#He is like ya know what I can wear whatever the hell I want he could buy his own but he doesn't cause money

[jadewritesficshere]

Eddie x fem!reader (reader wears lingerie, no other descriptions of reader given except mentioning hitting that spot just right)

Contents: lingerie, both are a lil pervy tbh, humiliation, crying, praise kink, sub!Eddie, this is literally just horny ramblings

18+ only

It wasn't every day you came back to your house and your best friend had broken in. Maybe, every other week at best.

Usually, Eddie would be high eating your snacks (you were thinking about getting a lock for the cabinets). Or he would be watching whatever show you recorded and tease you about spoiling it (you threatened to use the VHS to beat him over the head and strangle him with the VHS ribbon if he did).

But, you had no clue Eddie was even in your house today. His van wasn't parked in your driveway when you came home. His shoes weren't in a haphazard pile at the front door. You had 0 clue he was there.

Not until you heard a thump coming from your bedroom. Which, your first thought went to the knickknacks you had that someone could be stealing (they wouldn't cause to a normal person it was junk but to you they were memories).

You grabbed a knife from the kitchen (you weren't gonna die without a fight, besides you learned a thing or two from the horror movies Eddie made you watch). You quietly pushed your bedroom door open and-

Shit.

Eddie was standing in your room in front of your mirror. Miles of pale skin just on display, scattered with contrasting dark tattoos he had. Nothing on, save for your lilac lingerie.

The palest purple lace bra, you can see from the back isn't even clipped correctly, missing the hook entirely. But the color is striking on Eddie. The lace thong cuts high on Eddie's ass, and you try not to gawk at the little black heart tattooed on his cheek. Eddie's scars seem softer amongst the lace.

How often did Eddie do this? Come over and put on your lingerie? Stand in front of the mirror and rub his fingers over his one hardened nipple. You couldn't see from where you were, but you knew his cock was hard. He'd be leaking all over your underwear, marking them.

Eddie lets out a little moan and it ignites a fire in your gut. You lick you lips as you watch Eddie, which maybe makes you a pervert but really it is your house and he is wearing your clothes so if anyone is-

Fuck why is it so hot?

"So-" you clear your throat. Eddie let's out a screech (that you are pretty sure ruined your eardrums) as he whirls around. He tries to cover himself with his arms, curls in on himself. And Holy cow he is hard.

He is big, so big, the tip just peeking out of the waistband of the panties. You can see the pearly translucent precum already dripping onto the underwear.

"I- fuck, I'm aha listen I can exp- i can explain!" Eddie fumbles over his words. You blink a few times tearing your eyes away from his massive dick (oh it would feel so good it would hit every spot just right).

Eddie's face is red, tears welling up in his eyes. "Oh Baby, no," you rush over, pausing when Eddie flinches. You gently put a hand out on Eddie's shoulder, drawing him into a hug, " It's- it's okay. Please don't cry." "Don't hate me." You gasp in shock, pulling back to look in his eyes," I could never!"

Eddie's eyes are wet, filled with unshed tears. His nose is turning a bit red, from embarrassment, shame, or sadness you can't tell. But his cheeks are such a pretty pink you think it'd look nice elsewhere on his pale skin.

Eddie hides his face with his hair, shuffling his feet a bit. "So..." you pause unsure how to ask it politely so you just go for it," I can see this is a kink thing...but like, what kind?"

Eddie shrugs," Wanted to feel pretty..." You frown," You are pretty Eddie." Eddie shakes his head and gestures to his abdomen," Not with these."

Eddie really should not be drawing your eyes any further south then his face. Cause your pulse kicks up and the fire inside you lights back up your spine. You can't help but notice his dick is still hard as a rock.

"You are too pretty." "Not really." "Yes!" Not-" You shove Eddie lightly, causing him to stumble back and fall onto the bed. Eddie's eyes widen in shock as he peers up at you.

"Don't talk about my best friend that way! You are too pretty. And handsome. Funny. So talented," You sigh and step forward, into Eddie's parted legs. Eddie leans up on his elbows and blinks rapidly at you. "You're so fucking pretty Baby." You murmur, hand reaching out lightly touching his thigh.

Eddie let's out a whine before looking startled at himself. You can't help but notice his dick twitch under the pale purple lace. "You like being called pretty?" You smirk. "Like when you call me Baby," Eddie replies softly.

You aren't sure who moves first, but suddenly your arms are wrapped around each other. Your lips meet Eddie's without hesitation. His are slightly chapped but still soft, molding perfectly against your own.

You run your hand down Eddie's neck, to the pale bra strap and snap it. He gasps and you take the chance, slipping your tongue into his mouth. He tastes of weed, mint gum, and just Eddie.

Eddie moans against you, hips bucking forward seeking friction. You pull back, gasping for air. Eddie let's out a whine," No, come back-" "I ain't going anywhere Baby."

Eddie's eyes flutter shut as he bites his lip. He hums as you kiss his jaw, lightly nipping at his pulse point. He shivers against you, hips bucking forward again. You suck lightly as you decide to give him some relief.

Your hand snakes down, grasping him firmly. You lightly squeeze through the lace, giving just enough friction as you move your hand.

"Look so good in my lingerie Baby, you should wear it more often." You murmur between kisses. Eddie nods absently, gasping and moaning beneath you. "Got a red pair that has some nice straps, you'd look so metal and so so pretty."

Eddie freezes, mouth falling open. His brow wrinkles slightly as he moans, pleasure overtaking him. His hips spasm, even his thighs twitch, as he comes. You can feel your underwear get soaked along with part of his stomach.

You stroke him through it, extending his pleasure until he whimpers and pushes at your hand. You pull back, smiling softly at his face. Eddie's eyes flutter open, darting down to your lips. "Kiss?" He asks quietly, unsure. You simply smile and kiss him again.

[caelivir]

“are ya sure yer not dating (y/n)?” osamu suddenly asks his brother during a quiet lunch between the two of them.

atsumu chokes on the grains of rice in his mouth, coughing violently and punching his chest. when he finally settles down, he throws a glare at his brother. “what the hell, ‘samu?”

“that’s not an answer.” osamu continues to press.

“we’re not!” atsumu answers, picking up a piece of chicken katsu with his chopsticks. “i don’t like them like that. they don’t like me like that. we’re just friends.”

the bright red-pink of his ears speak otherwise. you see, osamu knows his twin better than he knows himself. he knows that whatever comes out of atsumu’s mouth is a load of crap. just friends? yeah fucking right.

osamu has never seen his brother look at anyone the way he looks at you, starlight and pure adoration swirling in his irises. he acts as if your every word were an earth-shaking prophecy sent by the heavens. his honey brown eyes stare, and he smiles so gently that it makes him sick.

friends aren’t touchy in the way you guys are. you hold each other’s hand like it’s nothing. with interlocked fingers, atsumu will trace his thumb down the back of your hand for no apparent reason. when you’re bored, you’ll take atsumu’s hand into your lap and play with it, bending his fingers, comparing hand sizes, and running a featherlight touch across the expanse of his palm to see if he’ll react.

osamu notices how you never miss the opportunity to find a seat on his brother’s lap. whether there are no seats of available or ten open ones, you will always choose atsumu. and it’s not like he’s complaining about it. in fact, osamu thinks that he waits for it because atsumu would never want to miss the chance to secure his arms around your waist and whisper into your ear amidst a loud conversation.

and you can’t forget the cuddles, and the hugs that linger longer than they should, and the way you’ll cup atsumu’s face, and the way you play with his piss blond hair.

you’re the one person atsumu lets wear his jersey to his game. he ensures you get the best seat to watch him play. osamu doesn’t miss the way his twin looks at you before every serve or the way you cheer the loudest when he scores an ace.

osamu doesn’t think that someone who “doesn’t like you” would be thinking about you every time they shop. “(y/n) likes this snack”. “(y/n) would love this shirt”. “oh hey, (y/n) showed me this”. “‘samu, should i buy this for (y/n)?”.

osamu has never seen two people so madly in love before. he doesn’t know how you guys haven’t realized it yet. and he can’t keep playing along because atsumu’s katsu looks really good right now.

“right…” osamu chooses to answer, dipping his chicken into the tonkatsu sauce. “i sure hope they’re gonna have fun on that date they have today.”

his brother’s chopsticks clatter onto the table before rolling onto the floor. the sight of atsumu’s open mouth filled with rice is unsightly, and osamu has to suppress his laugh.

“they didn’t tell you?” osamu raises an eyebrow.

“no?!” atsumu suddenly stands, slamming his palms into the table.

“yeah, i think they’re gonna leave soon.” osamu lies easily. there is no date. but of course, does ‘tsumu really need to know that?

the blond twin practically bolts away from the dining table and out of the house. when the door slams shut, osamu grins to himself, reaching for the unfinished plate in front of him.

“he can thank me later.”

atsumu brainrot never ends. something short and sweet bc school is kicking my ass.

[too-much-tma-stuff]

Finally Getting Help (prt 8)

Masterpost

The next day was less chaotic but not by much. They had to go through everything they’d taken from the Fenton’s lab, and reluctantly accepted Danny and Jazz’s help with the task because they were familiar with the tech. That was surprisingly needed since all of their gadgets were extremely obtuse and looked like household appliances. It was honestly surprising how good Danny was with all of this stuff, he knew what everything was, how to take it apart and how to put it back together to show the heroes how it worked. 

“They don’t all work for humans. Some have to be fueled with ectoplasm so they need to be constantly refueled. Dad used to wear a backpack full of the stuff ghost busters style but that’s really not practical so this one isn’t very useful to you. I can use it though,” Danny said as he screwed the last part back on the.. Whatever it was. 

“Okay, but why does it look like a blender?” Tim asked, baffled and impressed.

“Oh that’s because that’s what it was built out of,” Danny said with a crooked smile. “We repurposed a lot of household items into tech. Give me a couple toasters and a microwave and I’ll have three specter deflectors ready for you before dinner time.” He said as he pressed his hand against one of the gins and it started glowing intently green.

“Here don’t drop it,” He said tossing it to Batman, who did manage to catch it. “I fueled it with three shots, just in case Vlad shows up or another ghosts threatens you. And actually even with your charms I would feel a lot better if you all had specter deflectors since you’re all involved with me now,” He sighed and rubbed his face. 

“Well… we can get you toasters and a microwave but we can also get you more advanced parts if those will work better,” Bruce told Danny, gingerly holding the odd gun away from himself. It wasn’t a traditional gun so it wasn’t upsetting but he still didn’t like it. 

Danny looked very tempted but he shook his head. “No I’d better do it with what I know, I can get it done faster that way and they work. I’d love to play with some of those more advanced parts though. I’m sure I can come with some fun stuff.” 

Uh oh, Bruce didn’t like that look on Tim’s face, the last thing he needed was more encouragement! But Danny was the child of mad scientists, he would get along perfectly with Tim, Bruce was going to have to keep a close eye on them to make sure they didn’t accidentally make a death ray. 

“You can join me in my lab later,” Tim offered hopefully and Danny glanced up at him with a borderline feral grin. 

“That sounds great, I’m sure you have much better lab safety than my parents. Love engineering, would hate to die a second time.” He said it like a joke, just the way Jason tended to. Jazz laughed, but only to encourage her brother’s coping method, no one else did. 

“Alright, we’ll go to the nearest home appliance store and get you some toasters and microwaves,” Bruce said. 

“Hell ya, I should have been adopted by a rich family years ago,” Danny cackled. Oh dear, he’d been so traumatized yesterday Bruce hadn’t realized he was Feral. Why did this keep happening.

He informed Alfred of Danny’s request and by the time they finished going over the more confusing inventions and left for lunch the appliances were waiting for Danny in the lab that he and Tim would apparently now be sharing. Danny immediately dove on the machinery starting to take them apart with practiced hands. He seemed calm and in his element but Tim stayed to supervise, both just in case something went wrong, and because it was His lab and they hadn’t talked about rules of cohabitation yet.

Bruce left them to it. Alfred had informed him that Jason had arrived and headed straight to the kitchen without saying hello to anyone else. It wasn’t a surprise, he was closest to Alfred, he’s want to help with making dinner, and get the basic scoop from his most trusted family member before having to face anyone else. Bruce knew better than to intrude on that, but God did he want to. 

Regardless of what his children thought Bruce cared deeply for all of them, and he hated that sometimes they doubted it. He wished he was better at telling and showing them, but he’d managed to convince himself it was too late for him to change so he didn’t have to face the years of mistakes and trauma he had endured and inflicted. No matter what what image he tried to project, he was still only human.

He went to his office, but he couldn’t settle to anything, he did a little bit of this, and little bit of that, and just ended up pacing the carpeted floor. He left them alone as long as he could before he gave in and went down to the kitchen.

“Sorry to interrupt, I just needed a cup of coffee,” He said as casually as he could. The looks Alfred and Jason gave him said neither of them actually believed his excuse, which was fair. “It’s good to see you Jaylad, thanks for coming.”

“Well I’m not going to miss out on a new brother am I? You gonna have this one running around in spandex too B?” He asked, raising an eyebrow, it made Bruce wince but it Was progress because he was acknowledging their familial ties. 

“I’m almost two years too late to stop him,” Bruce said regretfully. “It’s been… a lot has happened. I’m sure Alfred caught you up on most of it, but I’d like to talk to you before you meet either of the siblings.”

“Trying to make sure I won’t be a bad influence?” Jason asked and Bruce couldn’t tell if he was joking or accusing. 

“No, nothing like that,” Bruce said, holding up his hands. “I just want to talk.”

Jason hummed skeptically, scrutinizing Bruce before turning back towards Alfred. “What do you think Alfie, can you spare me?”

“I always appreciate your help master Jason, but I can manage on my own,” Alfred assured, sounding amused. 

“Alright, to your office then?” Jason asked, turning back towards Bruce. 

“Or the sitting room, whichever would be more comfortable.”

“Office,” Jason said firmly, this was the distance that he was keeping between them. They worked together now, and Jason cared for his siblings, but he kept them all at arms length. For everyone’s safety really, if they set him off he didn’t want to hurt them, and he didn’t want to be set off either. It always felt like shit. Jason followed Bruce to the office and sprawled in the soft chair across the desk from Bruce’s. He remembered being a kid, sitting properly and nervously in this chair across from Bruce hoping desperately for his approval. How times change.

“I just wanted to talk to you about the new kids” Bruce started and Jason waved him away.

“I’m really not going to corrupt them or anything, I Probably won’t be around enough to make a difference anyway.” Jason said dismissively.

Bruce took a deep breath, controlling his expression and folding his hands on the table. “That’s not it Jaylad, Alfred must have told you that the boy died and came back?” 

Jason tensed and green swirled in his vision, it was the same thing that Bruce had seen in Danny when Zatana asked about Phantom. “Ya he did.” Defensive and insecure.

“It seems like he, and his sister who was sort of a caretaker to him, know a lot more than we do about the effect that that has on a person. To help us take care of Danny she gave us a presentation about it, it… makes a lot of sense. You should probably talk to her and Danny about it really but I just wanted to apologize. 

“I’ve been trying to fix this, fix… you for a long time and I know I’ve been going about it wrong and I’ve been hurting you.”

“You got a new treatment plan in mind, old man?” Jason asked, his arms crossed and Bruce wished that mistrust wasn’t earned. 

“No,” Bruce sighed looking down. “Really Jason I don’t, I know I was wrong. This is something I just didn’t know I didn’t know about,” He hated his own ignorance, he hated to admit it! He was Batman! The way he kept up with other superheroes was always being prepared for everything and knowing more than everyone around him, but he hadn’t even known there was something there to know!

“This isn’t about that, and it’s not about you staying away from the new kids. Exactly the opposite actually, since they know more about this, and Danny might be one of the few people who really understands what it’s like to die and come back like that, I was hoping you’d spend more time here, around them. I think it might help you both.”

“Huh,” Jason sounded, blinking rapidly because that was the most sincere apology he’d gotten from Bruce and he didn’t quite know how to react to it. “Maybe… maybe.” He hadn’t met the new siblings yet after all, maybe they’d hate each other. 

“Can I meet them now?” He asked looking back up at Bruce curiously. 

“Of course, the girl's name is Jasmine Fenton, called Jazz, the boy goes by Danny. Jazz is turning 18 soon, Danny is 16.” 

Right Tim had mentioned that, so Danny was about 3 years younger than him then. That shouldn’t matter too much, and maybe Tim will be right about the sister and can tease Jason about it. He’d been single for a while and wouldn’t mind changing that.

“Of course, I think you should meet Jazz first, she’s protective of Danny and she hasn’t been very involved in all of this. I think she’d feel better being allowed to… vet you first for lack of a better word. Are you okay with that?” Bruce asked Jason politely. 

“Sure, I don’t really care what order I meet them in and… Look Bruce I know I’m mad at you, and I was really hard on Timmy when everything was still raw. But I’m never going to knowingly hurt a kid, or make life harder for them. If I can help them I will,” Jason said sincerely. 

“Jason, the girl is less than a year younger than you. You’re a kid too,” Bruce said sadly. Jason froze for a moment, Yes he was 19, his mind wasn’t fully developed yet or whatever the hell, but he hadn’t felt like a kid since his death. Even before that, the responsibility for his mother, and then the work as a hero. Bruce wanted soldiers, Jason had never gotten a chance to be a kid really.

“Whatever,” Jason scoffed, shoving his hands into his pockets and standing up, closing himself off from that sincerity. “Do you know where she is?”

“She’s in the library,” Bruce said, his lips twitching up in a smile. “She loves books almost as much as you did, though she seems to be more drawn to non-fiction.” 

Jason hummed and nodded, heading towards the door since he knew his own damn way to the library, Bruce didn’t have to lead! He did follow through, he was clearly protective of these kids so of course he would want to be there when Jason met them.

When he entered the library he saw a young woman sitting at one of the tables with some sort of text book. Her back was straight and her legs tucked under the chair with her ankles crossed. It looked like she was self consciously trying to look put together. She looked up at them, blue green eyes looking him over critically, he could practically see her picking him apart in her mind and he tried not to fidget.

“Hey, it’s nice to meet you, I’m Jason Todd,” He said, walking over and offering her his hand to shake. She was very pretty, but he was surprised by his own complete lack of attraction, she just didn’t register that way, she seemed more… maternal almost.

“Ah, the dead son,” She chuckled, getting up from the table and reaching out to shake his hand, her grip was strong and her hands were soft and cool. “It’s nice to meet you, they mentioned you. Nothing bad,” She added when she saw her face. “And I don’t mean to be rude, I know some people are sensitive about their deaths being mentioned. Danny jokes about it all the time so… I just wanted to let you know that I know, and I accept you.” Jazz said with a warm smile. 

Her easy acceptance caught him off guard and before he could help it he was baring his teeth at her in a snarl, defensive and probing, did she mean it? She grinned sharper bearing sharp fangs at him in a matching sign of… friendly aggression, something inside him settled. He chuckled and took a step back. “Well thanks, nice to meet someone who doesn’t look like they bit a lemon every time I make a death joke.”

“It’s your death, as long as it’s healthy you can own that however comes naturally to you,” Jazz promised, sitting back down at the desk. “I’d love to talk more and get to know you, but we can do that later. You really should meet Danny.”

“You don’t want to come with us,” Bruce broke in, sounding worried. Jason had almost forgotten he was there, he hadn’t realized how… all encompassing the short interaction had been.

“I’ll probably follow,” Jazz said with a shrug, her gaze turning stern as she looked at Bruce. “Remember what I said about never breaking up a fight,” She told him firmly. 

Well if that didn’t make Jason nervous he didn’t know what did. Why would he fight with Danny? Would Danny fight with him? Why? “You really think it’s a good idea for us to meet? Why would we fight?” Jason asked her sharply.

“Of course,” she agreed, her eyes softening as she looked back at him, though her expression remained a little mischievous. “It’ll be good for both of you.”

Next

[deadghosy]

Hi! I hope you're doing great!

So I saw the headcannons of reader as Catnap and Dogday and I fell in love with the way you write! So I was wondering if you could do a headcannon about the reader being bendy from bendy and the ink machine?

Like the reader can draw and bring ink creatures to help around the hotel, maybe draw some decorations for the hotel? Sometimes going full on ink demon form to protect it or just pick up their friends on their back to make them feel taller

And the reader was actually an animator at joey drew studios and died, I think that would be pretty cool!

P.s I would love if the reader was wearing the same suit bendy wore in bendy and the dark revival

HAZBIN HOTEL X BENDY!READER

Prompt: a cute “little” demon becomes a resident who helps with the designs around the hotel!

Starting off. You definitely appeared as baby bendy 😘 with ya cute ass red bow or white bow. What ever you want the bow color as you showed up to the door trying to seem professional as Charlie gushes at your cuteness and lets you in.

The picture of baby bendy in the car, yeah you have that as you literally fuckin' zoom in the hallways drinking apple juice like a bad ass kid….bendy!Reader and chibi!Reader both doing races to make sinners poor😭 lil evil asses….

I imagine Angel dust and Alastor ganging up on you as a team to insult you by your height until you grow up to ink demon from with a roar.

“HOLY SHIT-” “Oh my.” They both said as you they were blew off by the power of your roar. So you felt happy seeing them shocked to see that part of you as Charlie didn’t see it and had commented how adorable you are with your suit.

Shit you are a devil in an angel’s suit‼️

You still wore the suit you had in when you met Audrey…man you miss her. But you are getting taken care of by Charlie and her friends here. Plus her father.

You help design the banners around the place! And even your small ink minions help as well.

I can imagine bendy! Reader being like “fuck it.” Because they can’t reach for the cereal and turn into normal height looking bendy and just starts to act as if it’s normal. While in the background, the crew has pure confusion on their face. Like, “what the fuck? You can be taller?”

“Yeah! Pretty neat right?” “..Im out of here…” husk says walking away as niffty goes up to you excited to talk to you about your height.

You ran over alastor’s foot once….you never speeded over 120 mph in your whole life seeing Alastor chase after you.

I imagine you going to normal height as you are just chilling with your small or long tail swinging and husk gets curious as he picks it up with his paw. “So…this ya tail right here?” You nodded reading the new paper. “So you’re a sinner demon?” “I ain’t nothin'” you said with a smirk as you disappeared in ink.

No one knows what exactly what you are. You don’t have the basic looks to look like a sinner or a hell born. So it’s kinda confusing to other.

You’re obviously a human who died to the ink as you use to animate bendy…so you’re bendy?? Does that make since because whatever you died by is your demon form….hopefully that made sense..

You once went full ink demon mode because a sinner tried to attack at you and husk while just running errands for the hotel. You transformed getting taller with the ink covering your face as you growl and slashes at them with a giant gloved hand covered in ink. And after that husk respected you more.

“Bendy/reader, can you help me make a cute star design?” Vaggie asked as Charlie was trying to make a star gazing banner. You nodded with your cartoony smile and pulls out a marker and started to draw on the air. The star in the air becomes to life as vaggie’s eyes widen.

“Uhm…oh wow. Thanks?” Vaggie says as she walks away with question marks visible while you just smile.

Y’know those dubbed comics where bendy has an accent? I feel like that’s cannon because you and Angel would be babbling about which part of city you guys were from.

I can see sir Pentious and you doing crafts as you made him an ink cartoon flower as he made you a bracelet bead with your name on it.

Lucifer will definitely play violin as you tap dance. Just a wholesome ass moment fr 💗🦆

You one time had fat nuggets in your doom buggy as you guys had shades just chilling around the hotel like bad asses✨

You miss your original family when you were alive and working. But everytime you open your eyes, you are greeted by the sweet comfort of your new family in the hazbin hotel.

You one time made an ink sculpture of your family and you tried to hold your smile but it faltered as you cry at how you missed your family as the ink sculpture melted due to your emotions.

Alastor appeared in your room seeing you sad little state as he comforted you. He had taken a liking to you ever since you joined the crew.

I can see you being childish because of your shortness so you use it to your advantage. YOU AND ALASTOR MAKE YOUR INK DEMONS FIGHT LIKE POKÉMON 😭😭

lol imagine bendy!reader making a whole like of fake ass tarrot cards to fuck with people as you have that smirk on your face.

“You’re gonna get run over toots…watch your back..” “what. The. Fuck-”

They got ran over by a mysterious person and a car….who knew who it was…it was you, you little bastard.

When the hotel has a talent and show day or night, you remembered how you animated bendy to do ballet and tap dancing. So with your information, that’s what you did. Yeah some sinners laughed..but some aplaude as they found it cute and so did your friends

You making ink blob bracelets for your friends as you can make them solid is a goal for real.

Headcannon on how you would try to make ink sculptures, but failing as you huff in anger and smash it with a full ink demon hand as the rest of your body is fine.

Headcannon of you just accidentally leaving ink footprints as you took off your shoes once 😭 niffty doesn’t complain as she likes to clean tho

I can see Lucifer picking your small body up happy for you to be so small as he has started in his eyes. And you are like annoyed at how the cast picks you up like a baby.

LMAO THAT WALMART MEME STOPPP😭😭 LUCIFER PUTS YOU UP TO THE DAMN WALMART CAMERA HAVING ALASTOR ALSO PICK LUCI UP 😭😭

I imagine you and Alastor having either a “bad ass son x calm father” troupe or a “non-biological sibling” troupe as you two get quite along

Your little ass doom buggy is such a weapon when needing to take a troubled guest in the hotel….YOU RAN THEM OVER?! 😨 ALL PEOPLE SEE IS A SMALL ASS INK DEMON HAVING A GUEST SCREAMING AS THEY GET RUNNED OVER TO THE DOOR-

So when the angels came for the battle, you were sure damn ready as you suffocated them in ink and control them into killing their own.

After seeing your full demon form, you definitely had been seen in a different light. They don’t see you as the cute baby bendy they seen you before.

Nah nah. They see you as a grown ass person as you are not in the baby bendy phase but more like the fanart type shit looks. With your charm, you definitely bring in some customers. 

HOPED YOU GUYS LIKED THIS AS THIS IS ALL I COULD COME UP WITH 🦆💗 MWAH

[agentmarvel]

Can we have headcanons of fem!reader wife x 141 guys and how they each handle her leaving for girl’s night out in a really skimpy dress?

I think they’d all have hilarious reactions.😂

Omg yesssss

NSFW under the cut

MDNI - 18+

♡ Price:

Oh lord, that man is NOT letting you out of the house.

"Where ya think you're going in that?"

gets a little pissy when you remind him you have one girls night a month, and you have every right to wear whatever you want

"Doesn't mean you have the right to show anyone else what's mine, love."

will physically block the door with his whole body, knowing you won't be able to move him unless he allows it

he isn't mad - no, quite the opposite! it's taking every ounce of his self-restraint not to rip that damn thing in half and have his way with you right there on the foyer floor

"John, move. I don't want to be late!" - "Shame... You should've thought about that before you put on something you know damn well I can't resist."

he thinks it's cute when you argue with him, but you both know this ends up with your front pressed up against the door, panties pulled to the side, and his cock buried to the hilt inside you

after he cums, he pulls your panties back into place and gives you a harsh swat on the ass, not caring that your make up is a little smudged or that your legs are jello while he's giving you that smug look he wears so well

"Enjoy your night out, Mrs. Price. Hurry home."

♡ Gaz:

he's on you before you even walk out of the bathroom after you finish your hair

wraps his arms around your waist, puts his chin on your shoulder, tells you how pretty you look

"This dress new? Haven't seen it on the floor before."

ohhhhh, he is so down bad for you, even after as long as you've been together

makes it a point to grab a quick selfie bc he knows it's a solid confidence booster, and he wants you to feel as beautiful as you look

it doesn't really cross his mind that anyone would try anything on you - you're perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, and he knows who you'll come home to; he knows who's bed you'll be in tonight, who's name you'll be calling in the dark

he even helps you pick the right shoes, even though you know he picks his favorite pair in hopes of seeing you in just those when you get home

ever the gentleman, he walks you out to your car, reminds you to drive safe, call him if you have too much to drink, etc.

he does, however, make it a point to send you some downright raunchy texts and a photo of his more... physical reaction, just in case you needed some motivation to come home a little early

when you get home (early), he's still riled up; he's too impatient to wait for you to make it upstairs, much less to unzip your dress for you, so you end up riding him on the landing until he's too tongue-tied to keep telling you how hot you look

♡ Soap:

you're not making it out of the house. Period.

the SECOND Johnny lays eyes on you, it's over

he's grabby as hell, digging his fingers into any part of you that he can - squeezing your ass, your hips, your thighs, tits, tummy, anything - while he navigates you to the nearest surface

"Yer so fuckin' pretty, baby. Never seen something so fuckin' perfect in my god damn life."

it doesn't matter if you end up on the couch, the kitchen counter, in the back yard; he's eating your pussy like a death row prisoner's last meal until you're crying, trying to wrench his head away with the hair tangled in your fist

he has your dress bunched up around your waist, straps pulled down so he can play with your nipples, but uses the whole garment as leverage while he fucks you stupid

you should've known better than to put a t-bone in front of a starving dog and expect it not to bite

"Go ahead, bonnie; text your little friends, tell them you're not gonna make it, yeah?"

♡ Ghost:

"'course, love. Have fun, be careful, call me if you need a ride."

Simon isn't too worried initially; he knows there isn't going to be a single soul in that bar willing or able to face his wrath should anything untoward happen. but then he actually sees what you're wearing, and all bets are off

that's why he follows you, he tells himself, it has nothing to do with the insatiable urge to destroy your ability to walk tomorrow

nothing trumps your safety, in terms of his priorities. he's simply here to look out for his wife, right?

wrong. he spends the next hour and a half watching you from a darkened corner of the bar while his palms itch with a need to touch

opportunity knocks when you excuse yourself from the table, and he follows you into the restroom, slipping in before you have a chance to lock the door

you're not surprised to see him (duh, you know him better than just about anyone), but you are surprised to find yourself bent over the sink, looking Simon in the eye through his reflection. he's fucking you mercilessly, spewing absolute filth while he pulls your head back by your hair

"My perfect little whore, hmm? Waltzing around in that tiny dress, wearing my fuckin' ring, rubbin' it in everyone's faces that you only open those pretty legs for me."

he wants to cum on your face, but you pout about the possibility of it getting in your eye, or worse, on your dress, so he settles for letting you swallow it instead

his impulses return not much longer after you return to your table; instead, he texts you that he's ready to head out, and you are all too quick to oblige

[munson-blurbs]

Thinking about Rockstar!Eddie meeting you at an autograph signing and getting off to the thought of you after his show...

“Here ya go,” Eddie says, forcing a tired smile as he hands a freshly-autographed CD to a beaming fan. Pre-show merch signings were part of the deal, and they certainly brought in the extra cash, but after five months on the road, the members of Corroded Coffin are tired. Eddie scratches at the five o’clock shadow dotting his face, glancing at his watch. Just another ten minutes until they can wrap this up and start soundcheck. Then they’ll be back on the bus, shipping off to whatever city’s up next.

The security guard lets the next two people up to the table. Eddie reaches over to the pile of CDs, giving an exasperated sigh as he asks, “Name?”

That’s when he hears your voice.

His head snaps up, and he relaxes as he takes in your shy demeanor. You’re holding the hand of your friend–girlfriend?--hey, it’s the ‘90s; anything is possible. Your eyes sparkle as you say and spell your first name, biting your lower lip and averting your gaze from the gorgeous rockstar in front of you. “Pretty name,” he murmurs, writing a short message and swirling the Sharpie over the CD cover to make his exaggerated signature. “Pretty name for a pretty girl, yeah?”

You just giggle, and the girl next to you squeezes your hand. “She’s, like, completely in love with you,” she blabbers. “Every damn day since we got these tickets, it’s been, ‘What should I wear? Do you think Eddie will notice me?’”

You free your hand to elbow her, a little harsher than you’d intended. “Dianna!” you hiss, burying your face in your palms in a feeble attempt to hide your humiliation.

But Eddie just cocks his head, checking you out from head to toe. “Oh, he definitely noticed you,” he muses, handing you the CD with two lanyards. “You ladies wanna watch backstage? ‘Course you do; Charlie will bring you where you gotta go and, uh,” he looks directly at you, sending an excited shiver down your spine, “maybe we can notice each other a bit more later.”

You and Dianna nod vigorously as the beefy security guard leads you to the backstage VIP suite. A waiter comes around and takes your drink orders. You ask for a vodka soda, and Dianna gets a Long Island iced tea.

“You sure about that?” you whisper as the waiter walks away. “Those are really strong.”

Dianna shrugs. “It’s not every day we get free drinks. Might as well drink as much as we can.”

Meanwhile, Eddie’s fumbling his way through soundcheck, thinking about the way your breasts peeked out the top of your Corroded Coffin tank top, how your denim shorts perfectly cupped your ass, the shiny gloss that emphasized your lips. God, he wants those lips wrapped around his hard, throbbing–

“Munson? You wanna get your head out of your ass so we can put on a show?” Jeff’s voice booms through his mic. 

“He’s thinking about that hot chick he gave backstage passes to,” Gareth teases, and Simon makes kissy noises at their lead singer.

Eddie launches his guitar pick in Gareth’s direction, narrowly missing his head. “Shut the fuck up, all of you,” he grumbles, but he knows that they’re right. Just get through the show and she’s all yours. He palms himself over his pants discreetly. He’s never been more grateful for his guitar, since his tight leather pants do nothing to hide his burgeoning erection.

Corroded Coffin puts on a hell of a show, as usual. They close with “Rock Hard,” their hit single about hooking up with a groupie after a concert, and Eddie thanks every celestial being that it’s the last song of the night. As soon as the band thanks the audience and says their goodbyes, Eddie dashes offstage. He bolts into your suite, all sweat and smiles. “How’d you like the–” He stops, frowning when he sees an empty room, save for Charlie, who’s smoking a cigarette in a lounge chair. “Where is she?”

“Sorry, Casanova,” Charlie drawls. “Her little friend drank too much, got sick all over the bathroom. Had to get them outta here before she ruined anything else.”

Eddie groans, throwing his head back as his bandmates laugh at his misfortune. “Goddammit,” he hisses, pushing his perspiration-soaked hair from his eyes.

“C’mon, man,” Simon claps a hand on Eddie’s back. “There’s a bar down the street; plenty of the girls from the show will be there…” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“Nah, I’m just gonna head back to the bus. ‘M pretty beat.”

“Oh, something’s getting beat tonight,” Gareth jokes. Eddie flips him off, but once again, he’s right.

He’s barely closed the curtain to his makeshift bedroom before he’s hastily unbuttoning his leather pants, shoving his ringed hand into his boxer briefs. Just the sensation of his own touch has him bucking his hips. He runs his thumb over the bead of pre-cum pearling at his tip, using it to lubricate his palm. He uses his free hand to tug his pants down to his knees, sitting on the bed. He imagines you on your knees in front of him.

“S’big, isn’t it, baby?” Eddie coos. He leans over, letting a trail of saliva drip from his mouth to his shaft. “Thas’ right, spit on it. Such a dirty fuckin’ girl.” He grips the bedsheet with his left hand, dragging his right from base to tip. 

“What’s that? You want it in your mouth? Oh, pretty girl; you don’t have to ask twice.”

He fucks into his fist harder, feeling himself grow in his own grasp. “Mmm, let me make a mess of that face. Ruin that fuckin’ makeup you worked so hard on. Wanted me to notice you; well, I sure fuckin’ did. Knew I had to have you, sweet thing.” If you were actually here, you’d be gagging on his dick as your nose grazes the thatch of curls on his pevlis, tears reflexively gathering at the corners of your eyes. Your mascara would start to run; the telltale sign of a good blowjob.

He loosens his hold on the sheet, cupping his balls. “If you do that, ‘m gonna bust in that sinful mouth of yours, fuckin’ swear.” A harsh chuckle escapes his throat. “Bet you’d like that. Bet you’d take my whole load down your throat, swallow it all, yeah?”

Eddie brings himself right to the edge before forcing himself to slow down. “I know, baby. I know you wanna keep sucking me off. But I wanna–no, I gotta be in that perfect little pussy. Now, come sit on my cock. Nice and slow–thassit.” He tightens his grip on his length, keeping a slow rhythm to mimic the feeling of gradually filling you up. “You can take it, don’t worry. I’ve got you, baby girl.”

He bites his lower lip so hard that he swears it might bleed. “Oh, angel. Y’feel even better than I ever imagined, holy fuck.” He increases his pace, choking out a pathetic moan. “What’s that? You want me to come inside you? So desperate f’me, aren’t you?” He whimpers at the mental image of you bouncing on his cock, tits pressed up against the dusting of hair on his chest. “Come with me, fuck, wanna make you come. Want you to cream my cock while I fuckin’ fill you up.” Eddie lets out one last pornographic moan as thick, hot ropes of cum spurt out onto his thick fingers. He pants, trying to catch his breath as he comes down from the high of his orgasm.

Cleaning himself up, Eddie grumbles to himself about your stupid drunk friend and how he’s so tired of fucking his own hand. He falls asleep quickly, worn out from the combination of the concert and his own post-show escapades.

The next morning, Eddie wakes up and wipes the sleep from his eyes. The bus driver has already set out for their next destination, somewhere in Bumblefuck. Eddie doesn’t care, he just wants you. Real you, not the fantasy he’d conjured up last night.

“Hey, boss,” Charlie says when Eddie pads out to the bus’s common space. “Forgot to give this to you after the show.” He hands him a folded piece of paper, which reads:

Eddie:

Had to get Dianna home before she puked on the carpet. I was not paying for that to be replaced–the tickets for your autograph already bankrupted me…

But if you wanna stop by my hotel room later, just give me a call. I don’t think you were done noticing me. I certainly wasn’t done noticing you. 

xo

You signed your name with a glossy lip print and your hotel room extension.

“Charlie,” Eddie starts through gritted teeth, “if you can convince the driver to turn this bus around, I won’t fire you.”

--

[hotch33tos22]

Tomura x reader (smut)

“Messaging.”

New message from -BRAT-

‘Hey’

‘Y/n I'm busy’

He texts back a few minutes later, his annoyance in the short reply was almost palpable. Sheesh.

‘What ya doing?’

Tomura groans reading your next message and rolls his eyes. Did you not understand the concept of him being busy? He was in the middle of something, he didn't have time to chat

‘I told you I'm busy.’

He quickly texts back, his patience was already wearing thin.

'Right haha sorry’

Tomura can't help but scoff at how quickly you gave up-annoyed that you apologized and didn't press further. He was expecting more of a back and forth but not even a minute later you apologized and backed down.

‘Don't be such a pushover’

He texts back with a bit of annoyance, but not necessarily at you, more so he wanted you to put up a fight

He sighs, tapping his foot impatiently against the floor as he glances around the small room. It's a rather boring room-grey walls, grey carpet, and a single bed in the corner. He was staying in a shitty motel for the night since it was already getting late.

He glances at his phone, seeing you hadn't replied yet. He was hoping you'd respond but was starting to think you didn't feel like it. He didn't think he had been too rude earlier...

"Tch..."

He mumbles quietly, scrolling through a shitty phone game to pass time. The more time that passed with you not replying, the more he started to overthink.

Usually you'd keep pushing him, yet for some reason today you hadn't. It was annoying how much you were suddenly acting so passive.

He checks his phone one more time to see if you had answered yet but sighs seeing the last message was still his.

Tomura puts his phone down on the bed, running a hand through his hair and down the back of his neck. He felt a small pang in his chest— something akin to guilt or regret. Was he being too rude earlier? He didn't think so but he was used to you being feisty and pushing back...

He rolls over onto his back and glances up at the ceiling, staring at a stain in the corner as thoughts start swirling around in his head. He really was overthinking this.

'Sorry I was taking a shower’

Tomura feels slight relief at finally getting a response from you, but also gets strangely annoyed all of a sudden. He can't understand why you apologizing again irks him this time—he just feels pissed at the fact that you're being so submissive, so obedient. Why weren't you pushing back?

‘Didn't ask’

He texts back quickly with a scoff, his response sarcastic and bitchy

'Bitch.'

Tomura doesn't expect that kind of response. His eyes widen a little in shock and he slowly sits up on the bed. He smirks at your words and laughs quietly to himself — there you were, finally putting up a fight.

‘Good to know you haven't lost your attitude’

He texts back, hoping to get some type of conversation going. It was boring as hell and he was starting to be antsy.

‘Whatever I was trying to be nice but all I see is a pissy boyfriend’

Tomura is a bit taken back at being called "pissy". He was more annoyed and bored if anything, but you were right about the boyfriend part. He was being a bit sour.

‘Shut up. I'm not pissy I'm just busy and your ass kept messaging me even though I told you so. You're the one being a pain in my ass right now.’

He texts back, a tinge of irritation in his words even though he's kinda amused

'Two messages are you dense?'

‘Doesn't matter how many times you texted. I still said I'm busy and told you to knock it off.’

He rolls his eyes, getting a tad more annoyed that you're being a smart ass but not too annoyed to not entertain it. As much as he can't admit it, he did miss your little back-and-forth. It was interesting. Plus having someone to chat with distracted him from the boredom currently taking over his thoughts.

‘Whatever are you still busy? Or are you with your side piece?'

Tomura can practically feel himself getting more irritable by the minute. How little did you trust him? Why would you automatically assume he'd go and see another woman? The fact that it kinda stung that you'd think that pissed him off

‘You know damn well I'm not with a side piece. Besides who in their right mind would even put up with me?’

He texts back, leaning back against the headboard of the crappy motel bed with a huff

‘Unfortunately me.'

‘Shut up. You make it sound like putting up with me is a chore’

He grumbles, not amused at your sarcastic comeback. He wants to say something harsh to you to get you riled up but can't find the words that won't make him sound like a jackass. So he keeps it short and simple, and thankfully his next message from you pops up on his phone before he has time to think too much on what to say next. He looks at your response and huffs, shaking his head as he types back.

'It is babe.'

Tomura can feel himself get more worked up by each text from you. You were really being a sarcastic ass today. He couldn't even deny the fact that you were correct in what you said. It was usually a chore to put up with him and he knew that... but that didn't mean it hurt any less to be reminded of it— by his own partner no less.

‘Shut it. Be nice to me damnit’

'I tried to be and you called me a pushover.'

Tomura's hands clench into fists as he reads the last message. You were right, you did try being nice and he essentially just told you to shove off. He's starting to feel guilty... but of course he can't show that

‘That's 'cause you'd been acting like one by apologizing and backing off so damn quickly’

‘I forgot you like it when I get all bitchy'

Tomura has to bite back a grin at your last message. The fact that you were fully aware of how he liked it when you were snarky and challenging was amusing to him. It was also a slight turn on too...

‘You damn right I do. I like you better when you're biting back.’

'whateverrr. Hurry up and get home.'

Tomura feels a small sense of giddyness at your next message. You wanted him to come home. You missed him? He can feel the corners of his lips tug up into a small, uncharacteristic grin

‘I will. I'm almost done up here then I'll be back. Still can't believe you're being so clingy though.’

'well I miss you and your dick.'

Tomura nearly drops his phone as he reads your message. The grin on his face grows wider into a smirk and he can't help the flush that's creeping across his cheeks. Out of all the responses he was expecting... that wasn't one of them

‘You miss my dick huh? What happened to you being so innocent I gotta remind you to watch your language?’

'Oh please you don't say that when you stuff it down my throat'

Tomura's dick twitches slightly at your last message, immediately imagining you on your knees for him. He groans quietly to himself, quickly typing a response back as his free hand comes up to run through his messy hair.

‘Watch it babe. Keep talking like that and I might never make it back’

He gets a sudden idea, one that he's not sure you'd like but it's worth a try

‘Hold on, gimme a sec. I have and idea’

‘Oh?’

Tomura quickly opens the camera app on his phone, setting it to the front camera

‘I'm gonna send you something but I want you to promise that you won't freak out.’

‘I swear if it's another one of those videos where you torture someone I'm losing it.’

Tomura rolls his eyes, not surprised that you'd think that. He can't help but laugh a little at how wrong you can be sometimes.

Although, in all fairness, he was unpredictable and the videos of him 'messing with' unsuspecting heroes probably didn't help

‘No, I'm not sending you a murder video. I'm not stupid.’

"Good.'

He scoffs, typing his next text

‘You gotta have more faith in me babe’

He holds up his phone so his face is visible, and with his free hand, he reaches under the hem of his shirt, his palm coming to rest just above the waistband of his sweatpants. He smirks into the camera, his eyes locking on the phone as he clicks send. He's anxious to see how you respond to the picture, since the only thing visible in the picture are his face, bare stomach, and his sweatpants that are being tugged down slightly

'Fuck.’

‘That was hot.'

Tomura reads your response and he can't help but smirk, feeling a wave of pride at how you reacted to the picture. He was so damn right to send it and get you worked up. He texts you back within the minute, the smirk still plastered on his face

‘Ya like it?’

As you viewed his picture repeatedly you quickly send him a picture of you in his favorite langire as you set the camera showing off your curved body as you stroke a sexy pose on his bed.

Tomura's eyes widen at the picture that suddenly pops up on his phone. You were in his favorite underwear that he bought for you. You were laying on his side of the bed in a seductive pose and it looks like you've already spread your legs a bit...

“Goddamn...”

He whispers, feeling his sweatpants get tighter as he stares at the picture

He quickly types another message, his breaths a little shorter as he stares at the picture you sent as he takes it in slowly

‘You're trying to kill me aren't you?’

‘You started it, Do you have any idea how much I need you.?'

Tomura feels his chest tighten a bit at your words, wanting nothing more than to be able to touch you himself. His hand that's above the waistband of his sweats dips a little lower, a frustrated huff leaving his lips

‘I'll be back soon. That's a promise’

He sighs and glances away from the phone and back up at the ceiling of the crappy motel. Part of him is tempted to send you another picture but he stops himself, thinking it'll be better if he waited until he got home to get his hands on you himself.

As he tried to dose off he got another notification. You had send him a video of you folding your tits together with one hand as you looked up at the camera with those stupid lustful eyes.

Tomura's dick twitched as he watched, his need growing with every second. He could feel his pre-cum already starting to dampen his boxers as he saw his girlfriend’s naked body. You’re beginning to explore your body, cupping your breasts, squeezing and pinching your nipples, which stood erect and begging for attention. Tomura imagined it was his mouth working on those nipples, sucking and teasing them with his tongue.

Tomura couldn't take it anymore. He needed release, and he needed it now. He stripped off his clothes, his hands already working on the button of his sweats. As he threw his clothes aside, his cock sprang free, hard and dripping. He grasped it tightly, pumping it slowly as he imagined your mouth wrapping around his length, your lips kissing and sucking the tip.

He closed his eyes, letting the video play in his mind, feeling the warmth of the room and the tight pull of desire in his balls. He imagined you were there, your mouth working its way down his body, tasting every inch of him, your hands teasing his balls, playing with them, squeezing gently as your tongue flicked and teased.

Tomura's breathing quickened as he stroked his dick, faster now, a steady rhythm as the head of his cock glistened with pre-cum. His imagination was on fire, he pictured your mouth taking him deep, your throat working as you took him to the back of their mouth, sucking hard, your eyes looking up at him, full of desire.

Fuck he needed you so badly. He was this close to waiting it out, to not touch himself while he was away from your aching body. But you had to send him the most sexy video.

His hand bucked up and down his needy cock as his thump bullied his pink top just how you would.

“F-fuck-..” his voice rasped lowly as he tried to hold in his moans.

“Need you so badly.. s-shit..” he groaned as you continued his movements his balls becoming sloppy bouncing up and down his movements and his tip dripping with pre-cum.

He tilted his head back from all the lent up frustration as he groaned softly.

“H-haa..” he muffled out as he felt himself come closer to his release. His hands gripped around his cock as he hurried his movements rapidly.

“S-shit shit shit y-y/n..” he groaned and grunted as he felt his cock twitch rapidly while he released. As he continued his movements rising his high his breath rasped and hitched.

His cum oozed out his twitching cock dropping down his hand to his sloppy balls. He quickly picked up his phone snapping a quick picture of the sight sending it straight to you.

‘You’re such a damn brat. You’ll get that when I get back, You want me to get you pregnant huh? You want me to come back home and knock you up. Is that what you want?`

[euphoricimagination]

Friends don’t look that way

Feat. Kenma, Osamu & Sakusa

Kenma

Kuroo has never seen Kenma this way before.

Kenma has always been quiet, enjoying the company of his games way more than any other person; yet he was always caring about anyone else perception of him, always noticing eyes on him. However, Kenma never looks back, never looks at anyone directly that he didn’t have to look at.

So when Kuroo saw his friend on the lunch table, looking in front of him every few minutes with an unusual look, he was confused.

Kenma usually spends his lunchtime playing, if it wasn’t for Kuroo he would even forget to eat, so it’s no wonder than the captain wants to know what is grabbing the attention of his best friend.

He followed Kenma’s gaze once he lift his eyes up, finding you laughing with your friends. He has seen you before, you were in the same class as Kenma and sat behind him. You also seemed to enjoy volleyball and gaming as much as his friend, as he has seen you in their volleyball matches wearing a well love Legend of Zelda hoodie. He looks at you again, you were hearing whatever your friend was telling you with a smile on your face, before he looks back at Kenma, his eyes shining in a very particular way

“Do you know her?” Kuroo asks his friend, making him come out of his small trance

“Yn? Yeah, she’s my classmate” he answers back again with his nonchalant expression

“I meant it as actually knowing her, talking to her” he insist, seeing a faint blush on his friend face

“Yeah, she’s nice”

“She has to be more than nice for you to be so unsubtle with your heart eyes for her”

“I’m not…looking at her like that” he mumbles with a mixture of annoyance and shyness, as he hides his face in the scarf around his neck. Kuroo smirks at his friend response, not believing anything that comes out of his mouth, especially when Kenma lifts his eyes towards you again only to find out that you were looking at him too. Kuroo laughs out loud now as the both of you blush, putting a hand on Kenma’s shoulder

“Well, I don’t think you’re the only one with heart eyes” he says encouraging only to receive a glare from Kenma, a useless glare considering how red he is. His friend is definitely in love.

Osamu

Osamu is not concentrating as he should be in this practice match. He knows it, Atsumu has pointed out, Kita also remind him that they were playing several times, and now even the coach is pointing it out, scolding him for not taking this practice match seriously.

But it’s not his fault, Osamu thinks to himself, how it’s he supposed to concentrate when you are in the bleachers watching the match alongside your friends? How is he supposed to not look at you when you look so cute being all excited every time they score a point?

However, he doesn’t really understand why he is so unable to focus. Normally when you want to impress someone you would try your hardest to be better than normal, trying to stand out for them to notice. So how come his brain decided to do the exact opposite? Not only he was failing his serves miserably, but also he has unable to stop looking at you, resulting in him pathetically failing at receiving some of the easiest serves.

“Oi” Atsumu calls him once the coach finished talking “What the hell is wrong with ya?! Ya suck!”

“Eh?” Osamu looks at him back “I don’t suck, maybe yer’re the problem, dontcha think?”

“Me?! Ya know damn well I ain’t the problem here!” Atsumu throws him a ball, however he can catch it quite easily “What are ya even looking at?!”

“I think I know” says Suna smirking, looking in your direction and making him look at you too. Atsumu also follows his brother gaze, noticing how Osamu’s eyes change slightly when you lock eyes with him “What is it Samu? You like- Oi, listen to me”

Osamu is listening to everything, however he can’t seem to process any words coming out of his friends mouth, only focusing on you…until he received a slap on the back of his head

“Oi, stop eyeing them like they’re a piece of snack, ya fucking weirdass, she ain’t food” Atsumu says this time. Weird? Was he being weird? Osamu doesn’t know if you find it weird or not, but he does know that he doesn’t like Atsumu calling him out like that

“The fuck? I don’t do that, I don’t know what yer’re talking about” he says defensively, a useless attempt, really

“Ya liar! Ya haven’t stop looking at her this whole time!” Atsumu says again “No wonder ya have no fans, yer’re a weirdo”

“I’m not! Shut ya trap, ya asshat!” he says, feeling a slight hotness in his face

“Whatever, I will not allow ya to be useless right now” Atsumu says simply, walking towards the fence where you were standing “Oi! Yn-chan! Will ya go out with Osamu later?!”

He screams at you, making you blush and look back at Osamu, who also has a red face. Despite being embarrassed, you nod your head, receiving a bunch lf teasing remarks from your friends as Atsumu comes back to the team

“What was that for?!” Osamu screams at his brother

“There, got ya a date with her. Now, if ya keep playing bad I’ll ask the coach to replace ya” Atsumu answers, clearly too focus on the match to notice that he help his brother to have a date with the girl he likes

Osamu scoff slightly annoyed, however, it fully sinks in once he saw your happy, blushed face while Suna pats his back. He has a date with you, and he was excited for that, but now he has a practice match to focus on

Sakusa

“So like…Do you like her or something?” he hears Komori say besides him, making him turn his head towards him, a confused expression on his face. Who was Komori talking about?

“Why would you think that? How could you think that?” Sakusa asks. He seriously doesn’t get from where his cousin gain that idea, it’s not like he was doing anything in particular

“Because you keep staring at her like you’re in love or something” Komori says, pointing with his head to where you were, sitting on the other side of the classroom. Oh

Oh.

Everything suddenly just… clicked into Sakusa’s head, he was looking at you this whole time, your presence so relaxing that he didn’t even notice that he was staring at you. But then again, you always have manage to change his behaviors a little.

He recalls meeting you for a group project in where the teachers assigned the groups, and since you two where the only ones doing the job, he ended up finding you pleasant to be with. You two started to do homework together, which turn into you befriending Komori too, which somehow turn into you sometimes joining them for lunch or going to cheer them on their practice.

Soon enough your presence went from pleasant to likeable, which lead into him going to you from time to time. He didn’t understood a part of the lesson? He demanded you explain it to him. He received way too many gifts by his annoying fans? You’re the only person he even offers some of them before throwing them away. He was annoyed or anxious by the loud room? He always tries to find you there to feel at ease, because you always seem to find a way to calm him down. Like now, that you felt his eyes on you, which made you smile warmly to him, making all his worries disappear.

Komori was right. He’s in love with you.

He doesn’t even answer his cousin before standing up and going to your sit, with you receiving him with a playful yet worried smile.

“My practice ends at 6.00 pm today, wait for me” He says, it wasn’t an order but also wasn’t a question

“Yeah, I’ve nothing to do, thanks for asking” you say sarcastically, making him roll his eyes “Sure, I’ll wait. What for?”

“You’ll know later” he says before going back to his -smirking- cousin. It took him long enough to realize his feelings for you, he wasn’t going to take any longer to confess.

[girlboypersonthingy]

Hazbin Boys x reader- Comfort ❤️‍🩹

This is a request from an anon- hazbin boys comforting reader with depression/mental illness. Includes Lucifer, Angel, Husk, Sir Pentious, Vox and just a dab of Alastor. Original request here + a heart felt message from yours truly 💌

TW: depression, mental illness, sickeningly sweet fluff

Notes: gn!reader, NSFW during Angel’s part 18+ plz

Lucifer 🍎

Oh my goodnessssssss, prepare to be treated like absolute royalty.

I’m talking foot rubs, back rubs, playing with your hair

Not only will he make you food, he’ll literally try to feed you and offer you sweet praises when you do eat. Eating can be a real chore sometimes…

“Good job, my love. It’s gonna be okay…okay?”

I think Luci is pretty touchy in general, but when you’re down in the dumps, he gets extra clingy and touchy

He’ll pretty much constantly have a hand on you- holding your hand, a hand on your back, a gentle rub on your shoulder

Will unfurl his wings and drag you close to him in bed, wrapping his arms and silky feathers around you as he lulls you to sleep

Like imagine a midday depression nap all tangled up with Luci, curtains drawn so the room is nice and dark, the temp is perfect, the bed is hugging you just as good as your babe next to is. Ugh. Plz, I want this. I need this.

Will try to gently coax you out of bed and try to get you out of the house. He knows it won’t be easy for you but he thinks getting you cleaned up, dressed and out doing something fun you’ll feel a bit better. You’ll at least be distracted from your sadness for a bit.

He’s so kind and nonjudgmental too. He gets it completely. He has depression too. Even the king of hell deals with mental illness, okay? Mental illness does not discriminate

He’ll offer the best advice he can muster up, using his own experiences to help you out of your funk

All in all, he’s just an absolute sweet pea. So doting, so caring.

Angel Dust 🕸️

Also has mental illness, also gets it completely.

KING OF DISTRACTIONS

Angel is a sweet boy but I don’t think he’d be too great at offering advice…

So he does his best to distract you from your feelings, doing whatever it takes to get you to smile, even just for a second.

Will ask you what you want to do first, whatever will make you happy, he’ll go along with it.

If you insist on rotting in bed, he’ll probably respectfully pull you out of bed, tell you “this ain’t good for ya, babe” and force you to go do something fun, something relaxing, something for yourself

Sorry not sorry but he’ll def offer to cheer you up by fucking you, letting you fuck him, eating you out, sucking your dick. Go ahead, take your stress out on him, he can take it ;)

Also the king of self care.

SPA DAY SPA DAY SPA DAY

Will draw you and him a bath, rub your shoulders while you sit in the warm water together, will even wash your hair for you

Forces you to wear a face mask with him lmao

“C’mon, (Y/N)! Lemme paint ya nails! You’ll look sooooo cuuuuuute~”

Expect lots of touching and kisses with him at night, especially if you’re having trouble sleeping

Rubs your back, rubs your arms, will rub gentle circles on your butt if you’ll let him, kisses your head, kisses your cheeks, kisses your nose

ALL THE KISSESSSSSS 💋💋💋

Husk 🃏

Okay listen…this guy is obvi a great listener and he’s pretty good at giving advice. Honestly, he’s probably the best person to go to.

Husk is an old soul, he’s pretty wise, has a lot of life experience, death experience, his own experience with mental illness and even addiction.

He could just listen to you talk for hours, waiting for you to pause before he replies. He’d never interrupt. He’s so patient with you 🥹

Will keep a close eye on you and any new habits you’ve seemed to pick up. He fixes his own issues with booze but he’s the type to say “do as I say, not as I do”

Won’t let you spiral into addiction like he did…it’s not an option.

I think Husk would be a good mix of “Come here, give Husker a hug. It’s alright, hun. Let’s go take a little nap, yeah?” and “Hey, I know what’ll cheer ya up!” *proceeds to show you the coolest, craziest magic tricks*

He’s a good balance of comfort and distraction

Anything he can do to help, just say the word

Will tell you funny shit he’s seen the folks around the hotel do just to see you laugh for a moment

“One time, Angel was walking right in front of the bar at like 7 in the morning and tripped over literally nothing and face planted! I had the best seat in the house. It was hilarious.”

This is my own personal headcanon, idk why but I feel like Husk can cook really well. He’d totally make you food, even bring it to you in bed if you don’t feel like getting up

Will absolutely let you play with him like a kitten, won’t even be upset about it. Play with his ears, give him pets, let his fur be your stim toy, let his purr soothe your achy heart

Sir Pentious 🐍

Plzzzz, he’s such a simp. I love this slippery, special little guy 💚

Big on cuddles! Will cuddle you all day, all night if you want. Loves the physical contact, and loves it even more when he can feel you relax a bit against him.

Will make his eggs boys do anything for you. Whatever you want, you tell them and they’ll happily oblige.

Kinda random but I think he’d be the type to try and pull silly little pranks on ppl around the hotel just to get you to laugh. He’s such a silly goose omg

He doesn’t really understand what you’re going through so he’ll just keep asking you what he can do, how he can help, what you want, what you need from him.

He doesn’t get it but he’ll do anything for you.

When you’re feeling particularly lazy and it’s extra hard to leave your bed, he’ll literally carry you around. Just lounge in his arms, darling, he’ll take you wherever you need to go. Don’t need to go anywhere? Fine, you’re gonna come along with him to do his daily tasks. Sit in his lap and just watch as he works.

Just wants to keep you close. He can’t stand the thought of you being alone when you feel like this. No matter where he is or what he’s doing, he wants you close.

Unless you insist on having some alone time or needing some space. Again, whatever you need from him, you got it.

Although, he may get a little teary eyed and pouty when he leaves you. Can’t stop thinking about you all day and probably comes and checks on you several times.

Vox 🖥️

“CANCEL MY MEETINGS, HOLD ALL MY CALLS, TELL EVERYONE IM NOT RESPONDING TO EMAILS UNTIL TOMORROW!”

Guy needs to focus on his baby right now. You are his top priority, everything else can wait. You are just too precious to put on the back burner.

Will be sure to tell Val and Velvette to leave you two alone. He doesn’t want them upsetting you any more than you already are.

This man has his assistants waiting on you hand and foot. He’s gonna stay in your bed with you, cuddled up with tons of blankets, both in your pajamas as you watch movies while ordering his staff to bring you whatever it is you desire.

Will eventually yank you out of bed bc he can’t stay still for too long but you’re coming with him. Wants to keep you company always

In public, Vox isn’t the most romantic or touchy. He’s a busy man with a huge reputation to uphold. While he would never completely ignore you and he’s no ashamed to show some PDA with you, you sort of always find yourself following in his shadow when he’s hard at work.

Once he sees how much your mental health is affecting you, he becomes much more attentive, much more protective of you.

He’ll hold your hand or keep his arm around you when out and about. Will give you a gentle kiss and a prideful smile before getting on set for a news shoot.

If you’re having a particularly hard day, everyone get out of the way! Hes taking the day off, he doesn’t give a fuck what anyone says or thinks.

You are too important to him. Without you, what good would all his accomplishments be? Without you, who would he share all this with?

He needs you to stick around 🩵

Alastor🩸

I think Alastor would be absolutely clueless but he’d try his best nonetheless!

He’d also be one to try and distract you.

Wanna go to cannibal town and visit Rosie? She’ll help cheer you up! She’s a great listener with tons of good advice to give

Will reluctantly invite you into his room and lead you to the half of it that looks like a swamp/forest. He will take off his coat and sit in the grass with you, staying silent but watching you look around in awe.

He’s got lots of cool powers and will summon or manifest little things here that he thinks will bring a smile to your face.

Summons little lightning bugs to carefully dance around your face, holds back from slaughtering a deer that’s approaching just so you can admire it from afar, will watch with a genuine smile as you lay back in the grass and relax to the sound of crickets chirping and light jazz music.

If you asked…he might give you a hug. Might.

Also sends his shadow to check up on you every so often but if you notice this, he will deny it with all his might.

[skzdarlings]

bodyguard: the first guard | part two | chan/reader

masterlist.

(part one of the previous story.)

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | tba

( read on AO3 )

A sequel to the Bodyguard. Miroh's daughter is assigned a bodyguard of her own. The past is confronted when old friendships and new enemies are pushed to the brink.

pairing: bang chan/reader content info: sequel to the bodyguard (felix/reader). this is a new reader perspective. the previously established story dyanmics: explicit violence, mentions of torture, death. chapter word count: 12,000 words.

-

B E F O R E

Felix is wearing itchy civilian clothes, the jeans distractingly stiff.  Regardless of how many field missions he is assigned, he never gets used to undercover disguises.     

“Look what I found,” Chris says, dropping into the seat beside him. 

Chris looks marginally more at ease in his baggy basketball shorts and baseball cap, passing for a teenage boy on an afternoon train with his friend.  They are in the passenger car outside the first class cabin, a compartment that should contain their mark but presently sits empty. 

“Uh, the target?" Felix asks.  “You know, the thing you just went to find?”

Chris giggles like the whole situation is funny.  Felix is far less amused.  This should have been an easy job: get in, kill the mark, steal back the data he took from Miroh, and get out.  But so far it has been tedious. 

Felix can’t even blame Chris this time.  For some reason, Chris has been more accommodating lately.  Chris is fifteen, almost sixteen, and Felix is twelve.  They have both been active in the field for a couple years. Felix is not sure why Chris has opted for sudden compliance.  He does not necessarily volunteer for jobs but he accepts them without much grudging reluctance.  He will occasionally voice his worser grievances but for the most part he is keeping his head down. 

Maybe it is the result of all those punishing sentences in the Cell.  More than once he has been shoved down there, sometimes alone and sometimes with Miroh’s daughter.  Felix would not want to spend any isolated time with her.  But maybe she is intimidating enough to get through to Chris.

Whatever it is, it is working.  Excluding moments like this when Chris is giggling and distracted and doesn’t seem to care about the job at all. 

“Relax, Felix,” Chris says.  “It’s a train.  There’s only so many places he can be, yeah?”

“Well, there’s one place he’s supposed to be but he isn’t there, is he?” Felix says.

“Lighten up, mate,” Chris says.  “We’re supposed to look normal.  Normal kids have fun.”

Chris dumps a candy bag in Felix’s lap.  Felix looks at it like it’s a bomb.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Felix asks.

Chris opens his own bag and starts eating the candy. 

“That,” he says.  He tosses a piece in the air and catches it in his mouth. When he tries to do it again, Felix snatches it mid-air and throws it on the floor.  This makes Chris laugh.

“He was in the dining car,” Chris relents.  “Four security officers.  Ex-military.  Piece of cake.”

“Why didn’t you say that before?” Felix asks, annoyed.  He starts to stand but Chris yanks him back into his seat. 

“The hell, man?” Chris says.  “You gonna go ventilate the guy while a bunch of civilians are having afternoon tea?  Ya think that might blow our cover?  Just a bit?” 

Felix frowns but he knows Chris is right.  Miroh does not like a public mess.  They will have to wait until the mark returns to the privacy of his cabin.

Felix does not like waiting.  It is a part of a soldier’s training, but his least favourite part by far.  He prefers action.  With the quiet stillness comes fear, doubt.

The latter makes him sweat.  He tries not to think about it.  His life is his mission.  Through Miroh, Felix has contributed good things to the world.  Lately, it just seems like no matter what he does, the world does not stay good. 

The Enemy has been dead for two years.  The new enemy, his idiot heir, has holed up like a dragon guarding his hoard.  He has built defences so high that not even an army like Miroh’s can breach it.  There has been no retaliation, no offensive strike like the old enemy, but these deep roots are almost more sinister.  Felix is starting to think this might be hopeless.  That maybe Miroh is wrong.  That maybe some things cannot be saved. 

Felix crinkles the candy bag in his lap.  He gathers himself and exhales. 

“Fine,” he says.  “How long do you think he will be distracted?  Enough time to get the data?”

“If it’s in there, yeah,” Chris says.  “Might as well check.  He just started eating so we should have some time.”

“Then what are we waiting for?”  

Chris frowns like Felix is inconveniencing him with the job they were sent here to do.  

Felix is not in the mood to argue.  He shoves his candy bag in his back pocket and pushes past Chris.  They make their way down the aisle.  No one lifts their head, the two boys disappearing in their inconspicuous disguises.

They pick the lock to the first class cabin.  Felix opens the door and looks around the room, for a moment a little stupefied by the luxury.  It is all deep mahogany and gold trim.  Their target is an engineer who stole designs from Miroh to sell to the enemy.  The wealth of this cabin exemplifies that corruption, surely. 

Felix tells himself that as he rifles through the luggage.  He finds a laptop and tells Chris to stand guard while he collects the data.  Chris is the better fighter but Felix is better with technology.

The laptop loads.  The home screen is the mark with his family, three smiling, sunny-faced children, all younger than Felix.  It gives him a queasy, uneasy feeling, a feeling that should be long scrubbed out of him by now.

He blames it on the rocking of the train carriage.  Physical sensations can manipulate mental energy. 

He searches through the computer storage for the stolen designs.  Both Miroh and the enemy are chasing government building contracts, tying their businesses irrevocably to political power and pursing relationships therein.  These plans will cinch the deal for whichever party has them.  The engineer who betrayed Miroh masqueraded as a potential recruit before stealing the plans.

There is only one problem; Felix knows how to read metadata and he cannot find anything that was once on Miroh’s servers.  In fact, some of these designs go back years, well before Miroh even considered pursuing these contracts.

“What’s taking so long?” Chris asks, poking his head in the room.  “You’re usually a computer whiz.  Is something wrong?”

“The files aren’t here,” Felix says.  For the fifth or sixth time, he opens what looks like the plans.  Everything except the metadata matches the description.  But that metadata does not lie.      

These files do not belong to Miroh. 

Chris double checks the corridor before joining Felix.  They look at the files together. 

“Isn’t that it?” Chris asks.  “It looks like the right thing.” 

“Yeah, but it’s not,” Felix says, his eyes darting frantically all over the screen.  “Or it should be.  But these, uh, these files aren’t Miroh’s.” 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean this guy stole the plans from Miroh.  But all these files are original.  They were never on Miroh’s servers.”

There is a moment of quiet.  Chris is not famous for reservation so Felix looks at him.  He is embarrassed to find a pitying look on Chris’s face. 

“Felix,” Chris says.  “Come on, man.”

It is not exactly a condescending tone, rife with too much sympathy to be so cruel, but It sounds like Chris is saying, don’t be stupid.

Felix swallows.  He looks down at the plans.  The realization hits him and the words come to his mouth, rising like bile.

“We’re not stealing back the plans,” Felix says.  “We’re just stealing them.  Aren’t we?”

“Well, yeah,” Chris says.  “You didn’t know that?”

“How did you know that?” Felix snaps back, embarrassed and upset and very, deeply confused.   

“It wasn’t exactly a stretch,” Chris says.  “It’s what Miroh does.  It’s what they all do.  You haven’t figured that out yet?  You?” 

Felix, who has done the most assignments.  Felix, who is the most successful agent in the special-ops program.  Felix, who is the best only because the real best refuses to be.

He studies Chris, this older boy who seems so confident he has all the answers.  Felix does not even know all the questions.  He feels that weakness and vulnerability he so hates, the entirely world suddenly unfamiliar enemy terrain. 

“Look, it’s fine,” Chris says.  “Just take the data and we’ll leave.  We’ll tell Miroh the mark got away.  He cares more about the plans anyway.”

“Lie,” Felix says.  “You want us to lie to Miroh?”

“It’s not a lie,” Chris says.  “It’s just protecting the truth.”

Felix stares at him.  Chris, on steadier feet than Felix, sighs and pushes Felix out of the way.  He loads the data onto the external hard drive himself.  He then makes a show of ejecting it and putting it in his pocket.

“Let’s go,” Chris says.

Felix does not get a chance to protest because the door opens.  They have no time to react.  In seconds, they are joined by the mark’s security team. 

Felix knows how to fight.  It is second nature to him.  He should not need to think.

But he does.  He overthinks.  He gets a look at the mark before a bodyguard whisks him away.  Felix thinks of the smiling faces on those children.  He thinks how he is not much older than them.

There is a growing pit of anxiety inside him.  It swallows him whole.

Felix and Chris fight to get away.  Chris could take all these guards on his own but he is trying to avoid severely hurting them.  That distracts Felix too.  Suddenly, Chris’s refusal to fight does not seem like cowardice but instead it is something Felix cannot name. Something he once saw in Miroh but doesn’t anymore. 

Distracted, Felix does not fight like he usually does. 

The first class cabin is a private attachment at the back of the train.  The fight lead onto the outside landing at the end of the car.  A guard dislocates Felix’s shoulder.  The next thing Felix knows, he is tumbling over the railing.  He manages to grip with his good arm, holding all of his body weight to avoid getting snagged and ripped along the train tracks. 

But it won’t save him.  He’s going to die. The realization hits him like any other calculation in a fight, when he measures his odds and deduces his best move.

He has none.  The train is moving too fast and he is at a bad angle to jump.  He has one good arm keeping him alive and no way to fight the approaching guard.  Chris has taken out his own adversaries and should be retreating with the data.  That is what they are trained to do.  The job is more important than the soldier.  In a crisis, you leave the weak behind. 

Felix braces himself to let go, hoping the above-average strength in his body can also withstand slamming into railroad tracks at high speeds.  He suspects even if he does survive, he will be severely injured, abandoned in the middle of nowhere, and dead to the only place he has ever known.

But the guard falls back. Chris knocks him out with sharp efficiency.  He then lays the unconscious man down with almost comical gentleness.

Chris runs up to Felix.  Felix wants to shout at him – everything from go away and finish the job to my shoulder hurts and I need you to save me. 

Chris gives no opportunity for argument or acquiescence.  He shouts, “Hold on!”  Then he swings himself over the railing.  He wraps an arm around Felix and hauls him into his side.  Once secure, he carries them back over the rail and onto the landing. 

“What are you doing?” Felix asks.  He cannot slow the race of his heart, seemingly tethered to the thunder of the train car against the tracks.  He is not sure it will ever slow again.  He thinks he might remember this moment forever.

“What am I doing?” Chris asks.  He laughs for some forsaken reason.  “Just doing this, mate,” he says.

He seizes Felix by his injured shoulder.  Felix winces, having only seconds to brace himself before Chris shoves his dislocated shoulder back into place.   Agony washes over Felix, hot and sharp, the pain rattling him worse than the actual dislocation.

“Sorry,” Chris says.  “Sometimes getting better hurts more for a bit.”

The rest of the mission is a blur to Felix, lost to the throbbing ache in his shoulder and a similar pain taking root inside him.

They make it back to Miroh’s facility.  Chris hands the hard drive off to an upper level agent while Felix sees a medic.  The bag of candy is still in his back pocket.  He sits in the infirmary a long time, just crinkling it between his fingers.  He feels like his world is crashing around him. 

It is days before Felix has an opportunity to see Chris again.  They are in different barracks because of their age difference, the soldiers grouped by year.  When Felix finds Chris in the corridor, Chris is talking to Miroh’s daughter who lives in the barracks too.  They are on their way to their bunks. 

Felix taps Chris on the shoulder.  Chris looks at him, his laughing expression faltering when he sees Felix.  He must see something in him that Felix cannot even recognize in himself. 

Chris turns to Miroh’s daughter and says, “I’ll catch up, yeah?”

She spares Felix a glance and Felix feels an unusually panicked skip in his blood.  It feels like she can see his mental turbulation the way Chris can.  But unlike the rest of them, she has a direct line to Miroh.  She might live and act like a soldier but she is more and always will be.  Felix balks under her scrutiny, worried she will see his doubt and report it right back to Miroh.

Felix is grateful when she leaves.  But when Chris looks at him so expectantly, Felix no longer knows what to say. 

It takes a moment.

“I wouldn’t have done the same for you,” Felix finally says.  It comes out as instinctively as a punch.  “I wouldn’t have saved your life.  I would have just finished the job.”

Chris blinks at him.  He exhales on a laugh.  Then he claps Felix’s good shoulder, a touch of clear camaraderie. 

“I know, Felix,” he says.  “I didn’t do it so you would pay me back.  I didn’t do it because I thought you would do the same.  I did it because it was the right thing to do.” 

Felix thought he was speechless before but now he is truly at a loss.  Even his long engrained instincts fail.  He is out of punches. 

Chris just smiles at his confusion.  With one final nod, he turns and retreats to his bunk. 

Felix stands in the corridor, wounded but bandaged.  He stares at the place where Chris stood, like if he looks long enough then Felix will understand what Chris understands.  That maybe there is a right and wrong outside of what they have been taught.  Maybe things exist outside of this place. 

Maybe some things can be saved. 

-

P R E S E N T   D A Y

“Ah, it’s the classic story,” Changbin says with a sigh.  “A boy and a girl, forced to share a bed.  He is her bodyguard.  She is an heiress.  Should we kiss on the lips?”

You whack him in the gut with a pillow and he erupts with giggles.

Changbin has been your so-called bodyguard for a few weeks now.  It has changed little in your daily routine as your father had assigned Changbin to your department sometime before that.  The special-ops program was written off as an experiment with potential for future development, though that development has long sat arrested.  Bang Chan is in your father’s direct employ while Changbin has been on different teams fulfilling different missions.  When you started taking the lead on projects, he served under your direction. 

It is why your father is not happy.  The bodyguard arrangement was meant to assert his control over you, using an agent as his eyes and hands.  Miroh is not good at relinquishing power, not even to someone like him, or maybe especially to someone like him.  You have always been a good, loyal, obedient soldier and daughter.  Taking over projects and assuming command was inevitable.  Somehow you have wronged him by doing everything right. 

Lately, your work has been meagre clean-up duty.  Miroh has been accruing assets and terrorizing his way into the mess left behind by his late enemy.   It is making Miroh’s paranoia even worse.   He has seen for himself how this powerful house fell apart just because its patriarch died.  The business was left in shambles, underlings squabbling like helpless children.  It was ripe for picking. 

You have been cleaning whatever mess is left behind.  This week you have been cleaning out some old office buildings, primarily sifting through abandoned storage for anything useful that might have been sequestered.  You are spending the night at a nearby safe house, sharing a room with Changbin.  The rest of your team is scattered around the house. 

Seeing as your father has relegated you with menial tasks, you have taken it upon yourself to conduct your own investigations.  Your findings have been on your mind all day.  It is why you do not respond to Changbin’s joking with your usual wit. 

“You’re quiet, murder princess,” Changbin says.  “Should I be worried?”

He drops his mask on the nearby desk then unholsters his gun.   He places it beside yours.  It is a testament to your dynamic that you feel comfortable disarming around each other.  You would certainly never do it around your father.  But Changbin is different.   You are not someone who seeks true friendship but you acknowledge the necessity of teamwork especially in times of crisis.  You do not fully trust Changbin as you do not fully trust anyone, but he is loyal and you reciprocate that dependability.

It is why you beckon him forward.  You are sitting on the bed, feet on the floor.  Changbin pulls up a chair to sit in front of you. 

“The enemy had a multi-level security system,” you say.  “Physical in some capacities, digital in others.  My father has always been more preoccupied with offense than defense, so in that regard they were always a step ahead of us.  That is the part my father is interested in.  That is all he sees.” 

“And what do you see?”  Changbin asks.  His disposition changes with the severity of your words, joviality replaced with equal seriousness. 

“I don’t see anything,” you say.  “That’s the problem.”

He lifts an eyebrow, curious.  You show him the image on your tablet, then swipe to the next one. 

“The security log is missing information,” you say.  “There is no trace of anything unusual transpiring the day they were all killed.  No breach, no shutdown.  Everything is normal until everything is gone. Someone scrubbed every last second of data from the digital system.  Someone who knew the system well enough to not just delete the surface files but to clean the server entirely.” 

“So what are you saying?” Changbin asks.  “You think it was an inside job?”

“I know it wasn’t us,” you reply.  “I know it wasn’t any of the usual players.  This family had enemies in every market.  If it was one of them, you’d think they would have stepped forward to assert themselves by now.  Whoever it was had no interest in taking over company assets.  No interest in even sticking around.  Someone went to great lengths to make the entire thing look ambiguous, to leave everyone asking more questions, to turn our heads in one direction while they disappear in the other.  Someone professional.  Someone technologically capable.  Someone whose only motivation was escape.” 

His jaw is clenched as he stares at the images, but you can see the gears turning in his mind.  When he meets your gaze, you sit forward.

“Changbin,” you say.  “What happened on that mission?”

He does not need specification.  Changbin is usually like you, pragmatic and realistic.  He does not dwell in his emotions and never for so long.  It has been well over a month now but he is still rankled by that warehouse confrontation with Lee Felix. 

“Ah, Yongbok,” Changbin says wistfully.  His eyes are downturned but his thoughts are somewhere else.  “You remember him.  He always needed a fairy tale to believe in.”    

That much is true.  You and Changbin have always been simple soldiers manoeuvring through the morally complicated world around you.  You never had any delusions that Miroh was better than his enemies, simply that one or the other was inevitable.  You knew you could make a bigger impact in the fight than watching from the sidelines. 

Felix was competent but naïve.  He believed in Miroh unequivocally which is why he blind-sided them all with his betrayal.  To this day, you do not know why he joined the enemy, nor why he stayed. 

It makes sense he might have naively devoted himself to a different cause. 

“What fairy tale was that?” you ask.  “The enemy?”

“Chris.”  Changbin looks at you beneath the sweep of his dark bangs.  His smile is wry.  “He asked me about Chris.” 

You blink back at him, surprised by the answer.  After stumbling over any number of replies, you say, “That wasn’t in your initial report.”

“It didn’t seem important,” Changbin says with a shrug.   

“You have a responsibility to report back everything—”

“Yes, commander,” he says dryly.  He slumps in his seat and crosses his arms.  “Does it matter now?  I told him Chris was dead.”

Not a lie, in a way.  Bang Chan was a rebellious subject in his youth, nothing like the merciless soldier he is now.  The inhuman machine was wrought through inhumane treatment.   You were not privy to the grittier details nor have you ever felt an inclination to investigate.  You do not need knowledge of the gruesome torture that was administered.   The results are the same: the rebellious boy died.  He has been gone ever since he was dragged into a basement room for correction. 

“Chris,” you say.  The name sits heavy on your tongue.  “Why would he want to know about Chris?”

“The better question is, why didn’t he want to know about me?” Changbin retorts.  It sounds like a joke, his tone jumping back into comically exaggerated hysterics.  But there is a tension in his shoulders that was not there before.  “You know he didn’t even recognize me?  Ah!  The little brat!  I knew him too!  I wasn’t Bang Chan, no one was … But I was there.  Forgetting me… We’re all that’s left!” 

You tilt your head and study Changbin, as if there are more answers in his face than in his words.  Your gaze drifts to the scar by his eye.   He got hit today, taking a swipe meant for you.  Other adversaries have sent agents to scour the late enemy’s business remains, but they are no match for soldiers of Miroh.  

Changbin joked he was being a good bodyguard.  In truth, he is a good bodyguard.  Your security team is competent but nothing compared to him.  It has made a difference, having someone so reliable at your back, even though it has painted a target on his.  Your father is not happy Changbin outsmarted him.  Changbin jokes about it, as he is wont to do, claiming he can’t wait for a pummelling of his own.  He is probably right.  Miroh has been quiet about the bodyguard assignment but that does not mean he has surrendered.  He is a strategist.  He is patient if it means results. 

Raising children into soldiers is a testament to that patience.  You look at Changbin, arguably the last true survivor other than yourself.

We’re all that’s left.  

You find yourself reaching for him.  It is not like you, but lately everything seems out of character.  You touch his face, drawn to that scar, a scar that should be yours.  You touch it very lightly. 

When you meet his eyes, he is looking at you strangely.  You are not a famously affectionate character, not even with him.  You rip your hand back and shake your head. 

“What’s wrong with you?” he asks, more curious than accusatory. 

“Nothing,” you say.  “I mean – well.”  You scrub a hand over your face.  The weeks have healed the worst of your injuries, but it is still littered with scars, including the ones Changbin gave you. 

His eyes linger there before he sighs and drops his head.  He rubs his face too. 

“We’ll talk later,” you say, suddenly feeling the weight of today, not to mention the accumulative exhaustion of the days before.  “It’s been a long day.”  An understatement.   

Changbin doesn’t argue.  You separate to use the facilities and dress down for rest.  You sleep in sweatpants and a t-shirt, your weapons and shoes not far.  The one bed has plenty of space.  You lay down first, certain that your mind is running too fast to rest, but all that exhaustion catches up to you. 

You wake some time in the middle of the night.  When Changbin gets out of bed, the dip and rise of the mattress stirs you.  You blink awake, watching him amble over to the window.  There is a cushioned seat and he plops down, his arms crossed and his eyes on the stars.

You wonder if you look that young out of combat clothes.  His hair is ruffled and the black t-shirt and pants are comfortably fitted.  His face looks vulnerable and open as he stares into the night. 

“You’re awake too,” he says, not looking at you. 

“Obviously,” you reply.  You push yourself upright.  “You woke me.”

“Sorry,” he says, trying to flash you one of his jovial grins but barely managing. 

“You look tired,” you say. 

“Thanks,” he replies with a laugh. 

“You should go back to sleep.”

“I’m on bodyguard duty,” he jokes, gesturing to you.  “I need to make sure no one murders the murder princess.” 

You give him a dry look that makes him giggle.  Naturally his humour returns at your expense.  He really is the little brother you never had. 

You slide off the bed and join him at the window seat.  You shove and kick like bickering children until you are comfortably settled.  You sit with your legs curled up to your chest, mirror images of each other.  He looks out the window and you look at him. 

“What are you thinking about?” you ask.   

“Nothing,” he says, an automatic response.  Then he shakes his head and sighs.  “I don’t know, princess,” he says.  “I don’t think you’ll understand.” 

“What makes you say that?” You cannot help but feel offended even if he is probably right.  You do not have heart-to-hearts, which is what this feels like, a quiet moment carved out of chaos.  If everything was different, you would just be two friends talking about your normal lives. 

Your life is anything but normal. 

“I know you,” he answers, simple and confident.  “I know who you are.  Even when – well, no matter what happens, I guess.”

“Well,” the words are out of your mouth before you can stop them, “that makes one of us.” 

You swallow your thoughts quickly.  Your innermost turmoil cannot be entrusted with anyone.  It is dangerous to even think such weakness, never mind vocalize it.

Changbin looks at you with a pinch in his brow.  You look away, up at the sky.  You wonder about the vantage from the stars, seeing the bigger picture of your life.  Your pain and sacrifices have to be worth something.  Miroh always said the world was full of shadows, dark spots no regular person could clean.  He was right about that.  He is definitely one of them, but sometimes only darkness can fight darkness.  Or so you thought.  All this business with the enemy has changed things.  That darkness collapsed in on itself like a black hole, taking everything with it. 

“It used to be easier, didn’t it?”  Changbin asks.  “Just doing what you’re told… You can tell yourself it’s not your fault, that it would have happened anyway… Maybe I was believing in fairy tales too.” 

You look at each other.  He just sighs. 

“A part of me feels like I never grew up,” he says.  “I’ve always been what I am.  Maybe it’s time to stop.” 

“That sounds a lot like treason,” you say, realizing how dramatic it sounds after the fact. Miroh is a businessman and this company is not a country.  And yet treasonous is what it feels like, a deep betrayal to the place that raised and shaped you into what you are.  It feels like treachery to even think about abandoning it after everything. 

“Maybe it does,” he says.  He gives you another wry smile, flicking his bangs out of his face.  “Does it matter?  He already wants my beautiful head off its beautiful shoulders.”

“You shouldn’t be saying this to me,” you say.  You’re Miroh’s daughter.  Your relationship with your father might be fraught, but your loyalty is to this house and always has been.  It is the only constant in this tumultuous, violent world. 

“Are you gonna tell on me?” Changbin teases, so unserious on such a deathly serious matter.  He just laughs at your silent but intense stare.  He shakes his head as he looks out the window.  “I don’t worry about that.”

“About what?”

“You telling on me.”

That stops your heart faster than the treason. 

“Why not?” you ask slowly, as if you are wary of a trap about to spring. 

Changbin puts a hand in his hair, shaking out his ruffled bangs.  He looks normal but also not, his strong body so clearly built for violence.    It is why you are shocked when he reaches out, when he touches you like you touched him, an undemanding press of his fingers along a scar.  

Your startled eyes find his.  It splits your focus.  You see Changbin right now, older, stronger.  You also see him younger, thinner, looking at you with concerned eyes as he wipes blood off your brow. 

You blink again and it is just him as he is now. 

He drops his hand. 

“You don’t trust anyone,” he says.  “I know.  Ha!  I really know.”  He swings around, planting his feet on the ground.  He reaches into his pocket then flicks open a pocketknife.

It should make your heart palpitate, a soldier with a weapon in your proximity, especially when you are unarmed.  But there is no rush of blood, no fear, no worry.  You just look at him, seeing all of him, young and old.  You realize there has been more than one constant in your life. 

The knife catches a glint of starlight, a flash of light in the darkness. 

“You and I are the same, aren’t we, murder princess?” he says.   “But also not.  You were raised in the pen with us but it was never the same.  We’re just animals to him.  Raised to the slaughter, ha!  But not you.  One way or another, you’re going to be someone.” 

You watch as he lifts his hand. He curls and uncurls a fist.  He looks down at his palm. 

“When it happens,” Changbin says, “Because it will happen, tomorrow or in a month or a year or whenever Miroh decides… But when I go like the rest of them… When it’s just you and you’re trying to decide who you want to be, not who your father wants you to be…  When you’re trying to remember everything and you can’t decide what was real and what was just training and what was Miroh…” 

He draws a slow slice across his hand, not so deep to be detrimental to his grip, but enough to draw blood in a long, thin line.  You look at this small scar as if it the deepest wound you have ever encountered. 

“Just… remember me,” he says.  “I didn’t bleed because I believe in Miroh.  I’m your soldier, not his.”

You are at a loss for words.  You do not think there are any words, none that you were raised to know.  You can only stare at the little trickle of blood as it runs down his wrist and drips onto the floor. 

You have always felt very alone.  You learned to thrive in that solitude.  Even clinging to the hope of your father’s approval proved exhausting and useless.  You accepted your high promontory was a lonely one.  

Not even that solitude compares to the idea of Changbin gone.  Even if you go weeks without seeing him, he is out there somewhere.  You both keep your heads down, get the job done.   Not the best soldiers, not the worst, but the ones still here. 

You let instinct override your senses for the second time that night.  When he makes to stand, your reflexes snap into action.  You grab him by the arm and snatch the knife.  He has no time to respond, watching as you slice a similar scar on your own palm. 

Your eyes meet.  You are unflinching, more resolute than ever.  You clasp his hand and the blood smears in a signifying pact that needs no other words. 

Only when the moment settles do you say, “You’re not a half-bad bodyguard.”

His laughter comes to him slowly, none of that empty joviality but a genuine burst of it.  His eyes crinkle and his smiles widens and the laughter bubbles out of him. 

“I’m the best bodyguard,” he says.  “And don’t you ever fucking forget it.” 

-

In the light of day, last night’s whirlwind of dramatic emotions feel tempered.  You and Changbin are able to conduct yourselves with a proper degree of soldiership.  Though his words and your promise are in the back of your mind, you put it away for now.

You dress in combat gear and pack your bags for another day of infiltration, investigation, and clean-up.  It is hard to say how easy or difficult the day will be.  If you encounter other agents, the confrontation could complicate things, but sometimes that is better than a long day with no interesting discoveries at all. 

The enemy had properties scattered all over town, some active and some not.  This particular office building is a very old one, seemingly long since abandoned and turned into company storage.  Some of these boxes have not been touched in decades, perhaps remnants of the business as run by the previous generation. 

A thick layer of dust coats the desks and boxes.  At least your masks are put to work, filtering the dusty air as you trail through the building. 

“Yahhh,” Changbin whines, flicking some papers off a desk.  “Today’s going to be boring.” 

“Yup,” you say in accord.  There is no way anyone else will be here.  You doubt there is anything of value to be discovered, but Miroh will harass you if you do not complete his missions as outlined.  With so much tension between you already, it is better to keep your head down and complete the menial tasks, even if it is blatant busy work. 

A few of your officers are sent ahead to sweep the building.  It is not a towering skyscraper but several tall floors nonetheless.  Your subordinates take different floors while you and Changbin take an upper level.  You begin the tedious task of rifling through the abandoned documentation.

“I’m a supersoldier, not a secretary,” Changbin gripes, moving boxes with more force than necessary.

“You’re not a supersoldier,” you say without looking up from your work.  “There’s no such thing.”

“I’m pretty close,” he says, flexing and kissing his bicep. 

“When you start flying, maybe I’ll consider it,” you retort, dryly.

“All right, I’m not a supersoldier,” he says.  He takes off his mask to grin at you.  “But I am super good looking.” 

You take off your own mask to throw at him like a projectile.  He squeals and ducks, then proceeds to cuss you out for the next few minutes while you smile. 

Eventually he takes a seat.  He props his booted feet up on a desk while sorting through some papers with absent-minded perusal. 

“So tell me again about the security log,” Changbin says, evidently growing bored within minutes. 

You can hardly blame him.  It is why you are about to reply, but your thoughts are quickly obliterated.  Gunfire reverberates in the nearby stairwell, followed by shouting and thumping.  Seconds later, your warning pagers are vibrating.  Your officers’ voices come through the communications software.

“Hostile enemy agents breached ground zero,” they say.  “Be ready for confrontation.”

You and Changbin spring into action.  Your masks are unfortunately abandoned, too far to grab in a rush thanks to your shenanigans, but your bags and weapons are within reach.   You swing them on and arm yourselves, racing into the corridor to join the rest of your team. 

It happens very fast.  One moment, this ancient building is nothing more than a dilapidated office from a bygone era, brimming with useless nothings that no one would want.  The next moment, it is overflowing with enemy agents, pouring in one after the other. 

You and Changbin join the other officers in the stairwell.  None of you are prepared for the sight that greets you, the sheer number of adversaries that come streaming into the building at rapid speed.

“What the fuck,” you say, realizing far too late you cannot take this many agents.  You have not had anything near this problem before.   

You look at Changbin, both of you shooting uselessly to stop the encroach of hostiles. 

“We need to retreat,” you say in unison.  You nod at each other. 

The message gets passed along the communicators.  There is no way to escape through the ground floor, the enemy agents chasing you up the stairwell.  You take out your phone to call for back-up, relaying the message directly to Miroh’s team leaders. 

“Can you at all identify the hostiles?” the man asks. 

“Do we know who they are?” you shout at Changbin over the gunfire and chaos. 

“Ah, well they’re not friends!” he replies.

You pause in your ascent to squint down at the approaching horde.  The uniform colours are familiar at a glance, but the dog tags confirm your suspicions.  It locks you in place with shock and confusion, because there is no way that makes any sense. 

These agents belong to the enemy.  The enemy.  It explains the numbers, as only that house could rival Miroh in terms of size and numbers.  But it is not possible he is conducting an offensive attack because he’s dead and his business is in shambles.  There is no one to conduct an operation on his behalf.  It makes no sense. 

Changbin grabs you by the back of the neck, hauling you up the stairs with him. 

“Not the time to stop and smell the flowers, murder princess,” he says. 

“It’s the enemy,” you say.  “I don’t know how or why, but it’s them.”

“We’re sending a back-up team straight to you right now,” Miroh’s leader says. 

You end the call to focus on your surroundings, confusing and chaotic as they are. 

You watch as several of your officers are taken down.  You wince at each reverberation of a gunshot that kills them.  A dozen more faces flash in front of your eyes, every child in that program with you, every enemy you have killed on Miroh’s behalf.  Chris.  Felix.  Changbin, young, small, looking at you with concern.

The reign of fire follows you.  You think you will be hearing gunshots for days. 

“Get her out,” one of your officer’s says into the comms, directed at Changbin.  “Leave through the roof.  We’ll hold them off.”

You trip running up the stairs. 

You never trip, far more coordinated than the average soldier.  But you hear your officer say that and your mind’s eye is overwhelmed with the image of them dying.  Because that is what will happen.  You should not be bothered by it.  You can train a new security team.  They exist for this exact reason. 

But all their faces are flashing in front of your mind.  Your team, the program soldiers, the First Guard.  A thunderous pain rattles down your spine, a cry leaving your lips as you are inundated with visions of death that you suddenly cannot shake. 

“Up, up!” Changbin shouts, hoisting you onto your feet.  “You’re better than this!” 

He’s right.  You are a soldier.  You trained for this.  You were made to fight. 

You push through the pain and thunder.  You get your feet back under you.  You race with Changbin to the roof and trust your team to do what is best. 

You slam and bolt the door behind you.  You look around for something to barricade it but there is nothing.  Changbin meanwhile opens his pack and takes out the rappel line and harness.  You have had little use for it on most of the assignments, but it is standard tactical gear when assigned any investigation or clean-up work, as it can require getting into locked areas through sky access.   You almost left them behind today, knowing the building was abandoned and you would have no difficulty getting in.  You are glad you decided against that. 

“Here,” Changbin says, handing you the harness.  “Put this on.”  He ducks back down to finish securing the line on the edge of the roof. 

“They’re not gonna be able to hold them,” you say, fitting the harness around yourself.  It is second-nature.  You hardly need to think, fastening every buckle as you stare at that closed door.  “They’ll be on us in seconds,” you say.  “They’ll just follow us over the roof on the line.”  You grant your odds are better on the street, that you can endeavour an escape, but that is only if you get that far.  Those enemy agents are going to blast down that door like it’s made of cardboard, then they will be on you. 

Your heart is pounding in your chest, your adrenaline propelling every breath.  You do not have time to think twice.  It is why it takes you so long to notice that Changbin has not put on a harness. 

“What are you doing?” you ask when he stands, completely unprepared to rappel down the building.  “We have to go! Put your harness on, idiot!” 

He takes the hook and locks it onto your harness, fastening it with a few skilled flicks of his fingers.  You grab his hand, stopping him. 

He takes a breath and finally meets your eye.  The wind blows his dark bangs across his face, opening up his expression to you.  You can feel the furious scrunch of your own features go lax.  Just like that, your adrenaline dwindles, all that heat turning to an ice cold block in your chest.  It drops to your gut.

“Changbin,” you start. 

“You’re going to go down that line,” he says.  “When you’re at the bottom, I’m going to cut it so they can’t follow you.  It will buy you time to get to the vehicles and get away.”

“Absolutely not,” you say.  “What the fuck are you thinking?  You—”  

“I’m your bodyguard,” he says with that wry smile.  “This is my job.  Let me do it.” 

“No,” you say, struggling against him.  You try to unhook the rappel line but he fights back, not your usual play-fighting but deadly serious.  “You can’t be serious!” you shout.  “We’re the same thing!  If you’re staying and fighting then I’m joining you!”

“We’re not the same thing!” he shouts back.  “You’re a Miroh!  You need to get out of here!”

“You’re right, I am a Miroh!” you say.  “It’s me they want anyway!  You put on the harness!  You can still get out of here!”

“I’m not leaving here without you!”

You want to reply.  The words are right on your lips: I’m not leaving here without you either. 

But before you can say them, all that thunderous pain fractures your vision again.  Your focus splits.  You see Changbin in front of you, dressed in his combat gear with the wind in his hair.  

Then everything changes. 

The sunny sky darkens and the rooftop disappears.  You see the colour grey.  It is all around you, halfway blinding you, filling your lungs so you can hardly breathe.  You blink rapidly, as if that will clear your vision, but it is just more grey and the sound of faraway voices. 

Then you see Changbin again, in his combat gear but years younger.  Just a teenager, all skinny cheeks and sharp angles.  There is no wind in his hair.  There is no wind anywhere.   He is bleeding profusely from a head wound, a stark slash of red in the middle of so much grey.  He says your name.  You hear your own voice but it is a foggy, faraway thing.  You cannot make out what you are saying.  When you look down, you cannot see your body.  You can only see him.  You can only hear him.    

“I’m not leaving here without you,” he says.

Then you are abruptly yanked out of that grey.  You are back on the rooftop in the sunshine. Changbin has his hand planted on your chest, securing the last piece of the harness.  You hear the thud of someone kicking at the bolted door.  You look there frantically.  Changbin does too.  Then you look at each other. 

“I told you I was the best bodyguard ever,” he says, smiling.  

He whips off his glove, revealing his freshly scarred hand.  He grabs your bare hand, the one with the still-tender scar.  He clasps your hands together and looks at you with a desperation you have never seen before, like he is trying to tell you a thousand things with just a glance. 

Then he slowly lets go of your hand. 

“Sorry I can’t fly,” he says. 

He shoves the middle of your chest, hard.  You go tumbling over the edge of the roof just as the enemy agents break the door down. 

There is nothing you can do mid-air.  You can only shout his name, terrified and furious and desperate all at once.  You scream your emotions out until the line comes to an end, a few feet from the ground.  You unclip your harness and drop to the ground smoothly. 

“Can anyone copy?” you speak into your comm, looking up at the roof helplessly.  You watch as an enemy agent swings over and starts to climb down the rope.  You draw your gun and brace yourself.

Then Changbin’s head pops over the edge.  “Copy,” he says, then cuts the line. 

You jump out of the way.  Seconds later, the enemy agent comes careening into the ground.  The pile of rope lands on top of him.

“Fuck,” you say.  “Fuck, fuck, fuck.  Changbin!” you shout hysterically into your comms.  “Changbin, can you copy?”

He doesn’t answer.  You run over to the body, searching for something.  You don’t even know what, you just know that this whole situation is wrong. 

It does not take you long.  You roll the body over.  Though his neck is now twisted at a fatal angle, you recognize the agent.  He was standing in your father’s office just a few weeks ago.  His name was Agent Slump.  You shot him through the shoulder. 

These are not enemy agents attacking the house of Miroh, they are your father’s men attacking you.  

You push away from the body, looking frantically up at the roof for any sign of further commotion.  You see nothing from this vantage. 

You run back into the building.  You let adrenaline and instinct carry you up the stairs, taking a few at a time and ignoring the burn in your thighs.  This is Miroh, you keep repeating to yourself.  Your father has done this.  Sending fake enemies after you.  Teaching you yet another lesson.  You said you could handle yourself.  You said your security team could protect you.  Now you are running past their dead bodies, your chest heaving from exertion and emotion.  You find yourself blinking back tears.  You cannot remember the last time you cried. 

“Changbin,” you say into your comm, tripping on another step.  Your voice comes out of the comms on your dead officers.   It echoes in the empty stairwell.  “Changbin, answer me, please,” you say.  “It’s not the enemy.  It’s my father.  It’s Miroh.  Changbin.  Changbin.”

You are halfway up the building when you hear voices below.  You stop to listen.  Your vibrating phone makes you jump. 

“Miss Miroh?” comes a voice, then you see one of your father’s officers at the bottom of the winding stairwell.  This one is not playing a part.  He is in the standard uniform.  There are more officers behind him.  The back-up you called like an idiot. 

You do not go back down.  You drop your phone and race to the roof.

“Get her,” you hear the officer say, then the stairwell is thundering with footsteps as they chase you. 

You no longer know what you are doing.  You do not know where you are going or what you will find.  A part of you is unsurprised when the rooftop is empty, that they got away, that now your father’s men can come in and play hero. 

You look around for Changbin but you cannot find him anywhere.  You try to tell yourself that is a good thing, that it could be worse, that he could be as dead as your security team, just a body on this roof.  You try to tell yourself that he is safe.  It was just Miroh.  They are probably taking Changbin back to the main facilities right now.  Everything will be fine. 

Deep down, you know nothing will be fine.   Everything has changed. 

You hear the officers behind you.  You look around.  The building next door is too far for a regular person to jump, potentially too far for you to jump.  It will be cutting it close, but it is all you have.  At this point, you halfway hope you’ll fall and your father’s men will be forced to report they let you die. 

You shed the top layer of your combat shirt, getting down to the tank top underneath.  You are not sure it will make a difference, but every bit counts.  You back up and count a few seconds, then you take a running leap off the roof.  You get a grip on the next one, though not without a lot of pain.  You grit your teeth and hoist yourself up, ignoring your scraped arms as you take off running.  You open a skylight and drop into the building.  Another empty corridor stretches in front of you. 

You decide your objective it to escape.  You can confront your father after, but right now you need to prove you can handle yourself.  You can get out of here. 

You are certain your father’s men will have the vehicles locked in.  Once you escape this building, you will have to find another—

A window behind you shatters.  You duck and cover your head as glass explodes around you.  You roll to get away, though your limbs are shaky from everything.  When you get to your feet, it is more unsteady than usual. 

You turn around.  You feel that sinking feeling in your gut again.

“Oh my god,” you say.  “Of fucking course it’s you.” 

Bang Chan stands there, cold and ungiving like the living shadow he has become.  Your father likes an agent that can both disappear and intimidate, so Chan somehow feels like a terrifyingly huge figure, looming over you, despite the fact he is not much bigger or taller.  His presence is hulking, as deadly and awful as you remember.  He stares at you with those dark eyes over the half-mask.  He is not breathing especially hard despite the fact he just took a running leap from the opposite building and smashed through a window.  His body is as steady and ungiving as his gaze. 

You do not waste any more breath cursing.  You turn and run. 

You know it is useless but you have to try.  In your head, if you get away, that is a bargaining chip.  You can talk to Miroh, you can show him that you were right, you can have Changbin back, and Changbin will be fine and—

You let out an aggravated cry when Chan grabs you.  You manage to rip away after a few good kicks.  It is amazing what hidden strength lies in adrenaline.  Your heart is pumping even faster than your last fight with him. 

You duck into a stairwell and jump over the railing, landing a couple floors below.  You keep doing that, ignoring the fact you can hear him copying you.  If you look back, it will slow you down.  You keep jumping until you hit the bottom floor. 

You make it a few steps before he grabs you again.  This time he is relentless, a big gloved around wrapped around your throat. 

That adrenaline betrays you.  It is like all your training abandons you as your terror and fury rips through you.  You struggle against him, your motions jerky and frantic and poorly strategized.  He pins you to the wall, using his whole body to lock you in place so you stop kicking him. 

“Let me go,” you say, barely above a whisper.  It makes him tighten his grip on your throat.  You twitch helplessly, gripping his arm uselessly, your face pinched with anger.  

You are swiftly joined by the other officers.  You glare at them, still digging your nails into Chan’s arm.  He does not soften his grip until he is ordered, then he puts you on your feet.  You stumble, your vision covered in black spots as you suck in deep, gasping breaths.  It was not even just the choking, as he did not squeeze hard enough to fully incapacitate you, but as your adrenaline dwindles, your strength does too. 

You trip for the third time.  Someone grabs you by the shoulders and pulls you back up.  You are not sure if you are more surprised or terrified to find it is Chan, looking at you with calculating eyes.  You stare back at him, this manifestation of your father’s worst, most inhumane actions.   You are torn between apologizing to him and kicking him again. 

Then another officer grabs you.  You watch with alarm as he puts you in handcuffs.

“What the fuck?” you ask.  “Who’s fucking side are you on?”

“Miroh always, of course,” the officer says.  “This is for your own good.  You are behaving erratically.  Don’t be scared.  We will inform your father that you tried to flee from your own protective officers.  I am certain he will do everything in his power to ensure you cannot put yourself in harm’s way again.” 

You have no more words.  An animalistic cry escapes from your chest, ripping through you.  Even with your hands cuffed behind your back, you dive at the officer and take him down.  You bite down on his ear until you taste the metallic tang of blood.  He screams under you until someone rips you off him.   They hold you by the back of the neck like a poorly behaved puppy. 

The officer gets to his feet.  Blood is pouring down the side of his neck, part of his ear torn.  You spit blood at him.

He raises his hand as if to strike you.  You stand there, chin jutted forward, ready to take it. 

Then you realize it is Chan holding you.  When the officer brings his hand down, Chan moves you.  He steps in between you and catches the officer’s wrist. 

Chan says nothing.  He does not need to say anything.   He looks at the officer and the officer swallows. 

The officer snatches his hand back and straightens his clothes. 

“We’re leaving,” he says.  “Guard, take your charge.” 

You are looking smugly at the officer.  That cockiness dissipates when Chan turns around and looks at you.  It has you immediately shrinking away, then flinching when he grabs your arm.    

They take you to a truck.  It is one of the holding trucks, the kind they use for transporting undesirables.  It is obvious they always intended to lock you in chains.  You have been in metaphorical chains your whole life, and it is only taking this to realize it. 

You try and slow your frantic breathing.  You cannot have a breakdown right now.  It will only make it harder for you when you confront your father.  You are already at a disadvantage, being dragged to him in literal chains.  You will be completely at his mercy, and Miroh does not have mercy. 

You sit on the bench in the back of the prison truck.  You expect to be alone with an officer, giving you time to strategize and think, but then it is Chan climbing into the van and sitting on the bench across from you.  All the hairs on your body stand up.  You cannot concentrate on anything with Bang Chan in close proximity.  He moves like a wild animal, something predatory and swift about him.   When they close and lock the door, your heart skips beats. 

Chan says nothing.  He never says anything.  On the rare occasion you have been in contact, you have not heard a word out of him.  You seldom have anything to do with the missions he runs.  They are above even your paygrade, the worst of Miroh’s work. 

You swallow.  He is not speaking but he is staring.  He does not remove the mask.  You have not seen him without it in years.  He is nothing but a soldier.  An army unto himself. 

Your heart skips another beat.  An idea slowly forms in your mind. 

You are better than average.  Chan is better than you.  You cannot take all these agents on your own, but you could definitely take them with his help.   Of course, that is an entirely hypothetical thought.  It would be absolutely, completely, severely ridiculous to even try.   You are certain the best reaction you will get out of Chan is nothing, just a penetrating stare and silence.  The worst would probably be a snapped neck. 

You curl your hands behind your back.  The scar on your palm stings.  You clench your jaw.

You have nothing else to lose. 

“You’re not a soldier, you know,” you say. 

Just like you suspected, he says nothing.  He just stares at you.  The truck rattles along, jostling you so your handcuffs jingle.  He moves with the sway of the vehicle, hardly affected. 

Your fear turns to frustration.  You heave a breath. 

“Did you hear me?” you ask.  “You’re not a soldier.  You’re a prisoner.  You’re not who you think you are.  Miroh has you under his control, but it’s not real.  The real you is in there somewhere.  And the real you—”  The words come rushing up, slamming into your furiously clenched teeth, “The real you hates Miroh almost as much as me.” 

Chan stares at you.  That is expected.

What is unexpected is the slow tilt of his head.  It makes you shiver, instinctively cowering as he studies you.  His brow slowly quirks, a questioning expression.  You did not know he could make such an expression. 

“Are you… listening to me?” you ask.   

He straightens, but he still looks questioning.  It is enough for all your desperation to rush to the surface.  You fall forward, slamming on your knees in front of him.  You are so scarred and bruised, it hardly matters.  More important is the fact he looks down, as if he is more concerned by it, though you cannot read any more expressions on his stoic face. 

“Chan,” you say.  “Chris.  Whatever you want to be called.  If you’re in there, then listen to me, please.  I know you don’t know me.  We hardly knew each other at all growing up.  But we did grow up together.  Miroh is controlling both of us.  He is going to use us to do things.  He—”  You curl your fist behind you, needing to feel the sting on your palm.  It brings a tear to your eye. 

Chan is looking at you, expressionless again, but it doesn’t matter.  You have to try.

“It’s not just us,” you say.  “This is bigger than you and me.  I have a—I have a friend—my friend, you understand, and I—”

The van comes to a stop.  Chan grabs you by the shoulders and puts you back on your bench.  You screw your eyes shut and shake your head.  You want to scream. 

When you open your eyes, you pour all your anger in your glare.  It is not directed at Chan, though he is the one to catch your gaze and hold it. 

You are still looking at each other when the door is unlocked.  There was only a small window providing light in the cabin of the truck.  A bigger slash of golden light has you wincing. 

Chan is unaffected, still staring at you.  An officer opens the door wider and nods to him. 

“Let’s go, guard,” he says. 

Chan gets up.  You watch as he struts past.  He jumps out of the van and lands smoothly on his feet.

Then he reels back and punches the officer.  It is quick as a snap, the unconscious body hitting the tarmac in a flash.  It makes you jump, the bench rattling underneath you. 

You sit, petrified, confused.  Chan slowly turns.  You blink at him.

He holds out his hand. 

“What?” you say.  It comes out a rasp.  You cannot manage more words.  There is no way your frantic, barely coherent pleading got through to him.  This man has been tortured into compliance.  There is no humanity left in him, no memories, no emotions, no hopes.   He does not feel anything.  He does not understand anything.  He is a weapon.

He is still holding out his hand. 

There is nowhere to go but forward.  You get to your feet and shuffle towards him.  He still does not speak, nor does he look at you with any particular expression.  He just holds out his arms and lifts you out of the van.  When you are on your feet, you stare at each other.

He spins you around.  A gust of breath whooshes out of you.  You panic for half a second, then you realize he is unlocking your handcuffs. 

Never mind.  He is breaking them with his bare hands.  You watch as they hit the ground in a mangled heap.  You turn around slowly, your knees still shaking. 

Chan is calm as the other officers approach.  Someone asks why you are out of your handcuffs. 

Chan looks at you.  You do not know why or how, but he nods. 

You nod back.

You are a soldier.  You trained for this.  You were made to fight.  It is time to remind them of that. 

-

Your father is in his rooftop garden.  Miroh has a few soft hobbies like that, gardening among his favourite.  He sees himself as a cultivator as much as a green thumb, bringing more life into the world despite what life he takes.  It balances for him.  The ends always justifies the means. 

You walk into his garden.  It is obvious he is not expecting anyone, much less you.  He does not have time to hide his surprise.   You just fought your way through all of his security measures, battered and bruised and beaten.  You have not seen yourself, but you are certain your body is a canvas of violence right now. 

“Hello, father,” you say. 

“Go to my office,” he replies without hesitation.  “We will talk there.”

“No,” you say calmly.  “We’ll talk right here.  Right now.” 

He is holding a watering can.  He puts it down without looking and it tips over, splashing everywhere.  Neither of you look at it.  Your eyes are locked on each other.  You both know what he did today.  He is smart enough to work that out. 

“Where are my men?” he asks. 

“Detained,” you answer.  Chan is holding them off somewhere.  You still do not know why or how, but there will be time for that later.  You have to solve one problem at a time. 

You have no real plan.  You are making it up as you.  All you know is that scar on your hand is throbbing.

I’m not leaving here without you. 

You touch your palm, running your finger over the scar.  You do not look away from Miroh as you approach him.  Your legs are weak, your knees shaking, your body in agony, but you take one step after the other.  Given the stricken look on his face, you think this might be more disturbing than if you were healthy. 

Your injuries might have made you equal fighters, but his arm is still in a cast, weakening him too.   He will not win in a one-on-one fight.  He is smart enough to know that too.  It is why he takes a careful, calculating step back. 

“You’re injured,” he says.  “Go to the infirmary.  We can talk after.”

“We can talk now,” you reply, taking another step forward. 

“Whatever it is, it can wait,” he says. 

“Where is he?” you ask. 

You are both speaking calmly, moving slowly.  The watering can is slowly leaking water, gurgling in the background.  Wind moves through the flowers.  You hear birdsong in the sunshine.   Still, in the background, it feels like the world is screaming, the high-pitched whistle of that pot at a boiling point. 

“Who?” your father asks. 

“I’m not playing any more games,” you say.  “I’m not playing dress-up with any little secret agents.  I’m not getting in any rings and playing made-up fights with your silly toy soldiers.  No more lies.  No more games.  No more secrets.  Seo Changbin is my best officer.  I want him back.  Tell me where he is.” 

“His time as a soldier has run its course,” Miroh says.  “His body is more useful than him.  The initial special-ops experiment was a failure.  His genetics might unlock the key to replicating the medicant.  We can try again.  You should want to help me.  You would know better than anyone what worked and what did not.” 

Your exhaustion and emotion nearly gets the better of you.  You almost hurl right in front of him, imagining all the horrifying implications of genetics and keys.  You imagine them taking Changbin apart, piece by piece, experimenting on him like a slab of meat. 

You keep your disgust and horror down.  You take another step forward. 

“Give him back to me,” you say.  “Right now.  I told you already.  I’m not playing any games.” 

“You are deeply unwell,” your father says, his tone changing as he looks at you with more scrutiny.  His whole face seems to darken with the furrow of his brow.  “This is not like you.  Go to the infirmary.” 

“I’m not asking again,” you say.  “Give him back to me.” 

“Why?”

Because you’re my father, should be a good enough answer.  You know it will not work.  You know he does not care.  Miroh hates you because you are his daughter.  Miroh is not scared of anyone because he knows he is the best.  He is scared of himself in you.  You never stood a chance. 

“Because he’s my friend,” you say, because that is the only truth that matters anymore. 

It makes your father laugh unexpectedly.  You do not break. 

“Your friend?” he asks.  “Oh, well, my dear, if he’s your friend, then of course I’ll suspend all my plans and operations!”  He continues to laugh.

“I already told you,” you say.  “I’m not asking again.” 

You fly at him without further warning.  He has a half-second to react, his eyes widening as he side-steps clumsily.  With your mutual injuries, it is not much of a fight.  After a short scuffle, Miroh kicks at your legs, your weakest point, and you double over.  He swings his knee up into your stomach and it makes you fall, curled protectively over yourself.  You plant your forehead on the ground, arms around you, breathing hard. 

“That is how a daughter should be before her father,” he says, looking down at you in your broken little bow. 

You look up as he reaches into the lapel of his coat.  He has kept his gun in the same place for years.  In the same place you always keep yours when you wear a long coat. 

He puts his hand there and finds nothing. 

You uncurl, showing the gun in your hand.  You point it, cock it, and place your finger on the trigger as you stand. 

“If the next words you speak are not his exact location, I’m killing you,” you say. 

“Then kill me,” he says. 

He must know you are running on fumes and a half-baked plan that you did not believe would work.  He is calling your bluff, knowing you like he knows himself.  You will drop the gun and concede.  Miroh wins.  Miroh always wins. 

But you are gripping that gun with your scarred hand.  It sends a twinge of pain shooting up your arm.   You hear Changbin’s voice in your head.

You pull the trigger. 

You are not sure who is more surprised.  You can feel it on your own face, dripping with your sweat and blood.  You lower the gun and watch as Miroh stumbles backwards, frantically patting his chest.   You wonder if he is wearing any protective layers.

It doesn’t matter, in the end.  You spent the last few minutes walking him backwards.  If you couldn’t get the gun, you were going to grab him and threaten him with the edge of the roof. 

When you shoot him, he stumbles.  He falls back.  He goes right over the edge.

You stand there for a long minute.  The watering can has emptied.  The wind has gone still.  The whole world seems to stop.  When you drop the gun, it hits the concrete with a clatter.  It feels very strange that the sun is still shining. 

You walk to the edge of the roof.  You look down.  Your father has loomed over the world from this perch for years, looking over the things he has so meticulously grown. 

He is laying in a broken heap at the bottom of it now. 

You do not know how long you stand there.  The wind begins to blow again.  You feel it on your face. 

Then you hear a voice.  It nearly makes you jump. 

“What now?” it asks. 

You turn around.  Bang Chan is standing there in his dark combat gear, that half-mask still fastened in place. He has finally broken a sweat, his hairline damp, and his chest is moving a little faster with breath.  He is human somewhere under there.  Deep, deep down.   You have no idea what to do with that human anymore than the soldier. 

One problem at a time. 

A few more officers appear on the rooftop.   Chan turns.  You approach him. 

“What now?” you repeat.  You scoop up the discarded gun and point it at the officers.  Chan draws his own and does the same.  You stand side-by-side, arm-to-arm, eyes on your adversaries.  “Right now,” you say, “we fight.” 

You pull the trigger. 

The fight begins. 

[kadwrites]

something old, something new | T.S

previous part | next part

or check out the series masterlist

summary ; how long can you keep that secret?

warnings ; arranged marriage!trope, SLOW burn, soft!tommy , fem!reader, idk what im doing,

a/n ; i would love to know what you guys think of this part<3 thank you guys for all the support i really really appreciate it <33

-

"ya should've stabbed 'im when ya had the chance to." madeline mumbles, putting rose in the crib that was dragged next to the dining table

"what the hell has gotten into 'im?...." fiona looks at celest and celest shrugs , looking back at you

"god i feel like i'm going to explode" you take a gulp of the wine in your glass "i can't lie to tommy"

"then don't, just tell him" celest swirls the wine in her glass

"i 'ave a feeling tommy might just.." fiona runs her thumb across her neck, clicking her tongue

"i mean he's not that violent," you add , your finger moving across the rim of the glass "he's sweet...sometimes.... i think"

"is she ... drunk?" madeline grabs the wine bottle, pouring some in the glass in her hand

"i'm sure he doesn't just go around killing people" you look at the three women around you, "what do ya think jeremy wants to do?"

"i mean he said he wants ya back , didn't he?" celest sips her wine

"i mean yeah , technically i guess..."

"not technically" madeline is points at you "he said he wouldn't let ya marry tommy"

"it's just so odd" your hand rubs at the back of your neck "this is so out of the blue, we ended years ago. it's not like we were in contact too or anything"

"ya attract crazy men" fiona says with a raised brow

"i don't need this." you cover your face with your hand, before taking another gulp from your glass

"come on," celest gets up, taking the wine glass out of your hand "ya need sleep."

you have your arms raised on each side. , wearing a thin white robe. standing with your back straight and head held high, the seamstress starts measuring from the tip of your fingers to your shoulders.

"how is he treating ya?"

"hm?" you snap out of whatever trance you were in, eyes glancing in her direction

"thomas shelby, how is he treating ya?"

"yes , yes he is." you speak almost too quickly "why wouldn't he?" you try to not move,

she looks at you through her spectacles, raising a brow

you raise a brow too "i thought ya knew his family very well?"

"i do, that's why i'm asking" she says with a sigh , moving to the other side to get the measurements and your eyes follow her

the room is spacious, with every kind of fabric and thread you could possibly think of. it's quiet, the light shining in through the windows. the fabric and the design of your wedding dress on a paper on the table. a sketch of it, and it looked perfect.

"he's treating me well" you repeat

"do ya know about grace?"

your eyes drift away, you lick your lips nervously. you never had this conversation with anyone, it was a topic everyone tiptoed away from. except for her, apparently

"i know of 'er, yes."

"he loved that girl, he did." she nodded, rolling the measuring tape, getting your bust measurements.

"yeah, i've heard." you cleared your throat

"ya should've seen how he looked at 'er" she chuckled, "but , the way he looks at you ..." she looks at you again, before moving to make another measurement.

your head snaps this time, looking at her before she reprimands you to stay still "me?"

"mhm."

"i don't think so" you murmur then chuckle

"i wouldn't be so sure" she said with a knowing look , she rolls the measuring tape around your waist "i've known 'im since he was a boy."

"i mean, i'm sure ya do." you smile at her politely "but i do doubt that."

"ya can doubt it all ya like, it won't make it less true" she mumbles ,

a soft knock at the door catches your attention. she frowns, pulling her spectacles down and walking to the door, she opens it slightly

"morning mrs baker."

tommy's voice makes your eyes widen slightly, and your heart flutter.

"tommy." she says with a laugh "ya 'ave no business here, boy."

"my bride is here" he nods at you "so , i do actually 'ave business here"

she opens the door, letting him in. the smile and look on her face is stern, but maternal.

"the girl tells you're treating her well" she mumbles, going back to standing at your side

"she did?" he asks with a small smile before standing against a wall, his back pressed against it with his hands in his pockets, his gaze stuck on you.

she nods, putting her spectacles back on as she writes down the measurements on a piece of paper

"ya were trying to turn 'er on me, sylvia?" he speaks again

she shoots him a glare before looking back at you "ya see what you're marrying?"

you chuckle, tying the robe tighter around you. "yeah, i see it."

sylvia walks out of the room, to the front of the store for a customer that came in, leaving you and tommy in the back.

"why didn't ya bring your mother with ya?" he asks you, getting off the wall but not taking one step further.

"she can be...... overly enthusiastic at times. so i didn't tell 'er i was coming here" you say with a chuckle, turning to look at him

"that's smart" he hums , looking you over.

"she will lose 'er mind but i think it'll be worth it , i think."

he hums again, this time walking to stand in front of you.

"didn't ya 'ave a meeting today? i'm surprised ya even had the time to come here" you tilt your head as you speak

"want to get rid of me, do ya?"

"of course i don't."

"so ya want me around?" he leans closer, and you feel your breath stop. his voice is soft and low, his eyes glance at your lips before going back to your eyes

"i...." you stutter , your eyes scan his face "i do" you speak softly

"i do too."

"yeah?" you whisper back.

the air is so heavy, you feel his breath fan over your lips. your noses brush against each other.

"are ya scared of me?"

"no" you shake your head softly

he leans in closer and his lips press against yours, your eyes flutter shut and you feel as if time stopped moving, the floor under you disappeared.

after a few moments, he pulls back but not far back , his nose brushes against your cheek and his lips press against your ear

"what are ya hiding from me?"

-

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[another-lost-mc]

MAMMON x gn!Reader, NSFW, 0.7k words Content warnings: a strange series of events leads to MC developing larger, lactating breasts; suggestive content, lactation kink, pet names More in the Lactation Kink series: Levi, Asmo, Beel, Belphie | Solomon | Lucifer, Satan, Diavolo & Barbatos, Simeon, Karasu

You're laying on your side, facing the wall and trying to ignore the awkward sensation of your heavy breasts and the ticklish drip-drip-drip of pearly-white fluid leaking from your nipples. Your undershirt is already stained with wet spots from earlier, and the cotton towel underneath you is your attempt to keep the bedding and mattress clean and dry.

Lucifer didn't argue when you told him point-blank that there was no way in hell you were going to school that day. You didn't realize until later that Mammon offered to stay home and keep an eye on you while the others left for RAD and made excuses for your sudden absence.

Mammon invited you to his room earlier, but you refused—walking through the house in your current state made you feel even more vulnerable than you already did. He slipped into your room instead and asked if you needed anything—a drink, something to eat, did you want to watch a movie? But you shook your head and closed your eyes and tried to ignore the strange, milky scent that suffocated the air around you like a fog.

"Is it okay if I lay down with ya?"

His arm around your waist is heavy but comforting. His hand rests underneath your shirt, but he doesn't explore your chest the way you expect him to. He seems perfectly content to simply hold you, humming quietly behind you while you slowly relax. He sucks in a breath through his teeth when you sigh and lean back against him.

"Wait, are you seriously hard right now?" You glance at him over your shoulder, eyes wide and cheeks warm with disbelief.

His own cheeks have a reddish tinge to them and his smile looks a little shy, a little nervous. "Look, babe, it's not—I know this is weird for ya, and I get that, but you're still you." His eyes dart away from you nervously. "I can't help what you do to me."

You search his expression for the truth, for some hint that he might just be trying to tease you, but all you see is fondness and unashamed heat. He stares into your eyes too, and whatever he sees makes his lips quirk up a little. He shuffles closer to you so you can feel the outline of his cock, hard and heavy in the loose grey sweatpants he wears.

"We don't have to do anything if you don't want to," he offers a bit too casually as his hand tightens against your belly and slowly slides up your chest, "but if you want, I think I can help. I can give ya a little distraction, 'til you're feelin' better."

His fingers smear the little trails of milk on your skin, and he cups the underside of one of your swollen breasts gently, fingers splaying wide and grazing your sensitive nipple in the process. You gasp slightly at the sensation—earlier your chest felt strange, uncomfortable and foreign, but Mammon's hand on you causes something pleasurable to tingle beneath your skin.

His eyes fixate on your chest as soon as you roll over onto your back beside him—his eyes roam greedily across your body, lingering on the small damp spots that litter your thin undershirt. The material clings to the curves of your breasts, accentuating your hardening nipples as they leak a small, continuous stream of fluid that rolls down your sides onto the towel beneath you.

He licks his lips slowly, dragging his bottom lip between his teeth as he hums and considers what exactly he wants to do to you. His intensity makes you squirm; you wiggle your hips slightly as the strange mixture of nervousness and lust swirls in your belly.

You nod your head in the direction of the bedside table, more than eager to let him help if he's still offering. "Lube's in the top drawer," you tell him nervously, still feeling a little shy about your body's unusual developments this morning.

But he shakes his head with a grin and pulls a small bottle from his pocket. That cheeky devil. "Don't worry, babe, I came prepared." He sets it down next to your hip while his hands reach for the waistband of your sleep pants, eyes flicking between you and your chest. "I promised to take real good care of ya, didn't I?"

[mypoisonedvine]

#2 "where are you going dressed like that?" with Emmett! I miss your writing with Emmett and I miss your writing in general. Dinner Party is fantastic.

oh yeah that makes so much sense for him!!

warnings: smut (18+ only!!!), rough sex, d/s dynamics, established relationship, roleplay, dirty talk, daddy kink, implied age gap, hair pulling, spanking, kinda dumbification kink, no relationship to the movie/pre-apocalypse, no plot just filth!

You bit your lip with excitement as you saw yourself in the mirror, surprised by how well the look fit you. Who knew something Emmett picked out could end up being fashionable? Or maybe you just 'look good in anything' like he said, but that was surely just flattery.

You tried to act nonchalant as you walked past him towards the door, your heels clicking on the hardwood floor. He looked up from his newspaper at you, and you smirked to yourself when you heard the loud crinkle of him setting it down suddenly.

"Where the hell do you think you're goin' dressed like that?" he asked roughly, standing up as you turned around to face him.

"Like what?" you asked innocently.

"Look how short your skirt is," he growled, stalking closer to you, his heavy boots making a much more intimidating sound when they hit the floor. "You're hardly even wearing a shirt--"

"This is trendy!" you defended.

"How come I can see through it?!" he snapped. "What do you think people are gonna think when they see you like this? What do you think men are gonna think?"

"I don't know... that I'm fashionable?" you shrugged.

He stepped right up to you, making you blink up at him as you tried not to show your nervousness, or excitement, or arousal. "You look like a slut, babydoll," he explained lowly. You loved the way that word sounded in his voice: slut. Just the right amount of insulting and sexy all together.

"I'm sorry, daddy," you batted your eyes at him. "But I'm grown, I can wear whatever I want. See ya later!"

You didn't even make it one step away before he grabbed you by the hair and pulled you back, making you gasp and whimper. "Think just 'cause you're grown, you can act like a brat?"

You tried to shake your head, but he was holding it too tightly-- and then a second later, he was shoving you down and bending you over the couch, delivering a harsh smack to your ass (which was barely covered by the tight skirt). "Daddy!" you yelped in faux shock-- well, it wasn't entirely acting. Sure, you knew where this was going, but you didn't expect him to be quite this rough... not that you were complaining.

"If you wanna act like a big girl, you're gonna get treated like one," he warned, spanking you roughly again as your knees pressed together. "And if you wanna look like a whore, you're gonna get treated like one'a those, too."

He pushed the skirt up over your ass to reveal the lacy, Barbie-pink thong, and you heard him growl through his teeth.

"Knew this was what you wanted," he growled, rubbing his hand over your ass and groping it in that way that just made you tense up in anticipation of your spanking. "Only one reason a girl gets dressed up like this-- wanted somebody to put you in your place. You don't need to leave the house for that, honey, daddy's right here to teach you some manners."

He hit you again, and again, and again-- three hard slaps right to the curve of your ass that made your legs wobble and your hands grip weakly at the couch under you. "Fuck," you moaned, fluttering your eyes shut as the sting dissipated and your skin started to feel hot.

"Look't this pretty ass," he cooed, "think I should hit it 'til you've got a nice big handprint right here?"

"No, daddy, please," you begged, "I'll be good-- you don't need to hit me that much..."

"So then what do you need, princess?" he asked sweetly, grabbing a rougher handful of your ass. "What do you need to learn your lesson?"

"U-um..." you stalled, not sure what to say.

"See, daddy knows what you need," he explained. "So just shut up and take it."

He hit you until your legs were giving out, and you were crumpling down onto the couch under you with weak little sobs. You were crying out like it hurt you, which it did, but you were arching your back deeper, too.

When he stopped suddenly, you heard him opening his belt and you really didn't know if he was just taking his cock out or if he was going to hit you with that, too. All you did was try to straighten your legs again to take whatever he would give you-- like a good girl.

He hooked a finger into your barely-there panties and pulled them to the side, chuckling lowly at how wet you were.

"Soaked through this cheap lace, baby," he noticed proudly. "You like when daddy gives you some discipline?"

You nodded and bit your lip, but it fell wide open in a gasp when he roughly shoved his cock inside you, all the way. "Ow! Fuck, Em, s'too deep," you yelped, reaching behind you and trying to push his hips back, but he grabbed your wrist and held it down in front of you, only rutting into you faster and deeper in response.

"Nuh uh, babydoll," he scolded, "you're gonna take it all. S'what you fuckin' deserve-- you're gonna take all of this fuckin' dick."

You whined and tried to arch your back away, but there was no escape from how deep he was inside you, nor how hard he was fucking you.

Even though it did hurt, in a certain way, you knew it was what you needed. Each thrust made you whine and choke, until you finally went limp and accepted it; your eyes rolled back and your whimpers turned into needy moans. "There she is," he growled, "there's my little cockwhore."

You hated how much you loved when he talked like that. And he knew it, too, because he smiled as he felt you get even wetter where he drove himself into you.

"So fuckin' stupid for dick," he noticed with a purr. "Head's all empty now, huh? Just wanna get fucked, don't wanna think? Don't worry, baby, you don't need to. I don't give a fuck what you think. I just like the way you take my cock inside you, that's all that matters."

"Daddy," you panted desperately, legs shaking with the effort to try to hold yourself up. These heels certainly didn't make it any more comfortable.

"You look so fuckin' cute like this," he praised darkly. "Dressed like a bimbo, drooling for cock... I could just come in you right now and leave, then would you learn your lesson? Learn that all a cheap slut deserves is to get used and filled and left with come running down her legs?"

"Nooo, daddy, please," you pouted, barely able to string words together with how he was pounding you into the couch.

"Okay, princess," he offered sweetly, "I'll make you come first. But when I'm rubbing your poor little clit until you can't take anymore, and making you come until you pass out, you're gonna wish you'd taken me up on my offer when you had the chance..."

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

Vaggie: “Stop trying to push past me, asshole.”

Angel Dust: “Move, I’m gay.”

Vaggie: “And I’m down here at 2 am getting a snack a drink for my girlfriend, what’s your excuse.”

Angel Dust: “Do ya want me raidin’ the fridge at weird hours, or doin’ drugs?”

Vaggie: “I want you to wait your turn and quite shoving.”

Angel Dust: “Ya gonna have to bribe me."

Vaggie: "With? Letting you live?"

Angel Dust: "Please, I'm gonna need way more than that- I wanna know why you’re wearing Charlie Chip’s button down shirt and ONLY her shirt!”

Vaggie: “Only one I could find.”

Angel Dust: “Oooh~?”

Vaggie: “She’s pretty annoyed at my clothes by the time she gets them off me.”

Angel Dust: "HA!"

Vaggie: "And I get pretty annoyed with you by default."

Angel Dust: "Aww thanks toots, my heart is all mooshy. Cotton candy princess got some SPICE to her, huh?”

Vaggie: “Yeah well, speaking of spicy, if any of my clothes made it out a window and onto the hotel steps again, they aren’t mine and I’ve never seen them.”

Angel Dust: “I mean I guess that shit lie will work… if they’re ya panties or whatever-”

Vaggie: “A thing that I wear. Right.”

Angel Dust: “-the rest is kinda an iconic outfit thing though, toots, don’t know anyone wouldn’t know who’s it- wait a sec- are ya saying ya DON’T wear-?”

Vaggie: “Here. Leftover cake.”

Angel Dust: “You can’t bribe yourself outta THIS talk, Vaggie Tales!”

Vaggie: “Sure I can, it’s triple chocolate and has sprinkles. Take it and hide or else everyone else will come crawling out of their rooms for a share.”

Angel Dust: “Crawling, ya say?”

Vaggie: “Literally. Trust me.”

Angel Dust: “Hmmm… and, is triple chocolate-”

Vaggie: “Husk’s favorite. Have fun.”

Angel Dust: “We’re picking up the panty thing tomorrow, toots!”

Vaggie: (already leaving) “No we’re not.”

Angel Dust: “We sure as hell are! Maybe for real! Off the hotel front steps! IF YOU EVEN WEAR ‘EM!”

Vaggie: (already gone) “Go pick up your Doctor Seuss crush before the cake gets stale!”

Angel Dust: “YOU TAKE THAT BACK! He’s not a twink in a hat! HE’S A RUN DOWN TONY THE FUCKIN’ TIGER WITHOUT STRIPES AND AFTER A WHOLE CARTON OF SMOKES!”

Vaggie: (distantly) “Whatever…”

Angel Dust: “You’re just too lesbian to appreciate it!”

Vaggie: (fading out upstairs) “That, and I’m too not-single for it either…”

Angel Dust: “Oh that bitch….” (bites cake) (mumbling) (sulking) (single) “Hope Charlie Chuck yeeted her damn clothes clear across town.”

Charlie: “I didn’t. This time.”

Angel Dust: (SHRIEKS)

Charlie: “Hi.”

Charlie: (dropping down from ceiling and scurrying over the counter top wrapped in just blanket)

Charlie: “I wanna share an extra piece of the cake, please.”

Angel Dust: “DON’T BEDSHEET GHOST SCARE ME LIKE THAT! Fuck!”

Charlie: “Sorry! Cake?”

Angel Dust: “Didn’t ya girlfriend already get you a slice!?”

Charlie: “Of course she did!”

Angel Dust: “So what’s wrong with THAT one??”

Charlie: “It’s gone…”

Angel Dust: “Gone HOW-”

Charlie: “I started missing her and came down to meet her and the cake, um.” (points at stomach) “Didn’t survive.”

Angel Dust: “Un-bi-lievable.”

Charlie: “Caaaaake?”

Angel Dust: “Here.” (shares cake) “SHOO!!!”

Charlie: (shoos) “I’m shooing! And by the power of this cake, maybe I can throw MY shirt off of her this time!”

Angel Dust: “Oh your dad have mercy..... how much sugar have ya already had?”

Charlie: “Enough to shower a tit- uh sorry- THROW shirt clear across town!”

Angel Dust: “Just take it off her before ya yeet it.”

Charlie: “? Oh!! RIGHT!!!!”

-an hour later at angel dust’s door-

Charlie: (knocking) “Angel? I need you to watch the hotel for little while!”

Angel Dust: “I’m busy! Don’t interrupt the cake!”

Charlie: “PLEASE Angel Dust it’s IMPORTANT and I wouldn’t bother you but I can’t find Husk so-” (door opens) “-oh hi Husk, can YOU please watch the hotel for me??”

Husk: “Why the fuck.”

Charlie: “I need, to go apologize, to my girlfriend.”

Angel Dust: “Vaggiraptor is right upstairs, ain’t she? Why’d we have to watch the hotel for that?”

Charlie: “Because I…”

Charlie: “…I need to figure out, where she landed, first…”

Angel Dust: (GASP) “Nooo…”

Husk: “What?”

Angel Dust: “You didn’t.”

Charlie: “I didn’t mean to!”

Husk: “What the fuck did she do?”

Charlie: “It was- the sugar! My hands were shaking- I was frustrated! And really really distracted!!”

Angel Dust: “HOW could you!? I TOLD ya-!”

Charlie: (on her knees) (wailing) “And I FORGOT!!!”

Husk: “You know what? Fuck it. I don’t wanna fucking know.” (heads back to the cake)

[yandere-kokeshi]

Hii, going through the worst period of my life now :⁠^⁠) . Would be mw2 character's reaction with a partner with painful periods

Warnings: yandere behavior, descriptions of periods, and blood, my opinion of characters backgrounds (specifically Kyle's)

A/N: I'm so sorry, dovey!! I hope these headcanons make you a bit better <3

Captain “Price” John:

He feels terrible, especially when he comes home to you cuddled up in bed, wearing one of his large t-shirts, and a bunch of groans coming from you. 

John’s mental-talk is that he knows cuddles, and spoiling you will help; which is what he does. He gets whatever you want, especially a new heating blanket, with some fluffy pillows. Major cuddling is expected, with him rubbing your stomach, and making sure to get deep into the muscles where it stings for you.  

Keeps your cycle on his phone and on the calendar — very expressive when asking if you need to be restocked, and if it does come when it’s reminded on the calendar, he’ll frown and say: “The Red Army back in town, huh?”

Emotional days are the worst, especially if you don’t notice that you’re being snarky, or in a cry-to-angry mood. With it said, John treats your mood swings like any other day, not taking things personal. He knows it’s the hormones, anxiety, and overwhelmedness of your bleeding and pain, to which he accepts that it can and will drive you mad.  

Does everything in the house, even if you feel obligated to do it. Of course, he’s kissing on you, loving on you whenever he gets the chance; but he doesn’t want you to worry about anything else but yourself. 

At times, you may feel embarrassed within the hell week; waking up to see the bloody red sheets. This said, John isn’t grossed out at all, telling you to just jump in the shower as he cleans it all up; shaking his head whenever you apologize: “Happens, darlin’; get in the shower, I’ll make breakfast, m’kay?”

If you do bleed through your pants, especially in public, John always brings an extra pair of clothes; packed in the back of the trunk in his car. Though, if he can’t get to it, he’ll purposely wrap his large jacket around your lower waist — covering it up with you being ‘cold’.

Simon “Ghost” Riley:

He hates seeing you in any pain, especially if it’s one he cannot control or decrease in size — but unlike Price, he’s not so sure what to do. As much as he’s attentive towards you, and quite helpful, Simon is unsure how to properly comfort you; it’s never been his best strategy to distract, or comfort. But he tries. 

If things are incredibly bad, where having to change boxers every hour, or having the worst cramps that leaves you sobbing and not being able to move, he’ll be more attentive. Pain medication every few hours, food that leaves you full, and heating patches that he runs out and gets frequently. He tries his best, but due to him being a guy and not understanding how it feels, he may say or do things awkwardly. But that doesn’t mean he’s not carrying, he really does, he’s just never had a period. 

Is unfazed and never angry when seeing the blood, no matter how much you apologize or feel embarrassed. As long as it’s coming from a menstrual cycle, and not some major wound, he’s all good and telling you off to jump in the bath; taking care of things, and leaving you his large t-shirt on the washroom lid for you to wear when you get out. 

Simon understands that your emotions are harder to control, especially since you’re drowning in blood. He’s fine with you snapping at him, or crying out of anger because of the pain and his very annoying existence. With this said, he makes it up with ice cream, and leaves you alone when sensed. Coming back every 45-to-an-hour to check up on you, and if you apologize, he just shrugs his shoulders: “Don’t worry about it, understand why ya’ act like it.”

Herbal tea is mostly given to you, especially during nights. He wants to help with balancing everything out, and ease the deathly pains. He always gives you a candy bar at that, too; wanting you to relish the taste before helping you to bed. 

Another thing he gives is massages. Where you want his golden hands, they’re there, relieving some pain and ensuring to get rid of the knots. Simon gives kisses out, patterning along your neck and cheek, talking to you with his gruff and rough voice. 

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick:

Quite attentive, especially since he grew up with sisters. He understands the whereabouts of periods, extreme pain, and the large package it comes with. So, out of everyone, Kyle is stocked full of supplies, knowing exactly what to do, and not taking things personally when you lash out. 

A major cuddler when it comes down to him finding you crouched over in pain. Kyle would make sure everything for you is perfect, spooning you from behind whilst holding a heating pad to your aching stomach. He tries to joke around, wanting you to feel a bit better with jokes, but mostly keeps it quiet with the low-volume TV.

He knows when you get your period, often picking up on your mood changes, and quickly makes sure everything is up-to-date, including salty, spicy, and sweet treats that he knows you’ll enjoy that are stored in the pantry. 

Spoils you up to 100%, he makes sure that the sheets each day are warm and freshly washed. Restocking your necessary needs, and buying you snacks that he hopes you won’t eat in a day. He’s fine with your routine, following you to bed and massaging your back when it becomes too much, or making you a mixed bowl of M&M’s and popcorn. 

Kyle is considerably easy to be around, even if your emotions are everywhere. He knows that during the horrible week you’ll start doubting yourself, and becoming quite irritable over everything. This said, he’s very understanding and always here to reassure you; especially if everything comes down like a rumbling rock, and you start crying. He knows that the cramps hurt, and it’s just your hormones being wacky, which, when you’re being snarky, or rude, he doesn’t take it personally and rather asks what he can do to help you.

When you stain the sheets, or your clothes, he makes no fuss about it, waving your embarrassment with a smile. If you continue on with apologizing, cheeks flushed and mumbling on, Kyle will cup your cheeks and make you look into his eyes: “It happens, honey. Jus’ jump in the shower, and I’ll join you if ya’ want, okay?”

When everything becomes too much, and you’re overwhelmed, crying yourself to sleep while the wind whistles at the window, Kyle will stay with you. Wrapping you up in soft blankets, holding you whilst pressing kisses on your cheeks and shoulders; whispering loving words and telling you how strong you are for surviving this every 28 days.

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish:

At a young age, his mother taught him very strictly on how to treat his lover when they are on their period. With this, he’s extremely attentive, and has the bathroom stocked with everything you need; the calendar day circled in red for remembrance. 

Johnny is really excellent at picking up cues, especially during your period. He’s quick to learn how to deal with certain things and what makes you feel better. He may be uncertain with some stuff, such as mood changes, but he knows better than to comment on it. 

The whole time, he’s all over you, even if nothing hurts. Johnny is constantly supplying you with many heating pads, cuddles and kisses, and the food you love to snack on. Most of the time, you’re wearing his clothes, and hoodies. He buys you a bunch of chocolate, and flowers depending on the day of the week; doing anything to put a smile on your pretty face.  

He really enjoys preparing nice baths on the days when it’s extremely painful. Using bath salts to relax your aching muscles. With how attentive he is, and being practically hovering, he’s sitting outside the tub, talking to you and ensuring that he’s not disgusted or embarrassed by the flowing blood in the water. 

Speaking of blood, he isn’t grossed out all about you staining your clothes, or the bedsheets; it happens, and it can’t be controlled — much more playfully joking around when you being a ‘hot bloody mess’, and trying to direct your embarrassment to jumping in the shower. When you get out, new boxers and his hoodie is awaiting you on the bed, as well as a massage and a bunch of kisses. 

When struggling with mood swings, and becoming a bit rude, Johnny rarely takes them offensively — taking them with stride, and nodding with duck lips, leaving the room and coming back with comfort food. Of course, at times, the words you spill sting, but he never takes the things personal. 

—

Masterlist || Reblogs, comments, and likes are very much appreciated!! Stay well!!

© yandere-kokeshi 2023 — Do not copy, modify, edit, repost, or use my works for ASMR readings, tiktoks, or other content.

[astupidweeb69]

You know x-virus don’t get enough love…. Do you have any head cannons regular or nsfw (maybe both)??

I've been thinking about this guy a lot lately for some reason. Also I've never written for Cody before so hopefully this came out okay.

I was going to work on Toby's but.... I have more inspiration for Cody at the moment. He absolutely doesn't get enough love!

X-Virus Headcannons

SFW

Isn't related to Toby at all. In fact doesn't really look like him either. Sure, he's got the brown hair, but he looks waaay more dorky than Toby does. While Toby has kind of a boy-next-door-from-hell look to him, Cody is more slender and works out less. He looks like your typical STEM student (sickly complexion, poor nutrition, etc.). His whole schtick requires him to stay indoors most of the time, in a make-shift lab.

Has a refrigerated van, which he paid to be converted to safely transport whatever science experiments he's got going on in a temperature-controlled environment.

He tries to stay in one place. He's less of a drifter than most of the other creeps but sometimes... the things he does requires him to uproot his life and start over in another town. (No Cody you can't just infect your landlord with a mutated form of tuberculosis when they raise your rent! There will be consequences!)

Has kind of a nasally voice. I feel like he always has a bit of a cold too.

Ironically has a shitty immune system, and probably drinks those Airborne Immune Support drink mixes like it's his job. Also a germaphobe, wearing medical gloves all the time, and his hands are dry and cracked from overusing sanitizer.

LOVES Re-animator. He's rewatched that movie more times than he can count. But he has a love for science fiction movies in general, with horror elements to them. Like Alien.

Also loves zombie apocalypse movies, but that's an obvious one. Specifically 28 Days Later and World War Z.

Sometimes he's like... should I try to make a zombie virus? nah.... unless...?

I also think he was raised by a single father, who worked for a large pharmaceutical company.

Antisocial. I know Toby and him are compared a lot and people give them similar 'hyperactive' personalities, but I don't see that for Cody at all.

Cody's more focused, and is less inclined to interact with others. He doesn't really get lonely?

I'd say he'd get along okay with someone like EJ (both like science, ya know?).

Toby and him hang out a bit - they'll stay in and watch movies together. Or Cody will tag along with him to a bar and watch as Toby fails to pick up anybody. Cody wouldn't say it to his face, but it makes him feel better about his own social skills to see Toby strike out like that.

NSFW (Under the cut!)

I don't know how he'd find himself in this situation - but if he DID have a partner.... the sex would be kind of bland at first?

He doesn't know what he wants and frankly is too much of a germaphobe to get up close and personal with someone he doesn't know well.

You'd have to spend months getting to know him for him to feel comfortable to engage in anything sexual.

I think at the start of the relationship, he'd want to experiment with voyeurism.

He'd be across the room watching you touch yourself, giving you directions while he slowly strokes his cock, loving the feeling of ordering you around.

But as things escalate, of course, he'd give in to his urges. However, the voyeurism would become how he likes to foreplay.

Out of all the creeps (most of whom I view as being dominant) he's actually pretty tame.

He whimpers a lot, and it sounds almost pathetic when he moans. He's been holding out for so long for the right person, and when he finally gets to fuck he's absolutely drunk off of you.

That said, his sex drive is about average.

One of his roleplay fantasies is him being the experienced scientist, and you being his lovely little assistant.

Probably started after the first time you helped him in his lab.

He just kept thinking of you in a tiny little lab coat, bent over his desk - papers and test tubes falling to the ground while his hips piston into you.