#'You are his. wholly. and everything you should know and do will come from him'.

[sp0o0kylights]

Part One

A large part of the Steve Harrington lore was that he left his throne, his popularity, childhood best friends behind--for Nancy Wheeler. 

This was a lie. 

It wasn’t even one he encouraged--and Steve had done some damage control in the aftermath of that whole thing with the tunnels. 

He volunteered, dropped hints to the right crowd. 

It took time, but eventually, his insistence that he’d changed, left his old crew behind to become a better version of himself, began to stick.

Or at least it did with the people who mattered.  

It took Starcourt for him to realize that wasn’t really the truth either. 

Steve did want to be a better person. He was working actively on being a better person. 

But…

(But he still heard screams from a bus in the junkyard when he slept. Felt fear lick down his spine as he charged in, knowing he was the only thing standing between three dumb kids and a painful, shitty death. 

But he still heard Dustin, full of conviction, tell his friends that Steve was the only person he could find. 

But now he had a “bad” shoulder, a “twinge” in his ribs, and a head that was plagued by migraines, all of which made him look in the mirror and ask himself “What if I hadn’t gone with them?) 

…you couldn’t be there for someone, couldn’t protect someone, if you were too busy playing high school bullies with your friends. 

Robin would likely argue these were simply the reasons he wanted to be a better person, but Robin now ranked as one of Steve’s top 10 personal regrets--even if he was pretty sure they’d become best friends.

Because Steve was the oldest. He’d graduated high school for fucks sake, he should have shut Dustin down the second he realized what was happening was legitimate. 

He absolutely should not have let Robin get involved and Erica--

He can’t even really think about Erica, no matter how much Erica herself argues elsewise. 

At the very least, Steve can admit to himself he protected them in the end. 

Got beat to shit and had to fake his death alongside Hopper to do it, but they all got out. 

Alive.

Unscathed.

Hopefully to put this whole fucking thing past them once Owens finished cleaning house in the government. 

Unfortunately life--and Eddie fucking Munson--was not ready to put anything to rest. 

Munson in fact, seemed hellbent on disturbing what he could--and Steve, wholly haunted by the fact the kids always came to him, couldn’t let him do it alone.

At least, he thought with grim distaste, as he followed Munson’s weaving path to the ruins of Starcout,  he was getting his car out of it. 

xXx

Uncanny valley doesn’t do Steve’s feelings justice. 

Starcourt was laid out in a giant L, and coming at it from the outer edges like he and Munson did means everything looks disturbingly normal. 

Off putting, if only because it’s 10 in the morning and not a soul is in the mall, but otherwise? 

Like nothing ever went wrong.

As they move closer to the center, things begin to unravel. 

It’s not noticeable at first. Not unless you’re looking. The litter on the floor, the little piles of weird looking debris. 

The stains.

Nothing that outwardly screams “something horrible happened here” but it's coming--and though Munson is creeping along just as quietly as Steve is, he knows the guy isn’t on edge in the same way. 

Why would he be? Nothing Steve said had managed to deter him, and given Steve can’t exactly explain what happened or why he’s playing possum, Munson was plenty confident about going forward with his little B&E. 

At least not until they finally turn the corner, and the destruction hits them full force. 

Glass and chunks of plaster cover the ground like confetti. Lights hang sideways or lay smashed on the floor, as do pieces of doors (and railings and half of the entire upper floor.) 

The place looks like something out of a disaster film--which Steve supposes, is exactly what it is. 

If the disaster was supernatural in nature, and also caused by a giant monster made out of the melted flesh. 

(God, his life was weird.)

“What the hell happened here?” Eddie said, eyes wide as he took in the damage. 

Steve tried to imagine what it must look like for him. Looked at the scene and tried to pretend he was someone who wasn’t in the know, who thought the mall had been destroyed by a fire and subsequent structural collapse.

Could almost convince himself one could buy it--if it weren’t for the smears of blood that still stained the floor. 

He stared at said smears, trying to match up which puddle was the one Billy died in, in comparison to all the other stains that the feds hadn’t bothered to remove. 

Recalled the way Max screamed, fighting her way towards her step-brother when he finally fell.

The yell Billy himself had let out, when he’d managed to shake off the Mindflayer, long enough to give El the time she needed. 

Steve hadn’t really thought about it until now. 

Billy’s death.

 Hadn’t really had time too, given Owens had pulled him and a handful of others out of the ambulance and forced them into hiding.

(From the fucking Russians still hanging around, apparently, though that had been Owens flimsy excuse. Murray and Hopper and long guessed it was something far closer to home. 

“You ever think about how weird that was? That Russians made it to Hawkins and no one ever noticed?” Hopper had asked, a beer in the same hand that had an IV sticking out of the back of it. “Given the lab was right across town you think they’d be watching for that kinda thing.” 

“Please Jim, I am begging you, for once, to use your head. They didn’t get here without assistance and they certainly didn’t do it without help from our own government.” Murray had scoffed in return. 

He held two lit cigarettes in his hand, and was reaching for a third.

“Why the hell would the US military let in Russians?"

“An excellent question, and I’ll return it with one of my own. If we assume we are being lied too, and all the Russians are actually gone, why would Owens still need to hide us?"

“...Fuck.”

“Fuck indeed.”)

Now, Steve found he had all the time in the world to contemplate Billy Hargrove and his mostly unnoticed possession. His supposed sacrifice. 

 Had it redeemed him, the way movies and TV shows always said that kind of death, did? 

Steve imagined the sneered grin on Billy’s face that night at the Byers. Felt phantom knuckles brush across his face, the fury that had ignited within him when Billy hadn’t gone for him, but for Lucas.

Compared it to his own fight with Jonathan in ‘82. 

The words he’d allowed Tommy to spray upon the theater sign regarding his own girlfriend. The camera he’d destroyed. 

The demogorgon in the Byers house, lights flashing as it tore through the wall. 

If things had been different, if Steve hadn’t survived back then--would people wonder the same things about him? Would they ask themselves if his sacrifice was worth it--if it proved he was a good person, under it all? 

“Harrington?” 

Steve jumped, startling when Munson nudged him. 

“You good, man?” He asked, and Steve almost laughed at him because no, he definitely was not good. 

He can’t say that though, and so he does what he always does. Shoves the thoughts down, puts the feelings back inside a box in his mind. 

Lies. 

“Yeah--fine.” He said, brushing off his staring. “Come on, Scoops is that way.” 

He gestures, ignoring the concerned look that’s overtaken Munson’s face. 

Panicking he knows, will not get his keys back, and neither will it help him learn what idiot is poking around the Upside Down this time. 

Because for all of Murray's conspiracies, he doesn’t actually think the feds are Munson’s benefactor. Owens had been inclined to agree, when Steve first reported this entire situation back. 

It’s definitely not his parents, who are conveniently overseas in London. 

That leaves very little options, including a disturbing possibility of a new player to the game, and given all the green goo Steve had seen, the way they all know it does--something, to help power the gate... 

It’d be nice to get ahead of things for once, instead of scrambling to catch up. 

(Screw Hopper and Owens and everyone who told Steve to stay out of it.

He knew damn well Munson wouldn’t listen to his warnings. 

Wouldn’t back off and definitely wouldn’t leave it alone.

Hopper’s half-delirious (and morphine fueled) rants about this finally being a wakeup call for Munson if he didn’t listen wasn’t going to make up for the blood on Steve's hands if the guy went in there without him and died. ) 

Walking through Scoop's is almost more unnerving than walking through the mall itself. Likely because Steve spent time here, and seeing it in it's destroyed state--lights off, ice cream melted and fouling the air with the a rancid stench do him no favors.

The You Suck board is laying haphazardly on the floor.

Steve forces himself to walk by it, and breathes only through his mouth.

“Your locker, my liege!” Munson crows as they enter the back part of Scoop’s, throwing out an arm at it like he’s presenting a game show prize. “Shall we see if the treasure we seek is behind door number one?” 

Steve rolls his eyes, but remains quiet as he steps up and enters his combination. 

It swings open as easily as it ever had, and there, hanging from the crooked hook, is the car keys Steve is so desperately after. 

Munson throws his hands in the air, like Steve’s just shot the winning basket of a game. 

“Score!” He yells, and Steve grins reflexively even as he shushes him. 

“Now," Munson says dramatically, "the hunt begins for our second prize.”

Steve rolls his eyes.

“I told you I don’t have a class ring.” 

“And yet they have me searching for one anyway.” Like a hound zeroing in on a trail, he immediately orients to the back of Scoop’s, waltzing through to the backrooms like this was everyday for him.

Given his confusing and handwaved excuse of how he got involved in this, Steve suppose it could be. 

(He had decided, sometime between the first and fifth time he’d tried to get Eddie to explain how, exactly he’d been roped into this little mission, that the man could never meet Dustin.

Henderson was already too good at steamrolling over Steve, explaining nothing other than the facts that would force them all to do what the little shit wanted, all the while leading them further into trouble.

He didn’t need to befriend someone like Munson, whose mastery of the same bullshit had him doing, well.

This.) 

To the end of the hall Eddie skipped, and Steve kept his eyes on his jacket. Some sort of demon thing was posed on the back, a shirt that had been ripped up and resewn to be a backpatch. 

It was better than looking at anything else back here.

It took them no time at all to reach their destination. 

The door down had a shiny new lock on it. A big thing, with chains so thick Steve briefly wondered if they were worried about containment. 

Had they pulled something through the gate, before it had exploded?

The base was large--larger than Steve had seen, and he'd passed room after room when running around down there.

No one had the time to explore, and one would assume any and all monsters had been removed from the premise but there was always that little tickling feeling.

The one that chanted 'What if...'

Unfortunately, the lock did nothing to detour this little jaunt. 

Munson dropped to his knees in front of a door, hair pin in hand. He fiddled with the lock for a moment and Steve took it to visualize how different things might have been if the older teen had been there with them. 

How much easier some of it would have been. 

(Not that Steve wanted to involve anyone else in this mess.

He'd carry the guilt of dragging Erica and Robin both into it for the rest of his life, not matter what either had to say about the matter. Dustin he knew he couldn't stop, but then, Steve doubted they'd have even made it that far without the girls.)

A click sounded, and Eddie looked up, eyes bright with a wild grin on his face. 

“Open sesame.” He purred as he stood, the door opening under his hands. He pushed on it, revealing the dark gaping maw of a stairwell.

Dread hit Steve like a wave.

“We shouldn’t go down there.” He said.

They had already had this conversation, but Steve felt the overwhelming urge to revisit it on grounds that he still isn’t sure how exactly, Munson got him to agree to come in the first place, and also, now that he was thinking of it, because the guy reminded him of Dustin.

“We shouldn’t be here at all.” Munson countered, springing back to his feet. “But some of us need this little thing called money.”

He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, as if Steve needed the extra visual.

“If you’re giving me the car--and the car keys--what's the point of going after the ring?” Steve tried, staring down the stairwell before him. “Aren’t they gonna like, not pay you for not finding anything?”

Munson made a dismissive noise, waving his hands in the air like he was dispersing smoke. 

“Eddie.” Steve said, and knew by the way Munson looked at him that the use of his first name hit as intended. “I mean it, man.” 

There was no point in going through with the rest of it. No point at all.

“And I told you I was given a side mission to my main mission, and a little industry secret for ya here Harrington,"

Steve watched as cheshire-cat like grin lit up Munson’s face, in a way eerie similar to Dustin’s gummy smile. "the side missions always pay more.” 

“What's under there isn’t--this isn’t--it’s not safe.” Steve fired back, hating how he fumbled the words, like a ball slipping through his hands. 

Munson scoffed.

“Life ain’t safe.”  

“This is different.” He tried to argue and hated how stubborn Munson was being about this.

It almost made him feel bad about all the time’s Robin had protested. 

(Idly Steve wondered if this was how she felt. Like she was getting dragged along--like she had to go. 

Did her insides feel scooped out? Stomach hollow and head hurting?

Or had the excitement blinded her too much to feel the way the walls seemed to press in?)

Steve’s gut clenched with worry, and he shook his head to clear the anxiety.

Met Munson's gaze and desperately thought of something to say to convince him to walk away.

Some of that must have bled onto his face, because Munson was giving him an odd, searching look.

“I’ll make you a deal, Steve-O." He said. "You give me two good reasons why we shouldn’t go down there, and if they’re really convincing, I might agree to skip it.” 

“I signed NDAs.” Steve sighed, because this was an argument they’d also already had. 

Twice in fact--once, when Eddie first found him, alive and very much not dead as reported, and the second time when he approached Steve with his “retrieval project.” 

(Both times at the goddamn gas station, which Steve would now be avoiding for life.) 

On eyebrow raised. “Over a mallfire?” 

“I think,” Steve said dryly, gesturing around to the destruction that surrounded them, “that you’ve figured out it wasn’t a mallfire.” 

Technically he wasn't even supposed to say that, but then, Steve had long stopped caring if he actually broke the stupid thing.

The real issue was that the story sounded like something out of a bad horror film--fake and ridiculous. If he tried to explain it, Munson would assume Steve had finally cracked.

Or, more likely, decide he was being made fun of, and react accordingly.

(They couldn't afford to fight here, and neither did Steve want Munson storming off.)

“Well duh. But then, you’re the one who won’t say what really happened here.” Munson waggled his eyebrows in a way that was so cartoony Steve was mildly impressed a person could pull it off. 

He sighed a second time. 

“You wouldn’t believe me.”

“You keep saying that and you keep not trying me.” Eddie leaned against the door frame. “Come on Harrington. Two reasons.”

Steve tried.

Ran through what might convince Munson to leave it all alone. 

Figured the guy was kind of like Dustin, in that he couldn’t be too vague (because it would just intrigue him) and he couldn’t be too honest (because any idiot could see Munson would be all over some kind of government conspiracy.) 

“The fact the building might pancake on us at any moment isn't enough?" He asked, unsure if sounding desperate was the right move here (an equally unsure if he could hide it if it was.)

He’d hadn’t tried this route before--hadn’t thought Munson would go for it. 

Not when he'd waived off every other attempt Steve could think of, to stop this.

“Nah, I trust my source, this place will hold.” Munson leaned forward, deep into Steve’s space and though Steve waivered back, he let the older teen get close. “You’ve been off ever since we came in here, Harrington. I want to know why.” 

“I was in the fire. Munson. I did almost die."

He still had a bruise left to prove it.

"That ain't it and you know it."

"I don't know what else to tell you then." Steve said, angry. why was the guy making this so hard? Why couldn't he just fucking listen!?

“Not even two reasons?”

“There’s not--” Steve closed his eyes, frustrated. “I’ve given you far more than two reasons!” 

“Not any good ones.” 

“I don’t know what you want from me. "Steve admitted finally. "because I told you, you wouldn’t believe the rest of it--” 

Munson didn't let his rant pick up steam. instead he pulled himself back, interrupting Steve.

“Then down the rabbit hole we go, Alice!”

Quick as a flash he was  down the stairs and Steve bit back a curse as he rushed to follow.

“Munson--come on, wait!” He yelled back.

Eddie, of course, did no such thing. 

It took everything he had in him to rush after, but Steve did it anyway.

What else was he good for?

[absolute-flaming-trash]

Oh I'm fucking SICK

Horrorfest: The Formula for Life [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Title: The Formula for Life [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Synopsis: Mahito is your creator, and you ought to listen to his rules. But something inside you wants more.

For Horrorfest request: I got two different requests for Mahito + creating a Frankenstein-monster style of reader, so this is for those!

Word count: 5400ish

notes: yandere, very dubious consent, power dynamic abuse, non-graphic descriptions of sex; violence and death (not against reader); Mahito in general is a warning

You are perfectly imperfect. 

Mahito is not entirely sure where he heard the phrase before –a women’s magazine, maybe, or some 1960s British film with upbeat, witty dialogue and blonde starlet at the helm–but as he stares down at your prone, sleeping body, he decides that it’s a phrase which suits you well.

You are a perfectly imperfect human, naked as the day he made you. Something in him puffs up at the thought, a hot sensation that makes his chest tingle. Yes, he made you, didn’t he? He is your… creator. Or as close to a creator as you will ever get in this world or the next, because whatever came before no longer matters. 

There is no before-you. There is only the you-of-now, resting with your eyes closed and your mouth slack and ah, here, now, finally–

You wake up.

Limbs jerk and your neck twitches and he wonders how much it hurts–the stitches criss-crossing your body like his own, keeping the various parts of you held together. The skin and muscle and sinew, bold black stitches sewn across your hands and arms and legs and chest and every single part of you. There is even, and he finds it a delightful detail, a stitch across one of your ears. It’s cute. 

Like you, he thinks. Cute.

Cute as you sit up on his makeshift operating table, testing out your newfound limbs. Cute as your eyes squint, as your pupils adjust to the dim lighting, as your gaze steadies on the only other living thing in the near vicinity–him.

Cute as you try to say your first words. 

“Ah…” You say, or try to say, and he wonders just how much of speech your soul remembers, and whether or not that connection will extend to the way your body works. No matter. He’ll just teach you, if necessary. 

He grins, and puts his fingers on either side of your lips, squishing them together.

“Hel-lo,” he says, slow, moving your mouth with the words. “Can you say that? Hel-lo?”

You blink at him, awareness and confusion seeping into your expression. The stitches that cross your face, going from the corner of your scalp across the top of your nose and landing around the curve of your neck, scrunch in with the effort.

Your mouth opens, and closes; he can hear the spittle in your mouth working, can see the way your cheeks move, the pink of your tongue testing out its boundaries.

And then–

Then, you lean forward, and he grins, eager to hear you try; but ah, you surprise him. Cute, ugly thing that you are. Your hand extends, wobbling, and your fingers loosely grip his own lips like they’ve never held anything before. 

“Hel-lo,” you mimic, slow, warbled, the word coming out almost foreign. “Hel-lo?”

He grins, and can’t help the croon of pure, unadulterated delight that follows. 

–

He has a lot to teach you. You, dear pet, are a lot of work. Not that he minds. Not that he views it as a chore. No, teaching you is some grand, extended hobby. More fun than reading, more fun than experimenting, even, because isn’t that what you are? A complex experiment.

A beautifully awfully blank creature that belongs to him: that’s what you are, and that’s the first thing he teaches you. That you are his, wholly, and everything you should know and do will come from him.

You accept it so easily that he laughs until he cries, and then laughs some more, when you reach up to touch his tears and ask him what they are, and why they come from his eyes, and why your own eyes don’t leak like that.

“Don’t worry,” he told you, catching his breath, adoring the way your recycled callused fingers felt on his cheeks. “You’ll get some of your own eventually.”

And you did, of course. At the most stupid time, which was frustrating, but something he could work with.

The first time you cried was the first time he brought a human home to experiment on. Some salaryman he’d fetched on his late night walk home, exhausted, barely able to hold up his briefcase.  Mahito had set you on the ground (you never complained about it being hard, and maybe soon he would give you something soft to sit on, sweet thing that you are) and told you to watch, excited to see how you’d react. Would you be confused? Scared? Or simply feel nothing, and watch blankly as the man died?

But ah, how disappointing. You’d cried, of all things. Your hands had flown to your cheeks, feeling the wetness; your skin had gone all splotchy–”My head hurts, I feel warm,” you’d told him–and your lips curled into a nasty frown.

“Why are my eyes leaking?” You asked, and Mahito had to think about it. Because he wasn’t quite sure. He decided to root around in your soul for the answer, and it was so strikingly simple that he imagined slapping himself for it. You felt empathy for the man. You thought he was like you. And if you were being hurt, well, you’d feel downright awful, too. 

Silly thing. So that was the next thing he taught you: that the people he brought down into the sewer were simply experiments. Not living beings, not like you, and certainly not like himself. Nothing for you to worry about at all.

And you simple, sweet thing, what do you do after he tells you this? You listen. You’re so good for him that when he pats you on the head and says, ah, silly goose, this is not a person, it doesn’t matter if it gets hurt, if it dies, if it screams until its mouth bleeds…. You believe him.

And now, you simply watch–or don’t, if he says it’s okay to go about your simple day–as he goes about torturing countless living souls. Stretching, twisting, bending, hurting. None of it makes a difference, because Mahito told you it didn’t. The most you react is sometimes covering your ears–”Why does sound hurt, sometimes?”--and curling up on the nest of blankets he’s seen fit to give you.

You’re a bit like clay, he muses. To be molded and shaped in just the right way. And if something doesn’t work out, well, he can simply squish you in and start over. 

There’s something freeing, something altogether delightful, in the fact that you learn what he teaches you, you know what he gives you. 

He does not teach the concept of freedom–why should he?--or the outside world. 

There shouldn’t be an outside world for a creature like you, only the world he creates for you; this damp, dim world where he is the only thing you need to care about.

-

You do come with some surprises. Some things, it seems, came along with your soul.

“I know what this means!” You blurt out, beaming, looking to him for approval as you grip the well-worn cover of one of his stolen books. You read the title slowly, carefully, but there’s that flicker of recognition in the way your mouth sounds the words, understands the connection between the printed text and its meaning. 

You know something he hasn’t taught you. 

He frowns–and you frown just as easily, setting the book down like it burned your precious fingers. Your eyes get wide and your mouth gets slack and you stammer out an apology, even if you don’t know why.

It is one of your most endearing qualities, this readiness to understand that what he thinks is bad is bad, and the uneasiness in him flickers away, just a bit. You’re still his clay, his creature, his pet. 

He reaches out and runs his fingers into your hair, gripping your scalp hard until you grunt. 

“Well,” he says, when you look up at him with those confused doe eyes. “I suppose you could read my notes back to me, when I do my work.”

If you had a tail, it would be wagging.

And oh, he almost drools on you, from the way your expression shifts from that confused worry to unadulterated delight despite the pain that must be radiating through your scalp–

It feels good, sometimes, to make you look this way. It’s a strange notion, one he doesn’t want to think too hard about. It’s only natural that you should feel pleasure when he is pleased with you, but why should he feel the same? 

It’s a conundrum. Something to write about in his notes–the private ones you’ll never see, of course. The notes about you, and himself, plans and plots, theories and guesses. 

It wouldn’t do, really it wouldn’t, if you saw his scribbles about making sure you didn’t learn something that annoyed him. A something that would make you want to leave, or know other people, or comprehend that you were your own individual being.

Ignorance is bliss, or so he’s read, and he intends to keep you that way. 

–

Oh, oh, oh–your breath comes out in wispy pitter-patters that almost match the rapid beating of your heart. 

This… This is not allowed. It is not allowed because Mahito, your master, your creator, said so. And what your master tells you, you obey, because that is how the world works. He’s told you so many times, and it makes perfect sense.

He knows what’s best, because he’s smarter, and stronger, and you’re just a simple person. You’re supposed to make him happy, and would it make him happy, to break this rule? No, is what he would say.

And yet–you wonder. He likes it when you learn, when he teaches and you actually get it and can repeat it for him on demand. 

Like when you learned to walk without falling down, or when he taught you to stay still while he squeezed and touched and tickled your various body parts to see if they still worked. That was difficult, and it took many tries, but when you finally did it right, he praised you. Even if it made your stomach flutter in strange ways, and you were sometimes sore afterwards.

Would doing this make him praise you? Or would it make him angry?

Your fingers ghost over the covers, some of them all cracked and worn, others looking fresh and shiny. Books. His books. They’re all over the world, in stacks and stacks. On his hammock, on the floor, on the stacked table he said was a “book shelf.”

He said you weren’t allowed to touch any of his books or papers. Only what he gave you, when he gave you, and sometimes he even pointed to a line and said don’t you read past that, little pet, and you didn’t.

But he wants you to learn, doesn’t he? And you can learn from these books. Maybe you’ll learn something that makes you better, helps you avoid those stumbles that sometimes make him frown. Like when you first remembered how to read, or the time you tried to talk to one of his experiments.

Oh, you didn’t mean anything by it! You were just–bored. And while Mahito hadn’t been as sore once you told him why you tried to talk to it, he’d still punished you (rightfully so, you had been bad) and told you never to do it again. Unless he said so. 

So–so yes. He said not to read these books. But. If reading these books helps you be better, and being better means you’ll make your master mad less often, then reading these books is the right thing to do.

You just won’t tell him, and he won’t have any reason to be mad about it.

It’s so simple, you can’t believe you hadn’t thought of it before. Well–you can believe that. You aren’t very smart, or so your master says, and he knows everything. 

This will help then, won’t it? He knows what’s in these books, but now you will, too. 

With a lurching feeling in your stomach, you pick up the first book, a hard one with a shiny glossy cover that says HUMAN BIOLOGY, and flip to the first page.

–

You read about lots of things, and every one of them makes you wonder. 

The biology books make you wonder why your body looks like this, but all of the pictures of people (inside and out) look like that. You had never wondered before; you looked like your creator, and that seemed normal enough. But… none of these other people were all mismatched and jumbled. None of these other people had scars everywhere, patched together by black stitches that sometimes itched. 

The romance books are nice, even if they make you feel a bit funny. Your master touches you like the people in these books touch each other, but it’s not quite the same. He never says the same words, “I love you,” or asking, “Do you want me?” before he touches. You’re not sure exactly what love is just yet, but you’re sure one of these books will explain it properly.

One thing you learn is that the world is not actually the world. The world, you thought–you were taught–was just… here. With Mahito. In these walls, within the damp stone. But there is a whole entire world out there with things you’ve never seen before. 

Things you’ve never seen or done. Things that make you wonder why you live one way, and the people in the books another. People seem to live in houses, but this place does not match the descriptions in the book at all. People get married–you’re not sure what it means, really, except they are together, so maybe you and Mahito are married, after all? He does kiss you, and more besides. 

People have children, and these seem to be tiny people that grow up. But you don’t have any children that walk down a staircase–you have seen these in photos, and patch them into your images of houses–in the morning and complain about being tired. You don’t have a yard with a garden to tend to; you wouldn’t mind it, actually, from the pictures of flowers you’ve seen. They could be pretty.

You wonder how they smell. The books tell you most of them smell quite nice. 

It is this sort of wondering that gives you the strongest itch to tell your master that you’ve been reading, so that you can ask him to take you outside. Sometimes you even mouth the word to yourself, when you’re alone. “Outside.” It feels wonderful on your tongue, all tingly. But then your stomach hurts and you think he would be mad about the reading, so you don’t ask at all.

Not everything you read makes your stomach curl. You read about lots of things, things that make you smile, make you laugh. Things that make you forget the reason you started reading was to make Mahito proud of you, to learn how to be better. Things that have nothing to do with being better at all.

Even you realize that learning about the world outside isn’t going to help you in here. But the world outside sounds so… so… big. Big and full of things to see and do and experience. Full of people, trees, buildings and even animals. 

Oh, you really do love the idea of animals. One of your favorite books is a well-worn guide book to birds. Birds. What a wonderful thing they must be, all pretty colors, flying around in the sky; in the outside. 

What would it be like to fly? To have feathers with so many different colors? To make what the book calls “chirps” and “calls”? You’ve tried to imagine what they must sound like, but it’s hard, with no frame of reference.

And you can’t exactly ask your master to mimic them, either.

Sometimes, in your dreams, you turn into a bird. Feathers sprouting from your stitches and taking you up in the air. Birds, the books say, use their chest and supracoracoideus muscles to fly, flapping their wings in just the right way. You don’t think you have supracoracoideus muscles, except in your dreams, and you’re too afraid to ask. 

You’re glad Mahito hasn’t asked you about your dreams in a while. 

–

You are being so good today. So good, in fact, that Mahito has told you to sit quietly on your nest while he works on his latest experiment. You didn’t even have to read him his notes–you didn’t mind, and told him so, but he’d simply patted your head and said it wasn’t necessary today. 

So instead, you watched quietly, legs pulled up to your chest. It was harder to watch, ever since you started reading, because sometimes–

Sometimes you wondered if it was true, that the experiments were not people after all. They certainly look like the people in your master’s books. They talk like the people, sometimes, when they’re not screaming. 

But if your master says they aren’t people, well, he must be right. It does get a little frustrating when they beg you for help, because most of them can’t even see your master at all. That makes you feel a little sorry for them, sometimes, if they haven’t been screaming too loudly. If they could see your master, they might know he’s not doing anything wrong when he hurts them. 

He’s just learning.

Today, the experiment seems to be going well. Your master is smiling, humming, writing down his notes. You hope you’ll get to read these ones, eventually, but he doesn’t always let you. 

(He’s even got a private book, you’ve seen him scribbling in it sometimes. It is, however, the one thing you dare never to read. Not even to learn.)

And then the experiment does the silliest thing! When your master touches him, elongating his arms into a strange shape, he tries to run. Silly experiments, they never get far; but this one tries. He screams–ouch–and begins to run, flapping his arms like they’re on fire. No, flapping them like he’s a–

“Oh,” you say, leaning forward, a delighted smile on your face. “Like a bird!”

The man does not last long. Whatever your master did takes full effect, and he’s misshappen, no legs, a wiggling blob. Not like a bird at all, anymore, but it was nice while it lasted.

Nothing happens, for a moment. And in that moment you realize that something is wrong. It’s suddenly quiet, suddenly heavy.

Mahito, your master, your creator, slowly turns his head towards you with an expression you’ve never seen before. His pupils are too small, his mouth open in something like surprise. “A bird?”

“Yes,” you say, slowly, not knowing yet, not catching on. “It’s–his arms, you see? The way they moved.” You sit up on your knees and mimic the way you’ve seen birds flying in still photographs, the way you sometimes try to fly in your dreams. “When birds fly, they use…” But you stop, because Mahito is frowning. And when Mahito is frowning, you are doing something wrong.

But what, and when, and…

“How would you know what a bird is, pet?”

Oh, no.

The realization makes your guts clench so hard that you almost think you wet yourself, and you throw your hands over your stomach at the strange new sensation. An awful stomach-churning feeling. 

You don’t quite know what it is, but a memory from a book you read comes wafting back; a book about a woman who lives alone and a man tries to break into her house and kill her. She’s scared. Is that what this is? Are you scared? 

There’s no time to really wonder about this, because Mahito stalks over and grabs you by the hair, yanking you up until you’re on your feet, reflexive tears in your eyes. 

You don’t struggle, because he has explained to you that when you’re bad, he’s meant to treat you like this. And sometimes when you’re good, too. You’ve never figured out if there is a difference. 

“You’ve been reading my books.” Not a question, and you don’t answer. “What else have you been reading about?”

“Nothing,” you say, your voice hoarse. You scrunch your eyebrows together: that wasn’t what you should have said. You have read about lots of things. He asked, and you should have told him. That’s the rule he gave you. Simple and easy.

“I’ve read about lots of things,” you correct, confusion spilling from your mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say nothing. I don’t know why I did.”

His eyes widen, and you don’t know what he’s thinking, but there’s that small-pupiled look of surprise again. “You lied,” he says.

Something in you wants to struggle against the tight grip on your hair. It hurts. You don’t like it, when it hurts, that something says. Even though your master says it’s okay for things to hurt. Which is right, your master, or that something-inside-you that has only gotten louder in the last few weeks. 

“I didn’t,” you say, some instinct pulled from deep inside you to deny, deny, deny. Then you pause. “What is a lie?” 

His expression never loses its own sense of almost horrified wonder, even as his other hand comes to caress your face, catching against your stitches. 

“When something isn’t true. And it’s not true, is it, that you haven’t read about anything else?”

“Yes–no.” Your little head is confused, and the sting in your scalp doesn’t help. “I did read other things. Lots of things.” You swallow hard. “I just wanted to know… to know…” 

But how do you explain it, this desire to know? The desire to know that went beyond pleasing him, making yourself better for him?

“Know what?” He murmurs, almost not a question, releasing your hair. You take the opportunity to put your hands in your lap, holding them tightly together, as all of the knowing you’ve been doing in the past few weeks catches up with you.

The questions come like bubbles in the water, one after another, having been crammed inside your head for far too long without a proper outlet.

“Why don’t I ever talk to other people? Why do I look like this, when they don’t? Why don’t we go outside? I want to see, I want to know–” Your fingers hurt from how hard you wring your hands together. “About the sky and the animals and the birds and what music is and how a train sounds and how many wheels do they have, and there’s more, there’s more, I just can’t say it all–”

You can see his expression shifting, but you’re so steeped in your own release of the knowing that you don’t heed it as a warning. Instead, you ask something that has been bothering you a bit. A lot, if you were honest, and you were supposed to be honest, weren’t you?

“What are we?”

His gaze narrows as he looks down at you, and you don’t want him to look at you like that. Not with the question you want to ask. 

“What are we?” He repeats, a hint of something in it that makes you feel ashamed. A joke–no, that’s not the proper word. Mockery, you think. Mimicry. Birds can do that, but, you’re not wanting to stay on the topic of birds just now.

“Are we…” Your brain fumbles for the word, flipping through the figurative pages you’ve read and read and read. “Married?” Yes, that was it. Many of the people in the story books you read had marriages. And other things, too, that you don’t have, and he hasn’t talked about giving you. 

“Do you love me?” You say, voice rising in pitch. “What is love, exactly? And why don’t we live in a house, in a neighborhood, with a street and a fence? Why don’t we have children? Why don’t I have a job or a dog or parents or ride an airplane–” 

He shoves a palm over your mouth and you do finally heed the warning: Stop. Talking.

Your breath comes out your nose against the top of his palm, and your stomach hurts, and all of this feels so awful that it’s a relief when he speaks, even if he’s not happy with you.

Mahito’s eyebrows furrow and he frowns and his mouth twitches before he smiles, but it’s not a smile that makes you feel better. It almost looks–like a lie, you think, the connections falling into place. He’s smiling, but he’s not happy, and that makes it a lie.

“Why do humans always want more,” he asks lowly, and you almost try to answer before he presses harder against your mouth, making your teeth ache. 

“Even broken ones, remade ones,” he continues, “always seek out more.”

If his hand wasn’t on your mouth, you would ask what he meant. You try to think about an answer, and maybe when he pulls his hand away, he’ll be happy that you came up with one. But it’s hard to get your mind around the question.

It’s too slippery, too vague. Are you the broken one? If so, he should fix you. And what was wrong with seeking out more? Isn’t that why he taught you things? Maybe you learned the wrong things from the books; but he should have read them to you, and corrected you, if he was worried about that.

It’s all too much, too confusing, and before you can stop them, tears are leaking from your eyes. Hot ones that make your eyes scrunch and you cry openly against his hand, wanting the confusion to stop, wanting the ache in your chest to go away.

Instinctively, your hands reach for his arm, holding him like you sometimes hold your blankets.

His eyebrows raise again, and there’s a flash of surprise before he smiles. This time, it doesn’t look like a lie.

“You poor thing,” he says, crouching down and bringing you to your knees with him. His hand leaves your palm and your little sobs come out openly, almost barking into the air. “You’re so confused, aren’t you?”

You nod, and it’s true, and you resolve to never lie again. Lying hurts. 

“I-I don’t know what I did wrong or why I did it wrong and you’re mad,” you tell him, open, honest, like you should be. The words come out fast and stumbled.  “I thought I could read books to be better but now I know about birds and I don’t know what they sound like or why I don’t have things and why I’m so… so…”

The word doesn’t come and that only makes you cry harder. 

He coos, and pulls you against his chest. It’s familiar, this soothing, and it makes you feel warm even as those confusing thoughts stay stuck to your brain.

“Want to know a secret about the two of us, pet?” He asks, speaking against your hair. “A secret about you?” Every syllable is soaked in the promise of knowledge.

“No,” you breathe out, and it’s that buried-deep-down instinct again, pushing the word through your lips for you. You’re glad, though, because you realize this wasn’t a lie at all. You don’t want to know a secret. If the books you’ve read are to be believed (and are they?) then secrets always lead to trouble.

You don’t want any more trouble. Not now. 

He presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“Really? I thought you wanted to know everything.” A touch of amusement in his face, and you cling to it like a lifeline. You remember this side of your master; the side that smiles and pats your head. It’s much better than the side that smiles when he’s not happy at all. 

Your arms latch around him, snuggling as close as you can get, your face pressed against his chest. “Can we go to bed?” Your words are muffled against him, but you’re sure he understands. “I’m so confused.” And tired, and worried, and scared. All these awful feelings swirling around in your guts, making you want to be sick. 

Mahito pulls away from you, and there’s a brief snatch of fear before he begins to wipe at your tears with his fingers. He wipes too harshly, and his nails catch on the lid of your eye, making it sting. You don’t pull away. You remind yourself, if he thinks this is how he ought to stop your crying, it’s the best option.

Is it really? says that deep-deep-deep-down voice, and you tell it to be quiet, you’re tired, you aren’t thinking right, and it should stay buried with whatever secret your master knows. 

“Poor pet,” he whispers, cooing. “It’s all too much, isn’t it?” You nod, chin wobbling. His hands go from your cheeks to your head again, petting you on both sides, snarling in your hair. “I could make it go away, if you want.” Sticky words that you want to reach for.

His hands smooth all around your head now, and it’s almost like he’s trying to feel something inside. Like your brain, like your thoughts, like everything that makes you tick. 

Your eyes get wide and all you know is that when your master says something, it’s true. 

Is it really? repeats that voice.

“You could?” is what you say, because it’s simpler that way. Simpler to remember the way things were before the world had birds, when what he said was exactly so. 

“If you’ll be agreeable to it,” he tells you. 

His hands trail from your head down your shoulders, your neck, your chest, down and down and down, tracing each stitch on your body. And something in you–that deep-deep-deep-down part of you–says this is wrong. He shouldn’t touch you, you should be screaming, clawing at him, getting out of here. 

But you push that something down, with the birds and the children and the stories of courtship, with the way your hands trembled as they flipped each page, with the way you felt proud of yourself for finishing each book. 

Those things were nice, until they were not so nice; until they upset the very creator of your being, and made you too confused and hurt to think about them. What good was knowing about the more when the more made him upset? 

It feels better, not to think too much. Not to know so much. And if he can fix you–if he’s willing to fix you ,then it’s what you want, too. You think. Maybe. Yes? 

“Of course I will,” you stay, trying on a smile.

You can’t tell, even as his hands go from touches to gropes, if it’s a lie or not. 

–

You’re finally sleeping now, and he doesn’t mind sighing, sprawling out on the floor and watching with his chin propped into his elbow.

What an awful human trait, this desire for more-out-there-in-the-world. What good is creating your own little creature if it always wants to find out its place in some grander scheme of things? The only world you should know is here, and him, and yet you had to get your grubby little hands on his books and read about ridiculous notions.

You probably didn’t even understand some of them, maybe most of them. That is fascinating, in its own right. He wonders what you would do, if you saw a pretty little robin hopping on the ground, about to get pounced on by some neighborhood cat.

Would your expression of delight turn to horror as the bird was mangled in the cat's jaws? Or would you not process it as horror at all, but simply an experience to learn about? Could he touch you to overlook it, as he has his experiments?

It’s tempting, sometimes, to see what you would do with more outside stimuli. But that temptation doesn’t go too far, because the whole point of your being was to shape you for himself. And that does not include this damned human desire to explore the inside and outside, forever expanding your knowledge of whos and whats and whens. 

Well. At least you didn’t put up a fight at the notion of being fixed. At least you seemed properly subdued, once he made it clear he wasn’t pleased. He’d brought you up well enough, after all. 

He’s not sure he can really pull it out of you. There are many ways to reshape the soul, and the soul he pulled into that cobbled-together body has certainly been–well, changed, by the experience. 

Could he change it further? Wipe out your memory of those books? Maybe he could reach further down, deep down into your soul, and yank out the offending desires like weeds from a garden.

Maybe so.

For his own pleasure, he’s willing to try again and again, until you are just right. 

He owes it to himself, after all, to never give up on his most thrilling experiment. 

[fluentmoviequoter]

Lost Time

Requested Here!

Pairing: Jason Todd x fem!wife!reader

Summary: Jason comes home to you, his wife, after a mission and makes up for lost time.

Warnings: fluff and comfort! brief mention of the Lazarus Pit and human trafficking

Word Count: 1.3k+ words

A/N: I really want to write a lengthy oneshot for Jason but I don't know if I capture him well enough. I don't get many DC requests but I love them so much!!

Picture from Pinterest (WFA Jason >>>)

Masterlist | DC/Jason Todd Masterlist | Request Info

Jason Todd leaves, it’s what he does. Sometimes there are warnings, direct and indirect, but other nights he leaves while you sleep or simply doesn’t come home when he should. That’s who he is, what he does. There is more to Jason than meets the eye; he isn’t just Jason, Red Hood, or Bruce Wayne’s dead and nearly forgotten son. One piece of Jason makes him whole: being your husband brings him back, every single time. Jason leaves, but the time you spend alone is spent in confidence that he will come back to you, even if he’s broken and crawling.

While Jason is in Blüdhaven helping his brothers with a mission that Bruce doesn’t know about, you spend the time alone missing him. He hates leaving you, but you understand. That doesn’t mean, however, that you just wait for him to come home. Being married is supposed to be a 50/50 arrangement, yet you have given everything to Jason and there is not a single thing you wouldn’t do for him.

Tonight, nearly 96 hours after you last saw Jason, you make yourself comfortable with one of his books. The pages are yellowed from use, and highlights and notes fill the margins and the empty pages. Each word reminds you of Jason, and though you miss him, you refuse to look at his empty side of the bed. In the time since he left, promising to come back to you with a kiss and a tap to your wedding ring, you have read several of his books, cooked his favorite meal, and baked his favorite goodies. The distractions you created are all centered around Jason because despite what you tell yourself about needing to think about other things, Jason Todd takes up every single one of your thoughts. He’s captivating, and you never want to escape him.

Your phone beeps as you finish a page of Frankenstein. After taking a calming breath, you read the message from Barbara.

The bats are Gotham-bound.

The message makes you smile, and you rise from the bed to prepare for Jason’s return. He has come home without a scratch, drenched in blood, and everything in between. In sickness and health, you vowed, and you plan to keep it. With his favorite food already prepared and water heating in the kettle on the stove, you sit on the couch and wait for his entrance. The front door is behind you, and you watch as the Red Hood lands on your fire escape and expertly navigates into your home. His home.

The couch is empty by the time he turns from the now-closed window, and your arms loop around his waist as he moves. Jason chuckles at your immediate attention and pulls his helmet off.

“Miss me?” he asks.

You can hear his smile in his voice, and as Jason’s arms wrap around you, you sigh and release every fear and worry that had been pushed into the back of your mind.

“I need to shower,” Jason says, though he doesn’t move his hands from your back. “Blüdhaven is gross.”

“And Gotham is known for its cleanliness,” you argue.

“Get off,” Jason grumbles.

He raises his hands to your shoulders and easily pushes you back. You look at him as you raise your hands to hold his wrists. Jason’s gaze is soft and his touch is softer.

“Ten minutes,” he requests quietly.

“Someone needs pampering,” you tease. “Take your time. There’s food and tea if you want any.”

“Just wan’ you,” he murmurs.

Jason leans in and kisses your forehead quickly. He avoids your hands as you reach out for him. You laugh as he walks away, and the sound brings Jason home. He’s physically home, yes, but he is only home when you are completely and wholly with him.

The water echoes through the apartment as Jason enters the shower, and you prepare two mugs of tea before carrying them into the bedroom. You would wait forever for Jason, but as you lean back and close your eyes, content listening to him move through your shared home, you know that you’ll never have to wait long.

When Jason enters the bedroom clad in a pair of Wonder Woman sweatpants and smiles at you, everything seems better. The darkest Gotham day can’t cast a shadow on what you and Jason have. Before Jason left, he told you all you needed to know about the mission, and you won’t bring it up again. If he wants to talk about it, he will, and you’ll listen.

You raise the blanket as Jason approaches the side of the bed. He doesn’t hesitate to join you and pull you closer. After looping your arms over his shoulders, you push your fingers into Jason’s wet curls and twist them gently around your fingers. His white streak is closest to you, yet you concentrate your attention elsewhere to keep your eyes locked on his.

“You read it again, didn’t you?” Jason asks.

His eyes threaten to flutter closed, but he forces them open to talk to you.

“Read what?” you whisper.

“Tell me what I missed,” he requests.

You know he can see his books piled on your nightstand, but you enjoy the smile he gives you when you pretend not to know what he’s talking about. Jason pulls your hands away from his hair, opting to hold you against his side. You lay a hand over his heart and gently trace the bottom of a scar. You know his scars by heart, and each story behind them is ingrained in your memory.

“Not much,” you answer after a moment.

“Did you do anything? Because everything you do is important, and I want to hear about it,” Jason argues.

You lean closer and spread your fingers flat against his skin. His heart thrums steadily beneath your hand, and you think your heart beats in time with his.

“Maybe you just married me for the post-mission cuddles,” you say.

“Or maybe I just married you because I love you. I love you for accepting all of me and loving the parts that I don’t let anyone see.”

“Jason,” you hum.

“You didn’t tell me about what I missed,” he replies.

The first raindrop hits the window, and Jason is reminded that he’s back in Gotham. He’d move to Metropolis and listen to Clark as long as you were by his side, but being in your arms in his home town is a feeling unlike any other.

“I’ll take it you didn’t go to the manor,” you deflect.

“Why would I when I have a beautiful wife waiting at home for me and four days to make up for? Lost time with you will always be more important than Bruce.”

You sigh before you begin telling him about what you did. There isn’t much to tell. You read one of his books, cleaned, cooked, baked, and read another book.

“You baked?” Jason interrupts. “And didn’t bring it up until now?”

“I thought time with me was more important.”

Jason furrows his brows as he turns, pulling you to lay on top of him. When you first started dating, Jason was hesitant to initiate any sort of physical touch. Not long before, he had been Gotham’s most-feared crime lord and the rage caused by the pit was still present. Now, there is nothing to stop Jason from touching you: no fear of hurting you, no concern of scaring you away, and no doubt that you won’t love him once you see his darkest secrets. Jason’s scars, his past, and his nightly activities make him the man you love, and you love those parts of him, not the other way around.

As you cuddle with the man who recently scared human traffickers into turning themselves in to the authorities rather than running into him again, you simply enjoy being together. Your husband Jason and Red Hood Jason aren’t the same, yet you love them both equally.

“Do you really want to make up for lost time?” you ask over the rain.

Jason thinks your voice is more soothing and melodic than any rainstorm could dream of being. He pries his eyes open to answer, “Every second of it.”

You nod and lay your head against his chest. With your hearts pressed to one another and your fingers intertwined with Jason’s, you know that you are loved, and Jason knows you will always be here when he comes home.

You’re nearly asleep when you mumble, “’S a lotta time.”

Jason smiles but doesn’t move because he doesn’t want to disturb you. “Never enough time with you,” he whispers against your temple.

[onyourowndaisymae]

"is... is that my sweater?"

satan notes the lethargic way you look up from your book, watching heavy eyelids lead a slow blink. whatever dusty tome lies in your hands has clearly lured you halfway to dreamland-- and from the looks of it, your cozy attire and the crackle of the nearby fireplace didn't seem to help much, either.

"huh?"

"are you wearing my sweater?" he asks, softer this time.

you let your head fall down to your own chest. you stare at the familiar green sweater on your body for a few moments before lifting your head.

"huh?" you repeat, too tired to comprehend the question for a long moment. then, "... oh. yeah."

a warm chuckle rumbles in his chest as he comes closer. satan had been looking for his sweater all day-- left only in a black undershirt, because it was more about the principle of finding it than needing it-- but he had been wholly unaware he'd left it in your room earlier that day. he couldn't bring himself to regret it, though. you look quite cozy cuddled up on the library sofa like that, swaddled in a blanket and his scent, lost in some book like a vision from an old painting. how he wishes he'd been a little quieter entering the library-- maybe he could have snapped a photo of you like this for himself.

as your lover, satan knows he should probably escort you to bed for a proper rest. but a selfish part of him wants to bask in this scene longer, to let the storm that rages in him find solace at this little slice of heaven. it's odd for a demon to crave peace like this. you've domesticated him in that way-- like a feral cat off the street finding comfort in a stranger's apartment, you've lulled him into a sense of contentness he didn't think he'd find in this lifetime.

oh, what a wonder you are.

"do you mind a little company?"

you nod, sleepily, yawning through what was intended to be a verbal response, but satan's at your side before you make yourself try again. his hand finds your shoulder and coaxes you to sit up. with a little adjusting, he slides into the space behind you and urges you to lean back into his chest. his legs stay on either side of you-- it's warm, comforting, doing nothing to help you stay awake. but it doesn't seem like satan minds your drowsiness.

his eyes fall to the nearly discarded book in your hands. emerald eyes scan over the words. they're familiar, causing a curious itch in his brain that lingers for a few seconds before his epiphany.

"is this... that book i read last week?"

"mhmm. i wanted--" another yawn, "-- to understand what you were talking about, but... i got sleepy."

he understands now. his sweater on your warm body, the library couch, the low fire nearby-- you're indulging in a small taste of his world.

what did he do to deserve someone as wonderful as you?

"i can read it to you, if you'd like," he murmurs, low and quiet. if you wanted the full experience, he'd give it to you-- complete with a nap in his arms. it's selfish, though. he really just wants an excuse to admire you up close, to lose himself in thought about how much he truly, deeply adores you. sometimes the sensation is so overwhelming that it shows on his face in flushed cheeks and soft eyes-- and that is a little too embarrassing to be caught with by anyone, but especially by you.

when you snuggle into his chest, he begins to read from the top of the page where you left off. it doesn't take long for your breathing to even out, your body to grow still and heavy in his grasp. he slides the bookmark between old pages where you originally left off. satan predicts you'll forget most everything he read to you by the time you wake up.

his mind wanders to the soundtrack of your peaceful breathing. he's grateful for lazy days like this. being able to bask in your presence is a gift. to know that you yourself were creating a similar experience by hiding away in one of his favorite reading spots, well... he's lucky you're asleep, as the flush on his cheeks only grows hotter at the thought.

maybe he'll let you borrow his things more often.

[kingkatsuki]

Here’s yet another thirst post that got out of hand. I received this ask yesterday about Hiragi teaching an inexperienced Kaji how to fuck, but it got me thinking. What if Hiragi was a little meaner?

Kaji needs a little help being meaner to you in the bedroom, and there’s no one else he’d rather ask than Hiragi.

Pairing: Kaji Ren x Hiragi Toma x f!reader.

Warnings: 18+, threesome, bratty reader, brat tamer!Hiragi, dirty talk, degredation, praise, spanking, biting/marking, blowjobs, spit, choking, multiple orgasms, creampies (Hiragi fucks Kaji’s cum into us), dry humping, minimal aftercare.

Word Count: 5.6k.

“I don’t really know if this is something I can help ya with this time, Kaji.” Hiragi fiddled with a sugar packet on the table in Pothos and settled in the corner of the cafe as his friend leaned across the table.

“Why?” Kaji scrunched his nose.

Hiragi always knew what to do, he knew everything. It’s why when Kaji had thought about the topic Hiragi had been the first person that he thought about. The only person, aside from a moment of weakness when he thought about asking Kiryu — although it would’ve been far too embarrassing to ask one of his Kohai or even Umemiya — but even Kaji knew how much of a disaster that would be.

“It’s private, no?” Hiragi continued, almost laughing to himself at the fact that Kaji had asked to meet him here for this. It seemed wholly out of character for his friend, and perhaps it was proof of just how deeply Kaji felt for you, “Have you tried watching porn?”

“It’s not the same,” Kaji shook his head, trying to shake off the awkwardness bubbling in his stomach as his cheeks tinged pink, “That shows you angles, or positions— but I want to make her cum.”

“So you’ve never made her cum before?” Hiragi felt a wave of perversion come over him at asking such a blase question, but he found himself leaning forward in his seat as he waited with bated breath for the answer.

“Of course I’ve made her cum,” Kaji almost snarled, his fist coming down against the table in frustration.

He immediately buried his chin in the hem of his grey hoodie in embarrassment as the loud bang sounded in the small cafe. Hiragi sat back to wave at Kotoha from her position behind the counter in apology, a kind smile on his face before turning back to Kaji.

“I can make her cum, that’s not the problem.”

He couldn’t believe the fact that he was sitting in Pothos of all places on a Wednesday night having this conversation with Kaji. Not that there was anything wrong with the cafe, he more than enjoyed the occasional cup of coffee there– and the omelette rice truly was the best in the area. But this kind of conversation was surely better suited for somewhere else.

“So then what is?” Hiragi took a sip of his coffee.

“I don’t really know how I do it,” The tips of Kaji’s ears turned crimson, as he fought the urge to pull his headphones up over his head, “She just sorta– does.”

“Why not try asking what she likes?”

“She wants him to be more assertive in the bedroom.” Kaji replied bluntly, “To make her cum more than once— to take control.”

“She wants you to dominate her?” Hiragi sounded the words on his tongue with a raised brow.

“Yeah.” He nods, “But she doesn’t listen.”

Hiragi shook his head as he took a sip of his coffee, of course Kaji would find himself a brat to tame.

“I didn’t think you of all people would have a problem with being ‘too nice’, Kaji.”

“Yeah, well she seems to think I am.” He shrugged nonchalantly.

“I mean, have you talked to her about this?” Hiragi almost choked on the warm liquid as it poured down his throat, cheeks dusted pink.

“No, but—”

“So maybe that should be your first step,” Hiragi smiled, “Communication is key to a solid relationship.”

“Communication isn’t the problem.” Kaji shook his head, tugging a sucker out from his jeans pocket as he felt the annoyance begin to build inside him, “It’s difficult trying to keep control when I don’t want to lose my cool.”

“But you managed that well when you were in Bofurin,” Hiragi smiled, “Call it transferable skills.”

“Nah, you don’t get it—” Kaji deadpanned, “She makes it difficult to think.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“You know everything Hiragi,” He continued to talk, palms slayed flat against the table as his glass of water with a straw lay untouched, “You’re the only person I trust enough to help with this.”

“Okay, fine.” He sighed, leaning back in his chair, “I’ll help you.”

Admittedly, Hiragi would do a lot of things for Kaji whenever he needed his help, but he would never have expected to be aiding him with something like this.

And what made it even worse was the fact that Hiragi hadn’t counted on you looking quite so perfect beneath him. Sprawled out against Kaji’s comforter, head propped up on plush pillows as you obediently waited for his instruction. The compliance alone had his cock twitching uncomfortably against his pelvis, desperate to be freed as you stared at both men with pleading eyes. Completely naked in front of their hungry gazes while Kaji sat beside you in just his boxers and Hiragi had barely taken his jacket and band shirt off.

“Are you going to touch me too, Hiragi-sama?” You teased with the honorific as Hiragi tried to silence the groan that rumbled deep in his chest.

Now he understood why Kaji had a hard time saying no to you, why he found it difficult to think when he was with you like this; because Hiragi suddenly wanted to give you everything too.

“You’ll be lucky to get anything with that attitude.” Hiragi scoffed.

“What attitude?” You gave him an innocent smile with a tilt of your head that served to hide your true intentions.

“The attitude that you’re gonna have fucked outta’ ya.” He gave you a warning look before tearing his attention from you to look back at Kaji, who was currently stroking his palm along your bare thigh.

“Be nice,” Kaji furrowed his brows at you as your sultry eyes widened— the picture of faux chastity, and Hiragi wasn’t even sure whether the demand was for him or you.

“You don’t have to give in and do whatever she wants right away.” He tried to keep methodical about everything, his matter-of-fact tone had Kaji nodding with his jaw locked as he soaked up every piece of information like a sponge. Steel-blue eyes followed Hiragi’s hands as they smoothed a path along your bare legs, dipping his thumbs into the apex of your thighs as he felt the silky fabric of your panties with a dark groan.

“Sometimes it isn’t about the act itself, but the build-up.” Hiragi grinned as you tried to roll your hips into his touch, causing his thumb to press against the crotch of your panties as he heard the saccharine tone of your breath hitching in your throat, “If you give her what she wants right away, there will be nothing else to lead to.”

Kaji nodded as he watched his Senpai touch you so methodically, pressing the flat of his palm against your pelvis to stop you from grinding into him. It’s different watching you at the mercy of another, somewhat like a fever dream as he follows Hiragi’s movements. Trying to commit each sigh, gasp and whine to memory as his cock stirs beneath his boxers. The tip oozes pre as it sticks to the fabric, adjusting himself to give that slight relief as he tries to keep his focus.

“You can try touching her anywhere but where she needs it most,” Hiragi smiled as he reached up to palm one of your round breasts, catching your nipple between his thumb and forefinger as he tugged softly. Pulling more pretty sounds from your throat as you wiggled your hips enticingly.

“I thought you were gonna be nice, ‘Ragi.” You grumble.

“You thought wrong huh, sweetheart?” Hiragi scoffed, trying to hide the smile that threatened to beam across his cheeks as he shook his head, “Kaji might be nice to you, but I definitely ain’t nice.”

“Kaji’s always nice to me.” You huff, shooting him a look.

“And maybe that’s the problem,” He continued, his palm splayed flat against your pelvis as he watched you away your hips to try and gain contact where you needed it most, “Maybe Kaji needs to be a little meaner too.”

Hiragi found it hilarious that his friend had such a hard time being mean to you, when he was the complete opposite around his friends and classmates. Always ready to show the grumpy side of him that was a little rough around the edges, while saving up his sweetness for you like candy.

“Please, Ren.” You whined, canting your hips to try and give your neglected clit some much-needed friction as Hiragi’s body prevented you from rubbing your thighs together, “Need to cum.”

The dark patch against the sheer lace of your panties would’ve been enough to have Kaji surrendering himself, giving you exactly what you wanted. But Hiragi held restraint, your shameless pleas falling on deaf ears as he continued to tug and tease your perky nipples.

You gave another desperate cry. A sound that would usually always work on Kaji, but Hiragi saw right through it. His face was firm as he ignored the sound you made, even though it had his cock throbbing beneath his jeans. Pressing the heel of his palm against his thick girth beneath the thick denim to try and ease the tension that was building rapidly between his thighs, the restrictive fabric has his cock pulsing and desperate for some sort of relief.

“Tell her no.” He replied bluntly, and it had Kaji’s heart beating hard and fast inside his chest.

“Ren never says no to me.” You sassed back, sticking your tongue out childishly as it made Hiragi want nothing more than to bend you over his knee.

“Not this time, sweetheart.” Hiragi shook his head, leaning forward to pinch your tongue between his thumb and forefinger as you took the opportunity to curl it around his index finger, the subtle movement almost had him waving the white flag as he indulged in you. Watching your glossy lips wrap around his digit as he pictured how they’d look wrapped around his cock, leaving him throbbing beneath his pants as he pulled his finger away, dragging down on your bottom lip as he shook his head.

“Tell her that it isn’t that easy to get what she wants,” Hiragi smirked when your lips curled into a pout, turning his attention back to Kaji, “She needs to work for it.”

Hiragi was being mean. You thought to yourself as you slid your fingers along your tummy, following the curve of your body towards your parted thighs to satisfy yourself as a warmth bloomed in your core.

“Is she always this disobedient?” Hiragi catches your wrist in a large palm before your fingers make it to their destination, struggling against his rough grip was futile as he easily overpowered you.

“Get off me.” You whined pathetically as you tried to tug your wrist away.

“She listens sometimes.” Kaji watched closely as the corner of his lips curled up in amusement at the way his Senpai handled you.

“Naughty girls need to be put back in their place.” Hiragi chastised you, squeezing your wrist as his thumb pressed into your pulse point. He manhandles you as though you weigh nothing, placing you on your hands and knees as he bends you over. Landing a harsh smack against your ass that has your body jolting forward as you moan loud in a mixture of pain and pleasure.

“Let her suck your cock, Kaji.” Hiragi commands, “If she does a good enough job we’ll let her sit on it.”

You wiggled your hips, receiving another harsh spank from Hiragi as Kaji stood by the bed. Letting his jeans and boxers drop around his ankles as he stepped out of them, allowing his long cock to hang free.

Reaching out with slender fingers when Kaji stepped close enough, wrapping your hand around the base of him before pressing a languid kiss to the leaky tip. Your tongue swiped at his slit to taste him as he held the back of your head carefully, tilting you up as you wrapped your lips around the swollen head to suck gently.

“Fuck.” Kaji groaned, half-lidded eyes staring down at you while you took more of his heady cock inside your eager mouth. Deliberately pushing yourself forward as the flat of your tongue smoothed along its underside, pressing against the prominent veins that forked towards his base as your moans vibrated around him.

“How’s she doing, Kaji?” Hiragi asked as he smoothed a warm palm over the cheek he’d just spanked, “Is she bein’ good?”

“Ugh,” He grunted, “Yeah. So good.”

You preened at his praise, coaxing him deeper inside your mouth as you hollowed your cheeks to suck hard. His blunt nails dragged against your scalp as he tightened his grip on your hair, holding you steady as he thrust his hips forward roughly. The sudden motion had his swollen tip breaching the curve of your throat, cutting off your oxygen as you began to gag and splutter around him.

“You’re so good,” Kaji groaned, allowing you to pull back for a moments respite as strings of your spit and his pre clung to your lips and pearly tears clung to your thick lashes– you looked royally fucked already. And the sight of you had Kaji’s cock twitching as he wrapped his palm around his base to try and stave his climax. His heavy balls were ready to spill their spend into your eager hole, but he didn’t want to cum just yet–

“You’re okay, sweetheart,” Hiragi followed the curve of your spine as he pressed a kiss to your sacrum, “Doin’ such a good job, Kaji just got a little carried away, yeah?”

You nodded, wetting your lips to taste him on your tongue as you moved to take him back between your lips. You could tell Kaji was more confident this time, more assertive as he stopped you from taking him back into your mouth. Holding your head with his calloused palms as he tilted you up to him, his throat bobbing before he hunched over to spit inside your open mouth. Feeling the warm liquid hit your tongue as it pooled at the back of your throat as Kaji moved to push his cock back inside you immediately after.

He set a deliberate pace, giving slow precise thrusts inside your eager mouth. Holding the back of your head steady as you felt his tip hit the back of your throat again, mixing your spit as you encouraged him this time, holding onto the backs of his thighs to urge him closer as he began to fuck your throat. You forced back the desire to gag as you began to breathe through your nose, teary eyes looking up at him as his Adam’s apple bobbed against the column of his neck. A mixture of drool cascading down your chin and onto the sheets beneath you as you tried to take in as much of him as you could.

You gasped when you felt Hiragi’s hand come down on the curve of your ass again, creating tiny jolts of electricity against your skin on impact as the skin began to darken under his ministrations. The movement allowed Kaji to force his cock even deeper, as he began to cant his hips with purpose, using you for his own pleasure as he fucked your throat.

Your nails left pretty red lines against his skin as you held onto his thighs, making no attempt to pull him away as you let him use you, and you indulged in it. Hearing Hiragi chuckle behind you as he continued to tease your clothed heat, running the tips of his fingers along the seam of your panties, dangerously close to dipping beneath the fabric.

“What do you think, Kaji—” Hiragi smirked, his warm palms stroking along the curve of your ass as he watched the way your panties disappeared between your slit, your folds peeking out on either side of the fabric as he couldn’t resist leaning forward to pinch your chubby pussy together between his thumb and forefinger, “Do you think she deserves to cum?”

“Yeah,” Kaji nodded, his mind clouded in a hazy bliss.

You whined in approval, trying to nod your head as Kaji continued to ease his hips against your face. Pushing the tip of his cock against the back of your throat before pulling back languidly.

“I think he’d agree to anything when you’ve got his dick down your throat though, sweet girl,” Hiragi smirked, pressing a kiss to the curve of your hip as he pressed a thumb against your clothed clit. Instantly causing you to jolt against him before chasing the sensation, desperate for more, “I bet this pussy’s even worse, hm? She could get him to do whatever you want–”

You mewled around Kaji’s length, pulling back to kiss the engorged tip as you looked up at your boyfriend expectantly, your lips wrapped around the slit to taste more of the pearlescent pre that gathered at the slit.

Hiragi dragged a knuckle through your clothed heat before tugging your panties to the side. He had to lock his jaw to stop the debauched grunt that echoed at the back of his throat from the sight of your bare cunt. Strings of your slick clung to your folds and glistened in the low light of the bedroom as he found his tongue poking out to instinctively lick his bottom lip, “But if Kaji thinks you deserve his cock, then we better listen to him hm?”

You gasped when Hiragi pressed two fingers into your ill-prepped hole, wet enough to take them with little resistance as he began to curl them towards the spongy spot inside you. Blunt nails dragged against your velvety walls with each flick of his wrist as he began to work them inside you with unbridled practice. It had you wondering how many women Hiragi had been with to know exactly what made your body tick, his experience spoke volumes in the way he moved and his actions. A complete contrast to Kaji who was still trying to learn how your body worked, and what you liked best.

“See what happens when you’re a good girl, sweetheart?” Hiragi cooed, reaching his calloused thumb down to press gentle circles against your puffy clit that had you shamelessly rolling your hips in tandem with his movements, focused on your own pleasure as you continued to tease the tip of Kaji’s cock.

You really were perfect.

“I know Kaji thinks you deserve to cum, but I’m not so sure.” Hiragi pulled his fingers out of your quivering hole as you whined from loss of contact, trying to coax him back in with a shameless twerk of your ass that only served to earn you another smack as Hiragi pulled your body upright with the back of your hair.

“Get on the bed, Kaji,” Hiragi spoke darkly, “This pretty girl is gonna earn her orgasm, aren’t you?”

Kaji moved to settle on the sheets beneath you, laying back on the mattress as Hiragi moved you to straddle his lean hips. Situating himself between Kaji’s spread thighs as he held you above his hips.

“He’s being so mean, Ren,” You practically sniffled, “I just wanna cum.”

“Behave.” Kaji growled and the dark lilt to his tone had your clit throbbing with desire.

You chanced sliding a hand down your pelvis as you teased the top of your mound, barely able to brush two of your fingers against your sensitive clit before Hiragi caught you again, holding your wrists behind your back as he forced your back to arch. Pressing your breasts out towards Kaji in an erotic display as he pressed his lips against the shell of your ear, “What did I tell you? Stop being disobedient.”

You dramatically choked back a sob, trying in vain to pout your lips the way you knew Kaji liked. The subtle jut of your bottom lip that had every ounce of his resolve crumbling as he caved to give you whatever you pleased– but this wouldn’t work on Hiragi.

“If you ever want any hope of fuckin’ the brat out of her, you better listen Kaji.” He growled, reaching around with his other hand to smack one of your breasts as it bounced from the assault, causing more jolts of pain to prickle against your skin.

“Make her ride you.” Hiragi continued, “Make her work for that orgasm.”

Kaji’s hands were rough as he held onto your side, fingers dipping into the fat of your hips as his other hand moved to fist his cock. Holding himself upright as he smoothed the leaky tip through your messy folds, feeling it catch against your tight hole as he began to push you down.

The stretch was instant as you felt him breach your tight hole, barely able to roll your hips in retaliation as he watched mystified as you sunk down on him inch by inch.

“Take it,” Kaji grunted, “Take it all.” And his words had your clit tingling in response as your walls greedily clamped down around him. Impatience was quick to creep up on you, as you practically forced yourself down on the final few inches. Bottoming out with a desperate cry as the neatly trimmed hairs at the base of his cock tickled your sensitive nub.

“She always this good at takin’ cock?” Hiragi grinned at his best friend over your shoulder, spanking your ass with glee.

“She always takes me so well.” Kaji groaned when you began to roll your hips on top of him, barely lifting yourself as you focused on the slightest friction against your needy clit. You rode him selfishly, seeking your own pleasure as you kept your movements soft and languid, feeling his cock stretching you open as he managed to drag against your inner walls with every movement.

Hiragi kept your wrists tight behind your back in one large palm as he moved the other up to wrap around the column of your throat, forcing your head back onto his shoulder as he squeezed your jugular. Restricting your airflow as you exhaled softly, lashes fluttering as your cunt mimicked your actions, squeezing Kaji’s cock as he grunted beneath you.

“I think you like being treated like this, don’t you pretty girl?” Hiragi’s sharp teeth nipped your earlobe as he tightened his grip, “You like being treated like a slut.”

Kaji’s eyes widened in surprise at the name, as your cunt spasmed in favour of it. Pulling a desperate groan from the back of his throat as Hiragi used his grip on your neck to set a rough pace. Forcing you down on his best friend's cock before lifting you, feeling his blunt cockhead bruise your cervix with each downward drop.

It was too much, and not enough at the same time as you were unable to subdue the needy sounds that spilled from your lips. Crying out in pleasure as Kaji’s cock battered your insides from the ferocity of your movements, his hands certain to leave bruises against your hips as he helped to force you down on his cock. The motion had your tits bouncing with each rough movement as you cried out in pleasure.

“I was right,” Hiragi chuckled, nuzzling your cheek, “It looks like she just needed to be treated like the slut she is.”

Your walls spasmed again at the crude tone of his voice as your head lulled forward, your chin pressed against the top of Hiragi’s hand as he pressed a kiss to the back of your shoulder.

“You like being called that?” Kaji tilted his head slightly, watchful eyes trying to gauge your reaction as though the way your cunt clenched around him in response wasn’t answer enough, “You want me to call you a slut?”

“Can you feel how much she liked it, Kaji?” He pressed, “Did you feel her little pussy squeeze your cock?”

You whined at the debauched tone of his voice, feeling Kaji begin to increase his pace as he fucked up into you with more force as Hiragi’s hand slipped from your neck to venture lower. Calloused digits reached around your body to rub at your clit, the tips of his fingers brushing the base of Kaji’s cock as both of you moaned in tandem.

“I’m gonna cum,” Kaji grunted as he felt the way your walls closed in on him in the telltale tremors of your own bliss, eagerly trying to milk him of his release.

“You’re gonna cum too, aren’t you?” Hiragi cooed at you, “Gonna cum all over his cock.”

You cried out, feeling the coil inside you dangerously close to breaking as Kaji tightened his grip on your hips, using his grip to add more force to his movements as he fucked up into you with renewed vigour. The force and intensity behind his thrusts, paired with the way that Hiragi’s fingers kept swishing your clit from side to side was enough to have you coming undone as you met your end, crying out Kaji’s name as the coil inside you snapped and you convulsed around his cock. Your greedy walls pulsed as they tried to milk his heavy balls of all they had to give.

“Good girl.” Kaji praised with a grunt as he found his own end, his cock throbbing as he came inside you with a grunt. Spilling his warm spunk into your eager hole as he filled you to the brim, pushing it deeper as he gave a few more lazy thrusts as you continued to clench around him in the aftershocks of your release.

Kaji’s praise had you preening, as Hiragi let go of your boneless arms to let you fall down onto Kaji’s chest. Immediately pressing a messy kiss to his lips as your sweat-soaked chests stuck together, his warm palms cupping your cheeks as his cock began to soften inside you. Feeling his spend begin to trickle out from either side of your quivering walls as it dripped down his balls and onto the sheets beneath you.

“Do you mind if I fuck her, Kaji?” Hiragi groaned, tugging his pants down just enough to free his aching cock as he gave himself an overdue tug. Groaning when his fist neared the top and he pushed a thick glob of pre-cum from the swollen tip, completely amped up.

It had your tummy doing somersaults at the fact that Hiragi hadn’t asked you, he’d asked your boyfriend. Your greedy cunt clenched around nothing as Kaji’s soft cock slipped from your abused hole.

“You don’t mind, do you, sweet girl?” He cooed, “Not when Kaji already made you cum nice and hard, yeah?”

You suddenly felt shy when Hiragi’s hand reached out to spread your ass apart, leaning back on his knees to look at your ruined hole as he watched Kaji’s cum continue to leak out of you. His cock pulsed with need as he imagined filling you up even more with his seed, kneading the mixture inside you to fuck it even deeper inside your pliant walls.

“You can fuck me, Hiragi.” You cooed so sweetly that it had Hiragi swearing beneath his breath. If you said his name like that, even he’d seem like a flustered virgin.

“‘Atta girl.” He grinned, sharp teeth gleaming as he moved into position behind you. Your body flat against Kaji’s as his slick cock nestled between the pair of you, delighting in the pressure as you felt Hiragi position himself at your fluttering hole.

He was thicker than Kaji, and the intrusion had you crying out in a mixture of pain and pleasure as his heavy balls pressed against your overstimulated clit. Giving you a cherished moment of respite before he began to fuck into you with veer. The crude sounds your cunt made as Hiragi used you for his own pleasure echoed around Kaji’s bedroom, as he fucked his load deeper into you, prodding it against your cervix as Hiragi let his thoughts begin to wonder.

It had been foolish of him really, a mistake he’d never made before. Blaming it entirely on the head between his thighs over the head on his shoulders as he remembered that he hadn’t even asked if you were on birth control. It was completely unlike him, and a sign of the fool that sex could make him into– but the thought alone had his mind racing as he began to think about how pretty you’d look stuffed full with his and Kaji’s spend– breeding your fertile womb with his ripe and potent cum. The thought had Hiragi even rougher, his hands fisting the sheets on either side of you as he curled his body over yours.

You could do nothing in this position but lay there and take it as Hiragi continued to use you for his own pleasure, Kaji’s fingers slipping between your bodies to twist and tug at your sensitive nipples as you felt his half-hard cock pressed against your clit where your bodies were pressed together, grinding against each other with each rough snap of Hiragi’s hips into your messy cunt.

You could feel Kaji getting hard beneath you again, the press of him against your tummy as you shimmied your hips to ensure he was snug against your clit. His steely eyes stared at you intently as he watched your face contort in pleasure at the hands of his best friend.

“Feels so good.” You managed to get out between whiny moans, your eyes rolling back when Hiragi hit a particular spot deep inside you as you buried your face in Kaji’s neck.

“Yeah?” Hiragi smirked, “You like that, huh? Like Kaji watching you get fucked.”

His words stroked the heat that continued to burn like wildfire inside you, flowing through your veins as he had you racing towards another mind-numbing orgasm. Kaji slid his clammy hands down your sides to rest against the top of your thighs, his blunt nails digging into the skin as he used his grip to force you back harder against Hiragi’s cock.

“You like me watching you get fucked like a slut?” Kaji tested the words on his tongue as you responded with a depraved whine that had his cock pulsing with desire, “Shit—”

“She clenched so hard when you said that, Kaji. God, she’s got such a good pussy,” Hiragi rasped, trying to dictate the pleasure that swirled in his pelvis as he danced on the edge of his release, “I’ve gotta pull out.”

“No,” You whined against Kaji’s neck as your lips curled into a pout, clamping down around his cock in a feeble attempt to keep him balls deep as he fucked into you.

“I’m not– condom.” Hiragi cursed at how pathetic and pussy-drunk you’d made him when he’d barely even done anything. The power of slipping inside a warm, wet hole without that thin latex barrier, he supposed.

“She’s on birth control,” Kaji answered, his grip bruising as he kept you fucking back onto his cock.

“Cum inside me please, Hiragi.” You pleaded, and it was enough to have him fighting back the desire to spill every drop of cum in his heavy balls inside your eager walls.

“You gotta give me one more first, sweetheart.” He grinned, “I know you’re close– can feel you clampin’ down around me.”

“I can’t,” You warbled, “S’too much.”

“Yeah, you can.” He grunted, smoothing his thumb over the puckered hole of your asshole before palming one of your ass cheeks to spread you open and increase the pressure, “Be a good girl and cum.”

You couldn’t hold back as you felt another release surge through you in harsh waves, squealing into the curve of Kaji’s neck as you drooled from the intensity of it. Your lower half jerked roughly as your toes curled, and both men continued to move your body against them to help you ride out your release.

“Oh fuck,” Hiragi groaned as he adjusted his hips, deliberately focusing his thrusts hard and deep inside you as he finally met his end. Pushing hot ropes of cum directly against your battered cervix as he filled you with his spend, mixing with Kaji’s as you felt the warmth consume you whole.

Kaji wasn’t far behind, as he unabashedly used your body for his pleasure, grinding you down against his heavy cock as he felt himself cum hard. Huge rivulets of cum spurted in thick globs from his tip and pooled against his chest as he fucked himself through it, coaxing out every last drop as you felt the wetness of it stick to your skin.

“Are you gonna stay, ‘Ragi?” You murmured sleepily as Kaji rolled you onto your back gently. Accepting the towel that Hiragi had offered to him to help clean up the mess both men had made of you. Swiping it along your tummy before delicately tracing it between your thighs, muttering out soft apologies when he was too rough with your overstimulated folds.

“I should leave you guys to it,” He grinned, tugging his black band shirt back on after buckling his belt, “Although, you can call me if you ever need help with anything again,”

He leaned over the mattress as he clasped Kaji’s shoulder in a warm palm, leaning over his best friend to press a lingering kiss against your bent knee before he let his fingers trail through your folds towards the swell of your ass.

“I was actually gonna ask if you’d ever used this hole before.” He grinned, “Maybe we can try that next time.”

[synthetickitsune]

may i please request florist!san who secretly likes a regular at his flower shop, then he learns that she finally recently broke up with her ex so he does all kinds of things to cheer her up like slipping in cute notes or chocolates in the flowers she buys and to also maybe shoot his shot 🥹💕

thank youuu and no need to rush! please do take all the time you need 🫶

San (ATZ) | Flower Shop AU + hidden notes fluff | 0.9k | gn!reader

The change wasn’t immediately recognizable for what it truly was. 

You might’ve missed a few weeks, which was concerning, but San understood that life happens and sometimes there’s just not enough time, money, or even energy to come to the flower shop, to keep the house looking pretty. 

And of course he spent the better part of those weeks worried if you’ll ever show up again.

Some little part of him hoped that you won’t - the unselfish one, the one that only cared about your happiness as he tends to care about all strangers that come to his shop. If you never come again, then perhaps your manchild of a boyfriend has finally grown into a full fledged man and started buying you flowers like you deserve instead of leaving you to do it yourself.

It was just one of the few pieces of information he got from the limited amount of small conversations you had. Your boyfriend would give you a couple bucks and tell you to go buy yourself some red roses. An exact amount that would in no universe be covered by the money he gave you. Truly, San wonders why you bothered with that guy. 

You deserve better. You deserve someone like him - but that’s only what the selfish part of his heart keeps telling him.

Things are different now, though. Something changed. You’re back to getting flowers, but they’re not roses anymore, and the bouquets are smaller. They also suit you more. You seem genuinely happy getting them.

San feels torn about it, although he’s mostly curious.

Until one day he sees your phone light up just as you’re about to pay, a name briefly flashing on the screen. You decline the call with lips pressed into a thin line. It’s not the time to be nosy, it’s not his place to ask-

“Is everything alright?” he asks carefully, then upon meeting your eyes he panics, “It’s just you seemed upset and you’ve been missing before…”

He’s just making it worse, he knows, but he hopes you can just take it as him being concerned about his business and not creepy. You study his face for a moment before sighing.

“We broke up,” you say simply, “And he keeps calling so that’s a little annoying.”

“Oh,” is all he can say.

And oh is all he can think for the rest of the day. Week, actually. And then he gets it together.

‘Together’ in a way that is perhaps concerning in its own way.

It might be too much - it is too much and wholly inappropriate. But San feels like a madman on a mission, hyping himself before the final stretch as he looks at the handful of notes and another small pile of envelopes.

The notes should be fine - they’re just generic words of encouragement, some may be a little too sweet for strangers, but not too much. The envelopes, well, they hold his heart. He must be in his right mind still if he thought to start with the notes and see how you accept them.

…And that doesn’t apply anymore weeks later when he’s stealthily slipping the first envelope into the bouquet before wrapping it for you. His heart is about to burst and you’re looking at him with concern. His hands are shaking, but at least you only noticed now. 

“Are you alright?” you ask, brows furrowed.

“Yeah, of course,” he smiles. It’s easy to make it genuine. 

“I…” you hesitate and he leans closer, nodding at you to continue, “I know I never said anything, but I wanted to thank you for the notes. I mean, you probably noticed I started coming in more. They just really helped me get through the hard times.”

He did notice. He also noticed you slowly opening up, lingering, gracing him with short conversation each time.

“I’m glad,” he says and he means it. Even if nothing comes out of this, making you happy is enough.

“So I was wondering, would you like to go on a date with me?” you bite your lip, “If you’re okay with going slow-”

“Yes,” he interrupts before you can change your mind. He already saw you spiral into overthinking many times, he’s not gonna do it today. “Absolutely. Just, uh, could you give that back to me?”

He points to the wrapped flowers in your hands. You look at him with a suspicion. “Why?”

“I don’t want to embarrass myself and make you change your mind, please?” he begs. Suddenly he can’t remember what’s written in the short letter. He only knows it’s sappy and pathetic.

“Is your number there?” you chuckle.

“Among other things,” he admits. For once he doesn’t like the way your smile grows bigger.

“Then if I like the other things I will text you,” you seem so satisfied with yourself, San is in love - and shambles, “If not, I’ll come here again and pretend I didn’t see anything. You can ask me on the date again if the note doesn’t work.”

That’s not the issue, the note isn’t asking you out, he wants to say, but you’re already turned away from him and walking out. He can’t speak, his tongue feels too heavy and his mind is blank. Slowly, he feels a smile stretching his lips against his will.

Maybe you like losers, he hopes.

[thatmexisaurusrex]

Okay, picture this - takes out pitch notecards - Buck finds out, not from Chimney, but in some very convoluted way, that Chimney has decided to set Tommy up on a blind date.

Buck, losing his baking addled mind a bit, goes on an intensive Pepe Silvia level deep dive into who the fuck this guy is, where the date will be, what time, everything.

He shows Eddie his plan on his murder planning board. He's going to infiltrate the restaurant. He's going to find the man. He's going to take him out ("No, Eddie. I'm not murdering him." "What? Are you going to rough his ankles up?" "I'm just - I'm just going to have a little talk with him is all"), get the man out of the restaurant, possibly lying about a family member in a hospital or something.

Buck then, fully in disguise ("That's just a mustache, a fedora, and my clothes. Why do you have my clothes??" "Stop that, Eddie. They're going to a good cause."), will supplant the original blind date ("Like a cuckoo bird, Eddie. You know. With the eggs." "Yeah. Something's cuckoo with this plan, dios.") and wait there for Tommy.

Have the best blind date in the world.

Reveal himself as Evan by the end of the date.

Bingo bango, he's dating Tommy again ("This is a terrible plan, Buck." "Shut up. This is the perfect plan. And you're helping me with it." "What?" "You're going in disguise as the waiter." "No, I'm not." "Yes, you are." Eddie will be corralled into the scheme).

So. Evan goes for it.

And.

Well.

It doesn't go exactly as smoothly as he hoped. But, hey! He got to the date! He's got Eddie as his waiter backup. He's good to go.

But.

Tommy.

Never shows up.

Buck, not sure what happened, tries to be extremely casual when he visits Maddie and Chimney's place out of the blue, hoping to figure out what just happened… only to find Tommy there talking to Chimney.

He looks terrible. Tommy looks a little heavier and somehow skinnier too. He looks like he hasn't been sleeping well. He looks absolutely miserable. He looks like he had been crying.

He looks surprised to see Buck.

See Evan.

Well.

Evan is still in his disguise because Buck forgot about changing and Chimney's wholly confused by the getup.

And.

Buck doesn't even think. He just strides over and asks who did that to Tommy. Who made Tommy cry? Was it the blind date? If it was, Evan was going to -

But.

Tommy, flustered, ends up just.

Leaving.

Chimney sighs. He's curious how Buck knows about the blind date, but explains that Tommy had cancelled last minute. Because he wasn't over Buck.

He wasn't over Evan.

Buck didn't know.

Chimney reminds Buck that it's an option to go to Tommy's place and maybe talk about it, even if it just ends up with closure.

So.

Buck takes off the ridiculous disguise. He heads over to Tommy's place. He walks up to the door and rings the doorbell. Tommy open's it; obviously still a mess. Evan blurts out, "Every time I think about texting you, I bake. I just keep baking. Every hour of every day, I just keep baking, Tommy. I can't stop thinking about you."

Tommy looks like he can barely believe that; the idea that someone could think about Tommy that much.

But still.

Tommy asks, "Would you like to come in? Maybe - maybe we should talk. I - I want to talk."

And Evan would confess to Tommy, "I always want to talk with you," as he entered Tommy's home.

As they finally start to figure themselves out after that brick wall of a breakup. No disguises or blind dates or schemes. Just them.

[capseycartwright]

miss me, but let me go

“I have - I’ve carried this grief, for you, for so long, and I know I can’t let it all go, because a part of me is always going to grieve for you,” Eddie paused. “But I can’t feel like this forever, Shannon. I don’t think you’d want me to, either. So - I need to let some of it go. Okay? I need to - I need to be myself now. For me, and for Christopher. I want to be me."

On November 1, Eddie builds an altar for Shannon and finds a way to let her go.

ao3 link

November 1. The date is not one Eddie is likely to ever forget. Even before Shannon died, Dia de los Muertos wasn’t a holiday he ever missed - as a child, he would help his abuelo make their altar every year, a picture of his abuelo front-and-centre, Edmundo Diaz Senior, the man he’d been named for, looking sharp in his suit as he looked out from the glass picture frame where he’d lived all of Eddie’s life. He’d never met his grandfather - only carried his name. 

Over the years, more faces found a home on the altar - friends, and family, time a fickle thing and the only certainty about life that it ended. Death was familiar, a constant in a world Eddie felt like he could never quite figure out.

After Shannon died -

The first November 1 after she died, Eddie built his own altar for the first time, explaining the tradition to Christopher. They had done it every year since, Christopher’s face in a set line as he made sure everything was absolutely perfect. No less than his mother deserved, Eddie knew. 

Shannon hadn’t grown up with the traditions of All Saints and All Souls, but she’d embraced them wholly when she and Eddie had gotten married, making the altar herself when Eddie wasn’t there. It felt right to honour her with the traditions she had loved herself. That was why Eddie had taken to adding a picture of Shannon’s mother to the altar too, when she died the year after Shannon did. Breast cancer, they’d said, but Eddie knew heartbreak had been the thing that had pushed her over the edge.

Every year, Eddie celebrated Shannon, and her mother, his grandfather, the people he’d served with who had died - 

Except this year.

Eddie felt bad. Really, he did - he was going to build the altar himself, but when his dad had texted a picture of the Diaz family altar, Shannon front and centre, Eddie couldn’t quite bring himself to make his own. Shannon was being remembered - that was what mattered. He’d gone to her grave instead, only half listening as the priest had said mass over the graveyard, praying for the salvation of the souls who were buried there.

Grief was a funny old beast, Eddie knew. Grief had made him do crazy things - grief had driven his son to Texas, for crying out loud. The grief didn’t hit standing by her grave, but it did when dusk descended over Eddie’s house, and the absence of an altar began to feel like one of the worst things he’d done amongst a year of terrible decision-making.

Maybe he should have taken Buck up on his offer of coming over to make an altar with him, but Eddie had asked enough of his best friend in the last four months. Eddie knew Tommy had bought them tickets for some movie Buck was dying to see, and as much as Eddie was a near-professional third wheel now, he didn’t think he’d make a good addition to the back row of their local movie theatre.

Eddie winced as he looked at the candle he’d swiped from the dining table. “It’s cedarwood,” he said, apologetic as he lit it, setting the candle down in front of the framed picture of Shannon that lived on their fireplace. “I know you hated cedarwood, but I’m working with what I’ve got here, Shan.”

Eddie pressed his cheek against his folded arms, taking one, two, three shaky breaths. “I really struggled after you left, Shannon. I don’t think I really even realised how much until now - and it’s not just because you were gone, but you were gone and you wanted a divorce, and I - suddenly, I was never going to get answers.”

He’d been talking about Shannon a lot in therapy, lately, unpacking all his complicated feelings during his excruciating weekly hour with Frank. 

“I don’t know if I even wanted to stay married to you,” Eddie admitted, the candle flickering in the growing dark of his living room. That was terrifying to admit out loud - that even if she had stayed alive, he and Shannon wouldn’t have made it work. There were a thousand reasons why, and Eddie could sit, and list them all, but one was more important than the others. 

“I think I’m gay, Shannon,” Eddie had never said it out loud before, despite the thought never quite leaving his mind, Pandora’s box open, now. “If you were here, I bet you’d have such a laugh with that - not like, in a bad way. Just - I think you’d find it funny, that your mom’s gaydar was right after all.” 

He couldn’t help but laugh at the thought himself. Shannon’s mom had been the bitchiest woman he’d ever met, and Eddie loved her for it. 

“I’ve made such a mess of things,” Eddie paused. “But with you, most of all. I’m sorry - for my part in it all. I thought I was doing the right thing, joining the army. I just wanted to take care of you and Chris, and I didn’t see any other way out. I know it was the wrong choice - but I really thought it was the right one. You know?”

Shannon’s picture stayed silent. 

“I have - I’ve carried this grief, for you, for so long, and I know I can’t let it all go, because a part of me is always going to grieve for you,” Eddie paused. For the life she might have had, if not for the car crash - Eddie sometimes liked to indulge himself and think of an alternative life where Shannon had survived, where they got divorced, and learned how to co-parent, and maybe they found their way back to being friends. It was a nice thought.

Eddie wiped roughly at his eyes. “But I can’t feel like this forever, Shannon. I don’t think you’d want me to, either. So - I need to let some of it go. Okay? I need to - I need to be myself now. For me, and for Christopher. I want to be me.” 

With a shaky hand, Eddie pressed a kiss to the framed picture, setting Shannon back down with the candle. It was a half-assed altar, and somehow, that made Eddie feel worse. He scrambled to his feet, heading for his bedroom, and the box of Shannon’s belongings he knew was stashed at the back of his wardrobe. He hadn’t kept much for himself - most of it was for Christopher - but he had a few things. There was a necklace in there, he knew that Eddie had bought her for their first wedding anniversary. It was a cheap thing, because they were always broke, but it was something of hers - it would make it a more acceptable offering.

Eddie couldn’t help the breath that hitched in his throat as he spotted what was in his bedroom. A butterfly, resting on his pillowcase, on the side he always slept on. “Hey, little guy,” he whispered softly, not wanting to startle the tiny creature. His abuela loved butterflies - they were spirits of the people you loved, who had left, coming back to visit. Eddie felt slightly ridiculous, but he said it anyway. “Shannon?”

The butterfly didn’t move. 

“I’m so glad Christopher isn’t here, because he would really think I’ve lost it,” Eddie crouched by the side of his bed, holding out a finger. “Hey. Is this your way of telling me it’s okay to let you go? Did you hear all of that?” 

The butterfly moved, tiny wings fluttering as it came to land on Eddie’s outstretched finger. 

“I hope that’s a yes,” Eddie knew tears were streaming down his cheeks, now, but he didn’t want to freak the butterfly out by wiping them away. “How did you get in here, eh? None of the windows are open.”

If Eddie Diaz believed in a higher power, still, he’d blame God - or the universe. 

“Let’s get you outside,” Eddie said, and the butterfly flapped, a little, coming to land on the windowsill instead. “Yeah? You’re ready to go?”

The butterfly flapped in response again.

“I think I’m ready to let you go, this time,” Eddie admitted, carefully unlatching the window. “We’re going to be okay, me and Christopher. I promise. You can go. You don’t need to worry about us.” 

The butterfly seemed to pause, for a second, before it flew out the open window, disappearing into the beginnings of the evening. Eddie wasn’t sure how long he stood there, tears pouring down his cheeks, rolling off the curve of his chin and onto his shirt, but the next thing he knew, he could hear - 

“Buck?”

“Eddie! You’re a firefighter - how long have you left that candle unattended, huh? Eddie - Eddie, where are you, man?”

Buck appeared in the doorway of Eddie’s bedroom, a family-sized bag of sour patch kids tucked under one arm. “Do I need to teach you the basics of fire safety all over again?” he huffed, pausing as he noticed Eddie’s tears. “Eddie - you okay?”

“Yeah,” Eddie offered his best friend a teary smile. For the first time, Eddie might actually mean that yes. “I’m okay. There - there was a butterfly,” he explained, gesturing at the window vaguely. “I had to let it out.”

“A butterfly?” Buck looked confused. 

“My abuela always said butterflies were the spirits of people who’ve died,” Eddie explained. “I lit a candle for Shannon, and there was a butterfly just sitting on my pillow, when I came in here. It’s…” he paused. “It’s stupid.”  

Buck’s face softened. ‘It’s not stupid,” he shook his head. “You think it was Shannon?”

Eddie glanced at the window again. “I hope it was,” he admitted, taking a deep breath before he closed the window. That in itself felt like symbolism, Eddie decided - a closing of a chapter he should have let go a long time ago. That’s what he needed it to be, at least. “Wait - aren’t you meant to be on a date?”

Bcuk shrugged. “We changed the tickets to tomorrow,” he explained, holding up the bag of candy. “You said you weren’t going to make an altar, and I didn’t want to let you skip out on it. These were her favourite, right?” 

Eddie could cry all over again. Buck, like Shannon, hadn’t grown up with Dia de los Muertos, but here he was, with a bag of Eddie’s dead wife’s favourite candy, ready to sit in Eddie’s grief with him. Eddie wasn’t sure what he’d done in a previous life to deserve a friend like Evan Buckley, but he thanked whatever God or universe was listening for giving him Buck anyway.

“She’d eat so many she’d give herself a stomach-ache,” Eddie grinned, and the memory didn’t hurt, the way it used to, the grief a dull ache that he could grow around, now. He leaned into the embrace Buck offered, breathing in the familiar cedarwood scent of Buck’s favourite cologne. “Thanks. For being here.”

“Nowhere I’d rather be,” Buck hummed, pressing a ridiculous, loud, smacking kiss to the top of Eddie’s head. Eddie loved him. “But I’m buying you one of those electric candle warmers if you’re going to keep leaving candles unattended, Eddie.” 

Eddie was mostly listening as he let Buck guide him back to the living room, the candle still flickering golden in front of Shannon’s picture. It was the same one he’d put on her memorial programme - bright, and beautiful, just like she’d always been when she was alive. 

Buck grinned, as he set a piece of candy in front of her picture. “Berry,” he explained. “My favourite,” he added, tossing a handful of the sour sweets into his own mouth. 

They sat, the television playing reruns of a procedural in the background, eating candy until their stomachs hurt, the candle burning all the way to the end. 

The butterfly didn’t come back.

Buck stayed.

Eddie was ready to move on.

(Buck stayed.)

[cherienymphe]

Basic Training VI (Peter Parker x Reader)

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, MURDER, violence, kidnapping, captivity, public sex, degradation, forced pregnancy, forced marriage, stockholm syndrome, ptsd, housewife kink, cop!Peter

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies​ | divider by @whimsicalrogers​

➥ series masterlist

summary: A pit stop during a road trip ends tragically when a small town cop sets his sights on you. You’re the newest addition in a long standing fucked up family tradition.

~

You were helping Christine out in the kitchen when Margaret brought her daughter downstairs. The brunette was really kind, you’d come to learn, patient in making sure you got everything right. She didn’t seem bothered by your quiet disposition, instead content to simply talk to you with no expectation of any responses in return.

When the other brunette made herself known, Christine had awed.

“Oh, she’s getting so big,” she cooed, pausing in what she was doing. “Almost a year now, isn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Margaret breathed, a bright smile on her face. “Steve’s already talking about trying for another.”

You turned away, resting your gaze on kneading the dough, afraid to screw it up and afraid to stare in the face of your possible future. Although, you supposed that there was nothing possible about it, and you struggled to accept that. Your chest grew tight as you heard them fuss over the baby girl behind you, not wanting to entertain the thought of that being you one day, all smiles and sparkly eyes as you held Peter’s baby.

“Do you want to hold her?”

It took you too long to realize that Margaret was talking to you, and you hesitantly looked over your shoulder. They were both quiet as you looked between them, an encouraging smile on Margaret’s face as your gaze eventually fell to the little girl in her arms. You felt unsure, glancing down at your hands before brushing them on your apron.

“I…” you gestured to the dough. “I’m a mess and…I don’t know if I should…”

“It’s okay,” the new mom softly encouraged. “She loves meeting new people.”

She was approaching you before you could protest any further, and you carefully took the baby when she handed her off. You supposed that Margaret was telling the truth, her daughter taking you in with wide eyes and studying you just as much as you were studying her. She was very sweet, very cute, and you felt yourself frowning a bit.

“I’m taking her for a walk around the property,” Margaret mused, and Christine hummed at that as she continued cooking. “Get her some fresh air and sun. Maybe even let her crawl around a bit.”

She poked at her daughter’s cheeks, a fond smile on her own rosy lips, and she let out a sigh.

“Pretty soon there’ll be more babies filling up this house, and then Laura, Sharon, and I won’t feel so alone.”

Margaret said it so casually, and you blinked for several reasons. For one thing, you didn’t know that Laura and Sharon had children too, and again, you were reminded of how isolated you felt from the other women. They probably sat around and chatted with each other about these things, those three in particular maybe even watching their children play.

In the same train of thought, your stomach churned at the mention of more children. You wondered just how long Margaret had been here for her to be so casual and content with her situation, to talk about everyone’s situation this way. Then again, you wondered if it had more to do with who she was married to. With a husband like Steve, there probably wasn’t any other choice but to find happiness in this predicament in some way.

Either that or be wholly miserable all the time.

Be humiliated all the time.

Her words had you handing her child back to her, and it was then that Steve appeared at the entrance of the kitchen. The sight of him had you flinching, and you almost felt like you were wrong to touch his child, stepping away from Margaret just as she smiled at the blond.

“There you are,” he said, smiling back at her and fully stepping into the kitchen.

You discreetly returned to the dough, but you could feel his gaze on you.

“I was just bringing Sarah down for a walk and wanted to visit whoever was in here making breakfast for everybody,” she sweetly replied, and you wondered if it was exhausting to have to appear to be that happy all the time.

You couldn’t imagine Peter expecting that of you, and you looked down, thinking of that morning in which Peter had forced you to watch Steve punishing Margaret. You felt your skin grow cold as you recalled his brutality, just the sheer act of treating someone that way, and especially for something as minor as messing up food or not smiling as big as he expected.

In the back of your mind, there was a stray thought of gratitude that you weren’t in her place.

“That’s great, honey,” you heard Steve tell her, and it sounded genuine. “Especially since Y/N is here.”

You paused at that, hesitantly looking over your shoulder, shuddering as your gaze met his. Despite the smile on his pink lips, the look in his blue eyes didn’t quite match, an emptiness to them that had your stomach sinking.

“It’ll be good for her to be around the children more,” he mused, leaning in and pressing a kiss to his wife’s forehead, never taking his eyes off of you. “It’ll help her get…acclimated to how things are around here.”

You understood the words that went unsaid, turning back around and fighting back tears.

Steve wanted you to face your future, to stare at it head on and accept your fate. He wanted you to see the wives with their kids and maybe even interact with the small children, slowly opening up to the idea of children your own someday. At that thought, you wondered if Margaret had even come down here of her own volition, or if it was carefully orchestrated by the same man who’d orchestrated everything else in this house.

You only released a shuddering breath when they both left, and you found your thoughts drifting to Peter. He was still in bed when you’d made your way downstairs per the routine, something you were a bit better at now. You were still a God-awful cook, but as long as Steve wasn’t standing over you, you were fine. Funnily enough, outside of the night you’d cooked fish, the only time you’d come close to that was when Peter had helped you that morning.

There was a brief thought that you wished you had his help, now.

You immediately paused at that, gently shaking your head with a frown. You shouldn’t want Peter’s help for anything, even if only to make your time here easier. The hand he had in your kidnapping was astronomical. After all, he was the sole reason you were even here. As much as you didn’t want to subject anyone else to this, you sometimes wondered about what would’ve happened if you’d never gone into that diner that day.

Maybe you, Pietro, Wanda, and MJ would be almost to Florida by now. Maybe you’d be in some town a lot nicer than this, enjoying historical monuments and whatever shopping mall Wanda would no doubt be excited for. Tears kissed your eyes at the thought, and you wiped your face with the back of your hand.

Thinking about your friends made you sad, but not thinking about them felt…disrespectful. You couldn’t forget them, for as long as you lived, but reliving your time with them and wondering about what could’ve been hurt too much. It made your chest ache in ways that almost brought you to your knees, and you were grateful when Christine gently reminded you to roll the biscuits out small.

“Will I ever get to go outside?”

Your question was so quiet that it was a wonder Peter even heard it, and you looked over your shoulder at him as he took his utility belt off. So much of your road trip had been dedicated to nature and outdoor activities, courtesy of your contribution, and being stuck in this house and only able to gaze up at the stars from a barred window was getting to your head. It was even worse during the day, unable to step outside and soak in the sun.

You knew why, of course.

“Eventually,” he finally answered, slowly making his way to you. “Probably not anytime soon though…”

His word choice was not lost on you, and you blinked at him, frowning slightly.

“It’s just like with the basement,” Peter explained, drinking you in. “The same way Steve wouldn’t let you out if he thought you were a danger to anyone or was going to escape…”

He trailed off, letting you fill in the dots, and you turned back around to look up at the sky. You could feel Peter’s gaze on you as you pressed your forehead to the window, just standing and watching the outside world. You were sure that if you were let outside, right now, you would run. You probably wouldn’t even be able to help it.

However, the thought of being caught mentally scared you away from the mere possibility.

You glanced over your shoulder when you heard Peter walk away, watching him disappear into the bathroom. You stared at the door for some time before turning back around. You didn’t like sleeping next to Peter…but you’d unfortunately found that sleeping without him was impossible.

The nightmares still woke you up sometimes, and in your delirious and fearful state, it was easy to accept his comfort as he shushed you and held you. It was shameful really, and your gaze found the floor. It was usually why you took this time to get into bed before him. You liked to pretend like you were asleep whenever he got out of the bathroom, unwilling to watch him crawl into bed and lay beside you.

It was easier to pretend this way.

You pulled the covers over you, still staring at the window, and you pressed your lips together. You felt like you were in some screwed up purgatory, stuck between the traumatic events that led to your capture and your inevitable future. You were unable to go back to before it had happened, but your mind wasn’t ready to go forward either.

You weren’t ready to become like Jane and find happiness here, smiling at Peter whenever you saw him, and you for sure weren’t ready to become like Margaret or Laura or Sharon. You couldn’t imagine having a baby with the man who’d kidnapped you and ruined your life, smiling at the child like a gift instead of what it really was.

Physical evidence of just how in deep you were.

Thoughts of your nightmarish future guided you to sleep, and the next time you woke up, Peter’s arm was around you, holding you in place and attempting to keep you from flailing. Your chest was heaving, and his other hand was on your head, smoothing over it as he gently shushed you.

“You’re okay,” he breathed. “You’re safe…”

The cool air hit your face, and it was then that you realized you’d been crying in your sleep. You couldn’t stop though, because your nightmare wasn’t just a nightmare. It was real, and you were currently living it. Peter’s soft and soothing tone wasn’t doing much, and your forehead pressed into your pillow, your tears wetting it.

“Y/N…”

You really didn’t like Peter saying your name, the sound of it coming from his lips causing a shudder to climb up your spine. He pulled you into his arms, wrapping them around you, and you were wetting his chest with your tears now instead. He rocked you, gently, wiping your face and telling you that you were okay.

…but the last thing you felt like was okay.

You felt so far from okay.

“Are…are you going to make me have a baby too?”

Your voice was but a whisper in the quiet room, and you felt Peter pause. He didn’t answer right away, and the more his silence stretched, the lower your heart sank.

“We don’t have to figure that out, right now,” he whispered back. “It’s just you and me, okay?”

You sniffed.

“…but…but Steve wants the house to be full of children…” you heard and felt Peter sigh. “He expects me to have children. I know he does, I could see it on his face.”

You continued when Peter didn’t respond.

“…and what he wants he gets, right? Right?” you tearfully wondered, trembling at the thought.

“That’ll be between you and me,” Peter softly told you, playing with your hair and stroking your back. “…and we don’t have to talk about that, now. It’s okay.”

You swallowed, tearfully staring into the darkness and feeling pathetic that of all people, Peter was the only one you found yourself confiding in.

“I’m scared, Peter…”

“Of what? Of me…?”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that Peter almost sounded offended at the thought. You didn��t know how to tell him that you were afraid of him. You were afraid of him and Steve and every other man here, afraid of their capabilities and the predicament they’d put you in. Of course, you were afraid of Peter.

The power he held was what got you here in the first place.

Everything about Peter terrified you. He looked like an angel, but one word from him silenced your friends forever and forced you into captivity. You supposed he was the nicer of the bunch, yes, but there was something about him that Steve clearly respected, something about him that could talk you out of being punished and buy more time for you to adjust.

Your mind drifted to that day in the kitchen, the finality in Peter’s tone as he addressed Margaret. You thought about her lack of argument, how easily she’d accepted something that evidently wasn’t normal all because Peter had made his position on it clear. You thought about how at ease he was around the men who’d killed your friends, how he talked with them and laughed with them and probably thought of them as friends. Brothers even.

Yes.

You were very afraid of Peter.

…because he was both the source of your torment and your comfort.

The same man who’d put you in this situation was the one who held you late into the night, keeping the nightmares at bay. The very same nightmares that he caused. Peter was the one you turned to whenever you were unsure about anything, unable to get direction from anyone else. He was the one you hid behind or sought out whenever Steve’s cold blue eyes fell onto you.

Peter had put you in this predicament…and he was the one you needed to survive it.

It twisted you up in ways you couldn’t even understand, and you hated the sound of his heartbeat beneath your ear.

“I’m scared of everyone here,” you honestly told him. “I want to go home.”

Peter didn’t say anything to that, just softly rubbing your back. It was something you said often, and even though you both knew it wasn’t going to happen, you couldn’t stop saying it aloud. It was something you just needed to say, and Peter let you.

“Sweep up every last bit of glass…”

Steve’s cold voice had you trembling harder, and you kept your gaze on the mess before you.

“We have children that crawl around here, and I’ll be damned if one of them hurt themselves because of your clumsiness.”

You fought back tears as the blond loomed over you, shaking as you brushed more glass into the dustpan. Natasha had thought nothing of telling you to dust the foyer, an easy enough task. That was what you’d thought anyway, but somehow, you’d managed to knock over the vase on the table by the entrance, and you’d heard the thunder of heavy footsteps before the sound of shattered glass had settled into the air good. Even before Steve had rounded the corner, you knew how badly you messed up.

An apology was barely on your lips when Steve had started tearing into you, ordering you to hurry up and clean the glass. You knew he had a point about the children, and you did feel bad, but it was a genuine accident.

“That vase has been in this family for years,” he said, making you feel even worse. “…and one afternoon with you and it’s gone just like that.”

When all the glass was in the trash, you got the feeling that Steve wasn’t quite done with you, evident in the way he still stood by the foyer. Your stomach turned as you faced him, and your mind drifted to the basement. If Steve would punish his wife like he had over the smallest of things, there would be no telling what waited for you over a family heirloom.

Then again, you didn’t belong to Steve…and you hated how much that comforted you.

“Peter’s at work,” the blond hummed, and you warily eyed him. “…so, you’ll have to be punished in a way that won’t upset him too much.”

You frowned at that, eyes widening at the yard stick Steve revealed from behind his back.

“You’re adjusting…but not fast enough.”

You glanced around, and you weren’t hopeful enough to think that no one was around to witness your scolding. They were there but were no doubt hiding from the blonde’s wrath lest it latch onto anyone within the vicinity.

“That vase has been dusted a hundred times, and only with you did it become a broken mess.”

You blinked back tears, struggling to find your voice.

“I’m sorry, Steve. It…it won’t happen again,” you forced out, and he hummed.

“You’re right. It won’t,” he breathed. “Hold out your hands.”

You weren’t quite sure you heard him correctly, and you looked at him in confusion, brows drawn together. Steve’s face was as serious as ever, and at the sight, your tears finally spilled over. You pulled your lip between your teeth, shaking as you did as he told you.

“Flatter,” he said, flattening the yard stick underneath your hands until they were flat and even.

He tapped them twice.

“Palms up.”

If it was possible, your eyes widened further, but the fear of worse had you obeying him, and the deep breath you took didn’t prepare you for the pain you felt when Steve struck your hands. Against your best interest, you snatched them towards you, holding them to your chest. You held in a sob as Steve tsked.

“Hold them out,” he slowly demanded, and they were shaking even more now as you did.

Your palms were up, and Steve raised his hand, raising the yard stick with it before bringing it down across your palms again. You hissed this time, hands lowering some, but you kept them upright, knowing that was what he wanted.

He’d brought the long piece of wood down onto your palms fifteen times, each time hurting worse than the last. By the time Steve was done, you were a sobbing mess, your palms red and aching. He’d given you another lecture on the importance of being careful, but you’d been in too much pain to clearly hear a word he said.

You stumbled up to your room the second he dismissed you, clutching your hands to you the whole way.

Your back met your door as soon as you closed it, shaking so bad it was a wonder you were still standing. At that thought, you stumbled to your bed, tripping over your feet and collapsing onto the mattress. You knew that you should run your hands under some water at least, maybe even ask around about something to put on them, but you were in too much pain and too humiliated to do that.

They burned, and the only thing you were capable of doing was crying yourself to sleep.

It wasn’t an easy sleep, drifting in and out, the pain bleeding through your subconscious and waking you up here and there. With the form of punishment Steve had chosen, you surmised that you weren’t expected to carry out the rest of your duties for the rest of the day.

The next time you opened your eyes, you weren’t alone.

Peter’s fingers were on your forehead, smoothing them along your sweat-kissed skin. You thought you were dreaming at first, but when your eyes remained open, the brunette gave you a rueful smile. The sight made your face crumble, and a fresh wave of tears spilled over.

“Oh, pretty girl,” he sighed. “Steve told me what happened.”

You squeezed your eyes shut at the mention of the blond.

“It was an a-accident,” you choked out. “I didn’t-.”

“I know,” he exhaled, fingers gently trailing down your arm. “I wish I had been here. I should’ve been the one to…”

He trailed off, but you knew what he was going to say. As crazy as it sounded, you also would’ve rather Peter had been the one to dole-out your punishment. With his hands on your arms, Peter helped you sit up, guiding you to your feet. You couldn’t stop shaking, sobs still climbing out of your lips as he pulled you into the bathroom.

He turned the cold water on, and you hissed when it ran over your palms. Peter left you for some moments, and when he returned, he turned the water off. You noticed that one of his hands were occupied, and when he sat you back down on the bed, he gently told you to hold out your hands.

You watched him kneel before you, rubbing some salve on them, something that made you initially hiss, but his circular movements with his fingers were gentle.

“A lot of things won’t be tolerated around here,” he quietly started, and you looked down. “It’s taking a lot for you to adjust, and that’s okay considering…”

Silence descended over you both for a few moments.

“…but Steve doesn’t have the patience for it. Not like I do,” he softly told you, glancing up at you as he wrapped your hands. “I can only protect you if I’m here because when I’m not…”

He continued wrapping your other hand.

“Your responsibility falls to Steve…or Sam…or Bucky, or Tony. Basically, any of the other husbands that can take it upon themselves to punish you themselves…or leave it to me.”

Peter set the gauze aside, fixing you with a gentle look as he rested his own hands on your knees.

“…and Steve isn’t the type to leave it to me.”

More tears fell, and Peter reached up to wipe them away.

“…but you work,” you tearfully said. “You’re not always here.”

Peter took a deep breath, gently grabbing your hands. You winced at the action, and you watched him bring your palms to his lips, kissing one and then finally the other.

“Do you want me to be here more?”

The question took you by surprise, and Peter looked up at you from beneath his lashes, dark strands kissing his forehead.

“I can take some time away from work if it means helping you…adjust.”

You sniffed.

“If it means looking out for you…”

More tears escaped, skipping down your cheek.

“Steve terrifies me…and I… If I have to be punished,” you struggled to say the word. “I would rather it be by you.”

Peter studied your face for a while, eventually nodding as he stood. He sat beside you on the bed, and you laid down, holding your hands to you. The balm helped with the pain some, but it was more so the humiliation and the recollection of the act that still had you crying.

Peter stroked your face, maneuvering you so that your head rested in his lap.

“It hurts, I know,” he said, tone soothing. “It’ll barely feel like anything at all in a week.”

His other hand rubbed your back, traveling to your waist and kneading the skin through your dress. The softness of his touch was a nice contrast to the flare of pain in your palms, to the memory of Steve’s punishing movements. When Peter took your hands again, pressing gentle almost nonexistent kisses to your palms, your lashes fluttered and disappointment filled you when he pulled them away.

[vacayisland]

hiya!! can i req a short of king trollex getting injured while in barb's captivity? hurt or hurt/comfort, thanks for considering!

@!; Isolation for the soul (this isn't what I wanted) Trollex / Reader

"Summary"! Have you ever had to sit in a deafening silence? The torturing type of silence. All you ever wanted was some sort of peace, a moment of silence away from the noise. You never thought your wish would be answered in the cruelest way. "Tags"! Hurt / Comfort (a little lest comfort), y'all got the better version of the two stories in my head <3

@!; You always wanted some sort of silence, for an hour, thirty minutes, a minute, a second. It had never been quiet in Techno Reef, it had never been… quiet. And god, you had always wished for some sort of silence, but not silence like this. Not the deafening kind of silence, not the dreary silence, not the alone, abandoned, self-hatred fill silence that creeps up on you and holds you captive. The type that taunts you, haunts you, as you can do nothing but sit and be all consumed by it, encompassed by it constantly. No remorse will find you at the deepest depths of the ocean. You were alone, utterly and wholly. It was only meant to be a quick swim, one to get away from the noise of everyone and the noise of the rave that had been happening at the time. You had told Trollex this, having gone to his side and tapped his shoulder. Even while DJing, he had turned to you with the brightest grin. He had cupped your cheeks, he had given you such a big kiss and then a bigger hug as he softly told you to be careful; to get home soon, to not do anything too dangerous. You know he meant it more then than when he had told you before, after all you both were splitting egg-holding duty. Trollex had one of the twin eggs in his hair, safely tucked away and hidden, and you did too. You had brushed off his warning, giving him a playful look and quipped back he should be careful with the speakers more than anything. He had laughed, gave you one last smooch before you pulled away laughing and rushed off for your swim; yelling at him goodbye, that you would see him later. Later. How much later?

You sat at his DJ booth, sunk down on the floor as you held the only part of Trollex you still had; The egg, which was still warm yet slowly becoming cold due to the ocean. You know you should keep them in your hair, keep them warm so they will hatch yet… you were too alone, too afraid to be alone, to do that right now. Hugging the egg close, you pressed your cheek against the top as you tried to choke back your sobs. Funny, how silence was now the last thing you wanted. Ironic that the only thing you wanted now, more than ever, was the loud blaring music of the Techno reef; to hear your lover shout to the crowd, hyping them up louder than need be. Yet, all you sat in was a cold, silent reef; Having come back to nothing but silence, nothing but destruction, nothing but… nothing. It had been deserted, lettering spelling out ‘Rock’ etched into the side of the reefs and the coral. At first, you had thought it was a tasteless prank pulled by Trollex and the others; He had always been a prankster, had everyone pretend they forgot your birthday so he could throw you a big party and then a smaller one with just you and him and your friends at the end of the day. You had called for them, searched for everyone for hours before you realized you were alone. That feeling hit hard. Even more so when you stood in the center of the rave spot, seeing everything desolate, destroyed, and powered off. It felt strangely empty and cold. You felt strangely empty and cold.

And you panicked, laughing a little as you called out for people. Called out for everyone, anyone, anything! You threw things around, overturned rocks, checked buildings and hiding spots and everywhere you could think, yet no matter how hard you searched you were alone. And you didn’t know why. Why did they leave you? Did you do something? Did no one want to be around you anymore? Was the rave just a ploy to get you to swim away so everyone could pack up and leave? Leave without all their things, pack up and move to a new palace, rich. You didn’t think you had been rude to anyone or did anything to upset anyone, yet now you rethought all of that. Sitting alone, abandoned and utterly cold, you rethought everything you had done; All the words you had said, all the reactions you had given and all the ones you didn’t, all the gifts, all the yeses and nos, all of it. All at once it made you homesick and deathly lonely. It made you think, wonder, if you had shown even just a little more interest, if you had tried a little more, you wouldn’t be in this situation. You wouldn’t be alone, sitting by Trollex’s turntable with nothing but the silence you now wished would go away and be filled with deathly loud blaring music. Even if it was just for a short amount of time.

@!; A week, that’s what it took for Queen Poppy to save the day with the help of her friends. For everyone to restore their sense of music without the need of strings, singing from their hearts and letting music just be. No more Rock-apocalypse. No more feuding and isolation of tribes! Everything was right together again. “This is amazing!” Queen Poppy exclaimed, her arms extending as she watched all the trolls in the crowd interact with each other as though there were no differences; Showing each other their music, chatting and laughing, giggling too. Even the tribal leaders were interacting among the stage. As Poppy turned towards her new found friends, the biggest grin across her face, she paused. There was a small group crowded around the Techno tribe’s leader, who had fallen down onto the stage; He was coughing harshly, tears brimming at the corner of his eyes as a hand was balled against his chest. Poppy, at first, thought it was due to his coughing fit and had rushed over while shuffling around her hair for some sort of cough drop. “Poppy! Poppy, stop-” Yet Branch stopped her, grabbing her shoulder and pulling Poppy back as she sputtered out some sort of yell. “Branch I have cough drops I can help-” Poppy would spew out, rushing around in her hair to find something, anything, to help her new friend. Yet, Branch only cupped her cheeks and turned her attention over to where Trollex was sitting, forcing her to take a second look. That’s when she spotted it, seeping and clumping up under Trollex’s hand was blood.

That’s when Delta’s shouting for a medic began to ring in Poppy’s ears. That’s when Baarb had stopped on stage, her breath hitched as she realized what she had done. That’s when a hush fell over the stage as looks were passed around, unsure what to do about the current situation. Half weren’t even sure how this had happened, or how it went unnoticed during the whole song and dance number performed minutes earlier! “Medic, Y’all we need a medic!” Delta shouted as she extended one of Trollex’s fins, noting the other gash that ran down his leg. Trollex tried shaking his head, trying to say how he would be fine, yet he was only hushed when Delta had applied some disinfecting cream (which she got from Branch) around his flipper gash.  “Uh-huh,” Delta mumbled sarcastically as Poppy and Queen Essence tried to get a Techno medic to help, “Pumpkin, you’re as fine as a horse who’s broken his leg! Stop playin’ the hero, you’re hurt.” But Trollex only shook his head again, knowing there was only so much time he had, “I have to get back home! I-” Though he was only interrupted again as he kicked his flipper towards Delta, feeling the disinfecting cream again. “Hey, we’re all safe and here, right? There’s no rush to get back home! So just stay here and let us help you,” Branch tried to reason with Trollex, yet this wasn’t his speciality. This was something more in Poppy’s area, yet she was off trying to get a medic from the Techno tribe to help Trollex.

“He’s right, you’re going to sit your ass here and not move!-” Started Delta, her adamant tone apparent as she gestured for Branch to hold down Trollex’s fin. If Trollex was involuntarily kicking her for applying disinfecting cream to his fin, she did not want to know how hard he’ll kick once she tried to disinfect the gash on his chest. As Delta carefully moved Trollex’s hand away from his chest, Barb (nervous and almost paralyzed with uncertainty and guilt) tried to jump in to ask how she or anyone could help; Knowing she had accidentally taken things a little too far after the whole rebellion Trollex tried to start to get back the strings—which Barb didn’t exactly appreciate at the time, even if he was the only one who actually had to courage to try and face her. She also regretted threatening the egg that Trollex had been hiding in his hair. Not like she was actually ever going to attack it, that would be going too far, yet… Barb stopped mid-way through her apology as she saw the expressions the others were giving her. She gave a, what looked to be, sheepish smile. “Yeah, maybe you should have cut it off before you started spewing about threatening to attack a baby troll.” Delta pointed out, flabbergasted that Barb would even act upon such a thought; even if it was an empty threat with nothing behind it. “Yeah…” Barb agreed, rubbing the back of her neck.

Luckily, no one had to sit on this subject for long as Poppy rushed back while waving her hands and shouting that they had found a medic from the Techno tribe. The medic had paused at first, a look of terror crossing their face as they saw Trollex. That was, until they were nudged by Poppy to go help and in which they instantly got to work; Pulling out bandages made from a mixture of seaweed, seagrass, and kelp to help stop the bleeding while the salt will help disinfect the wounds. “How’s the little one?” The medic would ask as he made quick work of tightened up the bandages around Trollex’s torso. Carefully, not wanting to ruin the bandages, Trollex reached up into his hair and produce the warm egg; it was slightly colder than it should be, as the ocean temperatures help regulate Techno eggs as much as the parents' hair does—due to the unfuzzy nature of Techno trolls’ hair, the extra warmth from the ocean is needed to stimulate growth within the egg. The medic passed the bandages off to Delta, who got a bit confused upon seeing the bandages but shrugged and went to work bandaging his fin, as the medic stood up. They held out their hands, a silent request to take the egg. Yet, Trollex looked weary passing the egg on. He brought it to himself slightly, a look of confliction crossing his face. And that’s when the medic grew a somber look, knowing the reason behind his hesitation. They haven’t seen you since the attack, and Trollex was sure you had come back before it all. 

“What? What’s wrong?” Poppy jumped in on a chance to try and help, noticing the frowned eyebrows and the somber looks that the two trolls shared. Yet, she received no response. Which clouded the others with nerves, unsure what to do or what to say or how to help with a situation they had no information on. “Excuse me, Barb…” The medic would turn to Queen Barb, who stiffened a little at the sudden addressment. She looked at the two, glancing between them, as the Medic glanced down at Trollex with an unreliable expression for a moment. Trollex would only shake his head, in which the Medic would take a step away from everyone; Creating some sort of space that seemingly was needed for this situation. Trollex was careful as he tried to push himself onto his fins, Delta and Branch helping to support him back up as Trollex held his egg. He kept his eyes down at it for a while, a silence fogged over the silent stage as chatter from other trolls in the crowd could be heard. And despite that, it seemed overly quiet. “Barb,” Trollex started cautiously, trying to pick and choose his words. His eyes narrowed, a pained expression flashed in his eyes as he glanced up at Barb,  “Did you ever harm someone from my Tribe?” “Yeah…?” Barb started, cautiously and a little nervous at the look she was getting. “You!... by accident.”

“No, not me! I mean another Techno troll who happened to be, like, this tall and also had an egg with them that looks like mine?” Trollex hugged the egg tighter in effect to try and show he was crossing his arms in some sort of way. Yet the worry that crossed his face was more than enough to show he wasn’t playing, if anyone had even thought that in the first place. And the panicked look that crossed with realization that flashed across Trollex’s face the second that Barb had said “no” freaked the others out more. Yet, in Trollex’s mind, all he could think about was you. You; Who could possibly be all alone at this moment. You; Who was most likely left in the desolate and destroyed Techno reef. You; Who didn’t handle abandonment well. You; You consumed his thoughts as worry began to boil over him, flooding every single vein on his body as horrible images flashed through his head on what you could be facing right at this moment. None of them he liked. All of them lead to one conclusion; He had to get back to you right now.

@!; A week of isolation was not the best for a Troll; Nevertheless a week of isolation with self deprecating thoughts without something to stop them while having to take care of an egg was absolute torture. At times you wanted to smash the egg, hatred boiling over your body at the isolation, at the fact that you had been left, at yourself; Yet you had always managed to catch yourself before you did so and you always felt so much shame for acting in such a way. How could you try and kill your own child, who had done nothing wrong? How could you even think about taking their life before they had even been able to experience the world? How could you be such a monster? You sometimes grew so disgusted with yourself that you couldn’t touch your egg for hours; Simply taking to stare at it after having wrapped it in a kelp blanket as you replayed the terrifying scene in your mind. So many times you had been close to snapping, so many times you had almost smashed the egg or decided to leave it alone and pray it got eaten. So many times you thought about leaving it entirely and going on your own way, to leave this all behind instead of sticking around with some sort of sickening hope that someone, anyone, would come back and help. Something kept you here though, caged you in your own torture. Trapped you in isolation with a choking self hatred that you couldn’t shake no matter how much you tried. You weren’t sure how long ago you had the color sucked out of you, you hadn’t been counting how long everyone had been gone. You hadn’t slept well since that day, so you couldn’t even attempt to judge the days.

You hadn’t even realized when Trollex had returned, even despite the group of people he had following him (due to his injuries). The ringing in your ears blocked out the shouting, the fuzz in your brain made it hard to think of anything anymore. “Starfish?” Trollex shouted, panicking as he zipped around Techno reef. He turned over every building, trying to find any place you could be isolating yourself at. “Dude, hey!” Synth tried to follow Trollex, “You’re injured, slow down!” He shouted, glancing back at other leaders who had decided to follow. He just had to make sure they were good in the air bubbles they had blown for them before he zipped off towards Trollex, just to make sure he didn’t make his injuries worse. Yet, Trollex couldn’t care less about everyone else. He needed to find you, scratch that he was going to find you before anymore time could pass. “Starfish? Love?” And that’s when he found you at his DJ station, back resting against his turntables as you stared at the kelp-wrapped egg in front of you. Something in Trollex made him stop, despite the feeling that made him want to lunge at you and tackle you in a hug. He knew you were bad alone, even more so horrible with overthinking, and he had expected you to be in a bad shape when he found you yet… not this. Not gray. He had promised you wouldn’t hurt when you started dating and he had failed.

Trollex was more careful to approach you this time around, slowly swimming around his turntables to sit down next to you. He wanted to do nothing more than to hug you, to reassure that he was back and he didn’t mean to leave you. That all those nasty thoughts in your head were nothing but lies, yet he wasn’t even sure where to start; You were so out of it that you hadn’t even acknowledged him yet. In the background, Synth had finally caught up with Trollex enough to see what was happening. He had paused himself seeing the scene, even backing up a little to give you both some sort of privacy; stopping the other tribe leaders as well. They couldn’t see much from where they floated, yet they could make out Trollex carefully taking the second egg into his hands and storing it in his hair along with the first, before turning to you—all gray and desolate. The silence was deafening, it was so deafening all you wanted to do was to cover your ears and forget sound existed at all. Yet, as you tried to cover your ears your hands were caught by Trollex’s; His familiar hands, the way your hands fit into his, and the warmth. It made you crumble, despite everything that circled in your mind like a tornado and you were pulled into a hug instantly. A warm hug, a familiar one. Most importantly one that could cloud all the silence with a simple ‘thump’, ‘thump’, ‘thump’. 

.ᐟ this work is published and owned by @vacayisland. please do not plagiarize, copy, or steal this work; like, reblogs, and saves are appreciated :D

[thursdayinspace]

Okay, so I wrote a sequel to this one that doesn't hurt! I made them all better! Listen, I love making them sad sometimes, but also I want them to be happy all the time and to have everything they want forever and ever. Soooo here's a ficlet for that. Tagging @today-in-fic

He’s not hers. He never will be. That’s not how it works. He’s not hers and she’s not his, and that’s as it should be.

“Hey,” he says, next to her on the bed, his eyes soft in the early evening light. “You’re far away.”

“I’m right here,” she says, and she is. With him in this moment, because he isn’t hers, but he is here.

His kiss is slow and full of promise and she sinks into it with her eyes closed. She’s mapped his body with her hands and navigates by touch, knows her way to all the secret places that she loves, all familiar routes that guide her home. She stakes no claim on this new land, he isn’t her possession. He is her haven in the storm and her shelter, he’s jagged cliffs and burning desert and dark, starless woods that tempt you off the path straight into peril. He’s her October afternoon, soft blankets and candlelight when rain falls heavily outside.

She’s on her back and he’s above her, unmoving for a moment, and her smile is easy and content, she doesn’t need to make it happen. His eyes hold stories in their depths and so many are about them, dark and tragic, hopeful and not yet over. She doesn’t need his words. He offers them so freely and she takes them for the gift they are. Her own seem so inadequate to her ears, but he takes them with wonder in his eyes and affection in his smile and maybe he understands her like she understands him. If anyone ever has, it’s him.

He’s mapped her too and knows her secret places; he doesn’t hurry as he travels her body with his lips. Down and down, he knows where he wants to go, and she’s ready, always ready, waiting for him eagerly. He opens her with his tongue and sighs against her, so content, like he has finally arrived. His mouth is skilled and hungry. He parts her thighs wider to expose her completely, and she fists her hands in his hair as he licks at her eagerly like he’s the one receiving pleasure from this. He’s sworn to her that it’s true.

It feels amazing and she loses track of time. She’s surfing on the waves of arousal that crest higher and higher until her thighs clench and her toes curl and her hips rise off the bed. She comes with a cry, flooding his tongue, and he grips her tighter, presses in closer, and laps at her like a starving man. He doesn’t stop until she pushes his head away weakly, whispering his name, her heart racing.

His cheek is resting on her thigh when the world swims back into focus. He looks very pleased with himself.

“Good?” he asks.

“Oh god.” She laughs. “Do you really have to ask me that?”

The happiness on his face is everything. She doesn’t remember the moment she made it her goal to put it there as often as she could. He’s been smiling a lot more lately.

It’s hard to comprehend sometimes how much she wants him. Hers is a world of science, of facts. This can’t be quantified. Even if there were a scale, it would be useless. If there were rules, they wouldn’t apply. There is no limit and there are no conditions, there’s only him, and he is infinite, he’s everywhere. In everything she sees and feels there is a part of him because their lives have touched and blended, and should they ever separate, a part of him would stay behind. He’s not hers. But he’s a part of her.

She welcomes him back into her arms and he leans in for a kiss. She can taste herself on his tongue. She is a part of him too.

There’s no resistance as he sinks into her. The stretch is welcome and familiar, her body knows him, needs him. His hips move with intent, with purpose, no hesitation, no reason to hold back. And she brings her legs around him and holds him close.

He’s not hers, but he gives himself to her, wholly and completely. He gives himself not as a thing to posses but as a companion, a partner, a home. His heart is in her hands as a loan, and she will keep it safe until he wants it back. His words, his eyes, his touch tell her it’s hers forever, but only time will tell them if that’s true. She’s given him her heart in return. She can’t imagine ever asking for it back.

The presence of him as he moves inside her still overwhelms her. The look on his face, the warmth of his body, the sound of his moans. She’s out of her box, and maybe it was always her who kept the lid closed, maybe it was always him who tried to let her out. The walls are shattered and the universe is rushing in on her, on them. It doesn’t scare her anymore.

Words are on his lips and she doesn’t look away. Her hands are on his back and she feels his muscles working under his skin as he rocks into her hard, over and over. He’s taking what she gives, and she lets him lose himself in her.

“Scully,” he breathes.

She leans up to kiss her own words onto his lips while he searches for his voice. “More,” she whispers, and knows he catches every meaning of the word.

His forehead touches hers as he shifts between her legs before he thrusts in hard, harder than before, and she throws her head back and gasps out her pleasure. “Like this?”

“Yes,” she says, and loses herself in him as he fucks her like he knows her.

Her orgasm is different with him—she holds nothing back. The sounds she makes, the look on her face, the desperate way she claws at him. She cannot hide from him, she has no protection. And she doesn’t care, she doesn’t care. He’s seen her dying, seen her bruised and beaten, held her sobbing in his arms. There are no secrets between them anymore, no shame.

She lets go, his name falling from her lips, a cry of pleasure and a prayer. He’s here, not hers, but with her. And she comes with her whole body, with him deep inside her, and she’s wild, ravenous, her tensing muscles burning as he makes her come alive with pure and perfect bliss.

When he comes inside her she clings to him, rides it out with him, her body still pulsing with the memory of her release.

And she is no longer waiting for the bee to sting.

He raises himself up on his forearms to look at her face, meet her eyes, his cock softening inside her, and at last he finds his voice.

“I love you,” he says, and she doesn’t need to believe. She knows.

“I love you too.”

They don’t need to pretend. Maybe there’ll be an end one day, but the universe is eternal and so are they, a part of each other, and this she does believe: there’s always a way.

He lies next to her and takes her hand, and for now, they’re home.

[after-witch]

Horrorfest: I'm Smarter Than The Devil, I'm Smarter Than the Devil! [Yandere Demon Chrollo x reader]

Title: I'm Smarter Than the Devil, I'm Smarter Than the Devil! [Yandere Demon Chrollo x Reader]

Synopsis: You should always read the rulebook before committing to a deal with the devil.

For Horrorfest request:

Hi! This is my first time sending in a prompt, so please forgive any formatting errors :) the prompt is "Reader doesn't read the fine print and accidentally sells soul to demon!Chrollo" (hxh)

Word count: 1024ish

notes: yandere, bad decisions

It isn’t fair. It simply isn’t fair. It is oh so, completely, wholly, utterly, entirely unfair. 

“I didn’t know–” you start, and stop, and hate how childish you sound. Whining and petty, and this is no petty thing. 

After all, you’ve sold your soul to the devil.

Well, correction. You’ve sold your soul to a devil. 

A devil you hadn’t seen in years, and hadn’t expected to see ever again. Not after the night you made the trade, a trade which had seemed simple enough at the time. 

Everything seems simpler, doesn’t it, when you’re not looking back with the unwelcome clarity of hindsight?

–

“And… all I have to do is sign your book?” 

How weak you must look–how human, how mortal–to the demon standing in front of you. The bandage he’d wound around his head when he first showed up is gone, and underneath it, imprinted on his skin, is a mark that is sure to mean nothing good. 

He’s not bad looking, you suppose. For a devil. Dark hair and eyes that seem to see right through you. Part of you wants to ask about the coat–doesn’t it get hot, where he comes from, with the fur collar?--but now that you’re soaking in the reality of it all, mostly you’re focused on the book in his hands.

A book that glows, a book with pages whose words swim around when you try to peek at them. 

The demon smiles politely, with no teeth. If he were to grin, would he have fangs? 

“And agree to make a trade.”

You swallow. Right. The book said you would have to make a trade with the demon you summoned. This could be anything, as long as the demon wanted it. Someone else’s life; a precious object, usually sentimental; or well. Your stomach squirms at one of the other things the book said a demon may want, and you hope it doesn’t come to that. 

“What… do you want to trade for?” You want to smack yourself on the head the moment the words leave your lips. Giving the demon an open-ended opportunity is a rookie mistake–and yeah, it was your first time summoning a demon, and maybe some of the online articles you found were a bit sketchy, but the guide book seemed solid enough. Given by a friend of a friend who swore his cousin used it and it worked out just fine.

The demon snorts.

“Didn’t your little book tell you not to leave it up to me?”

“Um.” You shrug, feeling stupid, and human, and very, very pathetic. “Yes. But I just–well.” You turn out your pockets, empty as anything; that’s why you summoned the demon, after all. You need your big break. A way to make money, to be successful, to finally have the lucrative career you always wanted. “I figured it’d be better if you just tell me what you want from me?”

The demon’s gaze narrows. 

“What makes you think I would want something from you, little human?” He takes a step forward, and a warmth fills the air. Not a comforting warmth, but something unpleasant, like the smell of gas when you open a stove. “How arrogant.”

He’s going to kill you he’s going to kill you he’s going to–

“But there must be something you don’t have,” you blurt out. “Even demons must be unhappy like we are, and want something different. Right?” Oh, it’s stupid, and unbearably human, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind. Honest, dumb thing that you are. 

The demon parts his lips–and then closes them abruptly. He tilts his head at you, gazing at you with a curiosity just as unpleasant as the bitter warmth around him.

“What an unusual thing to say,” he murmurs.

He’s going to leave. He won’t make the deal. He might kill you, at worst. At best, you’ve done all this for nothing. 

“All right. I’ll make a deal.”

You can’t hide the surprise on your face.

“You-you mean it?” Giddy, awful hope bubbles up inside you. “But–what will you trade for?”

The demon smiles primly. “Something you can’t even feel.  You won’t miss it once it’s gone, I promise you.”

Your head is too full of anticipation to think about it further. The bitter air around you doesn’t help, adding an almost hazy feeling to your head. Something you can’t feel and won’t miss… maybe a talent you didn’t know you had? Or one you did, but won’t miss after he’s taken it. You always did like singing, maybe he’ll snap up your singing voice and shove it in his pockets. Or he’ll walk away with your favorite genre of book, forgotten in your emptier head, no worse for the wear.

“Deal!” You blurt. 

He does smile wider then, a grin. He doesn’t have fangs, but that doesn’t make it less unnerving.

The book’s pages glow when he holds them out to you, and they’re warm when he presses a quill in your hands and bids you to sign your name.

You do. Shaky, uneven. But your name, there, forever in the pages.

The book snaps shut.

You have only a brief glimpse of the demon before he disappears in a wisp of black smoke. As he vanishes, he says something, but you don’t quite know what it means–

“Chrollo.”

–

You can’t feel a soul, and who knows when it’s gone? Not you, certainly. Though there’s something jittery about the realization that you’ve been walking around for years with nothing underneath your skin but your brain and bones and blood.

Did anyone else notice? Was some light gone from your eyes, never to return?

All because some demon had lifted your soul like a pickpocket. Through deception, through misdirection. 

“Don’t be so sour with me, dear.” The pet name makes your stomach roil. 

That bitter warmth from so many years ago, the unpleasant hit that feels like it’s coming from a furnace, seems to rise up from behind you, pushing you into his arms. He still wears his coat, after all these years; an impractical looking thing, considering how hot it must be where he comes from.

How hot it must be, where you’re going.

He presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. 

“It’s not my fault you didn’t read the fine print.” 

[arcanarix]

Make That Double, Ch2 - Yan!SatoSugu X Fem!Reader [AO3]

Word Count: 6.8K

Warnings (for this chapter): mutual mastuurbation (btwn stsg), non-con, cunnilingus, panty gags, bondage (chains), deaths

Geto meets with Gojo during times where it’s feasible, which is becoming more and more of a rarity these days. While it’s not like the higher-ups can do much about it even if Gojo gets caught, Geto isn’t fond of the idea of him having to clean up a mess he’s caused all on his own accord.

“What’re you staring at me for? Want to go another round, or…?” Satoru snags him out of his thoughts, and Geto shakes his head, nuzzling his face into Satoru’s neck as they’re tangled up in each other in bed, their breaths and heartbeats in sync. He’s told the girls he might be held up a little longer than expected, and thus Suda is supervising them to ensure they’re not up to the wrong kind of mischief while he’s absent. He has a feeling that the girls are already suspecting something else is going on—especially since Satoru comes out of his mouth like word vomit in conversations—but that’s not his problem to deal with right now.

“You’re risking so much just to be with me,” he mumbles into his skin. “I’m not worth the trouble.”

“Hey,” Gojo murmurs, pressing a chaste kiss to Geto’s temple. “Don’t say things like that. I told you—we’ll figure this shit out like we always do, right? I’m sorry I couldn’t be around when it really mattered.”

“It always matters that you’re here,” Geto insists, “But it doesn’t mean you should risk everything you work toward for my sake. Besides, I don’t regret what I did for the twins, or what I did to my parents. It was deserved.”

Gojo doesn’t make a comment about his parents; while he agrees with Geto’s sentiments about them being genuinely flawed people, they still loved him. The comment just doesn’t sit right with him. Everyone is capable of doing terrible things—even Gojo hasn’t been against slaughtering mass numbers of non-sorcerers after what’s happened with Riko—but this? This is something he can’t wholly fathom from Geto, least of all from Geto.

But it’s not like Gojo can make any claims—most of it is kind of baseless given he has a distant relationship with his own folks.

Even so…

“Whoever said I gave a damn about what the higher-ups think? Except for maybe Yaga,” he quips as he drags out a sigh. “The higher-ups are a bunch of conservative fools. I’m a sensei now just to spite them.”

“I genuinely fear for your students,” Geto deadpans. Gojo scoffs, casting a sidelong glance at the curse user.

“Hey! Am I that bad?” he laments, pouting like a sad puppy.

“…Do you really want me to answer that?” Geto drawls with a little smirk playing on his lips. Gojo’s resolve crumbles in that moment and he’s still pouting like a petulant child.

“You’re no fun,” he gripes and Geto chuckles at that. He doesn’t want to, but he knows he has to return to his own duties. The girls are going to get a little restless not knowing where he is and the last thing he needs to cause is unnecessary conflict.

He shifts a bit in his spot, and Gojo whines, snuggling into him closer to keep him in place.

“I should probably get ready to leave,” he announces as he moves to untangle himself from Gojo’s body, but Gojo protests out loud with another pitiful whine, yanks him back into bed, his lips barely brushing over his. Geto can’t even complain; he won’t deny Gojo has him wrapped around his finger even now.

“Stay a while longer,” he murmurs, and their lips finally lock. This time, it’s Geto melting into Gojo and allowing himself to be vulnerable for a while longer. He doesn’t get to have moments like these to himself as much anymore. There’s no room for it given his position that he put on himself willingly. He means what he told Gojo—he doesn’t regret his decisions. He doesn’t regret breaking away from jujutsu society and their outdated ways of life. Maybe the only thing he regrets is not telling Satoru the truth sooner.

But perhaps, Satoru knowing that even now, Geto bends to his will, must be enough reassurance for him.

Later that evening, Geto finds a moment to find Satoru back at his penthouse. His students have been sent away on one of his missions—his idea of tough love, he tells him in jest—but that also gives Satoru more of an excuse not only to spend time with Geto, but to observe you on the sidelines.

Currently, you’re probably back at the bakery between your class schedule. Gojo has commented that he sees you working on your assignments on your shifts, admiring how much of a hard worker you appear to be. That’s ought to pique Geto’s interest as well—it’s important for his future doting wife to be dutiful as well, after all.

Upon entering the living space, Gojo’s once again sprawled onto the love seat, fiddling with a piece of unfamiliar cloth in his hand. Geto’s eyes widen, violet eyes sparkling in curiosity as he approaches his lover, looming over him.

Does that pair of panties…belong to you? It looks like a thong…

“How did you get this?” Geto asks, eyeing the pair of panties in Gojo’s hand. “Is it hers?”

“Indeed it is, and how else?” Gojo scoffs at the redundant questions. How unlike Geto to seem so slow to figure shit out. “I dug through her stuff while she was in class.”

As realization dawns on him, he growls like a crackle of lightning and leans in further to closely inspect the cloth.

“Give that to me,” Geto growls, attempting to snatch it from his hand but Gojo’s eyes twinkle as he keeps it just out of reach, shifting over to the further edge of the couch.

“Wait your turn, baby,” he purrs as he brings the lacy red cotton thong to his nose, inhaling your fresh scent. “Fuck. I bet she tastes as good as she smells.”

“Satoru,” he addresses in a firmer tone as Geto’s lips curl into a pout. “Give me.”

Gojo smirks as he slips his free hand into his slacks, brushing a calloused thumb over his tip. He shivers. He’s already leaking and hard, but he can make himself last as long as needed. Plenty of practice on his own and with Geto.

“Satoru…” Geto tries again, crawling onto the couch toward him and wrapping his arms around his waist, scooting closer. “You’re torturing me.”

“Wait your turn, but if you need it that badly, you can just join me.” His gaze flickers down at Geto’s lap, then meets his eyes, a devious little glint in his sharp sky blue eyes.

A whimper leaves Gojo’s lips as he’s already so oversensitive.

Geto runs his tongue past his lips as he observes the scene unfold. Gojo keeps the underwear hovering over his nose, debauched by your scent, his face flushed with a coat sweat leaving behind a light sheen on his fair complexion. Geto finds himself scowling to himself—has Gojo really lost his patience so soon? He has yet to secure you and yet here he is, swindling things from your apartment just because he doesn’t know how to wait.

The best things come to those who do, after all; as old and cliché as that adage is, Geto finds it to be truer the older he gets.

Groaning in defeat (as much as he loathes to admit it), Geto slips his hand into his pants and begins to lightly stroke his cock, eyes fixed on the cloth shoved into Gojo’s face.

“Why are you taking so long with her?” Gojo moans into the fabric. “She smells so good. So sweet.”

“We can’t afford to be impulsive, Satoru,” he mutters, picking up his pace as he rests his forehead onto Gojo’s shoulder.

“I know, but come fucking on…you need her more badly than I do. This is about you, ultimately, you know. There’ll be a time where…fuck…I can’t be here at all. And you need someone. I also have to…fuck…take care of Fushiguro’s kid.”

“I know,” Geto mumbles, now practically fisting his cock so hard there’s a splorch, splorch, splorch—with each firm stroke as he nears his release. It won’t nearly be as satisfying once he finally has you where he wants you, though. Satoru agrees with that sentiment; Geto can tell.

“Fuck, Suguru. You’re down bad for a monkey,” he teases as his eyes remain fixed on his leaking girth. “Maybe your convictions aren’t that solid at all, Suguru.”

“Shut up,” he snaps in a low hiss, biting onto his shoulder and making Gojo yelp from the contact.

They climax together, their breaths mixing as they pant to catch their breath.

“You’re so down bad,” Gojo chortles, leaning in to peck his lips. “But so am I.”

Geto finally snatches the panties from Gojo’s clutches. Gojo’s lips twitch into a smirk.

Your only classes today have been canceled, so you take a full shift at the bakery. It’s not like there are many other employees anyway, and you can use the extra cash. Nothing wrong with adding a few extra hours, right? Just means you’re prioritizing the right things in your life, unlike last night while you were sobbing into the shower about your lack of a love life…

…And as if to rub salt into the wound, your eyes flit to a couple sitting at one of the bars by the window near the entrance. Sharing scones. Sneaking kisses. Taking couple selfies. Popping cherries into each other’s mouths. It makes you sigh in longing as you sink your face into a clenched fist. You so wish you can have something like that. Something pure, happy, carefree. Something to keep you working toward something if it means spending the rest of your life with someone you love. It makes things like this a little more worthwhile, because you have someone to go home to.

Instead, all you have waiting at home is a whole lot of nothing.

“Excuse me!” a customer ushers with a bright smile, waving his hand in front of your face. You snap out of your thoughts and smile apologetically back. “Hey, sorry. I didn’t want to bug you, but I was waiting to order for a bit now.”

“Oh! I’m so sorry about that,” you reply as you zip back over to the cash register. “What can I get ready for you?”

“Hey, aren’t you in Evolutionary Computing with me?”

“Oh, are you a graduate student?” you ask with your curiosity clearly piqued. Now that you examine his face, you do kind of recognize him…this might be a chance to really make some connections this year! Your heart is leaping with joy at the idea; does this mean you might even find someone if you actually actively try?

He shakes his head, still wearing a bright smile that makes your heart rush. This guy seems to be bouncing off the walls with sunshine. Maybe he has that golden retriever energy people explain so much about on social media, and that’s just your type!

“PhD,” he corrects while scratching the back of his head. “But I’m taking that class this term. Man, it’s no joke, huh?”

You burst into a fit of giggles at that notion. That class has kept you up for many nights slaving over debugging endless lines of code. “No kidding! Those projects sure are hefty. Did you keep running into bugs in that last workshop she assigned us?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s annoying, for sure. I’m still debugging that code! Maybe we can help each other out a bit, yeah?” he offers as he pulls out his phone. “We have a chat for the class if you want to join that too.”

“I’d love that, thank you!” You realize something you nearly forgot. “Oh right, your order?”

“Oh, yeah! Um…” he trails off, scanning the menu above you. “I could go for a Nutella crepe and some black coffee.”

“Awesome, I’ll have that right out for y—!” Your voice peters out as you hear the ding of the bell on the door, another customer strolling inside.

You heart threatens to stop then and there.

It’s Geto.

And he’s alone, this time. Your classmate must have caught onto your unease, and you try to shake yourself out of it. Just bounce back like you always do! You have a job! And you’re working hard as a student, even trying to make friends here! And you’re doing just fine!

You clear your throat, bouncing back to your customer service tone, ignoring the way your voice wavers ever so slightly. “Yeah, I’ll get that right out for you! And we can talk about class stuff later.”

The stranger nods with a handsome smile. “Yeah! I’m Masato Fujimoto, by the way!”

“Nice to meet you!” you exclaim. You tell him your name.

You ignore the icky, prickly feelings over your skin as Geto approaches the counter, glaring into Fujimoto’s back.

As Fujimoto shuffles over to settle into one of the bar stools, you keep on a plastered smile as Geto approaches the counter.

“Hello again,” you greet with another practiced smile. You try not to pay attention, but his eyes are still following Fujimoto…why’s that? Does he recognize him or something? “Are you picking up some things for your twins?”

“Not quite,” he answers, as his piercing violet gaze fixes on you. You cock your head to the side, eyebrows scrunching as you’re bombarded with a myriad of swirling thoughts. He seems more standoffish than usual today…What’s with him? Is there still trouble in paradise, or is he just a tired father?

“Oh?” And for fuck’s sake, why do you care? He’s just a customer, remember?

“I’m just here to propose an offer,” he begins, his tone authoritative, much like a father’s. “But before that, I suppose I should order something for the girls.”

“How can those two eat so much Nutella and not get sick?” You find yourself giggling into your hand, as if in an effort to put an ease to that tension weighing ok your heart.

“I haven’t the slightest idea,” he admits, seeming to humor your attempt at small talk, perhaps also in an effort to help you lower your guard around him. You appreciate the effort he’s making this time around.

As he pulls out his wallet, you rest your hand over his to stop him as he hands over his card.

“It’s on me,” you tell him with a tight-lipped smile. If it’s just stuff at home weighing him down, that might lift a bit of tension off of his shoulders…right?

He’s frozen in his spot again, and he actually blinks a few times at that—that’s probably the most reactive you’ve ever seen him with you; you aren’t sure what to make of it—but without another word, he returns his wallet to his back pocket. As he does, another customer strolls in and turns to the counter upon recognizing Geto.

You recognize this customer, too. He’s come here a handful of times, and has honestly spent more money here than any other customer that you have ever had drop by literally ever. You wonder if that guy is really made of money if he can just waste it all like that on something as trivial as sweets.

“Suguru,” the tall man with shock white hair greets him in a lazy drawl as he ambles over to him, wrapping a long arm around his shoulders. He cast a glance at you, his lips twitching into a small smirk. “Good morning, Princess.”

“Hi, Gojo, it’s been a while,” you reply, as your gaze flits from him to Geto, and back to him. “You two are friends?”

Gojo nods, as his sunglasses catch the ceiling lights, that unsettling and somehow misplaced smirk widening the longer he stares at you. “Yep. Something like that.”

“Go wait at a table or something, Satoru,” Geto commands smoothly as Gojo visibly deflates from the notion. If you don’t know any better, he might be thinking he’s missing out on something fun. Nothing’s fun about these jobs.

Satoru? …He’s that Satoru? It’s not like he introduced himself to me with his first name anyways…

Gojo doesn’t leave just yet, hanging around Geto for just a bit longer—just to observe what plays out, maybe?

“Sorry about him. He can be a bit…” Geto trails off, eyes rolling upward as if seeking the right word. “Overzealous.”

“No worries,” you respond as you type in the rest of his typical order for the twins. “I’ll get your order right away for you. Does your friend Gojo want to order something?”

“Satoru?” Geto addresses. Gojo drags out a sigh as he scans the menu above you.

“What’s the sweetest thing you got on the menu?” He lowers his sunglasses—why does he wear those inside? And are those Cartier?—revealing a pair of stunning sky blue eyes boring into yours. “Besides you, of course.”

Your cheeks heat up, caught off guard by the comment before you splutter from nervous laughter as Geto whacks his head.

“Ow! Hey!” Gojo shouts, rubbing the sore area while scowling. “What the hell, Suguru?”

“I told you to go wait at a table, you twit,” Geto chastises as a frown stresses his features. “I’ll deal with you later.”

Gojo makes a sound.

“Did you just call me a twit?” Gojo shoots back with a little pout of his glossed lips.

“Yes, because that’s what you are,” Geto jeers, not daring to look at his face because he knows he’ll cave in that very moment. “Now for goodness sake, Satoru. Do as I tell you.”

Gojo is still pouting as he makes a face at Geto.

“You’ve been fathering so hard that it’s spilling into this relationship,” Gojo quips before he twists around on his heel and saunters off. You’re stunned into silence at the exchange. So they are lovers or just close friends? That’s difficult to discern, and you don’t really care to dig much deeper in that moment. The dynamic is strange, but you have come to find that everything about Suguru Geto—you know his first name now, at least—is downright strange.

A tense silence hangs over the two of you. You fiddle with your frilly sage green apron as something coils in your stomach. An instincts urges you to flee for some reason, but you doubt you can get very far… and you don’t know what you’re fleeing from just yet but you have a fair idea.

After Gojo steps outside and settles at an outdoor table, Geto leans in with his own small smirk playing on his features. Your stomach tightens even further as your mouth presses into a thin line.

“Would you be interested in a little trick, little dove?” he inquires in a soft tone, catching you off-guard.

“Hm?” You cock your head. Is this one of those weird corny pickup lines and you just can’t understand it at all or something? And what the hell? ‘Little dove’? What are you, a pet?

Because that’s not endearing or sexy at all…

But maybe that’s not the goal for him.

“You come with us,” he goes on, “Or I kill everyone in this building.”

Your heart finally stops—a retort dying on your tongue…did you hear him correctly? Is he being for real? And does that mean Gojo is an accomplice of his, or something?

Your eyes flit to different corners of the building before landing back on Geto, whose eyes darken with malice.

“E-excuse me?” you cough, blinking rapidly as you’re taken aback.

“Oh, you silly, little dove,” he coos in a mocking way, that smirk still on his lips, showing bits of his teeth. “I forget how absurdly simple and stupid humans are.” He points somewhere behind you, to the kitchen, where three of the chefs are working diligently on the orders for this morning’s customers. You’re terrified to go along with this, but something inside of you is telling you not to challenge this man, not to enrage him.

“If you don’t believe me, then just observe,” he commands, as he continues pointing in that direction.

You swallow on a dry lump of nothing as you twist around to follow his finger. You don’t know what to expect.

“Which one first, would you say?” he asks, tone laden in something dark and sinister. You ignore the way your fingers twitch and how your knees already threaten to buckle. You cling onto the edge of the counter for dear life, as if that can save you now. “I don’t like how the chef in the middle gets too friendly with you between shifts, so we can start with him, hm?”

In the blink of an eye, you can’t rip your gaze away as the chef’s sleeve is caught on fire before the rest of his body is engulfed in flames. You’re quivering in your spot as the stench of charred flesh wafts through the air and your eyes meet the remains of his body, now completely burnt to ash. The other two chefs meet the same fate before they can scream or call for help.

Your hands fly over your mouth as you’re utterly helpless—you can’t save anyone here, either. Not when you’re face to face with a force you can’t even perceive or comprehend. Geto’s sickening cackle makes your blood burble beneath your skin, but you don’t know what you can do in a situation like this.

“Wh-why are you—?” You twist around to face him to meet him now with wild violet eyes and a smile that’s lusting for more action—whether shedding some blood or otherwise. You don’t know if he wants to spill your blood too.

And you don’t want to test the theory.

You still have half a mind to run, to make a break for it, just bolt out the entrance or somewhere in the back, but you’re no fool. You won’t get very far.

He now jabs his thumb to another direction. And you fear for the worst as you follow it to find the dismembered, mangled body of your classmate, his blood splattered all over the counter and tiled floor. The stench of decay and blood strengthens.

All the color from your skin fades. You gawk at him, fear evident in the way your eyes shimmer with tears. You don’t even hear the screams and shrieks because everyone has died at the snap of Geto’s fingers, practically.

What…what’s happening? Why is this happening? Why is he doing this? What have you done? Your head’s spinning from everything happening and you can’t even find a moment to truly grapple with it all.

“Now,” he continues in that same sharp, authoritative tone. “Come with us or every customer who waltzes inside dies on sight.”

Your lips quiver as you reluctantly nod. You don’t think to avert your gaze to know every other customer here, like that couple, are now dead by his hands.

“My little dove,” Geto purrs as you feel the presence of someone waltzing up from behind you. Someone is breathing down hard on the nape of your neck, and you’re caught—unable to flee, unable to do anything. You’re too weak to do anything, to try to do anything at all.

“Hey again, Princess,” Gojo drawls into your ear, his fingers lightly brushing down your arms until he grasps either of your wrists.

Before you know it, you lose consciousness from the sheer shock of it all.

 You hear faint voiced when you find yourself waking up.

“Damn, look at this thong! Who knew she was a little slut all along?” you recognize Gojo’s voice. “She’s not as innocent as she looks, eh? Bet she can’t go to bed without wringing a few orgasms out of herself with a toy or something. Princess must be lonely, hm?”

“You’re so crude, Satoru,” comes the exasperated response from Geto. The way they talk about you like you’re just some objectified toy… you’re pissed off about that, no doubt about it ,but can you really do anything in a situation like this? What even are they? How can they do the things they just did out there? All of the questions spiraling in your mind and yet you doubt they’ll give you any straight answers.

It's probably not even all that relevant anymore. You’re going to be flunking out of grad school due to absences and there’s going to be no way for you to redeem that.

Have they even thought about that? That you have a life you want? You have nothing outside of what you worked for, and now they’re just going to take all of that away just because they know they can get away with it?

“Fuuuuuck,” you hear a deep inhale from Gojo again. “She smells so good. Wonder if she uses those feminine washes. She smells so sweet. Like chocolate and strawberry.”

Geto bites back another groan.

“Satoru, shut up,” he chides, and you can practically feel Gojo clamping his mouth shut at his command like an obedient dog. “She’s waking up.”

Reluctantly, you do, your vision coming into full focus, and you’re met with the eager faces of the duo who brought you here…wherever here is. It’s a darker area, much akin to the dungeons you’d see in extravagant castles. It’s likely underground somewhere. It’s likely they’ve planned this for along time.

And it’s likely you’re going to die here…

“There she is! Hey, Princess,” Gojo grins as he twirls your lacy baby pink thong between his fingers.

He brings it to his nose again, inhaling your lingering scent sharply. “What do you use? You smell amazing. And look! There’s even a little wet spot just for me.”

He flicks his tongue against the stain and groans at your natural taste, making you gawk, appalled. What kind of freaks are these guys?

Do you really want to find out?

“Damn, Suguru,” he growls, kissing into the wet spot, making you wince from embarrassment. “You chose someone good.”

“Patience, Satoru,” he reprimands him as he rests a firm hand on his shoulder before staring down at you in your pitiful form, tutting a little.

“You must be so frightened. Don’t worry, little dove. We’ll get you comfortable soon enough. But first, we just need to…” Geto trails off as he and Gojo share a knowing glance. “…inspect a few things.”

You try to flinch away as his hand reaches out to you, but find you’re chained to the wall behind you. They rattle with each time you struggle. It’s only then you see your ankles are curled behind your head and secured with cuffs. There’s not much movement you can afford, even. You have to admit these guys really thought shit through.

What a humiliating position to find yourself in, indeed.

Geto crouches down and gets an eyeful of your cunt, already glistening with your slick. He whistles, impressed as two fingers pry your folds apart, making your sensitive skin hit the chilly air of wherever you are…it looks like a chamber…? Stone walls and underground…?

A dungeon, maybe, just like you said before. That’s the best way to put it, you figure. You’re their little damsel trapped in their dungeon.

“Please, it hurts!” you whimper, too scared to glance down to look.

“We haven’t even done anything yet, little dove,” Geto coos as his slender, bony middle finger makes soothing patterns over your clit. You bite back a hiss from the contact. “Besides, it’s not like we want to hurt you.”

“Quite the opposite,” Gojo coos as he grabs your chin and digs his fingers into your cheeks, forcing you to gaze up at him. He grazes his lips over yours. “We want to have a little fun. But let’s take care of a few things first, like Suguru said, okay? We want to know what we’re dealing with here, so answer us this: is this a virgin pussy here? We can make things work regardless, but it’s still important to us.”

Your eyes widen at the vulgarity of the question, but you haven’t a choice on the matter. You know how these things work; you’re no fool. You have to comply unless you want to be dealt a worse hand. You decide you’d rather take any humiliating thing they’d throw at you instead of something worse, like what they made you watch unfold back at the bakery… that’s another part of your life down the drain.

“Um…kind of yes, kind of no? I’m not sure what…um, counts. I never had anything…inside?” You feel the embarrassment seeping into your bones like acid. “Like, a real thing…like no dicks inside…just um…I use toys…on myself…”

God, the resounding embarrassment from admitting this to them is ridiculous.

You await judgment, mocking laughter...anything.

Instead, the two share another long glance as they process that information, before turning back to you.

“Fuck,” Gojo growls, his tongue poking out between his lips. “This is going to be fun.”

Gojo looms over you, hands trailing up your exposed stomach and stopping at your exposed breasts.

“Wow, look at those!" He’s singing you praises yet it’s in such a sickening, objectifying way…it’s so maddening. He squeezes both of your tits so hard they leave behind an impression. “Gosh, they feel like balloons!”

“Satoru,” Geto scolds, “Don’t be too rough on her so soon.”

Gojo bites back a groan, but heeds Geto’s warning regardless, opting to trail kisses up your sternum before stopping at the pulse point on your throat, where he suckles a bit on the skin. You can’t move, you can’t even fight back in a helpless position like this; all you can manage is a pathetic little whine leaving your lips in protest.

“Please, please don’t…” you beg through a broken sob.

“Don’t what, Princess? I’m not doing anything wrong,” he taunts as he latches his lips onto your neck, nipping a bit on the sensitive skin there and making you gasp.

Thankfully, this doesn't last for long.

“I’m afraid I have to run, Princess. Duty calls,” Gojo announces as he finishes peppering slobbery kisses all over your neck and collarbone. “I’ll be back for more, though. Don’t worry your pretty head.”

“Satoru,” Geto purrs, “Don’t have us wait long. And be careful out there.”

Gojo nods before he exits the dungeon, foot falls fading as he disappears up the flight of stairs in a far corner.

Geto hums as he spits into your pussy, making you thrash about in the chains. He tuts at that, eyes rolling upward to glare.

“None of that, little dove,” he growls as his lips hover over your soaking cunt. “Be still for me. It’ll make things easier if you don’t struggle.”

He licks a long line up your folds, groaning at your taste—as if he’s yearned for this longer than you’re even aware of yourself. A low whimper escapes your lips, and he drags out an irritated sigh. You already cause a minor annoyance, and he likely doesn’t want to hear any more protests out of you.

“Though it’s unnecessary,” he purrs as he balls up the thong Gojo returns to him before stuffing it into your mouth. “I just can’t help myself when you look so good like this.”

He closes his lips over your leaking, oversensitive pussy, his tongue rolling along your folds and twisting around your clit. You wish you can move, you wish you can scream, but they’re all muffled through the gag. You know better than to spit it out—it’s only going to anger him and the last thing you want is something worse than this. If this can even get any worse, which it certainly can.

His tongue rolls along your clit a few times, eliciting more reluctant moans out of you. You have wished it was a real tongue on your pussy instead of your clit sucker or something, but definitely not like this. You know they say be careful what you wish for, but when you wished for some action in your life, you absolutely did not mean in this form with two psychopaths absolutely obsessed with you.

Though, you have a feeling that Geto is the true mastermind behind all of this. It doesn’t even seem like Gojo is directly involving himself at all; he’s just going along with whatever Geto wants. Much like an obedient dog.

His mouth doesn’t leave your pussy and his violet gaze remains focused on yours. Geto’s more akin to a rabid animal than a person in this state, just feasting off of any scrapes he can and in this case those scrapes are your pussy. What a disgusting way to put it, but what other way can you? Nothing about this is arousing in the slightest!

His hands fly up to your breasts, his fingers and thumbs flicking and twisting the nubs of either one and you wail through the gag. He only chuckles in response, slipping one of your nipples into his mouth. He suckles hard, needily, his tongue twirling around the nub before biting down on it. He delivers the same treatment to the other nipple before repeating the process over and over. He leaves behind a number of hickeys and bruises, and this is far from over as he pulls back to observe his handiwork.

He even whips out his smart phone, snapping a few photos of you in such a humiliating, disheveled state, muttering something under his breath about showing them to Gojo later.

He slips it back into his pocket as he takes in another long eyeful of you, completely at his mercy. Your whole body shudders from his cold gaze. It’s only the beginning of such a humiliating way to go, but what else does he have in store for you?

“Since it looks like we have to ease you into this, to take us both,” Geto purrs as he lines his cock to your slick, gooey front entrance. All perfect for him to slide his entire length and girth easily, but he wants to be merciful to you—kind, even, and it makes bile threaten to spill out of your mouth at the mere prospect. “I won’t go further than the head for now.”

As he says so, the tip catches in your hole and a breathy gasp escapes your lips. Oh my god, does it sting, but he doesn’t care now, does he? He coos, inching the rest of the head inside and settling it in there, gasping as your spongy walls already try to clench around him.

“Oh, someone’s been dying for some action, hm? Don’t worry, little dove. I plan to give you everything and more. You’ll be wanting for nothing,” he vows as he shudders while bucking his hips once, testing your reactions.

It stings a little, but you have stuck dildos and vibrator wands up yourself. You just don’t expect his size, and you have a feeling Gojo isn’t much different in that aspect.

“Does it feel good to get some real cock in there for once?” he taunts in a low, mocking purr. “Especially, considering I’m quite large compared to most. That must thrill you, hm?”

You can’t believe he expects you to answer that. Your protests and whines are muffled through your panties.

Not from you, you think, sneering in your mind, but you don’t dare utter out loud.

You don’t give him the satisfaction of answering out loud, glowering at him as you grit your teeth. You’re at a loss of what more you can do. What else can you do?

He keeps a gentle rhythm, but doesn’t let you adjust. Not that you really need to, it’s just the tip, he swears, but just the head feels so fucking big.

He pulls out before he comes, so he’s at the least merciful.

“You feel perfect,” he groans ins reverent tone. “I can only expect this to feel just as good when I’m inside.”

His finger rims the ring of muscle just below.

“No…” you whimper more audibly through the gag before you can hold your tongue.

“No?” he coos through a disapproving scowl. “My little dove, you don’t have a choice. What we’ve done is only a taste of what we’re capable of doing if you disobey; do you really wish to find out how much damage we can create together?”

Your fearful eyes meet his—cold. Manic. Deranged.

“I can assure you, my love,” he drawls, thrusting the tip of himself once more. “It’s world shattering.”

You don’t dare challenge that statement; he’s not bluffing, and you know it. If he can do what he did at the bakery, what else can he do? And can he do that at a grander scale than what you already saw?

You fear the answer. You don’t entertain the thoughts further as Geto toys with you.

In what feels like hours, the humiliation stops.

After Geto has his way with you, he releases you from the chains and helps you to your feet. He brings his hands to cup your face, brushing his thumbs along your skin.

“While you are going to be arranged to remain with me, Satoru will be making plenty of visits,” he explains, pulling you into his chest in a protective hold as he guides you out of the underground dungeon. The stairs lead to his temple, apparently. He’s some fake priest or something. You figure he’s going to lead you to the restroom to help you wash up.

And you’re right. The first door you find leads to one and he ushers you inside, following after you and shutting the door behind him. You still are at a loss of how your life changed in a matter of seconds. You should not have taken your freedom for granted, and now you’re in the hands of this…whatever this man is.

Goosebumps rise on your skin as he approaches you from behind, rubbing your elbows in an attempt to soothe your overactive nerves. As if he wants to truly make you feel at home here, which somehow feels progressively more cruel…

“I’m very pleased to have you here,” he murmurs into your neck as he moves to start the shower, waiting for the water to preheat. “The girls will also be happy to know we secured you successfully.”

Secured? you think in disgust, glaring daggers at the audacity of this…this…fucker! This absolute piece of shit, dirtbag, scumbag! Who the hell does he think he is?! Doesn’t he mean kidnapped?

You don’t say a word as helps you into the shower, taking the time to clean off all of the dirt and grime while stealing a few kisses from you in the process. You don’t even think about protesting, not only knowing what he can do, but also not knowing the full extent of what he can do. Once he’s done, he allows you to perch onto the edge of the bathtub attached to the shower as he gathers a few items for you. He's trying to be hospitable, as if that’s going to fix the damage he’s done.

Un-fucking-believable. You don’t even know what you’re dealing with here, either, and he has yet to give you a real reason why you’re here.

“Now come,” Geto says as he helps you into a robe. “You have a new family waiting for you, my little dove. The girls are waiting to see you.”

“Do they know about this?” you mumble, halting in place. A part of you wants to believe those girls are innocent in all of this, but oh, how wrong you are going to be around it. “This side to you?”

He quirks an eyebrow at that. “I hide nothing from my girls. In fact, they’re the ones who insisted on you staying with us, you know. It’s them you should be thanking. They decided they want you, and that’s what I did.”

You feel your heart drop at that newfound information. What’s that people say these days? Don’t ever think you know a person’s heart. They’re always going to surprise you. Even with two girls as innocent and vulnerable as Nanako and Mimiko seem…apparently, they arrange this lifestyle for you.

“I see,” you mutter, but you don’t want to admit defeat just yet.

Geto tilts your head to meet his eyes, thumb brushing along your cheek. If you don’t know any better, you could dare call the look in his eyes something akin to affection. But you know you’re nothing more than a pet to him.

“Don’t fret, little dove. You’ll see that you belong with our little family in no time at all.”

[brandwhorestarscream]

part 4? can we get a part 4? holy fuck

i love these stupid pregnant robots . what da hell

big dad alpha trion also just Y_Y is so good.... what an utter papa bear

Here we go anon, as requested! I love stupid pregnant robots too uwu

Previous parts are here: part 1, part 2, part 3

And yes I agree, Alpha Trion is such a big cuddly papa bear 🥺 I'm so glad you see my vision. Anyway, without further ado, please enjoy part 4.

...

“You…” he takes a shaky invent. “Y-You really… wouldn’t mind?” Orion nods in affirmation, and Dee gives his first, weak little smile in days. “Ok,” it comes out in a whispered rush. “Alright… y-yeah, ok… let’s- l-let’s do it.”

It’s a small comfort that the cave is spacious, with many side caverns and walls to duck behind for privacy. Dee can’t stand the idea of anyone else seeing, of being on display. He doesn’t want anyone else to see him, nor does he want to see anyone else… no one but Orion.

They’re both nervous, and unsure of what to do. They sit side by side in a cozy, private little alcove away from the other, witj shoulders pressed together and EM fields mingling gently.

Beside him, Orion is warm. An ever comforting presence.

D-16 swallows, and inches his fingers over toward Pax. Their digits brush and he flinches minutely but Orion isn’t bothered. The blue servo turns over, pressing the back of his digits into the dirt, leaving his palm open and waiting. Dee slowly, carefully, slides his hand into Orion's, fingers curling together to hold each other gently.

“...I’m scared.” he admits in a tiny, croaking voice, and Orion squeezes his hand.

“I know,” he leans over to lay his helm on the silver mech’s shoulder. “I am too.”

“How…” Dee shifts his weight. “How do we… I mean-” he covers his face, embarrassed. “H-How should we… start…?”

This is unexplored territory for both of them. They’d never interfaced with anyone properly. They’d never been taught how. And after everything with Sentinel, well… they’re both worried.

Orion looks up at him, optics twinkling. He offers a shaky smile. “Well, uh… i-in the books, we- we would, um-!” he lets out a sudden, anxious sound almost like a breathless laugh. Heat gushes out of his vents and he startles, beginning to stammer. “I- I mean, it’s just- you know, in- in the books we’d- ah, s-sorry, I- hehe…!”

It’s rare to see Orion so flustered he can’t get his words out, and Dee’s spark warms in his chassis.

“In the books, we‘d…?” he jostles his shoulder as Orion’s face visibly discolors in flushed embarrassment. “What? We’d… kiss each other?”

“Y- Yeah!” his best friend’s optics are darting around, looking at anything but him. “That. Can I…? I mean, i-if you’re ok with it?”

When Dee nods, Orion sits up, wringing his servos nervously before leaning forward, reaching out to him. His servo delicately cups one silver cheek, thumb brushing over the soft, beautiful expanse of his face, and his optics soften. A gooey smile spreads on his face, and Dee squirms as his sparkpulse quickens. Orion’s never… looked at him quite like that before. “I’m,” Orion looks just as nervous as he feels. “G-Gonna… kiss you, now. Ok?”

Again, Dee nods, wholly trusting, and lets his optics fall closed, face slack and lips slightly parting in preparation.

Their first kiss is soft, and clumsy, and a bubbling, flying euphoria erupts in his chest with such intensity he actually reels back. D-16’s optics fly open wide when Orion’s mouth connects with his, and it’s every bit as wonderful and magical as he always dreamt it would be. Jazz had once described it as having a nest of scraplets in your tummy, which sounded wholly unenjoyable, but now that he’s living it? He feels like he’s floating: it’s like gravity has released it’s chains on him and he’s free of the shackles. The joy and contentment, the love, that springs forth in his core at that one, simple act is indescribable.

They separate and Orion’s optics flutter: he feels it too, the rising excitement, the rush of emotion; his face splits into a beaming smile and he starts giggling, before grabbing Dee’s face in both hands and kissing him again. Not forceful, just excited, and Dee can feel the way delighted laughter makes his frame tremble. Despite himself, he starts laughing too, and kisses him back, bringing his arms up to clumsily wrap around his neck and pull him closer.

They tumble into the dirt together, giggling and holding onto each other. They're clumsy and inexperienced, and sometimes the kisses are even downright sloppy, but they're both happier than they've been in awhile just to be there with each other. Hands running over each other's bodies, stroking at seams and shyly looking for sensitive spots, they work at steadily building charge as one.

It's not long before Dee is squirming: his insides feel warm and gooey, and there's a throbbing, hungry sensation deep down in his core. His valve feels wet and slippery, his spike feels tight inside it's housing, and they're both pulsing with the desire to be touched.

His interface panel retracts with a soft click, and Orion kisses his neck. “...are you nervous?” The blue mech asks, and D-16 can feel the warm gush of air from his vents.

“...yeah,” he shivers and curls closer to Orion, snaking one leg between his. “But… I wanna do this. I,” he swallows. “I'm ready.”

A blue servo gently cups his face, and Orion gives him the gentlest, softest kiss that makes his spark stutter in his chassis. A punch of heat rolls into his belly, and D-16 whimpers, needy.

With great care, Orion sits up as Dee lays out on his back. He slides his hands up thick silver thighs, intently watching his friend’s face for any sign of discomfort. There is none, and rather, he tries to wiggle closer. Orion gently parts his thighs, maneuvering himself between them, taking a moment to admire D-16’s bared array. He's beautiful, chubby spike bobbing in the air with every shallow inhale and exhale, pulsing softly with yellow biolights, a drop of pearlescent, glowing fluid gathering at the tip and growing larger with each breath. His valve is even cuter, lips round and plush to protect his most intimate area, already visibly wet, pink lubrication collecting like dewdrops all along the rim. He trembles under Orion's gaze, cheeks discolored as he mumbles, “Hey, c-c'mon, don't stare…”

“Sorry-” Orion sounds breathless, struggling to pull his optics away to look up at his face. “I'm sorry, you're just-” his glossa darts out to moisten his derma. “P-Pretty.”

Dee's vocalizer makes an embarrassed squeaking noise, and he covers his face, a bright but undeniably flustered smile spreading on his face. He giggles behind his fingers, and Orion can't help but snicker along with him, leaning down to kiss his forehelm. Pulling back, he rubs his thighs a few more times before delicately moving his servos toward the bared interface array. His fingers just barely brush the other mech's spike, and D-16 gasps, hips jumping. Fluid dribbles down his spike, and his biolights flash fever bright.

“Sorry-!” He's biting one finger, looking down at himself with wide optics. His fans have kicked on full blast. “S- Sensitive!”

When the head of his spike bumps the back of his mouth, Orion pulls back, till only the tip is between his lips. He suckles at it, swirling his glossa around the tip, before sucking it back down in. Dee thrashes, hips stuttering and trying to roll into the sensation: Orion sets a pace as well as he can, bobbing his helm up and down, sucking and licking like he's one of those cold, dissolvable treats Ratchet sometimes gives them when they inevitably overheat during the hot season.

Orion smiles, and lowers himself down, sliding into the dirt so he's laying on his belly between his legs. He's never done this before–except for with Sentinel, and that did not count–but he'd read plenty of explicit novels, and in those, starting off with oral was always a safe option. He wraps both servos around Dee's spike, exhaling a breath over it and smiling at the way his hips jerk again. He kisses the tip of his spike then sucks it into his mouth: above him, D-16's helm drops back and he moans up the ceiling above. He tastes salty, and sweet, and Orion hums to himself as he works it to the back of his mouth, glossa laving around the length to wet it and aid the slide. Dee swiftly unravels, every vent paired with a wheezy moan as Orion works him over.

“Pax, Pax!” D-16 is swiftly coming undone, servos clawing at the ground, vents fast and shallow as he tries to warn him, “I'm gonna- gonna-!”

He overloads with a wail of Orion's name, a warbling affair that tapers off into wordless moaning. His spike swells in Orion’s mouth and hot fluid gushes onto his tongue, smoky-sweet and nearly scalding. He chokes in surprise, a trickle of it splashing over his bottom lip, but he swiftly gulps the rest down, swallowing more on reflex than anything. It tastes good, he realizes, pulling back to let the spent spike ease out of his mouth. He licks his lips, wiping one hand over his chin to clean up the mess; his glossa is already halfway through licking up the transfluid on his fingers before he even realizes it. 

D-16 looks incredibly relaxed, splayed out on his back and twitching softly, mouth open and panting, optics flickering as he stares up at the ceiling.

“...was it good?” Orion asks hesitantly, hoping he did alright.

Dee responds with a noncommittal noise and a shaky thumbs up. Orion preens, feeling proud of himself. While his partner is still cycling his vents and coming down from the high, Orion sits up again. His interface retracts with an audible ‘schlkk!’ and D-16 twitches.

“Sorry-” Orion tries to stuff his spike back away, but it's uncooperative, straining and hard despite his forceful pushing. Dee’s dazed optics are fixed on him, blinking sleepily. “S-Sorry, it's ok, we can wait, w-we don't have to if you're not ready yet-”

One silver leg lifts and clumsily wraps around him, trying to pull him closer. “‘m ready,” he murmurs, sounding dazed as he reaches both arms out toward Orion. “Please, Pax… I'm ready.” The smile on his face is fragile, but so deep and genuine it makes Orion’s insides feel warm and gooey. “I wanna… do it with you. Touch me… please?”

And there his spark goes, swelling with such tender, affectionate emotion it could only be love. He nods, throat suddenly feeling tight. “Kay- O-Ok!”

He inches closer, hands sliding over his thighs to grab Dee-16 by the hips, pulling him close. He can feel the heat radiating from between his partner's legs, and it makes his spike throb desperately. It's a bit awkward, trying to line up with his valve, and after two unsuccessful attempts he dips his helm, cheeks feeling hot, wrapping one servo around his spike and nearly yelping at the sensation. Primus, he's sensitive! He guides the tip of his spike to the lips of Dee’s valve, and just bumping against the warm, wet entrance has him clenching his denta and willing himself not to overload already.

Beneath him, Dee whimpers, and he catches a glance of his face. His optics are wide and round, something frightened at the edge of his expression, as if bracing for impact, and Orion knows he's unwillingly thinking about Sentinel.

“...hey,” he uses his free hand to take one of Dee's, tangling their fingers together and squeezing. He pulls his hand up to kiss, nuzzling the back with his nose. “It's ok. It's just the two of us, he can't get you. It's just us.”

D-16 sobs, and Orion leans down to kiss his forehelm. Dee let's go of his hand, instead winding both arms around his neck. “I know,” his expression is watery. “Y-You're not him. You're not,” he presses his face into the underside of Orion’s neck. He takes several deep vents, then says, “...ok. I'm- I'm ready now. You can, um-” he squeaks in embarrassment, unable to voice their word. “G-Go ahead.”

Orion's spike breaches the rim of his valve, and the silver mech keens. Both legs tense on either side of his partner, and his arms tighten around him. Orion sinks in slowly, as slow as he possibly can, gently pushing his spike further and further in. There's little resistance or friction, but it's still an incredibly tight fit. Dee’s valve flutters around him, slippery and warm, and he bites his glossa. Don't cum yet, don't cum yet, don't cum yet-!

Beneath him, D-16 whimpers, and his lips begin pressing clumsy kisses to his neck. Over two sensitive neck cables, then his glossa ghosts over a very particular nerve cluster, and Orion breaks. Overload rockets through him like a surge of electricity and he crumples forward onto his partner, pressing him into the cave floor, spike twitching and suddenly letting off a burst of transfluid before he's even fully sheathed inside his valve. Orion moans and tries to stop it, but he's helpless, hips stuttering in mini thrusts as he spills his load.

“Pax-”

“I'msorry-” he lets out in a rush as he finishes, shame burning at his audials. “I'm so sorry, I- I didn't mean-”

Beneath him, D-16 snorts, to his dismay, then starts laughing. His EM field suddenly flares to life; where it had previously been tucked in and nervous, suddenly it's warm and relaxed and happy.

“Aww, Pax,” Dee gently lifts his helm, optics warm and smile loving, contrasted by Orion's embarrassed pout. All the previous tension has bled out of his frame, and he brings his servos down to gently cradle his partner's face. He kisses the tip of his nose. “S'ok. Really. Don't be upset!”

Orion's brow furrows, cheeks puffing out as he averts his optics. “S'not funny.”

“It's cute,” D-16 insist, before pulling his face close to kiss him. He feels better now, honestly, so much more comfortable. Orion has no experience, same as him. They're figuring it out together, they've not had a chance to build their skills. It's comforting, honestly, knowing that they're stumbling into uncharted territory together. It makes him feel safe. Like an equal. The kiss deepens after a moment, Dee's glossa rubbing at his bottom lip and into his mouth–only to recoil, sputtering. “Primus!” he coughs at Orion's confused look. “Is that what I taste like?!”

“Pfffft-!” That breaks Orion's self-conscious cloud, and suddenly he's laughing, too. “I mean… yeah?”

“Augh!” Dee shakes his helm, sticking his glossa out. “Gross!”

“I liked it.” an impish smirk spreads on Orion’s face, and he moves to kiss him again, but Dee blocks his mouth with one hand.

“No!” He yelps, snickering. “You are not kissing me like that, not til you wash your mouth out!”

“Fiiiine,” he pops an energon cube out of storage, chewing it as fast as he can to freshen his breath. “Better?”

Dee kisses him again, nodding. “Much.” He gently wiggles in place, and a half-moan tumbles out of his lips. Orion's spike is still buried deep inside him, still hard, still throbbing against sensitive nerve clusters. His valve tightens around him, trying to pull him in, and Orion whimpers.

D-16 reclines back against the floor, pulling Orion with him. Their hands entwine, lips tangling together. Their first time interfacing is clumsy, gentle, and rife with overwhelming love and trust. Embracing in the cavern, they make love to each other for the first time, EM fields blending as one and sparks singing in euphoria between them. Pleasure builds between them to a great, soaring crescendo, and they cling to each other, sobbing in ecstasy when imminent overload swallows them both.

D-16 clings to Orion in all aspects: chest to chest, mouth to mouth, fingers grasping tightly to him as his legs lock around his hips, keeping his spike buried deep in his valve. He feels overstimulated in the best way, electric pleasure thrumming through his whole body and he sobs in ecstasy through his first and second and third overload. He can feel Orion’s transfluid filling him up, siphoned into his gestation tank. The transfluid levels creep from red to yellow to green, and his middle begins to feel heavy and warm and full. He imagines the sparkling growing inside of him, body grown from the seeds of a mech he loves and adores so much. An adorable child with his and Orion's features alike, perhaps with his lover’s crooked smile or his little helm horns or the shape of his optics, and the thought is so enticing a fourth overload rolls through his body. All he can do is hang on and moan, trying not to drool.

By the time his gestation tank is topped up, they're both sweaty, sticky, and swollen: Orion collapses on top of him, vents heaving great clouds of steam as D-16 pants and gasps beneath him.

The blue mech rolls off and then, with a final heave of strength, switches their positions. Orion laying in the dirt with D-16 half on top of him. Gazing at each other, dazed, the tips of their noses touch. Orion cracks an exhausted, barely there smile, and Dee returns it, using his last bit of energy to move his head forward, pressing their forehelms together.

“I love you…”

The murmured declaration comes as they snuggle against each other, afterglow lulling them to recharge. It’s like being surrounded in the warm glow of a lantern, cuddled together like that: he’s never felt quite so warm or safe or loved, and laying his helm down on Orion’s chassis, he truly feels that everything will be alright. So long as they have each other, so long as he can bask in this connection forever, nothing could ever be unfixable or impossible. Orion’s arms come up to hold him, one servo bracing gently on his belly, and D-16 turns his helm to press a sleepy kiss against his chassis.

They’re going to be ok.

...

And that's a wrap on part 4! Sorry it took a bit longer than anticipated, I really wanted to nail these two in this scene. Awkward, sweet first-time sex gave me more trouble than I thought it would. I'm out of practice lmao.

Aaaaaanyways, I hope you enjoyed! Same thing as always, I'll get started on part 5 and post it once ya'll lmk you wanna see more. Beat the crap out of my ask box, do the rebloggy thing, comment, you know what to do!

[aureatchi]

˚୨୧ ｡ ˚ IT WAS A NIGHT TO REMEMBER . — osamu dazai

⟢ SYNOPSIS. after a long week of work, you and your best friend retreat to a bar to distract yourself from your responsibilities. however, you find it unfulfilling and decide you need to just go home. as you head out the door, you bump into someone more than familiar.

a/n. it’s the way i immediately thought of him when i first heard this song. <3

info. fem!reader. exes to lovers!au. we have the full recipe…fluff; light angst; gets really sugg. mentions of drinking; scars. your best friend hates dazai. hc dazai doesn’t bandage his tummy. (ᗒᗜᗕ) ﾉ wc. 3.6k

“It’s just a lot.”

You just finished the final shift of your job for the week, and you were more than exhausted and burnt out. You had called your best friend immediately after to get some comfort, and despite how busy she was, she agreed to meet you for some drinks and listen to you rant.

“My coworker’s getting on my last nerve,” you continued venting. You had already told her about select crappy people you had to interact with during the day and then your boss, who regarded you with no empathy whatsoever. “Today’s already been bad enough, and then she decides to just pile more stress on me.”

You swished the ice around your emptied glass, creating clanking sounds while coating the cup in water.

“Maybe you should just quit,” your friend replied, taking a sip out of her glass. “I would’ve been long gone if I had to deal with annoying people all around, nine to five.”

She looked up at you. “Besides, you’re well off anyway. I don’t see why you’re working. Are you…trying to distract yourself?”

You sighed. She knew you too well.

“Love, don’t tell me you’re still hung up over—“

“It’s not what you think,” you cut her off, yet you avoided eye contact. It was easier to lie that way. “I just feel I’d have too much free time on my hands. I’m not sure what I’d do with it.”

You let out a dry chuckle. That wasn’t wholly false in itself, either. At your age, everyone had their own things going on—your best friend being an example. Therefore, you couldn’t find much time to go out with any of your friends, and you weren’t interested in meeting new people either.

You could blame your job. Perhaps the ones you meet every day put a sour taste on your tongue, making you lose any desire to interact with strangers. You could blame your exhaustion. Or…

“Honestly, I think that calls for someone new in your life,” your friend replied. “That’ll surely cure your boredom.”

“No thanks. I don’t feel like dating anyone right now.”

“I’m just kidding,” she laughed. “But it’d help you feel less lonely, no?”

“…you didn’t believe my answer to your earlier question, huh?”

“No. Of course not.”

It had been over five months since you broke up with your boyfriend. You tried seeing people after that, but in truth, you were only using them to try to move on.

Once you realized that it wasn’t working and it wasn’t fair for others to play with feelings, you decided to take on a new job on the other side of the city so you’d still get out of your house and have a change of scene.

“…But you know what? Screw him. I will keep saying again and again, I hate that man. Suicidal maniac. I know it’s hard, but you’re too hot to keep dwelling on this. You need to learn to move o—”

Your friend’s phone suddenly buzzed, interrupting her little lecture.

She picked it up, and you waited for her to finish speaking.

“I’m sorry, I think I got to go. I left my boyfriend with my cat, and he just told me he lost her already…” she shook her head. “Have you gotten out everything you wanted to say?”

“Yeah, thanks,” you replied. “I think I’ll go home soon, too. Not really feeling it.”

She stood up, handing you a bill with a smile. “Drinks on me tonight. Don’t complain—I’m sorry I couldn’t stay longer. And we didn’t order much anyway.”

“That’s okay; I appreciate you coming to listen to me anyway,” you replied.

“The offer is still open, by the way! If you want to find someone, I’ll schedule a date by this weekend.”

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever. Thanks.”

…

You only had one more drink before you decided to leave, still mostly sober—you figured it’d just be best if you’d take care of yourself at home.

Another thing your job was also distracting you from was witnessing all the relationships around you. Your friend had to go home for her boyfriend. You noticed a few couples at the bar you were at. You’d probably see more when you walked outside.

Not that you minded, is what you tried to tell yourself every single time. You didn’t have to be with someone. It’s okay to have a break.

But was it okay to still have a particular person at the back of your head all the time?

You stood up, leaving the bill and tip for your bartender before you walked toward the door. Opening it caused the bell attached to it to jingle. You were greeted by a cool, night breeze—and someone’s torso.

“O-Oh, sorry,” you replied, too tired to even catch the face of the person you bumped into.

But you had no choice when the man didn’t move out of the doorframe to walk in or allow you to pass.

So, when you met the almost-surprised, caramel-kissed eyes on a face framed with dark brown bangs and wavy hair, you felt your heart plunge into your stomach.

You whispered his name—almost scared to say it, the syllables feeling foreign from not having spoken it aloud for months.

“…Osamu.”

He was halfway through saying your name when you dashed for the exit, shoving him aside and speed-walking out.

“Wait! Bel—“ he caught himself and shouted your name once more.

You started walking down the parking lot, unsure of where you were trying to go, except away—away from Dazai. You had forgotten this bar was in the heart of the city. You didn’t know Dazai came to this one, but you knew his work was somewhere close.

“Hey!” you felt a breeze behind your back, and then a hand gently land on your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks.

“What…why are you following me?”

You turned around, getting your second full view of your ex for the night.

His hair was a bit longer. He still had those bandages on his neck—did he bother to change them out recently? His scent was as still as you remembered—grassy and toasty, a resemblance to green tea.

“I’m not sure why I’d leave a girl I know to walk alone at night,” he shrugged. “It’s dangerous!”

You continued walking, not responding to his reply.

“Where are we going?”

“Who’s we?”

“Aw, that was really rude.”

You ignored Dazai, making sure your stroll stayed a few feet in front of him.

You then entered a park, him trailing behind you.

“Why were you at the bar alone?”

“That’s none of your business.” You walked down the path, trees casting dark shadows onto the grass under the moon’s light.

“…And I wasn’t alone the entire time. I was with a friend, but she left to attend something.”

Dazai nodded, trying to catch up to your face. You immediately gave him more than enough space when he reached you, not wanting any invasion of your personal space.

“But you usually don’t drink unless you’re either celebrating or stressed,” he said. “And from what I’ve seen, it looks like the latter.”

You stopped again. “Again, it’s none of your business. Maybe you should focus on yours. You go and drink tons when you’re stressed, too.”

“Hey, I’ve actually gotten better at that…”

“You still ended up at a bar midweek.”

“But I didn’t even go in, no? I’m with you at a park right now.”

You were silent once again. But now you couldn’t complain that he was following you.

Why do I care if he drinks or not?

No. It’s normal. You’d care for the well-being of anyone you know.

You approached a set of swings in the center of the park. It had been ages since you’d been on one, swinging back and forth in carefree.

“Want me to push you?” you heard Dazai over your shoulder when you examined the equipment.

“Heck no,” you responded.

“Why not? It’d be fun!” He moved closer.

“No! I’m not sure if it’d even carry me,” you laughed. “It’s for kids.”

“You can try it. Just sit. And I’ll catch you if it breaks—“

“Shut up. I can catch myself.” You lowered yourself onto the seat, seeing that the metal poles did hold. You swung yourself a bit to test if it’d keep up your weight.

“It works.”

“Great! Can I push you now?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I don’t trust you.”

“I won’t kill you, bel—I won’t! I promise.” Dazai childishly held out a pinkie toward you.

You sighed. “Fine. Just please don’t push me too high.” You clasped your pinkie around his.

“I got you!” You felt palms on your back, and then a light push that moved you forward, and then gravity pulled you back toward him.

Everything pulls me back to him—my mind and the universe both.

You were suddenly pushed higher, catching you off guard. You felt yourself fly multiple feet off of the ground, and you clutched the metal in panic.

“H-Help—Osamu!”

“You’re fine. You won’t fall,” Dazai chuckled. He pushed you again, sending you even higher than the previous time. You wanted to scream, but it came out more as a laugh.

“Is the thrill fun?” he asked while you were in the air, noticing your smile.

“Yeah, it is—HEY!”

Dazai had pushed you hard, sending you swinging all around the equipment, in a complete three-sixty.

“Osamu!” you cried, the momentum spinning you around once more. You couldn’t stop it—it was too fast.

You were clutched from behind, arms tightly wrapped around your torso to stop the swing. You could hear the sound of Dazai being dragged through the rocks below, but he was able to ground the both of you before you went flying again.

And you felt warm. Despite the evening’s cool air, you felt like you were encompassed in a fireplace’s heat on a winter day.

“Got you.”

You let out a giant exhale of relief. And then, you turned around in anger.

“I told you not to push me that high!”

“But I didn’t kill you, did I? You stayed on the swing the entire time! You were safe! Plus, I think you enjoyed it.”

You stood up, causing Dazai to let go of his arms. “I’m dizzy now.”

“Do you need water? We can buy some. And did you drive here?”

“No, I took a taxi.”

“Let me drive you home then,” he said.

“I think I’m fin—“

“Please,” he cut you off almost urgently, but then he caught his tone and reverted.

“I mean, many kidnappers disguise themselves as taxi drivers. Especially at night.”

“You’re still so cynical,” you replied. “Stop being so protective. It’s not like we’re…nevermind, sorry.”

You didn’t dare look at Dazai’s expression.

…

You each got a yogurt drink, and it helped soothe your dizziness immediately.

You walked by Dazai silently, but compared to earlier in the night, you were no longer repulsed to standing by him.

He opened his car door for you before getting in his seat on the other side.

“What have you been up to these past months?”

You asked as he found his keys, turning them into gear.

“A case. It’s something huge going on.”

Dazai’s work accounted for part of your breaking up with him. He was too secretive—despite you knew that he trusted you so much that he explained to you exactly what his job consisted of, and he only left details out to protect you from getting involved, you couldn’t handle it.

Maybe you were selfish for that. But you needed to know what your boyfriend was up to—if he was safe. Perhaps that was another reason why. You would never let him go if you knew of the exact danger he was volunteering himself in.

“I see. Sleeping okay?”

“If I do, sure.” He was suddenly reaching over your body, grabbing your seatbelt.

Your heartbeat fastened as Dazai hovered over you, pausing to look at anticipating eyes and a risky glance at slightly parted lips.

He sighed before fastening the buckle and moving away, acting like nothing happened.

…

You two drove in silence, you gazing out of the car window to admire how the city looked in the absence of the sun.

A song was suddenly put on. You looked at Dazai.

“Do you still like this song?”

“Yeah,” you replied. He had put on your favorite song, indeed.

You silently thanked him for it. The awkward tension to speak to one another had vanished; you could indulge yourself in music.

Until it ended, of course, but by then, you could see you were almost home.

“Osamu.”

“Yes?”

“This was a really bad idea. I hope I never see you again after this.”

“Probably, but maybe I wanted it to happen. Maybe I thought about you so much that I had to seize this opportunity.”

“What?”

“What if I hope to see you again after this?”

“You can go flirt with any other girl for entertainment.” He did a lot of that, too. Even if it was Dazai’s most efficient tactic for getting information, he had also said he simply couldn’t help it sometimes.

“I don’t find that interesting anymore.”

You looked at his distant, faint reflection through your window.

“…you think about me?”

You were answered with a nod.

Dazai turned, pulling you into your driveway.

“I’ll continue to even more after tonight,” he said. “Whether we see each other again or not. It plagues my mind every day. What I could’ve done better—how much you deserve that I failed to reach.”

He parked. “Of course, I’ve tried to move on. It’s the most fair thing to do for you. But if someone were to ask me, bella, saying that I don’t still love you would be a lie.”

“You’re selfish,” you commented.

“I know. I’m very.”

You opened the door, stepping out of the car.

“Thank you for driving me,” you said.

You walked towards your front door and then looked back at Dazai, who was standing by his side of the car.

You contemplated for a second.

“D-do you have something to do for the rest of the night?” you carefully asked.

“No.”

“Can you stay? Just for a bit. We can talk about things. And hopefully, you get some answers that will help you stop occupying your mind of me.”

You said that as if you were trying to convince yourself, rather Dazai.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” You pushed open the door.

Dazai followed you as you walked through the house—through the hallway and to the kitchen.

“Do you want something to eat? Or drink?”

“I’m okay, thanks,” he replied.

“Alright. Uh…feel free to make yourself at home. I’m going to change, I’ll be right back.”

…

You walked into your room, first washing your face in the bathroom. You stared at your face through the window, noticing how pigmented your cheeks were.

Why did I do this?

You were in the middle of changing your pajamas when Dazai knocked on your door.

“Can I come in?”

“Uh—“ you hastily buttoned two thirds of your shirt before, “Yeah.”

A smell of your favorite scent immediately flowed into the room as Dazai came in. It was of the candles you had around your house.

“You lit my candles?”

“Yeah. I got curious because the flavors looked nice. I like them. The scent matches you perfectly.”

“Oh…thanks,” you mumbled. You didn’t know how else to respond.

Dazai glanced around your room. Some things changed—you had moved some things around, redone the decor on your nightstands, changed your bed sheets…what he didn’t know was that you actually donated them after the break-up so you would never see them again.

“Did you need something?”

“Yeah. Do you still happen to have bandages?”

“Yes.” You had Dazai sit on the bed while you searched your closet for the box of bandages you would keep for whenever he came over. Unlike your sheets, you had kept them for your emergency first aid.

Or in case he happened to be in an emergency.

“What do you think you could’ve done better?”

There was a silence right after. You had hit Dazai with a hard question first.

“I’d stop disappearing so much without warning. I only realized how much I took that for granted when we stopped seeing each other. I would try to communicate better…” He looked down. “I’m terrible at it, I know, but I would try harder.”

“Why me? You could move on and find some other girl to treat right the first time.” You found the box, pulling it out.

“Because I would feel like a loser,” he added your name to the end of the sentence. “I was a total jerk to someone who loved me, and then I decide to switch it up for someone new and pretend to start on a clean slate? No, bella—I’m cursed with not forgetting and forgiving myself of the past. It feels cowardly.”

“Osamu, stop. You hurt me, yes, but you weren’t the only one in the wrong.

“I-I’m sorry.” You hadn’t apologized to him yet, through months.

You noticed his eyes almost widen, surprised.

“And I also forgive you. It took awhile, but I’m forgiving you of the mistakes that hurt me,” you continued. “And I’m apologizing to you too. So please forgive yourself. You don’t need to feel guilt.

“It’s only fair to you as well to move on.”

“Why, bella? How is it fair? How is it fair when the only person I want to see is you?”

“Osamu.”

You were right in front of him, the closest you’d been to him that night, discarding how he had tightly hugged you on the swing earlier. You were drowned in emotion that surrounded his desperate pleas.

“Can you please bandage me?”

“Why?”

“I miss your touches.”

You regret asking. He had no shame in expressing his thoughts, no matter what you two were going through. You regret asking, yet…

“Your coat.”

You climbed behind and rid Dazai of the top portion of his clothes—his vest and dress shirt. Then, you started unwinding the bandages on his arms, chest, and neck.

Gently, your fingers grazed the scars that hid underneath his attire, and his mind. Months ago, you had learned what every single mark came from after knowing where each one was—it was one detail Dazai fully opened to you about.

You were thankful you couldn’t see scars of the heart.

He would have thrice as many. Perhaps one of them would include you.

You rewrapped Dazai, leaving only his stomach unbandaged. You moved to do his neck when he paused you with his eyes, mere inches away from his face.

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

You wish he weren’t so pretty. You would’ve been able to rationalize yourself quickly—you would’ve been able to give him a final answer without hesitating. But he ended up being the face of your dreams and the depth of your heart.

“I tell myself it’s fair,” you whispered. His nose was almost touching yours. “I tell myself it’s better that we’re done. But my heart isn’t so sure. It asks the same—how is it fair? To keep myself longing?”

Your arms were around Dazai’s neck with the bandage, yet you did not move to finish.

His gaze moved to your lips. A hand moved to your hair.

“Is it fair? If it truly is, push me away, bella.”

He didn’t force himself any closer, leaving you with the choice despite his yearning appearance. You could feel the warmth of his body on yours and the soft air of his breaths on your cheeks.

“Yes. It’s fair, Osamu.” You came to your conclusion.

Yet, you dropped the bandages, cupped his face towards you, and pressed your lips on his.

“But I’m selfish too.”

You moved your hands to waft through brunette locks as Dazai pulled you onto his lap. He held you tightly—desperate at the acceptance of your invitation.

Closer, along with the fresh scent of green tea, there was a note of sweetness as intoxicating as chocolate. You came to know this pleasant surprise every time you were pressed up against him, tucked well into his embrace.

A hand moved down your waist, tracing your curves. Meanwhile, his kisses became sloppier, changing course to your jaw.

“Bella,” he whispered.

“Osamu?”

“Too much? Just let me know.”

“Don’t stop.”

He planted his lips on your neck, leaving a mark when he moved to the next area.

“I don’t want to lose you again. I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too,” you replied, pulling him down over you.

“Everything about you,” Dazai continued. “It’s enchanting. How you smile when you’re flustered—like right now, and how you react when I touch you here…”

His hand found its way under your shirt, and you started laughing. He knew how and where to draw every specific reaction out of you, including where you were most ticklish.

“Osamu! Stop, hah-!”

You let him stay hovered over you and left his curious hands to wander your skin. Dazai looked free of emotional distress for once—being able to calm just by admiring you. It was like medicine.

“Do you still keep a spare pajama set?” he asked.

“Yes. However, the guest room is being renovated.”

“It’s fine. A couch was a luxury for me at one point.”

“Or you…could stay here. And you can have your favorite side, the side closer to the window.”

“Because I always see how the sun’s rays lay on your skin when I wake up,” he smiled. “And how spellbound your eyes make me when you open them and the light hits it.”

“You remember so much.”

“I told you how much I think about you, belladonna. I remember every night that I’m with you.”

dazai listens to music w/ u if u rb. reblogs are cherished; they support me as a creator. <3

© AUREATCHI 2023. no reposts or translations. do not steal.

[captain-hawks]

hiii Dee!! for your holiday drabbles, maaayybeeee accidentally standing under mistletoe with Meian? 🤭

no questions asked 🎀 meian shugo x f!reader

Spending Christmas Eve with your cheating ex-fiancé is no longer an option, so a party at Atsumu's will just have to do.

1.3k — msby manager!reader, angst and fluff

It’s a little embarrassing—thinking about how you should be out for dinner with your fiancé and his parents right now. 

How you should be planning a wedding that’ll take place in the new year. 

How, instead, you’re standing in the middle of Miya Atsumu’s apartment wearing the same red dress you picked out for a very different occasion, ring finger now entirely devoid of a weight you were once familiar with for the past five months.

While the Black Jackals tried not to pry into the mortifying details of your breakup when you showed up for practice uncharacteristically late one morning two weeks ago with eyes ringed red after a sleepless night, Bokuto, Hinata, and Atsumu were all wholly insistent that their team manager couldn’t spend Christmas Eve alone. 

(They’d let Coach Foster off easy when he politely declined the invite to tonight’s party, but you? Not so much.)

(Bokuto’s known you since your Fukurodani days, after all, since you were a year ahead of him on the girl’s volleyball team.)

Which now finds you here, leaning against the doorway that separates the living room from the kitchen, fingers curled loosely around the sweaty neck of a bottle of beer. 

“I never liked him, ya know,” Atsumu’s voice interrupts your thoughts. 

You turn to face the setter, brows raised in mock amusement. “Really? I couldn’t tell.”

You met Ren a year or so after you started working for MSBY, after you’d already grown close with the team, and he got down on one knee just over six months later. 

And now—

“He never liked showin’ his face at games, that cheatin’ bastard. He probably knew we’d see it on his stupid face and pummel his ass.”

Sighing, you nod in a disconnected way, taking a swig from your bottle before placing it down on a table nearby. 

You hadn’t gotten into the rest of the details—how the marketing executive had been sleeping with his eighteen-year-old intern for the entirety of your relationship.

How he was only proposing to you to appease his father for the sake of inheriting his company.

How everything was a lie—

How—

“Atsumu.”

Something prickles along the back of your neck at the sound of Meian’s voice, his tone stern as he approaches.

Atsumu perks up. “And I bet Meian woulda really loved to beat his—”

“Bokuto’s two seconds from puking on your bed,” Meian cuts him off brusquely, sliding into the spot where the blonde was standing as he scurries off, eyes going wide in concern.

You shake your head, offering a genuine smile to the team captain and trying to ignore the long-ignored warmth that rustles in your chest as he looks at you.

“Really?”

He shakes his head, the curve of his mouth matching your own. “Nah, but I know he gets annoying when he’s drunk. And I know that’s the last thing you want to talk about right now.”

Meian has always had a way of reading you, of knowing what you need. 

And you know that, logically, it’s just something that comes naturally to him as a captain. He does it with his team all the time.

But it still does something odd to your fragile heart anyway—the way he notices you.

Bokuto’s sworn this secret (which you accidentally shared after too many drinks one night) to the grave, this stupid little crush that you have on the team captain. One that sprouted long before Ren came into the picture.

One that you were quick to pluck, to try digging out at the roots before it could blossom. 

Part of you is loath to admit that you were inclined to reciprocate Ren’s advances solely in an effort to get over these feelings. 

Feelings that came boiling right back to the surface the night after that teary-eyed practice when your phone lit up with a text from the captain.

MEIAN: I’m not going to ask about things you’re not ready to answer. MEIAN: But if you need help, a hand, or anything, let me know, and I’m there.  MEIAN: No questions asked.

Meian stayed true to his word when you subsequently texted him an address and asked him to bring his pick up truck. 

He didn’t dig for details when you swung open the door to your shared apartment with Ren and gestured at the boxes you’d packed. 

Truthfully, you didn’t know who else to call.

You didn’t know who else would let you sniffle and struggle your way through it all without prying. Without pushing. Without batting an eye when you asked if he could grab things from the closet you couldn’t bear to look back into again. 

Without asking for all of the sordid details of your fiancé’s affair that still find you dry heaving in the bathroom most nights. 

You didn’t have much, the apartment and furniture was Ren’s to begin with.

He helped you move across town back to your parents place with the promise that he’d help again when you found an apartment. 

“I’m not ready to talk about it yet,” you exhale, and Meian nods in understanding as you smooth your fingertips down the skirt of your dress. “But when I am…”

He waits patiently as you trail off, eyes offering a comfort that’s always been there, that feels like a balm now against the frayed edges of your rattled nerves.

“...I’d like to tell you,” you finish, nervously pinching the material’s hem. 

Meian smiles. “I’ll be here.”

And it’s then that you feel something light hit your head, and you glance around to find a plastic sprig of mistletoe rolling away on the floor. 

“Really?” you choke out a weak laugh.

You don’t immediately look up at Meian. Because while it feels almost childish, the back of your neck burns anyway with the implication behind the silly tradition. 

It wouldn’t be the first time that you’ve found yourself wondering what his lips would feel like against your own. Wondering if he’d cup the back of your head or stroke your jaw. If he’d part the seam of your lips with his tongue and run his thumb against your chin as you melt into his touch. 

Wondering what it would feel like to jump into his arms after a win, to wrap your legs around his waist, to drag your fingers through his sweaty, messy hair and laugh in a mess of tongue and teeth as someone tells you both to get a room while he presses you up against a wall—

You’re tugged away from that train of thought by the feeling of Meian’s large hand taking your own, and your eyes go wide as he lifts your knuckles to his lips and presses a chaste kiss to them.

“Rules are rules,” he shrugs, offering you a lopsided grin that has no right being that handsome under the multi-colored glow of string lights that adorns the living room.

Overcome by a fleeting surge of confidence as your heart flutters wildly in your chest, your fingers find a home curled in the collar of Meian’s button-down shirt before you can think better of it.

“Captain, I thought you followed rules to a T,” you tease in a voice that feels almost foreign on your lips.

But you’re too caught up in the moment to second guess yourself.

Meian leans in as you tug him closer, and you sway a little, steadied only by his hand as it comes to rest against your waist. Gently, featherlight—as if he’s still waiting for you to change your mind.

He quietly says, “You’re the manager here, maybe I need a refresher.”

His breath is hot as it curls against your lips in the scant space left between your faces.

Your mouth brushes against his, and you can feel him smile against your lips.

“Like this?” he murmurs, fingers curling and pressing the fabric of your dress.

“Yes,” you breathe out, and Meian’s other hand slides to the back of your head as he kisses you.