitty shit in his life as a captain, but this is something he considers almost too much for him. It doesn’t make sense, he’s seen someone amputate on themselves due to a canon blast, but he only considered it a nuisance at best.

Maybe it’s because it’s you this time?

“God,” he whispers more to himself than anyone else. When snap your eyes to him, having heard him speak, he is quick to deflect. “I- Erhm, I never noticed how shitty the weather is tonight.”

He can’t tell if you buy it or not, but if you do, you don’t voice it and continue with your makeshift patchwork. With the rag you procured, you pour some of the alcohol over and press it tightly against your open wound with no delay. Buggy winces at the same time you do. He's had to disinfect wounds similarly before, and it hurts like hell. Fucking hell. He doubts you disagree with the notion. 

You grit your teeth tightly, face contorting and your lips wobbling as a quiet "Fuck" leaves you. One second becomes two, two become four, four become eight until finally, you withdraw the now stained rag. He notices your hand shaking, your breath hitching, and the way you're all but forcing yourself to stay calm. 

Since when did you limit yourself like this? Deny yourself the capacity to feel? Fucking scream, he wants to yell at you. Feel something. Say something! Show him that you still feel anything. Don't pretend like you don’t.

If that pot ain't calling the kettle black, he doesn’t know what is.

He looks at your reflection, watches as you pick up the needle and inching it towards your severed ski— 

“DON’T!”

You abruptly stop and snap your eyes over to him, and he realizes he’s efficiently blown his cover. While still selectively mute, all the anger and irritation you need to convey is done so through your glare alone. Scorching. Sizzling.

He licks his lips. “If you do it like that, it’ll scar real fucking bad and won’t hold the skin together.”

At first, you only stare, and he thinks you’re going to ignore him again. However, like some miracle, you answer. “I know how to patch myself.”

“Sure as shit don’t look like it,” he retorts snidely. “With an angle like that, you’re lucky if—”

“I didn’t ask for your input.”

“Fucking looks like you need it.”

“I don’t need anything from you.”

You all but throw the needle into the nearby wall, which just happens to be the same one he‘s positioned next to. The needle lodges itself right into the wood, sticking out with the thread still dangling from the eye.

Buggy stops breathing, and a drop of sweat trickles down his forehead. He expects you to throw the bottle at him next, just for good measure.

But you don’t. You don’t do anything.

He spends a minute deliberating whether it’s appropriate to continue the flow of conversation. “Look,—” He turns his head around to face you directly. “I’ve been around the block; I know what is best suited for your kind of scratch.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“Between the two of us, who do you reckon has the most experience with having their asses kicked? The walking-talking tank who can launch people twice her size in the opposite direction, or the clown?”

“Thought you couldn’t be cut.”

“Correction; I can’t be sliced. There’s a difference,”

The look you give him is a culmination of everything ranging from indifference, irritation, boredom, and subtle agreement towards the statement. In lieu of an answer, Buggy prevails, "If you move the needle in a wavelength through the skin, it keeps it together better and is easier to remove. I know your name would make crossed stitches better fitted, but it sucks by comparison. Trust me."

You don't. Buggy knows that already, but if only for a second, your eyes shift to something other than the four aforementioned. Maybe it's contemplation, perhaps a softer edge around your crow's feet, but it's indecipherable from where he's perched. If he got closer, he might have a better chance at figuring it out.

To his surprise, you actually follow his word on it ... after retrieving the needle that's been embedded into the wooden wall with at least two-thirds of its length.

He corrects you here and there, and provides you pointers while weighing his words. He's just now got your attention, he's not about to risk losing it. "- Not too deep, remember? God, what are you trying to do, give yourself another scarring? Keep it tight!"

... Well, he weighed his words, but maaaan, is he bad at measurements.

After a few more glares from your side and some non-verbal threats of bodily harm, you finally manage to stitch the skin together. Your hands, while precise and experienced in the art that is self-suturing, didn't get to do it perfectly. He knows it hurts like a bitch, he winces every time he sees the needle protrude through your flesh, and while you show no facial reaction, he knows it hurts you as well.

If he'd had his own hands at disposal, he would've made it perfect. So perfect that you'd not even have a scar at all. That, and he’d finally be able to touch you.

But this is as appropriate a substitute as anything, and all in all, it's not too bad. It's you, of course, so nothing you do can be too bad. He keeps that thought to himself as he watches you wrap up your midsection and put away the equipment.

"So, how did I do as an instructor? Pretty damn flashy, am I right?" He says with a low chuckle, only for it to disappear once he's discovered that you're not talking or looking at him anymore. "What? Back to the silent treatment?"

Evidently, yes.

He chews on the inside of his cheek and comes up with another approach to get your eyes on him again. It’s a risky one; might get him your attention, or it might land him into the opposite wall, but it’s a risk he’s willing to take. "I heard what you said, you know? To Rubber-Boy."

He observes no palpable reaction, so he tries again. "Shanks seriously never told you what happened that day it all went down?"

There it is. The fish on the line. Bull’s eye. He sees you stiffen just slightly, and he gets his wish. A shiver runs down his spine when your eyes fall on him again; he can feel it, even from miles and miles away. 

No distance can hope to expel the feelings your gaze bestows him with.

You speak one word. Just one. So low, yet so clear all the same.

"No."

... Buggy the Clown wants to vomit. 

He's not sure if his current disproportionated state can manage it, not to mention it's been days since he last had a scrap of food, but it does not ease the nausea that threatens to overwhelm him. 

Fuck.

When he first heard you tell Luffy this, he thought you were ... lying, somehow. It was stupid; you're not the kind to lie, always telling things as they are without skipping a beat. But he could not see your face, could not see the face you were making, and so he took it with a grain of salt. Or a bucket-load of it.

There was no way you didn’t know, no way Shanks didn’t tell you… Right? Buggy used to come up with excuses for his own righteousness, telling himself that this thing that happened was never his fault.

Now, he knows for certain. He knows you're telling the truth, he sees it, and he feels a bile rise in his throat.

One conclusion is made in the messy pile that is his brain.

He fucked up. 

He fucked up BIG TIME.

It's a fuck-up that'll go down in history as the biggest fucking fuck-up ever to cross the seven seas in all fucking time. He fucked up so bad, in fact, that it cost him more than he'll ever be able to pay for.

The sound his throat makes is pathetic.

"Oh."

BANG!

A good-sized piece of the wooden table snaps under the pressure of your fist and descends to the floor with a plat. Buggy imagines if that was him instead, getting crushed to the floor like a maggot crawling in the dirty as an unsuspecting hiker walks across..

With the shove of your chair, you get to your feet. "I'm getting Zoro."

"NONONONO! WAIT! PLEASE, ANYONE BUT HIM!"

You don't care. You're already halfway across the room when he, in his desperation, shouts two words he's never said before. 

"WAIT! I'M SORRY!"

… You stop.

He takes the moment right out of fate's hands.

"I didn't know, alright! I didn't know that you didn't know, and I thought you knew." He hopps his head a little closer to the edge of the table, right where the cracked piece currently on the floor once was. "I thought you knew, and then went with that fucking red-haired asshole! How was I supposed to know that you didn't know?!"

Wrong words. Very wrong words. He finds out soon enough just how wrong they were.

You're inches away before he can even blink, hands clenched on the table counter with one at each side of his head. Your noses almost touching, and he can feel the fire in your throat threaten to scorch him alive like a pig above the pyre.

"You could've asked." You say, softly at first, but bit by bit, your voice opens up to the deep-rooted anger that's laid dormant for years. "You could've asked me." 

Craaaaack, and another splinter pops off the table and lands in his hair. 

"You could've talked to me."

The entire table shakes now, and Buggy struggles not to slip from it. He thinks you're about to tear the whole damn thing to shreds with the way you're clenched around it. It's on-brand by now for you, comes with the name and everything.

"Cross-Hairs. Captain of the Cross-Haired Pirates, the Beast of the East, and Breaker of Tables and Faces and Bones and Jaws and Clown Noses."

He expects the additional titles to apply to him any moment now. He'll have to jump around the ship in search of his misplaced jaw next time, and probably the nose too. The crew of nobodies will have something to laugh about in years to come, and he'll never live the shame down.

But like with Orange Town, instead of the hand that will bring about his demise, all he feels is a breeze across his cheek. So light, and so brief, yet there lingers a warmth he wants nothing more than to grasp it. A thirsty man searching for his oasis.

You remove your hands from the table. "I would've traveled across the seas with you if only you'd asked it of me."

... What?

He feels his head freeze for the umpteenth time as your words circle in his head, garnering a storm of long-forgotten memories and feelings and hurt and betrayal.

You would? 

You really would? 

You would have gone with him all those years ago, if only he'd asked it of you?

He looks at your hands; the cracked knuckles and bruised skin, adjusted fights and blood and the impact of bones. The same ones currently threaten his safety as a dislocated head. He looks right into your eyes despite the risks it warrants.

You refuse to look at him, more now than ever, like there’s a rope wrapped around your neck that’s forcing you to face down. Like you're afraid that he might see something you'd prefer to keep in the dark. And yet he sees something wet and salty gathering in the corners of your eyes, and he sees the ways your body scrunches like a child wanting nothing more than to curl up to the floor and cry.

When was the last time he saw you even come close to crying? You never cried, for as long as he’d known you. If there ever was a time, it was the day he left you behind on that dock so long ago, and he had already turned his back before he had a chance to see the waterworks leak.

He finds it strange how some things seem to change whereas others don't. When Rogers first brought you onto the crew, disheveled and thin as you were, you never made a sound or showed any emotions. Being a man who wore his feelings and thoughts on display, he found it fucking weird. You were weird. You are weird, now more than ever.

Now, seeing you like this, knowing he's the one who brought it out, he doesn't know whether he's the detonator or the executioner. Maybe a bit of both?

His general nature is to deny accountability and put the blame on something or someone else to save face. It's always been like that; a habit by now. Call it cowardice, but he calls it a way of life. A bank getting robbed after the employees got knocked out by Muggy Balls? Not him. The white lion having a stomachache after eating old slabs left for too long in the cooler until it developed an ecosystem of its own? Not his fault.

But you crying?

You being hurt.

You hurting.

His fault. All his.

You, the strongest person he knows of; the same person who laughed at his jokes, worried about him, kicked ass seven days 'til Sunday, and shone so brightly in the moonlight by the docks, crying ... 

His fault.

You're the strongest person he knows. Hell, you're probably one of the strongest people in all of East-Blue, yet still, he's the one who managed to make you cry. A beast rendered to a tearful child, still so small even after all this time, all because of him.

What does that make him? The strongest person in the East Blue? Or the worst? He's never minded being the worst at what he does, but he realizes in that moment, perched on the tabletop, that he can stand anyone's tears but yours.

Never yours.

You’re fighting those tears the same way you fight everything else; putting every ounce of strength your body has to offer, clawing at it, gripping it, doing everything in your power to keep the tears from spilling and potentially revealing something more.

Still, it doesn’t matter how strong you are. You could’ve lifted the world and held it in the palm of your hands, and the tears still would’ve proved the biggest challenge you'd face yet.

If he had his hands, he’d cradle your chin, hold you close, and promise to never let go ever again. You’d fight him all the same, kick his ass, claw at him, break all the bones in his body, and he’d let you.

He’d endure your strength, dance across the blazing charcoal that is your wrath, but nothing you’d do would make him let go, even if you were to separate every atom in his body one by one.

He'd hold on, and when he gets his body back, that’s what he’ll do.

“I’m sorry …” he whispers, the apology tasting like bitter peppercorns on the tip of his tongue. “I … Shouldn’t have left. I shouldn’t have” Fuck, he sounds pathetic. “… I’m so … so fucking sorry.” 

For all of it.

He’s never once apologized in his life, not to anyone, but for you, he’d apologize a thousand times over. He’d learn “I’m sorry” in every language known to man, recite every prayer, suffer every penalty in the book.

This could all have been avoided if he’d just fucking talked to you that day instead of running. As if divinity decided to deliver punishments, he was haunted by that thing he ran from for twenty years; torturing him, driving him mad with longing.

Twenty years of bullshit in your absence … all of it avoidable had he not been the fuck-up he acknowledges he’s been.

He’d dive head-first into the ocean if it meant he could take back what he said that day. He’d take on the Marines too if he had to. He’d find the One Piece and give it to you, forgo his own dreams. He’d do anything, just to take back what he did.

Just to have you look at him with something other than scorn. Just to have you look at him the same way you used to.

A few drops of salt land on the table right in front of him, and save for the occasional sniffs and heavy inhales, you remain stubbornly quiet. This time, he keeps his mouth shut and awaits your judgment. The likelihood of you refusing to forgive him is the most probable one, and he can’t fault you for that as much as he’d hate it. The chance of you forgiving him just like that … is less. 

A minute of silence becomes two minutes, and two become three, and five, and ten.

You raise your head to peer down at him, your eyes reddened and heavy, but you finally do look at him. He holds his breath in anticipation and wonders what’s working behind them.

What are you thinking?

What are you feeling?

Is it rage? Is it vengeance?

Will you wrap your hands around his neck and squeeze until there’s nothing left but an ashy head? He doesn’t know if asphyxiation will have the intended effect given his condition, but there’s only one way to find out.

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and imagines that it will be his last.

The door slams and the room rattles, throwing him off in surprise.

Buggy opens his eyes and sees that you’re not here anymore.

You’re gone, again.

He releases the breath he’s been withholding, not knowing what to make of this. Will you come back, or will you leave him here by himself: put him through the same state as he left you in?

His head burns thinking about it.

Not even a minute later, you return to the room, and the scent of something delicious fills the atmosphere.

You’re holding something in your hand, a plate. It takes him a while to realize what it is, and as he’s about to open his mouth to ask, you wordlessly put the plate down in front of him.

Buggy drools like a dog. It’s food. Actual fucking food. Some kind of dish (fish?) with boiled potatoes and cabbage on the side, with sauce distributed evenly over it. He usually hates cabbage, but as hungry as he is now, he thinks it looks like the most delicious thing of all. Even better, the food is still hot, and it’s been cut so that it’ll be easier for him to take in.

He looks up at you expectantly and watches as you sit down, cross your legs, and put a glass of water with a bendy straw next to the plate. Did you bring him a bendy straw? Holy fuck, you brought him fucking bendy straw! He can’t help but stare at you like you put the sun in the sky because, how could he not? You brought him food, you brought him a drink, YOU BROUGHT HIM A FUCKING BENDY STRAW! 

Bored eyes turn to him as you rest your chin in the palm of your hand. “It’ll get cold,” you state matter-of-factly, which he interprets as Hurry up and eat, asshole.

Buggy doesn’t have to be told twice, and he digs in like an animal. Decorum was never his thing anyway.

Maybe this isn’t forgiveness, and maybe you’re still rightfully pissed, but that’s alright. This gesture implies that, at the very least, there’s a bridge now. It’s made of rusty nails and unsteady planks and runs over a shitty river, but it’s a milestone from his point of view.

He’ll wait for as long as he’ll have to, even if it’s takes another twenty years to make up for it, even if it takes a hundred. He'll wait and he'll work for as fucking long as he have to, just to see your smile again.

He knows your dream.

He knows you care; you protected him, after all. You held him close, put yourself in harm’s way just to keep him safe.

That means, even after all this time, you still consider him yours.

All that remains is for you to finally find our for yourself.

-----

Taglist: @kurinhimenezu, @carpinchootaku, @ay0nha, @teh-vampire-bunny, @lokiscure, @internationalsuper-spy, @detectivesparrow , @yuriwk , @notyuralycat , @angeli-fucking-cat , @machinema7k , @shuujin, @avatar-lover, @gingernut1314, @autumn-slaves. @marvelouskatie, @floristoflillys, @dizzyenby, @redpool, @deliri-yum22, @aemondsb1tch, @ackroxia, @gayandfairycore, @knightsfavoriteprincess, @asterizee, @aamethyst23, @lizzie1107, @cyberwears, @heylookliisten, @f41k47, @beep-beep1, @crimsonflameproxy, @unpopular-sober-thoughts, @rayleeya, @timeladyrikaofgallifrey, (If you want to be tagged for this story, just send me a message or leave a comment :))

[voidpetrova]

sleep with the enemy — jeremy gilbert x reader

☄. *. ⋆

content warnings and genre: swearing, alcohol consumption, sex, violence, enemies to lovers (again) — smut

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

synopsis: you couldn't deny how attracted you were to the infamous vampire hunter, but you had him wrapped around your finger as much as he had you around his.

✧.*

in the dimly lit study of the salvatore boarding house, the atmosphere crackled with tension. soft rays of moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting a ghostly glow upon the assembled group. damon salvatore, his signature smirk dancing on his lips, leaned casually against a bookshelf. stefan, his expression more serious, stood by the window, his gaze fixed on the outside world. the notorious vampire brothers, united by a common enemy, had convened to discuss their strategy.

damon's voice, dripping with sarcastic charm, broke the silence. “well, well, well. look who decided to grace us with her presence.” he tilted his head towards the entrance where you stood, a glimmer of defiance in your eyes. clad in dark attire that seemed to absorb the very essence of the shadows, you exuded an air of mysterious confidence that demanded attention.

you returned damon's gaze with an arched eyebrow. “oh, don't flatter yourself, salvatore. i'm just here to make sure your incompetence doesn't doom us all.”

jeremy gilbert, leaning against the wall, observed the exchange with an intrigued yet wary expression. his hunter's instincts were on high alert, his hand unconsciously drifting towards the wooden stake tucked in his belt. you and jeremy had clashed numerous times before, a dance of survival in a world where vampires and vampire hunters were perpetually at odds.

stefan's voice cut through the simmering tension. “enough of the bickering, you two. we have a common enemy, and katherine won't wait for us to sort out our differences.”

eamon pushed himself off the bookshelf, sauntering towards the center of the room. “right you are, baby brother. so, here's the plan. we gather information on katherine's latest whereabouts, pinpoint her weaknesses, and work together to take her down.”

you folded your arms, your gaze still locked on damon. “and what's in it for us? why should we risk our lives to help you?” stefan's voice remained steady. “because if katherine gets her hands on the cure for vampirism, she'll be unstoppable. and that means bad news for all of us.”

jeremy's eyes flickered between you and damon. “stefan's right. we might not like each other, but working together is our best chance at stopping her.”

a derisive snort escaped your lips. “i can't believe i'm agreeing with little gilbert. fine, we'll play along. but don't expect me to hold your hand through this.”

jeremy's grin widened. “oh, sweetheart, i wouldn't dream of it.”

as the meeting adjourned, you exchanged a lingering glare with him. the storm of emotions beneath the surface was palpable—hatred mingled with curiosity, distrust warring against a reluctant sense of partnership. little did you both know, the journey ahead would test not only your determination to take down katherine, but also the boundaries of your own hearts.

the next evening, in the dimly lit parlor of the salvatore boarding house, stefan stood at the head of a long table, his gaze focused on the assembled group. you and jeremy sat on opposite sides, your postures tense and guarded, radiating an air of defiance that seemed to challenge the very notion of cooperation.

stefan cleared his throat, his voice calm yet authoritative. “alright, listen up. we've got a lead on katherine's location, and we need to act fast. but we can't do this separately. damon and i will handle one part of the mission, while you two,” he gestured towards you and jeremy, “will work together on another.”

a collective tension gripped the room, as if everyone was holding their breath, waiting for the inevitable eruption of objections.

you leaned back in your chair, your eyes narrowing. “oh, i'm sorry, did i accidentally step into an alternate universe where i actually care what the gilbert boy thinks?”

jeremy shot you a defiant glare. “trust me, the feeling is entirely mutual. i'd rather be stuck in a room with vervain-soaked chains than work with a bloodsucker.”

stefan's patience remained unshaken. “enough. we don't have time for this. katherine is dangerous, and our only chance is to pool our resources. we need both of your skills to succeed.”

you crossed your arms, your lips curling into a sneer. “and what skills would those be, exactly? his knack for getting himself captured or my ability to actually get things done?”

jeremy's jaw tightened, his knuckles whitening as he clenched his fists. “at least i'm not a parasite that preys on innocent people.”

damon, who had been lounging against a nearby wall, chimed in with his characteristic smirk. “ah, young love. so heartwarming.”

stefan's voice held a note of finality. “this is not up for negotiation. you two are going to work together, whether you like it or not. we're out of options.”

a heavy silence settled in the room, the weight of impending collaboration hanging in the air. reluctantly, you and jeremy exchanged a glance, both recognizing the gravity of the situation. despite your shared disdain, the mission ahead was too critical to ignore.

with a resigned sigh, you leaned forward, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “fine. i'll try my best not to kill him—accidentally.”

jeremy rolled his eyes, his lips quirking into a reluctant half-smile. “yeah, i'll do my best not to, uh, aim for your heart.”

stefan's gaze softened, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “good. let's focus on the mission. we'll meet back here in twenty-four hours to share what we've found.”

as the meeting adjourned, you and jeremy exchanged one last lingering look, a silent understanding passing between you. the enemies were reluctantly united, bound by the threads of necessity. and as the stakes grew higher, the blurred lines between hatred and something else began to reveal themselves in the shadows of your minds.

the following evening found you and jeremy in the dimly lit ambiance of the mystic grill, a popular gathering spot for both humans and supernatural beings alike. seated across from each other at a corner booth, tension hummed between you like an electric current, crackling with the weight of untold history.

you took a sip of your drink, casting a pointed look at jeremy. “i have to say, gilbert, your taste in venues hasn't improved much since the last time we were here.”

he smirked, swirling his drink thoughtfully. “can't say i agree, the last time we were here, you couldn't resist me at all.”

you chuckled softly, an edge of bitterness in your tone. “that was a long time ago. besides, i didn't see you complaining when you were telling me i was the best you've ever had.”

his lips twitched into a playful grin. “well, i've learned that a good dose of embarrassment keeps the heart rate up. important for a hunter, you know.”

as your laughter mingled with the surrounding chatter, a nostalgic air lingered beneath the surface of your interactions. despite the insults and snarky remarks, there was an undeniable chemistry that both of you had once succumbed to.

“you know, for a hunter, you've always been surprisingly skilled at evasion,” you mused, studying him through half-lidded eyes.

he leaned in, his voice lowered to a conspiratorial tone. “and you, for a vampire, have always managed to find new and inventive ways to get under my skin.”

the air between you shifted, a current of unresolved tension tangling with memories you both seemed keen on suppressing. but in the midst of your verbal sparring, there was a vulnerability that lingered—a shared history that couldn't be erased.

a wistful smile tugged at your lips. “remember that night we spent at the abandoned cabin outside town? a hunter and a vampire, sharing secrets under the stars.”

jeremy's gaze softened, a flicker of reminiscence crossing his eyes. “yeah, i remember. and i remember the sunrise, too.”

your tone grew sharper, masking the ache that had surfaced. “right, when i had to rush you back before your skin sizzled like bacon.”

he chuckled, though there was a hint of regret in his expression. “you're still as charming as ever.”

the silence that followed was heavy, the unspoken words swirling in the air like a storm waiting to break. you both knew the truth—the affair had been passionate, forbidden, and ultimately fleeting. but the ghosts of those stolen moments lingered, casting a shadow over your current dynamic.

with a brittle smile, you leaned back in your seat, pushing the memories away. “well, gilbert, let's focus on the task at hand. i'm sure we have a lot of insults to trade before this night is over.” jeremy's gaze held a mixture of resignation and longing. “of course, because that's what we're best at, right?”

as the evening wore on, you and Jeremy continued your verbal sparring, the familiar dance of insults and snarky remarks masking the deeper undercurrent of history and emotions that neither of you were quite ready to confront.

the culmination of your uneasy alliance took place at a lavish masquerade ball held at a grand mansion on the outskirts of mystic falls. the chandeliers bathed the ballroom in a warm, golden glow as elegantly dressed guests mingled beneath the masks that concealed their identities. among the masked figures, you and jeremy moved with calculated grace, each step laden with purpose.

in a corner of the ballroom, damon exchanged a knowing glance with you, a subtle nod indicating that katherine was near. jeremy leaned in, his voice low and laden with mockery. “ready to put on a show, bloodsucker?”

you shot him a withering look. “don't get too comfortable, gilbert. we're here to work, not to indulge your misplaced sense of revenge.”

jeremy's lips curved into a sly smile. “oh, don't worry. i'm just here to enjoy the company of a beautiful vampire while leading katherine on a wild goose chase.”

you rolled your eyes, but your own mask concealed a mischievous grin. “by all means, go ahead. it's not every day a vampire hunter gets to flirt with his worst nightmare.”

as the night wore on, the music swelled, and the tension in the air grew palpable. jeremy's gaze followed katherine, his charm turned on full force as he engaged her in a dance that seemed to double as a dangerous game.

not one to be outdone, you found yourself in conversation with damon, your playful banter taking on a seductive edge that wasn't entirely feigned. the mask of enmity seemed to fade as you allowed yourself to lean into the role.

later, as the ball continued to swirl around you, you slipped away onto a moonlit balcony, the cool night air a welcome contrast to the heated atmosphere inside. unbeknownst to you, jeremy followed, his steps soundless as he approached from behind.

he was only inches away from you as hjs fingertips grazed your collarbone, a shiver running down your spine as his breath tickled your ear. “damon seems to know your soft spots quite well. does he know you enjoy being touched here?”

you turned to face him, your gaze locking with his, an unspoken understanding passing between you. “doesn't he also know you're playing with fire, jeremy? leading katherine on, just to get back at me?”

his lips were dangerously close to yours, his voice a low murmur. “it's just strategy, remember? and you, enjoying damon's attention a bit too much, isn't that also a part of your plan?”

the world seemed to narrow to the two of you, the tensions of the past and the present converging in this intimate moment. a spark of something unspoken flickered in your eyes, a vulnerability you both were too proud to admit to.

with a brittle smile, you stepped back, creating distance between you. “we're here for a reason, little gilbert. let's not forget that.”

his gaze held a mix of frustration and longing. “right, because we wouldn't want to ruin our perfect track record of despising each other.”

as the masquerade ball continued inside, you and jeremy exchanged one last loaded look before retreating back into the throngs of guests. the dance of deception and attraction continued, the mask of enmity held firmly in place, concealing the truths that neither of you were ready to confront.

amid the revelry of the masquerade ball, tensions simmered just beneath the surface, ready to explode. as the night progressed, whispers spread through the crowd, drawing attention to a heated confrontation unfolding at the center of the ballroom.

jeremy stood, his expression a mix of defiance and unease, facing a room filled with curious gazes. damon's smirk danced on his lips, and you fixed your gaze on jeremy, your eyes narrowing as the truth slowly unraveled. stefan's voice cut through the hushed murmurs. “what's going on here?”

damon leaned back casually against a pillar, his tone dripping with amusement. "it seems our dear jeremy here had a little rendezvous with the lady of the hour, katherine," he paused. “was she a good fuck, gilbert?”

gasps rippled through the crowd, mingling with whispered accusations and incredulous glances.

your voice was sharp as a blade. “you've got to be kidding me, gilbert.”

jeremy's jaw clenched, his fists balling at his sides. “it was part of the plan, okay? she wasn't supposed to—”

stefan's patience was wearing thin. “you slept with the enemy to gain her trust? are you out of your mind?” as the crowd's murmurs grew louder, damon leaned in, a sinister smile playing on his lips. “seems like our little hunter's tactics might have backfired.”

you scoffed, your voice laced with scorn. “congratulations, gilbert. you managed to endanger the mission and prove just how foolish you can be.”

frustration radiated off jeremy in waves. “it was a risk we had to take. she was onto us, and this was the only way to keep her off our scent.”

as the arguments escalated, the tension reached a fever pitch. eventually, the crowd began to disperse, leaving only you and jeremy in the center of the now-empty ballroom. his gaze found yours, his voice low and resolute. “i didn't do it to hurt you.” you met his gaze, your expression unreadable. “well, congratulations, gilbert. thank you for your sympathy.”

he clenched his fists at his sides, his frustration palpable. “you think this was easy for me? i had to watch you flirt with damon all night. do you know how much that ate at me?”

you crossed your arms, your tone tinged with bitterness. “oh, poor jeremy. did i bruise your ego?”

his voice grew more desperate. “you know that's not what this is about. i had no intention of hurting you.”

you held his gaze, your eyes flashing with a mix of anger and something else. “and i had no intention of hurting you either. if i wanted to hurt you, i would've told you that I slept with damon, too.”

a flicker of shock crossed jremy's features, his anger flaring anew. the unspoken truths hung heavy in the air—the cat and mouse game that had defined your relationship was reaching a new level of intensity.

with a frustrated growl, jeremy turned on his heel and stormed out of the ballroom, leaving you standing there, the echoes of your words reverberating in the empty space. as the dust settled, the tangled web of emotions and motivations seemed to tighten around you all, the lines between enemies, allies, and something else entirely growing increasingly blurred.

in the days following the masquerade ball, the tension among the group remained thick, yet the mission to take down katherine couldn't wait. as preparations for the future confrontation began, you found yourself in your room at the salvatore boarding house, surrounded by the flickering light of candles. the soft glow of the flames danced upon your face as you meticulously got ready for the night ahead.

the scent of vanilla and musk filled the air as you sprayed a delicate mist of perfume onto your skin. with a wry smile playing on your lips, you assessed your reflection in the mirror, your eyes catching the dress and the necklace that lay on the vanity.

a knock on the door pulled you from your thoughts, and you turned to see jeremy standing in the doorway, his expression a mix of wariness and curiosity.

“what is it, gilbert?” you asked, your tone teasing.

he cleared his throat, stepping inside the room. “stefan said you needed help with something.”

with a subtle tilt of your head, you turned around, holding out the delicate necklace. “could you help me put this on? I'm afraid my fingers aren't as nimble as they used to be.”

jeremy's eyes flickered to the necklace, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. he stepped closer, his fingers hesitating for a moment before he reached out to take the necklace from your hand. the weight of his gaze seemed to linger on your neck, the pulse point that had always captivated his attention.

as he carefully fastened the necklace around your neck, his fingers brushed against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. his breath was warm against your ear as he whispered, “you smell nice.”

a sly smile curved your lips. “do i, now? would you like to take a closer whiff?”

before he could respond, you turned around, your fingers gently gripping his chin as you leaned in. your lips brushed his earlobe, and you whispered, “be careful, jeremy. remember why we're here tonight.”

his eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and longing dancing in his gaze. “where are you going, anyway?”

you pulled away, your lips curving into a knowing smile. “oh, just out for a little date. but don't worry, i'm sure you'll manage just fine without me.”

his brows furrowed in confusion. “a date? with who?”

you took a step back, your gaze locking with his, your tone dripping with satisfaction. “with damon, who else?”

the realization hit him like a freight train, and his jaw clenched as he took a step back, his expression a mixture of anger and hurt. “you're going on a date with damon?”

your smile remained unyielding. “yes, jeremy. it seems he's more attentive these days.”

with that, you turned and left the room, leaving jeremy standing there, his emotions in turmoil. the cat and mouse game had indeed escalated, the stakes higher than ever before. as the night unfolded, the tension between you and jeremy would continue to simmer, threatening to boil over into something neither of you could control.

the moon hung high in the sky as you returned to the salvatore boarding house, the echoes of the night's events lingering in your mind. the air was thick with tension as you stepped into the dimly lit foyer, your eyes locking onto jeremy's figure standing by the staircase. he turned to face you, his expression a mixture of curiosity and something that looked uncomfortably close to jealousy. “how was your date?”

you smiled, your lips curving into a knowing grin. “oh, it was absolutely magical. damon knows all the right moves, let me tell you.”

jeremy's jaw tightened, his voice laced with a feigned nonchalance. “really? do tell.”

your tone was light and teasing as you described an evening that was a far cry from the reality, weaving a tale of charm and flirtation, all centered around damon's supposed irresistible qualities.

“of course, I couldn't resist his eyes or his impeccable manners,” you continued, your eyes glinting with mischief. “and when he brushed his fingers against my thigh, i swear i felt a shiver down my spine."”

jeremy's fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles turning white as he struggled to keep his composure. “sounds like quite the night.”

you nodded, your smile still in place as you turned to head up the stairs. “yes, i thought so too. now, if you'll excuse me, i need to change into something more comfortable.”

with that, you began to unbutton your dress, your movements deliberately slow and deliberate, fully aware of jeremy's gaze on you. as the fabric pooled at your feet, you turned to face him, revealing your lingerie beneath.

jeremy's jaw tightened further, his voice strained. “what are you doing?”

you tilted your head to the side, your tone sweetly innocent. “oh, just getting ready for bed. would you like to help me unzip this?”

before he could respond, you turned and walked towards the bedroom, your hips swaying in a way that was almost taunting. you heard him exhale sharply, his frustration palpable.

as you entered the room, jeremy's voice followed you, his tone tinged with annoyance. “you're impossible.”

the air between you and jeremy was thick with unresolved tension as he lingered in the bedroom, having agreed to help you with your stockings. your legs were crossed, and you leaned against the dresser, your gaze meeting his in the mirror's reflection.

“i can't believe I'm doing this,” jeremy muttered under his breath as he tugged the first stocking up your leg.

you arched an eyebrow, your lips curling into a smug smile. “oh, come on, gilbert. it's just a pair of stockings. you're acting like i asked you to slay a dragon.”

he shot you a glare, his fingers working quickly but efficiently. “yeah, well, if i had to choose between dragons and you, i'd probably go with the dragons.”

you chuckled softly, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “you're such a charmer.”

the second stocking followed suit, and jeremy's movements were swift and surprisingly adept. his touch was calculated, devoid of any lingering traces of intimacy. as he straightened, you caught his gaze in the mirror, a challenge passing between you.

“there you go, all dolled up. happy now?” he muttered, his tone bordering on annoyance.

you turned to face him, your lips quirking into a playful smile. “oh, ecstatic. you're really quite skilled at this, jeremy. who knew you had such a hidden talent?”

he rolled his eyes, his voice laced with exasperation. “yeah, well, don't expect me to add 'stocking stylist' to my resume anytime soon.”

your laughter filled the room, the sound of it dancing between you. “you really know how to keep a girl's dreams alive, don't you?”

jeremy's lips twitched into a begrudging half-smile. “oh, i do my best.”

the banter between you was a welcome respite from the heavier moments that had preceded it. as the tension eased, you found yourselves slipping into a more familiar rhythm, snarky remarks masking the undercurrent of something that had been brewing beneath the surface for far too long.

with a playful wink, you moved closer, your tone teasing. “well, gilbert, i'll give you credit where it's due. you're definitely good at handling my—delicate situation.”

he shot you a sideways glance, his cheeks tinged with a faint blush. “just remember, it's a one-time deal. don't get any ideas.”

you chuckled softly, your fingers grazing his arm as you moved past him. "of course not. wouldn't want to mess with your reputation as a ruthless vampire hunter."

jeremy's voice held a hint of warmth as he muttered, “yeah, well, just remember, i can handle myself.”

you shot him a sly smile over your shoulder as you left the room. “oh, i have no doubt about that, gilbert.”

the exchange left a lingering sense of camaraderie in its wake, a glimpse of the intricate dance that defined your relationship. the tension remained, but somehow it felt more manageable, less suffocating. as the night wore on, you couldn't help but wonder if this was the beginning of something new, something that had the potential to change the rules of the game.

in the midst of preparations for the final showdown with katherine, another meeting had been called at the salvatore boarding house. as the group gathered, tension seemed to hang in the air, though a palpable shift had occurred since the masquerade ball. the air felt charged, as if the dynamic between you and jeremy had been irreversibly altered.

damon, as always, leaned against a pillar with his signature smirk, and you couldn't resist the urge to indulge in a bit of shameless flirting. “well, well, if it isn't the dashing salvatore brothers. i must say, the view is quite enjoyable from here.”

damon's eyes danced with amusement. “flattery will get you everywhere, my dear.”

jeremy's jaw tightened, though he seemed to be doing his best to keep his emotions in check. the meeting proceeded, but the undercurrent of tension remained, a silent reminder of the cat and mouse game that had become a hallmark of your interactions.

as the conversation continued, damon's gaze seemed to linger on you, his voice taking on a sultrier tone. “i must say, you smell divine tonight. new perfume, perhaps?”

you met his gaze with a smoldering look of your own. “just something i picked up recently. i find it has a certain— allure.” damon's lips curled into a knowing smile. “ah, yes. an allure that's hard to resist.”

jeremy's fingers tightened around the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white as he struggled to maintain his composure.

damon's gaze shifted to him, and a wicked smile played on his lips. “you know, gilbert, i've been meaning to ask. what's the name of that perfume?”

jeremy's gaze met damon's, a mix of anger and disbelief in his eyes. “it's none of your business.”

damon's grin only grew wider, his voice dripping with mischief. “ah, but i'm only curious. i believe you mentioned it was something with vanilla and musk?”

before jeremy could respond, damon closed the distance between you, his fingers brushing against the spot on your collarbone where jeremy had placed his kisses. a playful glint danced in his eyes as he leaned in to place a featherlight kiss on your skin.

jeremy's fists clenched at his sides, his voice tight with anger. “that's enough, damon.”

damon straightened, his smirk still in place. “ah, yes. jealousy really isn't a good look on you, is it?”

the room was thick with tension as you and jeremy exchanged a charged look. without a word, he stood abruptly, his eyes locked onto yours as he made his way to the door. you followed him with a purposeful stride, the unspoken understanding between you driving you forward.

as the door to the next room closed behind you, jeremy's anger seemed to finally boil over, and he pinned you against the wall, his lips crashing onto yours in a fierce, hungry kiss. the weight of the tension, the longing, the game you had both been playing—it all came crashing together in that moment.

your fingers tangled in his hair, your lips moving against his in a fierce dance of passion and desire. the intensity of it all seemed to consume you both, a release of pent-up emotions that had been building for far too long.

as you pulled away, breathless and flushed, you met jeremy's gaze, the lines of enmity and attraction blurred beyond recognition. and in that electrifying moment, you both knew that the cat and mouse game had transformed into something far more dangerous, far more real.

the room was dark, illuminated only by the soft light of the moon streaming through the window. jeremy lay on his bed, his head resting on his arm as he watched you walk closer. you felt the heat radiating off of him, and it sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

he reached out and grabbed your hand, pulling you to him until you were lying beside him. his lips met yours in a deep, passionate kiss, and you felt your heart flutter as his hands roamed your body.

“you're mine,” he murmured against your lips, and you smiled in agreement.

you moved your hands up his chest, exploring his body as he continued to kiss you. his touch was possessive, and you loved the feeling of him claiming you as his own. he ran his hands over your body, caressing and teasing, and you felt yourself growing more aroused with each passing moment.

jeremy rolled over so that he was on top of you, and you felt his hardness pressed against your thigh. his lips moved to your neck, and you felt his tongue trace a path of fire down to your chest. his hands moved to your hips, and he gently pushed you onto your back.

he continued to kiss you hungrily, his hands exploring every inch of your body. his kisses were heated and possessive, and you could feel the intensity building inside of you. you wanted him even more, and you begged him to take you.

“say it,” he growled, his voice low and demanding.

“i'm yours,” you whispered, and he smiled in satisfaction.

he positioned himself between your legs and you felt the heat of his arousal against your inner thigh. you cried out in pleasure as he entered you, and you wrapped your arms around him tightly as he began to move.

he moved inside of you in a steady rhythm, and you felt yourself growing closer and closer to the edge of pleasure. you clung to him, and you could feel his breath on your skin as he whispered words of love and admiration in your ear. he loved the way you screamed his name, knowing damon could hear everything. it only encouraged him to continue pounding into your cunt, filling you with aggressive thrusts.

finally, you both reached the pinnacle of pleasure, and you cried out his name as you reached orgasm. he collapsed beside you, his chest heaving with exertion, and you both lay there in silence for a few moments. he pulled you close to him, and you felt his arms wrap around you possessively.

“you're mine,” he said, and you smiled in agreement.

he had slept with the enemy, once again. only this time, he knew he wouldn't regret a thing.

[romantichomicide95]

Prompt 65 with megumi?

megumi fushiguro

drabble prompt #65: “i think i might be in love with you.”

notes: megumi fluff is my favorite thing to write, also having him say “can i kiss you” all awkwardly. it’s like my signature for him and mutual pining i’m not sorry

Textbooks were spread out across your bed, side table littered with snacks and tea. The afternoon sunlight was filtered through the window, casting a warm glow over the room. You watched as Megumi’s eyes narrowed with focus, his nose in a book.

"Hey, can you explain this math problem to me? I’m struggling here." you asked, your brows furrowed studying the equations laid out before you.

Megumi looked up from his books, turning to face you. "Sure, no problem." You grabbed your books and leaned closer to him, pointing out the problems you were having troubles with. His dark eyes remained focused as he tried to help explain it to the best of his abilities.

This, however, proved difficult for him as your close proximity was making his heart do jumping jacks in his chest. The smell of your perfume was intoxicating, and Megumi found it difficult to concentrate on anything but the softness of your voice and the way your eyes lit up when you finally understood a concept.

Megumi couldn't deny the growing feeling inside him, the warmth that spread through his chest whenever you smiled or brushed against his arm. He had never felt this way before. What was this feeling? Why did he crumble to dust every time he saw the way you tucked your hair behind your ear, or heard the sweet melody of your laughter?

Lost in his own thoughts, Megumi barely realized that you had stopped studying and were now just talking about random things. He listened attentively, but his mind was preoccupied with the realization that had suddenly hit him. The realization of why he felt like pudding anytime you were around.

Finally, unable to contain himself any longer, Megumi took a deep breath and blurted out, "I think I might be in love with you."

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden confession. His face sunk as he watched the way your face scrunched up in confusion. It’s wasn’t because you were upset, it certainly wasn’t because you didn’t feel the same way. That burning anxious feeling in your chest every time he was around you made sure you knew that. No, it was because you couldn’t believe the words you’d just heard. You were in grade a, certifiable shock.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. It's just... I just now realized and…fuck. I’m sorry." Megumi looked down in defeat, his eyes scanning everywhere but you, as the pink color dusting his cheeks grew deeper and deeper.

You stared at Megumi, wide-eyed, the realization still sinking in. The silence stretched between you, both of you trying to process the the moment. Finally, once realization started to seep in, you reached out and gently placed a hand on his arm, offering him a reassuring smile.

"Megumi, you don't have to apologize. You just, caught me off guard. I, well I’ve been in love with you for like…practically since we met.”

Megumi's eyes widened, finally meeting your gaze as a mix of disbelief and relief washed over him. He looked at you, his usual calm facade cracking slightly, a small smile forming at the corners of his lips. "You... you have?"

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. "Yeah," you let out a soft chuckle. “I thought it was kind of obvious.”

“It wasn’t obvious to me.” He says, shaking his head, "I can't believe I didn't notice."

You reached out, cupping his cheek gently. “Well I guess it was obvious to everyone except you than.” you say with a chuckle.

Megumi's smile grew wider and he leaned into your touch. "Well, I uh- I'm glad you feel the same way."

You couldn't help but smile back, feeling a sense of excitement. “I’m glad to Megumi.”

Megumi nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. "Can I-uh…can I kiss you?”he asks awkwardly.

You smile at Megumi's nervous question, feeling your heart race. As if there could be any other answer besides yes. You lean in closer, closing the distance between you, and gently brush your lips against his, savoring the softness of his lips on yours. An electric current surges through your body as your lips come together. His lips feel warm and velvety and you can’t believe you haven’t done this sooner.

His hands find their place on the small of your back, pulling you closer and time seems to stand still as the world around you fades away.

After what feels like an eternity, you pull back slightly, your foreheads resting against each other. Smiles on both of your puffy swollen lips as you speak, “Yes, Megumi. You can definitely kiss me."

[mclarenviolet]

All Things End

Astarion x GN!Reader

Warnings: Angst, mentions of death, blood and trauma, BG3 spoilers

WC: 500+

A/N: Big Act 3 spoilers in this one for those that haven't finished Astarion's questline!! The Hozier theme continues, titled after All Things End (anyone else been binge listening to Unreal Unearth the last two weeks?🥺)

The torches of Cazador's dungeon cast an eerie glow upon the blood-slicked floor, the distinct, coppery scent lingering in the air, a reminder of the fierce battle that had just taken place. Astarion stands over Cazador's corpse, chest heaving and body aching from the fight, mind whirring as he struggles to comprehend that his former master is truly gone. But his eyes are not fixed on the aftermath of the battle, they're fixed on you.

You lay on the ground, your breathing shallow and your features pale. Astarion feels numb as he rushes to your side, his fingers trembling as he reaches out to touch your cheek, relief flooding his senses as he feels your warmth. "By the gods, you can't leave me like this." his voice laced with an unfamiliar desperation.

He'd always been drawn to you, captivated by your beauty, your spirit, the way you always faced danger head-on. But now, as he watches you so close to slipping away, he realises just how deep his feelings run. The fear of losing you almost paralyses him, igniting a fire within him that he had long denied.

Gently cradling your head in his lap, he brushes a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering as he traces the curve of your cheek. "I've been a fool," his voice cracking with emotion. "A complete fool to deny what's been in front of me all along."

The torchlight reveals vulnerability in his crimson eyes. He takes a deep breath, his chest tightening as he lets his guard down. "I care for you more than I thought possible," he confesses. "Your strength, your courage, your unwavering belief that I am more than just some wretched spawn.. you've bewitched me in a way I never expected."

He closes his eyes for a moment as he gathers his thoughts. "I've spent so long hiding behind my own darkness, using it as an excuse to push others away," he continues, his voice growing stronger. "But you, you've shown me that there's more to life than the shadows. You've given me a reason to fight, a reason to believe I can be so much more than just Cazador's slave."

Astarion leans down, his lips hovering over your forehead, his breath mingling with the cool dungeon air. "I don't want to waste any more time pretending," he whispers, his voice a tender caress. "I love you darling, as much as my undead heart could possibly love someone."

The weight of his confession lifts from his shoulders, replaced by a sense of liberation. The feeling of your limp body in his arms reminds him just how truly fleeting life can be, a feeling that hasn't troubled him for over 200 years. He isn't willing to let his chance at happiness slip through his fingers any longer.

A faint smile tugs at the corners of your lips, as if your unconscious self can sense his words. Astarion presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his heart swelling with a newfound sense of purpose. "I'll protect you, no matter what," he vows softly, his voice a promise that echoes through the night as he cradles you closer, cherishing the sound of your gentle heartbeat.

A/N: Okay so the original plan was to kill off the reader but I literally couldn't bear to put Astarion through any more pain 🥺 Any feedback appreciated as usual, thank you for reading 💕

[notthefirstfallenangel]

Memories II

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, mention of injury, amnesia, alcohol mixed with meds

Summary: You had your memory wiped after a messed-up mission. All that you remember is your childhood and fragmented glimpses of your teenage and adult years. Poor Simon, your would-be hubby, is left to pick up the pieces when you can't even recall his existence.

Words: 1.8k

A/N: I had so much fun writing this! Hope you like it🤍

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4

It was close to 8 o’clock when Simon lit a cigarette, the red end glowing in the darkness. The smoke curled up above him into the starless night, forming swirling patterns as it dissipated. He sat on the cold roof of the barracks, his legs stretched out before him and his back resting against the wall. His mask was rolled up to just below his nose, exposing his full lips set in a stoic expression.

The back of his head hurt, his muscles ached, and his stomach rumbled. He had a crick in his neck, and his butt was numb. He had been up there for almost an hour now, and the pack of cigarettes laid empty next to him. It had become a habit for him to go up there after visiting you in the hospital, a temporary escape from reality and a way to manage his worries.

His hands were rough and callused, strong, sturdy, and dependable. His hands cradled the cigarette. The tip of the cigarette glowed red hot in the night air; the paper began to burn his fingers. The heat felt good, the only sensation on his body that told him he was alive. The smoke rose slowly and smelled good, almost relaxing.

His expression was grim as he gazed into the distance. There, in the darkening sky, he saw a streak of lightning in the distance, and he thought of you, lying alone in that sterile hospital room, unable to remember him. 

The only rule he had up there on that roof was not to think about anything about your condition — it was like a game of Taboo, and he had lost again.

He mumbled a curse under his breath.

When the doctors told him that you had suffered a traumatic injury to the hippocampus, he felt like the worst kind of monster was released from his cage. His heart sank and did not stop falling. He blamed himself for not being there when it happened.

Your childhood memories were still intact, but everything else seemed blurry and disjointed. Even some of your teenage years and early adulthood felt like a fog, leaving only fragmentary recollections in their wake.

The only tangible proof that the love you two shared for each other existed was the band of gold around your finger. He had stored it away carefully like a hidden treasure after you handed it back to him with tears in your eyes, telling him that you didn’t know who he was.

 “Mind if I join you?”

 He turned to see Price standing behind him, a cigar between his fingers, igniting the end with a few flicks of a match.

 “Be my guest.”

 Price sat beside him; their two forms a perfect contrast in the dark. While Simon appeared troubled, Price was relaxed, his expression peaceful despite the gloomy surroundings.

“The storm’s almost here,” Price blew a plume of smoke. “But it won’t last for long.”

 “But until it does, it’ll be a bloody mess.”

 “How’s she holdin’ up?”

 “It ain’t good.”They sat silently for a while, the only sounds being the gentle rustle of the leaves in the wind and the quiet but steady pattern of raindrops hitting the pavement.

Price took another drag from his cigar, sending a cloud of smoke into the air. “You want my opinion?”

 “Sure”

 “You’re pushing too hard.”

 Simon stared at him in silence. He couldn’t deny that Price was right — but he was struggling to accept it.

“She doesn’t remember a bloody thing,” he said. “At times, she acts as if she’s trying like there’s something in the back of her mind. But then nothing.” He tossed the cigarette over the edge of the roof and continued. “I try so bloody damned hard, but no matter what I do, it doesn’t work. And then she gets pissed off at me.”

 “I know... but giving up isn’t an option, is it? I know you’re not like that.”

Simon rested his hands in his pockets and stared at the distance, contemplating. The rain kept dropping lazily around them while the storm threw its wrath over the city.

Then, finally, he spoke. “No... no, I don’t want to give up. But it’s so hard, Price. Got nothin’ to cling on to,” He muttered under his breath. “I... I jus’ wish I could do much more.”

 Price’s voice was low and soothing, as if he were carefully measuring each word before speaking. “You can’t make her mind rush to remember. It’s gotta sort itself out in its own time.”

 Simon fell silent. He wanted to believe Price’s soothing words—he really did—but his own anxiety and frustration made it difficult, if not impossible.

 Price crushed his cigar under his foot.” C’mon. Let’s go back inside. Come on, mate.”

 As he stood, an unspoken understanding passed between them. He extended his arm in a silent offer of assistance; Simon hesitated, then leaned forward and clasped Price’s hand, letting the other man haul him to his feet. 

 They headed back inside; the barrack’s warm lights and dry air were a welcome contrast to the cold outside.

“You okay?” he asked again as Simon shook off the rain.

“Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

“Go home, get an early night.”

Simon knew he should argue and tell Price he didn’t need special treatment. But he couldn’t. He was too tired.

“You’re right. I’ll head home.”

—

Coming home was particularly hard for him. The silence was deafening; it felt like it was drowning him, just as the memory loss was drowning you. 

As he opened the door to his house, a wave of cold emptiness washed over him. The home that was once filled with laughter and love seemed empty without you there. He missed the familiar sound of your voice as it echoed through the halls, mocking him in its absence while coming back from yet another hospital visit. All of your memories were tainted by your illness; your happiness had been swallowed up by the silence of your lack of speech and his inability to bring you back to yourself. His heart ached as he remembered the woman you'd been before the terrible accident and wished that he could bring back the person you used to be.

To make the atmosphere more bearable, he adopted some strategies that helped to create a better atmosphere in his house. One of them was to keep the TV always on with an old show like Buffy or some other show playing. You’d never go to bed until you had watched at least one episode.

He tossed his clothes onto a chair, the mask on the floor and climbed into bed wearing just his boxer shorts. His body ached from the long day, but it was the throbbing in his head that gave him the most problems. He sighed heavily as he lay down, trying to will away the pain.

The bed creaks and groans as he moves in it.

The sound of the TV fell on deaf ears. He couldn't hear anything but the echo of your voice in his head. It haunted him.

Lying there, he remembered the feeling of being close to you. He could feel your body against his, the curves of your shoulder and hip pressing into him, and the softness of your skin as he traced his fingers down your arm or ran them lightly through your hair. He longed to feel that closeness again, to be enveloped in the scent of you. He missed the sweet smell of your hair filled his nose as he buried his face in your neck.

Your perfume lingers in the sheets, like a ghost clinging to the pillows. 

He reached out and ran his hand along the empty space beside him, imagining that you were there. His heart ached for you, and he felt a lump form in his throat. He couldn't bear the thought of losing you forever. The realisation that he might never have you back brought tears to his eyes, and he struggled to hold them back.

He closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. He couldn't force you to remember, no matter how hard he tried. As he drifted off to sleep, he knew that the only thing he could do was to love you, always and forever, no matter what.

It took some time for him to drift off, and even then, he would wake up. Because there was no escape, he was forced to relive the mission that left him broken every night.

The sound of your crying and screaming, begging for your life.

He heard them every night. He heard them over the gunshots and the sound of grenades. He heard the sounds of your yelling at him to let go of your hand and save himself. Then, the screams went silent. He woke up like every night, drenched in sweat, the sheets wrapped around his legs.

The TV was loud, and Sarah Gellar was battling some vampires. Simon shook his head, wiping the sweat away from his forehead before shutting off the TV.

“Bloody hell...” he muttered.

He ran his hand harshly across his face, desperately trying to erase the image of you being thrown backwards from a powerful explosion and your body lying motionless on the cold ground. He could smell the scent of burnt skin and matted hair. He shivered in horror, reached for the small bottle of whiskey kept on the bedside table, and took a swig directly from the bottle.

It doesn’t help, he told himself; it never does.

The bottle was nearly depleted, having been his faithful companion during the weeks of solitude.

His head was spinning painfully, and his body was cold.

You’re a mess.

He grunted as he stood and stumbled towards the bathroom; the hardwood flooring felt cool against his bare feet.

He opened the cabinet, deliberately not looking into the mirror. His fingers found a bottle of Nembutal, and he grabbed it, his palm slick from the whiskey bottle. He tossed two pills down his throat, hoping for a dreamless sleep.

 —

He jolted awake some hours later to the buzz of his phone and immediately regretted it. A throbbing ache exploded behind his eyes and spread throughout his head and neck. He groggily fumbled for the device, holding it up to his ear without shielding his eyes from the harsh light of morning streaming through the window. 

“Who’s this?” he croaked.

“Mr Riley, it’s Doctor Badel...” The tone in his voice was tired, exasperated. “She’s not cooperating with their prescribed treatment plan.”

The words felt heavy in the air, and the silence that followed was thick with tension. It was as if the entire room was holding its breath.

Simon cursed under his breath, muscles clenching and his jaw tightening. 

“ I’m on my way.”

Tags: @8sy-errah8 @yyiikes @spencerreidisbae123 @oranoyaora @sae1kie

[mcntsee]

lovey-dovey

Summary: 5 times the crows had to deal with their friends in love and 1 time they helped.

Warning: This is very ooc. Maybe some curses here and there, Kaz is ok with y/n’s touch.

The time they got caught:

In the dim-lit expanse of Kaz’s office, the air was thick with a shared secret that bound him and Y/N together. For two years, their love had been a whispered mystery concealed from the rest of the crows. Y/N sat comfortably in a chair, the soft light casting a warm glow on her features. Across from her, Kaz leaned against his desk with his customary confidence, his eyes fixed on her with an intensity only she could provoke.

Words flowed between them like a quiet river, a mixture of plans and reminiscences. Y/N’s fingers traced patterns on the edge of the chair, her voice a low murmur. Kaz’s lips quirked into a rare semblance of a smile as he listened, his eyes never leaving her face.

As time passed, the conversation grew softer, more intimate. Y/N’s laughter tinkled through the air, and Kaz’s usual aloofness seemed to melt away in her presence. A palpable tension built between them until, almost imperceptibly, Y/N pushed her chair back and stood. With a few purposeful strides, she closed the distance between them.

Kaz’s lean frame pressed against the desk, their proximity crackling with unspoken desire. As her fingers threaded through his dark hair, their lips met in a fervent kiss, a culmination of years of hidden affection. Their mouths moved in a dance of longing, the world outside fading into insignificance.

But the fragile bubble of their moment was unexpectedly shattered by the intrusion of the creaking door. “Hey boss—” Jesper’s voice started, but it trailed off in shocked surprise as his eyes fell upon the scene before him. Kaz and Y/N tore apart, the sudden separation leaving them breathless and disheveled.

Kaz’s gloved hands moved to smooth his already impeccable coat, his voice a mix of frustration and chagrin, “Jesper, I—” Yet the sharpshooter’s eyes held a glint of mirth as he turned on his heel and dashed out of the room, his voice echoing down the corridor, “Nina!”

As the door swung shut, the room remained heavy with the aftermath of their unexpected encounter. Y/N’s cheeks flushed a deep shade of crimson, and Kaz’s gaze softened as he looked at her. “Perhaps it was only a matter of time,” he murmured, his voice laced with amusement.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, her fingers still tingling from his touch. “I suppose we won’t be keeping our secret any longer.”

And as they straightened their clothes, their love, once veiled in shadows, now stood exposed—an undeniable truth shared among the crows, brought to light by an unexpected interruption.

First time

Several months had passed since the truth of Kaz and Y/N's relationship had been revealed to the crows. Now, gathered around a table for lunch, the camaraderie among the crew was palpable. Y/N sat comfortably, a plate of delectable French toast before her, accompanied by a steaming cup of coffee. Kaz occupied the seat next to her, a rare smile gracing his features as he listened to the conversations flowing around the table.

As the crows engaged in their usual banter, Y/N focused on her meal, savoring the flavors. In a moment that felt both intimate and effortless, she raised her fork, a bite of French toast poised on the edge. Without a word, she turned to Kaz, offering the morsel to him. He met her gaze, his expression softening, and he leaned slightly to take the offered bite into his mouth.

Jesper's eyes rolled dramatically at the sight, his voice dripping with playful exasperation. "Ugh, had I known you guys were going to be so lovey-dovey with each other, I would've knocked on the door."

A musical laugh escaped Y/N, her eyes dancing with amusement. "Oh, Jesper, you can't deny that we've brought a little extra excitement into your life." Kaz took a composed sip from Y/N's coffee cup. His tone held a hint of dry humor. "It's your fault, really."

Around the table, chuckles erupted as the crows exchanged knowing glances.

Second time

As the days passed, the grip of the flu began to loosen its hold on the crows. But for Kaz and Y/N, it clung to them stubbornly, refusing to release its grip. The sickness had hit them the hardest, given their close contact with the person who had initially brought it into their midst. Their weakened states were evident as they lay cuddled together on the couch in the Slat, seeking warmth and comfort in each other’s embrace.

Inej’s thoughtful nature led her to offer to venture to the market with Wylan to fetch some much-needed medicine. When they returned, they were greeted by the sight of Y/N and Kaz, entwined in slumber on the couch. The scene was so endearing that Wylan couldn’t resist sharing it with the others. He disappeared upstairs to fetch Jesper, while the others followed suit, curious to see what had captured Wylan’s attention.

As Jesper, Nina, and Matthias descended the stairs, their eyes fell upon the sleeping couple. It was an unusual sight, and Matthias couldn’t help but voice his surprise. “This is very weird. I didn’t even think the Demjin slept.”

The crows nodded in agreement, their curiosity piqued. But just as they were caught in their staring, a voice broke the silence. Y/N, eyes still closed, chimed in with a playful tone, “It’s rude to stare.”

Caught in the act, the crows quickly attempted to act nonchalant, as if they hadn’t been observing the scene. Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, a soft laugh escaping her as she caught her friends in the midst of their not-so-subtle glances. Her gaze then shifted down to Kaz, his brow damp with fever-induced sweat. With a tenderness that spoke volumes, she leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. Nina couldn’t contain her sentimentality, her voice a mixture of awe and humor. “Ugh, it’s so cute!, I hate it.”

Third time

Far from the bustling heart of the Barrel, Kaz and Y/N found themselves in a serene park, fingers intertwined as they meandered along the winding paths. Y/N abruptly halted beside a sturdy tree, her giggles escaping like the softest notes of a melody. Kaz turned to her with curiosity, his eyes locked onto hers. "What is it, love?"

With a twinkle of mischief in her eyes, Y/N gazed at him with an almost childlike wonder. "When I was little, my friends used to carve hearts with initials in the middle into trees. I never did it because I never loved anyone enough to do it." Her laughter bubbled up again, a carefree sound. "I was just thinking about how utterly silly it would be for you and me to carve our initials."

Kaz regarded her with a fondness that reached deep into his eyes, and a low chuckle escaped his lips. Y/N let out a contented sigh, taking his hand to continue their stroll. But Kaz didn't move. When she turned to look at him, she found a small smile playing at his lips and a pocket knife in his hand.

Y/N gasped in excitement and rushed to embrace him. Kaz, laughing softly, returned her hug. They made their way to the tree, and with careful precision, they carved their initials within a freshly formed heart.

Days later, Y/N and Jesper found themselves walking through the same park, bags brimming with stolen goods from a successful heist. Laughter flowed easily between them, the spoils of their venture contributing to their buoyant spirits.

As they passed by the tree, Y/N's gaze lingered on it for a moment, a subtle smile gracing her lips. Jesper, noticing her gaze, couldn't resist asking, "What?" Y/N tried to dismiss it with a casual wave, saying, "Oh, nothing." But her words didn't deter Jesper's sharp eyes.

"For fuck's sake!" Jesper exclaimed, throwing his hand in the air as he spotted the freshly carved heart and initials. "Really?" Y/N simply shrugged, her smile unapologetic. Jesper couldn't resist the urge to tease. "How on earth did you get ‘big boss man’ to do that?" Y/N's laughter rang out melodiously. "Charming smile?"

Their laughter intertwined, and Jesper playfully warned, "When we get back, I'm going to tease Kaz mercilessly." Y/N couldn't help but grin mischievously. "It's your head on the line, not mine."

Fourth time

For the past couple of weeks, Y/N had been on a job that took her to Shu Han. Today, her return was imminent, and the anticipation was palpable. Kaz couldn’t contain his excitement, and the crows couldn’t help but tease him for his uncharacteristic behavior. He seemed like “a child on Christmas morning”, but he brushed off their playful jabs with a hint of a smile.

As Y/N’s boat approached, Kaz abruptly stood, his eyes fixed on the pocket watch in his hand. With a sense of determination, he turned to the crows. “I’m going to pick her up.”

Their smiles grew knowing and indulgent. Wylan, seizing an opportunity, stood up as well. “Mind if I tag along? I need to grab a few things from the market on the way.” Kaz nodded. “Of course.”

Together, they made a quick stop at the market. As Wylan settled the purchases, he couldn’t help but notice Kaz’s constant glances at his pocket watch. It was a subtle sign of the anxiety that had gripped the usually composed leader.

Once their errands were complete, they resumed their path to the harbor. They stood there, waiting for Y/N, engaging in a subdued conversation. When the boat came into view, Wylan observed something rare—a sense of relief washed over Kaz, his shoulders visibly relaxing, and a small, genuine smile gracing his lips.

Then, Y/N emerged from the boat’s entrance, her eyes scanning the crowd. When she spotted Kaz, a rush of emotion overtook her, and she navigated through the bustling crowd to reach him. Without hesitation, she leaped into his arms, and they embraced tightly. Wylan watched, a smile on his face, as the couple lingered in the warmth of their reunion.

Finally, they shared a kiss that spoke volumes—affection, longing, and the relief of being together once again. It was a moment that melted Wylan’s heart. “Ew, get a room.”

Fifth time

The once unbreakable bond between Kaz and Y/N had hit a rocky patch. Their problems, which had been growing quietly between them, began to surface in the form of heated arguments. These disputes echoed behind the walls of their shared room, the muffled sounds of their fights a stark contrast to the harmony that once defined the crows' hideout.

Kaz and Y/N believed that their issues remained hidden from their friends, but the crows weren't oblivious to the shifts in their dynamics. It was subtle things at first. They noticed that Kaz and Y/N no longer sat side by side during meals, nor did they share their food with each other like they used to. The intimacy that had once characterized their relationship seemed to be slipping away.

The tension in the room was palpable when Kaz and Y/N were in each other's presence. Conversations would stutter, laughter would falter, and even their daring heists seemed to lack their usual cohesion.

As the crows sat in hushed conversation about Kaz and Y/N’s strained relationship, the sounds of their argument in the adjacent room grew increasingly heated. Jesper broke the silence, his brow furrowed in concern. “Whatever happened to them?”Inej merely shrugged. “No idea.”

Their contemplative silence was shattered by the escalating volume of Kaz and Y/N’s voices. The tension in the room thickened as the cacophony of their argument intensified. It was then that Matthias, wearing a concerned expression, voiced his thoughts. “I hope they’re alright. The Demjin was more likable when he was with her.”

Nina, her gaze fixed on the room where the fight was taking place as if searching for answers, nodded in agreement. “They are perfect for each other. My parents better figure things out.”Wearing a puzzled expression, Matthias asked, “Parents?” His lack of comprehension prompted laughter from Wylan and Jesper.

Nina began to explain what she meant when her words were abruptly cut off by the unmistakable sound of a door being slammed shut, making them all flinch. Their attention shifted abruptly to the staircase as they watched Y/N rush down, tears streaming down her face, a coat clutched tightly in one hand.

Jesper called out, his voice laced with worry, “Love?” But Y/N ignored them, brushing past the crows and stepping out into the unknown, leaving a cloud of tension and uncertainty in her wake.

one time

The atmosphere within the Slat had grown increasingly heavy over the past three weeks. The night Y/N had left with tears in her eyes, something had shattered between her and Kaz. Shortly after, the group found out that the couple had decided to part ways, putting an end to their relationship. Since then, nothing had been the same.

Kaz, who usually kept his vices in check, was drinking more than ever. He barely left his room, and when he did, it was clear that he was consumed by his own thoughts. Y/N, on the other hand, had withdrawn into herself. She ate little, spoke even less, and the vibrant spirit she once possessed seemed to have dimmed.

The crows had initially believed it was best to let Kaz and Y/N sort out their issues on their own. But as the days turned into weeks it had become painfully clear that their friends were spiraling deeper into despair, and the crew could no longer bear to witness their suffering. Something needed to be done to mend the fractured bond between their leader and the one who had always held his heart.

As the crows sat around the table, the weight of Kaz and Y/N's broken relationship pressing upon them, Nina finally voiced what had been on everyone's mind. "We need a plan. I can't wait any longer for them to fix things." Agreement rippled through the group, the frustration and concern shared among them palpable. After a moment of contemplative silence, Wylan broke the quiet with a suggestion that hung in the air like a daring challenge. "What about locking them in a room with no way out until they fix their relationship?"

Before anyone could respond, Inej interjected, her voice calm and reasoned. "Kaz will find a way out. There's no amount of locks that could keep him locked in." The crows exchanged disappointed glances, acknowledging the truth in Inej's words. Nina, however, was undeterred. "How about we don't lock them in, but we get them together? Maybe the awkwardness will make them talk?" Her voice held a hint of uncertainty. Jesper was quick to dismiss the idea, "I don't think any amount of awkwardness could make them talk, especially not Kaz."

The group continued to brainstorm, ideas flowing freely, each seeming more promising than the last. But each time, someone was quick to shut down the suggestion with a valid explanation. Just as they were on the brink of giving up, Matthias spoke up, catching everyone off guard. "What if we kidnap her?" The crows collectively exclaimed, "What?"

Matthias chuckled at their confusion before elaborating on his plan. "We kidnap Y/N without her knowing it's us. Then, we tell Kaz." The group was beginning to catch on, their curiosity piqued. Matthias continued, "Depending on their reactions, we can know the truth." Jesper tilted his head in confusion. "Know the truth?"

Matthias nodded, "Maybe they don't love each other anymore, or maybe they do. I'm assuming we'll find out based on their reaction to our plan."

The crows exchanged glances, their intrigue growing into excitement. Matthias had proposed a daring plan, one that might reveal whether there was still love between Kaz and Y/N, or if their paths had truly diverged. It was a plan that, if executed well, could mend their broken hearts and restore the harmony within their group. “Let’s figure this out then.”

A week had passed since the crows had devised their plan to kidnap Y/N. They had hired three individuals to carry out the abduction, ensuring that her head remained covered by a bag throughout the ordeal. Once the “abduction” was completed, Matthias and Jesper handed over the payment to the hired individuals and transported Y/N to Leila's house, an old college friend of Jesper's. They locked her in the basement still blindfolded and made their way back to the club.

Back at the Crow Club, tension hung heavy in the air as the rest of the crew awaited news. Soon enough, the pair burst through the front door. Jesper exchanged a nod with Inej, a silent understanding passing between them. With a determined expression, Inej ascended the stairs and knocked on Kaz's door. Without waiting for an invitation, she entered, immediately facing Kaz's irritation. "Inej-" he began, his voice carrying a note of annoyance, "Y/N is gone." Kaz's irritation was quickly replaced with worry as his eyes met Inej's. "What do you mean, gone?"

Inej proceeded to recount the story they had crafted together, just as the crows had planned. "She left the club hours ago. I offered to go with her, but she declined, saying she was just going back to the Slat." Kaz's back stiffened at the news, his concern deepening. "Maybe she deviated from her original plan, Inej," he suggested, trying to find a logical explanation.

Inej, a little taken aback by his dismissal, continued, "We thought the same but-" Kaz interrupted her, his curiosity piqued. "We?"

Inej nodded solemnly and reached into her bag, retrieving a familiar scarf. “We. The crows, Kaz.”It was Y/N's scarf, the one Kaz had gifted her their first Christmas, now stained with blood. She presented it to him, her voice heavy with sorrow. "We looked for her everywhere. This is the only thing we found." The room seemed to close in on them as Kaz stared at the bloody scarf in disbelief, a sinking feeling of dread settling in his chest.

Kaz’s desperation was palpable as he clutched Y/N’s blood-stained scarf, his voice strained with urgency. “How long ago?” Inej, following the plan meticulously, tilted her head in apparent confusion. “How long ago did you find this, Inej?” Kaz’s desperation was growing, and he needed to gauge the situation.

Inej chose her words carefully, aware of the delicate balance they needed to maintain. “About an hour ago,” she replied evenly. Kaz’s voice grew louder, frustration and concern bubbling to the surface. “An hour ago, and you’re just telling me now?” Inej stood her ground, her eyes meeting his with unwavering determination. She shrugged, her tone firm yet holding a hint of sadness. “We didn’t know what to do, Kaz. Not when it came to you two, not after the breakup.”

As Kaz looked at Inej, a flicker of sadness crossed his eyes. It was a difficult moment, a reminder of the pain they had all been enduring. Finally, he made a decisive decision. “Gather the crows. We’re going to find her.” The urgency in his voice was met with a nod from Inej, who turned to carry out his command.

As Inej left Kaz’s room, she looked over the railing and down to the first floor, her gaze falling upon the eager faces of the crows who had gathered there. With a smile that held both relief and determination, she raised her thumb in a triumphant gesture, signaling to the others that their plan was well underway.

The crows below caught her signal, and a wave of enthusiasm washed over them. Smiles broke out on their faces, and some couldn’t resist the urge to return the thumbs up, a silent affirmation that their daring plan was indeed progressing as intended.

With the initial celebration complete, Inej waved her hand and raised two fingers, silently indicating that it was time to proceed with the second part of their meticulously crafted plan.

One by one, the crows began making their way up the stairs to Kaz's office, their movements deliberately slow to avoid arousing suspicion. Inej led the way, returning to Kaz's side as the others followed. As the group assembled inside the office, a sense of tension hung in the air. Jesper, adopting a grave tone, addressed Kaz. "Boss?" Kaz turned to face his crew, his expression expectant. "All of you, tell me everything you know."

The crows nodded in unison, each member prepared to recite their part in the carefully concocted story. One by one, they recounted the various fabricated details they had created during the planning stages. Wylan, his nerves palpable, was the last to speak. He cleared his throat and, with great conviction, said, "There's a chance that Y/N might've used my Glownie powder."

Kaz's interest was piqued, and he signaled for Wylan to continue. "A couple of days ago," Wylan elaborated, "I gave her this new powder I created. If we're lucky, Y/N might've had it with her and used it to leave a trail when she was taken."

Jesper offered Wylan a reassuring pat on the back, while Nina posed a crucial question. "How do we know if she used it?" Wylan cleared his throat once more before explaining, "It glows when Germin is added to it. We could go back to where her scarf was found, and I could put some drops on the floor to see if it glows." The cogs of the plan were turning smoothly.

With Wylan’s revelation about the Glownie powder, the crows wasted no time. They retraced their steps to the location where Y/N’s scarf had been “found.” The tension in the air was palpable as they gathered around, their eyes fixed on the floor.

Wylan, steady and careful, dropped a few drops of the solution onto the floor. After a brief moment, a soft glow began to emanate from one of the drops. Wylan turned to face Kaz, his expression triumphant. “There! She used it.” Kaz visibly relaxed, his concern momentarily assuaged. “Go on, then,” he urged, giving Wylan the go-ahead to continue.

Wylan proceeded to pour more of the glowing solution onto the floor, and as it started to illuminate the path, the crows followed the trail with unwavering determination. Kaz believed they were following the traces left by Y/N, unaware that it was a fabricated trail laid out by Nina just hours before.

Not long after, the crows found themselves in front of Leila’s house, as they made their way closer, Five guards attacked the group. The crows, in accordance with their well-rehearsed plan, sprang into action. Each member engaged in combat, swiftly taking on one of the guards with their honed skills. Kaz, the only one not entangled in battle, remained on high alert.

Amidst the intense clash of combat, Nina’s voice pierced through the noise. “We’ve got it, go find Y/N!” Kaz scanned the scene one last time, ensuring the safety of his crew, before he took off running toward the house.

Kaz ventured further into the darkened house, his heart pounding in his chest as he called out for Y/N, his voice carrying a mix of hope and trepidation. The silence that followed was unnerving, pushing him to press on.

He continued to navigate the unfamiliar surroundings, each step echoing through the quiet house as he called Y/N's name again and again, his voice a lifeline in the darkness.

Eventually, he stumbled upon the basement door. He pushed it open with care, its creaking hinges the only sound in the stillness. As he descended the stairs, Kaz kept repeating Y/N's name, his concern growing with every step.

"Love?" he called out as he reached the bottom, and a muffled response reached his ears. A surge of relief washed over him as he quickly scanned the dimly lit basement, ensuring they were alone. He hurried over to where Y/N was seated, her eyes covered.

With deft fingers, Kaz removed the blindfold, revealing Y/N's eyes. "You're okay, love," he assured her, his voice a mixture of relief and tenderness. Y/N let out a sigh of relief, her voice trembling as she said his name.

Kaz wasted no time in freeing her from the handcuffs, helping her to her feet. Y/N wrapped her arms around him in a tight embrace, and Kaz held her close, his concern evident in his voice as he asked, "What happened, love?"

As Y/N began to recount her experience to Kaz, he listened intently, a mix of sadness and anger in his eyes. Her story of being ambushed in the market weighed heavily on him, and he couldn't help but feel responsible for her safety. But-

"The market?" Kaz's voice held a note of realization as he pieced together the information. Y/N nodded slowly, her eyes scanning their surroundings. "Yes, the market. And then I was here," she added, her voice tinged with uncertainty about their current location. “Whatever here is.”

Kaz's sharp gaze swept across the basement, his mind working to make sense of the situation. The market was nowhere near where her scarf had been found, a discrepancy that raised questions. However, he pushed aside his doubts for the moment, focusing on their need to leave.

"Let's go, love," Kaz said, taking Y/N's hand. Hand in hand, they made their way outside, where they found the rest of the crows encircled by the unconscious bodies of their “attackers”. Relief washed over the group, and Y/N was greeted with hugs and excited welcomes.

As they began the journey back to the Slat, Kaz turned to Wylan, acknowledging the effectiveness of his Glownie powder. "Wylan, you should make more of that powder. It helped a lot today."

Wylan, eager to divert the conversation, chuckled nervously. "Yeah, of course," he agreed hastily. However, Y/N, curious, looked back and inquired about the mysterious powder.

Kaz halted their progress, releasing Y/N's hand and turning to face the group. "Wylan, care to explain what powder we're talking about?"

The crows exchanged anxious glances, their secrecy now exposed. Wylan stammered, "Glownie?" making it sound like a question, followed by a nervous chuckle.

Kaz's irritation was palpable as he responded with a curt "Right." He shot a brief, disapproving look at the rest of the group before turning back to Y/N and extending his hand, which she took with a smile.

Back at the club, Kaz requested Y/N’s presence in his office, and she agreed. They ascended the stairs together, and once inside Kaz’s office, Y/N settled into a chair while Kaz leaned against his desk. A silence hung in the air, heavy with unspoken thoughts and emotions.

Breaking the silence, Y/N voiced her question, her eyes searching Kaz’s. “It was them, wasn’t it?”Kaz nodded slowly. “I believe so, yes.”

Y/N’s laughter, tinged with amusement, washed over the room, and it was like music to Kaz’s ears. “For such a great plan, they definitely could’ve planned some stuff better,” she commented, her tone light, bringing a smile to Kaz’s face – a smile that hadn’t graced his lips since their breakup.

After a brief pause, Y/N cleared her throat and said “I should leave now.” before making a move to leave. However, before she could open the door, Kaz’s voice stopped her in her tracks. “Stay.”

Y/N turned back to face him, sadness in her eyes, and asked, “What for?” In that moment, Kaz hesitated, his mind racing with unspoken sentiments. What was he supposed to say? That his hard days are easier because of her? That talking to her makes everything feel better? That he admires her strength? Her kindness? Perhaps her unique perspective on the world. That when he is near her, the ghosts of his past become a gentle whispers within the chambers of his mind, their haunting presence neutralized by the soothing sound of his thumping heart. That he still needs her. That he still loves her.

“I’ve let my ego guard my heart. I’ve stopped myself from admitting that I miss and need you. I am entirely afraid of my own heart but I know that it wants you. I want you, I love you.”

With every word that came out of his lips, Y/N drew closer. Her eyes held a softness that mirrored Kaz’s own, and without the need for more words or explanations, their lips met in a tender, heartfelt kiss.

Kaz’s frame leaned against the desk, and his arms enveloped Y/N’s waist, drawing her closer to him. A content sigh escaping his lips.

Bonus

“Oh my saints! This is so cute!”Nina exclaimed, and her sentiment was met with a harmonious chorus of agreement and awe from the rest of the crows. Kaz found himself seated at the center of the table, surrounded by his team which had been lavishing him with compliments for the past thirty something minutes.

This whirlwind of emotions and affection had erupted after Kaz's revelation that he was planning to propose to Y/N. It had been two years since their tumultuous breakup and eventual reconciliation, and for the past year, Kaz had been carrying an engagement ring with him, waiting for the perfect moment.

Kaz's patience was wearing thin with their teasing and admiration, and he finally spoke up with a serious tone. "Will you help or not?" he asked, his gaze sweeping the table. The group fell silent and Jesper couldn't resist adding a touch of humor to the moment. "You sure you want our help after the ass-chewing we got from you almost two years ago for our 'terrible planned plan'?" he quipped.

Kaz's gaze held steady as he met the expectant eyes of his friends. "I do," he affirmed, and a hint of amusement danced in his eyes. “Save that for the wedding.” Inej's playful comment elicited a chuckle from the room.

A week had passed since the crows huddled together, weaving the threads of a heartfelt proposal plan for Kaz to present to Y/N. On the morning of the proposal, the atmosphere in the Slat was as ordinary as any other day. The crows sat around the table, sharing breakfast and carrying brief conversations as they usually did. After their meal, they dispersed, each going their separate ways, preparing for what they hoped would be a day to remember.

Once Kaz and Y/N returned to their room, they engaged in a simple, easy conversation. The morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle glow over the room. They spoke of inconsequential things, savoring the comfort of each other's presence. As time passed, Kaz's gaze fell to his pocket watch, his steady facade revealing a hint of nerves. His eyes then drifted toward the window, where the world beyond beckoned.

Breaking the silence, Kaz remarked, "It's a nice day," his voice holding a hint of understated excitement. Y/N responded with an agreeable hum, matching his sentiment.

Kaz couldn't help but smile at her response. "Shall we go for a walk?" he proposed, his heart dancing with anticipation.

Y/N's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as she readily agreed. Their laughter filled the room as Kaz grabbed his coat, and they made their way outside, hand in hand. Their steps led them through familiar streets until they found themselves standing at the entrance of the park that held a special place in both their hearts.

Hand in hand, they ventured inside, cherishing the serenity of the park. Unbeknownst to Y/N, Kaz gently guided them toward a particular tree, one with a history known only to the two of them… And Jesper, and probably the rest of the crows. But, it was the tree where, years ago, they had carved their initials inside a heart, sealing their love in a silent promise.

Y/N was lost in conversation, the world around her a tranquil backdrop to their shared moments. It wasn't until she reached the heart-carved tree that her words faded into an astonished silence. There, before her eyes, the tree was adorned with twinkling fairy lights, casting a magical glow. Beneath it lay a soft blanket, a picnic basket filled with delectable food and wine, surrounded by a sea of vibrant, blooming flowers.

Y/N froze, her breath catching in her throat, and she turned to Kaz, a question forming on her lips. But before she could utter a word, her gaze met Kaz, who had gracefully descended to one knee. In his trembling hand, he held a ring. “Kaz-“ said Y/n, hand coming up to cover her mouth, eyes watery.

“You once told me that you had never carved your initials on a tree before because you hadn’t found a love worth immortalizing. Well, I have, and I want to spend the rest of my life proving to you that our initials should be carved in every tree there is, not just this one.” he began, his gaze never wavering from hers, “from the moment I met you, my life took a turn I could have never predicted. You brought light into the darkest corners of my world. You showed me a kind of love that was previously unimaginable, and you became my anchor in a sea of chaos.”

His fingers trembled slightly as he continued, “We’ve faced challenges, trials that would have shattered most, but we emerged stronger each time. We’ve laughed together, cried together, and even fought with each other, but through it all, our love has remained unwavering.”

Kaz’s voice grew softer, the hint of sadness lingering as he spoke of their past. “I know there have been moments of doubt, times when I failed you, when I pushed you away because I was afraid. But through it all, you stayed by my side, never giving up on me, on us.”

“Love, I can’t imagine a world without you in it. So, with all the love that resides in my heart, all the love you’ve patiently nurtured, I ask you this…”

He paused, his voice unsteady, his eyes shimmering with raw emotion. “Will you marry me, Y/N?” As the weight of his words hung in the air, Kaz held his breath, waiting for her answer, praying with all his heart to all the saint he didn’t believe in that she would say yes and become his forever.

With a radiant smile, Y/N answered, “Yes, Kaz, a thousand times yes.”

Kaz’s eyes gleamed with joy as he slid the ring onto her finger, a perfect fit. Standing up slowly, he couldn’t help but be drawn to her, capturing her lips in a tender, love-filled kiss. The world seemed to fade away for that moment, leaving only the two of them, wrapped in the warmth of their love.

But just as they kissed, a sudden eruption of cheers, shouts, and laughter shattered the serenity. Out of nowhere, the crows appeared, jubilantly celebrating the moment. They clapped Kaz on the back, patted Y/N’s shoulder, and hooted with joy, their happiness infectious.

Kaz and Y/N couldn’t help but flinch at the unexpected celebration, but as they looked around at the beaming faces of their friends, they couldn’t help but smile. After all, they are the ones that dealt with all their ups and downs of their relationship.